Short Plays · Preface (5/6)

Act III

Wiltstoken. A room in the Warren Lodge.
Lydia at her writing table.
Lydia O Past and Present, how ye do conflict As here I sit writing my father’s life! The autumn woodland woos me from without With whispering of leaves and dainty airs To leave this fruitless haunting of the past. My father was a very learnèd man. I sometimes think I shall oldmaided be Ere I unlearn the things he taught to me.
Enter Policeman.
Policeman Asking your ladyship to pardon me For this intrusion, might I be so bold As ask a question of your people here Concerning the Queen’s peace?
Lydia My people here Are but a footman and a simple maid; And both have craved a holiday to join Some local festival. But, sir, your helmet Proclaims the Metropolitan Police.
Policeman Madam, it does; and I may now inform you That what you term a local festival Is a most hideous outrage ’gainst the law, Which we to quell from London have come down: In short, a prizefight. My sole purpose here Is to inquire whether your ladyship Any bad characters this afternoon Has noted in the neighborhood.
Lydia No, none, sir. I had not let my maid go forth today Thought I the roads unsafe.
Policeman Fear nothing, madam: The force protects the fair. My mission here Is to wreak ultion for the broken law. I wish your ladyship good afternoon.
Lydia Good afternoon. Exit Policeman. A prizefight! O my heart! Cashel: hast thou deceived me? Can it be Thou hast backslidden to the hateful calling I asked thee to eschew? O wretched maid, Why didst thou flee from London to this place To write thy father’s life, whenas in town Thou might’st have kept a guardian eye on him⁠— What’s that? A flying footstep⁠—
Enter Cashel.
Cashel Sanctuary! The law is on my track. What! Lydia here!
Lydia Ay: Lydia here. Hast thou done murder, then, That in so horrible a guise thou comest?
Cashel Murder! I would I had. Yon cannibal Hath forty thousand lives; and I have ta’en But thousands thirty-nine. I tell thee, Lydia, On the impenetrable sarcolobe That holds his seedling brain these fists have pounded By Shrewsb’ry clock an hour. This bruisèd grass And cakèd mud adhering to my form I have acquired in rolling on the sod Clinched in his grip. This scanty reefer coat For decency snatched up as fast I fled When the police arrived, belongs to Mellish. ’Tis all too short; hence my display of rib And forearm mother-naked. Be not wroth Because I seem to wink at you: by Heaven, ’Twas Paradise that plugged me in the eye Which I perforce keep closing. Pity me, My training wasted and my blows unpaid, Sans stakes, sans victory, sans everything I had hoped to win. Oh, I could sit me down And weep for bitterness.
Lydia Thou wretch, begone.
Cashel Begone!
Lydia I say begone. Oh, tiger’s heart Wrapped in a young man’s hide, canst thou not live In love with Nature and at peace with Man? Must thou, although thy hands were never made To blacken others’ eyes, still batter at The image of Divinity? I loathe thee. Hence from my house and never see me more.
Cashel I go. The meanest lad on thy estate Would not betray me thus. But ’tis no matter. He opens the door. Ha! the police. I’m lost. He shuts the door again. Now shalt thou see My last fight fought. Exhausted as I am, To capture me will cost the coppers dear. Come one, come all!
Lydia Oh, hide thee, I implore: I cannot see thee hunted down like this. There is my room. Conceal thyself therein. Quick, I command. He goes into the room. With horror I foresee, Lydia, that never lied, must lie for thee.
Enter Policeman, with Paradise and Mellish in custody, Bashville, constables, and others.
Policeman Keep back your bruisèd prisoner lest he shock This wellbred lady’s nerves. Your pardon, ma’am; But have you seen by chance the other one? In this direction he was seen to run.
Lydia A man came here anon with bloody hands And aspect that did turn my soul to snow.
Policeman ’Twas he. What said he?
Lydia Begged for sanctuary. I bade the man begone.
Policeman Most properly. Saw you which way he went?
Lydia I cannot tell.
Paradise He seen me coming; and he done a bunk.
Policeman Peace, there. Excuse his damaged features, lady: He’s Paradise; and this one’s Byron’s trainer, Mellish.
Mellish Injurious copper, in thy teeth I hurl the lie. I am no trainer, I. My father, a respected missionary, Apprenticed me at fourteen years of age T’ the poetry writing. To these woods I came With Nature to commune. My revery Was by a sound of blows rudely dispelled. Mindful of what my sainted parent taught, I rushed to play the peacemaker, when lo! These minions of the law laid hands on me.
Bashville A lovely woman, with distracted cries, In most resplendent fashionable frock, Approaches like a wounded antelope.
Enter Adelaide Gisborne.
Adelaide Where is my Cashel? Hath he been arrested?
Policeman I would I had thy Cashel by the collar: He hath escaped me.
Adelaide Praises be forever!
Lydia Why dost thou call the missing man thy Cashel?
Adelaide He is mine only son.
All Thy son!
Adelaide My son.
Lydia I thought his mother hardly would have known him, So crushed his countenance.
Adelaide A ribald peer, Lord Worthington by name, this morning came With honeyed words beseeching me to mount His four-in-hand, and to the country hie To see some English sport. Being by nature Frank as a child, I fell into the snare, But took so long to dress that the design Failed of its full effect; for not until The final round we reached the horrid scene. Be silent all; for now I do approach My tragedy’s catastrophe. Know, then, That Heaven did bless me with an only son, A boy devoted to his doting mother⁠—
Policeman Hark! did you hear an oath from yonder room?
Adelaide Respect a brokenhearted mother’s grief, And do not interrupt me in my scene. Ten years ago my darling disappeared (Ten dreary twelvemonths of continuous tears, Tears that have left me prematurely aged; For I am younger far than I appear). Judge of my anguish when today I saw Stripped to the waist, and fighting like a demon With one who, whatsoe’er his humble virtues, Was clearly not a gentleman, my son!
All O strange event! O passing tearful tale!
Adelaide I thank you from the bottom of my heart For the reception you have given my woe; And now I ask, where is my wretched son? He must at once come home with me, and quit A course of life that cannot be allowed.
Enter Cashel.
Cashel Policeman: I do yield me to the law.
Lydia Oh, no.
Adelaide My son!
Cashel My mother! Do not kiss me. My visage is too sore.
Policeman The lady hid him. This is a regular plant. You cannot be Up to that sex. To Cashel. You come along with me.
Lydia Fear not, my Cashel: I will bail thee out.
Cashel Never. I do embrace my doom with joy. With Paradise in Pentonville or Portland I shall feel safe: there are no mothers there.
Adelaide Ungracious boy⁠—
Cashel Constable: bear me hence.
Mellish Oh, let me sweetest reconcilement make By calling to thy mind that moving song:⁠—
Sings.
They say there is no other⁠—
Cashel Forbear at once, or the next note of music That falls upon thine ear shall clang in thunder From the last trumpet.
Adelaide A disgraceful threat To level at this virtuous old man.
Lydia Oh, Cashel, if thou scorn’st thy mother thus, How wilt thou treat thy wife?
Cashel There spake my fate: I knew you would say that. Oh, mothers, mothers, Would you but let your wretched sons alone Life were worth living! Had I any choice In this importunate relationship? None. And until that high auspicious day When the millennium on an orphaned world Shall dawn, and man upon his fellow look, Reckless of consanguinity, my mother And I within the selfsame hemisphere Conjointly may not dwell.
Adelaide Ungentlemanly!
Cashel I am no gentleman. I am a criminal, Redhanded, baseborn⁠—
Adelaide Baseborn! Who dares say it? Thou art the son and heir of Bingley Bumpkin FitzAlgernon de Courcy Cashel Byron, Sieur of Park Lane and Overlord of Dorset, Who after three months’ wedded happiness Rashly fordid himself with prussic acid, Leaving a tearstained note to testify That having sweetly honeymooned with me, He now could say, O Death, where is thy sting?
Policeman Sir: had I known your quality, this cop I had averted; but it is too late. The law’s above us both.
Enter Lucian, with an Order in Council.
Lucian Not so, policeman. I bear a message from The Throne itself Of fullest amnesty for Byron’s past. Nay, more: of Dorset deputy lieutenant He is proclaimed. Further, it is decreed, In memory of his glorious victory Over our country’s foes at Islington, The flag of England shall forever bear On azure field twelve swanlike spots of white; And by an exercise of feudal right Too long disused in this anarchic age Our sovereign doth confer on him the hand Of Miss Carew, Wiltstoken’s wealthy heiress. General acclamation.
Policeman Was anything, sir, said about me?
Lucian Thy faithful services are not forgot: In future call thyself Inspector Smith. Renewed acclamation.
Policeman I thank you, sir. I thank you, gentlemen.
Lucian My former opposition, valiant champion, Was based on the supposed discrepancy Betwixt your rank and Lydia’s. Here’s my hand.
Bashville And I do here unselfishly renounce All my pretensions to my lady’s favor. Sensation.
Lydia What, Bashville! didst thou love me?
Bashville Madam: yes. ’Tis said: now let me leave immediately.
Lydia In taking, Bashville, this most tasteful course You are but acting as a gentleman In the like case would act. I fully grant Your perfect right to make a declaration Which flatters me and honors your ambition. Prior attachment bids me firmly say That whilst my Cashel lives, and polyandry Rests foreign to the British social scheme, Your love is hopeless; still, your services, Made zealous by disinterested passion, Would greatly add to my domestic comfort; And if⁠—
Cashel Excuse me. I have other views. I’ve noted in this man such aptitude For art and exercise in his defence That I prognosticate for him a future More glorious than my past. Henceforth I dub him The Admirable Bashville, Byron’s Novice; And to the utmost of my mended fortunes Will back him ’gainst the world at ten stone six.
All Hail, Byron’s Novice, champion that shall be!
Bashville Must I renounce my lovely lady’s service, And mar the face of man?
Cashel ’Tis Fate’s decree. For know, rash youth, that in this star crost world Fate drives us all to find our chiefest good In what we can, and not in what we would.
Policeman A post-horn⁠—hark!
Cashel What noise of wheels is this?
Lord Worthington drives upon the scene in his four-in-hand, and descends.
Adelaide Perfidious peer!
Lord Worthington Sweet Adelaide⁠—
Adelaide Forbear, Audacious one: my name is Mrs. Byron.
Lord Worthington Oh, change that title for the sweeter one Of Lady Worthington.
Cashel Unhappy man, You know not what you do.
Lydia Nay, ’tis a match Of most auspicious promise. Dear Lord Worthington, You tear from us our mother-in-law⁠—
Cashel Ha! True.
Lydia —but we will make the sacrifice. She blushes: At least she very prettily produces Blushing’s effect.
Adelaide My lord: I do accept you.
They embrace. Rejoicings.
Cashel Aside. It wrings my heart to see my noble backer Lay waste his future thus. The world’s a chessboard, And we the merest pawns in fist of Fate. Aloud. And now, my friends, gentle and simple both, Our scene draws to a close. In lawful course As Dorset’s deputy lieutenant I Do pardon all concerned this afternoon In the late gross and brutal exhibition Of miscalled sport.
Lydia Throwing herself into his arms. Your boats are burnt at last.
Cashel This is the face that burnt a thousand boats, And ravished Cashel Byron from the ring. But to conclude. Let William Paradise Devote himself to science, and acquire, By studying the player’s speech in Hamlet, A more refined address. You, Robert Mellish, To the Blue Anchor hostelry attend him; Assuage his hurts, and bid Bill Richardson Limit his access to the fatal tap. Now mount we on my backer’s four-in-hand, And to St. George’s Church, whose portico Hanover Square shuts off from Conduit Street, Repair we all. Strike up the wedding march; And, Mellish, let thy melodies trill forth Broad o’er the wold as fast we bowl along. Give me the post-horn. Loose the flowing rein; And up to London drive with might and main.
Exeunt.