Mar. Ay, in the word a thousand scorpions lodge: To do with others; help me to my FatherThis old man had a Daughter.
I hurried back with her.-0 save me, Sir,
From such a journey!there was a black tree,
A single tree; she thought it was her Father.-
Oh Sir, I would not see that hour again
For twenty lives. The daylight dawned, and now-
Nay; hear my tale, 'tis fit that you should hear it-
As we approached, a solitary crow
Rose from the spot ;-the Daughter clapped her hands,
And then I heard a shriek so terrible
[MARMADUKE shrinks back. The startled bird quivered upon the wing.
[She turns and sees MARMADUKE leaning on ELEANOR
-throws herself upon his neck, and after some
time,
In joy I met thee, but a few hours past;
And thus we meet again; one human stay
Is left me still in thee. Nay, shake not so.
Mar. In such a wilderness-to see no thing,
No, not the pitying moon !
His body is at rest: there was a plot,
A hideous plot, against the soul of man :
It took effect--and yet I baffled it,
In some degree.
Between us stood, I thought, A cup of consolation, filled from Heaven For both our needs; must I, and in thy presence, Alone partake of it?-Beloved Marmaduke!
Mar. Give me a reason why the wisest thing That the earth owns shall never choose to die, But some one must be near to count his groans. The wounded deer retires to solitude, And dies in solitude: all things but man, All die in solitude.
[Moving towards the cottage door. Mysterious God,
If she had never lived I had not done it !-
Idon. Alas, the thought of such a cruel death
Has overwhelmed him.-I must follow.
Eld.
And such a Man—so meek and unoffending—
Helpless and harmless as a babe: a Man,
By obvious signal to the world's protection,
Solemnly dedicated-to decoy him!—
Idon. Oh, had you seen him living!—
Mar.
I (so filled
With horror is this world) am unto thee
The thing most precious, that it now contains:
Therefore through me alone must be revealed
By whom thy Parent was destroyed, Idonea!
I have the proofs !-
Idon.
O miserable Father!
Thou didst command me to bless all mankind;
Nor to this moment, have I ever wished
Evil to any living thing; but hear me,
Hear me, ye Heavens !—(kneeling)—may venge-
ance haunt the fiend
For this most cruel murder: let him live
And move in terror of the elements;
The thunder send him on his knees to prayer
In the open streets, and let him think he sees,
If e'er he entereth the house of God,
The roof, self-moved, unsettling o'er his head;
And let him, when he would lie down at night,
Point to his wife the blood-drops on his pillow !
Mar. My voice was silent, but my heart hath
joined thee.
A mortal malady.—I am accurst :
All nature curses me, and in my heart
Thy curse is fixed; the truth must be laid bare.
It must be told, and borne. I am the man,
(Abused, betrayed, but how it matters not)
Presumptuous above all that ever breathed,
Who, casting as I thought a guilty Person
Upon Heaven's righteous judgment, did become
An instrument of Fiends. Through me, through me.
Thy Father perished.
Idon.
Perished by what mischance?
Mar. Beloved!-if I dared, so would I call thee-
Conflict must cease, and, in thy frozen heart,
The extremes of suffering meet in absolute peace.
[He gives her a letter.
Idon. (reads) Be not surprised if you hear that some signal judgment has befallen the man who calls himself your father; he is now with me, as his signature will shew: abstain from conjecture till you see me.
The writing Oswald's; the signature my Father's: (Looks steadily at the paper) And here is yours,— or do my eyes deceive me? You have then seen my Father? Mar.
Oh! would that thou hadst perished in the flames!
Idon. Here art thou, then can I be desolate ?—
Mar. There was a time, when this protecting hand
Availed against the mighty; never more
Shall blessings wait upon a deed of mine.
Idon. Wild words for me to hear, for me, an orphan,
Committed to thy guardianship by Heaven;
And, if thou hast forgiven me, let me hope,
In this deep sorrow, trust, that I am thine
For closer care ;-here, is no malady.
Mar. There, is a malady(Striking his heart and forehead) And here, and here,
Idon.
You led him towards the Convent?
Mar. That Convent was Stone-Arthur Castle.
We were his guides. I on that night resolved
That he should wait thy coming till the day
Of resurrection.
Idon.
Miserable Woman,
Too quickly moved, too easily giving way,
I put denial on thy suit, and hence,
With the disastrous issue of last night,
Thy perturbation, and these frantic words.
Be calm, I pray thee !
Beg. And he is dead!-that Moor-how shall I cross it?
By night, by day, never shall I be able
To travel half a mile alone.-Good Lady!
Forgive me!—Saints forgive me. Had I thought
It would have come to this!--
Idon.
What brings you hither? speak!
Beg. (pointing to MARMADUKE). This innocent
Gentleman. Sweet heavens! I told him
Such tales of your dead Father!--God is my judge,
I thought there was no harm: but that bad Man,
He bribed me with his gold, and looked so fierce.
Mercy! I said I know not what-oh pity me-
I said, sweet Lady, you were not his Daughter-
Pity me, I am haunted ;-thrice this day
My conscience made me wish to be struck blind;
And then I would have prayed, and had no voice.
Idon. (to MARMADUKE). Was it my Father?-
Was meek and patient, feeble, old and blind,
Helpless, and loved me dearer than his life.
-But hear me. For one question, I have a heart
That will sustain me. Did you murder him?
Mar. No, not by stroke of arm. But learn the
process:
Proof after proof was pressed upon me; guilt
Made evident, as seemed, by blacker guilt,
Whose impious folds enwrapped even thee; and truth
And innocence, embodied in his looks,
His words and tones and gestures, did but serve
With me to aggravate his crimes, and heaped
Ruin upon the cause for which they pleaded.
Then pity crossed the path of my resolve:
Confounded, I looked up to Heaven, and cast,
Idonea! thy blind Father, on the Ordeal
Of the bleak Waste-left him-and so he died !—
[IDONEA sinks senseless; Beggar, ELEANOR, &c.,
crowd round, and bear her off.
Why may we speak these things, and do no more;
Why should a thrust of the arm have such a power,
And words that tell these things be heard in vain?
She is not dead. Why!--if I loved this Woman,
I would take care she never woke again;
But she WILL wake, and she will weep for me,
And say, no blame was mine-and so, poor fool,
Will waste her curses on another name.
[He walks about distractedly.
Enter OSWALD.
OSWALD (to himself). Strong to o'erturn, strong
[TO MARMADUKE.
The starts and sallies of our last encounter
Were natural enough; but that, I trust,
Is all gone by. You have cast off the chains
That fettered your nobility of mind—
Delivered heart and head!
Let us to Palestine ;
This is a paltry field for enterprise.
Mar. Ay, what shall we encounter next? This
issue
"Twas nothing more than darkness deepening
Start not! Here is another face hard by ;
Come, let us take a peep at both together,
And, with a voice at which the dead will quake,
Resound the praise of your morality—
Of this too much.
[Drawing OSWALD towards the Cottage-stops short
at the door.
Men are there, millions, Oswald, Who with bare hands would have plucked out thy heart
And flung it to the dogs: but I am raised
Above, or sunk below, all further sense
Of provocation. Leave me, with the weight
Of that old Man's forgiveness on thy heart,
Pressing as heavily as it doth on mine.
Coward I have been ; know, there lies not now
Within the compass of a mortal thought,
A deed that I would shrink from ;-but to endure,
That is my destiny. May it be thine :
Thy office, thy ambition, be henceforth
To feed remorse, to welcome every sting
Of penitential anguish, yea with tears.
When seas and continents shall lie between us-
The wider space the better-we may find
In such a course fit links of sympathy,
An incommunicable rivalship
Maintained, for peaceful ends beyond our view.
[Confused voices-several of the band enter-rush upon OSWALD and seize him.
One of them. I would have dogged him to the jaws of hell
Osw. Ha! is it so !-That vagrant Hag!-this
Of having left a thing like her alive!
Several voices. Despatch him!
Osw.
If I pass beneath a rock
And shout, and, with the echo of my voice,
Bring down a heap of rubbish, and it crush me,
I die without dishonour. Famished, starved,
A Fool and Coward blended to my wish!
[Smiles scornfully and exultingly at MARMADUKE. Wal. "Tis done! (stabs him.)
Another of the band. The ruthless Traitor !
Mar.
A rash deed!—
With that reproof I do resign a station
Of which I have been proud.
Wil. (approaching MARMADUKE). O my poor
Master!
Mar. Discerning Monitor, my faithful Wilfred,
Why art thou here?
[Turning to WALLACE.
Wallace, upon these Borders,
And weakness crowned with the impotence of Many there be whose eyes will not want cause
Your pupil is, you see, an apt proficient. (ironically).
To weep that I am gone. Brothers in arms!
Raise on that dreary Waste a monument
A hermitage has furnished fit relief
To some offenders; other penitents,
Less patient in their wretchedness, have fallen,
Like the old Roman, on their own sword's point.
They had their choice: a wanderer must I go,
The Spectre of that innocent Man, my guide.
No human ear shall ever hear me speak;
No human dwelling ever give me food,
Or sleep, or rest: but, over waste and wild,
In search of nothing, that this earth can give,
But expiation, will I wander on-
A Man by pain and thought compelled to live,
Yet loathing life-till anger is appeased
In Heaven, and Mercy gives me leave to die.
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