[Literature] Charles Dickens: The Village Coquettes - There Are Dark Shadows on the #5/21

GEORGE EDMUNDS enters, with a stick in his hand.

EDMUNDS. How thickly the fallen leaves lie scattered at the feet of that old row of elm-trees! When I first met Lucy on this spot, it was a fine spring day, and those same leaves were trembling in the sunshine, as green and bright as if their beauty would last for ever. What a contrast they present now, and how true an emblem of my own lost happiness!

Song.—GEORGE EDMUNDS.

Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!
How like the hopes of childhood’s day,
Thick clustering on the bough!
How like those hopes is their decay,—
How faded are they now!

Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!

Wither’d leaves, wither’d leaves, that fly before the gale;
Wither’d leaves, wither’d leaves, ye tell a mournful tale,

Of love once true, and friends once kind,
And happy moments fled:

Dispersed by every breath of wind,
Forgotten, changed, or dead!

Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here;
Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!

An hour past the old time, and still no Lucy! ’Tis useless lingering here: I’ll wait no longer. A female crossing the meadow!—’Tis Rose, the bearer of a letter or a message perhaps.

Enter ROSE. (She avoids him.)

No! Then I will see Lucy at once, without a moment’s delay. (Going.)

ROSE. No, no, you can’t. (Aside.) There’ll certainly be bloodshed! I am quite certain Mr. Flam will kill him. He offered me, with the most insinuating speeches, to cut John’s throat at a moment’s notice: and when the Squire complimented him on being a good shot, he said he should like to ‘bag’ the whole male population of the village. (To him.) You can’t see her.

EDMUNDS. Not see her, and she at home! Were you instructed to say this, Rose?

ROSE. I say it, because I know you can’t see her. She is not well; and—and—

EDMUNDS. And Mr. Norton is there, you would say.

ROSE. Mr. Norton!

EDMUNDS. Yes, Mr. Norton. Was he not there last evening? Was he not there the evening before? Is he not there at this moment?

Enter JOHN MADDOX.

JOHN. There at this moment?—of course he is.

ROSE. (aside). John here!

JOHN. Of course he is; of course he was there last night; and of course he was there the evening before. He’s always there, and so is his bosom friend and confidential demon, Mr. Sparkins Flam. Oh! George, we’re injured men, both of us.

EDMUNDS. Heartless girl! (Retires up.)

JOHN (to ROSE). Faithless person!

ROSE. Don’t call me a person.

JOHN. You are a person, perjured, treacherous, and deceiving! Oh! George, if you had seen what I have seen to-day. Soft whisperings and loving smiles, gentle looks and encouraging sighs,—such looks and sighs as used once upon a time to be bestowed on us, George! If you had seen the Squire making up to Lucy, and Rose making up to Flam:—but I am very glad you did not see it, George, very. It would have broken your heart, as it has broken mine! Oh, Rose! could you break my heart?

ROSE. I could break your head with the greatest pleasure, you mischief-making booby; and if you don’t make haste to wherever you’re going, somebody that I know of will certainly do so, very quickly.

JOHN. Will he, will he?—your friend, Mr. Flam, I suppose! Let him—that’s all; let him! (Retires up.)

ROSE. Oh! I’ll let him: you needn’t be afraid of my interfering. Dear, dear, I wish Mr. Flam would come, for I will own, notwithstanding what graver people may say, that I enjoy a little flirtation as much as any one.

Song.—ROSE.
Some folks who have grown old and sour,
Say love does nothing but annoy.
The fact is, they have had their hour,
So envy what they can’t enjoy.
I like the glance—I like the sigh—
That does of ardent passion tell!
If some folks were as young as I,
I’m sure they’d like it quite as well.
Old maiden aunts so hate the men,
So well know how wives are harried,
It makes them sad—not jealous—when
They see their poor dear nieces married.
All men are fair and false, they know,
And with deep sighs they assail ’em,
It’s so long since they tried men, though,
I rather think their memories fail ’em.

—Here comes Mr. Flam. You’d better go, John. I know you’ll be murdered.

JOHN.