University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—Meeta's Dressing-room.
Meeta and Esther enter—the former abstracted, the latter making a bridal knot.
Esther.
No favour for your breast! A bride, and go
To church without a favour! Well! to think,
Of all things, that should be forgot! Almost
As well forget your wedding-day itself!
Almost as well no wedding as no favour!
Know'st thou not so?

[Touching her.
Meeta.
What said you to me, Esther?

Esther.
There! I protest, as well it were the wall
I spoke to as to you! as much 'twould hear me!
What said you to me, Esther? Esther said—
It was your wedding-day—that you forgot
A favour for your breast—that she would make one—
And here 'tis ready! Let me pin it on.

Meeta.
No word yet from my father!

Esther.
From your father?
Your lover, don't you mean?

Meeta.
I mean my father!

Esther.
Humph! Give me anything but want of nature!
I do not like you, Meeta! Flesh and blood
Are flesh and blood! Were it my wedding-day,
Almost the very hour, and every minute
The bridegroom look'd for, would my thought be running
Upon my father? To be honest, Meeta,
I'd think of something dearer—that I would,
And be a good child still!

Meeta.
You lost your father
When you were but an infant. You don't know
What 'tis to love a father.

Esther.
Do I not?
Yes; but I do! It is to honour him,
So we are bidden—that is, to obey him—
Respectfully entreat him!

Meeta.
Nothing more?

Esther.
What more?

Meeta.
O, much!—O, very much!—Such things
We do to those that are indifferent to us,
Compared to a father! There is something more—
Better—less earthly—more o' th' grain of Heaven—
A love that's indefinable!—that holds
Ourselves as nothing, in respect of cherishing!
That's ever kneeling though no limb be bent,
And looking up with ever-watching will,
Anticipating wishes!—It is worship—
Although no lip be moved, no eye be strain'd,
No hands be clasp'd—next that which hath acceptance
Above—O' the soul! O, how I love my father!
To say “before my life” is to say nothing—
That's his, and 'tis a gasp and over! but
To slave, beg, starve for him—forego possession
Of mine own dearest earthly wishes—havings—
I'd do it, Esther, in a moment!—Yes!
Not give't a second thought! Remember'st thou
I once was froward with thee? I was then
A girl not ten years old—dost not remember?
I had found a hair of his—a long white hair,
And I had coil'd it up to treasure it;
But thou didst flout me for't and take't away,
And cast into the fire—whence all your might
It took to hold me. Yes, I would have thrust
My hand into the fire to save that hair!
That is to love a father!

Esther.
If it is,
Then know I not what 'tis to love a father!

Meeta.
You never knew one, said I not before?
But mine was twice a parent—that is, Esther,
He was my father and my mother too.
I never knew my mother, but I am sure
I should have loved her—dearly loved her, Esther;
But my father—nurse was he to me, instructor,
Playmate, companion, father—all, together!
Think of that, Esther. Playmate! Such a man
To bend into a child for my sake! There
I half believe I find the root of love
Which has struck deepest.—He to play the child
With his white hairs!—There is not one of them
But has a heart and soul in't—to me, Esther!—
Don't smile—You know you own you cannot tell
What 'tis to love a father.

Enter Madame Roselheim.
Mad. Ros.
Meeta!

Meeta.
Well,
Dear Madame Roselheim?

Mad. Ros.
The post is in.

Meeta.
And Rupert doesn't come?—I thought 'twould be so!
I was prepared for it! I wish'd it—though
My father will'd our nuptials should go on.
'Tis well! O, if there be one hour, which more
Than any other craves a parent's presence,
'Tis that which gives his child away from him!
She should go with his blessing, warm upon her, breathed
With an attesting kiss; then may she go
With perfect hope, and cheerly take with her
The benisons of all kind wishers else!—
You know I love your son?

Mad. Ros.
[Weeps.]
I know it, well,
My Meeta.

Meeta.
Madam!—Mother! I'm the bride—
You must not weep till I do!—'Tis not fair,
I'll not be beat in disappointment, I
That have chief cause to feel it! Is he ill?

Mad. Ros.
No!—No!

Meeta.
Thank Heaven! and yet some other cause
As grave as that of health, perhaps, prevents him?

Mad. Ros.
No; the campaign has open'd—nothing more.

Meeta.
Enough!—Long marches—nightly guards—chill sleeping
In the open fields—foragings—reconnoiterings—
Skirmishings—stormings and pitch'd battles! Rupert,
Poor Rupert! [Weeps.]
—Mother, I am quits with you,
There are my tears 'gainst yours!

Mad. Ros.
I wasn't weeping
For Rupert, Meeta.

Meeta.
For whom, then?—My father?

Mad. Ros.
For no one—that is, there's no cause I know of
Why I should weep.

Meeta.
Why weep then?

Mad. Ros.
'Twas a fear
I had—

Meeta.
About my father?—Is that letter
For me? The one unopen'd?—Give it me! don't fear.
Though I'm a girl, I have a resolution.
[Reads letter.
Read it!

[Handing it to Madame Roselheim.
Mad. Ros.
Arrested! and a prisoner
In Prague!—His fate uncertain—but his life
In peril, Meeta!

[Tottering as on the point of fainting.
Meeta.
[Trying to recover her.]
Mother!—Madam!—Madam!—
Mother!—Madame Roselheim, don't give way!—these things
Are catching, and I want to be myself!
I must be myself—I will be myself!—I'll not waver,
Flinch, droop, the matter of a moment.—Madam!
I have need of all the nerve I have—and help me!
Don't take it from me!—My father wants it all,
And he must have it, and shall!—Well, well! give way!
The more you are water, the more will I be rock!
I am so!—Let me see—

Mad. Ros.
My child!—my Meeta!
Thou show'st it not; but, if I feel the shock,
What must it prove to thee!

Meeta.
Nothing, madam!—nothing!
Let's see—How many miles is Prague from this?
I recollect—that's right!—that's right!—I have
My senses all about me—I thank Heaven!
The paper that he gave me?—It is here—
In my bosom!—I remember everything!
I am quite myself!

Mad. Ros.
Meeta! this calmness frights me!

Meeta.
Don't mind it!—All is well!—I recollect,
To every syllable, all my father told me!
And I will do his bidding.—A fine time
'Twould be for me to swoon! [Laughs]
—a proper time! [Laughs.

I must not laugh; for if I do, I'm lost!
Heaven give me firmness!—Of myself, I'm nothing!
There!—'tis gone off. I'll but provide myself,
And away!

[Going towards her chamber.
Mad. Ros.
Where go you, Meeta?

Meeta.
To my chamber, madam!

Mad. Ros.
What go you there to do?

Meeta.
To change my dress.

Mad. Ros.
But, Meeta!—

Meeta.
Mother, let me have my way!—
Don't hinder me, and do not follow me!
Else, that may come you would not wish to happen!
Command me, after, all my life, so now
You suffer me be mistress of myself!

[Goes out.
Mad. Ros.
She makes me tremble—she's so little moved!
Why, Esther! are you too about to swoon?

Esther.
Almost I am!—My heart turn'd sick just now;
But it grows better.

Mad. Ros.
What do you think of Meeta?

Esther.
I wonder at her—but she's all a wonder!
Had you but heard her talk, ere you came in,
About her father!—

Mad. Ros.
I'm afraid of her.
She is too calm—it is unnatural!—
She cannot be herself, thus to sustain
What taxes you and me, too much, to whom
It comes not half so home!—She has not shed
A tear!—No sound of suffering—a moan,
A sigh—a breath, you could mistake for one—
Has 'scaped her! She forbade me follow her;
But am I right to heed her? Reason is gone,
Ere you suspect that it has given way;
So this collectedness may be but crust,
Not substance; which, while you believe't to be,
Straight crumbles into dust! We should not leave her
Alone.

Esther.
I heed her not!—I'll follow her!

[Going.
Meeta.
[Entering.]
Where are you going, Esther?

Esther.
Into your chamber,
To look for you.

Meeta.
Well!—here I am!—What want you?

Esther.
Why, you are dress'd as 'twere to go a journey!

Meeta.
I am.

Mad. Ros.
And whither go you, Meeta?

Meeta.
To
My father!

Mad. Ros.
Are you mad?

Meeta.
I could be mad!
But I must keep my reason—and I will!

Mad. Ros.
Reflect you on the distance?

Meeta.
'Tis a stride!

Mad. Ros.
A stride! And do you calculate
The danger?

Meeta.
There's no danger—none, but that
In which he lies!

Mad. Ros.
You may be stopp'd by robbers!

Meeta.
There are no robbers.

Mad. Ros.
Recollect the war!

Meeta.
There is no war.

Mad. Ros.
Know'st thou what thou art saying?

Meeta.
I do,—Believe it! 'Tis the shortest way.
Thou'lt have to take't at last!

Esther.
She shall not stir.

Meeta.
Nay, but I will!—and go!

Mad. Ros.
Don't let her, Esther;
Lay hold upon her.

Esther.
Will I not!

Meeta.
You will not!—
You must not!—dare not! If you do, his blood
Lie at your door!

Mad. Ros.
Alas! what power have you
To help him, child?

Meeta.
My will!—Where there's the will,
You cannot tell but there may be the power!
Strong will can make a little power go far—
At least, can I not beg his enemies
To spare his life?

Mad. Ros.
You'll find their hearts are stone.

Meeta.
Perhaps; but I shall try to prove them flesh.

Mad. Ros.
And if thou prove they are not?

Meeta.
Then, I'll deal
With his prison bolts and bars. Mother, 'tis vain!
Prevent me now, and I will 'scape again;
If not to-day, to-morrow. If not then,
The next day—or the following. So time
That's precious—everything—is lost, and, then,
The mischief done, and no good come of it
That might have come, were time used promptly! Madam—
Mother,—'tis reason, plain to speculation,
As the hand I lift before you now to Heaven
To register my vow, that no regard
Of difficulty, or unlikelihood,
Or danger, or persuasion, or enforcement,
Shall hold me back one moment from the attempt
To save my father's life. Heaven bless you, madam!
Esther, good-bye! That's right—No weeping—Nothing
But a kiss, and part!—Good-bye!—Good-bye!—Good-bye