 | The Patrician's Daughter |  |
295
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Library in Lynterne Castle, as before.Physician and Earl discovered.
Phy.
Have you, my lord, of late received account
Of Lady Lydia's state?
Earl.
No recent news; poor sister Lydia!
When first suspicion dawned that my child's grief
Was wearing health away, her aunt, o'ercome
By daily witness of such touching woe,
Caught its infection—strength and peace forsook her.
Still her condition varies with your patient's;
When Mabel seems to rally, our report
Is answered by good tidings of her aunt;
And when the one declines—declines the other.
From Venice, where my sister purposes
Some few months' stay, I anxiously wait letters.
But say, how fares it with my blessèd one?
Tell me the worst.—Nay, pause a moment.—Now
I think that I am man enough to hear you.
Phy.
The mind is our chief enemy;
And failing its alliance, all endeavour
Hastens the evil it would fain arrest.
Could we obliterate the past, efface
All memory of this wrong, whose double edge
Wounds both her love and pride, recall to life
Her hopes and her affections—
Earl.
Cease, sir, to torture me; 'tis mockery
To name specifics out of human grasp.
Enter Servant announcing Lady Lydia, who enters in travelling costume. Servant goes out.
Earl.
(advancing to meet her)
My sister! dearest
Lydia, you are changed!
Lyd.
Speak not of me. Mabel! is she much altered?
Earl.
Alas! much altered, as yourself may see.
296
Lyd.
[Who has kept her eyes on the ground, suddenly raising them as she faces her niece.]
Ha! I need not support; let us embrace.
No, no, it is forbidden!
Mab.
Forbidden!
Lyd.
By Conscience,
The Haunter, the Avenger who can bow
Wills tyrants cannot move—extort deep groans
From men mute on the rack—and from the lips
Of guilty pride, which the flame's agony
Cannot distort or open, wring the tale
Of sin and degradation.
Earl.
[To Physician.]
What can this mean? I fear her mind's disturbed.
Lyd.
[Overhearing him.]
True! but not in your sense; now, listen to me.
I am my niece's murderer!
[Mabel looks up.
Earl.
[Compassionately.]
Poor, poor unfortunate!
Lyd.
I did not drug her drink
With poison, nor at night with unsheathed blade
Startle her chamber's darkness; but by arts
Born of infernal pride, I poisoned hopes
That outvie life in worth, and plunged my dart
Where it is mercy to stab mortally,
Such anguish follows where the wound is made.
Mab.
Oh, mercy! mercy! You deceived me there?
Lyd.
When he who shall be nameless was our guest,
I prompted him at once to ask your hand,
Assured him of your love, which I declared
Yourself had owned to me. With sinful wiles
I taught you to believe that he had dared
To ask you of your father as the hire
For future service. I awoke your pride,
Moved you to show him scorn—
Mab.
Alas! alas!
297
With bitter raillery I told the tale
I had invented where I knew 'twould gain
Admission to his ear: the effect you know.
Mab.
Wake me! I cannot bear this dream. Oh, wake me!
Will none of you have pity?
Lyd.
More remains.
This letter will tell all. [Gives letter—Mabel takes the letter mechanically.]
Mabel, my niece,
In deep remorse, in guilty agony,
I pray you to forgive me!
[Kneeling.
Mab.
[Passionately.]
Hence! your presence
Tortures my eyes, as have your deeds my heart!
Lyd.
Niece! child! turn not away. I will be heard!
I loved you ever. When I wronged you most,
My sin was born of love. So high my aims
And hopes for you, I could not brook you wed,
Save where to every human excellence
Was added all the world accounts most noble.
And now these tears, this soft and plenteous dew
Speak not an arid soil—a stony heart.
After my long and weary pilgrimage,
I clasp thy feet, a humbled penitent!
Mab.
I—I—O God, send tears!
Lyd.
Ah, Mabel, think—
We both are dying women—think that you
May need forgiveness too!
[Lydia still kneels at Mabel's feet, who slowly bends forward, and puts her arms round her neck.
Mab.
[Falteringly.]
You are forgiven.
Lyd.
Bless you! Death will be gentler now. Farewell!
[Kisses Mabel's hand, then goes to Earl and kneels.]
Brother?
Earl.
Yes, I'll not add to other misery
That of repulsing penitence. Now go:
You need rest, and must take it.
Attendant enters, and supports Lady Lydia from scene.
298
The tale so long discredited was true.
Mordaunt is wronged.
Mab.
I ruined and disgraced!
Earl.
[After a pause.]
It shall be done. Down, down, rebellious pride!
What's pride when set by love? What price too great
To save my dear one's life?—Give me the letter.
[Takes letter from Mabel.
Mab.
What mean you? for your look is strange; you tremble!
Earl.
No, no; the strife is passed. O God! that we,
Whom thy one breath can prostrate utterly,
Should dare to foster pride!
Mab.
[Starting to her feet.]
You would see Mordaunt!
Earl.
Yes, I will see him—supplicate his ear
For this most sad mischance. My prayers and tears
Will surely reach his heart. I'll bend my knee,
And wear a look so meek, so lowly—
Mab.
Never!
Earl.
Oh, yes; and he will pardon all the past.
Mab.
My path of desolation nears the grave;
Yet can I turn my face to him once more,
And look on him forgivingly. I know
That he has been deceived, and I forgive him.
He might have pardoned me; but he chose vengeance,
And left the print of shame on my crushed heart;
Yet wrung not from its depths one sigh of pain.
My misery has been silent. Oh, dear father,
Torture it not to speech!
Earl.
Be calm, my child.
Mab.
Then go you not. Bow not your reverend head
In unavailing shame, nor let him know
What cause has sped me hence.
It shall not be! Your hand—a sudden weakness.
[Mabel sinks into the chair—the Physician, kneeling, supports her.
Earl.
Alas! emotion has o'ertaxed her strength!
Phy.
I will attend her. Meanwhile, my dear lord,
299
Show him the letter. His mind, once convinced,
May prompt him to contrition, and such signs
Of penitent affection as shall win
Your daughter's heart to love of life again.
Earl.
And yet I fear I go on a vain errand;
For should he yield, to o'ercome her resolve
Will be a task more hard.
Phy.
We're in a strait
Of peril that admits no other hope.
I do conjure you go, and please you bid
Your daughter's maid attend to share my watch.
Earl.
You counsel right, my friend. I go. Farewell.
Phy.
Almighty aid be with you.
[Earl goes out.
Her eyelids open. She revives.—Dear lady!
Mab.
Who speaks? Where am I?
Phy.
'Tis I, your faithful friend, who watch by you.
Enter Attendant.
Mab.
Thanks, sir. Where is my father. Call him hither!
Phy.
Affairs of moment took him hence awhile.
Mab.
Is he within? He has not left the house?
Phy.
Soon to return.
Mab.
'Twas strange he did not wait till I revived,
Nor stayed to say farewell. [Weeps.]
'Tis not his wont
To quit me thus abruptly.—I remember,
He spoke of seeing Mordaunt!
[Attendant advances.
Heard you the Earl's command? Which way went he?
Att.
[Hesitatingly.]
Madam, I think to Richmond.
Mab.
[Rises.]
Quick! a carriage!
Then wait me in my chamber.
[Attendant goes out.
Check surprise;
I must set forth and overtake the Earl.
Phy.
'Tis madness! Think not that your shattered frame
Could undergo such trial of its strength!
300
The feelings that inspire the deep resolve,
Can grant the strength for action. I must go.
Phy.
You will forgive me if I countermand
Your order lately given.
[Going.
Mab.
Stay! stay!
[Supporting herself by chair.
'Tis to preserve my father and myself
From scorn, from ignominy, from repulse,
I venture on this errand. Oh, just Heaven!
It will be thought we have devised some feint
To move this proud man's heart. In vain, in vain,
My father will implore. One word of mine
Would spare him—save his honoured head from shame!
Do you deny me? Think you that my life
Is not more perilled by your present act
Than by my own design? What, not moved yet?
Behold me take the suppliant's attitude.
[Kneels.
I do implore you in all humbleness
To let me now depart.—You will not yet?
[Rises.
I claim my right of motion—trample on
All counsel that prescribes subservience
From the soul to its poor vassal. I command
You let me pass forthwith. You dare not brave me.
Phy.
[Aside.]
What supernatural anger fires her eye!
She's right. More danger lies in opposition.—
Madam, your will has way.
Mab.
Thanks, thanks, my friend.
In a short time you'll join me. Thanks! No help.
[Mabel goes out rapidly, followed by Physician.
SCENE II.
Mordaunt's House, as in Act I.Enter Mordaunt.
Mor.
I know not whence or wherefore there has come
This woman's weakness o'er my yielding will?
What have I done but given pride to learn
301
Except the soul's, on men; so by their souls,
Not by their birth or fortunes, men shall rank!
[A short pause.
Why am I not at peace? What whispers me
That right was never vindicated yet
By wrong returned; or, if Heaven work out good
By men of wrath, its blessing crowns the deed,
But not the doer. Why—why will the thought,
Perchance she may have loved me, thus intrude?
Can I have sought revenge and called it justice?
Enter Servant.
Ser.
The Earl of Lynterne.
Enter the Earl. Servant goes out.
Earl.
Pardon, Sir Edgar, that I venture thus
To break on your retirement: but my cause
Is one that outruns all respect of forms.
Mor.
A country's servant knows no privacy
That bars consideration of her weal.
I pray you sit, my lord.
Earl.
My errand is not public. 'Tis not now
The minister who claims your patient ear,
But a plain sorrowing man, whose wounded heart
Your skill alone can solace. To be brief,
I am a father; let that word tell all.
Mor.
The father of a daughter! Is it well
We should discourse of her?
Earl.
Tell me that you permit it. May I speak?
Mor.
Of her, my lord, or any other stranger,
If mention of a name delight your ear.
Earl.
And you will bear with me—you will be patient?
Mor.
Why should I not? What man is there so well
Can bear the verbal history of wrong
As he who has it written on his heart?
If you recite the past, you will not grave
302
Endures, though you be silent.
Earl.
Oh, sir, repulse me not, for love of mercy.
Say that you retain some gentle thought,
Some tender recollection—
Mor.
Of your daughter?
My lord, she has my pity.
Earl.
What! No more?
[A pause.
Ah, sir, I have watched Mabel many a time,
When accident, or as it now seems, purpose
Long held you from her presence,—quit her chair,
And by the hour watch in love's deep suspense,
Pale, fixed, and mute—a very statue then;
But when the tramp of your approaching horse
Broke on her ear—for that love-quickened sense
Anticipated sight—she woke to life,
As though your safety gave her leave to be,
Rushed forth to meet you, but stopped bashfully
To wait your entrance with downcast lids,
Which vainly tried to hide the lucid joy
Floating, like sunshine, in the orbs beneath!
Mor.
What is your story's sequel? What succeeds?
Earl.
You loved her once!
Mor.
I did, and since it pleases you, I speak.
It shall be to such purpose as to wring,
Even from your confession, that my act
Was one of justice, not of cruelty.
I loved her once! Ay, she was then to me
The incorporated spirit of all good.
My soul's once science was to study her;
Her eyes were all my light, her voice my music,
Her movements all I cared to know of grace.
Loved her! 'Twas worship! 'Twas idolatry!
And how was I repaid! The meanest man
Who has nor wealth, nor talent, nor distinction,
Giving his heart, proffers the dearest gift
His Maker gave to him—a gift that merits,
Even when not accepted, gratitude!
303
Of which she feigned acceptance, not by words,
But by confession far more eloquent.
I pressed the love she favoured; she repulsed it;
She trampled on it! It was glowing fire;
She trod it into ashes!
Earl.
It was not so; but hear me.
Mor.
'Tis too late.
Earl.
[Rises.]
I do implore you, then, to read this letter.
[Mordaunt takes letter, rises, and reads it apart.
Mor.
If this be true, it must pronounce me guilty;
And my own eyes bear witness 'gainst my heart!
A life-time's love would not atone my sin.
Can I, indeed, have wronged her thus?
Enter Servant announcing “The Lady Mabel Lynterne!” Mabel enters and rushes to the Earl. Servant goes out.
Mab.
My father!
Earl.
My child!— [To Mordaunt.]
Read there the answer to your doubt.
Mor.
'Tis evidence that stabs, while it convicts.
Why knew I not this sooner?
O Mabel, how I've wronged thee!
[Kneels to her.
Mab.
What words are these? I came here to forbid
Vain supplication to a haughty heart,
And lo! I find one meek and penitent.
And thou dost love me, Mordaunt?
Mor.
[Rising.]
Love thee, Mabel!
My careworn heart revives at sight of thee,
And hoards the life 'twas weariness to keep.
How now! thou tremblest, sweet!
Mab.
Love! aid me to my chair;
My strength is failing fast; I am as one
Who has striven hard to distance Grief, and gained
The goal before her, my strength but sufficing
304
With thy love for my chaplet, and in peace!
Mor.
[Kneeling by her side.]
And thou wilt live in peace for many years!
[Aside.]
What demon gives my fear-struck heart the lie?
Mab.
I've much to say, and but brief time to speak it.
Thou knowest now I love thee; but thou canst not—
Thou canst not tell how deeply. That our lips
Should so belie our hearts! Couldst thou read mine!
Mor.
Or thou read mine; the thoughts of agony
Remorse sears on it with a brand of fire!
Mab.
Oh, couldst thou know how often in my walks
My soul drank gladness from the thought that thou
Wouldst share them with me, and the beautiful
Grow brighter as thy voice interpreted
Its hidden loveliness; and our fireside!
How I should greet thee from the stormy war
Of public conflict, kneel beside thy chair,
And cause thee bend thine eyes on mine, until
Thy brow expanded, and thy lips confessed
The blessedness of home!
Mor.
Home, sayest thou? Home!
Home! That's the grave.
Mab.
My fate is gentler, love,
Than I had dared to hope. I shall not live
Encircled by thine arms; but I may die so.
[Sinks back.
Mor.
[Rising and turning away.]
I cannot bear it; Oh, I cannot bear it.
Fool! Not to know the vengeance of forgiveness!
Earl.
You see, sir, that the wound is deep enough.
Mab.
Nay, speak not harshly; for in noble minds
Error is suffering, and we should soothe
The breast that bears its punishment within.
Tell me that you forgive him. Do not pause.
Stint not the affluent affection now,
That hitherto outran my need in granting—
All dimly floats before me. While I yet
Can hear your voice, tell me that you forgive him!
[Mabel has now raised herself, and stands erect.
305
I do, I do!
Mab.
Now take him to your arms,
And call him son.
Earl.
Thou art obeyed:—My son!
Mor.
[Advancing.]
My father!
[Mabel joins their hands.
Mab.
I am happy—very happy!
[She falls into Mordaunt's arms—a short pause—she dies.
END OF THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER.
| The Patrician's Daughter | |