University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Scene: Missouri. A room in the cottage of Norman Maurice.
Enter Maurice and Clarice.
Clarice.
Oh! Norman, this is happiness.

Maurice.
'Tis more,—
Security in happiness. Our blossoms
Fear not the spoiler. On your cheek the roses
Declare a joyous presence in the heart,
That makes our cottage bloom.

Clarice.
You triumph too,
In favor as in fortune. On all sides
I hear your name reëchoed with a plaudit,
That fills my bosom with exulting raptures
I never knew before.

Maurice.
Ah! this is nothing,
Dear heart, to the sweet peace that crowns our dwelling,
And tells us, though the tempest growls afar,
Its thunders strike not here. The fame I covet
Is still in tribute subject to your joys;
And, these secure—you, happy in my bosom—
My pride forgets its aim! Ambition slumbers
Nor makes me once forgetful of the rapture,
That follows your embrace.

[Knock without.
Clarice.
The widow Pressley.

Maurice.
Quick, welcome her.—Poor woman, we will save her.

Clarice.
I joy to hear you say so.—Come in, madam.

Enter Widow Pressley and Kate.
Maurice.
Welcome, dear madam; you must needs be anxious;
But still be hopeful. I have brought the action,
And doubt not, from my study of your case,
That we shall gain it—put the usurper out,
And win you back some portion of your wealth.
The truth is on our side,—the evidence
Sustains your claim most amply. We shall gain it!

Widow.
Alas! sir, but the power of this bad man—

Maurice.
Need not be powerful here.

Widow.
You know it not;—
His wealth, his violence—

Maurice.
Will scarce prevail.

Widow.
He buys or bullies justice at his pleasure;
No lawyer here would undertake my case
Lest he should lose a friend or make a foe;
And thus, for fifteen years—

Maurice.
He buys not me,
And scarce will profit by an insolence,
That hopes to bully here.

Widow.
Oh! sir, I tremble,
And cannot help but doubt. I know your talents;
All people speak of them,—and yet I fear!
With hopes so often lifted and defeated,
How should I dream of better fortune now?
The widow and the orphan find small favor,
In struggle with the strong and selfish man;
And this success you promise—

Maurice.
None may take
The sovereign accent from the lip of Fate
And say—this thing is written certainly—
But, if I err not, madam, better promise,
Of the clear dawn and the unclouded sunshine,
Ne'er waited on the night. I trust the Jury.
They have no fears to nurse, and seek no favors,
As do that class of men, the mean ambitious,
Who, for the lowly greed of appetite,
Or hungering for a state they never merit,
Cringe with a servile zeal to wealth and numbers,
And nothing show but baseness when they rise.
My faith is in the people.

Widow.
Mine in you, sir.

Maurice.
I will deserve your confidence. This person,
Who robb'd you of your fortune, would but vainly
Attempt to bully me. I am no bully,
But something have I in my soul which strengthens
Its courage, when the insolent would dare
Usurp the rights that I am set to guard.
Be hopeful, madam. Take no care for the morrow,
Though, with the morrow, our great trial comes!
God and his angels keep the innocent,
And, in his own good season, will redress
Their many wrongs with triumph.

Widow.
Sir, I thank you;—
And this poor child, the child of bitterness,
If not of wrath, shall bless you in her prayers,
That nightly seek her mother in the heavens!

Maurice.
[kissing the child.]
Your name is Kate, they tell me—a sweet name!
You'll pray for us to-night, Kate. With the morrow,
If my heart's hope do not deceive my heart,
Your prayers shall all be answer'd.—I'll think of her,
And of her sweet and innocent face to-morrow,
When striving with her enemy.

Kate.
I'll pray, sir,
As if you were my father.

Widow.
She has none, sir.

Maurice.
Losing or winning, daughter, still in me,
Look for a father who will cherish you.

Widow.
Farewell, good sir, I have not words to thank you.

Maurice.
You have a heart that overflows with speech,
And swells into your eyes! No more, dear madam:
Be hopeful and be happy.
[Exeunt widow and child.
We must gain it.
The proofs are clear—I cannot doubt the issue,—
And still a prescient something at my heart,
Awakes its triumph with assuring accents
That never spoke in vain. But, who are these?
[Enter Col. Mercer and Brooks.
Welcome, gentlemen.

Mercer.
We trust, sir, that you see in us your friends.

Maurice.
Such, since our brief acquaintance, you have seemed, sir,
And mine's a heart preferring to confide;
That still would rather suffer wrong of faith,
Than not believe in man.

Mercer.
You'll find us true;—
And thus it is, that, sure of our good purpose,
We come to counsel with you as a friend.

Maurice.
As friends, I welcome you. Be seated, sirs.

Brooks.
We do regard you, sir, as one to help us,—
In public matters. From our knowledge of you,
We've said among our friends, this is our man;
And, looking still to you to serve our people,
We hear with grief that you are in a peril
Whose straits, perchance, you know not.

Maurice.
Peril, sir?

Brooks.
You have brought action for the widow Pressley,
For the recovery of a large possession,
Withheld by Colonel Blasinghame—

Maurice.
'Tis true, sir,

Mercer.
You do not know this man.

Maurice.
I've heard of him.

Mercer.
But not that he is one whom men find prudent
To pass with civil aspect, nor confront
With wrath or opposition. He has power,
Such as few men possess, or dare contend with—
Has wealth in great abundance—is a person,
Most fearless and most desperate in battle,
Who better loves the conflict with his fellow
Than any gifts that peaceful life can bring;
Endow'd with giant strength and resolution,
And such a shot, from five to fifteen paces,
As still to shatter, wavering in the wind,
The slenderest wand of willow.

Maurice.
Famous shooting!

Brooks.
It were not wise to wake his enmity!
We look to you to serve our cause in Congress—
Make him your foe, and he opposes you;
His wealth—his popularity—the terrors,
His very name provokes,—all leagued against you—
You still a stranger.

Maurice.
Patiently, I hear;
And though I feel not like solicitude
With that you show for me, am grateful for it!
And now, sirs, let us understand each other.
I am a man who, in pursuit of duty,
Will hold no parley with that week day prudence
Which teaches still how much a virtue costs.
Of this man, Blasinghame, I've heard already,—
Even as you both describe him. It would seem,
Lest I should fail in utter ignorance,
He took a patient trouble on himself,
To school me in his virtues. Read this letter.

[gives letter.
Mercer., Brooks.
His hand!—his signature!

[they read.
Maurice.
Well, gentlemen, you see it written there,
What are my dangers if I dare to venture
This widow's cause against him. Favor me,
And read the answer which has just been written.

Mercer.
[reads aloud.]

Sir:—The suit of Pressley vs. Blasinghame will be prosecuted to conclusion, without regard to consequences, with the best strength and abilities of

Norman Maurice.

Maurice.
It is brief, sir.

Brooks.
'Tis a defiance, Maurice!

Maurice.
'Twas meant so, gentlemen. I am a man,
Or I am nothing! This poor widow's cause,
The very insolence of this Blasinghame,
Hath made my own! I'll die for it if need be.

Mercer.
Art principled 'gainst the duel?

Maurice.
Rather ask,
If, when my enemy takes me by the throat,
I do oppose him with an homily.
No man shall drive me from society!—
I take the laws I find of force, and use them,
For my protection and defence, as others
Employ them for assault.

Mercer.
You've practised then?

Maurice.
Never shot pistol.

Brooks.
Nor rifle?

Maurice.
Scarcely!

Mercer.
You are very rash, sir!

Maurice.
Ay! but rashness, sir,
Becomes a virtue in a case like this;
And the brave heart, untaught in human practice,
Finds good assurance from another source
That prompts its action right. This letter's written,
And goes within the hour. Let Blasinghame
Chafe as he may, and thunder to the terror,
Of those who have no manhood in themselves;—
He thunders at these portals still in vain!
To-morrow comes the trial—after that!—
But let the future wear what look it may,
I'll find the heart to meet it—as a man!

Mercer.
Then you are firm?

Maurice.
As are the rocks,
In conflict with the sea.

Mercer.
We joy to find you thus!
We'll stand by you through danger to the last.

Brooks.
Ay, Maurice, we are with you.

Maurice.
Friends, your hands!—
I am not used to friendship, but I love it,
As still a precious gift, vouchsafed by heaven,
Next best to love of woman! For this danger,—
Fear nothing! we shall 'scape it! Nay, 'twill give us,
Or truth is not of God, new plumes for triumph!