University of Virginia Library

Act II

Scene I

(Boradale in Scotland. Enter Charles Stuart attended by his daughter Madalena disguised as a Page.)
Charles Stuart
Come hither, gentle Page! Thou hast become
As necessary to my being as my life.
I have despaired of that success which Hope
First promised me for active war!

Page
Why so,
My royal lord?

Charles Stuart
I have received no news
From France in answer to my letter yet.

Page
Nay, do not doubt while young Fernando lives,
But Stuart shall be seated on the throne.
I pray you that your boy should learn to fence.

Charles Stuart
To fence, my boy? why do you wish to fence?

Page
For glory good my lord! while on the field
What ecstasy would young Fernando feel
To know that he had saved his Master's life?
For know, my royal lord! that this proud heart
Shall first receive the dagger aimed at thine.

Charles Stuart
Enthusiastic boy! why say you so!

Page
Because you are so doubly dear to me,
That were you slain, this life would not be life!

Charles Stuart
Thou art the noblest of all gentle youths.
And shall not find an equal in this land. (Enter Boisdale.)

Well, noble Boisdale, what is the news?

Boisdale
None that your highness would delight to hear.
The battle of Fontenoy has been fought;
And news arrived the English troops were much
Depressed.

Charles Stuart
Their ardour, therefore, being damped,
Without assistance from ungodly France,
Could we not safely march our Highland troops,
And take possession of the field?

Boisdale
Such would
Be useless in the worst extreme. Without
The regular troops not one will take up arms.

Charles Stuart
The ardour of my resolution keeps
The better of my judgement, Boisdale!
Where is Clanranald? He will better suit
A Stuart's intrepidity.

Boisdale
He will
Not come.

Charles Stuart
Why speak you thus?

Boisdale
He will not take
Up arms without the regular troops to lead.

Charles Stuart
Will you not use your power to bring him here?

Boisdale
I have no influence over him, my lord.

Charles Stuart
Wilt not become ambassador to Skye
To brave Macdonald?

Boisdale
No, 'tis vain.

Page
(Indignantly)
Implore no more that traitor to his king, my lord,
And let us seek Macdonald for ourselves.

Boisdale
(Drawing)
What! traitor, did you say? By heavens! But no!
I will not vent my spite upon a child!
What! did you bring such soldiers as this boy
To fight with hardy England? No, by Heaven!
He looks as if you had just taken him from
His mother's breast! The suckling shall be spared!

Page
What! traitor! weakly as you think I am,
This arm is strong enough for thee! (Drawing)
Come on!
And see who is the suckling, you or I!
I pity thee. I spurn thee from my sight.
The presence of all honest men should freeze
Thy coward heart to ice! Away! begone!

Boisdale
By Heaven! You shall not taunt me thus!

Page
Come on!

Charles Stuart
(Stepping between them)
Nay, peace! young man! You, Boisdale, put up
Your sword! The royal Charles commands you both.
And you, young Page. (Exit Boisdale.)


Page
(Falling on his knees.)
Nay, pardon me, my lord!
A traitor's insolence provoked my rage!
I had forgot the duty which I owed
Thy former love! Pray, pardon me, my lord!

Charles Stuart
(Eagerly taking his hand)
Look up, my noble boy! Look up, my noble son!
And tell me, more than mortal, who thou art!

Page
I am, my royal lord—

Charles
Say what thou art?
For by yon Heaven thou art the sun.

Page
That which
I glory in, the favourite of my Prince.

Charles Stuart
(Studying his features)
A chastened smile dwells on thy sweet lips.
As if thy soul, just purified by love
Gazed on the snowy wings of virgin Hope,
Leading it gently to the gates of Heaven!
But rise, my gentle Page! some person comes.
(Enter Sir Ronald)
What news from France?

Sir Ronald
I come to learn the news.
For, hearing that our royal Prince was here,
We come to give him welcome to our shores.

Charles Stuart
Who?

Sir Ronald
Moidart, Clanranald.

Charles Stuart
Moidart, Clanranald?
Show me this moment to my friends.

Sir Ronald
They come.

(Enter Moidart and Clanranald.)
Charles Stuart
My noble friends! Why have you thus delayed
Your presence from your king?

Clanranald
My lord! we heard
That you had come without your regular troops,
And well we know the Highlanders would not
Take arms without the regular troops to lead.

Charles Stuart
And are you sure they will not take up arms?

Clanranald
I know they will not. If they should, it would
Be instant death—destruction to them all!

Charles Stuart
Is this the common cry throughout the land?
The seed of cowardice is sown therein,
And shall be watered by the bravest blood!
Who would not rather die than live such men!
Oh, for another heart just like my own,
We two would cling together through the fight,
And live to conquer England or die!

Page
Here is another heart as brave as thine;
It tolls the knell of bondage on my ribs,
And swells my bosom with an eager throb,
As if upon the vigil-pants it bore
The form of Victory triumphant, air
To Liberty! Here is another heart like thine.

Charles Stuart
Take an example from that arduous youth
Whose nature is too gentle even to bear
The simplest frown, but whose undaunted soul
Is like the eagle when he plumes his wings,
And straightway soars up to the sun!
That which is glory unto him, as is
The sunbeam to the eagle, makes ye blind,
And fills your puny hearts with gaudy fears,
Which magnify the more you gaze on them!
Would you not rather die than live to see
The fathers that have bred you, slaves?

Ronald
We would.

Page
(Embracing Sir Ronald.)
Behold that gallant youth! See how his eyes
Sparkle with glory at the very thought!
See how his mighty soul speaks through his cheeks,
Although his lips are mute! Will ye not die?

Ronald
A thousand death if but my royal lord
Will make me his companion in the tour.

Charles Stuart
Oh! for another heart just like my own
Thrice would we then be armed against the foe.

Page
Fernando has another heart like his,
One that will lose the last drop in his wars,
Or seat his Royal Master on the throne.

Charles Stuart
Undaunted youth! with such brave hearts as thine
What should we fear from England's bravest sons?
Ye shall be leaders of the Highland troops;
And when the victory shall be won, ye shall
Be both as near my throne as now my heart.

Clanranald
Noble Prince! we are constrained to go.
Thus shall we all be mingled into one,
And melt the tyrant-chaos, as the sun
Dispels the darkness of the night, until
The world is wrapped in one continuous glow!

Page
Friend of my soul! we are but one at heart!

Sir Ronald
We are but one at heart, as thou hast said;
But we shall be like three upon the field
The valor of my heart has echoed thine
And Scotland's warriour shall unite his soul
In deathless friendship to the child of Song.
Thus, as our hearts are here united, so
Shall be our hands in rosy bands of love!

Page
Remember, thou hast spoken what may be

Sir Ronald
It may not be what is already done.

Page
I call upon my royal liege, from this time forth,
And these two friends to witness what is said.

Sir Ronald
And would you doubt the truth of Ronald thus?

Page
I would not doubt it.

Sir Ronald
Then it shall be so.

(Enter Marquis de Tullibardine, Sir Joshua Macdonald, Cameron, Buchanan, Lochiel and Timlock.)
Charles Stuart
Welcome, my noble friends! What news from France?

Macdonald
We still hear nothing from the troops, my lord!

Charles Stuart
If some vile serpent had but stung thy child,
Whose death were antidote to that keen bite,
Would you not kill it?

Macdonald
Ay, for joy, my lord.

Charles Stuart
Thou wouldst not long for its destruction more
Than Stuart for that serpent who now sits
Arrayed on England's throne.

Macdonald
Then let him die!

Charles Stuart
He who has driven the fiery wheels of war
Above the battlements of exiled Kings,
Shall, by thunderbolts of Stuart's power,
Amid the whirlwinds of protracted war,
Behold his glory leveled with the dust!
The Owl shall mutter his dolorous notes
Above the wailings of her recent chiefs,
And Stuart's faithful followers shall reap,
The garnished glories of her wasted kings
And gather up their spoils for household gods,
While their unwilling recreants shall behold
The fire of Liberty, rekindled, burn
Upon the Altar of our isle, new built
A quenchless beacon light for after times;
And dart athwart the pestilential gloom
Of Tyranny the lucid beams of truth,
And usher in that glorious morn of peace,
Whose rising on the world shall never set.

Sir Ronald
Thy spirit-stirring eloquence of Fame
Shall guide our barque of glory through the sea,
And stay the tides of Tyranny. No warriours' heart
Wrung by humanity, shall pour the balm
Of memory over their deserted names;
These and the magic wreath which gems the brow
Of Charles shall fall the freshening dews of fame,
And yield its blossoms an eternal youth.

Macdonald
No power could urge the grateful tear to fall
Upon the prostrate form of Tyranny,
Stretched on the opprobrious earth in shame!

Sir Ronald
No, lest that tear should water it with life,
Lock up the fountains of the grateful heart,
And save it for affection's flower, whose life
Depends upon the dew drops of the soul.

Charles Stuart
The rich barbaric infidel no more
Shall bruise with hostile feet the tender flower
Of Caledonia's isle—nor shall her vales
Be trodden by the feet of would-be kings;
For when the vengeance of my noble house,
Shall give the shock of centuries to this,
The fragments caused by my revenge shall lie
In shattered desolation over all.
The land from which they exiled me, as wrecks
Of naval myrmadons on savage shores—
More silent in their desolation than
The last sad wails of Israel hushed to rest
In everlasting silence, or the voice
Of Wo struck dumb forever!
For liberty has no objective being—
It stands eternal in the will of God,
To lift our being up to noble ends;
It is evolved by instinct from the soul,
And lives immortal as itself in thought.

Sir Ronald
'Tis like the idea we have of God,
An everlasting law unto itself,
Which triumphs over Tyranny as Life
Does over Death.

Charles Stuart
For as man dies to live,
So Liberty, when seeming dead, survives.

Macdonald
Thy words are all prophetic of the truths
Which soon shall be
And we will learn to conquer or to die!

(Exeunt omnes.)

Scene II

(The residence of Cameron of Fassafern. Enter Lochiel to Boisdale.)
Boisdale
Good morning, Lochiel! for the morn is good,
Although the times are bad. What is the news?

Lochiel
The King is here.

Boisdale
He is. Where go you now?

Lochiel
To seek my Prince.

Boisdale
Well, you had better stay.
Seek not the Prince, let him return to France.

Lochiel
For this he should be sought. Why urge me thus?

Boisdale
I urge you, knowing that his cause is vain.

Lochiel
I would persuade him to return to France.

Boisdale
But he will not return.

Lochiel
How know you this?

Boisdale
I know it by my knowledge of the man.

Lochiel
Saw you the scorn that sat enthroned upon
His florid lips?

Boisdale
I saw his scorn—no more of that.

Lochiel
I never shall forget his looks.

Boisdale
Nor I.

Lochiel
Decision sat enthroned upon his brow
In awful dignity. Upon his lips
A writhing scorn triumphant played, as if
In concert with an agony within,
That restless grew for something to devour.
He is the shadow of some mighty god—
Nay, if the very gods were on the earth,
They would not be more like themselves, than is
This royal Charles.

Boisdale
Most noble trumpeter!
You are no fit companion for this god.

Lochiel
What mean you by this taunt?

Boisdale
I mean, you are
No fit companion for a god.

Lochiel
Your praise
Tastes bitter as 'tis sweet—your honey much
Like gall—your love like hate.

Boisdale
I hate him? Yes—
But saw you that young god he has with him?

Lochiel
The Child of Song?

Boisdale
The Child of Hell!

Lochiel
This Page?

Boisdale
Ay—Page! He is a Page—a twelve mo. page—
A diamond cheap Edition bound in calf!
An excellent impudence!

Lochiel
The type is small,
Although you seem to read it well.

Boisdale
And such
A Page I hope never to read again.

Lochiel
Why? Did he hurt your eyes?

Boisdale
He was too small—
I scarcely saw the print!

Lochiel
And yet it seems
He left the print.

Boisdale
Of what?

Lochiel
Not of his sword,
My lord! but of his Page.

Boisdale
He is too small
For my perusal. Printed thus, he is
A bijou Almanac in which his lord
May read his own eclipse!

Lochiel
When next you read
This Page, put on your spectacles.

Boisdale
I will.
And magnifying glasses they shall be.

Lochiel
You cannot magnify his worth—he fills
The boundless heaven of admiration

Boisdale
Ay!
He has the impudence to think he does,
As many other men.

Lochiel
You hate the king,
And hating him, you hate the Page. Your hate
For one should not affect the other's worth.

Boisdale
I hate the Page? He is beneath my hate!

Lochiel
Why does his praise taste bitter to thy tongue?

Boisdale
Because he is a crab—tastes sour in spite
Of me.

Lochiel
But then the King is not a crab—
Why does he taste so bitter to thy tongue?

Boisdale
Because his heart is rotten to the core.

Lochiel
But then he tastes most sweet to Flora's lips.

Boisdale
To Flora's lips! No, by God's Heavens! were she
To taste such fruit, her soul would sink as far
From its original brightness, as did first
The mother of transgression at the fall!

Lochiel
And, like that mother, though she knew she'd die,
Yet would she eat the fruit.

Boisdale
No, by the gods!
Until the Serpent tempted her—then would
She fall as low as Hell's from Heaven!

Lochiel
Not by
The King.

Boisdale
Ay, King! of what?

Lochiel
Of thee—of me.

Boisdale
He may be King of thee—but not of me!

Lochiel
Should I report to him what I have heard,
You would not live an hour!

Boisdale
I have no life!
My lips went with my honor! Yes, my life
Is gone! Spurned by a boy—scorned by the king—
No! vengeance shall be mine!

Lochiel
You are in love?

Boisdale
I love to hate thy King!

Lochiel
Art jealous, man?

Boisdale
If Royalty could win her heart, she might
Be won.

Lochiel
If Royalty could win her heart,
The sooner won the better.

Boisdale
He might win
Her fancy—not her heart.

Lochiel
Nay, if she loved
No Royalty could win her heart.

Boisdale
Well, well,
I know you better than you do yourself—
Seek not the King.

Lochiel
Why so?

Boisdale
You love the king?

Lochiel
With all my heart!

Boisdale
Where is thy love for me?

Lochiel
Love is immortal, simple, pure, divine;
And, to divide is not to take away.

Boisdale
Well, well, tomorrow we shall meet again.

Lochiel
Farewell!

(Exit.)
Boisdale
He called me traitor—traitor to his King,
And all because I would not bow to him!
No, Boisdale will never bow to him—
Not while Eternity shall roll its sounds!
Greatness does not depend upon the things
Eternal—chance, or fortune, wealth, or fame;
But builds its temple in the mighty soul—
Looks on the towering front of giant Time
And sways its scepter o'er the menial earth.

(Exit.)

Scene III

(The interior of the park in front of Macdonald's Palace. Enter Charles Stuart to Flora Macdonald.)
Charles Stuart
Oh! how upon the impatience of my ears,
Fall the soft billowy bounding of thy steps,
As if an angel from some glorious sphere,
Walked in the middle watch of still night,
Beneath the vigils of the moon in search
Of some immortal soul lost in the bowers!

Flora
The gentle firstborn of the flowery spring,
That knows no handling but the zephyr's kiss,
If once transplanted from its native bower,
Will droop beneath the culture of the hand.
There is no city love. Give me the pure
Felicity of cottage life, or none—
The joyous laugh, that mocking-bird of youth,
Singing of childhood's holy happiness
From the deep willings of the living soul,
Here, where the unsealed fulness of my heart
Rings its loud shout of jocund joy to Heaven,
And fills the infinite with melody!

Charles Stuart
Oh, thou art bound to me by all the ties
Of earth—cemented by the seal of heaven!
This gives me double duties to perform,
To keep the flower unsullied here on earth,
And make it yield its perfumes to heaven,
The sweetest flower in Caledonia's isle.
I am alive to newer longings now,
What is adversity to hearts most brave,
Since thou hast smiled upon my cause, but food
For my ambitious soul!

Flora
I smile for him
Whose glory shall contend with after-time
For Immortality.

Charles Stuart
Most glorious queen!
Thy words are to my heart like crystal streams
To their own banks adorned with odorous flowers.
To give all that we have to one we love,
Is not to lose.

Flora
But 'tis to make both rich.

Charles Stuart
For we profess not only what we give,
But her we give it to.

Flora
And thus it is,
That two, by keeping what they have, have naught,
Till they exchange, when each has made both rich.

Charles Stuart
For to profess that which we have is not
To have, if we exchange not to be rich.

Flora
So if we give to each what each one has,
We shall profess what both united have.

Charles Stuart
How different from the bargains of this world.
It is not so in aught but love.

Flora
In naught.
(Enter Boisdale, unobserved, behind them.)
To take from love is not to make it less.

Boisdale
(Aside)
What! making love? Fine business for a King!
This is the god that Lochiel told me of!
The King that drove me from his Page! By Heavens!
I would not have believed it from her lips!
Were I to take him from her arms, would there
Not be one less! There would. Thine is a false
Philosophy, my love! (Charles Stuart takes her hand.)

By Heavens! he takes her hand!
Oh! all ye thunderbolts of Heaven! Come, strike
Me dead!

Flora
Heard you not what I said, my lord?

Boisdale
(Aside)
My lord!

Charles Stuart
I did, my love.

Boisdale
(Aside)
And so did I,
My love! I never will trust woman more!

Charles Stuart
Thy voice is echoing in my soul.

Boisdale
(aside)
And mine.
Like seven loud thunders ruinous!

Flora
Come my lord!

Boisdale
(Aside)
By heavens! she beckons him away!
(They start away hand in hand.)
False! false!

Charles Stuart
(Leading her out)
The sweetest flower in Caledonia's isle!

Boisdale
Oh, God! she was the green oasis in
The dead alion of my soul! But no,
I will not curse her. Memory plucks away
The execration from my burning lips,
And sets forgiveness there! But she is false,
False as a harlot's oath. Yes, false as Hell!
And had he now ten thousand lives to lose—
For I would kill them all—they would not pay
Me for the injury he has done! No! no!
The fiery retribution of my hate
Is so intense that nothing but his blood,
His cursed blood, shall ever quench its flame!

(Exit)