Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  Cath. Indeed, you may well be tired — and where do you come from? — Did you meet, on your road, any soldiers coming back from Finland?

  Charles (eats and speaks). Not the soldiers themselves, I can’t say as I did; but we are them that are bringing home the knapsacks of the poor fellows that have lost their lives in the wars in Finland.

  Cath. (during this speech of Charles, leans on the back of a chair. Aside) Now I shall know my fate.

  Charles (eating and speaking). My comrades are gone on to the village beyond with their knapsacks, to get them owned by the families of them to whom they belonged, as it stands to reason and right. Pray, mistress, as you know the folks here-abouts, could you tell me whose knapsack this is, here, behind me? (looking up at Catherine.) — Oons, but how pale she looks! (aside). Here, sit ye down, do. (Aside) Why, I would not have said a word if I had thought on it — to be sure she has a lover now, that has been killed in the wars. (Aloud) Take a sup of the cold milk, mistress.

  Catherine (goes fearfully towards the knapsack). ’Tis his! ’tis my husband’s!

  {She sinks down on a chair, and hides her face with her hands.}

  Charles. Poor soul! poor soul! — (he pauses.) But now it is not clear to me that you may not be mistaken, mistress: — these knapsacks be all so much alike, I’m sure I could not, for the soul of me, tell one from t’other — it is by what’s in the inside only one can tell for certain. (Charles opens the knapsack, pulls out a waistcoat, carries it towards Catherine, and holds it before her face.) — Look ye here, now; don’t give way to sorrow while there’s hope left — Mayhap, mistress — look at this now, can’t ye, mistress?

  {Catherine timidly moves her hands from before her face, sees the waistcoat, gives a faint scream, and falls back in a swoon. The peasant runs to support her. — At this instant the back door of the cottage opens, and ALEFTSON enters.}

  Aleft. Catherine!

  Charles. Poor soul! — there, raise her head — give her air — she fell into this swoon at the sight of yonder knapsack — her husband’s — he’s dead. Poor creature!—’twas my luck to bring the bad news — what shall we do for her? — I’m no better than a fool, when I see a body this way.

  Aleft. (sprinkling water on her face.) She’ll be as well as ever she was, you’ll see, presently — leave her to me!

  Charles. There! she gave a sigh — she’s coming to her senses.

  {Catherine raises herself.}

  Cath. What has been the matter? — (She starts at the sight of Aleftson.) — My husband! — no—’tis Aleftson — what makes you look so like him? — you don’t look like yourself.

  Aleft. (aside to the peasant.) Take that waistcoat out of the way.

  Cath. (looking round, sees the knapsack.) What’s there? — Oh, I recollect it all now. — (To Aleftson) Look there! look there! your brother! your brother’s dead! Poor fool, you have no feeling.

  Aleft. I wish I had none.

  Cath. Oh, my husband! — shall I never, never see you more — never more hear your voice — never more see my children in their father’s arms?

  Aleft. (takes up the waistcoat, on which her eyes are fixed.) But we are not sure this is Christiern’s.

  Charles (snatching it from him). Don’t show it to her again, man! — you’ll drive her mad.

  Aleft. (aside.) Let me alone; I know what I’m about. (Aloud) ’Tis certainly like a waistcoat I once saw him wear; but perhaps —

  Cath. It is his — it is his — too well I know it — my own work — I gave it to him the very day he went away to the wars — he told me he would wear it again the day of his coming home — but he’ll never come home again.

  Aleft. How can you be sure of that?

  Cath. How! — why, am not I sure, too sure? — hey! — what do you mean? — he smiles! — have you heard any thing? — do you know any thing? — but he can know nothing — he can tell me nothing — he has no sense. (She turns to the peasant.) Where did you get this knapsack? — did you see —

  Aleft. He saw nothing — he knows nothing — he can tell you nothing: — listen to me, Catherine — see, I have thrown aside the dress of a fool — you know I had my senses once — I have them now as clear as ever I had in my life — ay, you may well be surprised — but I will surprise you more — Count Helmaar’s come home.

  Cath. Count Helmaar! — impossible!

  Charles. Count Helmaar! — he was killed in the last battle, in Finland.

  Aleft. I tell ye, he was not killed in any battle — he is safe at home — I have just seen him.

  Cath. Seen him! — but why do I listen to him, poor fool! he knows not what he says — and yet, if the count be really alive —

  Charles. Is the count really alive? I’d give my best cow to see him.

  Aleft. Come with me, then, and in one quarter of an hour you shall see him.

  Cath. (clasping her hands.) Then there is hope for me — Tell me, is there any news?

  Aleft. There is.

  Cath. Of my husband?

  Aleft. Yes — ask me no more — you must hear the rest from Count Helmaar himself — he has sent for you.

  Cath. (springs forward.) This instant let me go, let me hear — (she stops short at the sight of the waistcoat, which lies in her passage). — But what shall I hear? — there can be no good news for me — this speaks too plainly.

  {Aleftson pulls her arm between his, and leads her away.}

  Charles. Nay, master, take me, as you promised, along with you — I won’t be left behind — I’m wide awake now — I must have a sight of Count Helmaar in his own castle — why, they’ll make much of me in every cottage on my road home, when I can swear to ’em I’ve seen Count Helmaar alive, in his own castle, face to face — God bless him, he’s the poor man’s friend.

  {Exeunt.}

  SCENE — The housekeeper’s room in Count HELMAAR’S Castle.

  ULRICA and CHRISTIERN.

  CHRISTIERN is drawing on his boots. — Mrs. ULRICA is sitting at a tea-table making coffee.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Well, well; I’ll say no more: if you can’t stay to-night, you can’t — but I had laid it all out in my head so cleverly, that you should stay, and take a good night’s rest here, in the castle; then, in the morning, you’ll find yourself as fresh as a lark.

  Christiern. Oh! I am not at all tired.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Not tired! don’t tell me that, now, for I know that you are tired, and can’t help being tired, say what you will — Drink this dish of coffee, at any rate — (he drinks coffee).

  Christiern. But the thoughts of seeing my Catherine and my little ones —

  Mrs. Ulrica. Very true, very true; but in one word, I want to see the happy meeting, for such things are a treat to me, and don’t come every day, you know; and now, in the morning, I could go along with you to the cottage, but you must be sensible I could not be spared out this night, on no account or possibility.

  Enter Footman.

  Footman. Ma’am, the cook is hunting high and low for the brandy-cherries.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Lord bless me! are not they there before those eyes of yours? — But I can’t blame nobody for being out of their wits a little with joy such a night as this.

  {Exit Footman.}

  Christiern. Never man was better beloved in the regiment than Count Helmaar.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Ay! ay! so he is every where, and so he deserves to be. Is your coffee good? sweeten to your taste, and don’t spare sugar, nor don’t spare any thing that this house affords; for, to be sure, you deserve it all — nothing can be too good for him that saved my master’s life. So now that we are comfortable and quiet over our dish of coffee, pray be so very good as to tell me the whole story of my master’s escape, and of the horse being killed under him, and of your carrying him off on your shoulders; for I’ve only heard it by bits and scraps, as one may say; I’ve seen only the bill of fare, ha! ha! ha! — so now pray set out all the good things for me, in due order, garnished and all; and, before you begin, taste these cake
s — they are my own making.

  Christiern (aside). ’Tis the one-and-twentieth time I’ve told the story to-day; but no matter. (Aloud) Why, then, madam, the long and the short of the story is —

  Mrs. Ulrica. Oh, pray, let it be the long, not the short of the story, if you please: a story can never be too long for my taste, when it concerns my master—’tis, as one may say, fine spun sugar, the longer the finer, and the more I relish it — but I interrupt you, and you eat none of my cake — pray go on — (A call behind the scenes of Mrs. Ulrica! Mrs. Ulrica!) — Coming! — coming! — patience.

  Christiern. Why, then, madam, we were, as it might be, here — just please to look; I’ve drawn the field of battle for you here, with coffee, on the table — and you shall be the enemy.

  Mrs. Ulrica. I! — no — I’ll not be the enemy — my master’s enemy!

  Christiern. Well, I’ll be the enemy.

  Mrs. Ulrica. You! — Oh no, you sha’n’t be the enemy.

  Christiern. Well, then, let the cake be the enemy.

  Mrs. Ulrica. The cake — my cake! — no, indeed.

  Christiern. Well, let the candle be the enemy.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Well, let the candle be the enemy; and where was my master, and where are you — I don’t understand — what is all this great slop?

  Christiern. Why, ma’am, the field of battle; and let the coffee-pot be my master: here comes the enemy —

  Enter Footman.

  Footman. Mrs. Ulrica, more refreshments wanting for the dancers above.

  Mrs. Ulrica. More refreshments! — more! — bless my heart, ’tis an unpossibility they can have swallowed down all I laid out, not an hour ago, in the confectionary room.

  Footman. Confectionary room! Oh, I never thought of looking there.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Look ye there, now! — why, where did you think of looking, then? — in the stable, or the cockloft, hey? — {Exit Footman.} — But I can’t scold on such a night as this: their poor heads are all turned with joy; and my own’s scarce in a more properer condition — Well, I beg your pardon — pray go on — the coffee-pot is my master, and the candle’s the enemy.

  Christiern. So, ma’am, here comes the enemy full drive, upon Count Helmaar.

  {A call without of Mrs. Ulrica! Mrs. Ulrica! Mrs. Ulrica!}

  Mrs. Ulrica. Mrs. Ulrica! Mrs. Ulrica! — can’t you do without Mrs. Ulrica one instant but you must call, call — (Mrs. Ulrica! Mrs. Ulrica!) — Mercy on us, what do you want? I must go for one instant.

  Christiern. And I must bid ye a good night.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Nay, nay, nay, — (eagerly) — you won’t go — I’ll be back.

  Enter Footman.

  Footman Ma’am! Mrs. Ulrica! the key of the blue press.

  Mrs. Ulrica. The key of the blue press — I had it in my hand just now — I gave it — I — (looks amongst a bunch of keys, and then all round the room) — I know nothing at all about it, I tell you — I must drink my tea, and I will — {Exit Footman}. ’Tis a sin to scold on such a night as this, if one could help it — Well, Mr. Christiern, so the coffee-pot’s my master.

  Christiern. And the sugar-basin — why here’s a key in the sugar-basin.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Lord bless me! ’tis the very key, the key of the blue press — why dear me — (feels in her pocket) — and here are the sugar tongs in my pocket, I protest — where was my poor head? Hers, Thomas! Thomas! here’s the key; take it, and don’t say a word for your life, if you can help it; you need not come in, I say — (she holds the door — the footman pushes in).

  Footman. But, ma’am, I have something particular to say.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Why, you’ve always something particular to say — is it any thing about my master?

  Footman. No, but about your purse, ma’am.

  Mrs. Ulrica. What of my purse?

  Footman. Here’s your little godson, ma’am, is here, who has found it.

  Mrs. Ulrica (aside). Hold your foolish tongue, can’t you? — don’t mention my little godson, for your life.

  {The little boy creeps in under the footman’s arm; his sister Kate follows him. Mrs. Ulrica lifts up her hands and eyes, with signs of impatience.}

  Mrs. Ulrica (aside). Now I had settled in my head that their father should not see them till to-morrow morning.

  Little Girl. Who is that strange man?

  Little Boy. He has made me forget all I had to say.

  Christiern (aside). What charming children!

  Mrs. Ulrica (asid). He does not know them to be his — they don’t know him to be their father. (Aloud) Well, children, what brings you here at this time of night?

  Little Boy. What I was going to say was — (the little boy looks at the stranger between every two or three words, and Christiern looks at him) — what I was going to say was —

  Little Girl. Ha! ha! ha! — he forgets that we found this purse in the forest as we were going home.

  Little Boy. And we thought that it might be yours.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Why should you think it was mine?

  Little Boy. Because nobody else could have so much money in one purse; so we brought it to you — here it is.

  Mrs. Ulrica. ’Tis none of my purse. (Aside) Oh! he’ll certainly find out that they are his children — (she stands between the children and Christiern). ’Tis none of my purse; but you are good, honest little dears, and I’ll be hanged if I won’t carry you both up to my master himself, this very minute, and tell the story of your honesty before all the company.

  {She pushes the children towards the door. Ulric looks back.}

  Little Boy. He has a soldier’s coat on — let me ask him if he is a soldier.

  Mrs. Ulrica. No — what’s that to you?

  Little Girl. Let me ask him if he knows any thing about father.

  Mrs. Ulrica (puts her hand before the little girl’s mouth). Hold your little foolish tongue, I say — what’s that to you?

  {Exeunt, Mrs. Ulrica pushing forward the children.}

  Enter, at the opposite door, THOMAS, the footman.

  Footman. Sir, would you please to come into our servants’-hall, only for one instant: there’s one wants to speak a word to you.

  Christiern. Oh, I cannot stay another moment: I must go home: who is it?

  Footman. ’Tis a poor man who has brought in two carts full of my master’s baggage; and my master begs you’ll be so very good as to see that the things are all right, as you know ‘em, and no one else here does.

  Christiern (with impatience). How provoking! — a full hour’s work: — I sha’n’t get home this night, I see that: — I wish the man and the baggage were in the Gulf of Finland. {Exeunt.}

  SCENE — The apartment where the COUNT, ELEONORA, CHRISTINA, &c., were dancing.

  Enter Mrs. ULRICA, eading the two children.

  Christina. Ha! Mrs. Ulrica, and her little godson.

  Mrs. Ulrica. My lady, I beg pardon for presuming to interrupt; but I was so proud of my little godson and his sister, though not my goddaughter, that I couldn’t but bring them up, through the very midst of the company, to my master, to praise them according to their deserts; for nobody can praise those that deserve it so well as my master — to my fancy.

  Eleonora (aside). Nor to mine.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Here’s a purse, sir, which this little boy and girl of mine found in the woods as they were going home; and, like honest children, as they are, they came back with it directly to me, thinking that it was mine.

  Helmaar. Shake hands, my honest little fellow — this is just what I should have expected from a godson of Mrs. Ulrica, and a son of —

  Mrs. Ulrica (aside to the Count). Oh, Lord bless you, sir, don’t tell him — My lady — (to Christina) — would you take the children out of hearing?

  Eleon. (to the children). Come with us, my dears.

  {Exeunt ladies and children.}

  Mrs. Ulrica. Don’t, sir, pray, tell the children any thing about their father: they don’t know that their father’s here, though they’ve ju
st seen him; and I’ve been striving all I can to keep the secret, and to keep the father here all night, that I may have the pleasure of seeing the meeting of father and mother and children at their own cottage to-morrow. I would not miss the sight of their meeting for fifty pounds; and yet I shall not see it after all — for Christiern will go, all I can say or do. Lord bless me! I forgot to bolt him in when I came up with the children — the bird’s flown, for certain — (going in a great hurry).

  Helmaar. Good Mrs. Ulrica, you need not be alarmed; your prisoner is very safe, I can assure you, though you forgot to bolt him in: I have given him an employment that will detain him a full hour, for I design to have the pleasure of restoring my deliverer myself to his family.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Oh! that will be delightful! — Then you’ll keep him here all night! — but that will vex him terribly; and of all the days and nights of the year, one wouldn’t have any body vexed this day or night, more especially the man, who, as I may say, is the cause of all our illuminations, and rejoicings, and dancings — no, no, happen what will, we must not have him vexed.

  Helmaar. He shall not be vexed, I promise you; and, if it be necessary to keep your heart from breaking, my good Mrs. Ulrica, I’ll tell you a secret, which I had intended, I own, to have kept from you one half hour longer.

  Mrs. Ulrica. A secret! dear sir, half an hour’s a great while, to keep a secret from one when it’s about one’s friends: pray, if it be proper — but you are the best judge — I should be very glad to hear just a little hint of the matter, to prepare me.

  Helmaar. Then prepare in a few minutes to see the happy meeting between Christiern and his family: I have sent to his cottage for his wife, to desire that she would come hither immediately.

  Mrs. Ulrica. Oh! a thousand thanks to you, sir; but I’m afraid the messenger will let the cat out of the bag.

  Helmaar. The man I have sent can keep a secret — Which way did the Lady Eleonora go? — Are those peasants in the hall? {Exit Count.}

  Mrs. Ulrica (following). She went towards the west drawing-room, I think, sir. — Yes, sir, the peasants are at supper in the hall. (Aside) Bless me! I wonder what messenger he sent, for I don’t know many — men I mean — fit to be trusted with a secret. {Exit.}