Helen. Indeed.
Mod. Indeed!
Helen. What kind of mouth have I?
Mod. A handsome one. I never saw so sweet a pair of lips!I ne’er saw lips at all till now, dear cousin!
Helen. Cousin, I’m well,—you need not hold me now.Do you not hear? I tell you I am well!I need your arm no longer—take ’t away!So tight it locks me, ’tis with pain I breathe!Let me go, cousin! Wherefore do you holdYour face so close to mine? What do you mean?
Mod. You’ve questioned me, and now I’ll question you.
Helen. What would you learn?
Mod. The use of lips.
Helen. To speak.
Mod. Naught else?
Helen. How bold my modest cousin grows!Why, other use know you?
Mod. I do!
Helen. Indeed!You’re wondrous wise? And pray what is it?
Mod. This! [Attempts to kiss her.]
Helen. Soft! my hand thanks you, cousin—for my lipsI keep them for a husband!—Nay, stand off!I’ll not be held in manacles again!Why do you follow me?
Mod. I love you, cousin!
Helen. O cousin, say you so! That’s passing strange!Falls out most crossly—is a dire mishap—A thing to sigh for, weep for, languish for,And die for!
Mod. Die for!
Helen, Yes, with laughter, cousin,For, cousin, I love you!
Mod. And you’ll be mine?
Helen. I will.
Mod. Your hand upon it.
Helen. Hand and heart.Hie to thy dressing-room, and I’ll to mine—Attire thee for the altar—so will I.Whoe’er may claim me, thou’rt the man shall have me.Away! Despatch! But hark you, ere you go,Ne’er brag of reading Ovid’s Art of Love!
Mod. And cousin! stop—one little word with you!
[She returns, he snatches a kiss—They go out severally.]
[EnterJulia.]
Julia. No word from him, and evening now set in!He cannot play me false! His messengerIs dogged—or letter intercepted. I’mBeset with spies!—No rescue!—No escape!—The hour at hand that brings my bridegroom home!No relative to aid me! friend to counsel me.
[A knock at the door.]
Come in.
[Enter two Female Attendants.]
Your will?
First Attendant. Your toilet waits, my lady;’Tis time you dress.
Julia. ’Tis time I die! [A peal of bells.] What’s that?
First Attendant. Your wedding bells, my lady.
Julia. MerrilyThey ring my knell![Second Attendant presents an open case.]And pray you what are these?
Second Attendant. Your wedding jewels.
Julia. Set them by.
Second Attendant. Indeed.Was ne’er a braver set! A necklace, brooch,And earrings all of brilliants, with a hoopTo guard your wedding ring.
Julia. ’Twould need a guardThat lacks a heart to keep it!
Second Attendant. Here’s a heartSuspended from the necklace—one huge diamondImbedded in a host of smaller ones!Oh! how it sparkles!
Julia. Show it me! Bright heart,Thy lustre, should I wear thee, will be false,—For thou the emblem art of love and truth,—From her that wears thee unto him that gives thee.Back to thy case! Better thou ne’er shouldst leave it—Better thy gems a thousand fathoms deepIn their native mine again, than grace my neck,And lend thy fair face to palm off a lie!
First Attendant. Will’t please you dress?
Julia. Ah! in infected clothesNew from a pest-house! Leave me! If I dress,I dress alone! O for a friend! Time gallops!
[Attendants go out.]
He that should guard me is mine enemy!Constrains me to abide the fatal die,My rashness, not my reason cast! He comes,That will exact the forfeit!—Must I pay it?—E’en at the cost of utter bankruptcy!What’s to be done? Pronounce the vow that partsMy body from my soul! To what it loathesLinks that, while this is linked to what it loves!Condemned to such perdition! What’s to be done?Stand at the altar in an hour from this!An hour thence seated at his board—a wifeThence!—frenzy’s in the thought! What’s to be done?
[EnterMaster Walter.]
Wal. What! run the waves so high? Not ready yet!Your lord will soon be here! The guests collect.
Julia. Show me some way to ’scape these nuptials! Do it!Some opening for avoidance or escape,—Or to thy charge I’ll lay a broken heart!It may be, broken vows, and blasted honour,Or else a mind distraught!
Wal. What’s this?
Julia. The straitI’m fallen into my patience cannot bear.It frights my reason—warps my sense of virtue!Religion!—changes me into a thingI look at with abhorring!
Wal. Listen to me.
Julia. Listen to me! If this contractThou holdest me to—abide thou the result!Answer to heaven for what I suffer!—act!Prepare thyself for such calamityTo fall on me, and those whose evil starsHave linked them with me, as no past mishap,However rare, and marvellously sadCan parallel! lay thy account to liveA smileless life, die an unpitied death—Abhorred, abandoned of thy kind,—as oneWho had the guarding of a young maid’s peace,—Looked on and saw her rashly peril it;And when she saw her danger, and confessedHer fault, compelled her to complete her ruin!
Wal. Hast done?
Julia. Another moment, and I have.Be warned! Beware how you abandon meTo myself! I’m young, rash, inexperienced! temptedBy most insufferable misery!Bold, desperate, and reckless! Thou hast ageExperience, wisdom, and collectedness,—Power, freedom,—everything that I have not,Yet want, as none e’er wanted! Thou canst save me,Thou oughtst! thou must! I tell thee at his feetI’ll fall a corse—ere mount his bridal bed!So choose betwixt my rescue and my grave;—And quickly too! The hour of sacrificeIs near! Anon the immolating priestWill summon me! Devise some speedy meansTo cheat the altar of its victim. Do it!Nor leave the task to me!
Wal. Hast done?
Julia. I have.
Wal. Then list to me—and silently, if notWith patience.—[Brings chairs for himself and her.]How I watched thee from thy childhoodI’ll not recall to thee. Thy father’s wisdom—Whose humble instrument I was—directedYour nonage should be passed in privacy,From your apt mind that far outstripped your years,Fearing the taint of an infected world;—For, in the rich grounds, weeds once taking root,Grow strong as flowers. He might be right or wrong!I thought him right; and therefore did his bidding.Most certainly he loved you—so did I;Ay! well as I had been myself your father!
[His hand is resting upon his knee,Juliaattempts to take it—he withdraws it—looks at her—she hangs her head.]
Well; you may take my hand! I need not sayHow fast you grew in knowledge, and in goodness,—That hope could scarce enjoy its golden dreamsSo soon fulfilment realised them all!Enough. You came to womanhood. Your heart,Pure as the leaf of the consummate bud,That’s new unfolded by the smiling sun,And ne’er knew blight nor canker!
[Juliaattempts to place her other hand on his shoulder—he leans from her—looks at her—she hangs her head again.]
Put it there!Where left I off? I know! When a good womanIs fitly mated, she grows doubly good,How good soe’er before! I found the manI thought a match for thee; and, soon as found,Proposed him to thee. ’Twas your father’s will,Occasion offering, you should be marriedSoon as you reached to womanhood.—You likedMy choice, accepted him.—We came to town;Where, by important matter summoned thence,I left you an affianced bride!
Julia. You did!You did! [Leans her head upon her hand and weeps.]
Wal. Nay, check thy tears! Let judgment now,Not passion, be awake. On my return,I found thee—what? I’ll not describe the thingI found thee then! I’ll not describe my pangsTo see thee such a thing! The engineerWho lays the last stone of his sea-built tower,It cost him years and years of toil to raise—And, smiling at it, tells the winds and wavesTo roar and whistle now—but, in a night,Beholds the tempest sporting in its place—May look aghast, as I did!
Julia. [Falling on her knees.] Pardon me!Forgive me! pity me!
Wal. Resume thy seat. [Raises her.]I pity thee; perhaps not thee aloneIt fits to sue for pardon.
Julia. Me alone!None other!
Wal. But to vindicate myself,I name thy lover’s stern desertion of thee.What wast thou then with wounded pride? A thingTo leap into a torrent! throw itselfFrom a precipice! rush into a fire! I sawThy madness—knew to thwart it were to chafe it—And humoured it to take that course, I thought,Adopted, least ’twould rue!
Julia. ’Twas wisely done.
Wal. At least ’twas for the best.
Julia. To blame thee for itWas adding shame to shame! But Master Walter,These nuptials!—must they needs go on?
Servant. [Entering.] More guestsArrive.
Wal. Attend to them. [Servant goes out.]
Julia. Dear Master Walter!Is there no way to escape these nuptials?
Wal. Know’st notWhat with these nuptials comes? Hast thou forgot?
Julia. What?
Wal. Nothing!—I did tell thee of a thing.
Julia. What was it?
Wal. To forget it was a fault!Look back and think.
Julia. I can’t remember it.
Wal. Fathers, make straws your children! Nature’s nothing,Blood nothing! Once in other veins it runs,It no more yearneth for the parent flood,Than doth the stream that from the source disparts.Talk not of love instinctive—what you call soIs but the brat of custom! Your own fleshBy habit cleaves to you—without,Hath no adhesion. [Aside.] So; you have forgotYou have a father, and are here to meet him!
Julia. I’ll not deny it.
Wal. You should blush for’t.
Julia. No!No! no: hear, Master Walter! what’s a fatherThat you’ve not been to me? Nay, turn not from me,For at the name a holy awe I own,That now almost inclines my knee to earth!But thou to me, except a father’s name,Hast all the father been: the care—the love—The guidance—the protection of a father.Canst wonder, then, if like thy child I feel,—And feeling so, that father’s claim forgetWhom ne’er I knew save by the name of one?Oh, turn to me, and do not chide me! orIf thou wilt chide, chide on! but turn to me!
Wal. [Struggling with emotion.] My Julia![Embraces her.]
Julia. Now, dear Master Walter, hear me!Is there no way to ’scape these nuptials?
Wal. Julia,A promise made admits not of release,Save by consent or forfeiture of thoseWho hold it—so it should be pondered wellBefore we let it go. Ere man should sayI broke the word I had the power to keep,I’d lose the life I had the power to part with!Remember, Julia, thou and I to-dayMust, to thy father, of thy training renderA strict account. While honour’s left to us,We have something—nothing, having all but that.Now for thy last act of obedience, Julia!Present thyself before thy bridegroom! [She assents.] Good!My Julia’s now herself! Show him thy heart,And to his honour leave’t to set thee freeOr hold thee bound. Thy father will be by!
[EnterMaster WalterandMaster Heartwell.]
Heart. Thanks, Master Walter! Ne’er was child more bentTo do her father’s will, you’ll own, than mine:Yet never one more froward.
Wal. All runs fair—Fair may all end! To-day you’ll learn the causeThat took me out of town. But soft a while,—Here comes the bridegroom, with his friends, and hereThe all-obedient bride.
[Enter on one handJulia, and on the other handLord RochdalewithLord Tinseland friends—afterwardsClifford.]
Roch. Is she not fair?
Tin. She’ll do. Your servant, lady! Master Walter,We’re glad to see you. Sirs, you’re welcome all.What wait they for? Are we to wed or not?We’re ready—why don’t they present the bride?I hope they know she is to wed an earl.
Roch. Should I speak first?
Tin. Not for your coronet!I, as your friend, may make the first advance.We’ve come here to be married. Where’s the bride?
Wal. There stands she, lord; if ’tis her will to wed,His lordship’s free to take her.
Tin. Not a step!I, as your friend, may lead her to your lordship.Fair lady, by your leave.
Julia. No! not to you.
Tin. I ask your hand to give it to his lordship.
Julia. Nor to his lordship—save he will acceptMy hand without my heart! but I’ll presentMy knee to him, and, by his lofty rank,Implore him now to do a lofty deedWill lift its stately head above his rank,—Assert him nobler yet in worth than name,—And, in the place of an unwilling bride,Unto a willing debt or make him lord,—Whose thanks shall be his vassals, night and dayThat still shall wait upon him!
Tin. What means this?
Julia. What is’t behoves a wife to bring her lord?
Wal. A whole heart, and a true one.
Julia. I have none!Not half a heart—the fraction of a heart!Am I a woman it befits to wed?
Wal. Why, where’s thy heart?
Julia. Gone—out of my keeping!Lost, past recovery: right and title to it—And all given up! and he that’s owner on’t,So fit to wear it, were it fifty hearts,I’d give it to him all!
Wal. Thou dost not meanHis lordship’s secretary?
Julia. Yes. AwayDisguises! in that secretary knowThe master of the heart, of which the poor,Unvalued, empty casket, at your feet—Its jewel gone—I now despairing throw!
[Kneels.]
Of his lord’s bride he’s lord! lord paramount!To whom her virgin homage first she paid,—’Gainst whom rebelled in frowardness alone,Nor knew herself how loyal to him, tillAnother claimed her duty—then awokeTo sense of all she owed him—all his worth—And all her undeservings!
Tin. Lady, we came not here to treat of hearts,—But marriage; which, so please you, is with usA simple joining, by the priest, of hands.A ring’s put on, a prayer or two is said;You’re man and wife,—and nothing more! For hearts,We oftener do without, than with them, lady!
Clif. So does not wed this lady!
Tin. Who are you?
Clif. I’m secretary to the Earl of Rochdale.
Tin. My lord!
Roch. I know him not—
Tin. I know him now—Your lordship’s rival! Once Sir Thomas Clifford.
Clif. Yes, and the bridegroom of that lady then,Then loved her—loves her still!
Julia. Was loved by her—Though then she knew it not!—is loved by her,As now she knows, and all the world may know!
Tin. We can’t be laughed at. We are here to wed,And shall fulfil our contract.
Julia. Clifford!
Clif. Julia!You will not give your hand?
[A pause.Juliaseems utterly lost.]
Wal. You have forgotAgain. You have a father!
Julia. Bring him now,—To see thy Julia justify thy training,And lay her life down to redeem her word!
Wal. And so redeems her all! Is it your will,My lord, these nuptials should go on?
Roch. It is.
Wal. Then is it mine they stop!
Tin. I told your lordshipYou should not keep a Hunchback for your agent.
Wal. Thought like my father, my good lord, who saidHe would not have a Hunchback for his son—So do I pardon you the savage slight.My lord, that I am not as straight as you,Was blemish neither of my thought nor will,My head nor heart. It was no act of mine.—Yet did it curdle Nature’s kindly milkE’en where ’tis richest—in a parent’s breast—To cast me out to heartless fosterage,Nor heartless always, as it proved—and giveMy portion to another! the same blood—But I’ll be sworn, in vein, my lord, and soul—Although his trunk did swerve no more than yours—Not half so straight as I.
Tin. Upon my lifeYou’ve got a modest agent, Rochdale! NowHe’ll prove himself descended—mark my words—From some small gentleman
Wal. And so you thought,Where Nature played the churl, it would be fitThat fortune played it too. You would have hadMy lord absolve me of my agency!Fair lord, the flaw did cost me fifty times—A hundred times my agency:—but all’sRecovered. Look, my lord, a testamentTo make a pension of his lordship’s rent-roll!It is my father’s, and was left by him,In case his heir should die without a son,Then to be opened. Heaven did send a sonTo bless the heir. Heaven took its gift away,He died—his father died. And Master Walter—The unsightly agent of his lordship there—The Hunchback whom your lordship would have strippedOf his agency—is now the Earl of Rochdale!
Tin. We’ve made a small mistake here. Never mind,’Tis nothing in a lord.
Julia. The Earl of Rochdale!
Wal. And what of that? Thou know’st not half my greatness!A prouder title, Julia, have I yet,Sooner than part with which I’d give that up,And be again plain Master Walter. What!Dost thou not apprehend me? Yes, thou dost!Command thyself; don’t gasp. My pupil—daughter!Come to thy father’s heart!
[Juliarushes into his arms.]
[EnterFathom.]
Fath. Thievery! Elopement—escape—arrest!
Wal. What’s the matter?
Fath. Mistress Helen is running away with Master Modus—Master Modus is running away with Mistress Helen—but we have caught them, secured them, and here they come, to receive the reward of their merits.
[EnterHelenandModus, followed by Servants.]
Helen. I’ll ne’er wed man, if not my cousin Modus.
Mod. Nor woman I, save cousin Helen’s she.
Wal. [ToMaster Heartwell.] A daughter, have you, and a nephew, too,Without their match in duty! Let them marry.For you, sir, who to-day have lost an earldom,Yet would have shared that earldom with my child—My only one—content yourself with prospectOf the succession; it must fall to you,And fit yourself to grace it. Ape not thoseWho rank by pride. The man of simplest bearingIs yet a lord, when he’s a lord indeed!
Tin. The paradox is obsolete. Ne’er heed!Learn from his book, and practise out of mine!
Wal. Sir Thomas Clifford, take my daughter’s hand!If now you know the master of her heart!Give it, my Julia! You suspect, I see,And rightly, there has been some masking here.Content thee, daughter, thou shalt know anon,How jealousy of my mis-shapen backMade me mistrustful of a child’s affections—Who doubted e’en a wife’s—so that I droppedThe title of thy father, lest thy dutyShould pay the debt thy love could solve alone.All this and more, that to thy friends and theePertains, at fitting time thou shalt be told.But now thy nuptials wait—the happy closeOf thy hard trial—wholesome, though severe!The world won’t cheat thee now—thy heart is proved;—Thou know’st thy peace by finding out its bane,And ne’er will act from reckless impulse more!
[1]The other play, The Love-Chase, is released in a separated eText with Project Gutenberg and not included here.—DP.
[2]In representation, the passages following this are curtailed and the scene runs as follows:—
Master Walter continues—The first side shows their passion in the dawn—In the next side ’tis shining open day—In the third there’s clouding—I but touch on theseTo make a long tale brief, and bring thee toThe last side.
Julia. What shows that?
Wal. The fate of loveThat will not be advised.—The scene’s a dungeon,Its tenant is the page—he lies in fetters.
Julia. Hard!Hard as the steel, the hands that put them on! &c.