 | Francis Beaumont |  |
Scene II.
—Mr. Egerton's parlour.[Mrs. Beaumont and Isabella.]
Mrs. Beaumont.
They've ta'en away my child, my only son.
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He will return; be comforted.
Mrs. Beaumont.
Where is he?
I have not seen him now for many days.
There came two ugly men and took him hence:
They told me they should bring him home again,
Or I should not have parted with him so;
He spoke not to me.
Isabella.
They will bring him back:
And he shall be restored to you and me
And all of us; for he is innocent,
I'll pledge my life for it, he's innocent.
Oh, it has been a foul conspiracy.
Mrs. Beaumont.
May I not fetch him back?
Isabella.
Indeed you cannot.
Mrs. Beaumont.
And who are you that hinder me?
Isabella.
Nay, nay:
It is not I. Dear madam, look on me:
Why stare you thus, as if you knew me not?
Look kindly as you used. 'Tis Isabella.
Mrs. Beaumont.
You're not my daughter.
Isabella.
Yes, I am a daughter.
I ever will be one.
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I know you not.
I want my Frank, my darling boy! he's lost.
I used to hear his voice; 'twas deep and full:
His eyes were dark and used to look me through:
I never see his like about me now.
Isabella.
Alas, 'tis piteous.
Mrs. Beaumont.
There was murder done:
They kill'd my nephew, and they said poor Francis—
No, it was Walter said—but none believ'd him.
Isabella.
'Twas monstrous!
Mrs. Beaumont.
Walter was tried, you know, and he told so many lies,
that the jury laughed, but it was no laughing matter neither,
for the judge condemned him to be hanged, and he well
deserves to be, but I never heard the end of it, for nobody ever
tells me anything. Do you know if he has been hanged?
Isabella.
Dear madam, do not talk of him.
Mrs. Beaumont.
I wasn't sorry for anything that happened to that
steward, for he was always a mischief-maker, and it was he
that made that wicked will. But the Lord has remembered
them, and given us the estate again, and when Frank comes
back, we shall go to live at the hall. Oh, how merry it was
one day; Frank talked of what we would do when we got to
the old place again, and what a glorious wedding we should
have.
Isabella.
To hear her is distraction.
Mrs. Beaumont.
If the hall is ready, why can't we go?
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You shall, you shall.
Mrs. Beaumont.
But when? Will Francis fetch me?
They told me he would very soon be here,
And I have been expecting every day
To hear his step upon the garden walk,
And yet he never comes.
Isabella.
He will. Have patience.
Mrs. Beaumont.
Patience! I have been waiting very long,
And I can wait no more: you all deceive me.
Isabella.
Father of heaven, oh hear my prayer—restore
To this forlorn one her beloved child!
Mrs. Beaumont.
He was his mother's boy; he loved his mother;
But if I vex'd him, he would fret and storm:
I never dared to cross his angry humour.
Isabella.
Hark, heard I not a noise?
[She goes to the window.]
No; 'twas the wind.
Mrs. Beaumont.
Heard you his step? The place is very strange.
Isabella.
O dreadful moment! when will it be over?
Mrs. Beaumont.
Clara, I say, fetch me my bonnet; Clara:
I will go meet him at the garden gate.
Which is the way? I know not where I am.
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(advancing towards her.)
Hush!
Mrs. Beaumont.
You are not Clara; she is tall to look on:
Why has she left me in this lonely house?
Isabella.
I hear their coming steps: O God, support me!
[Enter Mr. Egerton and Philip, who stand for a moment in a kind of stupor, then cover their faces with their hands.]
Isabella.
Where is he? Philip! Father! Speak to me!
Hide not your faces! Look on me! What mean you?
Speak, break this horrid silence! Speak, and kill me!
Philip.
O Isabella, 'tis the saddest day
That ever—
Isabella.
What? you cannot mean, you cannot—
Philip.
My heart is broken! Isabel, my sister,
The dearest fondest hopes we ever cherish'd
Are dash'd to earth, and nothing's left but woe.
O father, tell her all; I cannot speak it.
Mr. Egerton.
Alas, my daughter—Francis Beaumont—
Mrs. Beaumont.
Francis?
My Francis? Do you bring me news of him?
Mr. Egerton.
Oh, lead that wretched mother to her chamber:
This is no scene for her.
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I scarce can speak the words, but you must hear them—
Francis—the jury have pronounced him guilty.
Isabella.
They have not dared commit so foul a wrong?
Mr. Egerton.
It was upon the clearest evidence.
Isabella.
I'd not believe it, tho' a thousand tongues
Had sworn a thousand oaths, and every one
Were register'd in heaven!
Mr. Egerton.
'Tis all too true.
Isabella.
'Tis false! They've murder'd him. He ne'er did wrong,
Or, if he did, it was to punish wrong,
To quell unbridled insolence and outrage:
And 'tis for this the world conspires against him.
Mr. Egerton.
It boots not to arraign the country's justice.
Isabella.
Talk not of justice, when the lives of men,
Of innocent men, the glory of their race,
Are at the mercy of the vilest wretch
Who with his mouth has forged an artful tale
Made current by the stamp of perjury.
Mr. Egerton.
The court were all agreed—the judge and jury—
Isabella.
An empty pageant and a mockery,
Where in the name of law and sanctity
Such things are done as fiends rejoice to look on!
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I cannot wonder at her burst of grief:
It were enough to craze a stouter heart.
But O my daughter—
Isabella.
They may kill, destroy,
But never can they blast his innocence!
That in my heart still fresh and green shall live,
And be my solace to the latest hour.
Mr. Egerton.
There's one, methinks, to whom his innocence
Had been more precious even than to you:
She could say nothing, not a word to help him.
Isabella.
Said Clara nothing?
Mr. Egerton.
Had you seen the pangs
That rent that truthful bosom! Oh! the tears
Start in my aged eyes to think upon't.
It was a sight to melt the world in sorrow.
Isabella.
Where is she, father?
Mr. Egerton.
Faint and overcome
The servants laid her on the couch below.
[Isabella makes a motion to leave the room.]
Nay, go not near her yet; her spirit worn
With toil and anguish needs a brief repose.
[Enter Clara. Isabella rushes with a cry into her arms, and bursts into a paroxysm of tears. Mr. Egerton leads them to the couch, and makes them sit down. Isabella casts her head on Clara's bosom, still sobbing convulsively.]
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Hush, daughter, hush!
Clara.
Let it have vent, dear sir,
Or else her heart will burst.
[Clara bends fondly over her.]
Isabella.
O Clara, Clara,
Can you not save him? Father, cannot you?
Mr. Egerton.
Impossible! The crime of murder—
[Isabella utters a shriek. Enter Philip.]
Clara.
Dear Isabel, be calm, and trust in God:
'Tis He must save him, save him from himself,
Save him to something better and more precious
Than a poor remnant of his mortal days.
Think, Isabel, on this, and pray for us.
Philip.
O sister, hearken to her angel voice:
She is all truth and goodness, born to be
A blessing to her own and all of us.
Clara.
Philip, to you and to your honour'd father
I have ow'd much, and I have yet to ask
One kindness more, one only—'tis the last.
Philip.
O Clara, say not so. Command my service
Now and for evermore! Your will is mine.
Mr. Egerton.
You may command us, lady; for I know
You will ask nothing which I may not grant.
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It is but this—to see him once again—
For a short moment. If you have the power,
If it may be, I do beseech you, sir—
Mr. Egerton.
See to it, Philip, instantly—
Philip.
I will.
[Exit Philip.]
[Isabella whispers something inaudibly to Clara.]
Clara.
Nay, nay!
This is for me alone—a sister's duty.
You too have yours—to bear these dreadful trials,
To cheer your father's home, to comfort him,
To guard his high and honourable name,
Exalt a parent's by a daughter's virtue.
Let courage look thro' sorrow, and behold
The term and end of all. Forgive me, sir;
I trouble you too long. I cannot thank you
As you deserve, nor e'er repay your kindness.
My mother needs my presence. Will you come,
Dear Isabel?
[Exeunt Clara and Isabella.]
Mr. Egerton.
There must be an hereafter, or this girl
Will not have justice from the laws of heaven.
| Francis Beaumont | |