 | Life for Life |  |
[SCENE I.]
Scene.—Noonday. A valley in the Highlands. A wood of oaks at back. Mountains in the distance. On one side an arched gateway, leading to an old tower. Rude rustic benches, with the massive felled trunk of an oak, are scattered about. An old rough stone of some size, which serves for goal in the race, is seen on side of stage opposite to gateway. As the curtain rises, it discovers the clansmen of the Clan Mackane, with other men and women of various ages, including children of both sexes from the neighbouring glen and village. Michael and Colin, as near connections of the chief, wear each an eagle's feather in his bonnet. Other Clansmen wear each in his bonnet a sprig of holly, as the badge of the Mackane. As the curtain rises, shouts158
1st Chorus.
Allan!
2d Chorus.
Dougal!
1st Chorus.
Allan!
Allan enters, running rapidly towards the stone, the goal, amidst the applause of the greater part of spectators, who exclaim, “Well sped, Allan! Allan!” Dougal enters almost instantly after Allan, and runs after him to the goal.
Col.
[Clapping Dougal on the back.]
Take heart, good Dougal! He need nothing boast;
You'll beat him yet. You're the chief's thirteenth cousin,
And, by my reckoning, he is but the twentieth.
Eff.
[Soothingly.]
Indeed you ran him hard.
Doug.
[Panting.]
A minute more
I'd past him—see, he pants, while I—I'm fresh
And sound of wind—scarce breathed!
[They laugh.
Eff.
Ay, ay, we know,
But that some sorry chance still plays you false,
You'd always be his master.
Doug.
Am his master.
Jest on. You're jealous that I danced with Rose.
Rose.
My next dance is with Allan.
Doug.
[To Effie.]
Let him take
My cast-off gear and wear it.
Allan.
Your cast gear!
Braggart!
Doug.
Braggart!
[They lay their hands on their sword-hilts.
Mic.
No strife! What! strife to-day,
When, till our scouts report the foe, we hold
High festival to welcome the return
Of Oscar, and our chief's brother, long deemed dead
Rose.
[To Allan.]
Hear you?
159
[To Dougal.]
Take hands!
[Dougal and Allan somewhat sulkily shake hands.
Mic.
Be the time henceforth spent
In Oscar's honour.
[All but Michael and Colin disperse themselves over the ground. Some converse in groups standing, sitting, or reclining on the grass. Others examine the hammers which have been brought back. Others take up bows and arrows and prepare to shoot. Clansmen who went out return and join the rest.
Mic.
[To Colin, who has remained with him in front.]
But 'tis strange he comes not,
To share these sports with which our people greet him.
Col.
Oscar? He's still with Murdoch.
Mic.
'Tis not wise
In Murdoch to delay him.
Col.
You forget;
Murdoch's your chief.
Mic.
No more the chief he was.
Since that dark hour when by Macronald's band
His son, young Kenelm, was borne off and slain,
But one thought holds him, and his fitful will
Scarce brooks restraint of reason. Even here,
Where we have marched from home, that in this glen,
Our thinned force may the better cope with Cameron—
Here on Macronald's borders has he spurned
His offered peace, and challenged double strife,
Though weak to meet it single.
Col.
He's your chief.
Mic.
And leads us to our ruin.
Col.
He's my chief;
I'll follow him to ruin.
Mic.
Follow madness?
Col.
If madness be his humour, 'tis his choice,
Not mine. He's still my chief.
Mic.
Silence! he comes—
He and his brother Oscar.
160
Sir O.
[To Clansmen and others.]
Kinsmen, friends,
Pardon if I, a seeming laggard, come
To thank your welcome of me, who went forth
A child, and am returned to you a man.
Beseech you make not my delay offence,
For I was held in counsel with my brother
On what concerns us all.
Mic.
[Taking Sir Oscar's hand.]
Thrice welcome, Oscar,
The brother of our chief!
Chorus of Clanspeople.
Ay, long live Oscar!
Col.
A welcome for the chief too; long live Murdoch!
[Waving his bonnet.
Some Clanspeople.
[With a fainter cry, in which the rest do not join.]
Ay, long live Murdoch!
Sir O.
[Aside.]
Cold greeting for their chief! [To Murdoch, who still sits abstracted.]
They greet you, brother.
I say your people greet you.
Mur.
[Half-rousing himself.]
Greet me? Thank them. Say that I thank them.
[Relapses into gloomy reverie.
Sir O.
[To Clanspeople.]
To the full, we both
Exchange our love with you—your chief and I.
But let your sports proceed. Here on the strath
Let each man draw his bow, and he whose shaft
In three encounters strikes the nearest home,
161
Which from my foe in deadly fight I plucked,
Warring for France!
Col.
A costly prize! [To Clansmen.]
Put forth
Your best skill to deserve it.
All.
Ay! ay!
Sir O.
[To Murdoch.]
Brother, you
Will witness this contention?
Mur.
[Looking up.]
I? not now.
I have no humour for't.
Sir O.
[To Clanspeople.]
Affairs of weight
Engage my brother still. Some later hour—
Say two hours past the noon—shall you contest,
And he award, the prize.
Mic.
[To other Clanspeople.]
Even now our meal
Lies spread on yonder slope. Follow! To Oscar,
So late restored, we'll drain our cups.
Clanspeople.
Ay, full ones!
Mic.
You from the glen and village will partake
Our feast. Sweet, by your leave.
[To Effie, who proudly takes his arm.
Doug.
[Surlily.]
By my leave, Michael.
Mic.
By yours when she is yours.
Doug.
[Turning to Rose.]
Come, Rose!
Rose.
[Who slides her arm into Allan's.]
Too late!
I promised him the next dance.
[Going up with Allan.
Doug.
[Angrily.]
So!
Mic.
[Looking back on them as he is about to go out.]
Remember,
No strife, 'tis Oscar's day; a health to Oscar!
Eff.
Ay, ay, we'll all drink that.
Various Clanspeople.
A cup to Oscar!
[All Clanspeople and others, Murdoch, Oscar, and Colin excepted, rush out gaily, the men with their partners; the squire and page amongst the rest.
Sir O.
[To Murdoch, who still sits in gloomy abstraction
162
Murdoch, their feast lacks its best grace, if you,
Our chieftain, hold aloof. With me, and join them!
Mur.
[Looking up.]
Join them in what? their mirth?
Sir O.
Their chief should make
Their mirth his own.
Mur.
'Tis well; you lesson me,
My new-found brother.
Sir O.
And your younger brother
By some ten years, I grant; I'd not offend.
[Going.
Mur.
[Softening.]
Nay, Oscar, go not. If the wide earth hold
Aught dear to me—the which I doubt—'tis thou.
[Looking earnestly at Oscar, then speaking to Colin, and laying his hand on Colin's arm.
Mark you not in his look a something—something
That hints the face we miss?
Col.
Our Kenelm's face?
Mur.
[In a low, fierce tone.]
Peace! Did I bid thee name him?
Speak not!
[He again falls into deep and gloomy abstraction.
Sir O.
[Seating himself on a bench by Colin, and speaking to him apart.]
Pray you,
What cause has moved him thus?
Col.
[Apart to Sir Oscar.]
Sir, 'tis a wound
That I did ill in probing. See! again
He's lost! [Pointing to Murdoch.]
His mood is on him. When it falls,
He shuns all converse, breaks not fast, nor gives
His nights to sleep, but sits in moveless gloom.
And yet, I have at times the luck or skill
To rouse him and dispel his evil hour.
I will essay it. Mark! I speak to you.
[Then addressing Sir Oscar in louder tone, that Murdoch may hear.
If you demand of me what deeds in fight
Your brother wrought, my task is hard to choose
163
Upon his chin was down, not hair, when first
He drew claymore. When was it—when—say, chief,
[Turning to Murdoch]
When first blood dyed your steel?
Sir O.
[Who, with Colin, turns and observes Murdoch.]
He heeds you not.
Col.
[Musing.]
When, when? [Again addressing Murdoch.]
Was't not that far-off night
(What years have flown since then—'twas early spring—)
When our brave lads drove off the foeman's herds,
And we, belated, followed far behind?
See'st thou that night?
Sir O.
[Who, with Colin, still watches Murdoch.]
He's rapt; you squander breath.
Col.
[Still to Murdoch.]
That night of misty moonlight, when, like dogs
That track the boar, they with deep-chested yell
Strained on our path? [Apart to Sir Oscar.]
Now mark!
Sir O.
[Observing that Murdoch still sits motionless.]
You rouse him not.
Col.
[Still addressing Murdoch.]
Who were they that pursued
With yells and opening jaws? The accursed Macronalds!
Mur.
[Suddenly kindling into interest, and grasping Colin's arm.]
Ay, the Macronalds! Colin, thou say'st well.
Go on; what did I then? what then?
Col.
Thou knowest.
Some five, whose speed outstripped the rest, o'ertook
And hemmed us round. Then stood we twain at bay.
Mur.
[Excitedly.]
At bay, and, like the boar you spoke of, rent them
With tusks of steel. A living wall they stood;
164
Thy axe made breaches there!
Col.
The more part sank
Beneath your arm.
Mur.
[Pleased.]
Thou say'st so!
Sir O.
At great odds
Did you contend!
Col.
[Exultingly to Sir Oscar.]
And he, young hawk, first struck
His quarry there! You had been proud to wear
His tartan later on Glen Allan's field.
Thrice at the Glen's mouth, with a shout that mocked
The ocean's roar, the fierce Macronald beat,
While with a scanty force your brother thrice,
Rock-like, repelled them—
Mur.
[Interrupting with glee.]
Till 'twas turn of tide,
And the roar sank, and all that sullen sea,
Moaning, ebbed out, nor left a trace behind
But the white surf of dead! Among their dead—
Ay, ay; say on; say on!
[To Colin.
Col.
Among their dead,
Three of Macronald's race—their bonnets bore
The eagle's plume—lay stretched.
Mur.
[Springing up exultingly.]
I had dealt on them!
I, only I!
Col.
Thou only, chief.
Mur.
[Laughing.]
Ha, ha!
Thy words are wine, brave heart! As I had known
Their ruthless tribe should one day from his lair
Hunt my poor whelp to death, I took revenge
Beforehand; but my heart, unslaked, could drink
Revenge as sand drinks water. I am parched
[Raising his hands to heaven].
More rain! more rain!
Col.
[Joyfully to Oscar.]
He's roused at last.
Sir O.
[Aside.]
By hatred
To Lilian's race! [To Murdoch.]
That you have borne dire wrongs
165
Should sway a leader. If I hear aright,
The Camerons, counting on your wasted strengths,
Are now no less Macronald's foes than yours.
Against this new foe should you turn your swords
Forgetting former feud.
Mur.
Forget our debt
To the Macronald? I'd as soon forget
My mother's last kiss, or my dead wife's first,
Or my slain boy's parting clasp. To him and his
We owe our shorn strength, ravaged land, crushed pride—
Fuel enough for hate. But if in you
It smoulders, I'll throw oil on. [Motions Sir Oscar to trunk of felled tree, while Colin makes a deprecating gesture. Murdoch and Sir Oscar sit. A short pause.]
You came back
This morn as from the dead, and yet I smiled not.
You have seen my face light up—as the scarred cliff
Beneath the storm-flash—while a laugh more bitter
Than groans broke from me; but you have not seen—
You will not see me smile.
Sir O.
My brother!
Mur.
Yet
I once could smile, and, strange! for joy could weep,
I had a boy, in whose soft brow, clear eyes,
And trick of speech his mother lived again.
And often when he spoke a sudden echo
Surprised me from the ruins of my youth;
And when he trod the health my fancy leaped
The years to come, and saw the eagle's plume
Stream from his bonnet, as, with drawn claymore,
And our wild war-cry on his lips, he led
Our van to battle, as a comet leads
The trail of light behind it!
Col.
Ay; he ne'er
Had shamed his stock, chief!
166
[Continuing to Oscar.]
Well, this boy, my Kenelm,
Who was to me—guess what an only son,
His mother in the grave, is to a father!—
Going forth to fight, I left him in the care
Of humble folk, whose lowly roof I deemed
Would be a safe and less suspected shelter
Than my own walls; but there the hunters tracked him,
Seized, bore him off, and doubtless dyed their hands
In a child's blood. My Kenelm! [Pauses in paroxysm of grief.]
Ask you still
Why for one hope I live, and only one,
Revenge upon his murderers?
Sir O.
[Giving his hand to Murdoch.]
My heart, brother,
Bleeds at this deed abhorred. Not less than you
Would I pursue the doer.
Mur.
[Half suspiciously.]
Sir, I thank you;
I had so much believed.
Sir O.
But could Macronald,
Or kin of his, be privy to such horror?
No, 'twas some caitiff follower!
Mur.
[Withdrawing his hand, and speaking bitterly.]
You can weigh this!
You're nice in right! What hunted creature asks
Of the pursuing throng whose spear transfixed it?
It turns and rends the foremost. Save you, sir,
I was a father, and your temperate virtue
Offends my too rash blood. Farewell, just brother!
[Going, he turns to Colin, who is following him, and waves him back.
Not now, I'd be alone.
[Murdoch goes out by gateway into tower.
Sir O.
[Aside.]
When he shall learn
That to Macronald's child I stand betrothed,
What bounds will curb his fury?
Col.
Look you, sir,
The chief went hence in anger; you do ill
To cross his mood.
167
How if his mood go wrong?
Col.
Your part is still submission. If I bid
My dog to leap a chasm, though the plunge
Be death, he takes it. What your chief has willed
Is your will; or it should be.
Sir O.
And it might be,
Were I his dog.
Enter Michael hastily.
Mic.
Kinsmen, I bear grave news.
Those we sent forth have learned by sure report
That Cameron, whose advance we deemed was near,
Falls back towards England.
Sir O.
England!
Mic.
Whence by bribes
And pledge of Scottish spoil he gains allies.
Thus reinforced, he bends his swollen strength
At once against Macronald's clan and ours.
Col.
Then but one choice is left, to sell life dearly.
Sir O.
Were it not wisdom if, with your old foes,
You now made league 'gainst new ones?
Col.
League! no league
With the Macronalds!
Mic.
Others say not so.
[To Oscar.]
Know you not then that three days since their chief,
Young Malcolm, proffered peace and his alliance
Unto your brother?
Sir O.
[Joyfully.]
Was this so?
Mic.
Albeit,
Old rancours in our breasts at first prevailed,
To both clans had this union been safety,
To ours existence. That we were most rash
To spurn it, hour by hour grows clear to all.
Sir O.
Then it was spurned?
Mic.
Almost before 'twas utter'd.
Col.
By Murdoch, who with scorn drove back the envoy.
168
All this admits of cure. Murdoch, a Scotsman,
No less than chief and clansman, when he hears
That Cameron fees English swords against us,
Will join with Malcolm!
Col.
[Aside.]
Will he so? 'Tis fit
He learn your scheme betimes.
[He goes out by gateway towards tower.
Sir O.
I'll seek my brother.
How takes Macronald this?
Mic.
Even as befits
A name we hate but honour. He prepares
To leave his castle, and pursuing Cameron,
Engage him ere by English succour joined.
Sir O.
Would Murdoch did the like.
[Going.
Mic.
'Twere well.
[A shout without of “A dance! A dance!” Some of the Clanspeople are here seen entering at back, and motioning to the rest.
But see our people,
Now from the feast press in for song and dance.
Stay for their sport; so shall you win their love!
Sir O.
Sir, I am theirs. 'Tis thus they show me welcome.
[Other Clanspeople re-enter, accompanied by men, women, and children from the neighbourhood, also Sir Oscar's knight and page. The two latter take seats to witness the dance. Foremost Clansmen, with cries of “Clear, clear the ground!” remove off the stage the trunk of felled tree, benches, &c. Others shout, “A song, a song!”
Sir O.
[To Michael.]
Their mirth well pleases me. These hearts so light
In danger's front are just the hearts to face it.
Eff.
[Who has overheard Sir Oscar.]
Sir knight, your speech smacks of the song we dance to.
Sir O.
Fair maid, let's hear that song.
[All approach their partners except Sir Oscar and Michael, who sit at side in front, and Sir
169
Song.
Let every laddie take his lass,
And dance while yet he may;
For a clansman's life doth quickly pass
From song and feast to fray.
His arm round her waist and her lip to taste,
What time for care and sorrow?
The hours are fleet and her smile is sweet:
Dance to-day and fight to-morrow!
[A Highland dance, the dancers repeating the last four lines as chorus, reaching their plaids one to another, and swaying them gently in their hands from side to side. The dance, as it progresses, should in this and subsequent chorus, be also accompanied by excited cries and gestures on the part of those engaged.
And dance while yet he may;
For a clansman's life doth quickly pass
From song and feast to fray.
His arm round her waist and her lip to taste,
What time for care and sorrow?
The hours are fleet and her smile is sweet:
Dance to-day and fight to-morrow!
2d Verse.
Let every lassie take her lad,
And love him while she can;
Be this day bright, though the next be sad
When goes her own braw man;
His arm round her waist and her lip to taste,
What time for care or sorrow?
The hours are fleet and her kiss is sweet:
Dance to-day and fight to-morrow!
And love him while she can;
Be this day bright, though the next be sad
When goes her own braw man;
His arm round her waist and her lip to taste,
What time for care or sorrow?
The hours are fleet and her kiss is sweet:
Dance to-day and fight to-morrow!
170
| Life for Life | |