 | The Patrician's Daughter |  |
SCENE I.
Same as Scene I., Act III.Enter Lister, Heartwell, Deancourt, and Colville.
Lis.
The marriage, then, takes place at noon to-morrow?
Col.
'Twill be a royal festival.
Heart.
For me,
I never looked within these ancient walls
For welcome as a guest, far less as one
Summoned to Mordaunt's marriage.
Dean.
It is strange,
After his sharp repulse—'tis now five years since—
He should renew his suit and win. We all
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And taunts that followed it.
Heart.
All which he owed
To Lady Lydia, his aunt elect.
She told the farce—so then she called his suit—
With such malicious wit, 'twas London's jest.
Scarce any one dared know him. It amazed me
To see him, thus the mark for public scorn,
Calmly outbrave it, give his mind entire
To public duties, daily gathering friends,
Until his strength so grew, the Earl conceded
All our demands; then sought him for a son.
Col.
The Minister, and not the father, sought him.
Lis.
Proceeds the match with Lady Mabel's will?
Heart.
Her cold and pensive carriage testify
In this she only brooks her father's choice.
Not ours to scan too nicely. Pass we on:
The Lady Lydia and her nephew come.
Enter Lady Lydia and Captain Pierpoint.
[Bows to Lady Lydia.]
Fine weather and fair promise for to-morrow.
Lyd.
Fair as our brightest hopes are, gentlemen.
[Lister, Heartwell, Deancourt, and Colville go out.
Lyd.
You know already
These are the members of a factious clique
Mordaunt has brought to notice of the Earl.
Pier.
You scarce bear Mordaunt better will than I.
Lyd.
We do not idolise our future kinsman.
Pier.
Who won his way, no doubt, by artifice
And smooth insinuation?
Lyd.
No; the truth,
Though bitter, must be granted. Haughtily
He trod his separate path. Alone, he forced
His way to power and rank. My brother bought
His service by concessions, claimed the more;
The more were granted. Out of weakness grew
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This union was offered, almost pressed,—
It costs a pang to own it, by the Earl.
Had I been he!—but this is folly.
Pier.
What
Intend you now?
Lyd.
To bear what can't be shunned.
When first my brother named this humbling contract,
I wrote to Mordaunt, asked an interview,
And wrought him to belief that Mabel's heart
Shrank from this union, though her hand, indeed,
Obeyed her father. This looked plausible;
For a still pensive mood has ruled her late—
Seldom dispersed, and then for reckless mirth.
Pier.
So he believes she never loved him?
Lyd.
Fully.
In proof of which he's seldom here; and then
He greets her distantly. He pressed the marriage
With most indelicate haste; no time for wooing,
Little for preparation. A proud alliance
Bribed him, and not a heart.
Pier.
[Indignantly.]
Aunt!
Lyd.
[Interrupting.]
Since we're conquered,
Let's even make the best of it. Here come
A group of bland nonentities.
Enter Lord and Lady Chatterly, Sir Archer, and Lady Taunton.
Ah, good friends!
With smiling faces as befits the time.
Lord C.
Dear Lady Lydia,
We share your happiness in seeing it.
Lyd.
You're good to say so. Happiness like mine
Grows by participation.
Sir A.
Lady Mabel
Has positively had no mercy on us—
Her wit's so brilliant, pungent, piercing and—
[Hesitates.
Lord C.
Truly enchanting.
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'Tis benevolence
In you to call it so; for 'twas indulged
Greatly at your expense.
Lady T.
Nay! that's severe.
Sir A.
A little too severe, but in plain truth,
Mordaunt's much to be envied.
Lyd.
Surely, not
More than my niece.
Lady T.
Mordaunt!—Is he connected
With the old family in Devonshire.
Lyd.
This gentleman is of a race whose rise
Is far more ancient.—But 'tis near the hour
My brother named to read the marriage-deed.
[All are about to go.
Enter Mabel.
Your pardon for a moment; I'll soon follow.
[Guests and Pierpoint go out. She advances to meet Mabel.
Nay, be of better cheer. Should one betrothed
Upon her bridal-eve look downcast thus?
A strange foreboding shadow clouds your brow,
I marked not ere this wooing. O my child!
Carry it gaily; go among your guests;
Be liberal of your smiles, free of your mirth,
As one should be upon the verge of joy.
Mab.
Believe me, I have striven to do my best,
Nor quite in vain; nay, heard you not yourself
Our sprightly jests, as I led forth the train
Through the wood's maze? Oh, we were very gay!
Lyd.
I was not unobservant of your mirth;
It did not please me, Mabel; it was strained,
Abrupt—wanted tranquility; your tones
Were quicker than belong to quiet joy;
Your smiles not such as peace serenely wears.
Mab.
You are right; and I, it seems, am not so skilled
As I had thought in artifice. Yes, aunt!
There is a care lies heavy at my heart.
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Confide it, love!
Mab.
I fear that time has changed him.
Lyd.
You mean Sir Edgar?
Mab.
Ay: 'tis even so.
Lyd.
Despite of which, your love still perseveres?
Mab.
True love, though tender, is immortal too—
Easy to wound, incapable of death.
Not that he has at any time been harsh,
At least in words; but that to me seems stern
Which others might not deem so. Public cares
Leave him few hours for converse, and in those
He speaks me formally. Then I grow cold,
And proudly hide my heart. I know I'm blameful
To tell you this; but then I have no mother,
Whose voice might solace weakness or reprove it.
Lyd.
Alas! sweet niece, you merit better fate.
Mab.
Why say so, aunt? I have in nought accused him
Except in change; such change as comes like growth,
Sure but unnoted.
Lyd.
But you kept my counsel,
Avoided all recurrence to the past?
Mab.
We have not spoken of it. Much I fear
It steals upon his memory, and clouds
The sunshine of his love.
Lyd.
I would fain hope
The best, dear Mabel. You did well at least
In keeping silence; but we shall be late.
You know your father's wishes are to grace
Your nuptials with all ceremony, whence
This public reading of the marriage treaty.
Would I could bribe those lips to smile. Come, love!
[They go out.
Enter Mordaunt, looking after them.
Mor.
'Tis she. What sad reluctance in her step!
The conscious victim in each gesture speaks.
True, true, confirmed by many a certain sign,
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And curbs her loathing at her father's will,
Whose interest and ambition force her hand—
His child's hand—to the man she spurned before,
And yet despises. Shame that to my breast
They bind a form that inwardly recoils!
There's the one drop that overflows the cup,
And makes endurance treason to mankind!
She turns within. What witchery of grace!
Proud scorner, I could love thee, spite of scorn!
Ill fits this mood the time. Hence, yielding self;
No private weakness now. No! though each word
Were coined in fires that fed upon my heart,
I'd speak their rights whom nature crowns and man's
Poor pride would crush. So, lady, heart, take heart!
Thy cause I champion here, no less than mine,
And haste to snatch thee from my father's doom!
Enter Servant.
Ser.
My lord, sir, seeks your presence.
Mor.
Does he so?
I will attend him instantly; I come.
[Mordaunt and Servant go out.
| The Patrician's Daughter | |