The Family Legend: A Tragedy/The Family Legend Act 1
PROLOGUE.
WRITTEN BY WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.
'Tis sweet to hear expiring summer's sigh,
Through forests tinged with russet, wail and die;
'Tis sweet and sad the latest notes to hear
Of distant music, dying on the ear;
But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand,
We list the legends of our native land,
Linked as they come with every tender tie,
Memorials dear of youth and infancy.
Chief thy wild tales, romantic Caledon,
Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son;
Whether on India's burning coasts he toil,
Or till Acadia's *[1] winter-fettered soil,
He hears with throbbing heart and moisten'd eyes,
And as he hears, what dear illusions rise!
It opens on his soul his native dell,
The woods wild-waving, and the water's swell;
Tradition's theme, the tower that threats the plain,
The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain;
The cot, beneath whose simple porch was told
By grey-hair'd patriarch, the tales of old,
The infant groupe that hush'd their sports the while,
And the dear maid who listen'd with a smile.
The wanderer, while the vision warms his brain,
Is denizen of Scotland once again.
Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined,
And sleep they in the poet's gifted mind?
Oh no! for She, within whose mighty page
Each tyrant Passion shows his woe and rage,
Has felt the wizard influence they inspire,
And to your own traditions tuned her lyre.
Yourselves shall judge—whoe'er has raised the sail
By Mull's dark coast, has heard this evening's tale.
The plaided boatman, resting on his oar,
Points to the fatal rock amid the roar
Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night
Our humble stage shall offer to your sight;
Proudly preferr'd, that first our efforts give
Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live;
More proudly yet, should Caledon approve
The filial token of a daughter's love.
THE
FAMILY LEGEND.
ACT I.
SCENE I.—Before the gate of Maclean's castle, in the Isle of Mull: several Highlanders discovered crossing the stage, carrying loads of Fuel; whilst Benlora is seen on one side, in the back Ground, pacing to and fro, and frequently stopping and muttering to himself.
FIRST HIGHLANDER.
This heavy load, I hope, will be the last:
My back is almost broken.
SECOND HIGHLANDER.
Were ev’ry beeve in Mull slain for the feast,
Fuel enough already has been stow'd
To roast them all: and must we still with burdens
Our weary shoulders gall?
Enter Morton.
MORTON.
Grumble ye thus?—Ye would prefer, I trow.
To sun your easy sides, like household curs,
Each on his dung-hill stretch'd, in drowsy sloth.
Fy on't! to grumble on a day like this,
When to the clan a rousing feast is giv'n,
In honour of an heir born to the chief—
A brave Maclean, still to maintain the honours
Of this your ancient race!
FIRST HIGHLANDER.
Come from the south, where all strange mixtures be
Of base and feeble! sprung of varlet's blood!
What is our race to thee?
SECOND HIGHLANDER, (to Morton.)
Thy morsel in the hall with right good relish.
Whether Maclean or Campbell be our lord.
MORTON.
And bring your burdens quicker. And, besides,
Where are the heath and hare-bells, from the glen,
To deck my lady's chamber?
SECOND HIGHLANDER.
MORTON.
Is she not kind and gentle? spares she aught
Her gen'rous stores afford, when you or yours
Are sick, or lack relief? Hoards she in chests,
When shipwreck'd strangers shiver on our coast,
Or robe or costly mantle?—All comes forth!
And when the piercing shriek of drowning mariners
Breaks through the night, up-starting from her couch,
To snatch, with eager haste, the flaming torch.
And from the tower give notice of relief,
Who comes so swiftly as her noble self?
And yet ye grumble.
FIRST HIGHLANDER.
That, were she not a Campbell, fit she were
To be a queen, or e'en the thing she is—
Our very chieftain's dame. But, in these towers,
The daughter of Argyll to be our lady!
MORTON.
Go to!
SECOND HIGHLANDER.
Thou wand'ring pedlar's son, or base mechanic!
Com'st thou to lord it here o'er brave Macleans?
We'll carry loads at leisure, or forbear,
As suits our fancy best, nor wait thy bidding.
(Exeunt Highlanders grumbling, and followed by Morton.)
(Manet Benlora, who now comes forward, and after remaining some time on the front of the stage, wrapt in thought, not observing Lochtarish, who enters behind him.)
Heigh ho! heigh ho, the day!
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA, (turning round.)
The battles of our clan I've boldly fought,
And well maintain'd its honour.
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
Yea; he who dared but with a scornful lip
Our name insult, I thought it feeble vengeance
If steed or beast within his walls were left,
Or of his holds one tower unruined stood.
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
But in the warfare of our deadly feud,
When rang the earth beneath our bloody strife.
And brave Macleans brave Campbells boldly fronted,
(Fiends as they are, I still must call them brave,)
What sword more deeply drank the hated blood
Than this which now I grasp—but idly grasp!
LOCHTARISH.
That swears not by thy valour.
BENLORA.
And in a dungeon kept, where, two long years,
Nor light of day, nor human voice e'er cheer'd
My loneliness, when did I ever yield,
To e'en the bravest of that hateful name,
One step of ground upon the embattled field—
One step of honour in the banner'd hall?
LOCHTARISH.
Deserving well the trust our chief deceas'd,
This chieftain's father, did to thee consign.
But when thou wast a captive, none to head us,
But he, our youthful lord, yet green in arms,
We fought not like Macleans; or else our foe,
By fiends assisted, fought with fiend-like power.
Far—far beyond the Campbells' wonted pitch.
E'en so it did befal:—we lost the day:—
That fatal day!—Then came this shameful peace.
BENLORA.
Conferr'd upon us, Helen of Argyll
Our sov'reign dame was made,—a bosom worm,
Nursed in that viper's nest, to infuse its venom
Through all our after race.
This is my welcome!
From dungeons freed, to find my once-loved home
With such vile change disgraced; to me more hateful
Than thraldom's murkiest den. But to be loosen'd
From captive's chains to find my hands thus bound!
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
Between the teeming ocean's finny broods,
And say, "Sport these upon the hither waves,
And leave to those that farther billowy reach?"
A Campbell here to queen it o'er our heads,
The potent dame o'er quell'd and beaten men,
Rousing or soothing us, as proud Argyll
Shall send her secret counsel!—hold, my heart!
This, base degen'rate men!—this, call ye peace!
Forgive my weakness: with dry eyes I laid
My mother in her grave, but now my cheeks
Are, like a child's, with scalding drops disgrac'd.
LOCHTARISH.
My weary head be laid to rest, heav'n knows,
Since I have lived to see Benlora weep.
BENLORA.
Benlora crouching, where he has commanded.
Go ye, who will, and crowd the chieftain's hall,
And deal the feast, and nod your grizzled heads
To martial pibrochs, play'd, in better days,
To those who conquer'd, not who woo'd their foes;
My soul abhors it.—On the sea-beaten rock,
Remov'd from ev'ry form and sound of man;
In proud communion with the fitful winds
Which speak, with many tongues, the fancied words
Of those who long in silent dust have slept;
While eagles scream, and sullen surges roar—
The boding sounds of ill;—I'll hold my feast,—
My moody revelry.
LOCHTARISH.
Think'st thou we are a tame and mongrel pack?
Dogs of true breed we are, though for a time
Our master-hound forsakes us.—Rouse him forth
The noble chace to lead: his deep-toned yell
Full well we know; and for the opening sport
Pant keenly.
BENLORA.
Spirit enough for this?
LOCHTARISH.
Of this, my friend, I'll speak to thee more fully
When time shall better serve.
Maclean, thou know'st,
Is of a soft, unsteady, yielding nature;
And this, too well, the crafty Campbell knew,
When to our isle he sent this wily witch
To mould, and govern, and besot his wits,
As suits liis crafty ends.—I know the youth:
This dame or we must hold his will in thraldom:
Which of the two,—But softly: steps approach.
Of this again.
BENLORA.
LOCHTARISH.
This night in Irka's rocky cavern meet;
There must thou join us. Wear thou here the while
A brow less cloudy, suited to the times.
Enter Glenfadden.
Yet, ne'ertheless, a clan's-man staunch he is,
Who hates a Campbell, worse than Ilcom's monks
The horned fiend.
BENLORA.
Glenfadden!
How goes it with thee?—Joyous days are these—
These days of peace.
GLENFADDEN.
Com'st thou to cheer the piper in our hall,
And goblets quaff to the young chieftain's health,
From proud Argyll descended?
BENLORA, (smiling grimly.)
If ye will have it so; not else.
GLENFADDEN.
Thy noble hand!—thou art Benlora still.
(Shaking Benlora warmly by the hand, and then turning to Lochtarish.)
Know ye that banish'd Allen is return'd—
Allen of Dura?
LOCHTARISH.
But in good time he comes. A daring knave:
He will be useful.(After considering.)
Of Maclean we'll crave
His banishment to cancel; marking well
How he receives it. This will serve to show
The present bent and bearing of his mind.
(After considering again.)
Were it not also well, that to our council
He were invited, at a later hour,
When of our purpose we shall be assured?
GLENFADDEN.
LOCHTARISH.
BENLORA.
Yon lonely path, and thought upon thy counsel.
(Exeunt Lochtarish and Glenfadden into the castle, and Benlora by the opposite side.)
SCENE II.—An apartment in the castle.
Enter Morton and Rosa, speaking as they enter.
ROSA.
MORTON.
Something I have to say, regards her nearly.
And though I doubt not, madam, your attachment—
ROSA.
Is prudent; trust me not till thou hast prov'd me.
But oh! watch o'er thy lady with an eye
Of keen and guarded zeal! she is surrounded—
(Looking round the room.)
Does no one hear us?—O those baleful looks
That, from beneath dark surly brows, by stealth,
Are darted on her by those stern Macleans!
Ay; and the gestures of those fearful men,
As on the shore in savage groups they meet,
Sending their loosen'd tartans to the wind,
And tossing high their brawny arms where oft,
In vehement discourse, I have, of late,
At distance mark'd them.—Yes; thou shakest thy head:
Thou hast observed them too.
MORTON.
Calm as he is, the growing rancour fosters:
For, fail the offspring of their chief, his sons
Next in succession are. He hath his ends,
For which he stirs their ancient hatred up;
And all too well his dev'lish pains succeed.
ROSA.
To whom my lady sends, with kindly care,
Her cheering cordials,—could'st thou have believed it?
Do mutter spells to fence from things unholy,
And grumble, in a hollow smother'd voice,
The name of Campbell, as unwillingly
They stretch their wither'd hands to take her bounty.
The wizards are in pay to rouse their fears
With dismal tales of future ills foreseen,
From Campbell and Maclean together join'd,
In hateful union.—Ev'n the very children,
Sporting the heath among, when they discover
A loathsome toad or adder on their path,
Crush it with stones, and, grinding wickedly
Their teeth, in puny spite, call it a Campbell.
Benlora too, that savage gloomy man—
MORTON.
Unjustly by a Campbell hath he been,
The peaceful treaty of the clans unheeded,
In thraldom kept; from which but now escaped,
He like a furious tyger is enchased,
And thinks Argyll was privy to the wrong
His vassal put upon him. Well I know
His bloody vengeful nature: and Maclean,
Weak and unsteady, moved by ev'ry counsel,
Brave in the field, but still in purpose timid,
Oft times the instrument in wicked hands
Of wrongs he would abhor,—alas, I fear,
Will ill defend the lovely spouse he swore
To love and cherish.
ROSA.
Hush! see who comes upon us!—sly Lochtarish,
And his dark colleagues.—Wherefore come they hither?
(Morton retires to the bottom of the stage, and enter Lochtarish, Benlora, and Glenfadden.)
LOCHTARISH.
ROSA.
LOCHTARISH.
Annoy your gentleness to tell his honour,
We wait to speak with him upon affairs
Of much concernment?
ROSA.
See, there he comes unwarn'd, and with him too
His noble lady.
(Retiring to the bottom of the stage.)
LOCHTARISH.
With boyish fondness!
GLENFADDEN.
How fair she is! how winning!—See that form;
Those limbs beneath their foldy vestments moving,
As though in mountain clouds they robed were,
And music of the air their motion measur'd.
LOCHTARISH.
Thou hither sent'st this jewel of thy race.
A host of Campbells, each a chosen man,
Could not enthral us, as, too soon I fear,
This single Campbell will. Shrewd crafty foe!
BENLORA.
But I will thwart him, crafty though he be!
LOCHTARISH.
How he receives your suit.
Enter Maclean and Helen.
BENLORA. (eyeing her attentively as she enters.)
A fair and goodly creature!
MACLEAN.
Come ye to say I can with any favour
The right good liking prove, and high regard
I bear to you, who are my chiefest strength,—
The pillars of my clan?
BENLORA.
LOCHTARISH.
MACLEAN.
LOCHTARISH.
One gallant man the richer. Hear us out.
Allen of Dura, from his banishment
MACLEAN.
Dares he again set foot upon this isle?
BENLORA.
And on nor isle nor main-land doth there step
A braver man than he.Lady, forgive me:
The boldest Campbell never saw his back.
HELEN.
I love to hear thee praise, with honest warmth,
The valiant of thy name, which now is mine.
BENLORA, (aside).
(Aloud.) Madam, you honour us.
HELEN.
Sharing myself with pride the honest fame
Of every brave Maclean.I'll henceforth keep
A proud account of all my gallant friends:
And every valiant Campbell therein noted,
On the opposing leaf, in letters fair,
Shall with a brave Maclean be proudly match'd.
(Benlora and Glenfadden bow in silence.)
LOCHTARISH.
(Aside to Benlora.)
What think'st thou of her, friend?
BENLORA, (aside to Lochtarish).
Incomparable hypocrite!
LOCHTARISH, (aloud.)
It must not be forgotten.Chief, vouchsafe:
Benlora here, who from his loathly prison,
Which for your sake two years he hath endured,
Begs earnestly this grace for him we mention'd,
Allen of Dura. (Aside to Benlora.)
Kneel, man; be more pressing.
BENLORA, (aside to Lochtarish).
Do it thyself. (Going up proudly to Maclean.)
Maclean; thy father put into these hands
The government and guidance of thy nonage.
How I the trust fulfill'd, this castle strengthen'd
With walls and added towers, and stor'd, besides,
With arms and trophies, in rough warfare won
From even the bravest of our western clans,
Will testify. What I in recompense
Have for my service earn'd, these galled wrists
(pushing up the sleeve from his arm.)
Do also testify.Such as I am,
For an old friend I plainly beg this grace:
Say if my boon be granted or denied.
MACLEAN.
Yet let him safely from my shores depart:
I harm him not.
BENLORA, (turning from him indignantly).
(To Lochtarish and Glenfadden.)
Go ye to Dura's Allen; near the shore
He harbours in his aged mother's cot;
Bid him upon the ocean drift again
His shatter'd boat, and be a wanderer still.
HELEN. (coming forward eagerly.)
(To Maclean.) Oh! and shall he go?
No, no, he shall not! On this day of joy,
Wilt thou to me refuse it?
seeing him relent, she then turns joyfully to Benlora.)
Bid your wanderer
Safe with his aged mother still remain,—
A banish'd man no more.
MACLEAN.
Thou hast prevail'd, my Helen.
LOCHTARISH and GLENFADDEN, (bowing low).
(Benlora bows slightly, in sullen silence.)
MACLEAN, (to Benlora).
(Benlora bows again in silence.)
Clear up thy brow, Benlora; he is pardon'd.
(Pauses, but Benlora is still silent.)
We trust to meet you shortly in the hall;
And there, my friends, shall think our happy feast
More happy for your presence.—
(Going up again, with anxious courtesy, to Benlora.)
Thy past services,
Which great and many are, my brave Benlora,
Shall be remember'd well. Thou hast my honour,
And high regard.
HELEN.
You put upon them makes them worth the having.
BENLORA. (bows sullenly and retires; then muttering aside to himself as he goes out).
From this most high and potent dame, vouchsafed
To one so poor and humble as myself. (Exit.
LOCHTARISH, (aside to Glenfadden)
GLENFADDEN, (aside to Lochtarish.)
And move Maclean to join our nightly meeting.
Midnight the hour when you desire his presence?
LOCHTARISH.
GLENFADDEN, (returning to Maclean.)
Speak with you, should your leisure now permit.
MACLEAN.
(Exeunt Maclean and Glenfadden.
HELEN. (to Rosa, who now comes forward.)
Have they with wild-flowers deck'd his cradle round?
And peeps he through them like a little nestling—
A little heath-cock broken from its shell,
That through the bloom puts forth its tender beak,
As steals some rustling footstep on his nest?
Come, let me go and look upon him. Soon,
Ere two months more go by, he'll look again
In answer to my looks, as though he knew
The wistful face that looks so oft upon him,
And smiles so dearly, is his mother's.
Think'st thou
He'll soon give heed and notice to my love?
ROSA.
And moves his little limbs with vigour, spreading
His fingers forth, as if in time they would
A good claymore clench bravely.
HELEN.
A man!—a valiant youth!—a noble chieftain!
And laying on his plaided shoulder, thus,
A mother's hand, say proudly, "This is mine!"
I shall not then a lonely stranger be
'Mid those who bless me not:—I shall not then—
But silent be my tongue. (Weeps.)
ROSA.
(Morton comes from the bottom of the stage.)
God grant they comfort you!—I must withdraw:
His wary faithfulness mistrusts my love,
But I am not offended.(Offering to retire.)
HELEN.
Say what thou hast to say, my worthy Morton,
For Rosa is as faithful as thyself.
MORTON.
Dress'd like a fisher peasant, did I see
The Lord of Lorne, your brother.
HELEN.
The Lord of Lorne, my brother?—Thou'rt deceiv'd.
MORTON.
His noble form and stately step I knew
Before he spoke.
HELEN.
MORTON.
HELEN.
MORTON.
Another stranger, noble as himself,
And in like garb disguised, amongst the rocks
I mark'd, though he advanced not.
HELEN.
He spoke to thee, thou say'st—I mean my brother:
What did he say?
MORTON.
To see you privately; and bids you say
When this may be. Meantime, he lies conceal'd
Where I may call him forth at your command.
HELEN.
MORTON.
The sooner he shall leave this coast, the better.
HELEN.
Tell him at twilight, in my nurse's chamber,
I will receive him. But be sure thou add,
Himself alone will I receive—alone—
With no companion must he come. Forget not
To say, that I entreat it earnestly.
MORTON.
HELEN.
Still do thou hover near him. Watch his haunt,
Lest some rude fisherman or surly hind
Surprise him.—Go thou quickly. O, be prudent!
And be not for a moment off the watch.
MORTON.
(Exit.
HELEN, (much disturbed.)
As well I guess, the man I must not see!
ROSA.
HELEN.
My noble brother in his powerful self
So strong in virtue stands, he thinks full surely
The daughter of his sire no weakness hath;
And wists not how a simple heart must struggle
To be what it would be—what it must be—
Ay, and, so aid me, Heaven! what it shall be.
ROSA.
Though on this subject still you have repress'd
All communing, yet, ne'ertheless, I well
Have mark'd your noble striving, and rever'd
Your silent inward warfare, bravely held;
In this more pressing combat firm and valiant,
As is your noble brother in the field.
HELEN.
I should be franker with thee; but I know not—
Something restrains me here.
(Laying her hand on her heart.)
I love and trust thee;
And on thy breast I'll weep when I am sad;
But ask not why I weep. (Exeunt.)
- ↑ * Acadia, or Nova Scotia.