based on a
work of the same name in French by Michel-Jean Sedaine
a semi-opera
Text by
Burgoyne, set to music by Thomas Linley the Elder, first
Staged Oct. 1786 at the Drury Lane Theatre. It was a major
success.
DRAMATIS
PERSONAE.
Richard .....
Mr. Kelly
Blondel ..... Mr. Barrymore
Florestan
..... Mr. Caulfield
Sir Owen .....
Mr. Dignum
The Seneschal
..... Mr. Cooke
Antonio .....
Mrs. Bland
Guillot .....
Mr. Suett
Old
Mathew..... Mr. Maddocks
William .....
Mr. Fisher
A Pilgrim
,,,,, Mr. Webb
Peasant .....
Mr. Gibbon.
Soldiers,
Peasants, Etc.
Matilda .....
Mrs. Mountain
Lauretta
Dorcas .....
Mrs. Maddocks
Julie .....
Miss Bristow
Collette .....
Miss Wentworth,
ACT I.
SCENE I. A
View of a strong Castle, situated in a wild mountainous
Country; on one Side a rustic Mansion-house, on the other a
Stone Seat. — During the Overture, Old Mathew, Dorcas, and several
Peasants pass over the Stage, with their working Tools, as
returning from their Labour,
Chorus of
Peasants.
Come sing,
come dance,
To-morrow's
the day;
Come sing,
come dance,
Old Mathew's
wedding-day.
Yes,
to-morrow, you know,
To his house
we shall go,
To drink and
be gay,
To dance,
sing, and play;
Away with all
sorrow.
For joy comes
to-morrow.
Old Mathew.
I am happy, I
swear,
My Dorcas, my
dear.
To think that
to-morrow is our wedding-day.
Duet —
Dorcas and Old Mathew.
Though we're
sixty yeas old,
Let the young
ones behold.
Our age, like
our youth, is contented and gay.
Chorus,
Come sing,
come dance,
To-morrow's
the day;
Come sing,
come dance.
Old Mathew s
wedding-day.
Yes,
to-morrow, you know,
To his house
we shall go.
To driuk and
be gay.
To dance,
sing, and play;
Away with all
sorrow.
For joy comes
to-morrow. [Exeunt. ]
[Matilda after
the last Chorus enters, led in by Antonio.]
Matilda.
Antonio, what
sounds were those? surely they were singing.
Antonio,
It is only the
villagers, who are returnmg from the fields: the sun is
settmg, and they have done their work.
Matilda.
Where are we
now, my gentle guide?
Antonio.
You are not
far from a great old castle, with towers and battlements. And
there now, if you had your sight, you might see two
soldiers on
the walls with their cross-bows.
Matilda.
I am sadly
tired.
Antonio.
Stay — this
way — Here is a stone, it is made into a seat. [Matilda sits.]
What a pity you cannot see the prospect! though so wild, it is
said to be as fine as any in all Germany. Now just opposite to
us is a very well-looking house, 'tis a farm, but as good as
any gentleman's.
Matilda.
Then go, my
little friend, and find out whether we can lodge there
to-night.
Antonio.
I will, and no
doubt you may. The owner is a foreigner, from England, as they
say; and though he is very passionate, all the village say he
is very good-natured. [Going, returns.] But shall I find you
here when I come back?
Matilda.
Yes, truly,
you may he pretty sure of that; those that can't see are not
over fond of wandering. But you will not fail to return.
Antonio.
No, that I
won't. [Going, stops.] But, sir, there is something I have
been wanting all day to tell you.
Matilda.
Well, Antonio
— what is it?
Antonio.
Why it is — it
is — oh! I am so sorry --
Matilda.
Speak, child!
tell me, what is it?
Antonio.
Why it is —
and it vexes me sadly, that it will not be in my power to be
your guide tomorrow.
Matilda.
How so, my
httle friend?
Antonio.
I must go to a
wedding, — My grandfather and grandmother keep their
wedding-day to-morrow, and my grandson, who is their brother.
Matilda.
Your grandson
— Have you a grandson, Antonio?
Antonio.
No — their
grandson, who is my brother, that's it — is to be married at
the same time, to a sweet pretty little girl of the village.
Matilda.
But what will
become of me without a guide?
Antonio.
Oh! I'll
engage some one for you, I'll warrant; and you may contrive to
come to the wedding and join in the music, while we dance.
We'll manage, never fear.
Matilda.
You love
dancing, Antonio?
Song,
Antonio.
The merry
dance I dearly love,
For then
Collette thy hand I seize,
And press it
too whene'er I please,
And none can
see, and none reprove;
Then on thy
cheek quick blushes glow,
And then we
whisper soft and low,
Oh! how I
grieve! you ne'er her charms can know.
She's sweet
fifteen, I'm one year more,
Yet still we
are too young, they say,
But we know
better, sure, than they.
Youth should
not listen to threescore;
And I'm
resolv'd I'll tell her so,
When next we
whisper soft and low,
Oh! how I
grieve! you ne'er her charms can know.
[Exit.]
Matilda.
Antonio! — he
is gone — now then I may safely use my sight. [Takes the
bandage from her eyes.] A fortress indeed — there are towers,
and moats, and battlements. They say it is strongly guarded,
and almost inaccessible. Its appearance at least justifies the
report that was made to me; for in this wild, and sequestered
spot, such a pile
could only be
employed to hide some mighty captive. — Oh, Richard! my hero!
my beloved! what hardships may you not be enduring: nor have
you even the sad consolation to know that your faithful
Matilda, exiled for her love to you, has abandoned every hope
and duty, and in this poor and base disguise pursues your
name, and wanders through the world; but here my cares and
search shall end. If my foreboding soul misleads me, and this
spot affords no tidings of its lord, then, if my heart breaks
not, in the near convent's cell I'll hide my woes and shame
forever.
Oh, Richard!
oh, my love!
By the
faithless world forgot;
I alone in
exile rove.
To lament thy
hapless lot.
I alone of all
remain
To unbind thy
cruel chain.
By the
faithless world forgot;
I, whose bosom
sunk in grief,
Least have
strength to yield relief.
Delusive
glory! faithless pow'r!
Thus the
valiant you repay,
In disaster's
heavy hour,
Faithless
friendship's far away.
Yet, royal
youth.
One faithful
heart,
From tenderest
truth,
Though
hopeless, never shall depart.
Oh, Richard!
oh, my love!
By the
faithless world forgot;
I alone in
exile rove,
To lament thy
hapless lot.
But I hear a
noise; I must resume my disguise.
[Enter Sir
Owen and Guillot.]
Sir Owen.
I'll teach you
to bring letters to my daughter.
Guillot.
Sir, 'twas the
Governor sent me.
Sir Owen.
The Governor!
— what's the Governor to me?
Quartetto —
Matilda, Guillot, Sir Owen, and Lauretta.
Sir Owen.
What care I
for the Governor?
Matilda.
Oh! should it
be this Governor? [Aside.]
Guillot.
He sent me, I
knew no better,
— — with the
letter.
Sir Owen.
My daughter
listen to his art!
What, my
Laurette
So far forget
The modest
virgin's duteous part!
----And thou—I
pray, [To Guillot.]
Good knave,
shall I the postage pay?
Guillot.
No, sir,
indeed,
There is no
need,!
I'm gone with
speed.!
[Enter
Lauretta.]
Sir Owen.
Pray tell your
Governor,
His hopes are
vain
Laurette to
gain.
His Lordship
is by far too good.
And I wou'd
thank him if I cou'd.;
Matilda.
If of this
castle he should be
The Governor —
what joy for me.
[Aside.]
Gulllot.
Yet he's my
Lord the Governor.
Sir Owen.
What's he to
me, your Governor?
Begone, I say,
You'd best not
stay;
And you, if
ever I discover —
[To Lauretta,
who comes forward.]
You lend an
ear
To this
designing lover,
Then, then,
you shall have cause to fear.
Matilda.
Ah! should it
be, what joy for me.
[Aside. ]
Come, come, my
friends, no quarrel, pray,
[To them. ]
Your anger
cease,
Keep, keep the
peace.
Lauretta.
What can this
be?
I never see
The Governor.
Matilda.
Ah! should it
be this Governor,
Ah! should it
be, what joy for me.
[Aside.]
Come, come, my
friends, no quarrel, pray
Your anger
cease.
Keep, keep the
peace, etc.
[Exit Guillot.
]
Sir Owen.
Get into the
house — in I say.
[Exit
Lauretta.]
She tells me
she never sees him — that she never speaks to him, and yet he
writes to her. The Governor is a very civil gentleman, only he
wants to run away with my daughter — and she is very obedient
to her father — only she'll do nothing I bid her — I should
like to know what all this is now. [Looking at the letter.]
The Governor
writes a
military hand — his letters edge out a chevaux-de-frise
fashion — all zig-zag — like his own fortification — I can't
make any way through it — I wish I had somebody to decipher
it. — Oh! here's a sort of an outlandish lad — I may trust
him. Youngster, can you read?
Matilda.
Oh! yes, sir.
Sir Oiven.
Well, then,
read me this.
[Offers the
letter.]
Matilda.
Oh, indeed,
sir! I could once, but the cruel Saracens --
Sir Owen.
The Saracens —
what did the Saracens do to you?
Matilda.
The cruel
monsters put out my eyes, having taken me prisoner in a great
battle, where I was page to a Captain in King Richard's army.
But have you not seen a little boy?
Sir Owen,
Yes.
Matilda.
'Tis he who
guides me — He can read, and will do whatever you bid hini.
Sir Owen.
Oh! here he
comes, I beheve.
[Enter
Antonio.]
Matilda.
Antonio, is
that you?
Antonio.
Yes, 'tis I.
Matilda.
Take the
letter which the gentleman here will give you, and read it
aloud to him.
Antonio. [Reading.]
'Beautiful
Lauretta.'
Sir Owen.
Pshaw!
Antonio.
Beautiful
Lauretta, my heart overflows with ecstasy and gratitude, for
the kind assurances you give me of eternal affection.
Sir Owen.
Eternal
affection — and that puts him into an ecstasy — very well.
Antonio.
If my
attendance on the prisoner, whom I must not quit.
Matilda.
The prisoner!
[Aside.]
Antonio.
If my
attendance on the prisoner, whom I must not quit, would suffer
me to go out during the day — I would hasten to throw myself.
--
Sir Owen.
Into the ditch
of your castle, I hope.
Matilda.
Whom I must
not quit. [Aside.] — Read on quickly. [To Antonio.]
Antonio.
I would hasten
to throw myself at your feet. — But if this night' — Here are
some words blotted out.
Matilda.
Well, what
follows?
Antonio.
Contrive some
means to inform me, at what hour I may speak to you. Your
tender, faithful, and eternally constant,
' FLORESTAN.'
Sir Owen.
Here's a d
----d Governor for you — Oh! if I had him in England on the
top of Penmanmawr.
Matilda.
What! Are you
a Briton then?
Sir Owen.
Yes, I am,
sir, and an enemy to slaves of course; in love, or out.
Matilda.
Glorious
nation! But how comes it, sir, that you are settled so far
from your native country?
Sir Owen.
Oh! that's too
long a story to tell you, but it would not have happen'd if I
hadn't gone to the Crusades at Palestine.
Matilda.
What, under
the brave Richard?
Sir Owen.
Brave! aye! I
would follow him to the world's end — my ruin was no fault of
his. Well, you must know, that when I returned from Palestine,
I found my father was dead,
Matilda.
He was very
old perhaps.
Sir Owen.
No; but he was
slain by a neighbour of his in single combat; on my return, I
revenged his death.
Matilda.
Of course —
you fled -----
Sir Owen.
Yes, with my
daughter and wife, who is since dead — my castle and my lands
were forfeited — and after fighting her battles, I was
sentenced by my ungrateful country --
Matilda.
A hard and ill
return, indeed --
Sir Owen.
No such thing,
sir. Twas justice, though severe; a Briton suffers no man to
abuse his country, but himself.
Matilda.
Heaven forbid
I should traduce it. — But, sir, one, request.
Sir Owen.
[Looking out.]
It must be
tliey stay, good youth — I see some friends whom I expect. If
you wish refreshment — the poor and friendless are never
driven from my door.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. A
Gothic Chamher.
[Enter
Lauretta, Matilda, and Antonio, from the House.]
Lauretta.
Pray, good
youth, tell me what my father has been saying to you.
Matilda.
Are you the
pretty Lauretta?
Lauretta.
Yes, sir.
Matilda.
Your father is
very angry — he knows the contents of that letter from the
Chevalier Florestan.
Lauretta.
Yes —
Florestan is his name — and did you read the letter to my
father?
Matilda.
No, not I — I
am blind, alas! — it was my little guide.
Antonio.
Yes, but
didn't you bid me read it?
[Retires.]
Lauretta.
Oh! I wish you
had not done so.
Matilda.
Some other
person would.
Lauretta.
That's true —
and what did the letter say?
Matilda.
It says, that
on account of the prisoner in that castle — and who is that
prisoner?
Lauretta.
Oh! — no one
knows who it is.
Matilda.
The Chevalier
cannot come to throw himself at your feet.
Lauretta.
Poor
Florestan!
Matilda.
But that this
night --
Lauretta. This
night!
Oh! would the
night my blushes hide,
The truth to
thee I would confide.
Yes, yes, I
own 'tis true,
Whene'er his
eyes I meet,
I feel my
heart begins to beat,
It beats, and
trembles too.
But when my
hand he gently presses,
A strugghng
sigh I fear confesses,
Ah! more than
blushes could impart,
And more than
words betrays my heart.
Oh I would the
night my blushes hide,
The truth to
thee I would confide.
Yes, yes, I
own 'tis true,
Whene'er his
eyes I meet,
I feel my
heart begins to beat.
It beats, and
trembles too.
Matilda.
You love him
then, Lauretta?
Lauretta.
Oh most
dearly, that I do, day and
night, truly
and smcerely.
Matilda.
And do you not
fear to own it?
Lauretta.
No, not to
you. You seem kind and tender-hearted, and you speak gently to
me; and then you cannot see me whether I blush or not, and so
I am not afraid.
Matilda.
Pretty
Lauretta!
Lauretta.
But who told
you I was pretty?
Matilda.
Alas, being
blind, I guess only by the voice; the softness and sweetness
of that is beauty to me. But let me counsel you, my innocent.
These knights, these men of high descent, beware of them; when
they seem niost devoted to your beauty, they are least
forgetful of their own rank, and the nobleness of your soul is
overlooked by the pride of their own high birth.
Lauretta.
But my birth
is not inferior to his, though my father is now in banishment.
Matilda.
No! — and does
he know it?
Lauretta.
Yes; and never
talks to me but in words of goodness and honour; and if it
wasn't that my father is so passionate, 1 should have told him
every thing long ago.
Matilda.
And would you,
before you have informed your father, meet this man whom you
love so, and converse with him, and in the night too? Listen
to me.
Air —
Matilda and Lauretta.
Matilda.
The God of
Love a bandeau wears,
Would you know
what it declares.
And why his
eyes are clouded?
'Tis to shew
us that his pow'r
Is ne'er so
fatal, ne'er so sure.
As when in
darkness shrowded.
Lauretta.
Good sir,
repeat that pretty strain,
Pray again,
again.
A lesson kind
it does impart,
To guard
against a lover's art.
Matilda
With all my
heart.
The God of
Love a bandeau wears,
Would you know
what it declares.
And why his
eyes are clouded?
'Tis to shew
you that his pow'r
Is ne'er so
fatal, ne'er so sure,
As when in
darkness shrowded.
Lauretta.
Look, there
are two pilgrims meeting my father see — he embraces one of
them — sure, those cannot be the visitors he expected — I must
go -----
Matilda.
A moment,
Lauretta — I have something to say to you.
Lauretta.
About
Florestan?
Matilda.
No.
Lauretta.
Oh! then I
can't stay.
[Exit into the
house.]
Matilda.
They are
coming this way. I can't retire till my guide comes.
[Enter Sir
Owen, Blondel, and Pilgrims.]
Sir Owen.
My brave
friend, how rejoiced I am to see you — You are well disguised,
indeed; I myself should never have guessed it was Blondel.
Matilda.
Blondel! what
do I hear?
[Aside.]
Blondel.
Caution, my
friend. My search would be fruitless indeed, should I be
discovered. — And see [Pointing to Matilda.]
Sir Owen.
It is a poor
blind youth, a wandering minstrel, who diverts the peasants.
Matilda.
Shall I play,
worthy gentlemen? I have a ditty made by a royal lover, on the
lady whom he loved. [Plays/]
Sir Owen.
Why are you so
much astonished?
Blondel.
That was made
by my gallant master — prithee go on. [She plays again.] Oh!
how it reminds me of happy days! — Tell me, boy, where could
you learn that tune?
Matilda.
I was taught
it by a servant of King Richard's camp, who said he had heard
the King himself sing to it.
Blondel.
Even so!— he
made it for the lovely and unfortunate Matilda; unfortunate
indeed! — for passing through Artois, I learned that she had
left her father's court, and fled almost alone, upon the
rumour that the royal Richard had been treacherously seized,
as he returned from Palestine. — Oh! if her gallant monarch
yet lives, sure heaven will guide some of those who seek him
to the prison that immures him.
Sir Owen.
Perhaps the
fair Matilda alone has had intelligence.
Blondel.
O! no — But
yesterday I passed the Seneschal's, her father's trusty
friend, who with a chosen band of troops was searching to
reclaim her; and he had learned, that, stript of her
companions by perfidy, or death — deprived she had sought the
sadder prison of a monastery.
Matilda.
The Seneschal
so near! [Aside.]
Gracious sir,
if my music has pleased you, will you entreat your kind host
to lodge this night a harmless minstrel, who has lost his
precious sight in Palestine, and I will play all night to
sooth you?
Blondel.
Poor youth! He
will, no doubt.
[Makes signs
to Antonio, who leads Matilda off.]
Sir Owen.
I had refused
him only from the caution I thought due to you. — But come,
you must forget the Pilgrim awhile, we'll in to supper soon;
in the meantime, I'll sing you a song, and these, my rustic
neighbours, shall join the chorus.
[Enter
Peasants. ]
Song — Sir
Owen.
Let the Sultan
Saladin
Play the rake
in Palestine,
While he
claims his subjects' duty,
He's himself a
slave to beauty,
Wearing baser
chains than they.
Well! well!
Every man must
have his way;
But to my poor
way of thinking,
There's no joy
like drinking.
Chorus.
But to my poor
way of thinking,
There's no joy
like drinking.
Coeur de Lion
loves the wars,
Richard's joy
is blows and scars;
Conquer'd
Pagans fly before him.
Christian
warriors all adore him.
Watching,
marching night and day.
Well! well!
Every man must
have his way;
But to my poor
way of thinking.
There's no joy
like drinking.
Chorus.
But to my poor
way of thinking,
There's no joy
like drinking.
You too,
pilgrims, love your trade,
You recruit
the bold crusade,
Making zealots
cross the ocean.
In a fit of
fierce devotion;
Pilgrims love
to fast and pray.
Well! well!
Every man must
have his way;
But to my poor
way of thinking.
There's no joy
like drinking.
Chorus,
But to my poor
way of thinking,
There's no joy
like drinking.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. A
Chamber in the Castle,
[Enter Richard
and Florestan.]
Richard.
Florestan!
Florestan.
Sire!
Richard.
Your fortune
is in your power.
Florestan.
Sire! — my
honour is.
Richard.
Honour! to a
traitor! — a base, perfidious.
Florestan.
Did I believe
him so, I would not serve him; and not believing, I must not
listen where I dare not answer.
Richard.
But Florestan.
[Florestan
bows, and exit.]
Oh God! oh
misery! — Is this to be my lot for ever? — Am I doomed by a
vile traitor's craft to wear my life away in ignominious
bondage? But Richard is forgot — deserted by his people — by
the world! — [He looks on a picture.] Image of her I love! —
come — Oh! calm, console my heart — no— thou dost redouble all
my griefs — thou art my despair — Oh death! I call on thee —
thy dart alone can break my chains — my freedom is my grave!
Lost to the
world, forgot, forlorn,
In vain to me
returns the morn
That brings no
more my glorious toils,
Yet bless the
beams that give to sight
This image of
my soul's delight,
This heaven of
soothing smiles.
Vain is the
thought of former power
To sooth the
present mournful hour:
O Death! be
thou my friend;
Hopeless I
live, my sorrows end. [Exit.]
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Represents the
inner Works of an old Fortification, Towards the Front is a
Terrace inclosed hy Rails and a Fosse; and so situated that
when Richard appears upon it, he cannot see Matilda, who is
upon the outer Parapet. Soldiers lower a Drawbridge, and leave
a Centinel on each side.
[Enter Richard
and Florestan.]
Florestan.
The morning
breaks the fresh air is h'ghtened by the dawn — profit of it,
sir, for your health's sake. Within an hour your guards must
do their duty, and you will be again secluded from the day.
[Exit. —
Richard walks to the farther end of the terrace, and remains
in a posture of deep despair.]
[Enter Matilda
and Antonio on the otherside of the Fosse and Parapet.]
Matilda.
Antonio, stay
awhile; here on this rising ground we'll rest — I love to feel
the pure fresh air — it is the balmy breath of morn,
whispering the sun's approach. Where are we now?
Antonio.
Close to the
parapet of the castle which you bid me bring you to. [Matilda
offering to get upon the parapet.] Ah! don't attempt to get
upon it you'll fall.
Matilda.
Indeed! Well,
here, kind boy — take this money, and go buy something for us
that we may breakfast.
Antonio.
You have given
me a great deal
Matilda.
Keep for
yourself what is too much.
Antonio.
Oh, thank you!
And pray take care not to go too near the moat.
[Exit.]
Matilda.
When you
return we will walk to some shade — shall we? — You don't
answer me — he is gone — Now then. [Lifts up the bandeau, and
raises herself on the parapet.] Ah! no one to be seen!
Richard.
A year — a
year is passed! hope is exhausted!
Matilda.
How still! how
silent! — Sure if these walls enclose him, my voice may reach
their deepest recesses. O! if he is here, he will remember the
strain — 'twas the offering of his earliest love in happy days
— of love for her, who now, uncertain of his fate, yet shares
his misery.
Richard.
No cheering
thought! no glimmering ray of consolation. — O memory! O
Matilda! [Matilda plays.] What sounds! — heavens! — the very
strain I once — O let me hear
Matilda
sings.
One night in
sickness lying,
A prey to
grief and pain -----
Richard.
Heavens, that
voice!
Matilda
sings.
When aid of
man was vain,
And hope and
life were flying,
Then came my
mistress to my bed,
And death and
pain and sorrow fled.
[She stops and
raises herself to listen.-— Richard, while she sings, having
expressed the extremes of surprise, hope, and joy, seems to
endeavour to recall
to his memory
the rest of the ditty, and recollecting it, answers.]
Richard
sings.
The gentle
tears soft falling
Of her whom I
adore,
My tender
hopes recalling,
Did life and
love restore.
Could I but
view Matilda's eyes.
Fortune, thy
frowns I should despise.
Together.
Richard.
The gentle
tears soft falling
Of her so long
ador'd,
My tender
hopes recalling,
Have love and
life restor'd.
Matilda.
My gentle
tears fast falling
For him so
long ador'd.
His tender
hopes recallmg.
Have love and
life restor'd.
[After Matilda
has repeated the strain, shewing great joy, Florestan and
Soldiers appear. — Florestan requests the King to retire into
the castle — he does
so; while
another party seize Matilda, and passing a drawbridge, bring
her into the front of the works.]
Duo and
Chorus — Matilda, Guards, etc.
Chorus,
Soldiers.
Speak quickly,
quickly, who art thou?
Who sent thee
here? whence come, and how?
Matilda.
Are you
strangers passing near,
Pleas'd
perhaps my song to hear?
Chorus of
Soldiers,
To prison
straight, to prison straight.
There he may
sing early and late.
Matilda.
Ah, good sir,
no anger, pray,
With pity hear
what I've to say —
The Saracens,
so fierce in fight.
Have deprived
me of my sight.
Chorus of
Soldiers,
'Tis well for
thee.
For could'st
thou see,
Thou should'st
die by our decree.
Matilda.
I know not
what this anger's for,
I've business
with the Governor;
Tis of moment
you will see,
And he should
know it instantly.
Chorus of
Soldiers.
You know not
what our anger's for.
And would
speak with the Governor?
Matilda.
Tis of moment,
you will see,
And he should
know it instantly.
Chorus of
Soldiers.
Well, you
shall see the Governor,
He'll tell you
what our anger's fort
But since your
business is of weight.
We'll suspend
awhile your fate.
Hark! he
comes, the Governor;
And now take
heed, take heed, pert youth,
To tell the
truth;
For if you
lie,
If you lie to
the Governor,
Your fate is
fixed, you surely die.
[Enter
Florestan.]
Matilda.
Where is the
Governor?
Florestan.
Here!
Matilda.
On which side?
Florestan.
Here!
Matilda.
I have
something of importance to communicate to him.
Florestan.
Attempt no
trifling, or you perish that instant.
Matilda.
Ah, sir! those
who have lost their sight, are half deprived of life already!
— Is it for a poor blind minstrel like me to attempt to
deceive you?
Florestan.
Speak then.
Matilda.
Are we alone?
— Now I think my device can't fail.
[Aside.]
Florestan.
[Signs to the
Soldiers who retire.}
We are alone.
Matilda.
Then, sir, the
lovely Lauretta.
Florestan.
Speak lower.
Matilda.
The beauteous
Lauretta, sir, has read to me the letter you sent her
yesterday; in which you express your joy at her confessing her
love for you, and press so much for an opportunity to speak
with her.
Florestan.
Well, my good
friend, and what says she?
Matilda.
She says you
may safely call at her father's house this evening, at any
hour you please.
Florestan.
At her
father's house!
Matilda.
Yes; she says
her father has some friends with him, to whom he means to give
a fete, and takes the opportunity of a wedding in the
neighbourhood to invite all the village to his house, where
there will be nothing but feasting, dancing, and merriment;
during which, Lauretta says, she will find means to speak with
you; and you may
easily make a
pretence for the visit.
Florestan.
Tell her I
will not fail — but how came she to employ you in this
business? you are bhnd.
Matilda.
The less
likely to be suspected — she loves to hear me play and sing —
and she has been so generous to me, I would risk anything to
serve her — besides, 1 brought a little guide with me.
Florestan.
You have
managed extremely well — and the noise you made, I suppose,
was on purpose to be brought before me.
Matilda.
For what could
it be else? — But with your guards, forsooth, I was a spy, a
lurking emissary, trying to discover who was imprisoned here
~ha! ha!
Florestan.
Ha! ha! ha!
ridiculous enough! — But you have really done it very well —
Here is a purse for --
[Offers
money.]
Matiida.
Pardon, good
Governor — should any one be near, and observe that you reward
me, they will suspect something.
Florestan.
Tis very true.
[He crosses hy
her.]
Matilda.
But, Mr.
Governor, lest they should —
Florestan.
Well!
Matilda.
O, you are on
that side — I say, lest they should guess at my errand, hadn't
you better seem angry, and so reprimand me, and send me back?
Florestan. [Signs to the Soldiers to come
down.]
You are right
— upon my life this is a very clever lad, though he is blind.
Dialogue
and Chorus.
Matilda.
Sir, to blame
me is most hard;
For the noise,
pray blame the guard.
Florestan.
They should
not send such foolish boys.
For such a
message — such a noise.
Chorus of
Soldiers,
Silence,
fellow, and begone,
'Twas you
alarm'd the garrison.
[Enter
ANTONIO, frightened and crying.]
Antonio.
Ah! good sir,
forgive him, pray,
Ah! hear with
pity what I say;
The Saracens,
so fierce in fight,
Have deprived
him of his sight,
And shut him
from the blessed light.
Chorus of
Soldiers. [To Matilda.]
Tis well for
thee,
For could'st
thou see,
Thou badst
died by our decree.
So haste away,
Begone! I say.
And if again
we catch you here^
Be assured
'twill cost you dear.
Matilda.
Sirs, I
believe ye.
Nor will
deceive ye,
Never more
will I appear,
Never more
offend you here.
Antonio.
In truth, if
here
He does
appear.
It shall be
Without me.
[Exeunt.]
ACT III.
SCENE I.
A great Hall
in Sir Owen's House.
[Blondel and
Friend with Sir Owen.]
Blondel.
My friend, I
would without profession trespass on your hospitality, but, in
truth, we must away —our search I do perceive is fruitless
here — and till I learn some tidings of my royal master's
state, I cannot tarry for mirth's sake — therefore we leave
you to your rural guests, and may gay content be with you.
Sir Owen.
I cannot blame
your haste, though I lament it — yet one night methinks — you
will see gay pastimes, and simple jollity, but such as will
divert you, believe me; and see, here is my little prattler
Julie will join in my request.
[Enter Julie]
[She is going
to speak, but seeing the Strangers, she runs to Sir Owen, and
whispers him.]
Sir Owen.
Surely, my
child — She tells me she is to dance to-night, if I approve
it.
Julie.
Oh, sir — but
it was to be a secret — you
were not to
have said a word about it yet.
Sir Owen.
No! — well,
they will not betray you
—they are
going to leave us, Juhe— can't you
persuade them
to stay?
Julie.
They look so
grave, I am afraid of them.
Sir Owen.
Oh! go, try.
Julie. [Goes to Blondel, and takes his
hand.]
Pray, sir,
don't leave us; how can you think of going away when we are
all going to be so merry?
Blondel.
We are very
sorry, my pretty hostess, that it must be so.
Julie.
But iudeed you
shall not go — for if you go away, my father will have no one
to talk to while we are all dancing and running about.
Sir Owen.
You little
rogue, how do you know but I intend to dance myself?
Julie.
Lord, sir,
that would be pleasant — ha! ha! I should like to see you
dance!
Sir Owen.
Well, you are
very good however, Julie, to wish me to be someway amused — it
is very considerate in you.
Julie.
Yes, sir,
because then you would have something else to do than to mind
us
Sir Owen.
So! — very
well, innocent!
Julie.
Then pray,
gentlemen, don't go — let me intreat you to stay for our
festival.
[Enter
Servant.]
Servant.
Sir, the
Seneschal is come, leaving his troops above the wood; v/ith a
few followers, he waits impatiently to speak to you
Sir Owen.
I come. [Exit
Servant.] My friends, it shall not be farewell yet; I will
return.
[Exit, leaving
Julie, who looks back, and makes signs to Blondel not to leave
them.]
Friend.
You still
avoid being known to the Seneschal.
Blondel.
Perhaps I may
safely disclose myself; but wherefore, if Richard --
[Enter
Servant.]
Servant.
There is a
youth without, who says he must be admitted to you.
Blondel.
To me!
Servant.
He that you
heard play and sing yesterday.
Blondel.
Pray let him
come — [Exit Servant.] And after we will pursue our journey.
[Enter
Matilda.]
Matilda.
How, sir! Did
you doubt to see me? —I have spent the day requesting it. You
should not have paused upon it, but hear me, and alone.
[Exit
Pilgrim.]
Blondel.
I knew not
your desire sooner — but how is this, good youth — you were
blind yesterday?
Matilda.
True; and
ought I not to bless heaven, that the first object which
presents itself to my restored sight is — Blondel!
Blondel.
Ha! — you know
me then?
Matilda.
Yes; — and can
it be that you prepare to fly from hence? O! has no powerful
impulse worked upon your heart? has no instinctive warning
checked the ill-guided purpose, stirred in your alarmed bosom,
and chid the rash desertion of your valour's duty? Then
perish, royal Richard! waste on, proud soul, in base captivity
— thy careless friends pass by thy prison gates, and man and
heaven desert thee!
Blondel.
What can this
mean? — my royal master.
Matilda.
Blondel — your
king — your leader — your friend — pass but these gates, and
you behold his prison — but hold.
[Enter Sir
Owen, speaking to the Seneschal and two Knights.]
Sir Owen.
Nay, but the
youth you speak of is -----
Seneschal.
Matilda, my
uoble mistress! [Kneels.] thus let me excuse the abrupt
intrusion of my duty.
Blondel.
Matilda!
Matilda.
Rise,
Seneschal! — Yes, Matilda — a fugitive from all she owed, her
station and a father's love— but tell them peerless Richard
was the cause — and tell them too, that heaven at length has
sanctioned what resistless love resolved. — Seneschal, I know
your zeal, and firm attachment to your master's friend — Sir
Owen, your monarch is
in chains —
and you are a Briton -----
Sir Owen.
We will
deliver him, or die!
[While the
symphony plays, some of the Seneschal's party go out and
return with more of their friends, to whom they seem to relate
what has passed, as they range themselves behind Matilda.]
Dialogue
and Chorus.
Matilda.
Ye Cavaliers,
yon castle drear,
Great Richard
is a pris'ner there.
Cavaliers.
Strange the
tidings that you bring,
Great Richard
— England's mighty King!
Matilda.
Ye Cavaliers,
yon castle drear,
Great Richard
is a pris'ner there.
Cavaliers.
Can it be what
you relate?
Who explored
the monarch's fate?
Matilda.
'Twas I, with
song and veiled eyes,
Approach'd the
walls in safe disguise.
His voice I
heard — Ah! doubt ye yet?
And could my
heart that voice forget?
No, Cavaliers,
yon castle drear.
King Richard
is a pris'ner there.
But long a
pris'ner shall he be,
Whom love and
valour join to free?
Cavaliers.
Not long a
pris'ner shall he be.
Let us arm!
Here we swear
to set him free.
Give th'
alarm!
Blondel.
Haste is vain,
'Tis prudence
must his freedom gain;
Prudence must
your rage restrain.
Cavaliers.
Let us arm!
Matilda.
Blondel, check
the rash alarm.
What should be
done, oh, quickly tell;
Cavaliers, oh
listen to Blondel.
Cavaliers.
Blondel!
Blondel! is it Blondel?
Matilda.
Yes,
Cavaliers, it is Blondel,
The friend of
Richard — mark him well.
Blondel.
Let our deeds
our friendship tell
In the battle
— mark Blondel.
Cavaliers.
Let us arm,
etc., etc.
Matilda.
And you, my
gallant friends — But thanks would wrong you — the cause is
your's. You, Sir
Owen, know this Governor. Is he a man whom gold
Sir Owen.
I must be
just. He's one whom neither fear nor interest will sway.
Blondel.
Then force
alone's our hope.
Matilda.
Attend a
moment -- Sir Owen, Florestan is apprized, that you intend
this night a rural feast; he means to be partaker of your
mirth, in hopes of speaking with Lauretta.
Sir Owen.
How!
Matilda.
I cannot now
explain this; but be assured he will be here. Some chosen
guards may then surround him, and demand the king's
deliverance. If he refuses --
Blondel.
Then to arms!
— Here indeed is hope. Seneschal direct your men to pass the
wood, and near the morass attend our signal. Let us prepare
and arm.
[Exeunt
Blondel, Seneschal, and Cavaliers. ]
[Enter
Lauretta and Servants.]
Lauretta.
My father,
your village friends will be here straight, and the music is
not yet come — then how shall we dance?
Sir Owen.
They will be
here, my child — fear not, my dear Lauretta.
[Sir Owen
seems to give directions to the servants.]
Lauretta.
My dear
Lauretta, so! — he's not angry with me now — my dear father
[to Sir Owen] now I am happy! only I wish Florestan could be
here to-night.
Matilda. [Aside.]
Charming
Lauretta! but I dare not trust her yet — 'tis happy, however,
that the course we have determined on is free from any peril
to Florestan — in the midst of my own anxieties I am
interested for lier happiness.
[Matilda goes
to Lauretta and talks to her. Lauretta expresses surprise at
seeing her no longer blind.]
Sir Owen.
And mark me,
you William, set my old buckler and great sword in my closet.
William.
Sir, they'll
be cumbersome to dance in.
Sir Owen.
Fellow, do as
I bid you. [Pushes him out.] Oh, more lights here in the hall
— and, d'ye hear — be ready to welcome all comers — so —
[Exit
Servants.] I must not, however, appear in their secrets yet.
[Observing
Lauretta and Matilda.]
Trio. —
Matilda, Lauretta, and Sir Owen.
Matilda. — [Aside to Lauretta.]
Yes, yes,
Florestau will be here,
After the
dance he will appear.
Lauretta.
Oh! what
delight, what joy 'twill be!
Sure he'll
find means to speak to me.
Matilda. [To Sir Owen, seeing him approach.
We no secrets
have, good Knight,
I am saying
that my sight
Is again
restor'd to light.
Lauretta.
[Very demurely.]
Yes, my
father, very true.
We no secrets
have from you,
The youth's
well bred and honest too.
Sir Owen.
I'm sure you
have no mystery,
Pray talk on,
and don't mind me.
Lauretta. [To Matilda, aside.]
But does he
know how well I love,
And does he
swear he'll constant prove?
Matilda.
Had you but
seen the gen'rous youth,
He knelt and
vow'd eternal truth.
Lauretta.
Kneel and vow,
Ah! he'll be
true, I'm happy now!
Sir Owen.
What, he tells
thee that his sight
Is again
restor'd to light?
Lauretta.
Yes, my
father, very true,
We no secrets
have from you;
He is saying
that his sight
Is again
restor'd to light.
Matilda.
We no secrets
have, good Knight,
I am saying
that my sight
Is again
restor'd to light.
Sir Owen.
What he tells
thee, etc., etc., etc.
Lauretta.
Yes, my
father, etc., etc.
[Tabors and
pipes heard behind the scenes.]
Sir Owen.
So, our guests
are at hand. My Lauretta, give them welcome.
[Enter Julie,
running.]
Julie.
They are all
coming, and all so gay, and so neatly dressed — indeed, sir,
they are — and I saw the little bride myself, blushing and
looking so pretty. — Dear, it must be a charming thing to be
married!
Lauretta.
Yes, they are
coming indeed, sir.
Sir Given.
And are you
ready, my little Julie, with the dance you.
Julie.
Yes, that I
am. But pray what are all those fine knights gathering about
the house for? They don't look as if they came to be merry.
Indeed, sister, they look so fierce, you'd be frightened.
Sir Owen.
Oh no, my
child, they will not hurt us.
Julie.
No! — then I
vow they shall dance, swords, and helmets and all.
[She runs to
meet the Peasants, who appear.]
Chorus of
Peasants.
Join hearts —
join hands.
In loving
bands,
None are happy
till they're pair'd,
Nothing's joy
that is not shar'd.
Peasant.
When alone the
maid sits pining,
Nature's
beauties seem dechning,
Nothing can
afford delight;
But the
favour'd youth appearing,
With his
presence all things cheering.
Flowers how
sweet — the sun how bright.
Chorus.
Join hearts —
join hands.
In loving
bands,
None are happy
till they're pair'd,
Nothing's joy
that is not shar'.
Antonio.
O'er the
sultry mountain ranging,
Shade and
pasture ever changing,
Soon I tire my
flock to tend;
But if chance
Collette address me.
Toil and heat
no more oppress me,
Soon, too soon
my labours end.
Chorus.
Join hearts —
join hands,
In loving
bands,
None are
happy, etc., etc.
[Dance of
Peasants.]
[Florestan
having entered, and requested Lauretta to he his partner, is
preparing to dance. — Drums heat to arms.]
Florestan.
Ha! what do I
hear?
[Sir Owen and
Matilda's Knights approach him.]
Sir Owen.
Sir — you are
my prisoner.
Florestan.
Sir!
Sir Owen.
You.
Florestan.
What treason
is this?
Chorus of
Cavaliers.
Vain defiance,
strive no more,
Yield our King
— our chief restore;
Vain
resistance — fate's decree
Sets
imprison'd Richard free.
Florestan.
Threats he
fears not, who is just
To his honour,
to his trust.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II.
[The Castle,
assaulted by Matilda's troops — Blondel puts himself at the
head of the Pioneers, and the assault continues — Richard
appears on the fortress uithout
arms,
endeavouring to free himself from three armed Soldiers
-BLONDEL mounts the breach — runs to the King, wounds one of
the Guards, and snatches his sword — the King seizes it — they
put the rest of the Soldiers to flight -Blondel then throws
himself at Richard's feet, who embraces him — at this moment
is heard the grand Chorus of "Long hve the King! — The
besiegers then display the colours of Matilda, who appears —
She sees Richard at liberty—flies towards him, and sinks in
his arms — Florestan is then conducted to the King by the
Seneschal and Sir Owen — Richard returns him his sword. ]
Richard.
Oh love! oh
gratitude! oh Matilda! — what can I say to thee, my soul's
beloved! my deliverance! ray reward! [Embraces her. — To Sir
Owen, etc.] I have more thanks to pay. — My heart feels all it
owes; and when to my native England I return, so may
Iprosjierin my subjects' love, as I cherish in the memory of
my sufferings
here — a
lesson to improve my reign. Compassion should be a monarch's
nature; I have learned what 'tis to need it; the poorest
peasant in my land, when misery presses, in his King shall
find a friend.
FINALE.
Oh! blest
event!— oh I glorious hour!
Liberty and
love we sing;
Oh! may they
with resistless power,
Protect the
blessings which they bring.
Chorus.
Faithful
lovers, banish fear,
Our delight,
our triumph share.
Trio —
Matilda, Lauretta, and Blondel.
No more shall
doubt or sorrow
Disturb my
anxious breast.
The sun that
gilds to-morrow,
. At length
beholds me blest.
Chorus.
Oh! blest
event — oh! glorious hour!
Liberty and
love we sing;
Oh! may they
with resistless power,
Protect the
blessings which they bring!
[Exeunt
omnes.]