Henry paused between the First and Second Acts; reflecting, not on themerits of the play, but on the strange resemblance which the incidentsso far presented to the incidents that had attended the disastrousmarriage of the first Lord Montbarry.
Was it possible that the Countess, in the present condition of hermind, supposed herself to be exercising her invention when she was onlyexercising her memory?
The question involved considerations too serious to be made the subjectof a hasty decision. Reserving his opinion, Henry turned the page, anddevoted himself to the reading of the next act. The manuscriptproceeded as follows:--
'The Second Act opens at Venice. An interval of four months haselapsed since the date of the scene at the gambling table. The actionnow takes place in the reception-room of one of the Venetian palaces.
'The Baron is discovered, alone, on the stage. He reverts to theevents which have happened since the close of the First Act. TheCountess has sacrificed herself; the mercenary marriage has takenplace--but not without obstacles, caused by difference of opinion onthe question of marriage settlements.
'Private inquiries, instituted in England, have informed the Baron thatmy Lord's income is derived chiefly from what is called entailedproperty. In case of accidents, he is surely bound to do something forhis bride? Let him, for example, insure his life, for a sum proposedby the Baron, and let him so settle the money that his widow shall haveit, if he dies first.
'My Lord hesitates. The Baron wastes no time in useless discussion."Let us by all means" (he says) "consider the marriage as broken off."My Lord shifts his ground, and pleads for a smaller sum than the sumproposed. The Baron briefly replies, "I never bargain." My lord is inlove; the natural result follows--he gives way.
'So far, the Baron has no cause to complain. But my Lord's turn comes,when the marriage has been celebrated, and when the honeymoon is over.The Baron has joined the married pair at a palace which they have hiredin Venice. He is still bent on solving the problem of the"Philosopher's Stone." His laboratory is set up in the vaults beneaththe palace--so that smells from chemical experiments may not incommodethe Countess, in the higher regions of the house. The one obstacle inthe way of his grand discovery is, as usual, the want of money. Hisposition at the present time has become truly critical. He owes debtsof honour to gentlemen in his own rank of life, which must positivelybe paid; and he proposes, in his own friendly manner, to borrow themoney of my Lord. My Lord positively refuses, in the rudest terms.The Baron applies to his sister to exercise her conjugal influence.She can only answer that her noble husband (being no longerdistractedly in love with her) now appears in his true character, asone of the meanest men living. The sacrifice of the marriage has beenmade, and has already proved useless.
'Such is the state of affairs at the opening of the Second Act.
'The entrance of the Countess suddenly disturbs the Baron'sreflections. She is in a state bordering on frenzy. Incoherentexpressions of rage burst from her lips: it is some time before shecan sufficiently control herself to speak plainly. She has been doublyinsulted--first, by a menial person in her employment; secondly, by herhusband. Her maid, an Englishwoman, has declared that she will servethe Countess no longer. She will give up her wages, and return at onceto England. Being asked her reason for this strange proceeding, sheinsolently hints that the Countess's service is no service for anhonest woman, since the Baron has entered the house. The Countessdoes, what any lady in her position would do; she indignantly dismissesthe wretch on the spot.
'My Lord, hearing his wife's voice raised in anger, leaves the study inwhich he is accustomed to shut himself up over his books, and asks whatthis disturbance means. The Countess informs him of the outrageouslanguage and conduct of her maid. My Lord not only declares his entireapproval of the woman's conduct, but expresses his own abominabledoubts of his wife's fidelity in language of such horrible brutalitythat no lady could pollute her lips by repeating it. "If I had been aman," the Countess says, "and if I had had a weapon in my hand, I wouldhave struck him dead at my feet!"
'The Baron, listening silently so far, now speaks. "Permit me tofinish the sentence for you," he says. "You would have struck yourhusband dead at your feet; and by that rash act, you would havedeprived yourself of the insurance money settled on the widow--the verymoney which is wanted to relieve your brother from the unendurablepecuniary position which he now occupies!"
'The Countess gravely reminds the Baron that this is no joking matter.After what my Lord has said to her, she has little doubt that he willcommunicate his infamous suspicions to his lawyers in England. Ifnothing is done to prevent it, she may be divorced and disgraced, andthrown on the world, with no resource but the sale of her jewels tokeep her from starving.
'At this moment, the Courier who has been engaged to travel with myLord from England crosses the stage with a letter to take to the post.The Countess stops him, and asks to look at the address on the letter.She takes it from him for a moment, and shows it to her brother. Thehandwriting is my Lord's; and the letter is directed to his lawyers inLondon.
'The Courier proceeds to the post-office. The Baron and the Countesslook at each other in silence. No words are needed. They thoroughlyunderstand the position in which they are placed; they clearly see theterrible remedy for it. What is the plain alternative before them?Disgrace and ruin--or, my Lord's death and the insurance money!
'The Baron walks backwards and forwards in great agitation, talking tohimself. The Countess hears fragments of what he is saying. He speaksof my Lord's constitution, probably weakened in India--of a cold whichmy Lord has caught two or three days since--of the remarkable manner inwhich such slight things as colds sometimes end in serious illness anddeath.
'He observes that the Countess is listening to him, and asks if she hasanything to propose. She is a woman who, with many defects, has thegreat merit of speaking out. "Is there no such thing as a seriousillness," she asks, "corked up in one of those bottles of yours in thevaults downstairs?"
'The Baron answers by gravely shaking his head. What is he afraidof?--a possible examination of the body after death? No: he can setany post-mortem examination at defiance. It is the process ofadministering the poison that he dreads. A man so distinguished as myLord cannot be taken seriously ill without medical attendance. Wherethere is a Doctor, there is always danger of discovery. Then, again,there is the Courier, faithful to my Lord as long as my Lord pays him.Even if the Doctor sees nothing suspicious, the Courier may discoversomething. The poison, to do its work with the necessary secrecy, mustbe repeatedly administered in graduated doses. One triflingmiscalculation or mistake may rouse suspicion. The insurance officesmay hear of it, and may refuse to pay the money. As things are, theBaron will not risk it, and will not allow his sister to risk it in hisplace.
'My Lord himself is the next character who appears. He has repeatedlyrung for the Courier, and the bell has not been answered. "What doesthis insolence mean?"
'The Countess (speaking with quiet dignity--for why should her infamoushusband have the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he has woundedher?) reminds my Lord that the Courier has gone to the post. My Lordasks suspiciously if she has looked at the letter. The Countessinforms him coldly that she has no curiosity about his letters.Referring to the cold from which he is suffering, she inquires if hethinks of consulting a medical man. My Lord answers roughly that he isquite old enough to be capable of doctoring himself.
'As he makes this reply, the Courier appears, returning from the post.My Lord gives him orders to go out again and buy some lemons. Heproposes to try hot lemonade as a means of inducing perspiration inbed. In that way he has formerly cured colds, and in that way he willcure the cold from which he is suffering now.
'The Courier obeys in silence. Judging by appearances, he goes veryreluctantly on this second errand.
'My Lord turns to the Baron (who has thus far taken no part in theconversation) and asks him, in a sneering tone, how much longer heproposes to prolong his stay in Ven
ice. The Baron answers quietly,"Let us speak plainly to one another, my Lord. If you wish me to leaveyour house, you have only to say the word, and I go." My Lord turns tohis wife, and asks if she can support the calamity of her brother'sabsence--laying a grossly insulting emphasis on the word "brother."The Countess preserves her impenetrable composure; nothing in herbetrays the deadly hatred with which she regards the titled ruffian whohas insulted her. "You are master in this house, my Lord," is all shesays. "Do as you please."
'My Lord looks at his wife; looks at the Baron--and suddenly alters histone. Does he perceive in the composure of the Countess and herbrother something lurking under the surface that threatens him? Thisis at least certain, he makes a clumsy apology for the language that hehas used. (Abject wretch!)
'My Lord's excuses are interrupted by the return of the Courier withthe lemons and hot water.
'The Countess observes for the first time that the man looks ill. Hishands tremble as he places the tray on the table. My Lord orders hisCourier to follow him, and make the lemonade in the bedroom. TheCountess remarks that the Courier seems hardly capable of obeying hisorders. Hearing this, the man admits that he is ill. He, too, issuffering from a cold; he has been kept waiting in a draught at theshop where he bought the lemons; he feels alternately hot and cold, andhe begs permission to lie down for a little while on his bed.
'Feeling her humanity appealed to, the Countess volunteers to make thelemonade herself. My Lord takes the Courier by the arm, leads himaside, and whispers these words to him: "Watch her, and see that sheputs nothing into the lemonade; then bring it to me with your ownhands; and, then, go to bed, if you like."
'Without a word more to his wife, or to the Baron, my Lord leaves theroom.
'The Countess makes the lemonade, and the Courier takes it to hismaster.
'Returning, on the way to his own room, he is so weak, and feels, hesays, so giddy, that he is obliged to support himself by the backs ofthe chairs as he passes them. The Baron, always considerate to personsof low degree, offers his arm. "I am afraid, my poor fellow," he says,"that you are really ill." The Courier makes this extraordinary answer:"It's all over with me, Sir: I have caught my death."
'The Countess is naturally startled. "You are not an old man," shesays, trying to rouse the Courier's spirits. "At your age, catchingcold doesn't surely mean catching your death?" The Courier fixes hiseyes despairingly on the Countess.
"My lungs are weak, my Lady," he says; "I have already had two attacksof bronchitis. The second time, a great physician joined my own doctorin attendance on me. He considered my recovery almost in the light ofa miracle. Take care of yourself," he said. "If you have a thirdattack of bronchitis, as certainly as two and two make four, you willbe a dead man. I feel the same inward shivering, my Lady, that I felton those two former occasions--and I tell you again, I have caught mydeath in Venice."
'Speaking some comforting words, the Baron leads him to his room. TheCountess is left alone on the stage.
'She seats herself, and looks towards the door by which the Courier hasbeen led out. "Ah! my poor fellow," she says, "if you could onlychange constitutions with my Lord, what a happy result would follow forthe Baron and for me! If you could only get cured of a trumpery coldwith a little hot lemonade, and if he could only catch his death inyour place--!"
'She suddenly pauses--considers for a while--and springs to her feet,with a cry of triumphant surprise: the wonderful, the unparalleledidea has crossed her mind like a flash of lightning. Make the two menchange names and places--and the deed is done! Where are theobstacles? Remove my Lord (by fair means or foul) from his room; andkeep him secretly prisoner in the palace, to live or die as futurenecessity may determine. Place the Courier in the vacant bed, and callin the doctor to see him--ill, in my Lord's character, and (if he dies)dying under my Lord's name!'