press me no further (as if
soliloquizing, yet aloud). If it had only some veil, that horrid vice,
under which it might shroud itself from the eye of the world! But there
it is, glaring horribly through the sallow, leaden eye; proclaiming
itself in the sunken, deathlike look; ghastly protruding bones; the
faltering, hollow voice; preaching audibly from the shattered, shaking
skeleton; piercing to the most vital marrow of the bones, and sapping
the manly strength of youth--faugh! the idea sickens me. Nose, eyes,
ears shrink from it. You saw that miserable wretch, Amelia, in our
hospital, who was heavily breathing out his spirit; modesty seemed to
cast down her abashed eye as she passed him; you cried woe upon him.
Recall that hideous image to your mind, and your Charles stands before
you. His kisses are pestilence, his lips poison.

AMELIA (strikes him). Shameless liar!

FRANCIS. Does such a Charles inspire you with horror? Does the mere
picture fill you with disgust? Go, then! gaze upon him yourself, your
handsome, your angelic, your divine Charles! Go, drink his balmy
breath, and revel in the ambrosial fumes which ascend from his throat!
The very exhalations of his body will plunge you into that dark and
deathlike dizziness which follows the smell of a bursting carcase, or
the sight of a corpse-strewn battle-field. (AMELIA turns away her
face.) What sensations of love! What rapture in those embraces! But is
it not unjust to condemn a man because of his diseased exterior? Even
in the most wretched lump of deformity a soul great and worthy of love
may beam forth brightly like a pearl on a dunghill. ( With a malignant
smile.) Even from lips of corruption love may----. To be sure if vice
should undermine the very foundations of character, if with chastity
virtue too should take her flight as the fragrance departs from the
faded rose--if with the body the soul too should be tainted and
corrupted.

AMELIA (rising joyfully). Ha! Charles! now I recognize thee again!
Thou art whole, whole! It was all a lie! Dost thou not know,
miscreant, that it would be impossible for Charles to be the being you
describe? (FRANCIS remains standing for some time, lost in thought,
then suddenly turns round to go away.) Whither are you going in such
haste? Are you flying from your own infamy?

FRANCIS (hiding his face). Let me go, let me go! to give free vent to
my tears! tyrannical father, thus to abandon the best of your sons to
misery and