 | The Father's Tragedy |  |
33
ACT II.
Scene I.
—A Tavern. Enter Wright, Selkirk, and Hostess.Wright.
Hi, hi! The mastiff crack'd your little cur.
Fine bloody sport!
Hostess.
As I am woman born,
Rascals, you set him on.
Selkirk.
Ho! The last grip
Was none of our contriving. Merry game
To have 'em tug and tear while we could fill
Our cans an' watch 'em bleed. The mongrel! Ho!
They tore like devils.
Wright.
Sweet to hear the yells
O' the small beast. They told me how 't would end,
An' fed my comfort.
Hostess.
Oh me! Bess, my Bess!
You are no men, you lubber patches you!
All who have man about them love fair play.
'Tis only demons crow to see the weak
O'ermatch'd by brutishness. Begone! My house
Is built for human creatures with a thirst
For harmless wines, and not for cruel blood,
Tho' 'tis a beast's poor drops. Off! off!
[Enter Rothsay, Ramorgny, Walter, Ralph, etc.]
My lord,
They've killed my coddling fav'rite, yellow Bess.
They loosed the mastiff on her.
Wright.
Heart! She raves!
Rothsay.
Dastards! Go kick them to the brinded beast,
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Sirrahs!
Wright.
Ugh!
Selkirk.
Heigh!
Rothsay.
They're drunk. Lay on your feet,
And send them sprawling to the kennel there.
Poltroons!
Wright
[aside].
I'll—venge, revenge!
Selkirk
[aside].
I'll pay you, dog.
[Exeunt, dragged out by Ralph and Randolph.
Rothsay.
Varlets!—Be comforted. I'll send thee Blanch.
You know her, Walt—a toy to ease your grief.
Sweetheart, a kiss! Go, fetch us cheer.
[Exit.
My lads,
She's true and pretty, young and fanciful,
Free to be kiss'd, free to be left alone,
Warm as a May noon, merry as a kid.
Heigh-ho!
[Re-enter Ralph and Randolph.
I am not thirsty. How your faces fall!
Pray me to speak of marriage.
Ramorgny.
I for one.
Walter.
And I.
Ralph.
And I.
Randolph.
And I. We pray you speak.
Rothsay.
I will. 'Tis slavery, and round my heart
Is the vile collar of my servitude.
Marriage! It is a bond of ice that ties
My passion's stream; it is the grappling—ay,
Of hostile vessels! ...
Walter.
Now, friends!
[Re-enter Hostess.]
Rothsay.
Fill, wench, fill.
Let's pledge the newest beauty. What coy nymph
Hath listened to thy tongue, my soothing John?
Ramorgny.
Faith, there's a merry dozen down the street
As wide awake as nightingales, with eyes
That are a flock of stars.
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We'll follow them
Soon as the Court's asleep. Here's to their light!
Pah! Wine hath lost its flavour and its joy.
I drink it, but 'tis dirt across my lips.
The more I thirst, the more I loathe the cup,
Which yet I clasp the more. Sun, exercise,
Laughter and song, all that was happiness
And close upon my life hath faded back
And fallen to illusion.
Ramorgny.
Here's a change!
I've often heard you swear that no such thing
Was in the world. Illusion! How you storm'd
And vow'd it was the filming of the eye
In stricken age.
Rothsay.
And so it is, my friends.
Only Time strikes much sooner than I thought,
And falsifies our nature. My true youth
Is gone, the morning-red, the dew, the notes
Of soft dawn's youngest confidence—all gone;
And that immortal gift of gaiety
That flies with the approach of deathly years
Of knowledge and experience and age.
Ramorgny.
Ho! You're a frosty day-spring! Search his poll;
Is there a thread from Winter's distaff on 't?
Ralph.
Yellow intact, I'll swear.
Walter.
All gilded yarn.
Rothsay.
When once regret has breathed upon our days,
Youth is a bird that flies.
Walter.
I'll springe the lark!
[Enter a Councillor.]
Who's here? A grey-beard, with the very stamp
Of Age's silver currency.
Rothsay.
A fool,
A spy on my morality. Good faith,
I'll give him whiffs of nether smoke to save
His search from disappointment.
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Do mine eyes ...
Rothsay.
Or does your nose—?
Walter.
Or do your ears—?
Rothsay.
Or tongue—?
They are offending senses. Exile them!
If you are present but one moment more,
We'll bleed our casks and drown you in the tide,
Till Age is red as babyhood.—The cur!
[Tosses wine in his face. Exit Councillor hastily.
Ramorgny.
Your uncle sets them on.
Rothsay.
I know. 'S blood,
Ramorgny, how I hate to see him rule
My country and my father and my king.
He is as false as sin, himself his god,
And I the rebel he must damn to reign.
Ramorgny.
Comrades, withdraw a moment. I have words
Occasion bids me utter, which must rest
Alone within the ears for which they rise
On my reluctant lips.
Rothsay.
Withdraw, withdraw!
[Exeunt.
Ramorgny.
There is a road, a dark and narrow way
The dagger opens for our enemies.
Rothsay.
John, are you speaking? or are these the words
Your evil angel forges on your tongue?
Ramorgny.
My very words, as I shall answer God.
Your uncle seeks your life, and his own blood
Must shield you from the loss; he seeks your rights;
His power o'erthrown must pay the penalty;
Or mark my words, your life and rights will line
His ruthless feet, thus shod for monarchy.
Rothsay.
You're false as he.
Ramorgny.
Nay, true and politic.
For Friendship is a Janus, double-faced;
Truth to the right, to the left policy.
Rothsay.
I'll have no friend who looks not straight before;
I'll have no devil in my bosom-faith,
Tempter to unimaginable sin.
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Glares with hell-lighted letters Murderer;
You'd brand it there for ever! Fiend, begone!
I hate my uncle, but within the bounds
Of honourable nature and just deed.
Oh, I rejoice to tear the hood of lies
From off the naked face of his self-love.
But tear the garment of his flesh away
With stab of secret malice! God forbid!
My own soul too forbid! I've done with you
If you're for plotting; and your orat'ry,
Matchless in praise of beauty, music, verse,
Hath in it the wasp's sting, no honey-tongue
Free-feeder 'mong the sweets. Curse policy!
My marriage was a plot, a gross deceit.
'Twould be a merry world if senses ruled,
And brains were fettered from their craft and lies.
I'll not betray you, wretch. I scorn the tongue
By which you thought to pull me to your depth;
How dare you dream it!
[Exit.
Ramorgny.
To a lower depth,
As low as drops the coffin shalt thou sink,
Mine honest fool. That yellow sheaf of hair
That's ripe upon his brow,—I'll beat it down
Beneath the flail of Misery! My tongue,
That hath procur'd him Pleasure by its guile,
Shall wheedle Death now to attend on him—
A mistress fitted to his moral mood;
She shall be tedious.
[Exit.
Scene II.
—A Hall. Enter Albany, Lindsey, and Douglas.Albany.
Government!
There's no such thing in this forsaken land.
To look upon the Earth and think of Heav'n
Might raise the doubt that God is still enthroned.
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Yea, in all things of state there is a blind,
Discomforting, wide chaos.
Albany.
There's no power,
No issue of a will;—merely the thoughts
Of unestablish'd brains. Draw nearer, friends.
My brother is a saint, emasculate;
His son a random boy; the sentinel
Is lacking in each nature.
Douglas.
'Twas our woe
That you were e'er unseated.
Lindsey.
To my mind
It was Perdition's warrant to the State
Which all time since has served.
Albany.
Control the breath
Of this our intercourse. An enemy!
I know the hobble.
[Enter King Robert and Prince James.]
Brother, are you well?
King Robert.
Sickly inclined to-day.
Lindsey.
For that we grieve.
King Robert.
Do not. 'Tis scarcely pain; autumnal drought
I' the sap of life.
Albany.
I'm sorry.
[Enter Attendant.]
Attendant.
One without
Chafes for the royal presence.
Albany.
Bring him in.
Attendant.
Another stands with chain'd and savage mouth.
Albany.
Him also.
[Exit Attendant.
King Robert.
Shall I hence?
Albany.
No. [Re-enter Attendant with Messengers.]
Speak you first.
What is your business?
1st Messenger
[to King Robert].
Thus doth Henry say,
Your liege-lord, to his vassal:—Since you bar
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And force it from your tongue at Edinbro'.
King Robert.
I owe your king no enmity.
Albany.
His words
Are proud. With open arms at Edinbro'
We shall receive him; yea, surround his pride
With murderous embrace.
King Robert.
Stay, brother, pause!
Beneath these words is war conceived?
Albany.
It is;
The marriage of two enemies to raise
Seed to themselves of strife.
King Robert.
'Tis rashly done.
Albany.
On England's part. [To 1st Messenger.]
Begone! Speak you.
2nd Messenger
[to King Robert].
I'm sent
By March, your liege man, till you tore the cords
Of loyalty in twain;—from the great earl
Who hangs upon the margin of your land
His storm of wrath, from the insulted peer,
The outraged father, the determined foe,
I bring the declaration that no peace
Will ever tend her olive in his heart,
Till he have wreak'd on you the injury
Fourfold that you have wrought.
[Cries within of Place for the Duke of Rothsay.
Albany.
Take breath, poor soul;
You drive away the very air you need.
All Scotland knows the fickle loyalty
Of him who blows his shame from out your throat,
Our recreant vassal.
[Enter Rothsay.]
2nd Messenger
[to Albany].
Who are you to speak?
Rothsay.
Ay, who? Address me.
2nd Messenger.
From the Earl of March
I bring defiance. ...
Rothsay.
To the Earl of March
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At heart more fell, in purpose far more deep,
And servant of an anger that will last
Till all my hearth of life is crumbling heaps
That naught will re-illume. I have no glove
To cast before him; this will do as well
[Flinging a handful of coins to the Messenger.
For bargain-drivers and such merchant-souls
As he whom you call master. Take the gold
And let it chink my hatred in his ears.
Yet sooth I should be just. Here's gold for you!
[Flinging some coins to Douglas.
What do you say to it, Lord Douglas?
King Robert.
Peace!
David, you're mad! Be still.
Douglas.
I think the prince
Might keep himself more princely in his speech
And royal in his manners.
Albany
[aside].
This offence
Hath given me all Douglas to my use
Against the speaker.
Rothsay
[to Messenger.]
Sirrah, to your trade!
[Exit 2nd Messenger.
Douglas.
Farewell, my liege, and you, my lord [to Albany]
, and you [to Lindsey].
Rothsay.
Old Insolence!
[Exit Douglas.
Albany.
You've trodden on a mood
May sting you i' the heel.
Rothsay.
He injur'd me
With highest-brow'd contempt.
King Robert.
You cannot know
All that you do enraging such as he
With childish taunt and sneer irrelevant.
I tremble for your folly; yea, my care
Grows pale and quakes;—yet vainly do my words
Knock at the ear of reason; such a gate
You've fasten'd from your father.
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He's a boy
Who wants the method of the schoolmaster.
Rothsay.
Now hear me! I'll not suffer such affronts,—
The wormwood sour old Age with envious hand
Mixes in Youth's red cup;—the privilege
To deal indignity where honour grows
With freshest keen ascent and feels each blow
To the soft pith's new core. Oh, all the shame
You've struck into my being will be there,
When it is open'd to its secret depth
Before the Judgment-seat, and lo! old men
Will answer for the sins that they have done
Across the years to those in backward Time's
Most lovely season. Spring has blights and winds
Of killing tooth; but early manhood's plague
And desolating frost is cruelty
And white-hair'd check of pert decrepitude.
King Robert.
Son against father!
Albany.
Let him mock unheard.
We'll turn to weighty matters. We must call
Our armèd trains together, and on walls,
In tow'r and fort invincible ensconce
Our primest courage. Nephew, since you're styled
The governor of Edinbro', your place
Will be its flinty hold.
Rothsay.
Oh, war, war, war!
Its thrilling course thro' slow and wretched veins
Is godlike in its triumph. All is great
I' the instant; all is rapturous and new.
There's twice his wonted fervour in the sun,
A hundred times more quickly moves the air,
The world is changed at every trumpet-blast
That sounds to arms, changed, changed from old to young;
From lameness into leaping; from the doze
Of chimney-corner to a fiery-eyed
And sleepless energy; from palsied fears
And calculated dangers to firm heart
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To tumbled hardship; from long days to short;
From talk to action; from cold blood to hot;
For all the world is young.—My love-lorn wife,
[Enter Duchess Marjorie.]
I'm going to the wars.
Duchess Marjorie.
Indeed.
Rothsay.
Indeed?
Ay, to be kill'd, to find a merry grave,
Where I shall lie with earth-worms.
Duchess Marjorie.
You've not said
With whom you fight.
Rothsay.
The devil! I don't care.
I'll turn this common questioner to you
More patient elders. On my very soul,
Warfare is trite, familiar in her voice
As all things in the world. So stale a tongue
Would make Spring, Autumn; Joy, Satiety;
Creation, Death; and Heaven damnable.
[To Prince James.]
Jamie, you like to fight?
Prince James.
Oh yes, I wish
I were a man!
King Robert.
Here, James!
Rothsay.
I'm leperous!
You shall not draw the child away like that,
As if I breathed corruption; make me feel
My bodily presence a reproach and taint.
It is a lie, past all endurance false.
I'll have him with me. Come and see me arm.
You're not afraid to come?
Prince James.
David!
Rothsay.
Hurrah!
[Exeunt.
Albany.
Lindsey, support the king. He's wan and ill.
King Robert.
I'm weary.
Albany.
Then we'll guide you to your rooms.
King Robert.
And bring me James.
[Exeunt.
Duchess Marjorie.
For that old man, I own,
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[Re-enter Douglas.]
Douglas.
Daughter Marjorie, a word.
Duchess Marjorie.
What is it, father?
Douglas.
Does that saucy whelp
Use you with honour as his wife? Come, come!
No stubborn face!
Duchess Marjorie.
We rarely speak or meet.
Douglas.
Comes he at nights?
Duchess Marjorie.
We rarely speak or meet.
Douglas.
That's repetition. Answer as I ask.
Duchess Marjorie.
He drinks the night out.
Douglas.
He shall quaff a draught
Of vengeance.
Duchess Marjorie.
What the good? 'Twill nothing mend.
I pray you do not move against my lord
Merely for my poor sake. Time ever goes
With steady patience.
Douglas.
Albany returns.
Go.
[Re-enter Albany and Lindsey. Exit Duchess Marjorie.]
Albany.
Hump! Your son-in-law is insolent.
At heart he is your enemy.
Douglas.
The same
Am I to him, the graceless libertine!
Lindsey.
I too.
Albany.
We'll make this matter for our speech.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
—A Room. Enter Ramorgny.Ramorgny.
Still doth he use me, but with doubtful eyes,
A voice of friendship with its strings untuned,
And hands that shrink from juncture with my flesh.
I never shall regain my ancient place
In his frank bosom. That he uses me
Without the grace of liking is his doom.
[Enter Albany at a distance.]
Albany
[aside].
There is a rude fidelity about
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But were Ramorgny flattered! Ah, he droops
As if his brains lack'd opportunity.—
You are not for the revel?
Ramorgny.
It lacks zest.
Albany.
You are not for such mates. It flatters you
To serve the prince; his uncle holds the realm.
When you are tavern-prison'd or in camp,
Would it not give a purpose should you note
Actions of int'rest to the chronicler,
Shameful to the accomplice? Bring but word
How leaks the ship; I'll put it out to sea.
I know no other man for this intrigue,
And counsel you as you would rise in place
But as historian to attend the prince;
And then concert with me how you may take
His birthplace in my favour; he is wreck'd;
My son a slothful bookworm, Robert's child,
Methinks, in disposition. There is none
In whom I can detect the faculty
To sway the eddying people to the flow
Of his will's current, save yourself, Sir John.
Ramorgny.
Your grace, I hate the prince, for injuries
My tongue would bleed to tell.
Albany.
We first must turn
With plaints and tales the father's idle mind
Against his son.
Ramorgny.
I'm popular, your grace,
And can be daring. With the prince none else
Can take my place; his temper and his loves,
His pleasure and his study—all are built
Upon my service.
Albany.
Good, divide it, friend!
Ramorgny.
I will.
Albany.
Your hand in parting. David, now
I've set your evil genius to work!
[Exit Ramorgny.
All is in train for ruin. I'll to arms,
And if he need my help, I will not march.
[Exit.
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Scene IV.
—Stirling. A Courtyard. Enter Allan, Prince James, and an old Lunatic (regarded as Richard II. of England, who was starved at Pontefract).Old Man.
He, he, he! I'm poor and naked. Naught
Of empery in any of my limbs.
My knees!—Here's carpentry; I pray you look.
I am a little humble man.
Allan.
Alas!
A pretty monarch once!
Prince James.
I thought all kings
Had beards of holy silver down the breast,
And bland, sage brows, and comfort at the heart,
Such as my father ever shows us.
Allan.
Ah!
Prince James.
Why do you sigh?
Old Man.
Not Richard! I am Dick.
He, he!—the foe of God the King.
Allan.
A fool
That envieth at Heaven.
Old Man.
God the King
A' sits so safe up i' the sky and reigns—
I crawl, crawl, crawl!
Prince James.
Nay, Allan, lift him up.
We will not see a monarch grow a worm.
[Enter King Robert and Duchess Marjorie.]
King Robert.
O Allan, hath no messenger arrived
Through all the day? No word from Albany?
Why doth he hang his tented warfare up
Beyond the reach of David's utmost need?
Why doth he linger when round Edinbro'
The English fasten with a brazen clasp?
'Tis strangely done, unnaturally done,
To leave the lad to perish!
Old Man.
He! you're great!
Dost think of change?
King Robert.
Oh, do not put my tongue
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Old Man.
Go, make a grave!
'Twill change as you change, low when you are low,
But make it great and high the while you live.
King Robert.
Old bitter king, I'll build no haughty tomb
Who am a wretched worm and vilest sinner.
I'd lay me for sepulture among clods,
So might I purchase rest unto my soul.
Prince James.
Father!
King Robert.
Quick, Allan, run! I hear a horn.
[Exit Allan.
Duchess Marjorie.
You heard aright. They come.
[Re-enter Allan with Ramorgny and Walter.]
Walter.
'Tis victory!
King Robert.
He's safe?
Walter.
Oh, bless you, sire, as glad as day,
Pouring out wine to match the deathly flow
Of the great toper War.
Ramorgny.
The ruffian foe
Wrench'd at our city's girdle, but within,
Our hearts were high and though in desperate case
Supreme o'er insult. Through ungarnish'd streets
Grey Famine dragg'd her bones, yet every man
Did feed on steaming courage.
King Robert.
And the prince ...?
Ramorgny.
Was brave and headstrong. Softly be it said
He sent a challenge to the English king
To pick him out a hundred Englishmen
To meet our countrymen to that same tune,
And on the issue of the combat stake
The freedom of our nation.
King Robert.
God above!
Has he no reason, is he lunatic,
A simpleton, a blusterer, a child,
To play such hare-brain'd antics on a foe?
Anxieties perplex and choke my thought;
Fear in the cage of my close heart doth pant
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Will dig my grave.
Ramorgny.
'Tis but a pleasant tale
Among the soldiers.
Walter.
By my troth, Sir John,
Why did you take it from the common mouth
To misbecome your lips. The merry faults
Of friends are ever sacred to their band,
Or woe is me for all good fellowship!
Ramorgny.
Nay, Walt, no treason; 'twas the marvel of't
That rush'd from off my lips.
King Robert.
Does Albany
Know of this shameful frolic?
Walter.
No, sire, no.
He hath not stirr'd his arms from Caldermoor.
King Robert.
What will he say? How shall I bear his eye
Who have begot this son?—A crowding noise!
Allan.
Of shouts and songs and triumph. 'Tis the prince.
[Enter Rothsay with marshal array.]
Old Man.
Eyes—eyes of jailers. I must hide from eyes;
They make me king again, and treat me ill,
And capture me. I'll creep behind this cloak,
This furry cloak—warm prison!
[Hides under the King's long mantle.
King Robert.
Fated boy!
I'm glad he's safe at home!
Rothsay.
Well, Father, James!
Ramorgny, jolly Walter! Duchess, there,
You've not a forward welcome.
Duchess Marjorie.
To a back.
And so you conquer'd?
Rothsay.
Laurels! That I did;
And March is beaten back. I never knew
What life I carried till the flinty days
Of peril struck it out—a joyous blaze
That lit my blood to gold. What ho! A check!
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That's just blown in upon me with a hurt
That rankles in my joy. You stand like men
O' snow. What is it, father?
King Robert.
Your rash deed.
Rothsay.
What deed?
King Robert.
Your wicked message to the King
Of England, whereby, as I understand,
You staked upon the issue of a joust
The freedom of your country.
Allan
[aside].
Sire, not now.
King Robert.
I am surprised and pained that you should stoop
To such a jester's action. Do not flush
And start away; I speak it out of love.
Rothsay.
We'll go elsewhere for welcome. Not enough
The empty doorways and the cheerless board,
The dull and tardy greeting—with your words
You set a canker to the triumph, joy,
That rioted in blossom at my heart.
You've made for me no welcome—dearest word,
The home that language raises by the voice,
That the eyes light, whose doors are open hands;
None of you built me that—not one of you.
Only I pass the bare unfeeling walls
Behind which I was born.
King Robert.
Your talk shoots off
From my direction, which was gentle blame
Of a grave wrong.—Tears!
Rothsay.
Come, friends, 'tis forgot
We saved our country by determined arms
And empty mouths. I think within the streets
We'll find a younger memory. Come on!
[Exit with Followers.
King Robert.
O God, the thought of him is ever near,
The person ever bitterly apart;
Yet 'neath Thy will did I beget his form,
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'Tis well his mother lives not.
Allan.
Ah, 'twere well
She were not dead.
King Robert.
What, sirrah, do you mean?—
[Aside]
They would not let me rule the land as John,
My name, because 'twas ominous and sad.
They call'd me happy Robert. Ah, the name
Is nothing; fate is deeper-set than words.
Old Man.
Starved!
King Robert.
What a cry! Art cold?
Old Man.
Some folks alive
Would keep a body breadless, and that's cold;
For breadless, cold, and dead are all one thing.
They tried to starve me in a prison once.
You'll never starve a-body?
King Robert.
Dreary sport,
This play on starved!—No, never. Come within.
The rain drips sulkily. Another horn
Blows out a new arrival—Albany.
I'll go to meet him, and unload my grief
Of its unsharèd burthen, which is great.
[Exeunt.
| The Father's Tragedy | |