 | The Father's Tragedy |  |
Scene I.
—Edinburgh: Room in the Monastery of Holy Cross. Enter Walter and Allan.Walter.
His grace of Albany will soon be here;
He comes to be acquitted by the king
Of any share in God's prerogative—
A natural death.
Allan.
Keep down thy bitter voice;
No man creates a fever.
Walter.
Not so sharp!
I think thy speech is full as sour as mine;
Man cannot starve his fellow; he's too soft
And pitiful for that.
Allan.
Oh whisper me,
If you must blab street tales.
Walter.
No fear to speak
What opes the general lip and blanches it.
Think you, mine Allan, that the king hath heard
How all men say his elder son was slain.
Allan.
Ay, Walt; he will not eat until we name
Prince James; then shudders through his ancient form,
And groans within the hollow of his chest,
“Starved, starved!” I never knew so large a grief.
You lose the man within his sorrow's might.
Walter.
Oh, here he comes, as if he'd slept in tombs.
Poor royal father!
[Enter King Robert.]
King Robert.
Everything prepared.
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I'm troubled that I spake so hastily
To one of my own blood; it raises fear,
And makes my conscience feverish and ill,
To think how I accused him in my wrath.
It cannot be; I ever found him kind.
And his high office breeds in common souls
Tale-bearing envy.—You once served my son,
If I mistake not?
Walter.
Sire, I loved him well.
King Robert.
Allan, this knave shall wait on me—you two
Who both have loved my son.—D' you know, last night
I dreamt of him. Within the monast'ry
Of far Lindores I saw the straight cold tomb,
And the straight form—all the round lines of youth,
The full serenity of cheek and chin
Cut clearer in the moonlight's marble mould;
The brow a blank page of the whitest peace;
Yet round about twirled a dim company,
Grey sprites of Famine, shaking poppy-stems
And stalks of corn that wagged their lavish heads,
Deriding the lean body underneath
Its effigy, that still and satisfied
Lay close against the wall. God! to that tomb
My love is pilgrim—with my heart's red drops
Telling an awful penance.
Walter.
My dear lord,
And new kind master, do not ever dwell
On such grim churchyard thoughts. We've heaven and bliss.
King Robert.
I cannot yet go further than the tomb;
There lies the ruined body that I built,
The fair new city where I sent my hopes,
Carrying fire from my own shrine of life
To settle and increase. Yet I, even I,
Put out the hearth and overthrew the home
And pierced the very heart of my desires.
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His grace your brother comes. You'll take your seat
Upon the dais yonder, whereto flock
The people of your household; see!
[King Robert seats himself.
King Robert.
I live
Within this painted nothingness—this world
That stares into mine eyes and holds them not,
This insolent, vain show.
[Covers his face.
Allan.
We'll stand aside.
[Enter Albany, Lindsey, and other Nobles with their trains.]
Albany.
My liege, I break your meditation
For nothing less than honour, for amends
To stabbed and bleeding innocence, yourself
Have wounded first and foremost. These, your lords,
My peers and gracious equals, do acquit
My dear renown from stain of that dread crime
Whose breath would smirch my whiteness. Parliament,
After all due enquiry, strictest search,
And earnest fanning of the fearful charge,
Hath found it chaff, as these can testify.
Lindsey.
My liege, we can.
Earl of Buchan.
There is no evidence.
We frankly own him guiltless of this sin.
King Robert.
Thus we accept him with our penitence.—
O Robert!
Albany.
Sir, I'd have you quite convinced.
I'd be impregnable in pardon. Think!
Without a motive stronger than herself,
Would Nature so unnatural become
As spill her proper blood? That so she would
Is beyond all belief. In motive lies
Sole credit to my having done the deed
That seared me in your favour. First my love—
Which, though the chastisement its care advised,
Was turned of God to doom, thereby received
No taint or flaw in truth—my blood-knit love
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That I am charged withal. One royal branch
[Enter Prince James and Attendants.]
Clipt from the golden tree of monarchy
Leaves yet another in his crescent bloom—
King Robert
[aside].
He's looking at the boy with eagle eye—
It is a look of seizure!—O my James,
Come to your father's arms!
Albany.
See where he grows
From the old noble trunk. Ambition gives
No slightest motive.
King Robert.
'Tis enough. You're clear.
Albany.
That all my love was mocked by the event
Is sore to think on. Who can trammel Death
With cords obedient to mortal will?
My castle hath no dungeon that would hold
Th' invisible last foe. For his offence,
Which God's great judgment-day alone can strike,
I as a man must suffer, while unscathed
Goes the arch-murderer of hope and joy.
King Robert.
It is most true. I'm sorry in my heart
That I accused you from an unchecked mouth.
Most true! Death oft makes innocence seem guilt.
Forgive me, Robert.
Albany.
Nay, I have no need.
'Twas natural that you should doubt, suspect,
Where circumstance so darkly pointed out;
And grief 's a headstrong unenlightened guide.
I knew that reason, toiling through the mists
Of sorrowful opinion and blind wrath,
Would show me white and shine on me again
Whom passion over-clouded. I am blessed
In daylight of your favour. That report
That stirs among the commoners, and sinks
Into base hearts against me, that I starved—
King Robert.
God's sake, no more!
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That villainous, black tale
Gains credit from the rumour'd cruelty
To England's second Richard. He whom Death
With still and sudden handling carries home,
Forsooth! upon the people's oath, is starved.
King Robert.
If you will have acquittal, pardon, grace,
Strangle within your throat that awful word,
And never freeze the aching man in me
With such inhuman, foul suggestion.
O God! that ever such a thing hath been
Cries shame upon Thy fatherhood—unless
Thou leav'st the punishment of children's sin
To devils of the pit. O God! O God!
The anguish burns me—shrivels up my soul
To whitened ashes and blank lifelessness.
Lindsey.
The king is moved.
Albany.
Unhappy that I am,
Pleading for pardon, that my tongue should blast
Where it would run to heal. I only spoke
To shut your doors of hearing from the sound
Of false alarum to your tender love;
And lo! I wake the sentries of your soul
To naked panic. Brother, dearest liege,
Have pity on my lips' mistake—forgive!
King Robert.
Whereas I feel that none who shares my blood,
Or of my mother drank the gentle milk,
Could within utmost limits of belief
Descend from man to monster—at this time,
Here in this place, I do acquit thy hand
Of murder pitiless, thy thought of stain
From black, disnatured treason, and thy soul—
Go, take it to the certain eye of God,
Not to the tear-dimmed vision of a man,
Thine earthly king and brother. Nevermore
Speak of this matter,—'tis my earnest pray'r.
Albany.
So much of pain it brands upon my thought,
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King Robert.
Poor brother—here's my hand!
Albany.
I kiss it, sir.
Lo! the remission for our liege to sign,
In Latin writ, which clears my innocence
And that of Archibald of Douglas, which
Hath suffered slur with mine.
King Robert.
A pen! [signing]
You're free.—
Oh! with a pen I made him prisoner!
Lindsey.
What counsel would you take with these your lords?
You summoned us to conference, my liege.
King Robert.
I'd not forgotten. It is near our heart.—
Leave us, my James; go to our rooms awhile,
Where I can find you presently—my room.—
[Exit James.
Our words concern our heir and only son.
He is a forward scholar and hath learnt
All that our northern wisdom can impart,
Alas! but little worth, to Scotland's shame.
Learning is not less golden in a king
Than his own crown; and manners grace him more,
As he can more display them in his rank,
Than those beneath his sway; we therefore dream
Of foreign education for our son
In polished France.
Albany.
[aside].
Sooth to my very aim!
My liege, 'tis prudent and well-reasoned.
Lindsey.
Yes.
King Robert.
I'm glad it meets your will. The faithful Earl
Of Orkney will attend our dearest son
With chosen servants. Ere he sail from hence,
We would consult your lordships once again.
Now we would have our privacy.
Albany.
We'll go;
And ever study to deserve your love.
[Exeunt Albany and Lords.
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Oh! it is done!
I've set my little boat upon wide seas
To save it from the jealous flames aboard
That scorch it for destruction. Allan, fetch
The Earl of Orkney hither. [Exit Allan.]
Kindly knave,
Come tell me, I'm a cruel father? Ay?
Walter.
Oh, not so cruel as the circumstance
You'd ward off from your son.
King Robert.
How? You are dim.
I wish men spoke their minds with meaning clear.
I'm an old man and my conception slow.
Walter.
I meant that many dangers threaten him
Who is sole heir to sovereignty—no more.
King Robert.
That was not it.—Good fellow, do you think
That I shall live to see my son return?
Walter.
O sire, you're hale in body.
King Robert.
But the heart—
D' you think that it can hold such space of time?
Walter.
With patience, yes!
King Robert.
With passion—no! Then there is memory,
And all this mourning we must add thereto.
[Enter the Earl of Orkney and Allan.]
Good earl, 'tis settled that you go with him.
Thank Heaven that you live whom I can trust.
You will be very watchful; if he die,
I am an old and childless man, an end,
A mortal Omega, a mere life's term,
And ancient monument to Hope's defeat.
Earl of Orkney.
My liege, I will protect him, watch and love
With upright loyalty and perfect care.
Allan.
Why do you weep so bitterly, my liege?
King Robert.
O Allan, 'tis a very bitter thought
That turns my tears to Marah. O my son!
Allan.
'Twill grieve him sore to part with you.
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Of him
I was not thinking. He is true and fair,
But very young, and he will soon forget.
Storms crush the bearded grain; 'twill never rise.
The tender sprouting blade is dashed, but springs
The better for its grief.—Your arm, kind earl.
There's much to settle, many things to do
Before you start. We'll walk together, earl.
[Exeunt.
Allan.
We'll to his chamber, Walt, and gladden it
With sun and air and cleansing.
Walter.
'Tis high time,
For like a bat's nest hath it been of late.
His absence is our opportunity.
[Exeunt.
[Re-enter Albany and a Servant.]
Albany.
Go, fetch the prior.
Servant.
I will, your grace.
Albany.
At once.
I'll wait him here. I cannot sleep at night;
[Exit Servant.
Dreams enter when I close my eyes, and stalk
Along the silent passages of thought
Like ghosts. My health is touched. This must not be.
Rest is a precious store I cannot spend
On vanities and filmy toys of fear.
This prior shall obtain for me from Rome
A pardon that will lay my haunting crime
With sacred exorcism. Here he comes.
[Enter Prior.
Hail.
Prior.
Benedicite!
Albany.
So would I were,
Yet scarcely live I blessed, with dark reports
So cast within the mirrors of my soul
That she is well-nigh blinded to herself,
And takes the dirt that's thrown as native filth
And dregs of her impurity. I scarce
Believe that I am Albany—so vile,
Corroded, monstrous, full of subtle sin,
My enemies declare me. You have heard
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The king declared my spotlessness and health.
You think I have enough restored my soul?
No; there's the holy Church I grieved with guilt
Apparent. I would have her pardon, claim
Exoneration from the weight of crime
Which those who freely hate me still would heap
On my bewildered innocence. I ask
This right, that she establish me in faith,
In guiltlessness, and loyalty.
Prior.
Your grace,
Why need you pardon where there's no offence?
Albany.
To fortify from slander. Those that brag
Against my newly washed, unsullied name,
As if it once were black, will lose their tongue
When they shall find any untoward speck
Of former misconception, error, fault,
Which no man, by his nature, can escape,
Is cleared by holy Church.
Prior.
Your grace takes note
Too closely of the swarms that sting your name
With wounds ephemeral. Such ever fret
The ease of reputation.
Albany.
Pardon me.
I suffer from no pricks, but trenchèd scars.
The brand of Cain, the infamous red curse,
Is struck across the brow of my repute.
Prior.
'Twill blush the more if pardoned. To forgive,
Where sin is absent, fills the emptiness
With sin's own lurid stain.
Albany.
Not so, not so.
It is a measure of state-policy
To silence evil tongues.
Prior.
To teach them words
Of stablished calumny.
Albany.
There you misjudge.
I know men better. Obloquy is dumb
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I'd have you write to Rome this very night,
And send a speedy messenger.
Prior.
Take thought.
If, with a soilèd conscience you would steal
The balm that heals confession into peace,
Great were your condemnation.
Albany.
Priest, you tread
Too near our honour. Am I not declared
By the vox populi—the voice of God—
In parliament, and by my peers, unblamed,
Unblameable?
Prior.
You are.
Albany.
And by the king
Acknowledged sinless?
Prior.
Yes, you are.
Albany.
What more
Desire you?
Prior.
That your lips should firmly seal
The clean page of denial with the stamp
And image of your soul.
Albany.
You ask for much.
No Christian dares to say he hath no sin.
Prior.
Your peers declared you sinless, so you plead.
Will you accept the declaration?
Albany.
No.
Prior.
The declaration for the special sin
That's laid to your account?
Albany.
You pry too far.
Go, write the letter. I disdain to speak
The answer to suspicion.
Prior.
I will write.
I know not if His Holiness will grant
The pardon you desire.
Albany.
Nay, urge him to 't,
As I am rich and great within the land.
Prior.
Not so, your grace, as you are innocent;
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That you are pure of murder. The clean hand,
Unreddened by the stain of blood, as much
Detests the golden taint of proffered coin.
Dishonoured is the honour that is bought.
Albany.
You wrong me. I but said that as I'm great,
Pre-eminent in riches, which are snares
Fate spreads for Envy's watching, it were best
I should be fortified with clear renown
And holy recognition. By the death
Of the king's son, I'm Regent—at the point
And pinnacle of influence. A slur
Cast on my faith, looses the bond of trust
That girdles monarchy;—rank treason spreads
Among the scattered members, social craft,
Domestic infidelity, the guile
Of business, and the tricks of usury.
His Holiness will never thus dissolve
The unity of State, and strike the Church
With such unsanctified and rude assault
To manners and religion. Put this down
Within the letter, using choicer phrase
Selected by your learning.
Prior.
I will write.
God knows I'd have your grace unsullied.
Albany.
Write
This very eve.
Prior.
I will.—Contrition makes
Appeal far surer than my feeble pen.
Albany.
Your pen be strong! To-morrow I'll to shrift.
Why do you pause?
Prior.
Acknowledgment is grace.
Albany.
Go to!—I'd have you purge disloyalty,
Pardon foul lips, detraction infamous.
I would forgive my enemies in thus
Securing false forgiveness for myself.
Mac Louis!
[Enter Servant.
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[Exit Servant with Prior.
This will establish peace within my breast.
Oh, may it pacify the corpse of him
Who cannot sleep at Lindores! It is said
That prodigies make eloquent his tomb,
And call for blood to still the murdered soul
With slumber of accomplished Nemesis.
My blood he asks—mine, or my children's blood.
If not my blood, then theirs! Not theirs, not theirs!
Child of my brother, O avenging ghost,
As thou wert young, ask not my children's blood,
And cut not off my seed, though such a doom
Were perfect justice! I must wait my time;
So must they wait. We know not here nor there,
How, when, requital comes; but if besought
Thus from the bed of stone where murder lies,
Its coming is secure. And yet I think
These miracles are old wives' tales—no more.
Guilt blurs my understanding. Twice to-day
I stumbled,—when I named my crime aloud
Before the king, and when I offered gold
For Church's pardon. Twice the cloud hath swept
My brain's clear weather. But here comes a gleam
Of goodly sun—that James is bound for France.
It promises the mid-day of my fame,
The perfect shining of my dearest hope.
I'll sleep on it. [Re-enter Servant.]
To-night I'll have strong drink—
A posset! Bring it to my sleeping-room.
[Exeunt.
| The Father's Tragedy | |