 | The Daughter |  |
ACT V.
SCENE I.
—The Shore.Enter Norris.
I stare at my good fortune! Things that seem'd
To bar my wishes, help them! First the stop,
Was put to Robert's flight; then his committal—
That was the most perverse; but now he's free.
My frank confession oped the dungeon-door,
At cost alone of smart reproof to me,
For what his worship call'd a wicked trick.
And now fair Marian, with her own consent,
Is mine! This very day we go to church!
I would it were to any other place!
I dream'd of her last night. I thought it was
Our wedding day, and, to the church-door, I
Was leading her. 'Twas shut! I knock'd at it.
One answer'd from within, “I must not enter!”
Whereat I shudder'd, for I knew the voice.
And yet again I knock'd. When oped the door,
And, fear-congealing sight! a spectre glared
Upon me! 'Twas my father!—and he said,
“It is forbid—thou must not enter here!”
I woke. It was the first night I had slept—
To call it sleep—since that unlucky night.
Oh! may I never sleep such sleep again!
[Goes out.
SCENE II.
—Robert's Cottage.Enter Robert.
Rob.
Better I had died! My child has given her life
439
I see her wasting!—and what aggravates
The pang to watch her fall a prey to death
So fast, is the sweet uncomplaining patience
With which she bears the tooth that's gnawing her,
Working its way into the quick! She looks
On me the cause of the inextricable,
Unsufferable strait she has fallen into,
As one to pity rather than to blame!
This is her wedding day!—far better call'd
Her funeral day! I have left no means untried
To tempt him to forego his claim—he cries
“I've paid the price, and what I've bought I'll take!”
While prayers awaken wrath, and not remorse,
And his eye lowers till I think I see
His heart laid bare, with evil at the core.
The hour!—I must awaken her. Her eyes
Were closed when last I look'd!—before the time
I would not have them open on the day
They'll see at last too soon!—she has waked of herself!
Is up, and dress'd, and smiling with a cheek
More kin to death than life!—My Marian!
Mari.
[Having entered.]
My father!—what's the matter that you turn
Your eyes away? You falter when you speak!
Father! be cheerful—happy—look upon me!
Rob.
My girl, don't smile!
Mari.
What my face does, my father,
My heart does!—It is calm!—Yea, cheerful!—not
That it lacks cause for grief—but has more cause
For gladness! I have done what Heaven approves—
My duty!—sacrificed a little thing—
Much in itself, but in comparison
Little—to gain a great thing—to preserve
My father's life!—I should smile!—Let me smile,
And smile along with me!
Rob.
My child—my child—
That talk'd to me like an angel!—clung to me!
Knelt to me to persuade me to forbear!
And, like a fiend, I would not heed, but did
The evil thing, whence all this ruin grew!
My child, who loving me, as she truly said,
And since has proved, beyond her life—preserved
Her reverence for Heaven, when, lacking that,
She might have saved me!—My poor child, that I
For doing so her duty, as she ought,
Thrust from me—used with violence—yea, suffer'd
To trail along the street, hanging to me!—
Whom I was nigh to curse!—I did not, Marian!
Indeed I did not curse thee!—A child so used!—
To blast her happiness—life—everything,
For me—and do it with a smile!
440
My father!
No more of this, beseech thee—These are thoughts
That cannot profit us! and they awaken
Others, 'twere better for our peace we suffer'd
To sleep!—for they may madden!—Give me thy hand!
Don't speak!—My brain reel'd round just now!—
'Tis over!—Father, go to the door and see
If he be coming.
Rob.
Who?
Mari.
The bridegroom, father.
Since we're to marry, as well marry now
As any other time—O save me!—Hide me!—
[Rushing to her father, hides her face in his breast.
Enter Edward.
Edw.
My Marian!—My girl!—My love!—My bride!
And is thy joy to see me back so great
It overcomes thee?—Marian, from the hour
We hoisted sail to bring me back to thee,
The wind has never veer'd nor flagg'd.—We've had
A merry run of good twelve knots an hour!—
Nothing—sheet, halyard—but the helm to 'tend to,
As though the vessel with my heart were racing,
That kept before it still!—O turn to me!—
Look at me!—Speak to me!—The face and voice,
I have heard and seen a thousand miles away—
Now that I'm near thee—within reach of thee—
Touching thee, Marian!—let me see and hear!
Has she not power to speak or move?
Rob.
My boy,—
The sight of thee, so sudden, overcomes her.
Edw.
And does she love me better?—Marian!—
Sweet—constant—fond—could I believe so fond?—
'Twas never thus with thee before at meeting!
Unloose the hands that clasp thy father's neck—
Or let me do it for thee—till I fold thee
To my fond, faithful—my adoring heart,
That yearns to feel thee near it!—Marian!
Know'st thou not Edward's hand?—Does she resist me?
Is it not joy that works upon her so?
Does my return give pain?—Is it a thing
Unwelcome?—Am I loved no longer by her?
Am I forgotten?—
Mari.
Edward—no!—no!—no!
Thou'rt not forgotten.
Edw.
No?—nor loved no longer?
Mari.
Nor loved no longer?—loved more dear than ever!—
Than ever, Edward!
Edw.
Marian! My love!
My life!—the ship is on her course again!
Steady! There's nought ahead!—Fool that I was
To fancy breakers!—Come, my faithful girl!
441
Since we have talk'd together, Marian!
Dost thou hold off? I have been so long away,
You are ashamed to sit upon my knee.
Well! There! What you like I like? Though you've sat
Often upon my knee. Well! I have made
My luckiest voyage!—our pence have grown to pounds!
Mari.
We heard that you were shipwreck'd!
Edw.
Ay!
Mari.
Were drown'd!
Edw.
You took me for my ghost!—no wonder, girl,
You ran away from me! O now I see!
We've not touch'd ground we did not wish to touch!—
Nor shipp'd a sea since first we hoisted sail!
And now we marry, Marian!—What's the matter?
How ill you look?—What's this?—You shrink from me!
Has she been ailing, father?—Where are her eyes?—
I left her with a rose upon her cheek,
Where is it?—That is not the form I clasp'd
A month ago!—What's fallen? Something! Ay!
Something! What is it?—Both are silent!—Then
Something I know has fallen! To look at you
Is enough—enough!—'twill drive me mad!—I am mad!
Tell me the truth!—Nay then I'll seek for it
Where I'm more like to find it.
Mari.
Stop! Come back!—
No!—Stay!—Forgive me, Edward!
[Falling on her knees.
Edw.
Marian!
Forgive thee!—Why? For what?
Mari.
Don't ask!—To sea!
On shipboard, and set sail, whate'er the wind,—
Anything, Edward, but the shore!—To sea!—
Rocks, breakers, sands, are nothing!—all the perils
Of leaks, dismasting, canvas blown to threads,
Are nothing!—Foundering!—The dismall'st plight,
That ever barque was in, are nothing!—Yea
Drowning, with thoughts of going deeper down
Than ever plummet sounded, or of graves
Made of the throats of sea-monsters, that dog
The fated vessel!—Leap into them sooner
Than trust thy feet on land!—To sea!—to sea!
Edw.
What mean you?
Mari.
I will tell while I can!
Edw.
Rise up then, and don't kneel to me!
Mari.
Forgive me!
Edw.
For what?
Mari.
Ay, that's the thing, you can't forgive me
Until you know for what, and when you know it,
Will you forgive me then?—You will not! Yet,
Were it my last breath that I speak with to thee,
I love thee dear as ever!—dearer!—dearer!
I love thee dearer than I ever did!—
442
Then where's the harm?
Mari.
Where?—everywhere!—The sun
Has turn'd to ice!—There is a haze in the sky,
Chilly and thick, that ne'er will clear away!
The earth is wither'd grass, leaves, flowers, and all!
Women and men are changed, all cheer and comfort
Departed from their faces and their tongues,
To me!—for thou that madest all these to me
Art lost!—
Edw.
Am I not faithful to thee still?
Mari.
Thou art, and I am faithful still to thee!
But!—
Edw.
What?
Mari.
Oh, father!
Rob.
Well thou mayst reproach me!
Mari.
No!—no! I don't reproach thee; tell it him—
Stop! he will know it soon enough—He's here!
Enter Norris and others, dressed as for a Wedding.
Nor.
Marian!—What! Edward living!—Edward here!
Edw.
It dawns upon me! Dawns?—'Tis open day!—
A stormy one, the sky all black, the sea
All foam, all things portending shipwreck! shipwreck
Already come! binnacle wash'd away!
Rudder unshipp'd! not a mast standing! nothing
But the hull! the lonesome, melancholy hull!
With mountains breaking over it!—She's changed!
She's false! she's lost! I live, and she is lost!
Nor.
Come!
Edw.
Will she go to him before my face?
She will!—She does!—Will she go forth with him?
Go forth with him to church, and leave me here?
She's gone!—Come death! Well! I'm ashore again—
That which I long'd for every hour in the day!
Every minute!—Pray'd for! dreamt upon! lived upon!—
More than on food or drink, with hope to get it,
I have got at last!—I am on shore again!
Better be at the bottom of the sea!
What's to be done?—Can anything be done?—
My destiny 's too hard to bear, and yet
I must bear it!—To be mad! O to be mad!—
How can my senses stand it?—What are they made of?
Why don't they go to pieces?—Not one plank
Holding by another! All toss'd here and there
In splinters!—Splinters!—Come, there's comfort in
The knowledge of the cause that wreck'd the ship.
That I will force from her, and then I'll leave her—
Leave everything!—Leave her, leave everything!
[Goes out.
443
SCENE THE LAST.
—The outside of a Church.Enter Clergyman, Norris, Marian, Robert, and others.
Clergyman.
These nuptials are not things of lucky omen.
Nor.
I pay no heed to omens!
Clergyman.
Marriage is
A holiday—a day of gladness, though
We drop a tear in't!—Bright looks are its favours!
Lightness of gait, and ease of carriage, are
Its proper dress!—This maid has none of them!
Nor.
She weds of her free will
Clergyman.
You are the bridegroom?
Nor.
There stands her father—question him!
Clergyman.
Methinks
You look not like a bridegroom; no, nor speak!
There's sullenness upon your brow and tongue,
Care at the heart's core, if not something worse!
His marriage-day is still the merriest
A lover keeps. It is his harvest-home,
When blights, and winds, and autumn floods are 'scaped,
And all the venture of his tillage housed
With song and dance and thankful merry-making.
'Tis strange! but it is your affair, not mine.
You are her father!—Gives the maid her hand
Of her free will?
Rob.
She does; against her choice,
She gives her hand, although it breaks her heart!
Your Reverence must have heard, he holds her promise
His price for service render'd unto me,
By which her hand she gives, disjoining it
From her heart, long given to another. Tears,
Entreaties, prayers, all means I have tried, to shake
His stubborn purposes, and to pity bend him—
All thrown away! Yet have resolves the strongest
Given way, at last; perhaps the hour, the place,
Thy sacred presence, these perhaps may give
A sway to that was powerless before!
Look on me, Norris! I'm a father; see
To what a strait I'm brought, upon my knees
Before thee in the dust! Turn to my child—
Upon her death-bed could she look more white?
More ghastly, more like death? She loves thee not!
To save her father—a father less to her
Than she a child to him—she's in the plight
That brings her hither! If she marries thee,
It is not with her heart! Don't take her hand!
Take that, thou takest her life along with it!
Thou lay'st a corpse upon thy bridal bed,
And not a bride! O, spare her! spare my child!
Spare me in her!—thyself! forego thy claim!
444
Though keeping it her thread of life will snap!
Release her from it!—Give a young girl her life!—
Preserve the remnant of an old man's life!
And make thyself, if not a happy man,
At least a man contented with himself;
Who else, must needs become a verier wretch,
Than any that he makes!—
Nor.
I am here to wed!—
Clergyman.
Stern man, look here!—thine eyes may serve the place
Of ears, no need of them to learn the case
Of that poor supplicant! What hast thou heard
Of misery that e'er came up to that?
Plead tears as strong, as she without them plead?
Sighs? groans?—all things that serve as tongues to grief?
She looks despair, beyond what e'er was told
By doleful sound! Art thou a man, or what?
What keeps thee rock, when all around thee melt?
Shake! fall to pieces at the spectacle
Which most ought thee to move? Hast thou no touch
Of Earth or Heaven, which all men have beside?
So to contrast with all? Thou livest and breathest—
By Him thou livest and breathest by, I adjure thee
Forego the hand which He forbids thee take!
Nor.
I am the bridegroom, there's the bride; she weds
Of her free will; though hearts go not with hands,
No reason why they may not follow them.
I love her—I will have her—and I take her!
Edw.
[Rushing in.]
Angel! I know it all! I thought before,
I could not love thee better than I did,
But now I love thee more than e'er I did!
Self-sacrificed to save thy father's life!
The fairest barque that ever mounted wave,
From duty, run upon the foulest shore!
Art thou a man! [to Norris.]
—O reverend sir, to proof,
Without the church, let me his manhood put,
And see if in my frame that fibre lives,
So basely weak, 'twill yield, till at my feet
His claim upon the maiden he renounce!
It is not reverence to Heaven, to stand
And see it outraged in the thing it loves,
Through reverence to Heaven's servant or Heaven's house!
Norris, come forth;—
Nor.
Yes! when I lead, a wife,
Thy Marian from the church.
Edw.
She is not mine!—
I do forego the maid, do thou forego
Her hand! If hate for me—loathing to see
The maiden mine—constrains thee to an act
To which a murder were a gentle deed,
445
Their roots have struck to my heart's core, and cast
Away that they shall never flower again,
But wither, die, and rot!—Oh, give her up,
And take whate'er by years of toil I've made!
If that sufficeth not, take me along
To labour for thy gain to my life's end!
To do thy bidding, whatsoe'er it be,
On land or sea—how far soe'er away!
To be thy journeyman will labour through
The four-and-twenty hours, without repose
Or food, and set to work when they are out—
Only give up the maid, her word—her peace—
Her patience—reason—life!
Clergyman.
No violence!—Or is her reason gone,
Or she is in a trance!
Mari.
'Tis coming!—
Nor.
What?
Clergyman.
Peace!
Mari.
How it scowls all around! The sea is black
As the sky! From head to head as black as ink!
There comes the wind! You see!—that streak of white
Along the horizon!—it grows larger!—See!—
And larger!—That's the wind! 'Tis coming on,
Pacing the waves, and stirring up the spray,
As horses do the dust when they're in speed!
You hear it now!—and now the sea is white
As it was black before!
Rob.
Something like this
Occurr'd last night, but I aroused her, and
Recall'd her to herself.
Nor.
This is no time
For list'ning to a dream!
Clergyman.
Speak'st thou again!
I'll make them put thee from the church by force!
I'll hear the dream out, if it be a dream!
If that her senses are unsettled, you're
Forbid to take her hand!—I charge you, peace!
Mari.
It lightens! but—'tis distant!—And it thunders—
Only you cannot hear it!—for the sea
That, now, begins to roar! You'll hear it, though,
Anon!—'Tis coming, listen! Hold your breath—
Don't speak! I heard a gun!—There 'tis
Again! And there's the ship, rounding the head,
Rising and pitching, and no pity takes
The storm upon her; but more furious waxes—
And billow after billow, fore-top high,
Breaks over her! She strikes! She's fast! She's lost!
And now the waves do with her what they will!
She's gone to pieces!—Pieces!—What is this?
A body wash'd on shore, and Norris there,
446
He sees that life is in it! What is that
He does? He has unclasp'd a knife! He means
To murder the poor man!—He will!—He does!
Stop! Norris!—'tis thy father!
Nor.
Furies! fiends!
What mean you?
Clergyman.
What mean you? The blood is gone
Even from thy very lips! while all beside
Look as they look'd before! Thou'rt a bad man!
Nor.
What heeds a raving girl?
Mari.
Where have I been?—
The church? Oh! I remember!—All is right!—
Here, Norris, take my hand!
[They approach the altar—Wolf rises—Norris lets go Marian's hand, and retreats several paces—the rest pause.
Nor.
Hell! what is here?
Like something from a grave, or from the sea
Cast up untimely and unnaturally;
Or, worse, a prisoner from the evil place,
If such there be, let out to harrow me
Before my time—affright me into madness!
Edw.
Speak not!—Observe!
Nor.
Wolf!—Wolf!—It is his eyes—
Features—but not the life that moved in them—
His form without his blood! Is it a thing
That breathes, or only would be thought to breathe?
Wolf! I would rush upon it, but my fears
Are bolts that pin me to the spot! Is it come
To tell upon me? Cause of blame to him
I gave not; he went cramm'd with gold away!
Edw.
[To Clergyman.]
Do you hear? That man has been a partner with him
In some black deed!
Wolf.
I have fled over sea, over land,
To get away from it! It follows me!
I have plunged into riot—I have tried
What solitude would do! It talks to me!
I see it in the dead of night as well
As in the noon of day. 'Tis only here
I have got a respite from it yet! In crowds
I have been alone, with it glaring upon me,
Gnashing its teeth, and yelling in mine ears!
But there's another here that comes between
With mild regards, and placid shining face,
And gentle voice, which makes, albeit so soft,
My torturers unheard, crying “Repent!
Confess! Repent! Confess!”
Nor.
Confess!
Wolf.
I will
447
I am a murderer.
Nor.
Be thou the fiend—I'll know thee!
[Rushing up and seizing him.
Wolf!
Wolf.
Norris!—What, has it been following thee?
Nor.
Peace!
Wolf.
[Furiously.]
But there is no peace! It howls, and howls,
No foot is fleet enough to distance it,
To 'scape the horror of its teeth;—the bloodhound,
No stream that you can wade will clear thee from,
That never gives you respite!—except here!
Here is a chance! This is a place methinks
He cannot enter; he has hunted me
Till he has driven me wild, but since I'm here,
His bay methinks begins to die away.
Words have been whisper'd me, at hearing which
'Twas told me he would slacken in his chase.
“Repent! Confess!” Those were the words I heard.
I will!—I do!—I am a murderer.
Nor.
Coward, where is my gold?
Wolf.
All clotted o'er,
Corroded, crumbled with the old man's blood,
Which thou lett'st out, and I did leave to spill—
Nor.
Fiend!
Wolf.
Do not rave at me! I did not know
It was your father!
Edw.
Hear ye?
Nor.
Villain!—die!
With a lie in thy throat!
[Stabs Wolf.
Clergyman.
Stop, wretch!
Wolf.
Thou hast murder'd me!
And but for thee I had not murder'd him!
But in my soul's strait on the brink of death,
I'll show thee pity as I hope to me
That mercy will be shown!—“Repent! Confess!”
I hear not now the hound!—nor wilt thou hear it,
If there be mercy for a parricide!
[Dies.
Nor.
You would not listen to a lunatic!
Clergyman.
At least, unhappy! thou'rt a murderer!
Nor.
Which of you would not kill a mad dog? Come!
You have no right to hold me! Show me first
Your warrant, without which you cannot take
A man that's free to prison!—Just as well
Hang me without a trial!—Let me breathe!
Give me a moment's pause!—Let my arms free!
Oh, could I use them now! The blackest curse
That lips can utter—heart conceive—alight
On all who enter there!—May the roof fall
And bury you alive—may it be in flames!
448
My blood lie at your doors!—the best among ye
Is worse than I! My blood be on you all!
[He is dragged out.
Clergyman.
Poor sinner! Grace is broad and free enough
Even to cover thee, didst thou repent—
Pattern of love, and piety, and duty,
Surely in Heaven thou wouldst have been rewarded?
But Heaven defers its guerdon for thee there,
To give thee one on earth! Be blest in love!
END OF VOLUME I.
| The Daughter | |