I looked upon her pale young corpse; I swore Carpenter. Spare him no longer; down with him! [The Populace, with JARVIS DANE, rush upon GIDEON, who, defending himself and AMBLA, is overpowered, and falls, pierced by the sword of DANE. With a cry of alarm, AMBLA sinks on her knees by the side of GIDEON. Amb. O God! they've slain my boy, my hope, my all, The darling of my age! [Throws herself on the body. Dea. G. Lift you the woman from her dead son: let The law hold on its course. [They raise AMBLA; her head falls on her breast. Topsfield. The work is done: she is beyond the law. Gid. [Reviving.] Mother! where art thou, mother?— O Heaven, she's dead! Raise me, and let, once more, My fading lips press hers, once more, once more— [Dies. Anna Cora Mowatt (Mrs. Ritchie). ARMAND; OR, THE PEER AND THE PEASANT. BLANCHE, a Daughter of the DUKE DE RICHELIEU, by a secret Marriage, is brought up in privacy, as the reputed Kinswoman of BABETTE, a Peasant. Here she is seen by Louis XV. of France, who pursues her with dishonourable intentions. BLANCHE, unconscious of her real Parentage, has bestowed her affections on ARMAND, a young Peasant. BLANCHE, engaging in all the sports of the Villagers, with whom she has been associated from infancy, is chosen " Queen of May." BLANCHE, BABette. Babette. Blanche! Blanche!-Is Blanche coming? Enter BLANChe. Blanche. Yes, dame, here is Blanche. Bab. Good child! good child! Blan. Nay, dame, pay homage to our majesty. I'm chosen queen, dear dame—the Queen of May! You do not smile: prithee, what serious thought Has cast its grave reflection on thy face? Bab. I was thinking how beautiful a crown—a real crown, a crown of gold and jewels-would look upon your head. Blan. A crown? Why, you are dreaming, dame, at mid-day! Bab. And if I am, there's something, sometimes, in some dreams. But I say nothing-only, wouldn't you like to dream of wearing such a crown? Blan. No, in good sooth, not I! This woven band Bab. Have you forgotten the cavalier who walked with us in the gardens of Versailles? Blan. No, I remember him-'twas but last night. Bab. Then listen: what would you say if he were the King, the true King-Louis XV., the King of France ? Oh, dear! what would you say to that? Blan. Why, if he were the King-in truth, the King— I could but say that wayward Nature played On Fortune's favourite a most idle trick, While to the humble artisan she gave The aspect, soul, and bearing of a king. Bab. Oh, dear! oh, dear! what a young traitor! It's very fine talk; yet, for all that, there's a great difference between your Armand and the King-I mean the cavalier. Blan. I grant you that, dear dame-difference indeed! How different seemed, in each, like attributes! The lightness of the cavalier to me Seemed senseless levity, while Armand's mirth At ease. Each had his separate pride: one pride, No merit to his virtues! Men may bow You'll You must Bab. How these young ones talk, to be sure! sing a new burden to your song before long. think no more of Armand. Blan. What! think no more of Armand? The very centre of my thoughts, round which All feelings and all hopes alike revolve, Is he not As planets circle round their sun? But, dame Thou dear, mysterious, and oracular dame— What boding dreams have mocked you through the night? Or what portentous omens have you seen? Nay, speak; prithee, what has befallen thee? Bab. Oh, don't ask me-I say nothing. You know I never talk. [Villagers without.] Where is our queen, our queen? Bring us our queen! [ARMAND and Villagers appear at window. RICHELIEU discovers the King's designs on his Daughter, and, as the most certain method to save her, commissions BABETTE to administer a powerful Opiate to BLANCHE, which shall produce a seeming Death. This is done as the Lovers are preparing to join the May-day Festival. The Village Green.—A Maypole in the centre. Armand, Blanch, and Villagers. Arm. Ay, for a dance make ready, lads and lasses, And be your hearts as light as are your feet, In honour of the May. [BLANCHE puts her hand to her head, and appears to be ill. Blanche, you are ill! Your eyes are heavy, and your cheek how pale! Blan. Oh, no, no, Armand; I am well-quite well. And yet I think my very happiness Oppresses me; a faintness steals upon My yielding sense, as if it were the languor Of a content so perfect, it could wish For nothing on this earth it hath not now, But on the far-off future shuts its eyes. Arm. Our future, Blanche? It must indeed be bright, To vie in promise with the present joy! We live in that which is, and so defy What may be. Let the unknown future bring ... It cannot steal the lustre from these hours. . . . To quicken in thy veins the timid blood, Jac. Most excellent and worthy sovereigns! we but wait your pleasure. Arm. Now, Blanche, for thy light foot.-Come, lads, a dance! [Maypole dance, with garlands. Towards the close, BLANCHE appears to grow fatigued, and falls suddenly in ARMAND's arms, as if fainting. Blan. Armand, I cannot—I am weary—stay— My head is strangely heavy, and before [Falls. Armand, I scarce can see thee. Art thou there? [Exeunt JAQUELIne and Etienne. How cold thou art! Speak to me, Blanche! thou hearest me ! Tell me thou hearest me! Blan. Yes, Armand, yes, I hear thee, my beloved, yet I feel— That we are parting-death Arm. We cannot part! This is not death!-no, no, we will not part! [will! Blan. Nay, Armand, war not thou with Heaven's high Death cannot break the bond that knits our souls. |