 | The Daughter |  |
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!
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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,
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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,
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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!
| The Daughter | |