Unnoted by that ruling Providence

That guides the universe, yet stoops to clothe
The flower with beauty, and from seeming ills
Works out our truest, most enduring good!

Oh, then, while grass and sand and leaf are cared for,
How shall a mortal doubt Thy guardianship!-

Then break not, heart! the will of Heaven be thine! To escape the Marriage proposed by her Father, BLANCHE seeks the protection of the King, who recognizes her. He places her under the care of the DUCHESS DE ROHAN, hoping in time to wield her to his purpose.

A sumptuous Apartment in the Chateau of the DUKE De ROHAN.—Enter BLANCHE, splendidly attired, followed by JAQUELINE.

Jaq. Dear Mam'selle Blanche, to think that I should have found you at last, and through that beautiful little page! Blan. But, Armand! O my best Jaqueline, my friend! Thou hast seen Armand-and he knows I live

He spoke of me as in our early days—

Jaq. Ay, that he did, Mam'selle, and I am sure he loves you as much as ever.

Blan. Bless thee, Jaqueline! [Embracing her fervently.] Oh, how one hour of joy

Can brighten a whole age of agony !

The weary years that sundered us so long

Have vanished; every pang that wrung my soul
Is blotted out from memory ! The past

Is one of sunbeam only, and the future
Seems something brighter still. I am too blest!
Faq. So will Monsieur Armand be; but you
will scarcely
know him, he looks so altered, for he is a great soldier now:
and I think he will hardly know you in this grand dress.

Blan. They said the king would visit me to-day, And to receive him decked me in these robes.

Jaq. Would you not like me to seek Monsieur Armand ?

Mam'selle Blanche?

Blan. Do, if thou canst, my kind Jaqueline!

Jaq. Oh, I'll find him if he's within the walls of Paris, be sure of that. I do so like to bring lovers together!

[Exit.

Blan. What thronging thoughts in quick succession chase Each other through my brain! I pace these halls

As one who walks them in a dream; and Fear
By turns convulses every trembling limb;
By turns thine azure eyes, immortal Hope!
In visioned beauty smile upon my doubts;
While in thy cheating glass, whose magic brings
The wished-for object near, my spell-bound sight
Sees Armand only! Thus-

Enter the King.

King. My Blanche! [Pauses and looks at her.] Why, this is well this rich attire

Befits thy beauty royally-the emblem

Of greater change that waits thee!

Blan. 'Twas the duchess

That willed it, and not I, my liege.

King. Thy tone,

Fair Blanche, is grave, yet should no sadness mar

Its music. Now thy life shall be one pageant

Of long delight! thine every hour a joy
Newer and gladder, and thine every wish
Fulfilment.

Blan. Sire, I have but one: restore

Me to my childhood's home-to him, without
Whose presence even that home were joyless.

King. A fate more bright awaits thee: hast thou not Divined it? Knowest thou not thou art beloved?

Blan. I do, my liege.

King. And by thy king?

Blan. O Heaven!

King. Fair Blanche, look not like the startled fawn By friendly echoes frighted. Listen, love:

A splendid fate its golden page unrolls

Before thee. In our court the proudest place

Is thine. The queen shall yield thee her protection;

All men shall bow to her whom Louis loves.

Blan. Just Heaven! can such things be? or doth some demon

Whisper these horrors in my dreaming ear?

King. Sweet Blanche, the splendours that I proffer-
Blan. Peace,

Thou king, by passions vile unkinged! Thy words
Have scorched my brain, and should have seared thy lips
In passing them. My liege, my liege, was it

A kingly deed to snare a being helpless
And friendless-young as I—thus to profane
Her ears, and seek by virtue of thy crown

To rob her of the brightest diadem
That can encircle woman's brow?

King. Nay, Blanche,

Mar not thy beauty with this frigid bearing;
Frowns do not suit those gentle eyes, nor fierceness

Thy timid nature.

Blan. Not weak,

Weak thou art

My liege, when roused by insult and by wrong!

I tell thee, haughty king, presumptuous man!
That, like the unshorn locks the Nazarene
Vowed to his God, the purity of woman

Becomes at once her glory and her might!

King. Ah, Blanche! and is there no excuse for love? Blan. Thy love is but self-love! that first and worst Of passions-poisoned spring of every crimeWhich hath no attribute of perfect love.

King. This to thy king?

Blan. Art kingly in thy deeds?

The star that shines so brightly on thy breast

Is worthless if it shed no light within.

The throne that lifts thee o'er thy fellow-men

Should teach the virtues which alone can raise
Thee 'bove them.

King. At thy feet let me implore

Blan. Stand off! approach me not!

King. Thou fearest me, then?

Blan. Fear thee? Danger should be where fear is—I See none.

[her.

King. Woman! thou shalt not brave me thus! [Seizes. No human power can save thee-thou art mine!

What are thy feeble struggles in my grasp?

[me!

Blan. [Sinking on her knees.] Spare me, my liege, spare

King. It is thy turn

To sue, and all in vain! Thou hast forgot

That I am king, and thou hast no protector!

Blan. [Starting up.] I have! I have !—One who for

sakes me not

One whom thou darest not brave! Unloose thy hold,
Or dread His fury! Heaven protects me still!

[The King, awed by her manner, releases her.

Thou art my sovereign; I a friendless subject—
I woman, and thou man! My helplessness
Was of itself a claim to thy protection—
Answer, king!

A claim thou hast rejected.

Hast thou done right? Man, was it well to use
Thy strength against my weakness? Thou art dumb!
Thou canst not answer! King of France, I scorn thee!
[Exit.
King. Why should I shrink from one so powerless?
And can it be that Virtue's presence awes

Me thus?—that Virtue which no weapon needs
Except its own resistless dignity!

She speaks I'm hushed; she spurns me, and I cower;
She leaves me, and I dare not follow her!

ARMAND, having learned that BLANCHE lives, and discovering her retreat, here enters. A violent scene ensues between him and the King, which ends in his arrest. The King afterward relents, and ARMAND

and BLANCHE are restored to each other.

THE

George H. Boker.

BETROTHAL:

A PLAY.

The MARQUIS DI TIBURZZI, a decayed Nobleman, is deeply indebted to the rich Merchant MARSIO. To release himself from this indebtedness, and to restore his fallen fortunes, he is urged to give his Daughter Costanza in marriage to MARSIO, who seeks her hand.

MARQUIS and MARCHIONESS DI TIBURZZI.

Marquis. Why urge forever Marsio's rich estate? Wealth is not sovereign. Should his money sprout, And yield a thousand-fold, it could not change