University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Chamber in the Castle.
Mahel and Stephen.
(Mahel rising from table.)
Enough of both kinds. They who fast so long,
Should feed more sparingly than I have done.
The swine-herd prodigal that lived on husks,
Might die of change and surfeit. Who so swift
In squandering goods as I have been? All lost!
Yet trust me, Stephen, not through riotous living.
Old honor's spendthrift seeks his father's house.

STEPHEN.
It is his own:—his father went to meet him;
And if the music and the dance are missed,
He finds glad welcome nevertheless. My son
Brings neither dread of heart nor shameful tears:
But these to all that hate him! He shall have
The benediction which belongs to peace.

MAHEL.
I have had more instead of it:—not peace—
That never must return to me again,
Till death shall bring it with forgetfulness.
Nor have I prayed for it this side the grave.

STEPHEN.
Honor, not death, shall bring it thee.

MAHEL.
I thought
On honor once as misers think on gold:
It was my hope, mine idol.—God forgive me:
I cannot quite cast out this covetous spirit!
Why should I care for honor? What am I—
Coward, bastard, vagabond—to think of honor!
I asked of Him for patience—and endured
To make reproach the garment next my skin,
Living in fellowship with infamy.
Scorn galled me like a hair-cloth. I have known
The shame, and who proclaimed it too—fie on thee—
Even from the lips I loved! All else is gone
Almost beyond my wishes. What I asked,
Besides this patience which has well-nigh failed,
Were truth and justice from the just and righteous—
And I believe he grants them me.

STEPHEN.
He does!
Thou wilt not falter in a race half won,
And leave its crown behind thee? Patience still!
He and his peace are with thee.

MAHEL.
I am patient—
A patient vagabond, or what they will—
Coward, bastard, runaway—and yet repent not.
If Geoffrey met me on the mountain top,
And mocked me there, I would again turn from him.
With fifty miles between, by day and night,
I heard the cry from throats as loud as his—
“Out with the cuckoo from another's nest!
Coward, bastard, hollow-heart—ah! fie upon thee!”
From children idling at their mother's door,
In every lane, I heard it. Like Cain's curse
It crossed the mountains after me. My brain
Was grown so hot and giddy with its din,
I fancied speech and laughter everywhere—
The dumb beast mocked me:—twice I stepped aside
To strip my doublet off, and look behind it,
Whether the words were written on my back.
I have been patient—but I would not die,
And leave a felon's name for jests and proverbs,
Rounding the drunkard's song with ribaldry—
“Mothered like Mahel—base as Bernard's son!”
They are so hotly branded on my heart,
That only death can cool it. Honor now?
Who shares it with me—mother, sister, bride?
I crave God's mercy in the world to come—
In this, no more than justice.

STEPHEN.
Hark! they come.

MAHEL.
Halloo! the hart is up! We must not wait
This Barnabas all day.

STEPHEN.
Tarry! sit down!

MAHEL.
The nearest cry is ours—“Hurrah for Brecon!
(tumult heard)
Brecon and Hereford!” This Barnabas!
I pray thee look abroad for him.

STEPHEN.
Sit still!—
Till eyes and tongues have business of their own,
He creeps aloof from them.

MAHEL.
I may lend help
To keep my neighbour's gate against a thief?
Here is no private malice? I may fight
For Bernard Newmark's house—Fitzwalter's—Margaret's?
The bastard for his luckier brother-in-law?
So much is lawful to me?

STEPHEN.
I myself
Would help to push the foremost ladder down,
Being what I am.

MAHEL.
Those shouts are out of doors!
“Builth! Lord of Builth and Brecon!”—Bravely answered!
Now they are at it! Prithee, Stephen, haste!
Bring me the arms I told that laggard of—
Thou canst not fail to find them—next the door—
A crestless helm, and shield unheralded—
By much too heavy for the grooms—quick! quick!
This cry has many tongues.

STEPHEN.
It will grow yet.
Didst ever wear this harness?—is it known?—
Has any seen it on thee?

MAHEL.
Once in sport,
But long ago, I proved its weight and fitness.
Then was I gay with gold and blazonry,
As Brecon's heir—my mother's lawful son.
This rust-gnawn suit has hung uncoveted.
Let it hold now, and ere the sun goes down,
Some that have helped to hiss me out of doors
May listen to the music that they taught—
“Coward, runaway!—fie on thee, hollow-heart!”
Now Geoffrey meets the craven face to face!
He shall not see my back again—Come in!
This squire at last.

[Exeunt.