SCENE I.

THE fog clears away — still combating with the sun — still darkening the surface of the sea — thus calumny covers virtue, creates romantic appearances, and is finally swallowed up by the force of truth. — Ah! what a spectacle! already the peak of a mountain on the nearest island raises itself out of the vapours — thin clouds only are seen to hover yet around it. — Now the fog forms itself into balls on the deep, the beautiful surface of the sea becomes visible — the circle expands every moment — my breast becomes fuller — the view brighter — and the Creator forces from me a tear of high affliction as my morning pray­ers! — Do I not see at a distance some white point? — A small cloud — no — a sea bird — a swan — no — God! — What deception! — A sail! — A ship! — Poor forsaken! do not rejoice too soon! — An image of your dream juggles hope before your eyes. — And yet — it moves — it proceeds — not so the course of clouds — the flight of birds — away from my eyes you clouds of fog! [Page 6] down to the sea shore! — Here I stand strengthless — can tremble only — and wish every vital in my eyes — yes! yes! — the mast becomes unveiled — (with the strong­est emotions of joy) it is a ship! — (he kneels down and folds his hands) After eight years the first time! God! you send me a vessel! — (rises hastily, takes a white handkerchief from his pocket, and swings it in the air) Ah! they do not perceive me! — they will pass by — not hear my anxious cries — Oh! now my fate perhaps depends on the eye of a single man — God! throw but one glance this way! May but one glance of the sailor on the top be fastened to this rock, that he may call to the helmsman: halt! there lives an unfortunate man! — In vain! — I will light a fire — a thick smoke shall rise to the clouds — (a cannon shot is heard far in the sea) Ah! What can that mean? Was it an answer to my signal? Was it a promise to save me? — Yes! yes! triumph! the ship alters its course — it steers towards me! — Away! away! down to the bay! (With joyful emotion, he leaps down the rock and will run off.)

SCENE II.

whither, dear friend?

A ship! A ship!

Where?

There! There! (he hastens away)

(alone) A ship? What have I to care for that? What can a ship bring to me? I have every thing, and I love my friend — Where is my boy? my lively Charles, as his father calls him. I would rather call him Tomai, for that's his grandfather's name. Oh! if the old man would but come from his island! if he could but see this boy, how [Page 7] he climbs up the highest trees, and lets the dart fly from his little bow; I am sure he would not be angry any more. If he could hear how much I have learned of my friend, if he could know the goodness of the God he has given me; if he could see how we love each other, how we continue in love, and always are contented in storm and sun shine — I don't know what this ship can have to do here? we don't want it. — But my friend seemed to rejoice so much, then I must rejoice too; neither of us has ever rejoiced alone.

SCENE III.

Mother, I have seen something!

Where have you been?

At the sea shore, I looked for shells.

Well, and what have you seen then?

A great mountain in the sea, but far, far off, but it comes nearer and nearer; but it can't be a mountain.

I know it already, it is a ship.

No, it an't a ship either, but a ship has entered the bay, just like our ships, only much larger.

That is called a boat — have people been in it?

Yes, many people, such as my father; they came on shore and called out, then I ran off. There was a wo­man among them, who wanted to catch me, but I ran faster than she. It was not a woman like you, mother, it was a woman like my father.

Have you then not met your father?

No, I crept into the thicket, and the strange wo­man always after me. Sometimes I turned; and then she winked, and showed me pretty things, but I laughed and ran away.

Where did the strange woman remain?

I don't know, she certainly became tired — little Charles is too quick for her. Now I'll creep through the bush; there I can see all; but be not afraid, they sha'nt catch me. (runs off.)

What should I be afraid of? If they are men like my friend, they are good men.

SCENE IV.

Ah! a savage girl! Oh! could we but understand each other!

Be welcome dear woman.

How my child? You speak my language?

I have a friend, who taught me your language.

An European? A Frenchman?

I know your God also.

Oh! I conjure you by this God of Love! tell me: Who is your friend? how came he here?

Do you see that rock? Many years ago there a ship went to pieces, and no one was saved but my friend.

His name?

Alexis.

God! His sir-name?

What is that a sir-name? Alexis, my good friend, I don't know any other.

How does he look?

The finest man in the world.

The colour of his eyes —

Black and brilliant, like the eyes of the sea lion, but friendly and good.

Is he tall?

When he takes me in his arms, without stooping, I kiss his breast.

(terrified) He takes you in his arms?

Indeed, he is my friend, and I love him. Do you know the man, as you are so inquisitive?

Whether I know him? — perhaps — I don't know — I seek a man, such as you describe.

You will not find such another.

Shall I wish or fear to have found him?

Are you afraid of the man, then don't seek him.

Ah my good child! I had a lover, a husband, thirst for glory tore him from my arms! he was my all! my world, but he went in search of a new world; he placed the globe between him and his wife. My sighs swelled his sails, prat­tling children kneeled on the sea shore, almost orphans al­ready.

How can you still love the wicked man?

Seven years I waited with impatience for him like a bride — he came not!

Poor woman!

The love of gain drove many to distant seas; many returned richly laden; but no one knew any thing of him, no one had seen him! not a piece of wreck nor a corps, was any where driven on shore.

Then you may hope: your friend still lives.

Love is always rich in nourishment for hope. Two vessels were fitted out to go in search of the forlorn. I beg'd for a place in one of them, and should it be in the worst part of the ship. They spoke of fatigue, of dangers — they little knew what love can suffer. Yes, I am ill, my strength is exhausted — but if I find him again, the recollection of my sufferings will vanish! and if I find him not, what matters it in what region grief terminates the sorrows of a disconso­late wife!

Naughty woman, you make me weep.

Humanity at last succeeded, they granted my re­quest to embark. My youngest son threw himself into my arms, I took him with me. During thirteen months we have been swimming from one sea to another, landed on ha­bited and uninhabited coasts, searched and enquired every where — Ah! none has any knowledge of him! You, my good child, are the first that rekindles in me the extinguish­ing spark of hope.

How it grieves me to rob you of this weak conso­lation. He is my friend, he cannot be your's.

Where is he?

He hastened down to the bay.

Is this island well inhabited?

O yes, Alexis and I, and love.

None else?

I swear to you, there is not an uninhabited corner on the whole island. (looking about) I am sorry my boy is run off too; he should have called his father. — You seem to be fatigued good woman?

Fatigued and sick.

Sit down upon this soft seat of moss, my friend has made it for me. He certainly will soon be here, he never leaves me long alone. Rest and comfort yourself, I'll run to the bushes and fetch you some ripe fruit, juicy roots, they will soon revive you.

SCENE V.

The sweet moment has perhaps arrived, which my love has snatched as a prize from the elements — and I tremble? — She would send the boy to look for his father? — Who [Page 11] is this boy? Who is his father? — Ah! have I purchased his life for such a price? — The father of my children I would find, but not the husband? — Should I have risqued all for that? — The beloved in the arms of a savage! — I defied death in every shape, in this only I did not expect it! — Alexis! — Is it you? — Are these footsteps your's? — Has your hand entwined these branches into an arbor? — And if it is not him? — A stranger — one of his com­panions — the only one saved — Did not the girl say so — The only one? — May he be La Peyrouse! — The mo­ther shall forget what grieves the lover! — My Henry — my Babet — my Charles! — For you I have been beating against wind and waves! For you I have quitted my native country! Your supporter, your protector I will bring back to you, and then your poor mother will seek in a better world the consolation which she could not find in all the quarters of this! — I am to rest myself here? — On this bench of moss? Made by my husband's hands for another wife? — No, here I cannot rest.

SCENE VI.

Where is she! Where is she!

Ah! what voice is this! (runs towards him.)

Adelaide!

My husband! sinks into his arms — a pause — silent extacy.)

Are you indeed alive yet?

Is it possible! so much love!

Could you expect less of me?

With your tender constitution —

Love gives strength.

With your timidity —

Love gives courage.

Left your old mother —

Her blessing followed me.

Left our children —

My blessing remained with them.

All for me?

All for you.

What God can reward you for that?

I am rewarded since I found you!

How much you must have suffered!

It is forgot!

Death before your eyes —

And the hope to find you.

Ah! a wife only could do that!

For such an husband!

Are our children alive?

They live.

But have I not left you with new hopes?

Which God has accomplished! A lively boy — my Henry — you shall see him —

See him?

He is with me.

Where?

On board the ship.

Right, I recollect, the men in the boat spoke of him, but when they mentioned your name — I ran off.

Impatience drove me on shore. My brother is with me too. A great fog some days ago separated his ves­sel from our's, yet we look every moment for his arrival.

God! If this is a dream, let me never wake!

It is not a dream! I possess you again! Love chains all the quarters of the globe together, and converts the ocean into a drop of water. There is no desert, no uncultivated shore, from which one time or other, the thanks of love do [Page 13] not raise to the heavens! silent or loud, in words or in tears — Good God! to Thee it is all the same!

Ah! how this soft well-known voice leads me, as by an enchantment, back to my domestic bliss. I hear you, I throw a glance upon those inhospitable rocks, and ask my­self in surprise: Where are we?

Is it then so extraordinary, that a loving wife should defy the elements? — The national assembly ordered two ves­sels to be fitted out, to restore the circumnavigator La Pey­rouse again to his country. Love commanded me to go in search of the lost husband, the bemoaned father. Without me, in what language could those people enquire for you among the savage nations? Love created for me a language. Who could better than me discover the slightest traces of you? A lost piece of cloth, a name written by you upon a tree, who could have sooner discovered it than me? And if you, perhaps, were roving about in deserts and wildernesses, whose ears would your voice have sooner reached than mine?

Noble wife! Do I deserve this exalted heavenly love?

Would you have done less for me?

Will you never repent of those sacrifices?

Do we repent of what love gives and takes?

But if I have been obliged to obey the whim of fate — if duty and my helpless situation forced me to appear faithless to you.

(trembling) Faithless?

Appear, I said, for the heart only can judge.

Before you proceed, tell me: Are you the only one saved of all your companions?

The only one.

Ah! Then I know all!

Impossible! I found you alone.

The only one saved — yet not the only one that inha­bits this island — a girl —

Have you seen her?

She calls you her friend.

She was my benefactress.

And what are you to her?

All!

More than you ought to be?

Hear me and judge. On yonder rock the waves drove us, with all the furies of the elements. The ship went to pieces. Through every crevice entered death. The corps soon were swimming about the miserable wreck. I combated swimming against the fury of the waves, and thought to reach the shore, but the stream baffled my endea­vours. My strength died away — I thought once more of you — of my children — of God! and, exhausted with fa­tigue, my arms dropped. When I recovered I lay stretch­ed upon the moss, a savage girl kneeled at my side, and at the first sign of life, she made a cry of joy.

Had she saved you?

Three times she threw herself into the foaming waves, and three times she was thrown back on the rocky shore. Death roared in vain; in vain the abyss menaced to swallow her up, or to dash her to pieces on the rocky cliffs. With the courage of a hero, and the strength of a savage, she threw herself the fourth time into the waves, caught her prize by the hair, and snatched it from the combating ele­ments.

Ah! and for what reward?

Listen farther. This small island is uninhabited. But rarely the savages come here from yonder group of islands, to fish. Malvina was here with her father and bro­thers, who threatened to kill the stranger; the tears of Malvina only saved him. Under cocoa trees she prepared for me a place of rest, and linked the twigs over me for a roof. I slumbered sweetly. Before midnight she waked me trembling. Be quick and follow me! she said, and drew [Page 15] me away. She led me through the thicket to the sea side. There she crept with me into a cavern, embraced me ten­derly, and rejoiced at my second preservation. Her bro­thers had concluded to kill me during the night. They thought Malvina to be asleep, but Malvina listened, and perceived their intentions. Favored by the darkness she stole away, and saved me from the assassins.

I owe her gratitude and admiration, but can I love her?

Still more! The next morning they sought Malvina. The woods re-echoed their menaces and their prayers. We heard her old father above us on the cliff, he called mourn­fully: Malvina! my daughter! will you leave me? — The girl wept, and remained.

Enough! I forgive you!

When, after a long fruitless search, the boat went off with her father and brothers, she listened between the bushes, and her tears dropped from leaf to leaf, but not a sound betrayed her grief. And when the boat appeared on the distant sea like a white point only, she pressed me weeping to her heart, and exclaimed: Now I have neither father nor brother! You are my all! Leave me not!

And she has not beg'd in vain.

From that moment I have to thank her for my life a thousand times! Without her I would have died of hunger. She taught me to catch birds and fish in nets; she taught me the knowledge of the eatable roots and herbs, and warned me of the poisonous; she made for me these clothes of fea­thers and skins; she ornamented my habitation with shells. — Speak — What could I do? — Separated from the inhabited world, exiled forever to this place of solitude, without hope ever to see you or my native country again, what reward could I offer to my benefactress? — to her, who voluntari­ly exiled herself with me▪ alleviated my misery, and, when [Page 16] she could not alleviate, voluntarily shared it with me? — She desired my heart — and I gave her a grateful heart.

You are justified. My love mourns, but cannot con­demn you. But Alexis, what will now become of us?

Ask me not. The event is yet too new for me, I have no sense yet for what may be done in future.

Is it true, what the girl said? she is become a mother?

It is true.

Oh Alexis! which mother will you leave?

None.

God assist us!

I see Malvina approaching. Compose yourself. Let us conceal from her a moment what you are to me. The first impressions of a savage are violent. Let me pre­pare the poor girl.

I will be silent.

SCENE VII.

Here are fruits, there take, eat. (to Peyrouse) Ah! are you here? be welcome! See, this good woman has lost her friend. She is come from far, far off, to seek him; but he is not here, it grieves me.

She is my sister.

(smiling) Your sister? you lye.

No, my child, he is my brother.

Indeed? but you did not seek your brother?

I sought the man, I loved best.

You are in the right, I have brothers too, but I re­mained with the man, I loved best. Your friend is lost. [Page 17] Stay with us. I am rejoiced you are his sister; I love you for that.

I thank you, my good girl.

Wherefore? Love comes, we don't know how.

You have saved my brother's life.

Ah! that's long since. I would do that every day, for I love him much. Oh! you don't know how much we love each other. That must give you pleasure, because you are his sister.

(with a forced smile) Indeed.

Sometimes his countenance is sorrowful, just as it is now; then he thinks of his native land. But then I leap about him, and caress him, and stroke his face with my hand till his countenance becomes serene again (she does all that whilst she is speaking) but to-day it won't avail.

(who forces himself to return her caresses) Have you taken care to provide our dinner?

Do you wish to be rid of me? (flattering) Give me a kiss, that your sister may witness how much you love me.

(with suppressed pain) Leave him, he has whims.

Whims? what for? he should rejoice at your ar­rival.

So he does. But I had to bring him displeasing news. During his absence some of his old friends died.

Heh! and what of that? a new friend has been borne for him since. We have a boy, you shall see him, just like his father. He knows how to play away his father's whims. Is it not true, my good friend, you love the boy? almost as much as me?

I can't bear it any longer. (A musket shot is heard at a distance — La Peyrouse rouses himself.)

What was that?

A signal. The boat returns to the vessel. They are yet ignorant of what has happened. (she puts her hand upon La Peyrouse's shoulder) Brother! I am going.

I go with you.

No, no: Will you then leave me alone?

For a few hours only. The ship will sail into the bay.

Let it sail, what's that to you?

Shall I not accompany my sister?

And then perhaps a sudden storm — Off would be the vessel! — No, no, your sister may come again.

I have not seen her these nine years.

Have you seen me then enough already?

Stay and perform your promise. Let me not suffer this pain a second time. I'll go and fetch my Henry.

SCENE VIII.
MALVINA and LA PEYROUSE.

Who is her Henry?

Her son.

Has she a son too? And seeks the father? Poor woman!

Do you pity her?

Indeed I do. But the father must be a bad man, why has he left the mother?

His duty —

It is a detestable duty, that forces a man to leave wife and child.

At the call of our country the heart must be silent.

Will you then return to your country now?

Perhaps.

Shall we there be happier than here?

God grant it!

With regret I shall leave our hut.

Will you then accompany me?

I don't understand you.

It is far, very far.

What do I care for that?

A dangerous voyage —

You jest. Shall I not be with you?

All hopes will be lost then ever to see your father or brothers again.

Have I then not given up that hope long ago?

Yes you often stood on yonder cliff, stretching out your arms towards your home.

Indeed I have. I recollect you often told me, how you could draw a picture upon paper, with colours just like nature. Now take from that ship what is requisite, and paint for me such a picture, with the cliff upon it, then I can even in your country stretch out my arms towards my dear home.

But if the ship pass yonder island, and you descry your old father on the shore?

Oh! — fy! how you have frightened me.

Would you not throw yourself into the water and swim to him?

Yes, I would.

And if he should joyfully hasten towards you, and beckon friendly —

Here I am, my father!

And if he should say: your brothers are dead, stay with me!

I cannot, father —

I am old and sick —

Be silent, wicked man! It is false! he is not sick! and my brothers are alive. They are strong and healthy men — But! A precious thought! Let us take my father with us.

Will he quit his home?

If he should see our boy — what do you think?

Will a foreign climate agree with the old man? — and even you — I tremble for your life!

Be unconcerned. Love and serenity of mind pro­mote good health.

But should grief await you there?

Grief?

You would daily witness that others too love me?

Well, so much the better. I wish all good men would love you.

But if you had to share my heart?

To share? No, I won't do that. Do they then share their hearts in Europe?

There are persons who have great and much older pretensions on my love.

Great? — Let them come. Older? — What matters that?

Good girl, will you forgive me, that I kept secret from you what in this place of solitude I thought useless to reveal?

I have never forgiven you any thing, but it must be a pleasure to forgive you. Speak.

I have already a wife in my native country.

A wife? You jest. I am your wife.

Earlier ties link me to the former.

Earlier? — But are they stronger? — Do you love her like me?

She is as much deserving of my love as you.

And does she love you as much as I?

I am sure of it.

Woe on me! — Wicked man! — No more my friend! — Woe! — Poor Malvina.

Will you still follow me to my country▪

I thought it was so easy to pardon you, but I can­not! — No! No! Her love is not as ardent as mine, or she would not have suffered you to leave her.

My duty —

Go, go, you have taught me many words which I do not understand. No! No! You do not love her as much as me, or you would not have left her — and I think your wife is dead.

What makes you think so —

I am sure, quite sure that she is dead long since. Consider only, nine years you have been separated from her — she has not survived that, could not survive it. Be contented and cheerful, I love you more than she ever did, and I shall not die, for you will never leave me. (presses her­self to him) Alexis! my friend! you will never leave me.

No! never!

I knew that very well. Now I forgive you. You only wished to frighten me. — I'll go to our hut. Our boy has found a turtle, and I will prepare it for your sister. And then I'll pack up our things, not to forget my new feather apron (in going away) it will please the people of your coun­try, it is so variegated.

SCENE IX.

Why had I not courage enough to tell her all? — She must know it! — I must strike the wound into her harmless heart! — and then — what will be the end? — Love, na­ture, and gratitude attach me to both alike — Virtue! where is thy leading-string to extricate me from this labyrinth?

(He climbs to the top of the rock and throws himself upon the ground.)

SCENE I.

The turtle is prepared. The hungry will relish it. My boy is longing for it already. — Why am I then so quite alone? — Where is his sister? — Ah! she has lost her friend, and won't have much appetite. It is the same with me when my friend stays out hunting above his time. — Yes love! love! — Where is the man who con­verted me to a new life? — (goes about sighing) Who drew my heart with impetuosity, and my soul gradually from its slumber! Who taught me to feel and to think! — Alexis! Where are you?

(jumping up) Here!

Up there? What are you doing there?

(coming down) I looked for the ship.

Are they coming?

They are just entering the bay.

It is high time.

(with a sigh) Yes Malvina! It is high time.

Dinner is ready, the boy is hungry.

God! give me courage!

We are waiting for your sister.

(half to himself) Sister? — I have no sister.

What are you muttering?

(sorrowfully) Malvina!

You look distracted, have you been asleep?

I have dream't eight years agreeably away! A sweet well-known voice wakes me to-day. — Woe on me! My duty is sacred to both — yet one I must trample under my feet! — Love draws me here and there equally powerful — it will tear my heart!

I don't understand you. You appear strange, and that grieves me.

Good creature! I cannot deceive you.

Have I' ever been afraid of that?

This sister —

I love her for your sake.

You will hate her.

Why?

And hate me too —

You are not well.

She seeks her husband —

The poor woman!

She has found him.

Where?

She is my wife!

(throws herself crying into his arms) Hide me!

Do you love her still?

Silent! silent! hide me, my good Alexis! pro­tect me! (She presses her head to his breast.

Will you still follow me to Europe?

I understand you not — I am an indocile scholar — I have acquired but a slender knowledge of your lan­guage — all what you have been saying — No, it can't be so! If I could but understand it right — I am sure it is not so.

Dear Malvina.

Yes, I understand that. Oh! it was the first word I learnt of you. Say it once more: Dear Malvina!

Dear Malvina!

Dear, dear friend! thank God! now we under­stand each other again. I am Malvina! your wife, is it not so?

You are my wife.

And that sister, with whose name you frightened me — Oh! recall the cruel jest!

I cannot.

How? You could deceive me? My friend could be capable of deception? — Oh! it grieves me! — I must withdraw my confidence — to whom shall I give it then? — I have but you! — Speak, what will you do with me? (anxiously) My God! What will become of us?

I shall not leave you.

But she will come — will bring with her many men from the ship — carry you off — (screeming) Ah! there she is! (She throws herself upon the beach of moss and hides her face.

SCENE II.

(to the boy) Embrace your father.

Is this savage man my father?

My son! (takes him in his arms) Where, and in what moment do you receive your father's first blessing?

I am afraid of you.

(pointing to Malvina) She knows all?

All.

(going to her) Good girl, do not hate me.

(rises slowly, her eyes full of tears, looking sorrowfully at Adelaide) What have I done to you, that you give me so much pain?

Let us not quarrel with fate.

We were so happy here before you came!

Ah! I never thought that my arrival would cause any other but tears of joy!

Speak! Will you take him from me?

He is my husband.

(jumping up) And mine! Speak it loud, Alexis! that she may hear it! Those trees, those rocks have heard it a thousand times! Your God was witness!

He was.

Also our union he has sanctioned! Also our hearts were linked by love, and nature tied the knot still faster. Henry! embrace your father's knees, beg him not to thrust away your mother.

(caressing his father) Pray, do not offend my mother, I'll no more be afraid of you.

Is this boy her son? Oh! I have a son too! Charles! Charles! Where are you. (She runs off.)

Break, my poor heart!

I feel your grief. God! What will be the end of this?

(returns with her boy) Here boy, kneel down, beg! beg!

What shall I beg of him?

Not to leave your mother.

He won't do that. (caressing him) Dear father, no you won't.

My mother has sought you so long.

My mother loves you so much.

My mother has wept so much for you.

Do but see, my mother weeps.

(with folded hands, his limbs shaking, his eyes raised) Great God!

My brothers and sisters send you their love, and beg that you soon may come home.

(crying) Do not leave us! Where is your home?

Far over the sea. We never shall see him again!

Why not? he'll take us with him.

A good spirit speaks out of this child. Accompany us dear Malvina!

As your wife wherever you please.

How am I?

Oh it is hard to share the friend of our heart with a stranger — it was easier to jump into the waves — but [Page 26] — for the sake of my friend's ease of mind — (she offers Adelaide her hand) let us remain together.

It would be baseness to deceive you, in Europe you cannot be my wife.

Not? why not?

Our laws —

Who gave them to your heart and mine, but the God of love? — I dare not be your wife in Europe? What then should I be? your servant? your wife's servant?

My friend —

Do you wish to have a friend about you, whose happiness you destroyed? You would during day behold my tears, and at night hear my sobs! — Better you stay with us; nature is here the lawgiver; here we may both call him our friend; here I will cheerfully work for you, and not look jealous when you repose yourself in his arms.

Yes, she spoke a word of comfort. It is on this solitary place only that we can enjoy content; without giv­ing offence to any weak mind. Ambition's flame has long since been extinguished in my breast. The sighs, which I often sent from this rock to my native country, betrayed on­ly my heart's desire, not the love of glory. You have arriv­ed — love has led you here to my arms — what more can I wish? — My heart is silent. Blessing to him who can contract all that he loves into a small circle! Blessing to him who from his small piece of land, looks contented at the world, which became to him as strange as the firmament that moves above his head. Here I have but to stretch out my hand, to touch a being by whom I am beloved. Then let us remain, Adelaide! Let us take possession of the pro­perty which God has created for us in the midst of the sea. Love will cultivate yonder naked rocks, will ornament yon­der grot, and convert yonder gloomy woods into smiling groves.

Yes, let us stay!

And my children whom I left behind, and my poor old mother!

(sighs, and is lost in melancholy thought,)

No Alexis, do not deceive yourself. Your situa­tion is dreadful. My heart feels, what you suffer — but be a man! You must choose between us.

I cannot.

Could my friend leave me? How mean would be my thoughts if I could believe it. I was a raw savage be­ing, had no idea of pain, or pleasure, but those susceptible to the senses. Have you given me reason, to make me fran­tic? Have you given me a heart, to pierce it?

And me also you have led from a convent's solitude to the alter of love. Also my heart you have inspired with new feelings—also my mind you have cultivated. What I am I am through you▪ and have been all for you. Will you cru­elly destroy your work?

Have we not passed so many years in quietness and concord? Have you ever seen in me a discontented countenance? Has my conduct ever caused you pain? Au­rora waked me to my cares for you: the setting sun led me to your arms. Consider that, and choose.

Remember the blissful times of our union. Have I ever tormented you with whims? Has love not eased every duty? Have you, when fatigued by business, ever looked in vain for the smile on my countenance, which then seemed to be your recreation?—Remember not your vow, remem­ber only our love — and choose.

I cannot.

I have left my old feeble mother for your sake. Ah! if you had seen the tears she shed at my departure.

Have you forgot already how we stood in the ca­vern, and my old father called out above us: Malvina!—He called so tender, so anxious, but I closed my ears against a father's voice.

God! I am but a man!

To find you, I have defied death a thousand times. Neither the danger among savage nations, nor the foaming waves, nor the diseases of foreign regions, could disarm the courage of a faithful wife.

Into the furious waves I have thrown myself to save you! I have crashed my limbs on the cliffs! I have torn from my brother's hands the dagger, which was already drawn for your destruction!

No, I cannot support it any longer.

Give me now the reward for my fidelity! Fulfil what you promised me in the face of God!

No! No! Where is your God? To me you have vowed love, where is your God? You have called him just — may he descend and protect me, if I am to believe in his justice.

Mother, what ails you?

Mother, I never saw you so.

There, whine at the feet of this obdurate man.

Boy, caress your father.

Choose, man! for whom I suffered all.

Choose, you! for whom I ventured all.

(in the greatest confusion) Leave me! — Despair knows nothing of choice! — Merciful God! if you lay a heavier burden upon a man than his strength can bear, Oh! it is a hint to throw off the yoke of humanity — to destroy the weak existence! — Even a tyger could not cast away either of these women! — No tyrant could spurn from his feet either of these boys! — (senseless, looking wildly to the right and left) I shall choose! — Yes, I choose — (rash) I choose death! — (He draws a dagger and is going to push it into his breast—the women and children are crying—Adelaide and Malvina throw themselves into his arms—Charles and Henry at his feet.

(tearing the dagger from his hand and throwing it away) Wicked man! Will you murder us all with one stroke?

(anxiously trembling) Recover yourself! — My love shall save you — I renounce you voluntarily.

Go with her. I'll bring the boy to his grand-father — I know that you live — and think of me.

Stay with her. Let me enjoy but the consolation, when your children come leaping towards me on our coun­try's shore, to call out to them: Your father lives and sends you his blessing!

Accompany her. No sigh shall render your de­parture painful.

Stay with her. No tear of mine shall oppress you.

You are inventive in new manners of inflicting death — you make me bleed drop by drop — Oh! do not tear my heart any longer! Your tenderness is more murde­rous than a dagger! Allow me to recover myself! — God! preserve me from madness! (He runs off.)

Hasten after him Henry.

Follow him Charles.

Caress him.

Leap about him. (The boys go off.)

SCENE III.

My poor friend!

I can no more — I am exhausted — he may be at his ease — death will soon unloosen the knot.

No, let me die! Ah! I never knew that love and death could become friends!

All this misery is your work.

It is your's. Why came you to this solitary place, to fright the silent joy from our nest? We were so happy before you came, and would have remained so without you.

Why have you robbed a loving wife of her hus­band? Young children of their father?

Do you love him as much as I love him? Why did you suffer him to leave your arms? Had your heart been at­tached to him like mine, you never would have let him out of sight.

Your union commenced with a crime against nature. Your father you let depart comfortless, and he is perhaps now pining away with grief. Curse, therefore, is with your love, ah! a curse, which even falls upon me though innocent!

(weeping) What have I done to you, that you speak thus hard to me?

What you have done to me? Had you torn a child from my breast, I would hate you less. Yes, I hate you! Whoever loves like me, soon learns to hate.—A mo­ment of joy — deluded hope — disease and grief have overstrained my nerves, my sensibility — welcome thou strange feeling! Deformed or beautiful, 'tis all the same! Where love gives way, a dreadful vacuum takes place — welcome then deadly hatred, if you can fill it up.

I do not hate you; but how can I love you? I was so happy! You robbed me of my all!

Return to me my property. I will be generous, I will purchase the prey from the robber. There — see — a diamond, brilliant stones —

Do you think me still to be a savage?

Have compassion! Tremble at my despair! One of us must give him up.

Is that not saying: One of us must die?

Then die! yes, your death only can restore my rest.

And so I could wish, that the waves had swallow­ed you up — no! no! I cannot wish that.

Chillness pervades my limbs!—Ah! I shiver! — What is it that presses with such fury to my heart, and [Page 31] de­prives me of respiration?—Ah! am I overcome at last by unused sorrows? Is the power of love fled from me? Was it love only that protected me against the vapours of the sea, and the scorching sun under the line?—Yes, my spirits are gone — my nerves relaxed — every limb becomes heavy, and seems to belong to me no more — (pointing to her breast) Here only moves a turbulent anxiety!

(with compassion) Can I assist you?

Leave me, your sight augments my pain. Go, let me die without cursing you. (shivering.) Again?—I have a fever — it is fled — the last strength of my body, with the last hope of my heart — I can no more! — (she throws herself upon the bench of moss.) Here you may prepare my grave — far from my children — ah! — my tongue is panting — my palate is dry — a burning fever thirst —

SCENE IV.

Mother, look at this beautiful fruit. I found it in yonder bush. (He shows her a fruit resembling an apple.)

Are you coming my Henry to refresh me? Give it! give it! (she grasps at the fruit.)

(snatching it hastily away.) In the name of God! this fruit is poisonous.

Poisonous?

Whoever tastes it, is in a few minutes dead.

And you tell me that? (her frenzy changes into inexpres­sible softness.) and you tell me that?—(she stretches out her arms, tries to get up, and sinks back.) Come to my heart.

(throwing herself into her arms.) You do not hate me any more?

I hate myself — my life was in your power — you need not commit a murder — you had only to be silent — O girl! girl! you are more just than I!

What ails you, good woman? I understand you not.

I am an European, subject to detestable, artful pas­sions—therefore you understand me not — have no idea of what you might have done — Oh, pardon! be recon­ciled! Favor me with your pity.

Thank God! you are good again. Yes, I will love you, and nurse you, because you belong to my good friend.

Keep your friend, I renounce him. One only of us can make him happy, one only can through him become hap­py. Has the fever given new spring to my faculties? or has your noble mind irresistibly inspired me? Three sacrifi­ces are bleeding. Fate desires but one.—I will depart — voluntarily — your blessing — his tears — your happi­ness — what can I wish more?

How? Would you then return without him to your country?

To the bosom of our common country — there to enjoy the reward of a pure conscience.—My frame is under­mined — I stood on the brink of death — faithful love has led me — I follow blindly — an hour sooner or later, God will not call me to account for it! He that promotes dying, the happiness of human beings, never leaves this world too soon.

You speak so strange, it frightens me.

One of us must give him up—that is, one of us must die — have you not said so?

Good woman — your wild looks — your strange words — what anguish seizes me? Why this trembling of your lips? Why this convulsion of your muscles? — Ah! you are sick.

Very sick — leave me my good child — tell your friend that I have blessed him — I bless you too.

Dear mother —

(hastily raising herself with a shriek) Ah! what was that? Yes, I bless you also my Henry! (presses him with emotion to her heart) Beg this good girl henceforth to be your mother.

I want no other mother.

Promise it to me, Malvina; this boy is your friend's son, take care of him as of your own.

My God! what are you making of me! never have I felt such anguish, such affliction — have I then indeed been guilty of a crime, that I am thus tortured in my heart.—There my friend ran off in despair, here a poor woman grieves herself to death — is all this the work of my love? perhaps of a blameable love? — It is true that a curse rests upon our union, the curse of my old father! — I tremble — a cold sweat covers my forehead. Are these the feel­ings of a sinner?—Forgive me, God! I had no conception of sin.—Who will console me? who will tell poor me what I have to do?—I will pray — God sends assistance when we are in need; so taught me my friend. I will go and pray. (Goes off melancholy.)

Go Henry, seek your father.

Mother, I will stay with you.

Go, leave me alone. (Henry obeys.)

Henry, are you going?

You commanded me.

(struggling with herself.) Yes, I command you. Away! hasten! (Henry going.)

(with maternal anxiety.) Henry! Henry!

(returning.) You call me?

(takes him weeping into her arms.) Love your father—remember your mother — away! away. (She shoves him from her.)

(going off) I'll bring my father to you.

SCENE V.

Better one voluntary sacrifice, than grief's slow death of all. If I saw him surrounded by enemies, I would throw myself between their swords to save him. Despair is the most for­midable enemy! It gnaws the body, and deadens the soul — (a pause.) — This good girl was happy without me; and so was La Peyrouse. He thought of me but with sor­row, as if we had been separated by death. My arrival was to him the appearance of a spirit; though the form of a once beloved person, yet still a spirit. — (a pause.) This girl is young and handsome — my blooming time is past—I am no more beautified by my tears — gratitude will attach him to me — every tie is oppressive to love which is not ef­fected by its own power.—I shall not make him any re­proaches; but he will expect them, and avoid me. My too feeling mother will torment him with complaints; and me, the innocent cause, he will hate.—He hate me? No, no! but can we love the person whose presence oppresses us? Courage, Adelaide! as far as your eye-sight reaches, the horizon is obscure. Drop the curtain — but do it soon — do it now — in this moment whilst this attraction strains your nerves — whilst this fire expands your veins — who can as­sure me, that in a few hours the love of life will not reason away every future grief? I then would have to empty the cup drop by dop — better pour it down at one draught.—Well then! (she rises hastily, and picks up the fruit which she had thrown away.) How soon is such a fruit eat up. It will quench my feverish thirst — forget, what more it will ef­fect (looking at the fruit.) How beautiful, how alluring—poor human beings! in how many delightful forms death lurks for you.—Thanks to you, chance, for this last favor! No dagger makes me shrink; no nauseous poison excites disgust.—Who could be afraid of this apple?

SCENE VI.

(appears, in the moment of Adelaide's putting the apple to her mouth.)

(anxious.) Our Henry told me you are ill.—(he spies the fruit.) What have you there? For God's sake! throw this fruit from you, it is poisonous.

I know it.

You know it? and yet —

I wish you to be at rest.

(takes her hand.) My wife, you are sick. A disor­dered fancy only could make you familiar with so horrible an intention. Give it to me! (he gently forces the fruit out of her hand, and throws it away.)

I cannot struggle with you. It is easy for you to take this apple from me; but can you also root the bud of death out of my heart?

If you love me no more, remember at least your children—your poor old mother.

To you I intended to give the last token of my love. Have I not already devoted myself to death, when I went on board, to share all dangers of the circumnavigator? I was ready to die for the distant hope, to find you. I have found you, have pressed you to my heart, have brought to you the pledge of our love. I begged much of God — God has granted me much — and now I should shrink from death, which would be a benefit to you! I ran the risk of death for a mere hope, and should not die for your ease of mind?

Your inclination to noble enthusiasm leads you astray; your burning imagination throws a wrong light on the surrounding objects. You think this terrible sacrifice necessary, because you have the courage to make it. He that feels within him strength for heroic action creates dan­gers himself. Must you throw yourself into the abyss as long as there is a bush remaining by which you can support your­self?

Where grows that bush? Where?

Patience, hope, fortitude! — Woe on the man whose fancy converts these oak trees into brush-wood! — A few hours scarcely have elapsed; we are yet driven about by the first storm of our passions; how can a drunken man pass a rapid stream on a small piece of board? Let him be­come sober, the soul like the body, finds at last its equipoise again. And if patience, courage, and hope leave us, then still remains a hold — Religion! Confidence in God!

(raising her eyes) Confidence in God!

I do not request a miracle. I do not desire of God to send an angel; but one man, cool and unconcerned, who can think for three patients. — Oh! I know what in our passion's storm, one reflecting man can do.

SCENE VII.

Father, another strange man —

Mother, uncle has arrived.

My brother.

God! you have sent an angel! — Where? Where is he?

SCENE VIII.

(throwing himself into his arms) My brother!

Hail you, from the empire of the dead!! Have we at last found the enthusiast? (he shakes hands with him) Well sister, you are on good terms with heaven, for it has done a wonder for you.

Ah!

Still an ah? Is this a proper signal for people who sail into port? You all look dejected. You are unfit to set [Page 37] for a painter, who wants to draw a picture of a joyous meet­ing. — You want to explain? — But hark! I know all! (to Peyrouse) Here I bring you a girl, who out of love for you had a great mind to be guilty of a stupid trick. I overheard her prayers. She addressed the Deity in my mother tongue. My surprise prompted me to listen — she prayed for cou­rage to die.

(terrified) Malvina!

Pardon me, my friend, I prayed — and suddenly a ray touched my heart — die Malvina! then all become relieved! — Methought it was the voice of God.

Women! Women! Why do you always take the voice of your passions for that of God, and are ever ready to cut down the stem, when only a caterpillar creeps upon a leaf. In short, this brown lock'd damsel has discovered to me the whole island, and, with your leave, I am charmed to find it as it is, for it fits my plan.

It charms you?

What plan?

Pardon the vain expression. If the swallow could speak, it would assert too, that it builds its nest according to a deep meditated plan. Necessity teaches the heaver to build huts, and man to meditate. Bitter necessity has cre­ated my plan. — Yet, before I proceed, brother, answer me one question: Have these women equal pretensions on you?

Equal.

You love them both?

Both.

Will you cast my sister from you?

No.

Will you leave Malvina?

No.

Well then, sister, let me tell you what happened to me during the few days of our separation. An English [Page 38] cap­tain, who was conveying petty thieves to Botany Bay and left the great ones in Europe, has communicated to us strange things. We no more have a country. Anarchy has swallow­ed it up. The rich are become beggars, and we — we have been rich too.

And therefore are also become beggars.

Health, strength, industry, and a piece of land, warmed by the sun, and wetted by the rain — I think we are still rich.

Do I understand you? — Where are my children?

And our mother?

Your children are alive, and our mother — (stops) is very well.

You make a stop! Your countenance grows gloomy! You frighten me! — Where, where is our mother?

— She is here.

Here?

(raising his eyes with emotion) Yes, she is here! — A mother's love does not go into the grave.

(weeping) Ah! she is dead!

She has departed, like us, to another part of the world. She has left us nothing but her compass, virtue. Sister, let us take possession of the valuable inheritance. Confidence in God rewards the honest, even in a dungeon. Look around you! Is this island a dungeon? — A blossom invites you here, a fine fruit there. Here grows the bread­tree for our hunger, there spouts a spring for our thirst. Here is a verdant grove for pure love.

(with grief) My good mother!

In coming up I made some fugitive remarks; the ground is good; the fruits prosper; wood in abundance; a little industry, and nature will distribute her treasures.

I do not understand you quite.

How? you understand me not? Are you still long­ing for your degenerated country? Will you swim there [Page 39] with the stream of blood, or fruitless work against it? You have seen so much of the world, and know not yet the va­lue of repose?—I know it. They may promise me golden mountains, and I will rather flee to the naked summit of Caucasus, than take part in a revolution; which, though it may be just, spreads death and discord, that posterity may earn a liberty, which is covered with the corps of their pa­rents. Yes, I am an Egotist. I live, and will enjoy my life; without rest there is no enjoyment.—My flag is alrea­dy hoisted; to-morrow I'll set sail for England, whither my wife with your and my children have fled. I'll take them all on board; will freight my ship with all what here is neces­sary: masons, carpenters, utensils and farming tools — surely, I shall find honest people enough, who will accom­pany me to the small country of quietude. There are poor exiles without number, who wander about without a roof to shelter them. Till my return, I will leave you all I can spare for your accommodation. If the winds and weather permit, I shall soon return; we then lay the foundation of a colony, as the Greeks did after their flight from Egypt; and who knows, whether our names are not as renowned after a few thousand years, as those of Inachus and Cecrops.

(caressing him.) Good man! I do not understand all you say; but this I understand, that we shall stay here to­gether, is it not so?

Brother you possess an excellent gift, to unite cool reasoning with warm imagination. I agree to your plan with extaoy, and if Adelaide —

Ah brother!

Well sister? do you wish to become a widow, and lead in Europe your orphans from door to door oppressed by poverty? Shall Peyrouse accompany you, to meet death in his native land, or to expose himself to want and misery in a foreign country?—Here dwells security; here reigns abundance; here love and quietude await us.

Quietude? where may I find it?

Ah! She wishes and seeks her death!

Illness, nothing else. The raw sea diet has spoiled her blood. Give her for a few weeks soups of herbs, and all will be well — or — I hope not, that an unnoble jea­lousy against the benefactress of your husband — 'tis sin­gular indeed, that we would willingly share the kingdom of heaven with every good being, yet will not share a heart.

(turning timorous to Adelaide.) I have prayed for you and me—let us be sisters.

Sisters? (meditating a moment.) Sisters?—My good girl, you awake in me a thought rich in consolation! Yes, let us be sisters, if this man will be our brother. We can­not share him; neither of us can possess him. (enthusiastic.) We, she sisters, inhabit a hut of our own: he, the brother, another. We educate our boys; he assists you and me.—During day we form one joyful family—the evening sepa­rates us—the mothers stay with the children—the father in his hut — do you agree?

Willingly, if I can but see him.

With pleasure, if I can quiet you.

Hail brother! Not every one, who like you, sailed to discover a northwestern passage, found like you, the land of repose. Well then children! the treaty is concluded. Shake hands, and seal it by an embrace.

(approaches La Peyrouse with open arms.) The embrace of a sister!

Just as you please, I do not quarrel about words.

My friend! My brother!

(holding them both in his arms.) My sisters!

(clinging on Malvina.) My mother is joyful.

(clinging on Adelaide.) My mother smiles again.

The paradise of innocence.