 | The Phantom |  |
SCENE III.
A large room, with rich furniture, and the walls hung with pictures.Enter the Provost and Marian, by different doors.
Provost.
How is poor Alice?
Marian.
She is more composed;
For tears have flow'd uncheck'd, and have relieved her.
I have persuaded her to take an hour
Of needful rest upon her bed; and Jessie,
That kindly creature, watches her the while.
Provost.
Ay, that is right. And now, my right good lady,
Let me in plain but grateful words repeat,
That your great kindness, leaving thus your home,
And taking such a journey for the comfort
Of my poor child, is felt by me most truly,
As it deserves. May God reward you for it!
Marian.
I will not, sir, receive such thanks unqualified;
They are not due to me. Regard for Alice,—
And who that knows her feels not such regard,—
Was closely blended with another motive,
When I determined on this sudden journey.
Provost.
Another motive!
Marian.
Has not Claude inform'd you
That Malcolm left Dunarden secretly,
The night before we did ourselves set forth?
Provost.
He has not. Ha! and wot you where he went?
Marian.
I wot not, but I guess: and it was he,
As I am almost confident, who walk'd
The last of all the mourners, by himself,
In this day's sad procession.
Provost
(pulling a letter hastily from his pocket).
Madam, sit down; I'll cast mine eyes again
O'er this your father's letter. Pray sit down!
I may not see you thus.
[Setting a chair with much courtesy, and obliging her to sit, whilst he goes aside and reads a letter earnestly. He then returns to her.
My friend has many words of courtesy;
It is his habit; but subtracting from them
The plain unvarnish'd sense, and thereto adding
What, from this secret journey of your brother,
May be inferr'd,—the real truth is this—
At least it so appears to my poor reason—
[Preventing her as she rises from her seat.
Nay, sit, I pray you, Lady Achinmore;
We'll talk this matter over thoroughly,
And leave no bashful doubts hid in a corner,
For lack of honest courage to produce them.
[Sits down by her.
Marian.
Proceed, good sir, I listen earnestly.
Provost.
As it appears to me, the truth is this,
That Malcolm, whom your father doth admit,
Albeit a great admirer of my daughter,
To be at present somewhat disinclined
To give up youthful liberty so early,
As he from more acquaintance with her virtues
Ere long will of his own accord desire,— (Pointing to the letter)
—so he expresses it.
Marian.
And with sincerity.
Provost.
Well, grant it, lady!
The truth doth ne'ertheless appear to be,
That this young gallant, Malcolm of Dunarden,
With all her virtues, loves not Alice Denison,
And loves another.
Marian.
Rather say, hath loved.
Provost.
I'll not unsay my words. His heart is with her,
Low as she lies: and she who won his heart
From such a maid as Alice Denison,
Will keep it too, e'en in her shroud. No, no!
We've spread our vaunting sails against the wind,
And cannot reach our port but with such peril
As will o'ermatch the vantage.
584
Say not so.
Time will make all things as we wish to have them.
Provost.
Time works rare changes, which they may abide
Who are intent upon them. Shall I carry
My vessel where her cargo is not wanted?—
Tobacco to th' Antipodes, and wait
Till they have learn'd to use and relish it?—
Shall I do this, when other marts are near
With open harbours ready to receive her?
Marian.
Dear sir, you must not think I will assent
To what would mar the long and cherish'd wish
Of me and mine. And we had fondly hoped
That you had been desirous of this union
Between our families.
Provost.
Your father won my friendship years ago,
When with his goodly mien and belted plaid,
His merry courtesy and stately step,
He moved amongst our burghers at the Cross,
As though he had been chieftain o'er us all;
And I have since enjoy'd his hospitality,
In his proud mountain hold.
Marian.
I recollect it: proud and glad he was
Of such a guest.
Provost.
Dost thou? Ay, then it was,
That, seeing his fair stripling by his side—
A graceful creature, full of honest sense
And manly courage—I did like the notion,
That Alice, then a little skipping child,
With years before her still to play about me,
Should in some future time become the lady
Of that young Highland chief. But years bring thoughts
Of a more sober and domestic hue.
Why should I covet distant vanities,
And banish from my sight its dearest object? (Rising from his chair.)
Have you observed those pictures?
Marian
(rising also).
I have. They are the portraits of your parents:
Their features bear resemblance to your own.
Provost.
My mother's do: and look at her, dear madam!
With all the bravery of that satin dress
Clasp'd up with jewels, and those roses stuck
Amongst her braided hair, she was the daughter
And sober heiress of a saving burgher,
Whose hoarded pelf in my brave father's hands
Raised such industrious stir in this good city,
As changed her from a haunt of listless sluggards
To the fair town she is. What need have I
To eke my consequence with foreign matches?
Alice shall wed, I hope, some prosperous merchant,
And live contentedly, my next door neighbour,
With all her imps about her.
Marian.
Wed whom she may, I hope she will be happy.
Provost.
I do believe that is your hearty wish:
And having plainly told you what I think
Of this projected match, as it concerns
My daughter and myself,—I will proceed
To that which may concern my ancient friend.
Should any mortgage press on his estate,
Or any purchase of adjoining lands
Make money a desired object with him,
He need but speak the word; at easy int'rest
He shall receive what sums he may require,
And need not fear that I shall e'er distress him
With hard ill-timed demands. In faith, he need not!
Marian.
Dear sir, he knows full well your gen'rous heart
Hath for its minister a liberal hand:
In truth, he would not fear to be your debtor.
Provost.
Not all the rum and sugar of Jamaica,
In one huge warehouse stored, should make me press him,
Though apt occasion offer'd e'er so temptingly.
Then why should Malcolm bend his youthful neck
To wedlock's yoke for sordid purposes?
The boy shall be my friend; and when his mind
Is free to think upon another love,
I'll guide him to a very comely lady—
Yea, more than one, that he may have a choice—
Who may prove both a match of love and profit;
But hear you plainly, not to Alice Denison.
Marian.
Oh, you are kind and noble! but my father—
Provost.
Say nought for him; he'll answer for himself:
And through his maze of friendly compliments,
I'll trace at last his veritable thoughts.
[Taking her hand kindly.
Now, having thus so plainly told my mind,
Look on me as a man to whom again
You may as freely speak.
Marian.
And so I will:
The happiness of one, dear to us both,
Requires that I should do it.
Provost
(surprised).
How so? is it of Alice you would speak?
Marian.
Yes, but another time; for here comes Jessie.
Enter Jessie.
(To Jessie.)
How is she now? I hope she is asleep.
Jessie.
She has not slept, but lies composed and easy,
And wishes now to see you.
[Exit Marian.
Provost.
How art thou, Jessie?
Jessie.
Well, an' please your honour.
Provost.
I hear thou hast become a Highland lass;
But, if thou really like the Lowlands better,
Thy native country, tell me honestly:
I'll make thy husband, whomsoe'er thou choose,
A freeman of this town. If he have brains,
And some few marks beside, he'll thrive upon it.
Jessie.
I thank you, sir: his marks are few indeed.
585
Well, never mind; let us but have the brains,
And we will make the best of it.—Poor Jessie!
I well remember thee a barefoot girl,
With all thy yellow hair bound in a snood:
Thy father too.
Jessie.
Do you remember him?
Provost.
Yes, Saunders Fairlie. Better man than Saunders
In factory or warehouse never bustled.
Enter Servant.
Provost.
What is the matter, Archy? On thy face
Thou wearst a curious grin: what is the matter?
Serv.
The baillie bid me to inform your honour,
The country hucksters and the market wives
Have quarrell'd, and are now at deadly strife,
With all the brats and schoolboys of the town
Shouting and bawling round them.
Provost.
Good sooth! whene'er those wives with hands and tongue
Join in the fray, the matter must be look'd to.
I will be with them soon.
[Exit servant.
To think now of those creatures!
E'en at the time when death is in the city
Doing his awful work, and our sad streets
Blacken'd with funerals, that they must quarrel
About their worldly fractions! Woe is me!
For all our preachings and our Sabbath worship,
We are, I fear, but an ungodly race.
Enter another Servant.
And what has brought thee, too?
Serv.
There is a woman come from Anderston,
Whose neighbour, on pretence of some false debt,
Has pounded her milch cow,—her only cow.
Provost.
Is that a case to occupy my time?
Let her go with it to the younger baillie.
Serv.
I told her so, your honour, but she weeps,
And says the younger baillie is so proud,
She dare not speak to him.
Provost.
Poor simpleton! Well, then, I needs must see her.
Re-enter 1st Servant.
Tut! here again! What is the matter now?
1st serv.
A servant all cross'd o'er wi' livery lace,
As proud and grand as any trumpeter,
Is straight from Blantyre come, and says, my lord
Would greatly be obliged, if that your honour
Would put off hearing of that suit to-morrow,
As he must go to Edinburgh.
Provost.
Tell the messenger
To give my humble service to his lordship,
And say, I could not, but with great injustice
To the complaining party, grant delay,
Who, being poor, should not be further burden'd
With more attendance; I will therefore hear
The cause to-morrow, at the hour appointed.
Exit 1st, and re-enter 2d Servant.
Still more demands! For what foul sin of mine
Was I promoted to this dignity?
From morn till eve, there is no peace for me.
[Exit Provost, speaking to the servants as they go out.
| The Phantom | |