PERSONS REPRESENTED. Sir Pierce Thorne, a wealthy brewer. Mr. Murdock, a banker. Mostyn Wynne, the dispossessed heir of Wynhavod. Norman, a poet, son to Sir Pierce, who has assumed the name of ‘Drayton.’ Robert Murdock, son of the banker. Carteret, a young man of family, confederate of Robert Murdock. Cross, friend of Robert Murdock. Payne, friend of Robert Murdock. Tom Price, the young husband of Mrs. Price. Owen Owen, foster-brother of Mostyn Wynne. Dafyth, a Welsh harper. Footmen, Waiters. Mrs. Murdock, wife of the banker Murdock. Amanda, their daughter. Winifred Wynne, sister of Mostyn Wynne. Jenny Owen, servant to the Wynnes. Mrs. Price, housekeeper to Robert Murdock.
Scene I.
A Dining-room in the Star-and-Garter Hotel at Richmond, with French window open to the garden. Sir Pierce Thorne, Robert Murdock, Carteret, Mrs. Murdock, and Amanda discovered seated at a table covered with fruit and flowers, the remains of a rich repast.
MRS. MURDOCK. Your three friends, Robert, who see fit to mulct us
Thus of their company, without excuse,
Have won a place of honour in our thoughts,
Which might have failed them had they shown their faces.
ROBERT MURDOCK. I think not, mother. Drayton-that’s the poet-
Is one of those whose presence would be felt
If met with in the dark. I do not say
The shock of such a personality
Is always pleasant, mind you. That depends
On right relation.
MRS. MURDOCK. An electric eel?
ROBERT MURDOCK. Not that. This fellow would not bend or budge
For man or mountain. He’s a thunder-cloud,
That sits and weighs on you, then blazes forth,
And scathes you, as with lightning.
MRS. MURDOCK. Your relation
With Mr. Drayton would not seem the right one.
ROBERT MURDOCK. I hate his Jovian airs, but take some pleasure
In picking up and tossing back his bolts,
As if I thought them plums.
AMANDA. Fair game; and yet
Such clouds are needed in our social sky;
They change the stagnant air. If Social Science
Could only find their law!
MRS. MURDOCK. Yes, rule the hour
Of their appearance, and compel them to it.
SIR PIERCE. The rules that serve their betters, should be made
To serve for them. One law for Peers and Poets,-
No demagogue could ask for more. These artists-
MRS. MURDOCK. Are outlaws; they defy the world’s police.
Amanda peels a peach, and offers you
The sunny side.
SIR PIERCE. And sunnier for her smile.
[They bow.
AMANDA. Well, you have urged on us some sense of loss
In Mr. Drayton; but the boy and girl
You wished mamma to see and take to heart,-
Confess that by their absence they have gained
Consideration.
ROBERT MURDOCK. No, I can confess
To no such heresy. Wynne is a youth
Who shakes you out his heart, as children shake
Their laps of buttercups; and he has eyes,
Dark, lingering eyes, just such as women love,-
I leave him to them gladly; but for her,
His sister, Winifred, I think her eyes
Might almost win a woman to forget
The wrong they did her own.
AMANDA. Wonderful eyes.
ROBERT MURDOCK. Yes, truly wonderful!
MRS. MURDOCK. [rising.] Well, all the same-
Her eyes not being at hand to look me down-
She might have told us in a civil word
That she withheld their light.
ROBERT MURDOCK. That was my fault.
Miss Wynne-
MRS. MURDOCK. We’ll hear your plea when we return,
Booted and bonnetted. Amanda, come.
[Exit Mrs. Murdock and Amanda. Carteret, having opened the door for them, saunters moodily from the window into the garden.
SIR PIERCE. Did you say Wynne?
ROBERT MURDOCK. Yes, I said Wynne, Sir Pierce;
The name is Welsh. I need not tell you that.
SIR PIERCE. No, truly. Welshmen have not many names,
And this one heads the list. My place in Flintshire
Is called Wynhavod, and was once the seat
Of some of them. I bought it for a song.
ROBERT MURDOCK. A song that was a threnody to them.
SIR PIERCE. Aye, aye, I think it was. I got the homestead
And some few hundred acres, as I say,
For nothing nearly; paid the mortgage off,
And bought up all the land that used of old
To go with it. Three parishes it covered,
And had not been in one man’s hand before,
For near two hundred years. That was a chance,
Seemly, and safe, and seasonable. There,
You have my motto,-it is worth a thought,-
My fortune and repute are based on it.
ROBERT MURDOCK. A good foundation, doubtless,-deep and broad [Aside]
(as Hell),and safe, I take it, in proportion. [To Sir P.]
And truly it were well it should be so,
For this young dove-eyed Wynne, son of that colonel,
Who lost for him his dwindled heritage,
Is eager as a hawk to find a flaw
In any deed or title which might give him
The hope, that with a life of patient drudging,
He, having scraped enough to buy the purchase,
May wring it back from you.
SIR PIERCE. The boy is mad. Re-enter Mrs. Murdock and Amanda.
‘Twas likely, since he had a fool for father.
MRS. MURDOCK. [To Robert.] Now say, my son, what was this fault of yours
Which seemed to me Miss Wynne’s?
ROBERT MURDOCK. Miss Wynne is shy,-
Shy as the wild Welsh ponies of her hills-
MRS. MURDOCK. So shied at us? Misdoubting we were tame.
SIR PIERCE. The girl is country-bred, there are good houses
About Wynhavod, but their indigence-
ROBERT MURDOCK. No, not at all; I said Miss Wynne was shy,
As shy as are the ponies of her hills;
I might have said as shy as nightingales,
That seek out quiet haunts to fill with song.
But still it strikes me, if she were that bird
She’d sing oblivious of our listening ears.
I’ve seen her take her way amid the throng
Of London streets, as if St. Paul’s were Snowdon,
As unconstrained by the rude gaze of men
As is a mountain brook.
MRS. MURDOCK. I wonder whether,
In hearing you speak thus, it perhaps might strike her
That you grew lyrical.
ROBERT MURDOCK. [Bitterly.] I hardly think so.
MRS. MURDOCK. Now speak, I pray, in your accustomed prose,
And let us know, at last, why we must blame
You for her failure.
ROBERT MURDOCK. Well, I thought it best,
She being-
AMANDA. Wild, not shy-
ROBERT MURDOCK. Wild, if you like,-
To try to get the noose of an engagement
Over her head, before she was aware;
So bade her brother, who is in our bank,
To hasten back to Fulham, tell his sister
That they were looked for here, then take the boat,
And so-
MRS. MURDOCK. Still scheming, Robert. [To Sir P.] ‘Tis a pity
The door to fortune was not closed to him,
He would so soon have found some magic word
To cozen it. In years-too long ago-
When he was little and when I was young,
I used to hide his physic in a fig,
And, seemingly impartial, give another,
Undoctored, to his sister. How it happened,
We never could make out; but while we watched,
Amanda got the pill.
ROBERT MURDOCK. And suffered doubly,
For she grew sick, as I grew well. So much
For justice-not poetical! But pray,
Discount my mother’s story; ’tis her way
Of boasting of my parts.
SIR PIERCE. She has a right;
You get them in direct descent from her.
[Bows to Mrs. M.
ROBERT MURDOCK. [Aside.] She did me, though. scant justice; one so keen
To guard his life from what it loathed would show
His finished art in grappling what he loved.
MRS. MURDOCK. [Aside to Amanda.] I owe Sir Pierce’s compliment to you.
You leave the lead to me, and quite forget
The game is won by tricks. Look to your cards.
Enter Waiter, with a telegram.
ROBERT MURDOCK. A telegraphic message-from the Wynnes,
[Reading. ‘From Wynne to Murdock.’ Pithy! ‘We regret
The shortness of your summons, which prevents
Our forced refusal reaching you, to spare
Expectancy.’ A very dainty note
To send by wire. But seventeen words in all,
Bearing her stamp as if they had been signed.
AMANDA. Miss Wynne regrets the shortness of your bidding;
Not that she cannot answer it.
ROBERT MURDOCK. How keen!
You read between these telegraphic lines.
AMANDA. Not keen at all. I quite believe you now,
This lady is not shy as-starlings are.
ROBERT MURDOCK. [Rising.] By Jove, no; cool as one of Juno’s peacocks!
SIR PIERCE. [Rising.] I grieve to be the one to give the signal,
But if we would not drive into the night
We should be gone. My horses champ their bits.
MRS. MURDOCK. [Rising.] Make short farewells, you know Sir Pierce respects
The feelings of his horses.
AMANDA. When such dear ones!
ROBERT MURDOCK. I’ll see you to the carriage. [To Mrs. M.] Tell my father
His absence made our cup of sorrows full.
Carteret and I will dream away an hour
Here on the terrace, then return by rail. [Exeunt all.
Re-enter Robert Murdock, and Carteret, from the garden.
ROBERT MURDOCK. [Taking up a peach, cutting, and throwing it down.] [Aside.] Soh, she ‘regrets the shortness of my summons;’
This girl’s slight foot is on my neck; but patience! [To Carteret.]
How stands the game betwixt you and your foes,
The Israelites? Have they quite spoiled you?
CARTERET. Quite.
ROBERT MURDOCK. [Shutting the window.] What devilry is up now with those birds?
One cannot hear one’s voice; they cry one down.
CARTERET. And so they may, for me. I know of nothing
That you or I am like to say worth half
The fuss they make.
ROBERT MURDOCK. [Aside.] Young beggar, he is sulky;
Since I denied him help to keep him floating
Until those cormorants had picked him clean,
He thinks there’s nothing to be got from me.
What does your father say?
CARTERET. His vocables
Are mostly interjections; he does little
On my behalf but groan and shake his head.
He had a stroke last April.
ROBERT MURDOCK. Who, Sir Digby?
CARTERET. Sir Digby.
ROBERT MURDOCK. Have you told him that you kept
Those dealings with the Jews unknown to him,
When he believed he’d set you free, and found
A stool for your repentance in our bank?
CARTERET. Not I.
ROBERT MURDOCK. I gave you that advice.
CARTERET. You did.
Perhaps I might have thought more of your present,
If it had cost you more.
ROBERT MURDOCK. Aha! that’s likely.
The world’s a mart, and we, its chapmen, know
That what we get for nought is nothing worth;
All serviceable stock is kept for sale.
Now, if one day you did me-counter-service-
I,-should not be behind-hand with the price.
CARTERET. What do you mean?
ROBERT MURDOCK. I scarcely know, as yet.
I only feel that life is out of tune
For me, as well as you; if of our fault,
It may be that our fault can set it right.
CARTERET. If good should come to me of my own earning.
It must be by default. I hate the collar,
And like the trace as little as the whip.
This life is only jolly through misdoing.
ROBERT MURDOCK. Vices are savage masters, though, and nature
An unrelenting usher. [Aside.] Humph! a man
Might tempt this tender youth, and hardly fear
To find a cloven hoof beneath his stocking!
CARTERET. Nature has got her price; she may be bought.
ROBERT MURDOCK. Bought off, perhaps; but only for a time;
She’s down upon the drunkard in the end,
Whether he’s soaked in beer or Burgundy;
And so with all the rest. [Aside.]
I think I’ll sound him.
CARTERET. It isn’t beer and Burgundy that make
The odds to us, but Beaune and Chambertin,-
Their better cellarage, and sunnier seasons;
Malt, eaten or drunk, is only fit for pigs.
I say you fellows that are born to banks
And mines and such like, have the pull on us
Poor beggars who inherit worn-out names;
The poisons you may entertain your lives with
Kill slowly. How can yours be out of tune?
ROBERT MURDOCK. There is a poison that can fire the blood,-
You, perhaps, may never learn it, but I have;
No pleasant vice, that you may buy of higher
Or lower quality, as suits your means,
But something elemental that breaks out,
That strikes you down, and robs you of your reason,-
A lurking venom that one face alone,
Of all that throng the paths of men, has power
To vitalise for you, while not the gold
Of all the mines that ever probed the earth
Can buy its antidote. Carteret, I love-
As if the whole world held one woman only.
CARTERET. You love? The devil! Why not marry, then,
Your case being-so especial?
ROBERT MURDOCK. That, by Heaven,
I will; but you must help me. Only help me,
As I will tell you how, and I will start you
As free a Gentile as if every Jew
Were gone to meet the eldest-born of Egypt.
CARTERET. Well, tell me what you want.
ROBERT MURDOCK. I must explain. [Aside.]
This thing is just as hard to clothe in speech
As it must be to dress an ugly woman! [To C.]
You know the lady; it is she who failed
Our party here to-day.
CARTERET. Miss Wynne?
ROBERT MURDOCK. The same.
CARTERET. What more is there to do but just to ask her?
ROBERT MURDOCK. I’m not faint-hearted; but-
CARTERET. You’re given to shy
At objects overbright. You should wear blinkers.
ROBERT MURDOCK. An ass’s head might serve; so under cover
A fool might bray into Titania’s face.
Still,-‘naked’to your ‘langhter’as you see me,
I’ve got fair change from women as a rule;
But this one-Have you read the ‘Faerie Queene?’
CARTERET. No.
ROBERT MURDOCK. Then you can’t well tell what you might feel,
On meeting Britomart in any skin
But that of Arthegal. If I’m to win,
‘Twill be by strategy.
CARTERET. This love would seem
All on one side,-a sort of a-moral cripple.
ROBERT MURDOCK. May be. If so, in these
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