July 18 The Harvard Classics, fifteen minutes a day
They Loved in Vain
“Browning’s play has thrown me into a perfect passion of sorrow,” wrote Charles Dickens of “The Blot in the ’Scutcheon.” Like Shakespeare’s Juliet, Browning’s Mildred plays the rôle of a youthful lover in a tragic drama.
From the 1930 Reading Guide
Blot in the ’Scutcheon
Robert Browning
A BLOT IN THE ’SCUTCHEON
A TRAGEDY
(1843)
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
MILDRED TRESHAMGUENDOLEN TRESHAMTHOROLD, EARL TRESHAMAUSTIN TRESHAMHENRY, EARL MERTOUNGERARD, and other retainers of Lord TreshamTime, 17—
ACT I
SCENE I.—The Interior of a Lodge in Lord Tresham’s Park. Many Retainers crowded at the window, supposed to command a view of the entrance to his Mansion.
GERARD, the Warrener, his back to a table on which are flagons, etc.
First Retainer
AY, do! push, friends, and then you’ll push down me!—What for? Does any hear a runner’s footOr a steed’s trample or a coach-wheel’s cry?Is the Earl come or his least poursuivant?But there’s no breeding in a man of youSave Gerard yonder: here’s a half-place yet,Old Gerard!Gerard. Save your courtesies, my friend. Here is my place.Second Retainer. Now, Gerard, out with it!What makes you sullen, this of all the daysI’ the year? To-day that young rich bountifulHandsome Earl Mertoun, whom alone they matchWith our Lord Tresham through the country-side,Is coming here in utmost braveryTo ask our master’s sister’s hand?Gerard. What then?Second Retainer. What then? Why, you, she speaks to, if she meetsYour worship, smiles on as you hold apartThe boughs to let her through her forest walks,You, always favourite for your no-deserts,You’ve heard, these three days, how Earl Mertoun suesTo lay his heart and house and broad lands tooAt Lady Mildred’s feet: and while we squeezeOurselves into a mousehole lest we missOne congee of the least page in his train,You sit o’ one side—“there’s the Earl,” say I—“What then?” say you!Third Retainer. I’ll wager he has letBoth swans he tamed for Lady Mildred swimOver the falls and gain the river!Gerard. Ralph,Is not to-morrow my inspecting-dayFor you and for your hawks?Fourth Retainer. Let Gerard be!He’s coarse-grained, like his carved black cross-bow stock.Ha, look now, while we squabble with him, look!Well done, now—is not this beginning, now,To purpose?First Retainer. Our retainers look as fine—That’s comfort. Lord, how Richard holds himselfWith his white staff! Will not a knave behindPrick him upright?Fourth Retainer. He’s only bowing, fool!The Earl’s man bent us lower by this much.First Retainer. That’s comfort. Here’s a very cavalcade!Third Retainer. I don’t see wherefore Richard, and his troopOf silk and silver varlets there, should findTheir perfumed selves so indispensableOn high days, holidays! Would it so disgraceOur family, if I, for instance, stood—In my right hand a cast of Swedish hawks,A leash of greyhounds in my left?—Gerard.—With HughThe logman for supporter, in his rightThe bill-hook, in his left the brushwood-shears!Third Retainer. Out on you, crab! What next, what next? The Earl!First Retainer. Oh Walter, groom, our horses, do they matchThe Earl’s? Alas, that first pair of the six—They paw the ground—Ah Walter! and that bruteJust on his haunches by the wheel!Sixth Retainer. Ay—ay!You, Philip, are a special hand, I hear,At soups and sauces: what’s a horse to you?D’ye mark that beast they’ve slid into the midstSo cunningly?—then, Philip, mark this further;No leg has he to stand on!First Retainer. No? that’s comfort.Second Retainer. Peace, Cook! The Earl descends. Well, Gerard, seeThe Earl at least! Come, there’s a proper man,I hope! Why, Ralph, no falcon, Pole or Swede,Has got a starrier eye.Third Retainer. His eyes are blue:But leave my hawks alone!Fourth Retainer. So young, and yetSo tall and shapely!Fifth Retainer. Here’s Lord Tresham’s self!There now—there’s what a nobleman should be!He’s older, graver, loftier, he’s more likeA House’s head.Second Retainer. But you’d not have a boy—And what’s the Earl beside?—possess too soonThat stateliness?First Retainer. Our master takes his hand—Richard and his white staff are on the move—Back fall our people—(tsh!—there’s TimothySure to get tangled in his ribbon-ties,And Peter’s cursed rosette’s a-coming off!)—At last I see our lord’s back and his friend’s;And the whole beautiful bright companyClose round them—in they go! [Jumping down from the window-bench, and making for the table and its jugs.]Good health, long life,Great joy to our Lord Tresham and his House!Sixth Retainer. My father drove his father first to court,After his marriage-day—ay, did he!Second Retainer. God blessLord Tresham, Lady Mildred, and the Earl!Here, Gerard, reach your beaker!Gerard. Drink, my boys!Don’t mind me—all’s not right about me—drink!Second Retainer [aside]. He’s vexed, now, that he let the show escape![To GERARD.] Remember that the Earl returns this way.Gerard. That way?Second Retainer. Just so.Gerard. Then my way’s here. [Goes.Second Retainer. Old GerardWill die soon—mind, I said it! He was usedTo care about the pitifullest thingThat touched the House’s honour, not an eyeBut his could see wherein: and on a causeOf scarce a quarter this importance, GerardFairly had fretted flesh and bone awayIn cares that this was right, nor that was wrong,Such point decorous, and such square by rule—He knew such niceties, no herald more:And now—you see his humour: die he will!Second Retainer. God help him! Who’s for the great servants’ hallTo hear what’s going on inside! They’d followLord Tresham into the saloon.Third Retainer. I!—Fourth Retainer. I!—Leave Frank alone for catching, at the door,Some hint of how the parley goes inside!Prosperity to the great House once more!Here’s the last drop!First Retainer. Have at you! Boys, hurrah!
SCENE II.—A Saloon in the Mansion
Enter LORD TRESHAM, LORD MERTOUN, AUSTIN, and GUENDOLEN
Tresham. I welcome you, Lord Mertoun, yet once more,To this ancestral roof of mine. Your name—Noble among the noblest in itself,Yet taking in your person, fame avers,New price and lustre,—(as that gem you wear,Transmitted from a hundred knightly breasts,Fresh chased and set and fixed by its last lord,Seems to re-kindle at the core)—your nameWould win you welcome!—Mertoun. Thanks!Tresham.—But add to that,The worthiness and grace and dignityOf your proposal for uniting bothOur Houses even closer than respectUnites them now—add these, and you must grantOne favour more, nor that the least,—to thinkThe welcome I should give;—’tis given! My lord,My only brother, Austin: he’s the king’s.Our cousin, Lady Guendolen—betrothedTo Austin: all are yours.Mertoun. I thank you—lessFor the expressed commendings which your seal,And only that, authenticates—forbidsMy putting from me... to my heart I takeYour praise... but praise less claims my gratitude,Than the indulgent insight it impliesOf what must needs be uppermost with oneWho comes, like me, with the bare leave to ask,In weighed and measured unimpassioned words,A gift, which, if as calmly ’tis denied,He must withdraw, content upon his cheek,Despair within his soul. That I dare askFirmly, near boldly, near with confidenceThat gift, I have to thank you. Yes, Lord Tresham,I love your sister—as you’d have one loveThat lady... oh more, more I love her! Wealth,Rank, all the world thinks me, they’re yours, you know,To hold or part with, at your choice—but grantMy true self, me without a rood of land,A piece of gold, a name of yesterday,Grant me that lady, and you... Death or life?Guendolen [apart to AUSTIN]. Why, this is loving, Austin!Austin. He’s so young!Guendolen. Young? Old enough, I think, to half surmiseHe never had obtained an entrance here,Were all this fear and trembling needed.Austin. Hush!He reddens.Guendolen. Mark him, Austin; that’s true love!Ours must begin again.Tresham. We’ll sit, my lord.Ever with best desert goes diffidence.I may speak plainly nor be misconceivedThat I am wholly satisfied with youOn this occasion, when a falcon’s eyeWere dull compared with mine to search out faults,Is somewhat. Mildred’s hand is hers to giveOr to refuse.Mertoun. But you, you grant my suit?I have your word if hers?Tresham. My best of wordsIf hers encourage you. I trust it will.Have you seen Lady Mildred, by the way?Mertoun. I... I... our two demesnes, remember, touch,I have been used to wander carelesslyAfter my stricken game: the heron rousedDeep in my woods, has trailed its broken wingThro’ thicks and glades a mile in yours,—or elseSome eyass ill-reclaimed has taken flightAnd lured me after her from tree to tree,I marked not whither. I have come uponThe lady’s wondrous beauty unaware,And—and then... I have seen her.Guendolen [aside to AUSTIN]. Note that modeOf faltering out that, when a lady passed,He, having eyes, did see her! You had said—“On such a day I scanned her, head to foot;Observed a red, where red should not have been,Outside her elbow; but was pleased enoughUpon the whole.” Let such irreverent talkBe lessoned for the future!Tresham. What’s to sayMay be said briefly. She has never knownA mother’s care; I stand for father too.Her beauty is not strange to you, it seems—You cannot know the good and tender heart,Its girl’s trust and its woman’s constancy,How pure yet passionate, how calm yet kind,How grave yet joyous, how reserved yet freeAs light where friends are—how imbued with loreThe world most prizes, yet the simplest, yetThe... one might know I talked of Mildred—thusWe brothers talk!Mertoun. I thank you.Tresham. In a word,Control’s not for this lady; but her wishTo please me outstrips in its subtletyMy power of being pleased: herself createsThe want she means to satisfy. My heartPrefers your suit to her as ’twere its own.Can I say more?Mertoun. No more—thanks, thanks—no more!Tresham. This matter then discussed...Mertoun.—We’ll waste no breathOn aught less precious. I’m beneath the roofWhich holds her: while I thought of that, my speechTo you would wander—as it must not do,Since as you favour me I stand or fall.I pray you suffer that I take my leave!Tresham. With less regret ’tis suffered, that againWe meet, I hope, so shortly.Mertoun. We? again?—Ah yes, forgive me—when shall... you will crownYour goodness by forthwith apprising meWhen... if... the lady will appoint a dayFor me to wait on you—and her.Tresham. So soonAs I am made acquainted with her thoughtsOn your proposal—howsoe’er they lean—A messenger shall bring you the result.Mertoun. You cannot bind me more to you, my lord.Farewell till we renew... I trust, renewA converse ne’er to disunite again.Tresham. So may it prove!Mertoun. You, lady, you, sir, takeMy humble salutation!Guendolen and Austin. Thanks!Tresham. Within there!
[Servants enter. TRESHAM conducts MERTOUN to the door. Meantime AUSTIN remarks,
Well,Here I have an advantage of the Earl,Confess now! I’d not think that all was safeBecause my lady’s brother stood my friend!Why, he makes sure of her—“do you say yes—She’ll not say, no,”—what comes it to beside?I should have prayed the brother, “speak this speech,For Heaven’s sake urge this on her—put in this—Forget not, as you’d save me, t’other thing,—Then set down what she says, and how she looks,And if she smiles, and” (in an under breath)“Only let her accept me, and do youAnd all the world refuse me, if you dare!”Guendolen. That way you’d take, friend Austin? What a shameI was your cousin, tamely from the firstYour bride, and all this fervour’s run to waste!Do you know you speak sensibly to-day?The Earl’s a fool.Austin. Here’s Thorold. Tell him so!Tresham [returning]. Now, voices, voices! ’St! the lady’s first!How seems he?—seems he not... come, faith give fraudThe mercy-stroke whenever they engage!Down with fraud, up with faith! How seems the Earl?A name! a blazon! if you knew their worth,As you will never! come—the Earl?Guendolen. He’s young.Tresham. What’s she? an infant save in heart and brain.Young! Mildred is fourteen, remark! And you...Austin, how old is she?Guendolen. There’s tact for you!I meant that being young was good excuseIf one should tax him...Tresham. Well?Guendolen.—With lacking wit.Tresham. He lacked wit? Where might he lack wit, so please you?Guendolen. In standing straighter than the steward’s rodAnd making you the tiresomest harangue,Instead of slipping over to my sideAnd softly whispering in my ear, “Sweet lady,Your cousin there will do me detrimentHe little dreams of: he’s absorbed, I see,In my old name and fame—be sure he’ll leaveMy Mildred, when his best account of meIs ended, in full confidence I wearMy grandsire’s periwig down either cheek.I’m lost unless your gentleness vouchsafes”...Tresham... “To give a best of best accounts, yourself,Of me and my demerits.” You are right!He should have said what now I say for him.Yon golden creature, will you help us all?Here’s Austin means to vouch for much, but you—You are... what Austin only knows! Come up,All three of us: she’s in the libraryNo doubt, for the day’s wearing fast. Precede!Guendolen. Austin, how we must—!Tresham. Must what? Must speak truth,Malignant tongue! Detect one fault in him!I challenge you!Guendolen. Witchcraft’s a fault in him,For you’re bewitched.Tresham. What’s urgent we obtainIs, that she soon receive him—say, to-morrow—Next day at furthest.Guendolen. Ne’er instruct me!Tresham. Come!—He’s out of your good graces, since forsooth,He stood not as he’d carry us by stormWith his perfections! You’re for the composedManly assured becoming confidence!—Get her to say, “to-morrow,” and I’ll give you...I’ll give you black Urganda, to be spoiledWith petting and snail-paces. Will you? Come!
Volume 18, pages 359–368 · See the scanned page on archive.org
This is the reading for July 18 in Fifteen Minutes a Day: The Reading Guide (1930 edition), page 6. There the assignment reads “Vol. 18, pp. 359–368.” Read it in the guide.