| By Author | [ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z | Other Symbols ] |
| By Title | [ A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z | Other Symbols ] |
| By Language |
|
Download this book: [ ASCII ] Look for this book on Amazon Tweet |
Title: The Scarecrow; or The Glass of Truth - A Tragedy of the Ludicrous
Author: MacKaye, Percy
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Scarecrow; or The Glass of Truth - A Tragedy of the Ludicrous" ***
(This file was produced from images generously made
Transcriber’s Notes:
Underscores “_” before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_
in the original text.
Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals.
Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved.
Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations
in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.
Where double quotes have been repeated at the beginnings of
consecutive stanzas, they have been omitted for clarity.
Each act in the original had a full page identifying the act as well
as a heading at the beginning of the act. The full page act numbers
have been removed from this edition as being redundant.
THE SCARECROW
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO
SAN FRANCISCO
Macmillan & CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE SCARECROW
THE GLASS OF TRUTH
_A Tragedy of the Ludicrous_
BY
PERCY MACKAYE
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1911
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1908,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1908. Reprinted February,
1911.
This play has been copyrighted and published simultaneously in the
United States and Great Britain. All acting rights, both professional
and amateur, are reserved in the United States, Great Britain, and
countries of the Copyright Union, by Percy MacKaye. Performances
forbidden and right of representation reserved. Application for the
right of performing this piece must be made to The McMillan Company.
Any piracy or infringement will be prosecuted in accordance with the
penalties provided by the United States Statutes:—
“Sec. 4966.—Any person publicly performing or representing any
dramatic or musical composition, for which copyright has been obtained,
without the consent of the proprietor of the said dramatic or musical
composition, or his heirs or assigns, shall be liable for damages
therefor, such damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not
less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dollars for every
subsequent performance, as to the Court shall appear to be just. If the
unlawful performance and representation be wilful and for profit, such
person or persons shall be guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction
be imprisoned for a period not exceeding one year.” U. S. Revised
Statutes, Title 60, Chap. 3.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
To
MY MOTHER
IN MEMORY OF AUSPICIOUS
“COUNTINGS OF THE CROWS”
BY OLD NEW ENGLAND CORN-FIELDS
PREFACE
But for a fantasy of Nathaniel Hawthorne, this play, of course, would
never have been written. In “Mosses from an Old Manse,” the _Moralized
Legend_ “Feathertop” relates, in some twenty pages of its author’s
inimitable style, how Mother Rigby, a reputed witch of old New England
days, converted a corn-patch scarecrow into the semblance of a fine
gentleman of the period; how she despatched this semblance to “play
its part in the great world, where not one man in a hundred, she
affirmed, was gifted with more real substance than itself”; how there
the scarecrow, while paying court to pretty Polly Gookin, the rosy,
simpering daughter of Justice Gookin, discovered its own image in a
looking-glass, returned to Mother Rigby’s cottage, and dissolved into
its original elements.
My indebtedness, therefore, to this source, in undertaking the
present play, goes without saying. Yet it would not be true, either
to Hawthorne’s work or my own, to classify “The Scarecrow” as a
dramatization of “Feathertop.” Were it intended to be such, the many
radical departures from the conception and the treatment of Hawthorne
which are evident in the present work would have to be regarded as so
many unwarrantable liberties taken with its original material; the
function of the play itself would, in such case, become purely
formal,—translative of a narrative to its appropriate dramatic
form,—and as such, however interesting and commendable an effort,
would have lost all _raison d’être_ for the writer.
But such, I may say, has not been my intention. My aim has been quite
otherwise. Starting with the same basic theme, I have sought to
elaborate it, by my own treatment, to a different and more inclusive
issue.
Without particularizing here the full substance of Hawthorne’s
consummate sketch, which is available to every reader, the divergence I
refer to may be summed up briefly.
The scarecrow Feathertop of Hawthorne is the imaginative epitome
or symbol of human charlatanism, with special emphasis upon the
coxcombry of fashionable society. In his essential superficiality he
is characterized as a fop, “strangely self-satisfied,” with “nobby
little nose thrust into the air.” “And many a fine gentleman,” says
Mother Rigby, “has a pumpkin-head as well as my scarecrow.” His hollow
semblance is the shallowness of a “well-digested conventionalism, which
had incorporated itself thoroughly with his substance and transformed
him into a work of art.” “But the clothes in this case were to be the
making of the man,” and so Mother Rigby, after fitting him out in a
suit of embroidered finery, endows him as a finishing touch “with a
great deal of brass, which she applied to his forehead, thus making it
yellower than before. ‘With that brass alone,’ quoth she, ‘thou canst
pay thy way all over the earth.’”
Similarly, the other characters are sketched by Hawthorne in accord
with this general conception. Pretty Polly Gookin, “tossing her
head and managing her fan” before the mirror, views therein “an
unsubstantial little maid that reflected every gesture and did all the
foolish things that Polly did, but without making her ashamed of them.
In short, it was the fault of pretty Polly’s ability, rather than her
will, if she failed to be as complete an artifice as the illustrious
Feathertop himself.”
Thus the _Moralized Legend_ reveals itself as a satire upon a
restricted artificial phase of society. As such, it runs its brief
course, with all the poetic charm and fanciful suggestiveness
of our great New Englander’s prose style, to its appropriate
_dénouement_,—the disintegration of its hero.
“‘My poor, dear, pretty Feathertop,’ quoth Mother Rigby, with a rueful
glance at the relics of her ill-fated contrivance, ‘there are thousands
upon thousands of coxcombs and charlatans in the world made up of just
such a jumble of worn-out, forgotten, and good-for-nothing trash as he
was, yet they live in fair repute and never see themselves for what
they are. And why should my poor puppet be the only one to know himself
and perish for it?’”
Coxcombry and charlatanism, then, are the butt of Hawthorne’s satire in
his _Legend_. The nature of his theme, however, is susceptible of an
application far less restricted, a development far more universal, than
such satire. This wider issue once or twice in his sketch he seems to
have touched upon, only immediately to ignore again. Thus, in the very
last paragraph, Mother Rigby exclaims: “Poor Feathertop! I could easily
give him another chance and send him forth again to-morrow. But no!
_His feelings are too tender—his sensibilities too deep._”
In these words, spoken in irony, Hawthorne ends his narrative with an
undeveloped aspect of his theme, which constitutes the starting-point
of the conception of my play: the aspect, namely, of the essential
_tragedy of the ludicrous_; an aspect which, in its development,
inevitably predicates for my play a divergent treatment and a different
conclusion. The element of human sympathy is here substituted for that
of irony, as criterion of the common absurdity of mankind.
The scarecrow Feathertop is ridiculous, as the emblem of a superficial
fop; the scarecrow Ravensbane is pitiful, as the emblem of human bathos.
Compared with our own ideas of human perfection, what human rubbish
we are! Of what incongruous elements are we constructed by time and
inheritance wherewith to realize the reasonableness, the power, the
altruism, of our dreams! What absurdity is our highest consummation!
Yet the sense of our common deficiency is, after all, our salvation.
_There_ is one reality which is a basic hope for the realization of
those dreams. This sense is human sympathy, which is, it would seem, a
more searching critic of human frailty than satire. It is the growth
of this sense which dowers with dignity and reality the hollowest and
most ludicrous of mankind, and becomes in such a fundamental grace of
character. In a recent critical interpretation of Cervantes’ great
work, Professor G. E. Woodberry writes: “A madman has no character; but
it is the character of Don Quixote that at last draws the knight out of
all his degradations and makes him triumph in the heart of the reader.”
And he continues: “Modern dismay begins in the thought that here is not
the abnormality of an individual, but the madness of the soul in its
own nature.”
If for “madness” in this quotation I may be permitted to substitute
_ludicrousness_ (or _incongruity_), a more felicitous expression of my
meaning, as applied to Ravensbane in this play, would be difficult to
devise.
From what has been said, it will, I trust, be the more clearly
apparent why “The Scarecrow” cannot with any appropriateness be deemed
a dramatization of “Feathertop,” and why its manifold divergencies from
the latter in treatment and motive cannot with any just significance
be considered as liberties taken with an original source. Dickon, for
example, whose name in the _Legend_ is but a momentary invocation
in the mouth of Mother Rigby, becomes in my play not merely the
characterized visible associate of Goody Rickby (“Blacksmith Bess”),
but the necessary foil of sceptical irony to the human growth of the
scarecrow. So, too, for reasons of the play’s different intent, Goody
Rickby herself is differentiated from Mother Rigby; and Rachel Merton
has no motive, of character or artistic design, in common with pretty,
affected Polly Gookin.
My indebtedness to the New England master in literature is, needless
to say, gratefully acknowledged; but it is fitting, I think, to
distinguish clearly between the aim and the scope of “Feathertop” and
that of the play in hand, as much in deference to the work of Hawthorne
as in comprehension of the spirit of my own.
P. M-K.
CORNISH, NEW HAMPSHIRE,
December, 1907.
Program of the play as first performed in
New York, Jan. 17, 1911, at the Garrick Theatre
CHARLES FROHMAN, MANAGER
HENRY B. HARRIS PRESENTS
EDMUND BREESE
—AS—
THE DEVIL
—IN—
THE SCARECROW
A FANTASTIC ROMANCE BY PERCY MACKAYE
CHARACTERS
(NOTE—The following characters are named is the order in
which they first appear)
BLACKSMITH BESS (Goody Rickby) ALICE FISCHER
DICKON, a Yankee Improvisation of
the Prince of Darkness EDMUND BREESE
RACHEL MERTON, niece of the Justice FOLA LA FOLLETTE
RICHARD TALBOT EARLE BROWNE
JUSTICE GILEAD MERTON BRIGHAM ROYCE
LORD RAVENSBANE (The Scarecrow) FRANK REICHER
MISTRESS CYNTHIA MERTON,
sister of the Justice MRS. FELIX MORRIS
MICAH, a servant HAROLD M. CHESHIRE
CAPTAIN BUGBY, the Governor’s secretary REGAN HUGHSTON
MINISTER DODGE CLIFFORD LEIGH
MISTRESS DODGE, his wife ELEANOR SHELDON
REV. MASTER RAND, of Harvard College WILLIAM LEVIS
REV. MASTER TODD, of Harvard College HARRY LILLFORD
SIR CHARLES REDDINGTON, Lieutenant Governor H. J. CARVILL
MISTRESS REDDINGTON } { ZENAIDEE WILLIAMS
} his daughters {
AMELIA REDDINGTON } { GEORGIA DVORAK
TIME—About 1690 PLACE—A town in Massachusetts
ACT I.—The Blacksmith Shop of “Blacksmith Bess.” Dawn.
ACTS II., III., and IV.—Justice Merton’s Parlor.
Morning, afternoon, and evening.
Produced under the direction of Edgar Selwyn
Incidental and entre’act music by Robert Hood Bowers
The portrait of Justice Merton, as a young man,
by John W. Alexander
Scenery designed and painted by H. Robert Law
Costumes by Darian, from designs by Byron Nestor
All of the music composed especially for this production,
by ROBERT HOOD BOWERS
OVERTURE—Devil’s Motif; Hymn; Love Motif;
Ravensbane’s Minuet, etc.
FIRST ENTRE’ACT—Ravensbane goes a-wooing.
He is instructed in the art by the Devil.
He aspires to Rachel’s hand.
SECOND ENTRE’ACT—The challenge to the duel.
The squire sends his second, the town dandy,
to wait upon Ravensbane.
THIRD ENTRE’ACT—Ravensbane’s crow song with
its tragic ending. His despair.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
JUSTICE GILEAD MERTON.
GOODY RICKBY (“_Blacksmith Bess_”).
LORD RAVENSBANE (“_Marquis of Oxford, Baron of Wittenberg,
Elector of Worms, and Count of Cordova_”),
_their hypothetical son_.
DICKON, _a Yankee improvisation of the Prince of Darkness_.
RACHEL MERTON, _niece of the Justice_.
MISTRESS CYNTHIA MERTON, _sister of the Justice_.
RICHARD TALBOT, _Esquire_, _betrothed to Rachel_.
SIR CHARLES REDDINGTON, _Lieutenant Governor_.
MISTRESS REDDINGTON }
} _his daughters_.
AMELIA REDDINGTON }
CAPTAIN BUGBY, _the Governor’s Secretary_.
MINISTER DODGE.
MISTRESS DODGE, _his wife_.
REV. MASTER RAND, _of Harvard College_.
REV. MASTER TODD, _of Harvard College_.
MICAH, _a servant of the Justice_.
TIME.—_Late Seventeenth Century._
PLACE.—_A town in Massachusetts._
ACT I
_The interior of a blacksmith shop. Right centre, a
forge. Left, a loft, from which are hanging dried
cornstalks, hay, and the yellow ears of cattle-corn.
Back centre, a wide double door, closed when the
curtain rises. Through this door—when later it is
opened—is visible a New England landscape in the late
springtime: a distant wood; stone walls, high elms, a
well-sweep; and, in the near foreground, a ploughed
field, from which the green shoots of early corn are
just appearing. The blackened walls of the shop are
covered with a miscellaneous collection of old iron,
horseshoes, cart wheels, etc., the usual appurtenances
of a smithy. In the right-hand corner, however, is an
array of things quite out of keeping with the shop
proper: musical instruments, puppets, tall clocks, and
fantastical junk. Conspicuous amongst these articles
is a large standing mirror, framed grotesquely in old
gold and curtained by a dull stuff, embroidered with
peaked caps and crescent moons._
_Just before the scene opens, a hammer is heard
ringing briskly upon steel. As the curtain rises
there is discovered, standing at the anvil in the
flickering light of a bright flame from the forge, a
woman—powerful, ruddy, proud with a certain masterful
beauty, white-haired (as though prematurely),
bare-armed to the elbows, clad in a dark skirt (above
her ankles), a loose blouse, open at the throat; a
leathern apron and a workman’s cap. The woman is_
GOODY RICKBY. _On the anvil she is shaping
a piece of iron. Beside her stands a framework of iron
formed like the ribs and backbone of a man. For a few
moments she continues to ply her hammer, amid a shower
of sparks, till suddenly the flame on the forge dies down._
GOODY RICKBY
Dickon! More flame.
A VOICE
[_Above her._]
Yea, Goody.
[_The flame in the forge spurts up high and suddenly._]
GOODY RICKBY
Nay, not so fierce.
THE VOICE
[_At her side._]
_Votre pardon, madame._
[_The flame subsides._]
Is that better?
GOODY RICKBY
That will do.
[_With her tongs, she thrusts the iron into the flame;
it turns white-hot._]
Quick work; nothing like brimstone for the smithy trade.
[_At the anvil, she begins to weld the iron rib
on to the framework._]
There, my beauty! We’ll make a stout set of ribs for you.
I’ll see to it this year that I have a scarecrow can outstand
all the nor’easters that blow. I’ve no notion to lose my
corn-crop this summer.
[_Outside, the faint cawings of crows are heard. Putting
down her tongs and hammer, Goody Rickby strides to the
double door, and flinging it wide open, lets in the
gray light of dawn. She looks out over the fields and
shakes her fist._]
So ye’re up before me and the sun, are ye?
[_Squinting against the light._]
There’s one! Nay, two. Aha!
One for sorrow,
Two for mirth—
Good! This time we’ll have the laugh on our side.
[_She returns to the forge, where again the fire has died out._]
Dickon! Fire! Come, come, where be thy wits?
THE VOICE
[_Sleepily from the forge._]
’Tis early, dame.
GOODY RICKBY
The more need—
[_Takes up her tongs._]
THE VOICE
[_Screams._]
Ow!
GOODY RICKBY
Ha! Have I got thee?
[_From the blackness of the forge she pulls out with her
tongs, by the right ear, the figure of a devil, horned
and tailed. In general aspect, though he resembles
a mediæval familiar demon, yet the suggestions of a
goatish beard, a shrewdly humorous smile, and (when
he speaks) the slightest of nasal drawls, remotely
simulate a species of Yankee rustic._
_Goody Rickby substitutes her fingers for the tongs._]
Now, Dickon!
DICKON
_Deus!_ I haven’t been nabbed like that since St.
Dunstan tweaked my nose. Well, sweet Goody?
GOODY RICKBY
The bellows!
DICKON
[_Going slowly to the forge._]
Why, ’tis hardly dawn yet. Honest folks are still abed.
It makes a long day.
GOODY RICKBY
[_Working, while Dickon plies the bellows._]
Aye, for your black pets, the crows, to work in.
That’s why I’m at it early. You heard ’em. We must
have this scarecrow of ours out in the field at his
post before sunrise.
[_Finishing._]
So, there! Now, Dickon boy, I want that you should—
DICKON
[_Whipping out a note-book and writing._]
Wait! Another one! “I want that you should—”
GOODY RICKBY
What’s that you’re writing?
DICKON
The phrase, Goody dear; the construction. Your New England
dialect is hard for a poor cosmopolitan devil. What with _ut_
clauses in English and Latinized subjunctives—You want that I
should—Well?
GOODY RICKBY
Make a masterpiece. I’ve made the frame strong, so as to
stand the weather; _you_ must make the body lifelike so
as to fool the crows. Last year I stuck up a poor sham and
after a day they saw through it. This time, we must make ’em
think it’s a real human crittur.
DICKON
To fool the philosophers is my specialty, but the crows—hm!
GOODY RICKBY
Pooh! That staggers thee!
DICKON
Madame Rickby, prod not the quick of my genius.
I am Phidias, I am Raphael, I am the Lord God!—
You shall see—
[_Demands with a gesture._]
Yonder broomstick.
GOODY RICKBY
[_Fetching him a broom from the corner._]
Good boy!
DICKON
[_Straddling the handle._]
Haha! gee up! my Salem mare.
[_Then, pseudo-philosophically._]
A broomstick—that’s for imagination!
[_He begins to construct the scarecrow, while Goody Rickby,
assisting, brings the constructive parts from various
nooks and corners._]
We are all pretty artists, to be sure, Bessie. Phidias, he
sculptures the gods; Raphael, he paints the angels; the Lord
God, he creates Adam; and Dickon—fetch me the poker—aha!
Dickon! What doth Dickon? He nullifies ’em all; he endows the
Scarecrow!—A poker: here’s his conscience. There’s two fine
legs to walk on,—imagination and conscience. Yonder flails
now! The ideal—the _beau idéal_, dame—that’s what we artists
seek. The apotheosis of scarecrows! And pray, what’s a
scarecrow? Why, the antithesis of Adam.—“Let there be
candles!” quoth the Lord God, sitting in the dark. “Let there
be candle-extinguishers,” saith Dickon. “I am made in the
image of my maker,” quoth Adam. “Look at yourself in the
glass,” saith Goodman Scarecrow.
[_Taking two implements from Goody Rickby._]
Fine! fine! here are flails—one for wit, t’other for
satire. _Sapristi!_ I with two such arms, my lad, how thou
wilt work thy way in the world!
GOODY RICKBY
You talk as if you were making a real mortal, Dickon.
DICKON
To fool a crow, Goody, I must fashion a crittur
that will first deceive a man.
GOODY RICKBY
He’ll scarce do that without a head.
[_Pointing to the loft._]
What think ye of yonder Jack-o’-lantern? ’Twas
made last Hallowe’en.
DICKON
Rare, my Psyche! We shall collaborate. Here!
[_Running up the ladder, he tosses down a yellow
hollowed pumpkin to Goody Rickby, who catches it.
Then rummaging forth an armful of cornstalks, ears,
tassels, dried squashes, gourds, beets, etc., he
descends and throws them in a heap on the floor._]
Whist! the anatomy.
GOODY RICKBY
[_Placing the pumpkin on the shoulders._]
Look!
DICKON
_O Johannes Baptista!_ What wouldst thou have given for
such a head! I helped Salome to cut his off, dame, and it
looked not half so appetizing on her charger. Tut! Copernicus
wore once such a pumpkin, but it is rotten. Look at his golden
smile! Hail, Phœbus Apollo!
GOODY RICKBY
’Tis the finest scarecrow in town.
DICKON
Nay, poor soul, ’tis but a skeleton yet. He must
have a man’s heart in him.
[_Picking a big red beet from among the cornstalks,
he places it under the left side of the ribs._]
Hush! Dost thou hear it _beat_?
GOODY RICKBY
Thou merry rogue!
DICKON
Now for the lungs of him.
[_Snatching a small pair of bellows from a peg on the wall._]
That’s for eloquence! He’ll preach the black knaves a sermon
on theft. And now—
[_Here, with Goody Rickby’s help, he stuffs the framework
with the gourds, corn, etc., from the loft, weaving the
husks about the legs and arms._]
here goes for digestion and inherited instincts! More corn,
Goody. Now he’ll fight for his own flesh and blood!
GOODY RICKBY
[_Laughing._]
Dickon, I am proud of thee.
DICKON
Wait till you see his peruke.
[_Seizing a feather duster made of crow’s feathers._]
_Voici!_ Scalps of the enemy!
[_Pulling them apart, he arranges the feathers on the
pumpkin, like a gentleman’s wig._]
A rare conqueror!
GOODY RICKBY
Oh, you beauty!
DICKON
And now a bit of comfort for dark days and stormy nights.
[_Taking a piece of corn-cob with the kernels on
it, Dickon makes a pipe, which he puts into the
scarecrow’s mouth._]
So! There, Goody! I tell thee, with yonder brand-new coat
and breeches of mine—those there in my cupboard!—we’ll make
him a lad to be proud of.
[_Taking the clothes, which Goody Rickby brings—a pair
of fine scarlet breeches and a gold-embroidered coat
with ruffles of lace—he puts them upon the scarecrow.
Then, eying it like a connoisseur, makes a few
finishing touches._]
Why, dame, he’ll be a son to thee.
GOODY RICKBY
A son? Ay, if I had but a son!
DICKON
Why, here you have him.
[_To the scarecrow._]
Thou wilt scare the crows off thy mother’s corn-field—
won’t my pretty? And send ’em all over t’other side the
wall—to her dear neighbour’s, the Justice Gilead Merton’s.
GOODY RICKBY
Justice Merton! Nay, if they’d only peck his eyes out,
instead of his corn.
DICKON
[_Grinning._]
Yet the Justice was a dear friend of “Blacksmith Bess.”
GOODY RICKBY
Ay, “Blacksmith Bess!” If I hadn’t had a good stout arm when
he cast me off with the babe, I might have starved for all his
worship cared.
DICKON
True, Bessie; ’twas a scurvy trick he played on thee—and on
me, that took such pains to bring you together—to steal a
young maid’s heart—
GOODY RICKBY
And then toss it away like a bad penny to the gutter! And
the child—to die!
[_Lifting her hammer in rage._]
Ha! if I could get the worshipful Justice Gilead into my
power again—
[_Drops the hammer sullenly on the anvil._]
But no! I shall beat my life away on this anvil, whilst my
justice clinks his gold, and drinks his port to a fat old age.
Justice! Ha—justice of God!
DICKON
Whist, dame! Talk of angels and hear the rustle of their
relatives.
GOODY RICKBY
[_Turning, watches outside a girl’s figure approaching._]
His niece—Rachel Merton! What can she want so early? Nay, I
mind me; ’tis the mirror. She’s a maid after our own hearts,
boy,—no Sabbath-go-to-meeting airs about _her_! She hath
read the books of the _magi_ from cover to cover, and
paid me good guineas for ’em, though her uncle knows naught
on’t. Besides, she’s in love, Dickon.
DICKON
[_Indicating the scarecrow._]
Ah? With _him_? Is it a rendezvous?
GOODY RICKBY
[_With a laugh._]
Pff! Begone!
DICKON
[_Shakes his finger at the scarecrow._]
Thou naughty rogue!
[_Then, still smiling slyly, with his head placed
confidentially next to the scarecrow’s ear, as if
whispering, and with his hand pointing to the maiden
outside, Dickon fades away into air._ RACHEL
_enters, nervous and hesitant. Goody Rickby makes her
a courtesy, which she acknowledges by a nod, half
absent-minded._]
GOODY RICKBY
Mistress Rachel Merton—so early! I hope your uncle, our
worshipful Justice, is not ill?
RACHEL
No, my uncle is quite well. The early morning suits me
best for a walk. You are—quite alone?
GOODY RICKBY
Quite alone, mistress. [_Bitterly._] Oh, folks don’t
call on Goody Rickby—except on business.
RACHEL
[_Absently, looking round in the dim shop._]
Yes—you must be busy. Is it—is it here?
GOODY RICKBY
You mean the—
RACHEL
[_Starting back, with a cry._]
Ah! who’s that?
GOODY RICKBY
[_Chuckling._]
Fear not, mistress; ’tis nothing but a scarecrow.
I’m going to put him in my corn-field yonder. The crows are
so pesky this year.
RACHEL
[_Draws her skirts away with a shiver._]
How loathsome!
GOODY RICKBY
[_Vastly pleased._]
He’ll do!
RACHEL
Ah, here!—This is _the_ mirror?
GOODY RICKBY
Yea, mistress, and a wonderful glass it is, as I told you.
I wouldn’t sell it to most comers, but seeing how you and
Master Talbot—
RACHEL
Yes; that will do.
GOODY RICKBY
You see, if the town folks guessed what it was, well—You’ve
heard tell of the gibbets on Salem hill? There’s not many in
New England like you, Mistress Rachel. You know enough to
approve some miracles—outside the Scriptures.
RACHEL
You are quite sure the glass will do all you say? It—never
fails?
GOODY RICKBY
Ay, now, mistress, how could it? ’Tis the glass of
truth—[_insinuatingly_] the glass of true lovers. It
shows folks just as they are; no shams, no varnish. If your
sweetheart be false, the glass will reveal it. If a wolf
should dress himself in a white sheep’s wool, this glass would
reflect the black beast inside it.
RACHEL
But what of the sins of the soul, Goody? Vanity, hypocrisy,
and—and inconstancy? Will it surely reveal them?
GOODY RICKBY
I have told you, my young lady. If it doth not as I say,
bring it back and get your money again. Trust me, sweeting,
’tis your only mouse-trap for a man. Why, an old dame hath
eyes in her heart yet. If your lover be false, this glass
shall pluck his fine feathers!
RACHEL
[_With aloofness_.]
’Tis no question of that. I wish the glass to—to amuse me.
GOODY RICKBY
[_Laughing_.]
Why, then, it shall amuse you. Try it on some of your
neighbours.
RACHEL
You ask a large price for it.
GOODY RICKBY
[_Shrugs._]
I run risks. Besides, where will you get another?
RACHEL
That is true. Here, I will buy it. That is the
sum you mentioned, I believe?
[_She hands a purse to Goody Rickby who opens it and
counts over some coins._]
GOODY RICKBY
Let see; let see.
RACHEL
Well?
GOODY RICKBY
Good: ’tis good. Folks call me a witch, mistress.
Well—harkee—a witch’s word is as good as a justice’s gold.
The glass is yours—with my blessing.
RACHEL
Spare yourself that, dame. But the glass: how am I to get
it? How will you send it to me—quietly?
GOODY RICKBY
Trust me for that. I’ve a willing lad that helps me with
such errands; a neighbour o’ mine.
[_Calls._]
Ebenezer!
RACHEL
[_Startled._]
What! is he here?
GOODY RICKBY
In the hay-loft. The boy’s an orphan; he sleeps there o’
times. Ebenezer!
[_A raw, dishevelled country boy appears in the loft,
slides down the ladder, and shuffles up sleepily._]
THE BOY
Evenin’.
RACHEL
[_Drawing Goody Rickby aside._]
You understand; I desire no comment about this purchase.
GOODY RICKBY
Nor I, mistress, be sure.
RACHEL
Is he—?
GOODY RICKBY
[_Tapping her forehead significantly._]
Trust his wits who hath no wit; he’s mum.
RACHEL
Oh!
THE BOY
[_Gaping._]
Job?
GOODY RICKBY
Yea, rumple-head! His job this morning is to bear yonder
glass to the house of Justice Merton—the big one on the hill;
to the side door. Mind, no gabbing. Doth he catch?
THE BOY
[_Nodding and grinning._]
’E swallows.
RACHEL
But is the boy strong enough?
GOODY RICKBY
Him?
[_Pointing to the anvil._]
Ebenezer!
[_The boy spits on his palms, takes hold of the anvil,
lifts it, drops it again, sits on it, and grins at
the door, just as Richard Talbot appears there, from
outside._]
RACHEL
Gracious!
GOODY RICKBY
Trust him. He’ll carry the glass for you.
RACHEL
I will return home at once, then. Let him go quietly to the
side door, and wait for me. Good morning.
[_Turning, she confronts Richard._]
RICHARD
Good morning.
RACHEL
Richard!—Squire Talbot, you—you are abroad early.
RICHARD
As early as Mistress Rachel. Is it pardonable?
I caught sight of you walking in this direction, so
I thought it wise to follow, lest—
[_Looks hard at Goody Rickby._]
RACHEL
Very kind. Thanks. I’ve done my errand.
Well; we can return together.
[_To Goody Rickby._]
You will make sure that I receive the—the article.
GOODY RICKBY
Trust me, mistress.
[_Courtesying._]
Squire Talbot! the honour, sir!
RICHARD
[_Bluntly, looking from one to the other._]
What article?
[_Rachel ignores the question and starts to pass out.
Richard frowns at Goody Rickby, who stammers._]
GOODY RICKBY
Begging your pardon, sir?
RICHARD
What article? I said.
[_After a short, embarrassed pause: more sternly._]
Well?
GOODY RICKBY
Oh, the article! Yonder old glass, to be sure, sir.
A quaint piece, your honour.
RICHARD
Rachel, you haven’t come here at sunrise to buy—that thing?
RACHEL
Verily, “that thing” and at sunrise. A pretty time for a
pretty purchase. Are you coming?
RICHARD
[_In a low voice._]
More witchcraft nonsense? Do you realize this is serious?
RACHEL
Oh, of course. You know I am desperately mystical,
so pray let us not discuss it. Good-by.
RICHARD
Rachel, just a moment. If you want a mirror, you
shall have the prettiest one in New England. Or I will
import you one from London. Only—I beg of you—don’t
buy stolen goods.
GOODY RICKBY
Stolen goods?
RACHEL
[_Aside to Richard._]
Don’t! don’t!
RICHARD
At least, articles under suspicion.
[_To Goody Rickby._]
Can you account for this mirror—how you came by it?
GOODY RICKBY
I’ll show ye! I’ll show ye! Stolen—ha!
RICHARD
Come, old swindler, keep your mirror, and give
this lady back her money.
GOODY RICKBY
I’ll damn ye both, I will!—Stolen!
RACHEL
[_Imploringly._]
Will you come?
RICHARD
Look you, old Rickby; this is not the first time. Charm all
the broomsticks in town, if you like; bewitch all the tables
and saucepans and mirrors you please; but gull no more money
out of young girls. Mind you! We’re not so enterprising in
this town as at Salem; but—_it may come to it_! So look
sharp! I’m not blind to what’s going on here.
GOODY RICKBY
Not blind, Master Puritan? Oho! You can see through all my
counterfeits, can ye? So! you would scrape all the wonder
out’n the world, as I’ve scraped all the meat out’n my
punkin-head yonder! Aha! wait and see! Afore sundown, I’ll
send ye a nut to crack, shall make your orthodox jaws ache.
Your servant, Master Deuteronomy!
RICHARD
[_To Rachel, who has seized his arm._]
We’ll go.
[_Exeunt Richard and Rachel._]
GOODY RICKBY
[_Calls shrilly after them._]
Trot away, pretty team; toss your heads. I’ll unhitch ye and
take off your blinders.
THE SLOUCHING BOY
[_Capering and grimacing in front of the mirror,
shrieks with laughter._]
Ohoho!
GOODY RICKBY
[_Returning, savagely._]
Yes, yes, my fine lover! I’ll pay thee for “stolen
goods”—I’ll pay thee.
[_Screams._]
Dickon! Stop laughing.
THE BOY
O Lord! O Lord!
GOODY RICKBY
What tickles thy mirth now?
THE BOY
For to think as the soul of an orphan innocent,
what lives in a hay-loft, should wear horns.
[_On looking into the mirror, the spectator perceives
therein that the reflection of the slouching boy is
the horned demon figure of Dickon, who performs the
same antics in pantomime within the glass as the boy
does without._]
GOODY RICKBY
Yea; ’tis a wise devil that knows his own face in the glass.
But hark now! Thou must find me a rival for this
cock-squire,—dost hear? A rival, that shall steal away the
heart of his Mistress Rachel.
DICKON
And take her to church?
GOODY RICKBY
To church or to Hell. All’s one.
DICKON
A rival!
[_Pointing at the glass._]
How would _he_ serve—in there? Dear Ebenezer! Fancy
the deacons in the vestry, Goody, and her uncle, the Justice,
when they saw him escorting the bride to the altar, with his
tail round her waist!
GOODY RICKBY
Tut, tut! Think it over in earnest, and meantime take her
the glass. Wait, we’d best fold it up small, so as not to
attract notice on the road.
[_Dickon, who has already drawn the curtains over the
glass, grasps one side of the large frame, Goody
Rickby the other._]
Now!
[_Pushing their shoulders against the two sides, the frame
disappears and Dickon holds in his hand a mirror about
a foot square, of the same design._]
So! Be off! And mind, a rival for Richard!
DICKON
For Richard a rival,
Dear Goody Rickby
Wants Dickon’s connival:
Lord! What can the trick be?
[_To the scarecrow._]
By-by, Sonny; take care of thy mother.
[_Dickon slouches out with the glass, whistling._]
GOODY RICKBY
Mother! Yea, if only I had a son—the Justice Merton’s and
mine! If the brat had but lived now to remind him of those
merry days, which he has forgotten. Zooks, wouldn’t I put a
spoke in his wheel! But no such luck for me! No such luck!
[_As she goes to the forge, the stout figure of a man
appears in the doorway behind her. Under one arm he
carries a large book, in the other hand a gold-headed
cane. He hesitates, embarrassed._]
THE MAN
Permit me, Madam.
GOODY RICKBY
[_Turning._]
Ah, him!—Justice Merton!
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Removing his hat, steps over the sill, and lays his
great book on the table; then with a supercilious
look, he puts his hat firmly on again._]
Permit me, dame.
GOODY RICKBY
You!
[_With confused, affected hauteur, the Justice shifts from
foot to foot, flourishing his cane. As he speaks,
Goody Rickby, with a shrewd, painful expression, draws
slowly backward toward the door left, which opens into
an inner room. Reaching it, she opens it part way,
stands facing him, and listens._]
JUSTICE MERTON
I have had the honour—permit me—to entertain suspicions;
to rise early, to follow my niece, to meet just now Squire
Talbot, an excellent young gentleman of wealth, if not of
fashion; to hear his remarks concerning—hem!—you, dame! to
call here—permit me—to express myself and inquire—
GOODY RICKBY
Concerning your waistcoat?
[_Turning quickly, she snatches an article of apparel
which hangs on the inner side of the door, and holds
it up._]
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Starting, crimson._]
Woman!
GOODY RICKBY
You left it behind—the last time.
JUSTICE MERTON
I have not the honour to remember—
GOODY RICKBY
The one I embroidered?
JUSTICE MERTON
’Tis a matter—
GOODY RICKBY
Of some two and twenty years.
[_Stretching out the narrow width of the waistcoat._]
Will you try it on now, dearie?
JUSTICE MERTON
Unconscionable! Un-un-unconscionable witch!
GOODY RICKBY
Witchling—thou used to say.
JUSTICE MERTON
Pah! pah! I forget myself. Pride, permit me, goeth before a
fall. As a magistrate, Rickby, I have already borne with you
long! The last straw, however, breaks the camel’s back.
GOODY RICKBY
Poor camel!
JUSTICE MERTON
You have soiled, you have smirched, the virgin reputation of
my niece. You have inveigled her into notions of witchcraft;
already the neighbours are beginning to talk. ’Tis a long lane
which hath no turning, saith the Lord. Permit me—as a witch,
thou art judged. Thou shalt hang.
A VOICE
[_Behind him._]
And me too?
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Turns about and stares._]
I beg pardon.
THE VOICE
[_In front of him._]
Not at all.
JUSTICE MERTON
Did—did somebody speak?
THE VOICE
Don’t you recognize my voice? _Still and small_, you know.
If you will kindly let me out, we can chat.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Turning fiercely on Goody Rickby._]
These are thy sorceries. But I fear them not.
The righteous man walketh with God.
[_Going to the book which lies on the table._]
Satan, I ban thee! I will read from the Holy Scriptures!
[_Unclasping the Bible, he flings open the ponderous
covers.—Dickon steps forth in smoke._]
DICKON
Thanks; it was stuffy in there.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Clasping his hands._]
Dickon!
DICKON
[_Moving a step nearer on the table._]
Hillo, Gilly! Hillo, Bess!
JUSTICE MERTON
Dickon! No! No!
DICKON
Do ye mind Auld Lang Syne—the chorus that night, Gilly?
[_Sings._]
Gil-ead, Gil-ead, Gil-ead Merton,
He was a silly head, silly head, Certain,
When he forgot to steal a bed-Curtain!
_Encore_, now!
JUSTICE MERTON
No, no, be merciful! I will not harm her; she shall not
hang: I swear, I swear it!
[_Dickon disappears._]
I swear—ah! Is he gone? Witchcraft! Witchcraft! I have
witnessed it. ’Tis proved on thee, slut. I swear it: thou
shalt hang.
[_Exit wildly._]
GOODY RICKBY
Ay, Gilead! I shall hang _on_! Ahaha! Dickon, thou
angel! Ah, Satan! Satan! For a son now!
DICKON
[_Reappearing._]
_Videlicet_, in law—a bastard. _N’est ce pas?_
GOODY RICKBY
Yea, in law and in justice, I should-a had one now. Worse
luck that he died.
DICKON
One and twenty years ago?
[_Goody Rickby nods._]
Good; he should be of age now. One and twenty—a pretty age,
too, for a rival. Haha!—For arrival?—Marry, he shall arrive,
then; arrive and marry and inherit his patrimony—all on his
birthday! Come, to work!
GOODY RICKBY
What rant is this?
DICKON
Yet, Dickon, it pains me to perform such an anachronism. All
this Mediævalism in Massachusetts!—These old-fashioned flames
and alchemic accompaniments, when I’ve tried so hard to be a
native American product; it jars. But _che vuole_! I’m
naturally middle-aged. I haven’t been really myself, let me
think,—since 1492!
GOODY RICKBY
What art thou mooning about?
DICKON
[_Still impenetrable._]
There was my old friend in Germany, Dr. Johann Faustus; he
was nigh such a bag of old rubbish when I made him over. Ain’t
it trite! No, you can’t teach an old dog like me new tricks.
Still, a scarecrow! that’s decidedly local color. Come then; a
Yankee masterpiece!
[_Seizing Goody Rickby by the arm, and placing her before
the scarecrow, he makes a bow and wave of introduction._]
Behold, madam, your son—illegitimate; the future affianced
of Mistress Rachel Merton, the heir-elect, through matrimony,
of Merton House,—Gilead Merton second; Lord Ravensbane! Your
lordship—your mother.
GOODY RICKBY
Dickon! Can you do it?
DICKON
I can—try.
GOODY RICKBY
You will create him for me?—
[_Wickedly._]
and for Gilead!
DICKON
I will—for a kiss.
GOODY RICKBY
[_About to embrace him._]
Dickon!
DICKON
[_Dodging her._]
Later. Now, the waistcoat.
GOODY RICKBY
[_Handing it._]
Rare! rare! He shall go wooing in’t—like his father.
DICKON
[_Shifting the scarecrow’s gold-trimmed coat, slips on the
embroidered waistcoat and replaces the coat._]
Stand still, Jack! So, my macaroni. _Perfecto!_
Stay—a walking-stick!
GOODY RICKBY
[_Wrenching a spoke out of an old rickety wheel._]
Here: the spoke for Gilead. He used to take me to drive in
the chaise it came out of.
DICKON
[_Placing the spoke as a cane, in the scarecrow’s sleeve,
views him with satisfaction._]
_Sic!_ There, Jacky! _Filius fit non nascitur._—Sam
Hill! My Latin is stale. “In the beginning, was the—gourd!”
Of these thy modest ingredients may thy spirit smack!
[_Making various mystic passes with his hands, Dickon
intones, now deep and solemn, now with fanciful shrill
rapidity, this incantation_:]
Flail, flip;
Broom, sweep;
_Sic itur!_
Cornstalk
And turnip, talk!
Turn crittur!
Pulse, beet;
Gourd, eat;
_Ave_ Hellas!
Poker and punkin,
Stir the old junk in:
Breathe, bellows!
Corn-cob,
And crow’s feather,
End the job:
Jumble the rest o’ the rubbish together;
Dovetail and tune ’em.
_E pluribus unum!_
[_The scarecrow remains stock still._]
The devil! Have I lost the hang of it? Ah! Hullo! He’s
dropped his pipe. What’s a dandy without his ’baccy!
[_Restoring the corn-cob pipe to the scarecrow’s mouth._]
’Tis the life and breath of him. So; hand me yon hazel
switch, Goody.
[_Waving it._]
Presto!
Brighten, coal,
I’ the dusk between us!
Whiten, soul!
_Propinquit Venus!_
[_A whiff of smoke puffs from the scarecrow’s pipe._]
_Sic! Sic! Jacobus!_
[_Another whiff._]
Bravo!
[_The whiffs grow more rapid and the thing trembles._]
GOODY RICKBY
Puff! puff, manny, for thy life!
DICKON
_Fiat, fœtus!_—Huzza! _Noch einmal!_ Go it!
[_Clouds of smoke issue from the pipe, half fill the shop,
and envelop the creature, who staggers._][A]
GOODY RICKBY
See! See his eyes!
DICKON
[_Beckoning with one finger._]
_Veni, fili! Veni!_ Take ’ee first step, _bambino_!—
Toddle!
[_The Scarecrow makes a stiff lurch forward and falls
sidewise against the anvil, propped half-reclining
against which he leans rigid, emitting fainter puffs
of smoke in gasps._]
GOODY RICKBY
[_Screams._]
Have a care! He’s fallen.
DICKON
Well done, Punkin Jack! Thou shalt be knighted for that!
[_Striking him on the shoulder with the hazel rod._]
Rise, Lord Ravensbane!
[_The Scarecrow totters to his feet, and
makes a forlorn rectilinear salutation._]
GOODY RICKBY
Look! He bows.—He flaps his flails at thee. He smiles like
a tik-doo-loo-roo!
DICKON
[_With a profound reverence, backing away._]
Will his lordship deign to follow his tutor?
[_With hitches and jerks, the Scarecrow follows Dickon._]
GOODY RICKBY
O Lord! Lord! the style o’ the broomstick!
DICKON
[_Holding ready a high-backed chair._]
Will his lordship be seated and rest himself?
[_Awkwardly the Scarecrow half falls into the chair; his
head sinks sideways, and his pipe falls out. Dickon
snatches it up instantly and restores it to his
mouth._]
Puff! Puff, _puer_; ’tis thy life.
[_The Scarecrow puffs again._]
Is his lordship’s tobacco refreshing?
GOODY RICKBY
Look now! The red colour in his cheeks. The beet-juice is
pumping, oho!
DICKON
[_Offering his arm._]
Your lordship will deign to receive an audience?
[_The Scarecrow takes his arm and rises._]
The Marchioness of Rickby, your lady mother, entreats leave
to present herself.
GOODY RICKBY
[_Courtesying low._]
My son!
DICKON
[_Holding the pipe, and waving the hazel rod._]
_Dicite!_ Speak!
[_The Scarecrow, blowing out his last mouthful of smoke,
opens his mouth, gasps, gurgles, and is silent._]
_In principio erat verbum!_ Accost thy mother!
[_The Scarecrow, clutching at his side in a struggle
for coherence, fixes a pathetic look of pain on
Goody Rickby._]
THE SCARECROW
Mother!
GOODY RICKBY
[_With a scream of hysterical laughter, seizes both
Dickon’s hands and dances him about the forge._]
O Beelzebub! I shall die!
DICKON
Thou hast thy son.
[_Dickon whispers in the Scarecrow’s ear, shakes his
finger, and exit._]
GOODY RICKBY
He called me “mother.” Again, boy, again.
THE SCARECROW
From the bottom of my heart—mother.
GOODY RICKBY
“The bottom of his heart”—Nay, thou killest me.
THE SCARECROW
Permit me, madam!
GOODY RICKBY
Gilead! Gilead himself! Waistcoat, “permit me,” and all: thy
father over again, I tell thee.
THE SCARECROW
[_With a slight stammer._]
It gives me—I assure you—lady—the deepest happiness.
GOODY RICKBY
Just so the old hypocrite spoke when I said I’d have him.
But thou hast a sweeter deference, my son.
[_Re-enter Dickon; he is dressed all in black, save for a
white stock,—a suit of plain elegance._]
DICKON
Now, my lord, your tutor is ready.
THE SCARECROW
[_To Goody Rickby._]
I have the honour—permit me—to wish you—good morning.
[_Bows and takes a step after Dickon, who, taking a
three-cornered cocked hat from a peg, goes toward
the door._]
GOODY RICKBY
Whoa! Whoa, Jack! Whither away?
DICKON
[_Presenting the hat._]
Deign to reply, sir.
THE SCARECROW
I go—with my tutor—Master Dickonson—to pay my
respects—to his worship—the Justice—Merton—to
solicit—the hand—of his daughter—the fair
Mistress—Rachel.
[_With another bow._]
Permit me.
GOODY RICKBY
Permit ye? God speed ye! Thou must teach him his tricks,
Dickon.
DICKON
Trust me, Goody. Between here and Justice Merton’s, I will
play the mother-hen, and I promise thee, our bantling shall be
as stuffed with compliments as a callow chick with
caterpillars.
[_As he throws open the big doors, the cawing of crows
is heard again._]
Hark! your lordship’s retainers acclaim you on your
birthday. They bid you welcome to your majority. Listen!
“Long live Lord Ravensbane! Caw!”
GOODY RICKBY
Look! Count ’em, Dickon.
One for sorrow,
Two for mirth,
Three for a wedding,
Four for a birth—
Four on ’em! So! Good luck on thy birthday!
And see! There’s three on ’em flying into the
Justice’s field.
—Flight o’ the crows
Tells how the wind blows!—
A wedding! Get ye gone. Wed the girl, and sting
the Justice. Bless ye, my son!
THE SCARECROW
[_With a profound reverence._]
Mother—believe me—to be—your ladyship’s—
most devoted—and obedient—son.
DICKON
[_Prompting him aloud._]
Ravensbane.
THE SCARECROW
[_Donning his hat, lifts his head in hauteur, shakes his
lace ruffle over his hand, turns his shoulder, nods
slightly, and speaks for the first time with complete
mastery of his voice._]
Hm! Ravensbane!
[_With one hand in the arm of Dickon, the other twirling
his cane (the converted chaise-spoke), wreathed in
halos of smoke from his pipe, the fantastical figure
hitches elegantly forth into the daylight, amid louder
acclamations of the crows._]
[A] Here the living actor, through a trap, concealed by the smoke,
will substitute himself for the elegantly clad effigy. His make-up, of
course, will approximate to the latter, but the grotesque contours of
his expression gradually, throughout the remainder of the act, become
refined and sublimated till, at the _finale_, they are of a lordly and
distinguished caste.
ACT II
_The same morning. Justice Merton’s parlour, furnished and
designed in the style of the early colonial period.
On the right wall, hangs a portrait of the Justice
as a young man; on the left wall, an old-fashioned
looking-glass. At the right of the room stands
the Glass of Truth, draped—as in the blacksmith
shop—with the strange, embroidered curtain._
_In front of it are discovered_ RACHEL _and_
RICHARD; _Rachel is about to draw the
curtain._
RACHEL
Now! Are you willing?
RICHARD
So you suspect me of dark, villainous practices?
RACHEL
No, no, foolish Dick.
RICHARD
Still, I am to be tested; is that it?
RACHEL
That’s it.
RICHARD
As your true lover.
RACHEL
Well, yes.
RICHARD
Why, of course, then, I consent. A true lover always
consents to the follies of his lady-love.
RACHEL
Thank you, Dick; I trust the glass will sustain your
character. Now; when I draw the curtain—
RICHARD
[_Staying her hand._]
What if I be false?
RACHEL
Then, sir, the glass will reflect you as the subtle fox that
you are.
RICHARD
And you—as the goose?
RACHEL
Very likely. Ah! but, Richard dear, we mustn’t laugh. It may
prove very serious. You do not guess—you do not dream all the
mysteries—
RICHARD
[_Shaking his head, with a grave smile._]
You pluck at too many mysteries; sometime they may burn your
fingers. Remember our first mother Eve!
RACHEL
But this is the glass of truth; and Goody Rickby told me—
RICHARD
Rickby, forsooth!
RACHEL
Nay, come; let’s have it over.
[_She draws the curtain, covers her eyes, steps back by
Richard’s side, looks at the glass, and gives a joyous cry._]
Ah! there you are, dear! There we are, both of us—just as
we have always seemed to each other, true. ’Tis proved. Isn’t
it wonderful?
RICHARD
Miraculous! That a mirror bought in a blacksmith shop,
before sunrise, for twenty pounds, should prove to be
actually—a mirror!
RACHEL
Richard, I’m so happy.
[_Enter_ JUSTICE MERTON _and_ MISTRESS MERTON.]
RICHARD
[_Embracing her._]
Happy, art thou, sweet goose? Why, then, God bless Goody
Rickby.
JUSTICE MERTON
Strange words from you, Squire Talbot.
[_Rachel and Richard part quickly; Rachel draws the
curtain over the mirror; Richard stands stiffly._]
RICHARD
Justice Merton! Why, sir, the old witch is more innocent,
perhaps, than I represented her.
JUSTICE MERTON
A witch, believe me, is never innocent.
[_Taking their hands, he brings them together and kisses
Rachel on the forehead._]
Permit me, young lovers. I was once young myself, young and
amorous.
MISTRESS MERTON
[_In a low voice._]
Verily!
JUSTICE MERTON
My fair niece, my worthy young man, beware of witchcraft.
MISTRESS MERTON
And Goody Rickby, too, brother?
JUSTICE MERTON
That woman shall answer for her deeds. She is proscribed.
RACHEL
Proscribed? What is that?
MISTRESS MERTON
[_Examining the mirror._]
What is this?
JUSTICE MERTON
She shall hang.
RACHEL
Uncle, no! Not merely because of my purchase this morning.
JUSTICE MERTON
Your purchase?
MISTRESS MERTON
[_Pointing to the mirror._]
That, I suppose.
JUSTICE MERTON
What! you purchased that mirror of her? You brought it here?
RACHEL
No, the boy brought it; I found it here when I returned.
JUSTICE MERTON
What! From her! You purchased it? From her shop? From her
infamous den, into my parlour!
[_To Mistress Merton._]
Call the servant.
[_Himself calling._]
Micah! This instant, this instant—away with it! Micah!
RACHEL
Uncle Gilead, I bought—
JUSTICE MERTON
Micah, I say! Where is the man?
RACHEL
Listen, Uncle. I bought it with my own money.
JUSTICE MERTON
Thine own money! Wilt have the neighbours gossip? Wilt have
me, thyself, my house, suspected of complicity with witches?
[_Enter_ MICAH.]
Micah, take this away.
MICAH
Yes, sir; but, sir—
JUSTICE MERTON
Out of my house!
MICAH
There be visitors.
JUSTICE MERTON
Away with—
MISTRESS MERTON
[_Touching his arm._]
Gilead!
MICAH
Visitors, sir; gentry.
JUSTICE MERTON
Ah!
MICAH
Shall I show them in, sir?
JUSTICE MERTON
Visitors! In the morning? Who are they?
MICAH
Strangers, sir. I should judge they be very high gentry;
lords, sir.
ALL
Lords!
MICAH
At least, one on ’em, sir. The other—the dark
gentleman—told me they left their horses at the inn, sir.
MISTRESS MERTON
Hark!
[_The faces of all wear suddenly a startled expression._]
Where is that unearthly sound?
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Listening._]
Is it in the cellar?
MICAH
’Tis just the dog howling, madam. When he spied the gentry
he turned tail and run below.
MISTRESS MERTON
Oh, the dog!
JUSTICE MERTON
Show the gentlemen here, Micah. Don’t keep them waiting.
[_Exit_ MICAH.]
A lord!
[_To Rachel._]
We shall talk of this matter later.—A lord!
[_Turning to the small glass on the wall, he arranges his
peruke and attire._]
RACHEL
[_To Richard._]
What a fortunate interruption! But, dear Dick! I wish we
needn’t meet these strangers now.
RICHARD
Would you really rather we were alone together?
[_They chat aside, absorbed in each other._]
JUSTICE MERTON
Think of it, Cynthia, a lord!
MISTRESS MERTON
[_Dusting the furniture hastily with her handkerchief._]
And such dust!
RACHEL
[_To Richard._]
You know, dear, we need only be introduced, and then we can
steal away together.
[_Re-enter_ MICAH.]
MICAH
[_Announcing._]
Lord Ravensbane: Marquis of Oxford, Baron of Wittenberg,
Elector of Worms, and Count of Cordova; Master Dickonson.
[_Enter_ RAVENSBANE _and_ DICKON.]
JUSTICE MERTON
Gentlemen, permit me, you are excessively welcome. I am
deeply gratified to meet—
DICKON
Lord Ravensbane, of the Rookeries, Somersetshire.
JUSTICE MERTON
Lord Ravensbane—his lordship’s most truly honoured.
RAVENSBANE
Truly honoured.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Turning to Dickon._]
His lordship’s—?
DICKON
Tutor.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Checking his effusiveness._]
Ah, so!
DICKON
Justice Merton, I believe.
JUSTICE MERTON
Of Merton House.—May I present—permit me, your lordship—my
sister, Mistress Merton.
RAVENSBANE
Mistress Merton.
JUSTICE MERTON
And my—and my—
[_Under his breath._]
Rachel!
[_Rachel remains with a bored expression behind Richard._]
—my young neighbour, Squire Talbot, Squire Richard Talbot
of—of—
RICHARD
Of nowhere, sir.
RAVENSBANE
[_Nods._]
Nowhere.
JUSTICE MERTON
And permit me, Lord Ravensbane, my niece—Mistress Rachel
Merton.
RAVENSBANE
[_Bows low._]
Mistress Rachel Merton.
RACHEL
[_Courtesies._]
Lord Ravensbane.
[_As they raise their heads, their eyes meet and are fascinated.
Dickon just then takes Ravensbane’s pipe and fills it._]
RAVENSBANE
Mistress Rachel!
RACHEL
Your lordship!
[_Dickon returns the pipe._]
MISTRESS MERTON
A pipe! Gilead!—in the parlour!
[_Justice Merton frowns silence._]
JUSTICE MERTON
Your lordship—ahem!—has just arrived in town?
DICKON
From London, via New Amsterdam.
RICHARD
[_Aside._]
Is he staring at _you_? Are you ill, Rachel?
RACHEL
[_Indifferently._]
What?
JUSTICE MERTON
Lord Ravensbane honours my humble roof.
DICKON
[_Touches Ravensbane’s arm._]
Your lordship—“roof.”
RAVENSBANE
[_Starting, turns to Merton._]
Nay, sir, the roof of my father’s oldest friend bestows
generous hospitality upon his only son.
JUSTICE MERTON
Only son—ah, yes! Your father—
RAVENSBANE
My father, I trust, sir, has never forgotten the intimate
companionship, the touching devotion, the unceasing solicitude
for his happiness which you, sir, manifested to him in the
days of his youth.
JUSTICE MERTON
Really, your lordship, the—the slight favours which—hem!
some years ago, I was privileged to show your illustrious
father—
RAVENSBANE
Permit me!—Because, however, of his present infirmities—for
I regret to say that my father is suffering a temporary
aberration of mind—
JUSTICE MERTON
You distress me!
RAVENSBANE
My lady mother has charged me with a double mission here in
New England. On my quitting my home, sir, to explore the
wideness and the mystery of this world, my mother bade me be
sure to call upon his worship, the Justice Merton; and deliver
to him, first, my father’s remembrances; and secondly, my
mother’s epistle.
DICKON
[_Handing to Justice Merton a sealed document._]
Her ladyship’s letter, sir.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Examining the seal with awe, speaks aside to
Mistress Merton._]
Cynthia!—a crested seal!
DICKON
His lordship’s crest, sir: rooks rampant.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Embarrassed, breaks the seal._]
Permit me.
RACHEL
[_Looking at Ravensbane._]
Have you noticed his bearing, Richard: what personal
distinction! what inbred nobility! Every inch a true lord!
RICHARD
He may be a lord, my dear, but he walks like a broomstick.
RACHEL
How dare you!
[_Turns abruptly away; as she does so, a fold of her gown
catches in a chair._]
DICKON
[_To Justice Merton._]
A word, sir.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Glancing up from the letter._]
I am astonished—overpowered!
RAVENSBANE
Mistress Rachel—permit me.
[_Stooping, he extricates the fold of her gown._]
RACHEL
Oh, thank you.
[_They go aside together._]
RICHARD
[_To Mistress Merton._]
So Lord Ravensbane and his family are old friends of yours?
MISTRESS MERTON
[_Monosyllabically._]
I never heard the name before, Richard.
RICHARD
Why! but I thought that your brother, the Justice—
MISTRESS MERTON
The Justice is reticent.
RICHARD
Ah!
MISTRESS MERTON
Especially concerning his youth.
RICHARD
Ah!
RAVENSBANE
[_To Rachel, taking her hand after a whisper from Dickon._]
Believe me, sweet lady, it will give me the deepest pleasure.
RACHEL
Can you really tell fortunes?
RAVENSBANE
More than that; I can bestow them.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_To Dickon._]
But is her ladyship really serious? An offer of marriage!
DICKON
Pray read it again, sir.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Reads._]
“To the Worshipful, the Justice Gilead Merton,
“Merton House.
“My Honourable Friend and Benefactor:
“With these brief lines I commend to you our
son”—_our_ son!
DICKON
She speaks likewise for his young lordship’s father, sir.
JUSTICE MERTON
Ah! of course.
[_Reads._]
“In a strange land, I intrust him to you as to a father.”
Honoured, believe me! “I have only to add my earnest hope that
the natural gifts, graces, and inherited fortune”—ah—!
DICKON
Twenty thousand pounds—on his father’s demise.
JUSTICE MERTON
Ah!—“fortune of this young scion of nobility will so
propitiate the heart of your niece, Mistress Rachel Merton,
as to cause her to accept his proffered hand in matrimony;”
—but—but—but Squire Talbot is betrothed to—well, well, we
shall see;—“in matrimony, and thus cement the early bonds of
interest and affection between your honoured self and his
lordship’s father; not to mention, dear sir, your worship’s
ever grateful and obedient admirer,
“ELIZABETH,
“Marchioness of R.”
Of R.! of R.! Will you believe me, my dear sir, so long is
it since my travels in England—I visited at so many—hem!
noble estates—permit me, it is so awkward, but—
DICKON
[_With his peculiar intonation of Act I._]
Not at all.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Starting._]
I—I confess, sir, my youthful memory fails me. Will you be
so very obliging; this—this Marchioness of R.—?
DICKON
[_Enjoying his discomfiture._]
Yes?
JUSTICE MERTON
The R, I presume, stands for—
DICKON
Rickby.
RAVENSBANE
[_Calls._]
Dickon, my pipe!
[_Dickon glides away to fill Ravensbane’s pipe._]
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Stands bewildered and horror-struck._]
Great God!—Thou inexorable Judge!
RICHARD
[_To Mistress Merton, scowling at Ravensbane and Rachel._]
Are these court manners, in London?
MISTRESS MERTON
Don’t ask _me_, Richard.
RAVENSBANE
[_Dejectedly to Rachel, as Dickon is refilling his pipe._]
Alas! Mistress Rachel is cruel.
RACHEL
I?—cruel, your lordship?
RAVENSBANE
Your own white hand has written it.
[_Lifting her palm._]
See, these lines: Rejection! you will reject one who loves
you dearly.
RACHEL
Fie, your lordship! Be not cast down at fortune-telling. Let
me tell yours, may I?
RAVENSBANE
[_Rapturously holding his palm for her to examine._]
Ah! Permit me.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Murmurs, in terrible agitation._]
Dickon! Can it be Dickon?
RACHEL
Why, Lord Ravensbane, your pulse. Really, if I am cruel, you
are quite heartless. I declare I can’t feel your heart beat at
all.
RAVENSBANE
Ah! mistress, that is because I have just lost it.
RACHEL
[_Archly._]
Where?
RAVENSBANE
[_Faintly._]
Dickon, my pipe!
RACHEL
Alas! my lord, are you ill?
DICKON
[_Restoring the lighted pipe to Ravensbane, speaks aside._]
Pardon me, sweet young lady, I must confide to you that his
lordship’s heart is peculiarly responsive to his emotions.
When he feels very ardently, it quite stops. Hence the use of
his pipe.
RACHEL
Oh! Is smoking, then, necessary for his heart?
DICKON
Absolutely—to equilibrate the valvular palpitations.
Without his pipe—should his lordship experience, for
instance, the emotion of love—he might die.
RACHEL
You alarm me!
DICKON
But this is for you only, Mistress Rachel. We may confide in
you?
RACHEL
Oh, utterly, sir.
DICKON
His lordship, you know, is so sensitive.
RAVENSBANE
[_To Rachel._]
You have given it back to me. Why did not you keep it?
RACHEL
What, my lord?
RAVENSBANE
My heart.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_To Dickon._]
Permit me, one moment; I did not catch your name.
DICKON
My name? Dickonson.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_With a gasp of relief._]
Ah, Dickonson! Thank you. I mistook the word.
DICKON
A compound, your worship.
[_With a malignant smile._]
Dickon-
[_Then jerking his thumb over his shoulder
at Ravensbane._]
son!
[_Bowing._]
Both at your service.
JUSTICE MERTON
If—if you can show pity—speak low.
DICKON
As hell, your worship?
JUSTICE MERTON
Is he—he there?
DICKON
Bessie’s brat; yes; it didn’t die, after all, poor suckling!
Dickon weaned it. Saved it for balm of Gilead. Raised it for
joyful home-coming. Prodigal’s return! Twenty-first birthday!
Happy son! Happy father!
JUSTICE MERTON
My—son!
DICKON
Felicitations!
JUSTICE MERTON
I will not believe it.
DICKON
Truth is hard fare.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Faintly._]
What—what do you want?
DICKON
Only the happiness of your dear ones.
[_Indicating Rachel and Ravensbane._]
The union of these young hearts and hands.
JUSTICE MERTON
What! he will dare—an illegitimate—
DICKON
Fie, fie, Gilly! Why, the brat is a lord now.
JUSTICE MERTON
Oh, the disgrace! Spare me that, Dickon.
RICHARD
[_In a low voice to Rachel, who is talking in a
fascinated manner to Ravensbane._]
Are you mad?
RACHEL
[_Indifferently._]
What is the matter?
[_Laughing, to Ravensbane._]
Oh, your lordship is too witty!
JUSTICE MERTON
[_To Dickon._]
After all, I was young then.
DICKON
Quite so.
JUSTICE MERTON
And she is innocent; she is already betrothed.
DICKON
Twiddle-twaddle! Look at her eyes now!
[_Rachel is still telling Ravensbane’s fortune;
and they are manifestly absorbed in each other._]
’Tis a brilliant match; besides, her ladyship’s heart is set
upon it.
JUSTICE MERTON
Her ladyship—?
DICKON
The Marchioness of Rickby.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Glowering._]
I had forgotten.
DICKON
Her ladyship has never forgotten. So, you see, your
worship’s alternatives are most simple. Alternative one:
advance his lordship’s suit with your niece as speedily as
possible, and save all scandal. Alternative two: impede his
lordship’s suit, and—
JUSTICE MERTON
Don’t, Dickon! don’t reveal the truth; not disgrace now!
DICKON
Good; we are agreed, then?
JUSTICE MERTON
I have no choice.
DICKON
[_Cheerfully._]
Why, true; we ignored that, didn’t we?
MISTRESS MERTON
[_Approaching._]
This young lord—Why, Gilead, are you ill?
JUSTICE MERTON
[_With a great effort, commands himself._]
Not in the least.
MISTRESS MERTON
Rachel’s deportment, my dear brother—
RACHEL
I am really at a loss. Your lordship’s hand is so very
peculiar.
RAVENSBANE
Ah! Peculiar.
RACHEL
This, now, is the line of life.
RAVENSBANE
Of life, yes?
RACHEL
But it begins so abruptly, and see! it breaks off and ends
nowhere. And just so here with this line—the line of—of
love.
RAVENSBANE
Of love. So; it breaks?
RACHEL
Yes.
RAVENSBANE
Ah, then, that must be the _heart_ line.
RACHEL
I am afraid your lordship is very fickle.
MISTRESS MERTON
[_Horrified._]
I tell you, Gilead, they are fortune-telling!
JUSTICE MERTON
Tush! Tush!
MISTRESS MERTON
Tush? “_Tush_” to _me_? Tush!
[_Richard, who has been stifling his feelings at Rachel’s
rebuff, and has stood fidgeting at a civil distance
from her, now walks up to Justice Merton._]
RICHARD
Intolerable! Do you approve of _this_, sir? Are Lord
Ravensbane’s credentials satisfactory?
JUSTICE MERTON
Eminently, eminently.
RICHARD
Ah! So her ladyship’s letter is—
JUSTICE MERTON
Charming; charming.
RICHARD
To be sure; old friends, when they are lords, it makes such
a difference.
DICKON
True friends—old friends;
New friends—cold friends.
_N’est ce pas_, your worship?
JUSTICE MERTON
Indeed, Master Dickonson; indeed!
[_To Richard, as Dickon goes toward Ravensbane and Rachel_.]
What happiness to encounter the manners of the nobility!
RICHARD
If you approve them, sir, it is sufficient. This is your
house.
[_He turns away._]
JUSTICE MERTON
Your lordship will, I trust, make my house your home.
RAVENSBANE
My home, sir.
RACHEL
[_To Dickon, who has spoken to her._]
Really?
[_To Justice Merton._]
Why, uncle, what is this Master Dickonson tells us?
JUSTICE MERTON
What! What! he has revealed—
RACHEL
Yes, indeed. Why did you never tell us?
JUSTICE MERTON
Rachel! Rachel!
MISTRESS MERTON
You are moved, brother.
RACHEL
[_Laughingly to Ravensbane._]
My uncle is doubtless astonished to find you so grown.
RAVENSBANE
[_Laughingly to Justice Merton._]
I am doubtless astonished, sir, to be so grown.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_To Dickon._]
You have—
DICKON
Remarked, sir, that your worship had often dandled his
lordship—as an infant.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Smiling lugubriously._]
Quite so—as an infant merely.
RACHEL
How interesting! Then you must have seen his lordship’s home
in England.
JUSTICE MERTON
As you say.
RACHEL
[_To Ravensbane._]
Do describe it to us. We are so isolated here from the grand
world. Do you know, I always imagine England to be an
enchanted isle, like one of the old Hesperides, teeming with
fruits of solid gold.
RAVENSBANE
Ah, yes! my mother raises them.
RACHEL
Fruits of gold?
RAVENSBANE
Round like the rising sun. She calls them—ah! punkins.
MISTRESS MERTON
“Punkins!”
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Aside, grinding his teeth._]
Scoundrel! Scoundrel!
RACHEL
[_Laughing._]
Your lordship pokes fun at us.
DICKON
His lordship is an artist in words, mistress. I have noticed
that in whatever country he is travelling, he tinges his
vocabulary with the local idiom. His lordship means, of
course, not pumpkins, but pomegranates.
RACHEL
We forgive him. But, your lordship, please be serious and
describe to us your hall.
RAVENSBANE
Quite serious: the hall. Yes, yes; in the middle burns a
great fire—on a black—ah!—black altar.
DICKON
A Druidical heirloom. His lordship’s mother collects
antiques.
RACHEL
How fascinating!
RAVENSBANE
Quite fascinating! On the walls hang pieces of iron.
DICKON
Trophies of Saxon warfare.
RAVENSBANE
And rusty horseshoes.
GENERAL MURMURS
Horseshoes!
DICKON
Presents from the German emperor. They were worn by the
steeds of Charlemagne.
RAVENSBANE
Quite so; and broken cart-wheels.
DICKON
Reliques of British chariots.
RACHEL
How mediæval it must be!
[_To Justice Merton._]
And to think you never described it to us!
MISTRESS MERTON
True, brother; you have been singularly reticent.
JUSTICE MERTON
Permit me; it is impossible to report all one sees on one’s
travels.
MISTRESS MERTON
Evidently.
RACHEL
But surely your lordship’s mother has other diversions
besides collecting antiques. I have heard that in England
ladies followed the hounds; and sometimes—
[_Looking at her aunt and lowering her voice._]
they even dance.
RAVENSBANE
Dance—ah, yes; my lady mother dances about the—the altar;
she swings high a hammer.
DICKON
Your lordship, your lordship! Pray, sir, check this vein of
poetry. Lord Ravensbane symbolizes as a hammer and altar a
golf-stick and tee—a Scottish game, which her ladyship plays
on her Highland estates.
RICHARD
[_To Mistress Merton._]
What do you think of this?
MISTRESS MERTON
[_With a scandalized look toward her brother._]
He said to me “tush.”
RICHARD
[_To Justice Merton, indicating Dickon._]
Who is this magpie?
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Hisses in fury._]
Satan!
RICHARD
I beg pardon!
JUSTICE MERTON
Satan, sir—makes you jealous.
RICHARD
[_Bows stiffly._]
Good morning.
[_Walking up to Ravensbane._]
Lord Ravensbane, I have a rustic colonial question to ask.
Is it the latest fashion to smoke incessantly in ladies’
parlours, or is it—mediæval?
DICKON
His lordship’s health, sir, necessitates—
RICHARD
I addressed his lordship.
RAVENSBANE
In the matter of fashions, sir—
[_Hands his pipe to be refilled._]
My pipe, Dickon!
[_While Dickon holds his pipe—somewhat longer than
usual—Ravensbane, with his mouth open as if about to
speak, relapses into a vacant stare._]
DICKON
[_As he lights the pipe for Ravensbane, speaks suavely
and low as if not to be overheard by him._]
Pardon me. The fact is, my young pupil is sensitive; the
wound from his latest duel is not quite healed; you observe a
slight lameness, an occasional absence of mind.
RACHEL
A wound—in a real duel?
RICHARD
Necessitates his smoking! A valid reason!
DICKON
[_Aside._]
You, mistress, know the _true_ reason—his lordship’s heart.
RACHEL
Believe me, sir—
RICHARD
[_To Ravensbane, who is still staring vacantly
into space._]
Well, well, your lordship.
[_Ravensbane pays no attention._]
You were saying—?
[_Dickon returns the pipe._]
in the matter of fashions, sir—?
RAVENSBANE
[_Regaining slowly a look of intelligence, draws
himself up with affronted hauteur._]
Permit me!
[_Puffs several wreaths of smoke into the air._]
I _am_ the fashions.
RICHARD
[_Going._]
Insufferable!
[_He pauses at the door._]
MISTRESS MERTON
[_To Justice Merton._]
Well—what do you think of that?
JUSTICE MERTON
Spoken like King Charles himself.
MISTRESS MERTON
Brother! brother! is there nothing wrong here?
JUSTICE MERTON
Wrong, Cynthia! Manifestly you are quite ignorant of the
manners of the great.
MISTRESS MERTON
Oh, Gilead!
JUSTICE MERTON
Where are you going?
MISTRESS MERTON
To my room.
[_Murmurs, as she hurries out._]
Dear! dear! if it should be that again!
[_Dickon and Justice Merton withdraw
to a corner of the room._]
RACHEL
[_To Ravensbane._]
I—object to the smoke? Why, I think it is charming.
RICHARD
[_Who has returned from the door, speaks in a low,
constrained voice._]
Rachel!
RACHEL
Oh!—you?
RICHARD
You take quickly to European fashions.
RACHEL
Yes? To what one in particular?
RICHARD
Two; smoking and flirtation.
RACHEL
Jealous?
RICHARD
Of an idiot? I hope not. Manners differ, however. Your
confidences to his lordship have evidently not included—your
relation to me.
RACHEL
Oh, our relations!
RICHARD
Of course, since you wish him to continue in ignorance—
RACHEL
Not at all. He shall know at once. Lord Ravensbane!
RAVENSBANE
Fair mistress!
RICHARD
Rachel, stop! I did not mean—
RACHEL
[_To Ravensbane._]
My uncle did not introduce to you with sufficient
elaboration this gentleman. Will you allow me to do so now?
RAVENSBANE
I adore Mistress Rachel’s elaborations.
RACHEL
Lord Ravensbane, I beg to present Squire Talbot,
_my betrothed_.
RAVENSBANE
Betrothed! Is it—
[_Noticing Richard’s frown._]
is it pleasant?
RACHEL
[_To Richard._]
Are you satisfied?
RICHARD
[_Trembling with feeling._]
_More_ than satisfied.
[_Exit._]
RAVENSBANE
[_Looking after him._]
Ah! Betrothed is _not_ pleasant.
RACHEL
Not always.
RAVENSBANE
[_Anxiously._]
Mistress Rachel is not pleased?
RACHEL
[_Biting her lip, looks after Richard._]
With him.
RAVENSBANE
Mistress Rachel will smile again?
RACHEL
Soon.
RAVENSBANE
[_Ardent._]
Ah! if she would only smile once more! What can Lord
Ravensbane do to make her smile? See! will you puff my pipe?
It is very pleasant.
[_Offering the pipe._]
RACHEL
[_Smiling._]
Shall I try?
[_Takes hold of it mischievously._]
JUSTICE MERTON
[_In a great voice._]
Rachel!
RACHEL
Why, uncle!
JUSTICE MERTON
[_From where he has been conversing in a corner with Dickon,
approaches now and speaks suavely to Ravensbane._]
Permit me, your lordship—Rachel, you will kindly withdraw
for a few moments; I desire to confer with Lord Ravensbane
concerning his mother’s—her ladyship’s letter;
[_Obsequiously to Dickon._]
—that is, if you think, sir, that your noble pupil is not too
fatigued.
DICKON
Not at all; I think his lordship will listen to you with
much pleasure.
RAVENSBANE
[_Bowing to Justice Merton, but looking at Rachel._]
With much pleasure.
DICKON
And in the meantime, if Mistress Rachel will allow me, I
will assist her in writing those invitations which your
worship desires to send in her name.
JUSTICE MERTON
Invitations—from my niece?
DICKON
To his Excellency, the Lieutenant Governor; to your friends,
the Reverend Masters at Harvard College, etc., etc.; in brief,
to all your worship’s select social acquaintance in the
vicinity—to meet his lordship. It was so thoughtful in you to
suggest it, sir, and believe me, his lordship appreciates your
courtesy in arranging the reception in his honour for this
afternoon.
RACHEL
[_To Justice Merton._]
This afternoon! Are we really to give his lordship a
reception this afternoon?
DICKON
Your uncle has already given me the list of guests; so
considerate! Permit me to act as your scribe, Mistress Rachel.
RACHEL
With pleasure.
[_To Justice Merton._]
And will it be here, uncle?
DICKON
[_Looking at him narrowly._]
Your worship said _here_, I believe?
JUSTICE MERTON
Quite so, sir; quite so, quite so.
DICKON
[_Aside to Justice Merton._]
I advise nothing rash, Gilly; the brat has a weak heart.
RACHEL
This way, Master Dickonson, to the study.
DICKON
[_As he goes with Rachel._]
I will write and you sign?
RACHEL
Thank you.
DICKON
[_Aside, as he passes Ravensbane._]
Remember, Jack! Puff, puff!
RACHEL
[_To Ravensbane, who stretches out his hand to her with a
gesture of entreaty to stay._]
Your lordship is to be my guest.
[_Courtesying._]
Till we meet again!
DICKON
[_To Rachel._]
May I sharpen your quill?
[_Exeunt._]
RAVENSBANE
[_Faintly, looking after her._]
Till—we—meet—again!
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Low and vehement to Ravensbane._]
Impostor!
RAVENSBANE
[_Still staring at the door._]
She is gone.
JUSTICE MERTON
You at least shall not play the lord and master to my face.
RAVENSBANE
Quite—gone!
JUSTICE MERTON
I know with whom I have to deal. If I be any judge of my own
flesh and blood—permit me—you shall quail before me.
RAVENSBANE
[_Dejectedly._]
She did not smile—
[_Joyously._]
She smiled!
JUSTICE MERTON
Affected rogue! I know thee. I know thy feigned pauses, thy
assumed vagaries. Speak; how much do you want?
RAVENSBANE
Betrothed,—he went away. That was good. And then—she did
not smile: that was not good. But then—she smiled! Ah! that
was good.
JUSTICE MERTON
Come back, coward, and face me.
RAVENSBANE
First, the great sun shone over the corn-fields, the grass
was green; the black wings rose and flew before me; then the
door opened—and she looked at me.
JUSTICE MERTON
Speak, I say! What sum? What treasure do you hope to bleed
from me?
RAVENSBANE
[_Ecstatically._]
Ah! Mistress Rachel!
JUSTICE MERTON
Her! Scoundrel, if thou dost name her again, my innocent—my
sweet maid! If thou dost—thou godless spawn of
temptation—mark you, I will put an end—
[_Reaching for a pistol that rests in a rack on the
wall,—the intervening form of Dickon suddenly
appears, pockets the pistol, and exit._]
DICKON
I beg pardon; I forgot something.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Sinking into a chair._]
God is just.
[_He holds his head in his hands and weeps._]
RAVENSBANE
[_For the first time, since Rachel’s departure,
observes Merton._]
Permit me, sir, are you ill?
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Recoiling._]
What art thou?
RAVENSBANE
[_Monotonously._]
I am Lord Ravensbane: Marquis of Oxford, Baron of
Wittenberg, Elector of Worms, and—
JUSTICE MERTON
And my son!
[_Covers his face again._]
RAVENSBANE
[_Solicitously._]
Shall I call Dickon?
JUSTICE MERTON
Yea, for thou art my son. The deed once done is never done,
the past is the present.
RAVENSBANE
[_Walking softly toward the door, calls._]
Dickon!
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Starting up._]
No, do not call him. Stay, and be merciful. Tell me: I hate
thee not; thou wast innocent. Tell me!—I thought thou hadst
died as a babe.—Where has Dickon, our tyrant, kept thee these
twenty years?
RAVENSBANE
[_With gentle courtesy._]
Master Dickonson is my tutor.
JUSTICE MERTON
And why has thy mother— Ah, I know well; I deserve all. But
yet, it must not be published now! I am a justice now, an
honoured citizen—and my young niece— Thy mother will not
demand so much; she will be considerate; she will ask some
gold, of course, but she will show pity!
RAVENSBANE
My mother is the Marchioness of Rickby.
JUSTICE MERTON
Yes, yes; ’twas well planned, a clever trick. ’Twas skilful
of her. But surely thy mother gave thee commands to—
RAVENSBANE
My mother gave me her blessing.
JUSTICE MERTON
Ah, ’tis well then. Young man, my son, I too will give thee
my blessing, if thou wilt but go—go instantly—go with half
my fortune, go away forever, and leave my reputation
unstained.
RAVENSBANE
Go away?
[_Starting for the study door._]
Ah, sir, with much pleasure.
JUSTICE MERTON
You will go? You will leave me my honour—and my Rachel?
RAVENSBANE
Rachel? Rachel is yours? No, no, Mistress Rachel is mine. We
are ours.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Pleadingly._]
Consider the disgrace.
RAVENSBANE
No, no; I have seen her eyes, they are mine; I have seen her
smiles, they are mine; she is mine!
JUSTICE MERTON
Consider, one moment consider—you, an illegitimate—and
she—oh, think what thou art!
RAVENSBANE
[_Monotonously, puffing smoke at the end._]
I am Lord Ravensbane: Marquis of Oxford, Baron of
Wittenberg, Elector of Worms, and Count—
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Wrenching the pipe from Ravensbane’s hand and lips._]
Devil’s child! Boor! Buffoon!
[_Flinging the pipe away._]
I will stand thy insults no longer. If thou hast no heart—
RAVENSBANE
[_Putting his hand to his side, staggers._]
Ah! my heart!
JUSTICE MERTON
Hypocrite! Thou canst not fool me. I am thy father.
RAVENSBANE
[_Faintly, stretching out his hand to him for support._]
Father!
JUSTICE MERTON
Stand away. Thou mayst break thy heart and mine and the
devil’s, but thou shalt not break
Rachel’s.
RAVENSBANE
[_Faintly._]
Mistress Rachel is mine—
[_He staggers again, and falls, half reclining, upon a chair._]
JUSTICE MERTON
Good God! Can it be—his heart?
RAVENSBANE
[_More faintly, beginning to change expression._]
Her eyes are mine; her smiles are mine.
[_His eyes close._]
JUSTICE MERTON
[_With agitated swiftness, feels and listens
at Ravensbane’s side._]
Not a motion; not a sound! Yea, God, Thou art good! ’Tis his
heart. He is—ah! he is my son. Judge Almighty, if he should
die now; may I not be still a moment more and make sure. No,
no, my son—he is changing.
[_Calls._]
Help! Help! Rachel! Master Dickonson! Help! Richard!
Cynthia! Come hither!
[_Enter Dickon and Rachel._]
RACHEL
Uncle!
JUSTICE MERTON
Bring wine. Lord Ravensbane has fainted.
RACHEL
Oh!
[_Turning swiftly to go._]
Micah, wine.
DICKON
[_Detaining her._]
Stay! His pipe! Where is his lordship’s pipe?
RACHEL
Oh, terrible!
[_Enter, at different doors, Mistress Merton and Richard._]
MISTRESS MERTON
What’s the matter?
JUSTICE MERTON
[_To Rachel._]
He threw it away. He is worse. Bring the wine.
MISTRESS MERTON
Look! How strange he appears
RACHEL
[_Searching distractedly._]
The pipe! His lordship’s pipe! It is lost, Master Dickonson.
DICKON
[_Stooping, as if searching, with his back turned, having
picked up the pipe, is filling and lighting it._]
It must be found. This is a heart attack, my friends; his
lordship’s life depends on the nicotine.
[_Deftly he places the pipe in Rachel’s way._]
RACHEL
Thank God! Here it is.
[_Carrying it to the prostrate form of Ravensbane, she
lifts his head and is about to put the pipe in his
mouth._]
Shall I—shall I put it in?
RICHARD
No! not you.
RACHEL
Sir!
RICHARD
Let his tutor perform that office.
RACHEL
[_Lifting Lord Ravensbane’s head again._]
Here, my lord.
RICHARD AND JUSTICE MERTON
[_Together._]
Rachel!
RACHEL
You, too, uncle?
DICKON
Pardon me, Mistress Rachel; give the pipe at once. Only a
token of true affection can revive his lordship now.
RICHARD
[_As Rachel puts the pipe to Ravensbane’s lips._]
I forbid it, Rachel.
RACHEL
[_Watching only Ravensbane._]
My lord—my lord!
MISTRESS MERTON
Give him air; unbutton his coat.
[_Rachel unbuttons Ravensbane’s coat,
revealing the embroidered waistcoat._]
Ah, heavens! What do I see?
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Looks, blanches, and signs silence to Mistress Merton._]
Cynthia!
DICKON
See! He puffs—he revives. He is coming to himself.
MISTRESS MERTON
[_Aside to Justice Merton, with deep tensity._]
That waistcoat! that waistcoat! Brother, hast thou never
seen it before?
JUSTICE MERTON
Never, my sister.
RACHEL
[_As Ravensbane rises to his feet._]
At last!
DICKON
Look! he is restored.
RACHEL
God be thanked!
DICKON
My lord, Mistress Rachel has saved your life.
RAVENSBANE
[_Taking Rachel’s hand._]
Mistress Rachel is mine; we are ours.
RICHARD
Dare to repeat that.
RAVENSBANE
[_Looking at Rachel._]
Her eyes are mine.
RICHARD
[_Flinging his glove in his face._]
And that, sir, is yours. I believe such is the proper
fashion in England. If your lordship’s last duelling wound is
sufficiently healed, perhaps you will deign a reply.
RACHEL
Richard! Your lordship!
RAVENSBANE
[_Stoops, picks up the glove, pockets it, bows to Rachel, and
steps close to Richard._]
Permit me!
[_He blows a puff of smoke full in Richard’s face._]
ACT III
_The same day. Late afternoon. The same scene as Act II._
RAVENSBANE _and_ DICKON _discovered at table, on which are
lying two flails. Ravensbane is dressed in a costume
which, composed of silk and jewels, subtly approximates
in design to that of his original grosser composition.
So artfully, however, is this contrived that, to one
ignorant of his origin, his dress would appear to be
merely an odd personal whimsy; whereas, to one
initiated, it would stamp him grotesquely as the
apotheosis of scarecrows._
_Dickon is sitting in a pedagogical attitude; Ravensbane
stands near him, making a profound bow in the opposite
direction._
RAVENSBANE
Believe me, ladies, with the true sincerity of the heart.
DICKON
Inflection a little more lachrymose, please: “The
_true_ sincerity of the _heart_.”
RAVENSBANE
Believe me, ladies, with the _true_ sincerity of the
_heart_.
DICKON
Prettily, prettily! Next!
RAVENSBANE
[_Changing his mien, as if addressing another person._]
Verily, sir, as that prince of poets, the immortal
Virgil, has remarked:
“Adeo in teneris consuescere multum est.”
DICKON
Hm! Act up to the sentiment.
RAVENSBANE
Verily, sir, as that prince—
DICKON
No, no; _basta_! The next.
RAVENSBANE
[_With another change to courtly manner._]
Trust me, your Excellency, I will inform his
Majesty of your courtesy.
DICKON
His Majesty more emphatic. Remember! You must impress all of
the guests this afternoon.
RAVENSBANE
_His Majesty_ of your courtesy.
DICKON
Delicious! O thou exquisite flower of love! How thy natal
composites have burst in bloom: The pumpkin in thee to a
golden collarette; thy mop of crow’s wings to these raven
locks; thy broomstick to a lordly limp; thy corn-silk to these
pale-tinted tassels. Verily in the gallery of scarecrows, thou
art the Apollo Belvedere! But continue, Cobby dear: the retort
now to the challenge.
RAVENSBANE
[_With a superb air._]
The second, I believe.
DICKON
Quite so, my lord.
RAVENSBANE
Sir! The local person whom you represent has done himself
the honour of submitting to me a challenge to mortal combat.
Sir! Since the remotest times of my feudal ancestors, in such
affairs of honour, choice of weapons has ever been the
prerogative of the challenged. Sir! This right of etiquette
must be observed. Nevertheless, believe me, I have no selfish
desire that my superior attainments in this art should assume
advantage over my challenger’s ignorance. I have, therefore,
chosen those combative utensils most appropriate both to his
own humble origin and to local tradition. Permit me, sir, to
reveal my choice.
[_Pointing grandly to the table._]
There are my weapons
DICKON
[_Clapping his hands._]
My darling _homunculus_! Thou shouldst have acted in
Beaumont and Fletcher!
RAVENSBANE
There are my weapons!
DICKON
I could watch thy histrionics till midnight. But thou art
tired, poor Jacky; two hours’ rehearsal is fatiguing to your
lordship.
RAVENSBANE
Mistress Rachel—I may see her now?
DICKON
Romeo! Romeo! Was ever such an amorous puppet show!
RAVENSBANE
Mistress Rachel!
DICKON
Wait; let me think! Thou art wound up now, my pretty
apparatus, for at least six and thirty hours. The wooden angel
Gabriel that trumpets the hours on the big clock in Venice is
not a more punctual manikin than thou with my speeches. Thou
shouldst run, therefore,—
RAVENSBANE
[_Frowning darkly at Dickon._]
Stop talking; permit me! A tutor should know his place.
DICKON
[_Rubbing his hands._]
Nay, your lordship is beyond comparison.
RAVENSBANE
[_In a terrible voice._]
She will come? I shall see her?
[_Enter_ MICAH.]
MICAH
Pardon, my lord.
RAVENSBANE
[_Turning joyfully to Micah._]
Is it she?
MICAH
Captain Bugby, my lord, the Governor’s secretary.
DICKON
Good. Squire Talbot’s second. Show him in.
RAVENSBANE
[_Flinging despairingly into a chair._]
Ah! ah
MICAH
[_Lifting the flails from the table._]
Beg pardon, sir; shall I remove—
DICKON
Drop them; go.
MICAH
But, sir—
DICKON
Go, thou slave!
[_Exit Micah._]
RAVENSBANE
[_In childlike despair._]
She will not come! I shall not see her!
DICKON
[_Handing him a book._]
Here, my lord; read. You must be found reading.
RAVENSBANE
[_Flinging the book into the fireplace._]
She does not come!
DICKON
Fie, fie, Jack; thou must not be breaking thy Dickon’s
apron-strings with a will of thine own. Come!
RAVENSBANE
Mistress Rachel
DICKON
Be good, boy, and thou shalt see her soon.
RAVENSBANE
[_Brightening._]
I shall see her?
[_Enter_ CAPTAIN BUGBY.]
DICKON
Your lordship was saying—Oh! Captain Bugby?
CAPTAIN BUGBY
[_Nervous and awed._]
Captain Bugby, sir, ah! at Lord Ravensbane’s service—ah!
DICKON
I am Master Dickonson, his lordship’s tutor.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Happy, sir.
DICKON
[_To Ravensbane._]
My lord, this gentleman waits upon you from Squire Talbot.
[_To Captain Bugby._]
In regard to the challenge of this morning, I presume?
CAPTAIN BUGBY
The affair, ah! the affair of this morning, sir.
RAVENSBANE
[_With his former superb air—to Captain Bugby._]
The second, I believe?
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Quite so, my lord.
RAVENSBANE
Sir! the local person whom you represent has done himself
the honour of submitting to me a challenge to mortal combat.
Sir! Since the remotest times of my feudal ancestors, in such
affairs of honour, choice of weapons has ever been the
prerogative of the challenged. Sir! this right of etiquette
must be observed.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Indeed, yes, my lord.
DICKON
Pray do not interrupt.
[_To Ravensbane._]
Your lordship: “observed.”
RAVENSBANE
—observed. Nevertheless, believe me, I have no selfish desire
that my superior attainments in this art should assume
advantage over my challenger’s ignorance. I have, therefore,
chosen those combative utensils most appropriate both to his
own humble origin and to local tradition. Permit me, sir, to
reveal my choice.
[_Pointing to the table._]
There are my weapons!
CAPTAIN BUGBY
[_Looking, bewildered._]
These, my lord?
RAVENSBANE
Those.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
But these are—are flails.
RAVENSBANE
Flails.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Flails, my lord?
RAVENSBANE
There are my weapons.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Lord Ravensbane—I—ah! express myself ill—Do I understand
that your lordship and Squire Talbot—
RAVENSBANE
Exactly.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
But your lordship—flails!
RAVENSBANE
My adversary should be deft in their use. He has doubtless
wielded them frequently on his barn floor.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Ahaha! I understand now. Your lordship—ah! is a wit. Haha!
Flails!
DICKON
His lordship’s satire is poignant.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Indeed, sir, so keen that I must apologize for laughing at
my principal’s expense.
[_Soberly to Ravensbane._]
My lord, if you will deign to speak one moment seriously—
RAVENSBANE
Seriously?
CAPTAIN BUGBY
I will take pleasure in informing Squire Talbot—ah! as to
your _real_ preference for—
RAVENSBANE
For flails, sir. I have, permit me, nothing further to say.
Flails are final.
[_Turns away haughtily._]
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Must I really report to Squire Talbot—ah!—flails?
DICKON
Lord Ravensbane’s will is inflexible.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
And his wit, sir, incomparable. I am sorry for the Squire,
but ’twill be the greatest joke in years. Ah! will you tell
me—is it—
[_Indicating Ravensbane’s smoking._]
is it the latest fashion?
DICKON
Lord Ravensbane is always the latest.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Obliged servant, sir. Aha! Such a joke as—O lord! flails!
[_Exit._]
DICKON
[_Returning to Ravensbane._]
Bravo, my pumpky dear! That squelches the jealous betrothed.
Now nothing remains but for you to continue to dazzle the
enamoured Rachel, and so present yourself to the Justice as a
pseudo-son-nephew-in-law.
RAVENSBANE
I may go to Mistress Rachel?
DICKON
She will come to you. She is reading now a poem from you,
which I left on her dressing-table.
RAVENSBANE
She is reading a poem from me?
DICKON
With your pardon, my lord, I penned it for you. I am
something of a poetaster. Indeed, I flatter myself that I have
dictated some of the finest lines in literature.
RAVENSBANE
Dickon! She will come?
DICKON
She comes!
[_Enter_ RACHEL, _reading from a piece of paper._]
Hush! Step aside; step aside first. Let her read it.
[_Dickon draws Ravensbane back._]
RACHEL
Once more,
[_Reads._]
“To Mistress R——, enchantress:
If faith in witchcraft be a sin,
Alas! what peril he is in
Who plights his faith and love in thee,
Sweetest maid of sorcery.
If witchcraft be a whirling brain,
A roving eye, a heart of pain,
Whose wound no thread of fate can stitch,
How hast thou conjured, cruel witch,
With the brain, eye, heart,
and total mortal residue of thine enamoured
JACK LANTHORNE,
[LORD R——.”]
DICKON
Now to leave the turtles alone.
[_Exit._]
RACHEL
“To Mistress R——, enchantress:
If faith in witchcraft be—”
“To Mistress R——.” R! It _must_ be. R—— must mean—
RAVENSBANE
[_With passionate deference._]
Rachel!
RACHEL
Ah! How you surprised me, my lord.
RAVENSBANE
You are come again; you are come again.
RACHEL
Has anything happened? Tell me, my lord. Has Squire Talbot
been here?
RAVENSBANE
No, Mistress Rachel; not here.
RACHEL
And you have not—Oh, my lord, I have been in such terror.
But you are safe.—You have not fought?
RAVENSBANE
No, Mistress Rachel; not fought.
RACHEL
Thank God for that! But you will promise me—promise me that
there shall be—no—duel!
RAVENSBANE
I promise Mistress Rachel there shall be no duel.
RACHEL
Your lordship is so good. You do not know how gratefully
happy I am.
RAVENSBANE
I know I am only a thing to make Mistress Rachel happy. Ah!
look at me once more. When you look at me, I live.
RACHEL
It is strange indeed, my lord, how the familiar world, the
daylight the heavens themselves have changed since your
arrival.
RAVENSBANE
This is the world; this is the light; this is the heavens
themselves. Mistress Rachel is looking at me.
RACHEL
For me, it is less strange perhaps. I never saw a real lord
before. But you, my lord, must have seen so many, many girls
in the great world.
RAVENSBANE
No, no; never.
RACHEL
No other girls before to-day, my lord!
RAVENSBANE
Before to-day? I do not know; I do not care. I was not here.
To-day I was born—in your eyes. Ah! my brain whirls!
RACHEL
[_Smiling._]
“If witchcraft be a whirling brain,
A roving eye, a heart of pain,—”
[_In a whisper._]
My lord, do you really believe in witchcraft?
RAVENSBANE
With all my heart.
RACHEL
And approve of it?
RAVENSBANE
With all my soul.
RACHEL
So do I—that is, innocent witchcraft; not to harm anybody,
you know, but just to feel all the dark mystery and the
trembling excitement—the way you feel when you blow out your
candle all alone in your bedroom and watch the little smoke
fade away in the moonshine.
RAVENSBANE
Fade away in the moonshine!
RACHEL
Oh, but we mustn’t speak of it. In a town like this, all
such mysticism is considered damnable. But your lordship
understands and approves? I am so glad! Have you read the
“Philosophical Considerations” of Glanville, the
“_Saducismus Triumphatus_,” and the “Presignifications
of Dreams”? What kind of witchcraft, my lord, do you believe
in?
RAVENSBANE
In all yours.
RACHEL
Nay, your lordship must not take me for a real witch. I can
only tell fortunes, you know—like this morning.
RAVENSBANE
I know; you told how my heart would break.
RACHEL
Oh, that’s palmistry, and that isn’t always certain. But the
surest way to prophesy—do you know what it is?
RAVENSBANE
Tell me.
RACHEL
To count the crows. Do you know how? One for sorrow—
RAVENSBANE
Ha, yes!—Two for mirth!
RACHEL
Three for a wedding—
RAVENSBANE
Four for a birth—
RACHEL
And five for the happiest thing on earth!
RAVENSBANE
Mistress Rachel, come! Let us go and count five crows.
RACHEL
[_Delightedly._]
Why, my lord, how did _you_ ever learn it? I got it
from an old goody here in town—a real witch-wife. If you will
promise not to tell a secret, I will show you.—But you must
promise!
RAVENSBANE
I promise.
RACHEL
Come, then. I will show you a real piece of witchcraft that
I bought from her this morning—the glass of truth. There!
Behind that curtain. If you look in, you will see—But come;
I will show you.
[_They put their hands on the cords of the curtain._]
Just pull that string, and—ah!
DICKON
[_Stepping out through the curtain._]
Your pipe, my lord?
RACHEL
Master Dickonson, how you frightened me!
DICKON
So excessively sorry! I was observing the portrait of your
uncle. I believe you were showing his lordship—
RACHEL
[_Turning hurriedly away._]
Oh, nothing; nothing at all.
RAVENSBANE
[_Sternly to Dickon._]
Why do you come?
DICKON
[_Handing back Ravensbane’s pipe filled._]
Allow me.
[_Aside._]
’Tis high time you came to the point, Jack; ’tis near your
lordship’s reception. Woo and win, boy; woo and win.
RAVENSBANE
[_Haughtily._]
Leave me.
DICKON
Your lordship’s humble, very humble.
[_Exit._]
RACHEL
[_Shivering._]
Oh! he is gone. My dear lord, why do you keep this man?
RAVENSBANE
I—keep this man?
RACHEL
I cannot—pardon my rudeness—I cannot endure him.
RAVENSBANE
You do not like him? Ah, then, I do not like him also. We
will send him away—you and I.
RACHEL
You, my lord, of course; but I—
RAVENSBANE
You will be Dickon! You will be with me always and light my
pipe. And I will live for you, and fight for you, and kill
your betrothed.
RACHEL
[_Drawing away._]
No, no!
RAVENSBANE
Ah! but your eyes say “yes.” Mistress Rachel leaves me; but
Rachel in her eyes remains. Is it not so?
RACHEL
What can I say, my lord! It is true that since my eyes met
yours, a new passion has entered into my soul. I have
felt—your lordship will laugh at me—I have felt an
inexpressible longing—but ’tis so impertinent, my lord, so
absurd in me, a mere girl, and you a nobleman of power—yet I
have felt it irresistibly, my dear lord,—a longing to help
you. I am so sorry for you—so sorry for you! I pity you
deeply.—Forgive me; forgive me, my lord!
RAVENSBANE
It is enough.
RACHEL
Indeed, indeed, ’tis so rude of me,—’tis so unreasonable.
RAVENSBANE
It is enough. I grow—I grow—I grow! I am a plant; you give
it rain and sun. I am a flower; you give it light and dew; I
am a soul, you give it love and speech. I grow. Towards
you—towards you I grow!
RACHEL
My lord, I do not understand it, how so poor and mere a girl
as I can have helped you. Yet I do believe it is so; for I
feel it so. What can I do for you?
RAVENSBANE
Do not leave me. Be mine. Let me be yours.
RACHEL
Ah! but, my lord—do I love you?
RAVENSBANE
What is “I love you”? Is it a kiss, a sigh, an embrace? Ah!
then, you do not love me.—“I love you”: is it to nourish, to
nestle, to lift up, to smile upon, to make greater—a worm?
Ah! then, you love me.
[_Enter_ RICHARD _at left back, unobserved._]
RACHEL
Do not speak so of yourself, my lord; nor exalt me so falsely.
RAVENSBANE
Be mine.
RACHEL
A great glory has descended upon this day.
RAVENSBANE
Be mine.
RACHEL
Could I but be sure that this glory is love—Oh, _then_!
[_Turns toward Ravensbane._]
RICHARD
[_Stepping between them._]
It is _not_ love; it is witchcraft.
RACHEL
Who are you?—Richard?
RICHARD
You have indeed forgotten me? Would to God, Rachel, I could
forget you.
RAVENSBANE
Sir, permit me—
RICHARD
Silence!
[_To Rachel._]
Against my will, I am a convert to your own mysticism; for
nothing less than damnable illusion could so instantly wean
your heart from me to—this. I do not pretend to understand
it; but that it is witchcraft I am convinced; and I will save
you from it.
RACHEL
Go; please go.
RAVENSBANE
Permit me, sir; you have not replied yet to flails!
RICHARD
Permit _me_, sir.
[_Taking something from his coat._]
My answer is—bare cob!
[_Holding out a shelled corn-cob._]
Thresh this, sir, for your antagonist. ’Tis the only one
worthy your lordship.
[_Tosses it contemptuously towards him._]
RAVENSBANE
Upon my honour, as a man—
RICHARD
As a _man_ forsooth! Were you indeed a man, Lord
Ravensbane, I would have accepted your weapons, and flailed
you out of New England. But it is not my custom to chastise
runagates from asylums, or to banter further words with a
natural and a ninny.
RACHEL
Squire Talbot! Will you leave my uncle’s house?
RAVENSBANE
One moment, mistress:—I did not wholly catch the import of
this gentleman’s speech, but I fancy I have insulted him by my
reply to his challenge. One insult may perhaps be remedied by
another. Sir, permit me to call you a ninny, and to offer
you—
[_Drawing his sword and offering it._]
swords.
RICHARD
Thanks; I reject the offer.
RAVENSBANE
[_Turning away despondently._]
He rejects it. Well!
RACHEL
[_To Richard._]
And _now_ will you leave?
RICHARD
At once. But one word more. Rachel—Rachel, have you
forgotten this morning and the glass of truth?
RACHEL
[_Coldly._]
No.
RICHARD
Call it a fancy now if you will. I scoffed at it; yes. Yet
_you_ believed it. I loved you truly, you said. Well,
have I changed?
RACHEL
Yes.
RICHARD
Will you test me again—in the glass?
RACHEL
No. Go; leave us.
RICHARD
I will go. I have still a word with your aunt.
RAVENSBANE
[_To Richard._]
I beg your pardon, sir. You said just now that had I been a
man—
RICHARD
I say, Lord Ravensbane, that the straight fibre of a true
man never warps the love of a woman. As for yourself, you have
my contempt and pity. Pray to God, sir, pray to God to make
you a man.
[_Exit, right._]
RACHEL
Oh! it is intolerable!
[_To Ravensbane._]
My dear lord, I do believe in my heart that I love you, and
if so, I will with gratitude be your wife. But, my lord,
strange glamours, strange darknesses reel, and bewilder my
mind. I must be alone; I must think and decide. Will you give
me this tassel?
RAVENSBANE
[_Unfastening a silk tassel from his coat and giving it to her._]
Oh, take it.
RACHEL
If I decide that I love you, that I will be your wife—I
will wear it this afternoon at the reception. Good-by.
[_Exit, right._]
RAVENSBANE
Mistress Rachel!—
[_Solus._]
God, are you here? Dear God, I pray to you—make me to be a
man!
[_Exit, left._]
DICKON
[_Appearing in the centre of the room._]
Poor Jacky! Thou shouldst ’a’ prayed to t’other one.
[_He disappears. Enter, right_, RICHARD
_and_ MISTRESS MERTON.]
MISTRESS MERTON
[_Pointing to the wall._]
That is the portrait.
RICHARD
Indeed! The design is very like.
MISTRESS MERTON
’Tis more than like, Richard; ’tis the very same. Two and
twenty years ago she embroidered it for him, and he would
insist on wearing it for the portrait he was then sitting for.
RICHARD
That same Goody Rickby!
MISTRESS MERTON
A pretty girl!—and a wild young man was my brother. The
truth comes hard to tell thee, Richard; but he was wild,
Gilead was wild. He told me the babe had died. But God worketh
His own righteousness. Only—he must be saved now; Rachel must
be saved; we must all be saved.
RICHARD
You feel sure—very sure, Mistress Merton?
MISTRESS MERTON
Yea, that waistcoat; ’tis the very one, I know it too well.
And you see it accounts for all,—this silly impostor lord; my
brother’s strange patronage of him; the blackmail of this
Master Dickonson—
RICHARD
But who is _he_?
MISTRESS MERTON
Nay, heaven knows! Some old crony perchance of Gilead’s
youth; some confederate of this woman Rickby.
RICHARD
O God!—And Rachel sacrificed to these impostors; to an
illegitimate—your brother would allow it!
MISTRESS MERTON
Ah! but think of his own reputation, Richard. He a
justice—the family honour!
RICHARD
’Tis enough. Well, and I must see this Goody Rickby, you
think?
MISTRESS MERTON
At once—at once. My brother has invited guests for this
afternoon to meet “his lordship”! Return, if possible, before
they come. She dwells at the blacksmith shop—you must buy her
off. Oh, gold will buy her; ’tis the gold they’re after—all
of them; have her recall both these persons.
[_Giving a purse._]
Take her that, Richard, and promise her more.
RICHARD
[_Proudly._]
Keep it, Mistress Merton. I have enough gold, methinks, for
my future wife’s honour; or if not, I will earn it.
[_Exit._]
MISTRESS MERTON
Richard! Ah, the dear lad, he should have taken it.
[_Enter_ MICAH.]
MICAH
The minister and his wife have turned into the gate, madam.
MISTRESS MERTON
The guests! Is it so late?
MICAH
Four o’clock, madam.
[_Going to the table._]
Shall I remove these?
MISTRESS MERTON
Flails! Flails in the parlour? Of course, remove them.
MICAH
[_At the door._]
Madam, in all my past years of service at Merton House, I
never waited upon a lord till to-day. Madam, in all my future
years of service at Merton House, I trust I may never wait
upon a lord again.
MISTRESS MERTON
Micah, mind the knocker.
MICAH
Yes, madam.
[_Exit at left back. Sounds of a brass knocker outside._]
MISTRESS MERTON
Rachel! Rachel!
[_Exit, right. Enter, left,_ JUSTICE MERTON _and_ DICKON.]
JUSTICE MERTON
So you are contented with nothing less than the sacrifice of
my niece?
DICKON
Such a delightful room!
JUSTICE MERTON
Are you merciless?
DICKON
And such a living portrait of your worship! The waistcoat is
so beautifully executed.
JUSTICE MERTON
If I pay him ten thousand pounds—
[_Enter_ MICAH.]
MICAH
Minister Dodge, your worship; and Mistress Dodge.
[_Exit. Enter the_ MINISTER _and his_ WIFE.]
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Stepping forward to receive them._]
Believe me, this is a great privilege.—Madam!
[_Bowing._]
MINISTER DODGE
[_Taking his hand._]
The privilege is ours, Justice; to enter a righteous man’s
house is to stand, as it were, on God’s threshold.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Nervously._]
Amen, amen. Permit me—ah! Lord Ravensbane, my young guest
of honour, will be here directly—permit me to present his
lordship’s tutor, Master Dickonson; The Reverend Master Dodge,
Mistress Dodge.
MINISTER DODGE
[_Offering his hand._]
Master Dickonson, sir—
DICKON
[_Barely touching the minister’s fingers,
bows charmingly to his wife._]
Madam, of all professions in the world, your husband’s most
allures me.
MISTRESS DODGE
’Tis a worthy one, sir.
DICKON
Ah! Mistress Dodge, and so arduous—especially for a
minister’s wife.
[_He leads her to a chair._]
MISTRESS DODGE
[_Accepting the chair._]
Thank you.
MINISTER DODGE
Lord Ravensbane comes from abroad?
JUSTICE MERTON
From London.
MINISTER DODGE
An old friend of yours, I understand.
JUSTICE MERTON
From London, yes. Did I say from London? Quite so; from
London.
[_Enter_ MICAH.]
MICAH
Captain Bugby, the Governor’s secretary.
[_Exit. Enter_ CAPTAIN BUGBY. _He walks with a
slight lameness, and holds daintily in his hand a
pipe, from which he puffs with dandy deliberation._]
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Justice Merton, your very humble servant.
JUSTICE MERTON
Believe me, Captain Bugby.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
[_Profusely._]
Ah, Master Dickonson! my dear friend Master Dickonson—this
is indeed—ah! How is his lordship since—aha! but discretion!
Mistress Dodge—her servant! Ah! yes,
[_Indicating his pipe with a smile of satisfaction._]
the latest, I assure you; the very latest from London. Ask
Master Dickonson.
MINISTER DODGE
[_Looking at Captain Bugby._]
These will hatch out in the springtime.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
[_Confidentially to Dickon._]
But really, my good friend, may not I venture to inquire how
his lordship—ah! has been in health since the—ah! since—
DICKON
[_Impressively._]
Oh! quite, quite!
[_Enter_ MISTRESS MERTON; _she joins Justice Merton
and Minister Dodge._]
CAPTAIN BUGBY
You know, I informed Squire Talbot of his lordship’s
epigrammatic retort—his retort of—shh! ha haha! Oh, that
reply was a stiletto; ’twas sharper than a sword-thrust, I
assure you. To have conceived it—’twas inspiration; but to
have expressed it—oh! ’twas genius. Hush! “Flails!” Oh! It
sticks me now in the ribs. I shall die with concealing it.
MINISTER DODGE
[_To Mistress Merton._]
’Tis true, mistress; but if there were more like your
brother in the parish, the conscience of the community would
be clearer.
[_Enter_ MICAH.]
MICAH
The Reverend Master Rand of Harvard College;
the Reverend Master Todd of Harvard College.
[_Exit. Enter two elderly, straight-backed divines._]
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Greeting them._]
Permit me, gentlemen; this is fortunate—before your return
to Cambridge.
[_He conducts them to Mistress Merton and Minister Dodge,
centre. Seated left, Dickon is ingratiating himself
with Mistress Dodge; Captain Bugby, laughed at by both
parties, is received by neither._]
CAPTAIN BUGBY
[_Puffing smoke toward the ceiling._]
Really, I cannot understand what keeps his Excellency, the
Lieutenant Governor, so long. He has two such charming
daughters, Master Dickonson—
DICKON
[_To Mistress Dodge._]
Yes, yes; such suspicious women with their charms are an
insult to the virtuous ladies of the parish.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
How, sir!
MISTRESS DODGE
And to think that she should actually shoe horses herself!
DICKON
It is too hard, dear Mistress Dodge; too hard!
MISTRESS DODGE
You are so appreciative, Master Dickonson.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
[_Piqued, walks another way._]
Well!
REV. MASTER RAND
[_To Justice Merton._]
It would not be countenanced in the college yard, sir.
REV. MASTER TODD
A pipe! Nay, _mores inhibitae_!
JUSTICE MERTON
’Tis most unfortunate, gentlemen; but I understand ’tis the
new vogue in London.
[_Enter_ MICAH.]
MICAH
His Excellency, Sir Charles Reddington, Lieutenant Governor;
the Mistress Reddingtons.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
At last!
MISTRESS MERTON
[_Aside._]
Micah.
[_Micah goes to her. Enter_ SIR CHARLES,
MISTRESS REDDINGTON, _and_ AMELIA REDDINGTON.]
JUSTICE MERTON
Your Excellency, this is indeed a distinguished honour.
SIR CHARLES
[_Shaking hands._]
Fine weather, Merton. Where’s your young lord?
THE TWO GIRLS
[_Courtesying._]
Justice Merton, Mistress Merton.
MICAH
[_To Mistress Merton, as he is going out, right._]
I will speak to them, madam.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Oh, my dear Mistress Reddington! Charming Mistress Amelia!
You are so very late, but you shall hear—hush!
MISTRESS REDDINGTON
[_Noticing his pipe._]
Why, what is this, Captain?
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Oh, the latest, I assure you, the very latest. Wait till you
see his lordship.
AMELIA
What! isn’t he here?
[_Laughing._]
La, Captain! Do look at the man!
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Oh, he’s coming directly. Quite the mode—what? Ah! but,
ladies, you shall hear.
[_He talks to them aside, where they titter._]
SIR CHARLES
[_To Dickon._]
What say? Travelling for his health?
DICKON
Partially, your Excellency; but my young pupil and master is
a singularly affectionate nature.
THE TWO GIRLS
[_To Captain Bugby._]
What! flails—really!
[_They burst into laughter among themselves._]
DICKON
He has journeyed here to Massachusetts peculiarly to pay
this visit to Justice Merton—his father’s dearest friend.
SIR CHARLES
Ah! knew him abroad, eh?
DICKON
In Rome, your Excellency.
MISTRESS DODGE
[_To Justice Merton._]
Why, I thought it was in London.
JUSTICE MERTON
London, true, quite so; we made a trip together to
Lisbon—ah! Rome.
DICKON
Paris, was it not, sir?
JUSTICE MERTON
[_In great distress._]
Paris, Paris, very true; I am—I am—sometimes I am—
[_Enter_ MICAH, _right._]
MICAH
[_Announces._]
Lord Ravensbane.
[_Enter right_, RAVENSBANE _with_ RACHEL.]
JUSTICE MERTON
[_With a gasp of relief._]
Ah! his lordship is arrived.
[_Murmurs of “his lordship” and a flutter among the girls and
Captain Bugby._]
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Look!—Now!
JUSTICE MERTON
Welcome, my lord!
[_To Sir Charles._]
Permit me, your Excellency, to introduce—
RAVENSBANE
Permit me; Mistress Rachel will introduce—
RACHEL
[_Courtesying._]
Sir Charles, allow me to present my friend, Lord Ravensbane.
MISTRESS REDDINGTON
[_Aside to Amelia._]
Her _friend_—did you hear?
SIR CHARLES
Mistress Rachel, I see you are as pretty as ever. Lord
Ravensbane, your hand, sir.
RAVENSBANE
Trust me, your Excellency, I will inform his Majesty of your
courtesy.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
[_Watching Ravensbane with chagrin._]
On my life! he’s lost his limp.
RAVENSBANE
[_Apart to Rachel._]
“A great glory has descended upon this day.”
RACHEL
[_Shyly._]
My lord!
RAVENSBANE
Be sure—O mistress, be sure—that this glory is love.
SIR CHARLES
[_Watching the two, whispers a loud aside to Justice Merton._]
Hoho! is it congratulations for your niece?
JUSTICE MERTON
Not—not precisely.
DICKON
[_Aside to Justice Merton._]
Why so, Gilly?
SIR CHARLES
My daughters, Fanny and Amelia—Lord Ravensbane.
THE TWO GIRLS
[_Courtesying._]
Your lordship!
SIR CHARLES
Good girls, but silly.
THE TWO GIRLS
Papa!
RAVENSBANE
Believe me, ladies, with the _true_ sincerity of the
_heart_.
MISTRESS REDDINGTON
Isn’t he perfection!
CAPTAIN BUGBY
What said I?
AMELIA
[_Giggling._]
I can’t help thinking of flails.
MISTRESS REDDINGTON
Poor Squire Talbot! We must be nice to him now.
AMELIA
Oh, especially _now_!
RAVENSBANE
[_Whom Rachel continues to introduce to the guests;
to Master Rand._]
Verily, sir, as that prince of poets, the immortal Virgil,
has remarked:
“Adeo in teneris consuescere multum est.”
DICKON
Just a word, your worship.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Going with him._]
Intolerable!
REV. MASTER TODD
His lordship is evidently a university man.
REV. MASTER RAND
Evidently most accomplished.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Aside to Dickon._]
A song! Why, it is beyond all bounds of custom and decorum.
DICKON
Believe me, there is no such flatterer to win the maiden
heart as music.
JUSTICE MERTON
And here; in this presence! Never!
DICKON
Nevertheless, it will amuse me vastly, and you will announce
it.
RAVENSBANE
[_To Minister Dodge._]
My opinion is simple: In such matters of church government,
I am inclined toward the leniency of that excellent master,
the Rev. John Wise, rather than the righteous obduracy of the
Rev. Cotton Mather.
MINISTER DODGE
Why, there, sir, I agree with you.
[_Aside to his wife._]
How extremely well informed!
MISTRESS DODGE
And so young, too!
JUSTICE MERTON
[_With hesitant embarrassment, which he seeks to conceal._]
Your Excellency and friends, I have great pleasure in
announcing his lordship’s condescension in consenting to
regale our present company—with a song.
SEVERAL VOICES
[_In various degrees of amazement and curiosity._]
A song!
MISTRESS MERTON
Gilead! What is this?
JUSTICE MERTON
The selection is a German ballad—a particular favourite at
the court of Prussia, where his lordship last rendered it. His
tutor has made a translation which is entitled: “The
Prognostication of the Crows,” and I am requested to remind
you that in the ancient heathen mythology of Germany, the crow
or raven, was the fateful bird of the God Woden.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
How prodigiously novel!
MINISTER DODGE
[_Frowning._]
Unparalleled!
SIR CHARLES
A ballad! Come now, that sounds like old England again.
Let’s have it. Will his lordship sing without music?
JUSTICE MERTON
Master Dickonson, hem! has been—persuaded—to accompany his
lordship on the virginals.
AMELIA
How delightful!
REV. MASTER RAND
[_Aside to Todd._]
Shall we remain?
REV. MASTER TODD
We must.
RAVENSBANE
[_To Rachel._]
My tassel, dear mistress; you do not wear it?
RACHEL
My heart still wavers, my lord. But whilst you sing, I will
decide.
RAVENSBANE
Whilst I sing? My fate, then, is waiting at the end of a
song?
RACHEL
At the end of a song.
DICKON
[_Touches Ravensbane’s arm._]
Your lordship.
RAVENSBANE
[_Starting, turns to the company._]
Permit me.
[_Dickon sits, facing left, at the virginals. At first,
his fingers in playing give sound only to the soft
tinkling notes of that ancient instrument; but
gradually, strange notes and harmonies of an aërial
orchestra mingle with, and at length drown, the
virginals. The final chorus is produced solely by
fantastic symphonic cawings, as of countless crows,
in harsh but musical accord. During the song Richard
enters. Dickon’s music, however, does not cease
but fills the intervals between the verses. To his
accompaniment, amid the whispered and gradually
increasing wonder, resentment, and dismay of the
assembled guests, Ravensbane, with his eyes fixed upon
Rachel, sings._]
Baron von Rabenstod arose;
(The golden sun was rising)
Before him flew a flock of crows:
Sing heigh! Sing heigh! Sing heigh! Sing—
“Ill speed, ill speed thee, baron-wight;
Ill speed thy palfrey pawing!
Blithe is the morn but black the night
That hears a raven’s cawing.”
[_Chorus._]
Caw! Caw! Caw!
MISTRESS DODGE
[_Whispers to her husband._]
Did you hear them?
MINISTER DODGE
Hush!
AMELIA
[_Sotto voce._]
What _can_ it be?
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Oh, the latest, be sure.
DICKON
You note, my friends, the accompanying harmonics; they are
an intrinsic part of the ballad, and may not be omitted.
RAVENSBANE
[_Sings._]
The baron reckèd not a pin;
(For the golden sun was rising)
He rode to woo, he rode to win;
Sing heigh! Sing heigh! Sing heigh! Sing—
He rode into his prince’s hall
Through knights and damsels flow’ry:
“Thy daughter, prince, I bid thee call;
I claim her hand and dowry.”
[_Enter Richard. Mistress Merton seizes his arm nervously._]
MISTRESS MERTON
[_Aside._]
Well?
RICHARD
Gold will not buy her. She defies us.
SIR CHARLES
[_To Captain Bugby._]
This gentleman’s playing is rather ventriloquistical.
CAPTAIN BUGBY
Quite, as it were.
REV. MASTER TODD
This smells unholy.
REV. MASTER RAND
[_To Todd._]
Shall we leave?
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Sternly to Richard, who has attempted to talk
with him aside._]
Not now.
RICHARD
Pardon me—it _must_ be now.
JUSTICE MERTON
Squire Talbot—
RICHARD
[_Very low._]
Sir—I come from Goody Rickby.
JUSTICE MERTON
Hush!
[_They go apart._]
RAVENSBANE
[_Sings._]
“What cock is this, with crest so high,
That crows with such a pother?”
“Baron von Rabenstod am I;
Methinks we know each other.”
“Now welcome, welcome, dear guest of mine,
So long why didst thou tarry?
Now, for the sake of auld lang syne,
My daughter thou shalt marry.”
JUSTICE MERTON
[_To Richard._]
RICHARD
What! you will sacrifice her?
JUSTICE MERTON
What can I do?
RICHARD
Tell her the truth at least.
JUSTICE MERTON
Never, Richard, no, no, never that!
AMELIA
[_To Bugby._]
And he kept right on smoking!
MINISTER DODGE
[_Who, with Rand and Todd, has risen uneasily._]
This smacks of witchcraft.
REV. MASTER RAND
The Justice seems moved.
RAVENSBANE
[_Sings._]
The bride is brought, the priest as well;
(The golden sun was passing)
They stood beside the altar rail;
Sing ah! Sing ah! Sing ah! Sing—
“Woman, with this ring I thee wed.”
What makes his voice so awing?
The baron by the bride is dead:
Outside the crows were cawing.
_Chorus._
[_Which grows tumultuous, seeming to fill the room with the
invisible birds._]
Caw! Caw! Caw!
[_The guests rise in confusion. Dickon still plays delightedly,
and the strange music continues._]
MINISTER DODGE
This is no longer godly.—Justice Merton!
RICHARD
[_To Justice Merton._]
I told you, sir, that witchcraft, like murder, will out.
If you want further proof, I believe I can provide it.
MINISTER DODGE
Justice Merton, sir!
RAVENSBANE
[_To Rachel, who holds his tassel in her hand._]
Ah! and you have my tassel!
RACHEL
See! I will wear it now. You yourself shall fasten it.
RAVENSBANE
Rachel! Mistress!
RACHEL
My dear lord!
[_As Ravensbane is placing the silken tassel on Rachel’s
breast to fasten it there, Richard, by the mirror,
pulls the curtain back._]
RICHARD
Lovers! This is the glass of truth. Behold yourselves!
RACHEL
[_Looking into the glass, screams and turns her gaze fearfully
upon Ravensbane._]
Ah! Do not look!
DICKON
[_Who, having turned round from the virginals, has leapt
forward, now turns back again, biting his finger._]
Too late!
[_In the glass are reflected the figures of Rachel and
Ravensbane—Rachel just as she herself appears, but
Ravensbane in his essential form of a scarecrow, in
every movement reflecting Ravensbane’s motions. The
thing in the glass is about to pin a wisp of corn-silk
on the mirrored breast of the maiden._]
RAVENSBANE
What is there?
RACHEL
[_Looking again, starts away from Ravensbane._]
Leave me! Leave me!—Richard!
RAVENSBANE
[_Gazing at the glass, clings to Rachel
as though to protect her._]
Help her! See! It is seizing her.
RACHEL
Richard!
[_She faints in Richard’s arms._]
RAVENSBANE
Fear not, mistress, I will kill the thing.
[_Drawing his sword, he rushes at the glass. Within, the
scarecrow, with a drawn wheel-spoke, approaches him at
equal speed. They come face to face and recoil._]
Ah! ah! fear’st thou me? What art thou? Why, ’tis a glass.
Thou mockest me? Look, look, mistress, it mocks me! O God, no!
no! Take it away. Dear God, do not look!—It is I!
ALL
[_Rushing to the doors._]
Witchcraft! Witchcraft!
[_As Ravensbane stands frantically confronting his abject
reflection, struck in a like posture of despair, the
curtain falls._]
ACT IV
_The same. Night. The moon, shining in broadly at the window,
discovers_ RAVENSBANE _alone, prostrate before the mirror.
Raised on one arm to a half-sitting posture, he gazes
fixedly at the vaguely seen image of the scarecrow
prostrate in the glass._
RAVENSBANE
All have left me—but not thou. Rachel has left me; her eyes
have turned away from me; she is gone. And with her, the great
light itself from heaven has drawn her glorious skirts,
contemptuous, from me—and they are gone together. Dickon, he
too has left me—but not thou. All that I loved, all that
loved me, have left me. A thousand ages—a thousand ages ago,
they went away; and thou and I have gazed upon each other’s
desertedness. Speak! and be pitiful! If thou art I,
inscrutable image, if thou dost feel these pangs thine own,
show then self-mercy; speak! What art thou? What am I? Why are
we here? How comes it that we feel and guess and suffer? Nay,
though thou answer not these doubts, yet mock them, mock them
aloud, even as there, monstrous, thou counterfeitest mine
actions. Speak, abject enigma!—Ah! with what vacant horror it
looks out and yearns toward me. Peace to thee! Thou poor
delirious mute, prisoned in glass and moonlight, peace! Thou
canst not escape thy gaol, nor I break in to thee. Poor
shadow, thou—
[_Recoiling wildly._]
Stand back, inanity! Thrust not thy mawkish face in pity
toward me. Ape and idiot! Scarecrow!—to console me! Haha!—A
flail and broomstick! a cob, a gourd and pumpkin, to fuse and
sublimate themselves into a mage-philosopher, who puffeth
metaphysics from a pipe and discourseth sweet philanthropy to
itself—itself, God! Dost Thou hear? Itself! For even such am
I—I whom Thou madest to love Rachel. Why, God—haha! dost
Thou dwell in this thing? Is it Thou that peerest forth _at_
me—_from_ me? Why, hark then; Thou shalt listen, and
answer—if Thou canst. Hark then, Spirit of life! Between the
rise and setting of a sun, I have walked in this world of
Thine. I have gazed upon it, I have peered within it, I have
grown enamoured, enamoured of it. I have been thrilled with
wonder, I have been calmed with knowledge, I have been exalted
with sympathy. I have trembled with joy and passion. Power,
beauty, love have ravished me. Infinity itself, like a dream,
has blazed before me with the certitude of prophecy; and I
have cried, “This world, the heavens, time itself, are mine to
conquer,” and I have thrust forth mine arm to wear Thy shield
forever—and lo! for my shield Thou reachest me a mirror—and
whisperest: “Know thyself! Thou art—a scarecrow: a tinkling
clod, a rigmarole of dust, a lump of ordure, contemptible,
superfluous, inane!” Haha! Hahaha! And with such scarecrows
Thou dost people a planet! O ludicrous! Monstrous! Ludicrous!
At least, I thank Thee, God! at least, this breathing bathos
can laugh at itself. At least this hotch-potch nobleman of
stubble is enough of an epicure to turn his own gorge. Thou
hast vouchsafed to me, Spirit,—hahaha!—to know myself. Mine,
mine is the consummation of man—even self-contempt!
[_Pointing in the glass with an agony of derision._]
Scarecrow! Scarecrow! Scarecrow!
THE IMAGE IN THE GLASS
[_More and more faintly._]
Scarecrow! Scarecrow! Scarecrow!
[_Ravensbane throws himself prone upon the floor, beneath
the window, sobbing. There is a pause of silence, and
the moon shines brighter.—Slowly then Ravensbane,
getting to his knees, looks out into the night._]
RAVENSBANE
What face are you, high up through the twinkling leaves? Why
do you smile upon me with such white beneficence? Or why do
you place your viewless hand upon my brow, and say, “Be
comforted”? Do you not, like all the rest, turn, aghast, your
eyes away from me—me, abject enormity, grovelling at your
feet? Gracious being, do you not fear—despise me? To you
alone am I not hateful—unredeemed? O white peace of the world,
beneath your gaze the clouds glow silver, and the herded
cattle, slumbering far afield, crouch—beautiful. The slough
shines lustrous as a bridal veil. Beautiful face, you are
Rachel’s, and you have changed the world. Nothing is mean, but
you have made it miraculous; nothing is loathsome, nothing
ludicrous, but you have converted it to loveliness, that even
this shadow of a mockery myself, cast by your light, gives me
the dear assurance I am a man. Yea, more, that I too, steeped
in your universal light, am beautiful. For you are Rachel, and
you love me. You are Rachel in the sky, and the might of your
serene loveliness has transformed me. Rachel, mistress,
mother, beautiful spirit, out of my suffering you have brought
forth my soul. I am saved!
THE IMAGE IN THE GLASS
A very pretty sophistry.
[_The moonlight grows dimmer, as at the passing of a cloud._]
RAVENSBANE
Ah! what voice has snatched you from me?
THE IMAGE
A most poetified pumpkin!
RAVENSBANE
Thing! dost thou speak at last? My soul abhors thee.
THE IMAGE
I _am_ thy soul.
RAVENSBANE
Thou liest.
THE IMAGE
Our Daddy Dickon and our mother Rickby begot and conceived
us at sunrise, in a Jack-o’-lantern.
RAVENSBANE
Thou liest, torturing illusion. Thou art but a phantom in a
glass.
THE IMAGE
Why, very true. So art thou. _We_ are a pretty phantom
in a glass.
RAVENSBANE
It is a lie. I am no longer thou. I feel it; I am a man.
THE IMAGE
And prithee, what’s a man? Man’s but a mirror,
Wherein the imps and angels play charades,
Make faces, mope, and pull each other’s hair—
Till crack! the sly urchin Death shivers the glass,
And the bare coffin boards show underneath.
RAVENSBANE
Yea! if it be so, thou coggery! if both of us be indeed but
illusions, why, now let us end together. But if it be not so,
then let _me_ for evermore be free of thee. Now is the
test—the glass!
[_Springing to the fireplace, he seizes an iron cross-piece
from the andirons._]
I’ll play your urchin Death and shatter it. Let see what
shall survive!
[_He rushes to strike the glass with the iron._ DICKON
_steps out of the mirror, closing the curtain._]
DICKON
I wouldn’t, really!
RAVENSBANE
Dickon! dear Dickon! is it you?
DICKON
Yes, Jacky! it’s dear Dickon, and I really wouldn’t.
RAVENSBANE
Wouldn’t what, Dickon?
DICKON
Sweep the cobwebs off the sky with thine aspiring
broomstick. When a man questions fate, ’tis bad digestion.
When a scarecrow does it, ’tis bad taste.
RAVENSBANE
At last, _you_ will tell me the truth, Dickon! Am I
then—that thing?
DICKON
You mustn’t be so sceptical. Of course you’re that thing.
RAVENSBANE
Ah me despicable! Rachel, why didst thou ever look upon me?
DICKON
I fear, cobby, thou hast never studied woman’s heart and
hero-worship. Take thyself now. I remarked to Goody Bess, thy
mother, this morning, as I was chucking her thy pate from the
hay-loft, that thou wouldst make a Mark Antony or an Alexander
before night.
RAVENSBANE
Thou, then, didst create me!
DICKON
[_Bowing._]
Appreciate the honour. Your lordship was designed for a
corn-field; but I discerned nobler potentialities: the courts
of Europe and Justice Merton’s _salon_. In brief, your
lordship’s origins were pastoral, like King David’s.
RAVENSBANE
Cease! cease! in pity’s name. You do not know the agony of
being ridiculous.
DICKON
Nay, Jacky, all mortals are ridiculous. Like you, they were
rummaged out of the muck; and like you, they shall return to
the dunghill. I advise ’em, like you, to enjoy the interim,
and smoke.
RAVENSBANE
This pipe, this ludicrous pipe that I forever set to my lips
and puff! Why must I, Dickon? Why?
DICKON
To avoid extinction—merely. You see, ’tis just as your
fellow in there
[_Pointing to the glass._]
explained. You yourself are the subtlest of mirrors, polished
out of pumpkin and pipe-smoke. Into this mirror the fair
Mistress Rachel has projected her lovely image, and thus
provided you with what men call a soul.
RAVENSBANE
Ah! then, I have a soul—the truth of me? Mistress Rachel
has indeed made me a man?
DICKON
Don’t flatter thyself, cobby. Break thy pipe, and
whiff—soul, Mistress Rachel, man, truth, and this pretty
world itself, go up in the last smoke.
RAVENSBANE
No, no! not Mistress Rachel—for she is beautiful; and the
images of beauty are immutable. She told me so.
DICKON
What a Platonic young lady! Nevertheless, believe me,
Mistress Rachel exists for your lordship merely in your
lordship’s pipe-bowl.
RAVENSBANE
Wretched, niggling caricature that I am! All is lost to
me—all!
DICKON
“Paradise Lost” again! Always blaming it on me. There’s that
gaunt fellow in England has lately wrote a parody on me when I
was in the apple business.
RAVENSBANE
[_Falling on his knees and bowing his head._]
O God! I am so contemptible!
[_Enter, at door back_, GOODY RICKBY; _her
blacksmith garb is hidden under a dingy black mantle with
peaked hood._]
DICKON
Good verse, too, for a parody!
[_Ruminating, raises one arm rhetorically above Ravensbane._]
“Farewell, happy fields
Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors; hail,
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest Hell,
Receive thy new possessor.”
GOODY RICKBY
[_Seizing his arm._]
Dickon!
DICKON
Hullo! You, Bess!
GOODY RICKBY
There’s not a minute to lose. Justice Merton and the
neighbours have ended their conference at Minister Dodge’s,
and are returning here.
DICKON
What! coming back in the dark? They ran away in the daylight
as if the ghosts were after ’em.
GOODY RICKBY
[_At the window._]
I see their lanterns down the road.
DICKON
Well, let ’em come. We’re ready.
GOODY RICKBY
But thou toldst me they had discovered—
DICKON
A scarecrow in a mirror. Well? The glass is bewitched;
that’s all.
GOODY RICKBY
All? Witchcraft is hanging—that’s all! Come, how shall the
mirror help us?
DICKON
’Tis very simple. The glass is bewitched. Mistress
Rachel—mind you—shall admit it. She bought it of you.
GOODY RICKBY
Yea, of me; ’twill be me they’ll hang.
DICKON
Good! then the glass is bewitched. The glass bewitches the
room; for witchcraft is catching and spreads like the
small-pox. _Ergo_, the distorted image of Lord
Ravensbane; _ergo_, the magical accompaniments of the
ballad; _ergo_, the excited fancies of all the persons in
the room. _Ergo_, the glass must needs be destroyed, and
the room thoroughly disinfected by the Holy Scriptures.
_Ergo_, Master Dickonson himself reads the Bible aloud,
the guests apologize and go home, the Justice squirms again in
his merry dead past, and his fair niece is wed to the pumpkin.
RAVENSBANE
Hideous! Hideous!
GOODY RICKBY
Your grateful servant, Devil! But the mirror was bought of
me—of me, the witch. Wilt thou be my hangman, Dickon?
DICKON
Wilt thou give me a kiss, Goody? When did ever thy Dickon
desert thee?
GOODY RICKBY
But how, boy, wilt thou—
DICKON
Trust me, and thy son. When the Justice’s niece is thy
daughter-in-law, all will be safe. For the Justice will
cherish his niece’s family.
GOODY RICKBY
But when he knows—
DICKON
But he shall _not_ know. How can he? When the glass is
denounced as fraudulent, how will he, or any person, ever know
that we made this fellow out of rubbish? Who, forsooth, but a
poet—or a devil—_would_ believe it? You mustn’t credit
men with our imaginations, my dear.
RAVENSBANE
Mockery! Always mockery!
GOODY RICKBY
Then thou wilt pull me through this safe?
DICKON
As I adore thee—and my own reputation.
GOODY RICKBY
[_Hurrying away._]
Till we meet, then, boy.
DICKON
Stay, marchioness—his lordship!
GOODY RICKBY
[_Turning._]
His lordship’s pardon! How fares “the bottom of thy heart,”
my son?
DICKON
My lord—your lady mother.
RAVENSBANE
Begone, woman.
GOODY RICKBY
[_Courtesying, laughs shrilly._]
Your servant—my son!
[_About to depart._]
RAVENSBANE
Ye lie! Both of you! Ye lie—I was born of Rachel.
DICKON
Tut, tut, Jacky; you mustn’t mix up mothers and prospective
wives at your age. It’s fatal.
GOODY RICKBY
[_Excitedly._]
They’re coming!
[_Exit._]
DICKON
[_Calling after her._]
Fear not; if thou shouldst be followed, I will overtake
thee.
RAVENSBANE
She is coming; Rachel is coming, and I may not look upon
her!
DICKON
Eh? Why not?
RAVENSBANE
I am a monster.
DICKON
And born of her—Fie! fie!
RAVENSBANE
O God! I know not; I mock myself; I know not what to think.
But this I know, I love Rachel. I love her, I love her.
DICKON
And shalt have her.
RAVENSBANE
Have her, Dickon?
DICKON
For lover and wife.
RAVENSBANE
For wife?
DICKON
For wife and all. Thou hast but to obey.
RAVENSBANE
Ah! who will do this for me?
DICKON
I!
RAVENSBANE
Dickon! Wilt make me a man—a man and worthy of her?
DICKON
Fiddlededee! I make over no masterpieces. Thy mistress shall
be Cinderella, and drive to her palace with her gilded
pumpkin.
RAVENSBANE
It is the end.
DICKON
What! You’ll not?
RAVENSBANE
Never.
DICKON
Harkee, manikin. Hast thou learned to suffer?
RAVENSBANE
[_Wringing his hands._]
O God!
DICKON
_I_ taught thee. Shall I teach thee further?
RAVENSBANE
Thou canst not.
DICKON
Cannot—ha! What if I should teach Rachel too?
RAVENSBANE
Rachel!—Ah! now I know thee.
DICKON
[_Bowing._]
Flattered.
RAVENSBANE
Devil! Thou wouldst not torment Rachel?
DICKON
Not if my lord—
RAVENSBANE
Speak! What must I do?
DICKON
_Not_ speak. Be silent, my lord, and acquiesce to all I
say.
RAVENSBANE
I will be silent.
DICKON
And acquiesce?
RAVENSBANE
I will be silent.
[_Enter_ MINISTER DODGE, _accompanied by_ SIR CHARLES REDDINGTON,
CAPTAIN BUGBY, _the_ REV. MASTERS RAND _and_ TODD, _and
followed by_ JUSTICE MERTON, RICHARD, MISTRESS MERTON, _and_
RACHEL. _Richard and Rachel stand somewhat apart, Rachel
drawing close to Richard and hiding her face. All wear their
outer wraps, and two or three hold lanterns, which, save the
moon, throw the only light upon the scene. All enter solemn
and silent._]
MINISTER DODGE
Lord, be Thou present with us, in this unholy spot.
SEVERAL MEN’S VOICES
Amen.
DICKON
Friends! Have you seized her? Is she made prisoner?
MINISTER DODGE
Stand from us.
DICKON
Sir, the witch! Surely you did not let her escape?
ALL
The witch!
DICKON
A dame in a peaked hood. She has but now fled the house. She
called herself—Goody Rickby.
ALL
Goody Rickby!
MISTRESS MERTON
She here!
DICKON
Yea, mistress, and hath confessed all the damnable art, by
which all of us have lately been so terrorized, and his
lordship, my poor master, so maligned and victimized.
RICHARD
Victimized!
JUSTICE MERTON
What confessed she?
MINISTER DODGE
What said she?
DICKON
This: It appeareth that, for some time past, she hath
cherished revengeful thoughts against our honoured host,
Justice Merton.
JUSTICE MERTON
Sir! What cause—what cause—
DICKON
Inasmuch as your worship hath ever so righteously condemned
her damnable faults, and threatened them punishment.
MINISTER DODGE
Yea—well?
DICKON
Thus, in revenge, she bewitched yonder mirror, and this very
morning unlawfully inveigled this sweet young lady into
purchasing it.
SIR CHARLES
Mistress Rachel!
MINISTER DODGE
[_To Rachel._]
Didst thou purchase that glass?
RACHEL
[_In a low voice._]
Yes.
MINISTER DODGE
From Goody Rickby?
RACHEL
Yes.
RICHARD
Sir—the blame was mine.
RACHEL
[_Clinging to him._]
O Richard!
DICKON
Pardon, my friends. The fault rests upon no one here. The
witch alone is to blame. Her black art inveigled this innocent
maid into purchasing the glass; her black art bewitched this
room and all that it contained—even to these innocent
virginals, on which I played.
MINISTER DODGE
Verily, this would seem to account—but the image; the
damnable image in the glass?
DICKON
A familiar devil of hers—a sly imp, it seems, who wears to
mortal eyes the shape of a scarecrow. ’Twas he, by means of
whom she bedevilled this glass, by making it his _habitat_.
When, therefore, she learned that honour and happiness were
yours, Justice Merton, in the prospect of Lord Ravensbane as
your nephew-in-law, she commanded this devil to reveal himself
in the glass as my lord’s own image, that thus she might wreck
your family felicity.
MINISTER DODGE
Infamous!
DICKON
Indeed, sir, it was this very devil whom but now she stole
here to consult withal, when she encountered me, attendant
here upon my poor prostrate lord, and—held by the wrath in my
eye—confessed it all.
SIR CHARLES
Thunder and brimstone! Where is this accursed hag?
DICKON
Alas—gone, gone! If you had but stopped her.
MINISTER DODGE
I know her den—the blacksmith shop.
SIR CHARLES
[_Starting._]
Which way?
MINISTER DODGE
To the left.
SIR CHARLES
Go on, there.
MINISTER DODGE
My honoured friend, we shall return and officially destroy
this fatal glass. But first, we must secure the witch. Heaven
shield, with her guilt, the innocent!
THE MEN
[_As they hurry out._]
Amen.
SIR CHARLES
[_Outside._]
Go on!
[_Exeunt all but Richard, Rachel, Justice Merton, Mistress
Merton, Dickon, and Ravensbane._]
DICKON
[_To Justice Merton, who has importuned him, aside._]
And reveal thy youthful escapades to Rachel?
JUSTICE MERTON
God help me! no.
DICKON
So then, dear friends, this strange incident is happily
elucidated. The pain and contumely have fallen most heavily
upon my dear lord and master, but you are witnesses, even now,
of his silent and Christian forgiveness of your suspicions.
Bygones, therefore, be bygones. The future brightens—with
orange-blossoms! Hymen and Felicity stand with us here ready
to unite two amorous and bashful lovers. His lordship is
reticent; yet to you alone, of all beautiful ladies, Mistress
Rachel—
RAVENSBANE
[_In a mighty voice._]
Silence!
DICKON
My lord would—
RAVENSBANE
Silence! Dare not to speak to her!
DICKON
[_Biting his lip._]
My babe is weaned.
RACHEL
[_Still at Richard’s side._]
Oh, my lord, if I have made you suffer—
RICHARD
[_Appealingly._]
Rachel!
RAVENSBANE
[_Approaching her, raises one arm to screen his face._]
Gracious lady! let fall your eyes; look not upon me. If I
have dared remain in your presence, if I dare now speak once
more to you, ’tis because I would have you know—O forgive
me!—that I love you.
RICHARD
Sir! This lady has renewed her promise to be my wife.
RAVENSBANE
Your wife, or not, I love her.
RICHARD
Zounds!
RAVENSBANE
Forbear, and hear me! For one wonderful day I have gazed
upon this, your world. The sun has kindled me and the moon has
blessed me. A million forms—of trees, of stones, of stars, of
men, of common things—have swum like motes before my eyes;
but one alone was wholly beautiful. That form was Rachel: to
her alone I was not ludicrous; to her I also was beautiful.
Therefore, I love her. You talk to me of mothers, mistresses,
lovers, and wives and sisters, and you say men love these.
What is love? The sun’s enkindling and the moon’s quiescence;
the night and day of the world—the _all_ of life, the
all which must include both you and me and God, of whom you
dream. Well then, I love you, Rachel. What shall prevent me?
Mistress, mother, wife—thou art all to me!
RICHARD
My lord, I can only reply for Mistress Rachel, that you
speak like one who does not understand this world.
RAVENSBANE
O God! Sir, and do you? If so, tell me—tell me before it be
too late—why, in this world, such a thing as _I_ can
love and talk of love. Why, in this world, a true man and
woman, like you and your betrothed, can look upon this
counterfeit and be deceived.
RACHEL AND RICHARD
Counterfeit?
RAVENSBANE
Me—on me—the ignominy of the earth, the laughing-stock of
the angels!
RACHEL
Why, my lord. Are you not—
RAVENSBANE
No.
JUSTICE MERTON
[_To Ravensbane._]
Forbear! Not to her—
DICKON
My lord forgets.
RACHEL
Are you not Lord Ravensbane?
RAVENSBANE
Marquis of Oxford, Baron of Wittenberg, Elector of Worms,
and Count of Cordova? No, I am _not_ Lord Ravensbane. I
am Lord Scarecrow!
[_He bursts into laughter._]
RACHEL
[_Shrinking back._]
Ah me!
RAVENSBANE
A nobleman of husks, bewitched from a pumpkin.
RACHEL
The image in the glass was true?
RAVENSBANE
Yes, true. It is the glass of truth—thank God! Thank God
for you, dear.
JUSTICE MERTON
Richard! Go for the minister; this proof of witchcraft needs
be known.
[_Richard does not move._]
DICKON
My lord, this grotesque absurdity must end.
RAVENSBANE
True, Dickon! This grotesque absurdity must end. The laugher
and the laughing-stock, man and the worm, possess at least one
dignity in common: both must die.
DICKON
[_Speaking low._]
Remember! if you dare—Rachel shall suffer for it.
RAVENSBANE
You lie. She is above your power.
DICKON
Still, thou darest not—
RAVENSBANE
Fool, I dare.
[_Turning to Rachel._]
Mistress, this pipe is I. This intermittent smoke holds, in
its nebula, Venus, Mars, the world. If I should break
it—Chaos and the dark! And this of me that now stands up will
sink jumbled upon the floor—a scarecrow. See! I break it.
[_He breaks the pipe in his hands, and flings the pieces
at Dickon’s feet in defiance; then turns, agonized, to
Rachel._]
Oh, Rachel, could I have been a man—!
DICKON
[_Picking up the pieces of pipe, turns to Rachel._]
Mademoiselle, I felicitate you; you have outwitted the
devil.
[_Kissing his fingers to her, he disappears._]
MISTRESS MERTON
[_Seizing the Justice’s arm in fright._]
Satan!
JUSTICE MERTON
[_Whispers._]
Gone!
RACHEL
Richard! Richard! support him.
RICHARD
[_Sustaining Ravensbane, who sways._]
He is fainting. A chair!
RACHEL
[_Placing a chair, helps Richard to support
Ravensbane toward it._]
How pale; but yet no change.
RICHARD
His heart, perhaps.
RACHEL
Oh, Dick, if it should be some strange mistake! Look! he is
noble still. My lord! my lord! the glass—
[_She draws the curtain of the mirror, just opposite which
Ravensbane has sunk into the chair. At her cry, he
starts up faintly and gazes at his reflection, which
is seen to be a normal image of himself._]
RAVENSBANE
Who is it?
RACHEL
Yourself, my lord—’tis the glass of truth.
RAVENSBANE
[_His face lighting with an exalted joy, starts
to his feet, erect, before the glass._]
A man!
[_He falls back into the arms of the two lovers._]
Rachel!
[_He dies._]
RACHEL
Richard, I am afraid. Was it a chimera, or a hero?
FINIS
“THE MOST NOTABLE ADDITION MADE TO AMERICAN
DRAMATIC LITERATURE IN MANY YEARS.”
Mr. PERCY MACKAYE’S new drama
_Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net;
Sappho and Phaon by mail, $1.35_
“Mr. MacKaye’s work is the most notable addition
that has been made for many years to American
dramatic literature. It is true poetic tragedy
... charged with happy inspiration; dignified,
eloquent, passionate, imaginative, and thoroughly
human in its emotions ... and whether considered
in the light of literature or drama need not fear
comparison with anything that has been written by
Stephen Phillips or John Davidson ... masterfully
written with deep pathos and unmistakable poetic
power.”—_New York Evening Post._
The critic of the _Boston Transcript_ says:
“Mr. MacKaye has planned his scheme with both
the exactitude of the stage director and the
imagination of the poet.... We remember no drama by
any modern writer that at once seems so readable
and so actable, and no play that is so excellent in
stage technique, so clear in characterization, and
so completely filled with the atmosphere of romance
and poetry.”
“... The force and vigor, and beautiful imagery,
of Mr. MacKaye’s happy experiment in classic form
are evident. It is finer and stronger, better
knit, than his ‘Jeanne d’Arc,’ which Sothern and
Marlowe have found an acceptable addition to their
repertory.... This play is high-water mark in
American dramatic verse.”—_Boston Advertiser._
“Mr. MacKaye’s verse is varied, virile, and
essentially dramatic, with here and there bits
which stand out with rare beauty.”—_New York
Dramatic Mirror._
“It has beauty of spirit, grace and distinction of
style, and power enough to commend it to a friendly
reading by lovers of dramatic writing.”—_Daily
Eagle._
“Many are awakening to the somewhat incredulous but
curiously persistent feeling that in ‘Sappho and
Phaon’ Mr. MacKaye has achieved a _tour de force_
which will be read with admiration for some time to
come.”—_The World To-Day._
“Interesting for the dramatic beauty of some of its
passages, for the originality of its conception,
and as a curiosity of playwriting.... The tragic
conception, the shipwreck of the ideal in its
passionate self-emancipation from reality, is Greek
to the core.”—_Churchman._
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
PUBLISHERS, 64—66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
OTHER POETICAL DRAMAS BY
Mr. PERCY MACKAYE
Jeanne d’Arc
“A series of scenes animated at times by a sure,
direct, and simple poetry, again by the militant
fire, and finally by the bitter pathos of the
most moving, perhaps the most beautiful, and
certainly the most inexplicable story in profane
history.”—_Philadelphia Ledger._
“A singularly fresh, buoyant treatment of an
old subject, Mr. Mackaye’s ‘Jeanne d’Arc’
contains less pageantry and more spirituality
than any of the plays about the Maid since
Schiller.”—_Record-Herald_, Chicago.
Fenris the Wolf
“A drama that shows triple greatness. There is the
supreme beauty of poetry, the perfect sense of
dramatic proportion, and nobility of purpose. It
is a work to dream over, to make one see glorious
pictures,—a work to uplift to soul heights through
its marvellously wrought sense appeal.”—_Examiner._
The Canterbury Pilgrims
“This is a comedy in four acts,—a comedy in the
higher and better meaning of the term. It is an
original conception worked out with a rare degree
of freshness and buoyancy, and it may honestly
be called a play of unusual interest and unusual
literary merit.... The drama might well be called
a character portrait of Chaucer, for it shows him
forth with keen discernment, a captivating figure
among men, an intensely human, vigorous, kindly
man.... It is a moving, vigorous play in action.
Things go rapidly and happily, and, while there
are many passages of real poetry, the book is
essentially a drama.”—_St. Paul Dispatch._
The Scarecrow
A Tragedy of the Ludicrous
_Each, cloth, gilt top, decorated cover, $1.25 net._
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
PUBLISHERS, 64—66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
RECENT VOLUMES OF POETRY
BY STEPHEN PHILLIPS (dramatic verse)
Nero _Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net_
The Sin of David _Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net_
Ulysses _Cloth, 12mo, $1.25 net_
“Mr. Stephen Phillips is one of not more than three
or four living poets of whom the student of English
literature finds himself compelled, in the interest
of his study, to take account.”—MONTGOMERY
SCHUYLER, in _The New York Times_.
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
Lyrical and Dramatic Poems In two volumes
The first volume contains his lyrics up to the
present time; the second includes all of his five
dramas in verse; The Countess Cathleen; The Land of
Heart’s Desire; The King’s Threshold; On Baile’s
Strand; and The Shadowy Waters.
“Mr. Yeats is probably the most important as well
as the most widely known of the men concerned
directly in the so-called Celtic renaissance.
More than this, he stands among the few men to be
reckoned with in modern poetry.”—_New York Herald._
BY SARA KING WILEY (dramatic and lyric)
The Coming of Philibert In press
Poems, Lyrical and Dramatic _Cloth, $1.50 net_
Alcestis: and Other Poems _Cloth, 75 cents net_
“Fundamentally lyrical in free play of imagination,
frankness of creation, passionate devotion, and
exaltation of sacrifice.”—_The Outlook._
Mr. ALFRED NOYES’S
THREE VOLUMES OF POETRY
Poems _Cloth, decorated cover, $1.25 net_
Mr. Richard Le Gallienne in the _North American
Review_ pointed out recently “their spontaneous
power and freshness, their imaginative vision,
their lyrical magic.” He adds: “Mr. Noyes is
surprisingly various. I have seldom read one book,
particularly by so young a writer, in which so
many different things are done, and all done so
well.... But that for which one is most grateful to
Mr. Noyes in his strong and brilliant treatment of
all his rich material, is the gift by which, in my
opinion, he stands alone among the younger poets of
the day, his lyrical gift.”
The Flower of Old Japan
and The Forest of Wild Thyme
_In one volume, decorated cloth, $1.25 net_
“The little ones will love the songs at first for
the pure music of their rhythm, later because
of the deep embodied truths rather divined than
comprehended.... Mr. Noyes is first of all a
singer, then something of a seer with great love
and high hopes and aims to balance this rare
combination. Of course ultramaterialists will pull
his latest book to pieces, from the frank preface
to the dedication which follows the last chapter.
But readers of more gentle fibre will find it not
only full of rich imagery and refreshing interest,
but also a wonderful passport to the dear child
land Stevenson made so real and telling, and which
most of us, having left it far behind, would so
gladly regain.”—_Chicago Record-Herald._
The Golden Hynde
AND OTHER POEMS
The new volume contains a considerable amount of
hitherto unpublished work, besides some poems which
have been published only in magazines and are
practically unknown to American readers. The book
bears out the verdict of the _Post_:—
“It has seemed to us from the first that Noyes has
been one of the most hope-inspiring figures in our
latter-day poetry. He, almost alone of the younger
men, seems to have the true singing voice, the gift
of uttering in authentic lyric cry some fresh,
unspoiled emotion.”
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
PUBLISHERS, 64—66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Scarecrow; or The Glass of Truth - A Tragedy of the Ludicrous" ***
Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.