University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—A Room. A portrait of the King over the fireplace. Enter King Robert, Albany, Douglas, and Lindsey.
King Robert.
I cannot. Oh, you push my fatherhood
From its old chair beside my heart's red fire
It's sat by many a year. Imprison him!
Close him from light to which I called him forth,
And send him back to unpaternal Night's
Most lone possession! Tell me what the sin
Can merit such discharge?

Albany.
Be calm. Our words
Have carried tempest, and their urgency
Hath told like cruel blast. Good brother, calm!
I'll speak again and not belie our scope.

King Robert.
Do, I beseech you.

Albany.
Listen with your mind,
Nor let your heart once hear.

King Robert.
'Tis deaf, 'tis deaf.

Albany.
The evil that is held and never spilt,
Though deadly in its essence, doth no harm;
Being disseminate with its advance,
It spreads its venom. So my nephew's sins,
When privily enacted, hurt but him
In his dishonoured self. Now are they poured
Upon the woeful land; for every night
He robs the various, darkling travellers.
His license grows; his amorous intrigues
And shriftless dissipation fill all mouths
With scandal and amaze.

King Robert.
And he's my son!
He might have been unlawfully begot,
He's put me to such shame.—Forgive the wrath,
My buried queen! who gav'st him that bright hair,
With all a cornfield's promise in its hue
When looked on by a beggar.

Albany.
Patience! Hear!
He's but a boy, and childish in offence;
So would we have him punish'd with the dark,
Straight, frighting walls and sudden privacy.
And this but for a space, that in his pride
The simple lesson may be fixed as deep
As is his alphabet in memory.

King Robert.
But prison!—Oh, I feel his sun might set
If plunged in darkness, and I cannot think
That he'd come out like morning; he would hate,
As Rhadamanthus, that grim judge of Hell,
The father who condemned him to the gloom.
I'll never do it.

Albany.
Yet in days of old,
You shut him, a scared child with wauling mouth
And passionate limbs, in pitchy, crampèd space
Of a lock'd closet. Punishment should grow
As grows the stature and the mind of those
It chastens. Storms to break the forest's will
Must sweep not as they dealt with seedlings; so
The narrow chamber that confined the child
Must be a dungeon when he grows to man.
The chastisements are similar, degree
Being proportioned to the years they curb.

King Robert.
True, true! But doth a father's power enlarge
With life's expansion in the youth he's reared,
That he dare punish after that same form
That served him for the boy?

Albany.
Thus Heaven does.
The chastening of conscience pricks the sense
Of infancy but as uneasy thorn;
Manhood it fixes with the spear-like thrust;
In kind, the same—in measure, different.

Douglas.
We pray you listen, for we trust you grant
The prince deserves some check.

King Robert.
Oh, sirs, I do.

[Enter Ramorgny.]
Albany.
How now?

Ramorgny.
I've but a moment's very chink
In which to speak. I must be back e'en now,
Or smart among my comrades. List! the prince
Is bent on holding in rash, lawless grasp
St. Andrews' bishopric. He starts at dawn.

King Robert.
An impious thought.

Ramorgny.
But there is worse behind;
He's loosed from death, and eaten at the board
With one who slew his father.

King Robert.
He forgets
The chain that life hath locked with heavy key
About the child and parent, unto which
They must be slaves, or bear the lash of God
Until they perish! He forgets all this!

Ramorgny.
I must away.

Albany
[aside to Ramorgny].
And bring me privily
The men you praised last night.
[Exit Ramorgny.
[To King Robert.]
Now you will grant
Necessity was prophet thro' our lips.
So, so!—Good brother, you're persuaded now?

King Robert.
As to the state. But, Albany, the lack
Of duty and respect to fatherhood!
O Albany, there is no darkness—none,
I'd put him in for that. Another judge
Must sentence it. I'm partial, Albany.

Albany.
But for the state?

King Robert.
Bid Allan fetch my son.
Leave me.—Yes, yes! I know it is in vain;
But let me try to touch one chord in him
My nature strung. I'll see you presently.
[Exeunt Albany, Douglas, and Lindsey.]
The attributes of God, when bound on man,
Are cruel to the flesh; His charity
Doth not oppress, He never craved an alms;
But a king's mercy weighs on him as guilt—
And punishment! Oh, there is very lead!
To judge, to punish!—And the judge is frail
And stain'd; the punishment is hurt and shame
To one who shares with him a heart that aches,
The changeful cheek, and the tomb's last disgrace.
O execrable burden! God, O God!
Why did'st thou bow Thy creature of an hour
To carry what omniscience alone
Should strike with and eternity confirm?
I'm crushed; the iron power is on my soul,
And on the body that begot my son,
Whom I must punish.—Nay, I'll win and save.
Oh, I will speak with searching mildness, reach,
Like the soft rain, where there is seed in him
The rough blast could not touch. If I am calm
Perchance ... But hark! a door was thrown ajar.
'Twere well to sit.—That comes from his young throat.

Rothsay
[within, singing].
[Enters.]
Good even, father [lifting his cap].


King Robert.
David! Ah, 'tis well
You make some show of reverence.

Rothsay.
I'm framed
To courtesy as morning to the light.
I could not with a covered head insult
The meanest roof.

King Robert.
You show me courtesy
By instinct, and yet wrong its very source!
You've sinned against that name with which your birth
Did christen me, by taking the vile part
Of one who broke his origin and mould
That fashioned forth his life.

Rothsay.
Ridiculous!
Because one parent has abused his state,
Would we dethrone all others? By your leave,
You can't have a good conscience, father.

King Robert.
That
I have toward you. I ever loved you dear
As sunshine or as life; have ever striven
To do my part toward you; it came like joy.
David, that look across your lips! [Aside.]
Oh, that
Curdles my love as some malicious sprite
The moon-pale milk!—I've ever been to you
A father just and merciful.

Rothsay.
Most just.
O bitterest sarcasm my life can frame!
Just—and you sold me to a loathsome thing
You call my wife! ... and merciful! You cut
My happy youth away as the green shoot
That carried summer in illumined growth
Ere tyrant March dissevered. Just, you say?—
Who made me man and snatch from me the rights
That consecrate my sex. What! merciful?
And you have driven me beyond the door
And threshold of your favour! Is it just
To breed me to my station and deny
The means to keep it? Merciful to trust
Backbiters' malice, comments of dislike,
And your own icy age? Just! Merciful!

King Robert.
The woman you have married was the choice
Of Albany, your uncle; and he said
'Twas for the best, and he is mostly wise.

Rothsay.
Why did you trust such matter to his will
If you so loved me? Your deed's eloquent
Of love that's mighty little!

King Robert.
Oh, unkind!
'Twas for your good, and that it failed is due
More to your humour and unchecked caprice
Than to the harmless matron.

Rothsay.
Thank you!

King Robert.
Son,
I'll bear no insolence—as if you'd been
Aught but a thankless prodigal.

Rothsay
[drawing his dagger].
We're quits.

King Robert.
David, put down that dagger. Do you hear?
Obey me, put that dagger down.

Rothsay.
Ha, ha!

King Robert.
Now, David, I will be obey'd in this,
As in the prohibition which I make
To what you purpose—seizing on the wealth
O' the Bishop of St. Andrews. At your peril
You dare to touch it.

Rothsay.
I'll not touch, but hold.

King Robert.
'Tis at your peril.

Rothsay.
Threats are dangerous—
To children.

King Robert.
And to disobedience
Is due a childish punishment. You look
Merely a stubborn boy deserves the whip.
Do as I tell you.

Rothsay
[stabbing his father's portrait].
Now I've got a sheath.
Obey you! Never, never, never, never!

[Exit.
King Robert.
He's torn the painted breast that cannot bleed,
While this is heaving to let out its tides
By any ragged cleft. O David, David!

[Re-enter Albany, Douglas, and Lindsey.]
Albany.
Hand me the water, Douglas.

King Robert.
There, there!—there!
It must be done.

Albany.
Lindsey, the warrant, quick!
And pen and ink. [Exit Lindsey.]
He passed us with an oath
Fouling his mouth.

King Robert.
Look there!

Douglas.
A wanton deed,
Outrageous and contemned.

[Re-enter Lindsey with the warrant.]
Albany.
Your signature,
And all is done. Here is a pen that's wet.

King Robert.
Where must I write?

Albany.
Just there.

King Robert.
The ink is black,
As if it mourned for him; and here's the seal
That shuts him from the sun and closes him
In primal night. I'm thinking, Albany,
The mother from whose lightless womb he came
Will ne'er forgive this writing.

Albany
[to Douglas].
Take it hence.

[Exit Douglas.
King Robert.
In Falkland Castle?

Albany.
If he rides that way.

King Robert.
Yes, toward St. Andrews.

Albany.
Falkland Castle, then.

[Re-enter Douglas.]
King Robert.
I'll go to bed.—Well, gentlemen, you see
I'm not a dotard, though I love the boy.—
Bid candles to my chamber—it is dark.—
Oh, oh!—One other question, Albany:
What is the dungeon like?

Albany.
Most merciful;
No rocky pit and hold of tainted air
Or unclean life—merely a narrow room
Whose grated window from a passage black
Draws in the constant wind.

King Robert.
Well, well!—Once more
He'll sleep in his own bed, within the room
Where as a sunny lad I've seen his face
Smile, though 'twas night. I'll leave you, gentlemen.

[Exit with Douglas.
Albany.
All's working to our end. Go, Lindsey, fetch
Hither Ramorgny and his comrades. Needs
I speak with them in private, and meanwhile
Have horses ready; boot and spur yourself
For momently departure.

Lindsey.
With best speed.

[Exit.
Albany.
All is not done: as if a prison killed
The nature it has fastened! He'll come forth
In all the passion of galled liberty,
And lord it o'er me with tumultuous spite
And mischievous demeanour. I must hear
His voice no more—never! Yet gossips say
Blood cries aloud against the murderer.
Such call were ruinous. I'll spill no blood;
He shall not have a crimson advocate
To make the airy vault resound his part,
And rouse the common earth to plead for him.
No blood, no blood! But he shall simply die—
Die as old men do from the life worn out;
Die, not by violence, but slow degrees;
[Enter Ramorgny, with Wright and Selkirk.
Not broken like a glass with all its wine,
But emptied, whole and flawless. Selkirk, Wright!
[They approach.
This good observer says you hate the prince
For insults and neglect. I ask you, friends,
To hate him for this gold; ay, more than this—
By handfuls as you pile your hatred up.
I see you have no tongues that you can use
Before a gentleman. I therefore ask
But simple “Yes” or “No”—two little words—
The longer, wealth; the shorter, poverty,
With my displeasure coupled. Say your say.

Wright.
Yes, I'll do anything.

Selkirk.
Yes, so will I.

Albany
[giving gold].
An earnest for you each. And which of you
Knows Falkland Castle? I am lord of it.

Wright.
I've known it from my cradle. Over there
Against Strathtyrum.

Albany.
Ay, and there you go
This very night, for ere another falls
And closes in the world, the prince will lie
In more enduring darkness.

Wright.
Prison?

Albany.
Ay,
And tomb to be, for you will make it so
By holding from the belly and the throat
That which keeps life.

Wright.
Clem him?

Albany.
Your word is right.
Take them away, Ramorgny; give them all
The circumstances of time and place and how.
Bid Lindsey to me, and return anon,
For you must start at midnight.
[Exeunt Ramorgny, Wright, and Selkirk.
When all's done,
Ended and over, I will give it out
He died of wasting fever, such as oft
Is shut a phantom with the prisoner
To house together.

[Re-enter Lindsey.]
Lindsey.
Here and at your will.

Albany.
To horse at once, the warrant in your pouch.
I heard him call his servant; he's a-bed,
And we must get the start.

Lindsey.
Long ere he comes,
We'll own a briery ambush.

[Re-enter Ramorgny.]
Albany.
Here's Sir John.
Come to my private chamber, and tread soft.

[Exeunt.