# The Family Legend: A Tragedy/The Family Legend Act 2

ACT II.
SCENE I. An Apartment in twilight, almost dark; the door of an inner Chamber, standing a little ajar, at the bottom of the Stage.
Enter John of Lorne and Sir Hubert de Grey, disguised as peasants.
DE GREY.
LORNE.
The nurse's chamber is adjoining to it; And, till her light within give notice, here Thou may'st remain; when I am call'd thou'lt leave me.
DE GREY.
The sweetness of her voice—her footstep's sound:— Perhaps snatch in the torch's hasty light One momentary vision of that form—
The form that hath to me of earthly make No fellow? May it be without transgression?
LORNE.
Here art thou come with no dishonest will; And well she knows thine honour. Her commands, Though we must yield to them, capricious seem; Seeing thou art with me, too nicely scrupulous; And therefore need no farther be obey'd Than needs must be. She puts thee not on honour. Were I so used———
DE GREY.
Revere her still the more.—O, no, brave Lorne! I blame her not. When she, a willing victim, To spare the blood of two contending clans, Against my faithful love her suffrage gave, I bless'd her: and the deep, but chasten'd sorrow With which she bade me—Oh! that word! farewell, Is treasured in my bosom as its share Of all that earthly love hath power to give. It came from Helen, and, from her received, Shall not be worn with thankless dull repining.
LORNE.
Becomes thy gen'rous nature. But for me, More fierce and wilful, sorely was I chafed To see thy faithful heart robb'd of its hope, All for the propping up a hollow peace Between two warlike clans, who will, as long As bagpipes sound, and blades flash to the sun, Delighting in the noble sport of war, Some fierce opponents find. What doth it boot, If men in fields must fight, and blood be shed, What clans are in the ceaseless strife opposed?
DE GREY.
To war inclined—to wasteful, ruthless war.
LORNE.
Shall bards i' the hall sing of our fathers' deeds To lull their sons to sleep? Vain simple wish! I love to hear the sound of holy bell, And peaceful men their praises lift to heaven: I love to see around their blazing fire The peasant and his cheerful family set, Eating their fearless meal. But, when the roar Of battle rises, and the closing clans, Dark'ning the sun-gleam'd heath, in dread affray Are mingled; blade with blade, and limb with limb, Nerve-strain'd, in terrible strength; yea, soul with soul
Nobly contending; who would raise aloft The interdicting hand, and say, "Be still'd?" If this in me be sin, may heaven forgive me! That being am not I.
DE GREY.
This is thy sin; and of thy manly nature The only blemish worthy of that name. More peaceful be, and thou wilt be more noble.
LORNE.
None in th' embattled field who have beheld Hubert de Grey in mailed hauberk fight, Will guess how much that knight in peace delights. Still burns my heart that such a man as thou Was't for this weak, unsteady, poor Maclean——
DE GREY.
Her husband, and despised! 0, no, no, no! All that pertains to her, e'en from that hour, Honour'd and sacred is.
LORNE.
I will not grieve thee.—I'll to Helen go,
With every look and word that might betray Indignant thoughts, or wound her gentle spirit, Strictly suppress'd: and to her ear will give Thy gen'rous greetings, and thy manly words Of cheering comfort;—all most faithfully Shall be remembered.
DE GREY.
LORNE.
DE GREY.
Upon the thing that is of her; this bud— This seedling of a flower so exquisite. (Light is seen in the inner chamber.) Ha! light is in the chamber! moves the door? Some one approaches. O! but for a moment Let me behind thy friendly tartans be, And snatch one glance of what that light will give.
(Conceals himself behind Lorne, who steps some paces back, setting his hand to his side, and tilting his plaid over his arms to favour him; while the door of the inner chamber opens, and Helen appears, bearing a lamp, which she
afterwards sets upon a stone slab as she advances.)
Her form—her motion—yea, that mantled arm, Press'd closely to her breast, as she was wont When chilly winds assail'd.—The face—O, woe is me! It was not then so pale.
LORNE, (to him, in a low voice.)
DE GREY.
(Exit in haste.)
HELEN. (coming forward, alarmed.)
Is Morton on the watch?
LORNE.
The steps thou heard'st were friendly.
HELEN, (embracing Lorne.)
Is this like peace? How is my noble father? Hath any ill befallen?
LORNE.
And nothing ill, my sister, hath befallen, If thou art well and happy.
HELEN.
Why art thou come? Why thus upon our coast? O take it not unkindly that I say, "Why art thou come?"
LORNE.
With no design, but on a lengthen'd chace, A lusty deer pursuing from the hills Of Morvern, where Sir Hubert and myself Guests of the social lord two days had been, We found us; when a sudden strong desire To look upon the Castle of Maclean, Seen from the coast, our eager fancy seiz'd, And that indulged, forthwith we did agree The frith to cross, and to its chief and dame A hasty visit make. But as our boat Lay waiting to receive us, warn'd by one Whom well I knew (the vassal of a friend Whose word I could not doubt,) that jealous rancour,
Stirr'd up amongst the vassals of Maclean, Who, in their savage fury had been heard To utter threats against thy innocent self, Made it unsafe in open guise to venture, Here in this garb we are to learn in secret The state in which thou art.—How is it then? Morton's report has added to my fears: All is not well with thee.
HELEN.
LORNE.
All is not well.—Maclean—dares he neglect thee?
HELEN.
He still remains.
LORNE.
Have dared to name thee, even in open clan, And have remain'd unpunish'd. Is it so? (Pauses for an answer, but she is silent.) All is not well.
HELEN.
LORNE.
With cold reserve?—O speak to me, my Helen! Speak as a sister should.—Have they insulted thee? Has any wrong—my heart within me burns If I but think upon it.—Answer truly.
HELEN.
Like the spoil'd heiress of some Lowland lord, Peevish and dainty; who, with scorn regarding The ruder home she is by marriage placed in, Still holds herself an alien from its interest, With poor repining, losing every sense Of what she is, in what she has been? No.— I love thee, Lorne; I love my father's house: The meanest cur that round his threshold barks, Is in my memory as some kindred thing: Yet take it not unkindly when I say, The lady of Maclean no grievance hath To tell the Lord of Lorne.
LORNE.
Constrain'd, unblest, and joyless as it was, Which gave thee to a lord unworthy of thee, Placed thee beyond the reach of kindred ties— The warmth of blood to blood—the sure affection That nature gives to all—a brother's love? No, by all sacred things! here is thy hold: Here is thy true, unshaken, native stay: One that shall fail thee never, though, the while, A faithless, wavering, intervening band Seems to divide thee from it.
(Grasping her hand vehementy, as if he would lead her away.)
HELEN.
Com'st thou to lead me from my husband's house, Beneath the shade of night, with culprit's stealth?
LORNE.
Shall come to lead thee from these hated walls Back to thy native home,—with culprit's stealth, Beneath the shades of night, it shall not be. With half our western warriors at his back, He'll proudly come. Thy listening timid chief Shall hear our martial steps upon his heath, With heavy measured fall, send, beat by beat,
From the far smitten earth a sullen sound, Like deep-dell'd forests groaning to the strokes Of lusty wood-men. On the watch-tower's height, His straining eye shall mark our sheathless swords From rank to rank their lengthen'd blaze emit, Like streams of shiv'ring light, in hasty change, Upon the northern firmament.—By stealth! No! not by stealth!—believe me, not by stealth Shalt thou these portals pass.
HELEN.
The pledge of peace: and here my place I'll hold As dame and mistress of the warlike clan Who yield obedience to their chief, my lord; And whatsoe'er their will to me may bear, Of good or ill, so will I hold me ever. Yea, did the Lord of Lorne, dear as he is, With all the warlike Campbells at his back Here hostile entrance threaten; on these walls, Failing the strength that might defend them better, I would myself, while by my side in arms One valiant clan's-man stood, against his powers, To the last push, with desp'rate opposition, This castle hold.
LORNE.
Forgive me, noble creature!—Oh! the fate— The wavward fate that binds thy gen'rous soul To poor unsteady weakness!
HELEN.
Thus pressing still upon the galled spot? Thou deal'st unkindly with me. Yes, my brother, Unkindly and unwisely. Wherefore hast thou Brought to this coast the man thou knowest well I ought not in mysterious guise to see? And he himself—seeks he again to move The hapless weakness I have striv'n to conquer? I thought him generous.
LORNE.
His wishes tend not to disturb thy peace: Far other are his thoughts,—He bids me tell thee, To cheer thy gentle heart, nor think of him, As one who will in vain and stubborn grief His ruin'd bliss lament,—he bids me say That he will even strive, if it be possible, Amongst the maidens of his land to seek
Some faint resemblance of the good he lost, That thou may'st hear of him with less regret, As one by holy bands link'd to his kind. He bids me say, should ever child of his And child of thine—but here his quivering lip And starting tears spoke what he could not speak.
HELEN.
Such cheering manly comfort? Heaven protect, And guide, and bless him! On his noble head Such prosp'rous bliss be pour'd, that hearing of it, Shall through the gloom of my untoward state, Like gleams of sunshine break, that from afar Look o'er the dull dun heath.
LORNE.
HELEN.
LORNE.
HELEN.
Shall it be bless'd by him?
Enter Morton in haste.
MORTON.
(Pointing off the stage.) The nearest postern gain: I hear the sound Of heavy steps at hand, and voices stern.
HELEN.
(To Morton.)Where is Sir Hubert?
MORTON.
HELEN.
(To Lorne.)O leave me! I, the while, Will in, and, with mine infant in mine arms, Meet thee again, ere thou depart.—Fly! fly!
(Exeunt, Helen into the inner Chamber, putting out the lamp as she goes, and Lorne and Morton by a side Passage.)
SCENE II. A cave, lighted by flaming brands stuck aloft on its rugged sides, and shedding a fierce glaring light down upon the objects below. ​Lochtarish, Benlora, Glenfadden, with several of the chief vassals of Maclean, are discovered in a recess, formed by projecting rocks, at the bottom of the Stage, engaged in earnest discourse, from which they move forward slowly, speaking as they advance.
LOCHTARISH.
We are compell'd to this.
FIRST VASSAL.
LOCHTARISH.
That ne'er a man amongst us can securely His lands possess, or say, "My house is mine," While, under tutorage of proud Argyll, This beauteous sorceress our besotted chief By soft enchantment holds? (Laying his hand on the First Vassal.) My brave Glenore, What are thy good deserts, that may uphold thee In favour with a Campbell?—Duncan's blood, Slain in his boat, with all its dashing oars Skirting our shore, while that his vaunting piper
The Campbell's triumph play'd? Will this speak for thee?
(Turning to Second Vassal.) And, Thona, what good merit pleadest thou? The coal-black steed of Clone, thy moon-light plunder, Ta'en from the spiteful laird, will he, good sooth! Neigh favour on thee?
(To Third Vassal.) And my valiant Fallen, Bethink thee well if fair-hair'd Flora's cries, Whom from her native bower by force thou took'st, Will plead for thee.—And say ye still perhaps— Perhaps there is necessity?
FIRST VASSAL.
Is fell and cruel thou would'st push us to.
GLENFADDEN, (to First Vassal.)
From bloody taint unstain'd? What sights were those Thou look'dst upon in Brunock's burning tower, When infants through the flames their wailings sent, And yet unaided perish'd?
LOCHTARISH. (soothingly).
Too hasty art thou. (To the Vassals.)Ye will say, belike, "Our safety—our existence did demand Utter extinction of that hold of foes." And well ye may.—A like necessity Compels us now, and yet ye hesitate.
GLENFADDEN.
Not moving onward in the wonted path On which by friends the peaceful dead are borne, But hov'ring o'er the heath like countless stars, Spent and extinguish'd on the very spot Where first they twinkled. This too well foreshows Interment of the slain, whose bloody graves Of the same mould are made on which they fell.
SECOND VASSAL.
FIRST VASSAL.
GLENFADDEN.
Can see on northern waves the found'ring bark, With all her shrieking crew, sink to the deep. While yet, with gentle winds, on dimpling surge She sails from port in all her gallant trim: John of the Isle hath seen it.
Omnes, starting back.
GLENFADDEN.
The mermaid hath been heard upon our rocks?
Omnes, still more alarmed.
GLENFADDEN.
That lifts its dark head through the cloudy smoke Of dashing billows, near the western cliff. Sweetly, but sadly, o'er the stilly deep The passing sound was borne. I need not say How fatal to our clan that boding sound Hath ever been.
THIRD VASSAL.
SECOND VASSAL.
FIRST VASSAL.
Our clan before our ancient foe shall fall, Can we heaven's will prevent? Why should we then The Campbells' wrath provoke?
BENLORA, (stepping up fiercely to First Vassal.)
Is such base tameness utter'd by the son Of one, who would into the fiery pit Of damned fiends have leapt, so that his grasp Might pull a Campbell with him? Bastard blood! Thy father spoke not thus.
LOCHTARISH, (soothingly.)
He means not as thou think'st.
BENLORA.
Slaughter and ruin for us, come it then! But let our enemies, close grappled to us, In deadly strife, their ruin join with ours. Let corse to corse, upon the bloody heath, Maclean and Campbell, stiff'ning side by side, With all the gnashing ecstasy of hate Upon their ghastly visages impress'd, Lie horribly!—For ev'ry widow's tear Shed in our clan, let matron Campbells howl.
LOCHTARISH.
Benlora wisely speaks. — Shall we in truth Wait for our ruin from a crafty foe, Who here maintains this keenly watchful spy In gentle kindness masked?
GLENFADDEN.
As good Lochtarish hath already urged, Her death will rouse Argyll. It will be deem'd, As we shall grace it with all good respect Of funeral pomp, a natural visitation.
LOCHTARISH.
And truly swear, if we are call'd upon, We have not shed her blood.
BENLORA.
If ye her life will take, in open day Let her a public sacrifice be made. Let the loud trumpet far and near proclaim Our bloody feast, and at the rousing sound, Let every clans-man of the hated name His vengeful weapon clench.—— I like it not, Lochtarish. What we do, Let it be boldly done,—Why should we slay her? Let her in shame be from the castle sent; Which to her haughty sire will do, I ween, Far more despite than taking of her life.— A feeble woman's life!—I like it not.
(Turning on his heel angrily, and striding to the bottom of the Stage.)
LOCHTARISH, (aside to Glenfadden.)
The fiery fool! how madly wild he is!
(Glenfadden goes to the bottom of the stage, and
is seen remonstrating in dumb-show with Benlora, while Lochtarish speaks to the Vassals on the front.)
LOCHTARISH.
In gloomy silence? freely speak your thoughts. Mine have I freely spoken: that advising Which for the good—nay, I must say existence, Of this our ancient clan most needful is. When did Lochtarish ever for himself A separate 'vantage seek, in which the clan At large partook not? Am I doubted now?
SECOND VASSAL.
LOCHTARISH.
To childish folly turn'd? Think'st thou, good Thona, We should beneath this artful mistress live, Hush'd in deceitful peace, till John of Lorne, For whom the office of a treacherous spy She doth right slily manage, with his powers Shall come upon us? Once ye would have spurn'd At thoughts so base; but now, when forth I stand To do what vengeance, safety, nay, existence
All loudly call for; even as though already The enemy's baleful influence hung o'er ye, Like quell'd and passive men ye silent stand.
FIRST VASSAL, (roused).
Thou know'st we are not.
LOCHTARISH.
And that a treacherous woman, moves you thus. Bold as your threats of dark revenge have been, A strong decisive deed appals you now. Our chieftain's feeble undetermined spirit Infects you all: ye dare not stand by me.
Omnes.
LOCHTARISH.
Well spoke the jeering Camerons, I trow, As past their fishing boats our vessel steer'd, When with push'd lip, and finger pointing thus, They call'd our crew the Campbell-cow'd Macleans.
Omnes (roused fiercely.)
SECOND VASSAL.
Dare they to call us so?
LOCHTARISH.
Nor think that from the Camerons alone Ye will such greeting have, if back ye shrink, And stand not by me now.
Omnes (eagerly.)
SECOND VASSAL.
That will not back thee boldly.
LOCHTARISH.
Now are ye men!—Give me your hands to this. (They all give him their hands.) Now am I satisfied.(Looking off the stage.) The chief approaches.
Ye know full well the spirit of the man That we must deal withall; therefore be bold.
Omnes.
(Enter Maclean, who advances to the middle of the Stage, while Lochtarish, Benlora, Glenfadden, and all the other Vassals gather round him with stern determined looks. A pause; Maclean eyeing them all round with inquisitive anxiety.)
MACLEAN.
(A sullen pause.) Benlora; Thona; Allen of Glenore; And all of you, our first and bravest kinsmen; What mystery in this sullen silence is? Hangs any threaten'd evil o'er the clan?
BENLORA.
Within your grey-hair'd warriors' veins to burn, And their brogued feet to spurn the ground that bears them.
LOCHTARISH.
Your ditches fill with blood, and carrion birds Glut with the butcher'd corses of your slain.
GLENFADDEN.
Of sighted men around their age-worn scalps Like quicken'd points of crackling flame to rise; Their teeth to grind, and strained eye-balls roll In fitful frenzy, at the horrid things, In terrible array before them raised.
FIRST VASSAL.
The fatal song of waves.
GLENFADDEN.
Is heard with distant moanings from our coast, Uttering the dismal bodeful sounds of death.
SECOND VASSAL.
Marking in countless groupes the graves of thousands.
BENLORA.
Have from the sacred mould wherein he lies, At dead of night, by wakeful men been heard Three times distinctly. (Turning to Glenfadden.) Said'st thou not thrice?
GLENFADDEN.
MACLEAN.
LOCHTARISH.
Of coming ills, by signs like these forewarn'd?
MACLEAN.
LOCHTARISH, (in a loud solemn voice.)
MACLEAN.
Your words confuse and stun me.—Have I power To ward this evil off?
Omnes.
MACLEAN.
As I will do for you and for my clan Whate'er my slender power enables me.
Omnes.
MACLEAN, (starting back.)
With such wild fierceness utter'd? name the thing That ye would have me do.
BENLORA, (stepping out from the rest.)
Helen the Campbell, foster'd in your bosom, A serpent is, who wears a hidden sting For thee and all thy name; the oath-bound spy Of dark Argyll, our foe; the baleful plague To which ill-omen'd sounds and warnings point, As that on which existence or extinction— The name and being of our clan depend;—
A witch of deep seduction.—Cast her forth. The strange, unnatural union of two bloods, Adverse and hostile, most abhorred is. The heart of every warrior of your name Rises against it. Yea, the grave calls out, And says it may not be.—Nay, shrink not, chief, When I again repeat it,—cast her off.
MACLEAN.
Bound as I am by sacred holy ties?
LOCHTARISH.
As sacred holy ties; what tie so sacred As those that to his name and kindred vassals The noble chieftain bind? If ties there be To these opposed, although a saint from heaven Had bless'd them o'er the cross'd and holy things, They are annull'd and broken.
BENLORA.
Sound doctrine hast thou uttered. Such the creed Of ancient warriors was, and such the creed That we their sons will with our swords maintain.
(Drawing his sword fiercely, whilst the rest follow his example.)
MACLEAN.
I can in battle strive, as well ye know: But how to strive with you, ye violent men, My spirit knows not.
LOCHTARISH.
To be our chieftain, leading forth thy bands, As heretofore thy valiant father did, Against our ancient foe, or be the husband, Despised, forsaken, cursed, of her thou prizest More than thy clan and kindred.
GLENFADDEN.
Benlora wont, in better times, to lead us Against the Campbells, with a chieftain's power, Shall, with the first blast of his warlike horn, If so he will it, round his standard gather Thy rous'd and valiant vassals to a man.
MACLEAN, (greatly startled.)
My vassals so desert me?
LOCHTARISH.
And in your hall remain, to serve your state, Nor child nor aged crone.
MACLEAN, (after great agitation.)
To which these words ye yoke, may go, I guess not. (Eagerly.) They reach not to her life?
(Pauses and looks at them anxiously, but they are silent.)
LOCHTARISH.
MACLEAN.
LOCHTARISH.
How we shall deal with her.
MACLEAN.
Which covers cruel things. O woe the day,
That I on this astounding ridge am pois'd! On ev'ry side a fearful ruin yawns.
(A voice heard without, uttering wild incoherent words, mixed with shrieks of horror.)
Enter Fourth Vassal, as if terribly frightened.
LOCHTARISH, (to Fourth Vassal.)
FOURTH VASSAL.
His starting eyeballs, bent on fearful sights, That make the sinews of his aged limbs In agony to quiver.
LOCHTARISH.
FOURTH VASSAL.
Go, see yourselves: i' the outer cave he is. Entranced he stands; arrested on his way By horrid visions, as he hurried hither Enquiring for the chief. (Voice heard without, as before.)
LOCHTARISH.
Come, chieftain—come and see the awful man. If heaven or hell hath power to move thy will, Thou canst not now withstand us. (Pausing for him to go.) Hearst thou not? And motionless?
MACLEAN.
And every sense bcwilder'd. Violent men! If ye unto this fearful pitch are bent,— When such necessity is press'd upon me, What doth avail resistance? Woe the day! Even lead me where ye will.
(Exit Maclean, exhausted and trembling, leaning on Lochtarish, and followed by Benlora and Glenfadden and Vassals; two inferior Vassals alone left upon the stage.)
FIRST, (looking after Maclean.)
Without a prophet's skill, we may foretell, John of the Isle, by sly Lochtarish taught,
Will work him soon to be an oath-bound wretch To this their fell design.—Are all things ready?
SECOND.
FIRST.
SECOND.
Near to the castle, with our trusty mates, Our boat must be in waiting to receive her.
FIRST.
That slow and dismal death! To be at once Plunged in the closing deep many have suffered, But to sit waiting on a lonely rock For the approaching tide to throttle her— But that she is a Campbell, I could weep.
SECOND.
With our old enemy, and in the field Our good claymores reek with their hated blood: Think upon this, and change thy tears to joy. (Exeunt.)
SCENE III.—The Bed-Chamber of Maclean.
Enter Maclean, followed by Helen.
HELEN.
Is almost spent: the morn will break ere long, And rest hast thou had none. Go to thy bed: I pray thee, go.
MACLEAN.
HELEN.
MACLEAN.
And who will watch for thee?
HELEN.
Can any harm approach? When thou art near, Or sleeping or awake, I am secure.
MACLEAN, (pacing to and fro distractedly).
HELEN.
(Going up to him, while he avoids her.) Turn'st thou from me thus? Have I offended? dost thou doubt my faith? Hath any jealous thought—I freely own Love did not make me thine: but, being thine, To no love-wedded dame, bound in the ties Of dearest sympathy, will I in duty— In steady, willing, cheerful duty yield. Yea, and though here no thrilling rapture be, I look to spend with thee, by habit foster'd, The evening of my days in true affection.
MACLEAN.
Would heaven had so decreed it! (Pulling away his hand from hers.) Grasp me not! It is a fiend thou cling'st to.
(A knock at the door.) Power of heaven! Are they already at the chamber door!
HELEN.
Withdraw thyself, and I will open to them. (Goes to the door.)
MACLEAN.
(Runs after her to draw her back, when a Vassal, rushing from behind the bed, lays hold of him.)
VASSAL.
MACLEAN.
O fiends! ye've made of me—what words can speak The hateful wretch I am! Hark! hark! she cries! She shrieks and calls on me!
(Helen’s cries heard without, first near and distinct, afterwards more and more distant as they bear her away; while the Vassal leads Maclean forcibly off the stage by the opposite side, he breaks from him, and hastens towards that by which Helen went out.
VASSAL.
But if thou bring'st her back, even from that moment Benlora is our leader, and thyself. The Campbell's husband, chieftain and Maclean No more shalt be. We've sworn as well as thou.
(Maclean stops irresolutely, and then suffers the Vassal to lead him off by the opposite side.)