 | The Sea-Captain ; Or, The Birthright |  |
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ACT V.
SCENE I.
The Hall in the Castle of Arundel, as in the last Scene.LADY ARUNDEL.
Gone—gone!—and here he stood, and bless'd the mother
Who did not bless her son!—Ah, Heaven forgive me!
These are the deeds in which I placed my safety,
Now won and worthless!—Oh, how human hearts
Do feed on fire, till, when the flame is slaked
Ashes alone are left!
Enter Sir Maurice.—(Lady Arundel conceals the papers.)
SIR MAURICE.
Well, cousin, fear not:
All is arranged.—Ere cockcrow thou shalt be
Free of thy terrors!—old Sir Maurice still
Is good for something, eh?
LADY ARUNDEL.
What guilty thought
Speaks in thy ominous smile?
SIR MAURICE.
If thus you wrong me
I'm mute;—and yet thou know'st I live to serve thee.
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But in this world there are such covetous knaves,
That, la you now,—I am ashamed to tell thee—
The rogue I have hired wants two thousand pieces
This very night to—
LADY ARUNDEL.
Silence!—I abhor
Thy crooked counsels—thy rapacious guile:—
I've been too long benighted, and pursued
Meteors for guides! Now the cloud rolls away,
And on my terror breaks the morning star.
I'll nought of thee!
SIR MAURICE.
Thou wilt not!
LADY ARUNDEL.
Miser, no!
Thy black and hideous guilt, out-darkening mine,
Had well nigh drowned my soul beneath a sea
Deeper than that to which thy trait'rous craft
Consign'd my first-born! Quit these halls for ever,
And starve beside the chests whose every coin
At the Last Day shall in the Court of Heaven
Witness against thee, Judas!
SIR MAURICE.
Miser! Judas!
I thank thee—no, to-morrow I will thank thee.
This crowns the cup of insult! You and yours,
Your dull-soul'd father, and your lowborn lover—
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To the gross scullion, fattening on your offal—
All—all have broke their idiot jests on me—
Me, but for you, the Lord of Arundel!
Yet all, at need, could fawn on old Sir Maurice—
Eke from his wits their poverty of brain—
And—plague upon this wrath!—thou art not worth it!
I leave these halls. When next we meet, proud dame,
Thy crest may be less lofty! Miser! Judas!
[Exit.
LADY ARUNDEL.
There's meaning in this frontless insolence:
“When next we meet,” said he; “When next we meet!”
Broods he some new and deadlier mischief?—Ha!
Time wanes—Within there!—
Enter Servant.
What's the hour?
SERVANT.
The chime
Just told the quarter, Madam!
LADY ARUNDEL.
Ah! so late?
Where is my son, Lord Ashdale?
SERVANT.
Left the castle
Some minutes since: his grooms and steeds preceded.
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Whither?—
SERVANT.
I know not, madam, but he bade me
Say, that he might return not ere the morning.
LADY ARUNDEL.
The morning!—now the danger glares upon me.
He has whisper'd Percy of the lovers' flight;
And they will meet—the brothers—meet as foes!
Quick—torches—quick—let every menial arm!
Quick—follow—lights here!—Heaven avert this woe—
Forgive the mother—Save, oh, save the sons!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
The exterior of a ruined Chapel—the Tower of the Chapel, with large Gothic doors, for the background.Night—the stage darkened.
Gaussen and Two Pirates.
GAUSSEN.
All our men posted?—
1ST PIRATE.
Ay, my Captain;—Luke,
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Will seize the boatmen when they run ashore.
GAUSSEN.
Good.
Enter Luke.
LUKE.
We have nabb'd the rogues—four sailors and
A jolly chaplain—only one, their leader,
Cut his way through, and fled!
GAUSSEN.
A murrain on him!
It matters not—all done ere he can peach!
Enter Sir Maurice.
SIR MAURICE.
That woman's taunts put me beside my temper;
But I am on the threshold of my greatness.
Sir Maurice Beevor shall be merged to-morrow
Into Lord Ashdale;—like a drop of water
Into a glass of aqua vitæ.
GAUSSEN.
Well, Knight!
You have the monies?
SIR MAURICE
(giving a bag).
Little dears! you see them
Tuck'd up in bed and fast asleep—my heart aches
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Should be dispersed upon the world, and never
Come home again!—Poor things!—Now, prithee man,
Don't be so rough with them!—
GAUSSEN.
Since last we met
My scouts inform me that the dogs of law
Are on my track.—'Twere best when all is done
To put to sea.
SIR MAURICE.
Right, right.
GAUSSEN.
So bring the rest
Of the gold to-night;—one half-hour hence I reckon
My part o'the compact will be sign'd and seal'd.
SIR MAURICE.
So soon?—'Gad how impatient, fierce, and fiery
My monies make him! Well, it shall be so;
I'll bring the rest—
GAUSSEN.
Stay; when I've slain this Norman,
The papers on him—
SIR MAURICE.
Thou wilt give to me—
'Tis in the bargain.
GAUSSEN.
What, Knight, if I took them
To the great Countess, yonder?—
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To the countess,
Villain!—I would—I would—(How black he looks!
I'd best be civil)—I would think it, Giles,
Not quite the conduct that becomes an honest,
Kind-hearted friend, like you.—
GAUSSEN.
(Aside)
As I suspected:
The Dame of Arundel's concerned in this.
I'll see what's in these papers ere I give them
To the old hunks. (Aloud)
You may depend upon me—
Bring but the gold in time. Good night.
SIR MAURICE.
I'faith,
The pleasantest thing the rogue has said.—Good night!
Look sharp! remember both must be despatch'd.
A thousand each!—What shall I be to-morrow?
[Exit.
GAUSSEN.
Both!—baugh! what feud have I with the young Lord,
That he should die to please thee?—Each a thousand!
Why, when thou bring'st two thousand to my lair,
Think'st thou one thousand shall go back again?
The Lord shall live:—but for the other—he
Who set this mark upon my brow—the son
Of the dead man—one blow wipes off old scores,
And saves new debts. None but myself must know
What worth there may be in those papers!—Yet
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He shall not draw it!—So,—an ambush!—Luke,
Lend me thy cutlass,—I lost mine to-day,
And will not trust to my knife alone—the lanthorn!—
Watch for the gallant with the sparkling plume
And snow-white cloak, a damsel on his arm;—
Tell him the priest awaits him in the chapel,
His boatmen in the creek below—and vanish,
That message said. Keep i'the dark, nor let him
Note a strange face—thy hat and cloak good mufflers.
LUKE.
I'm an old hand—ne'er fear!
GAUSSEN.
And if another,
Of gayer dress, the young Lord, come this way,
Do him no harm—but seize; his life will be
Well worth the ransoming. Now for this scar
Will I have vengeance—where the father fell
Shall the son bleed.
[Exit within the chapel.
LUKE.
Old Mother Moon is lazy,
Still in her nightcap!—Dark and hush'd; but men
Who live 'twixt knife and halter have sharp senses—
The owl's eye and the hare's ear. Hist!—what's that?
A hinge creaks yonder—ah! a footfall!
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VIOLET.
Speak!
The silence and the darkness chill me.
ASHDALE.
Dearest,
No cause for fear!
VIOLET.
Thy voice sounds sharp and strange.
Ah, my heart fails me!
ASHDALE
(aside).
Yet, I'd swear her Norman
Would have said just what I did.
LUKE.
In the chapel
The priest awaits—your boatmen in the creek
Behind yon rock.
ASHDALE.
Aha! the priest—stay, fellow,—
The priest—the chapel?—marriage, eh?
LUKE.
What else, sir?
ASHDALE.
What light in the chapel?
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Only a dark lanthorn.
[Exit.
ASHDALE.
All favours—this is luckier than I hoped for!
I see!—the marriage first—then flight! Decorous!
Sweet one, within!—hush!—come!
VIOLET.
Mine ear does mock me;
But terror plays sad tricks with the senses! Norman,
My frame may tremble, but my heart is brave—
For that can never doubt thee.
[Exeunt Ashdale and Violet through the doors of the chapel.
Enter Falkner (his sword drawn).
FALKNER
(in a whisper).
Norman!—Captain!
I dare not call aloud.—None here?—these rascals—
Have they laid hands on Norman, too? Who comes?
Enter Norman.
NORMAN.
I see her not. What, Violet?
FALKNER.
Art thou Norman?
NORMAN.
Falkner!
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Some villany is in the wind!
Scarce landed, when a rude band swept upon us;
Thy boatmen seized—the priest too;—I alone,
With my good sword, open'd a path for flight,
And, hurrying to thee with the news—
[A shriek within the chapel.
NORMAN.
That voice!—
[Exit Norman within the chapel.
FALKNER.
More sport!—egad, I feel at home to-night!
[Exit Falkner after Norman.
Enter Luke.
LUKE.
Who spoke?—Avast there!—Sure I heard—
Enter Lady Arundel and Servants, bearing torches, from the cave.
LADY ARUNDEL.
Look round!
They must be here—Violet has left the castle.
It is the hour!—Who skulks there?—seize him!
[Servants seize Luke.
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VIOLET.
Save me!
LADY ARUNDEL.
Girl, girl—what means this?—where is HE—my—Norman?
VIOLET.
Stir not—the spot is desecrate. Methinks
Witchcraft and Murder reign there!—
LADY ARUNDEL.
Ha!—I dare not
Set foot beyond that threshold.
VIOLET.
By mine honour—
Tho' thou wilt mock me—I do think to have seen
Two Normans by the altar!—
LADY ARUNDEL.
His dead father
Has left his grave!
VIOLET.
We crept through the dim aisles:
Sudden, a light—a form—a gleaming knife—
I shriek'd, and clung upon the murderous arm—
When, lo!—a second Norman:—on the floor
This lay—and there—avenging, stern, unearthly—
The other rose, gigantic, thro' the darkness!
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Help to our lady!—
LADY ARUNDEL
(waving him back).
Sirs, I need ye not.
Fall back!—what more?
VIOLET.
I know no more—I fled,
Darkling and blind with supernatural horror,
Along the dismal aisles.—
(After a pause.)
Oh! mad—mad wretch!
Why rave I thus?—danger and murder near him!
In—in!—your lights—your swords!
LADY ARUNDEL.
Open the tomb,
And I will front the Dead One!
[The chapel doors are thrown open—the torchbearers enter—Norman discovered near an old Gothic tomb, his sword drawn, standing before the body of Gaussen.
It is the spot
On which the bridegroom fell before my eyes—
And now he stands as if in life!
VIOLET.
O Norman!—
You live—you live!
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Lo, where the father bled
The son has slain the slaughterer!—
Lord Ashdale and Falkner advance.
ASHDALE.
Thou!—my mother!
Where is the saviour of my life?—The stranger?
NORMAN
(coming in front of the stage).
Embrace thy son—hear him! I saved his life!
ASHDALE.
Yes, when the knife was at my throat, his hand
Palsied the caitiff blow. I had well nigh fallen
Into the pit myself had dug. Thy plume
Deceived the blade design'd for thee. Nay, mother,
I am unscathed.
LADY ARUNDEL.
He saved thee—He!
[The Servants remove the body.
LUKE.
Your Worships,
If we have sinn'd, it was Sir Maurice Beevor
Whose monies bribed our chief.—The Knight desired
The blood of both—your Lordship and the stranger.
LORD ASHDALE.
Can this be true?
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I can believe it. Now
His dark designs are clear!
FALKNER
(to Luke).
Our honest messmates—
Thou black-brow'd cutthroat—speak, where are they?—speak!
If a hair on their heads be hurt—
LUKE.
Our leader dead,
Our business done—your men are safe!
FALKNER.
Lead on, then;
Advance the torches—follow.
NORMAN.
All the menials—
Take all— (aside)
no hireling witness to the conference,
The last on earth, between the son and mother!
[The Servants place torches on the crags of the forest-ground, and exeunt with Falkner and Luke.
Manent Lady Arundel—Lord Ashdale—Norman —Violet.
LADY ARUNDEL
(advancing towards the chapel).
There rests what once was love, now dust! Perchance
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The charm that spells the angels.
[Enters and kneels by the old tomb.—The moon breaks forth.
NORMAN.
Violet!
Wert thou deceived, too?
VIOLET.
Shame upon thee, cousin!
ASHDALE.
Fair stranger, stratagem in love all fair:—
Forgive my this day's frowardness—your hand—
'Tis well—you have saved my life; do more—resign
With a good grace this lady—she is highborn,
Of our own house;—too young to know her heart.
Your worth might make you noble;—but as yet
You have your spurs to win. Resign the maid,
But take the dower thrice told.
NORMAN.
Name, fortune, lands,
A mother's love—and now the only heart
That clings to mine—all! he takes all!—the ewe-lamb!
ASHDALE.
Thy silence gives consent. Oh, Violet, hear me!
I have too far presumed on my high fortunes—
Woo'd thee too rashly. Pardon me: renounce
This stranger—brave, but of no fitting birth—
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The first in state as beauty!
VIOLET.
Norman, Norman!
Why art thou mute?—why dost thou gaze upon me?—
Why rest thy arms gather'd above thy breast,
As if to ward me thence?
NORMAN.
Go, look upon him!
His form more fair than mine, his hopes more high.
I have lost faith in human love! When mothers
Forsake their sons, why not the maid her lover?
VIOLET.
Methinks you mock me. Hear me, thou, Lord Ashdale.
You ask my hand—you proffer wealth, pomp, power,
And he but toil and danger!
NORMAN.
Thou hast said it.
VIOLET.
Behold my choice! There, where he stands, my fate is!
Take me, Oh, take me, Norman! Woman's love,
Once given, may break the heart that holds—but never
Melts into air, save with her latest sigh.
NORMAN.
Faithful amidst the faithless! Hope again
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The music of one heart that answers mine!
ASHDALE.
It shall not be! Ignoble one! The life
Thou sav'dst is nothing without her!—the boon
Is cancell'd. To thy weapon—foot to foot—
Let valour win the prize!
NORMAN.
I will not harm thee.
ASHDALE.
Insolent boaster! “Harm!”—what! neither yield
Nor yet defend? What would'st thou?
NORMAN.
What? why, stab me
Here, in these arms, and I'll forgive thee! Do it;
And tell thy mother, when thy holiday blade
Was raised to smite, my warrior sword fell—thus!
ASHDALE.
Saints, give me patience!
LADY ARUNDEL
(advancing from the chapel).
Ay, upon the stone
Where his bones sleep I have pray'd; and I have gain'd
The strength that is not of the world! How, Percy?
Thy sword drawn on thy—
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Hush! I have kept thy secret!
LADY ARUNDEL.
Unhappy boy!
ASHDALE.
Why turn thine eyes from him
To me? and straight again to him?
LADY ARUNDEL.
Approach,
Percy, my son!—Lord Ashdale now no more—
Behold thy brother! Ay, the conscience wrings
Out truth at last:—Thine elder, the sole heir
To this ill-fated house!
ASHDALE.
This is delirium!
LADY ARUNDEL.
It is not so, irreverent one! Here, Arthur,
Into thy hands I do restore the proofs
That re-assert thy rights—my eldest born,
By long-conceal'd, but holiest wedlock with
Arthur Le Mesnil! To his breast, my Percy!
There is none nobler!
NORMAN.
Wilt thou not, my brother?
Whate'er is mine—
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Is thine—And dost thou deem
That I will fawn, a beggar, on thy bounty?
Lackey thy heels, and crawl for crumbs that fall
From the rich, bounteous, elder brother's board?
Ha, ha! I'd rather couch with the wild boar,
And starve on acorns, than the world should cry,
“See once proud Ashdale, the meek younger brother!”
LADY ARUNDEL.
Percy, my best-loved!
ASHDALE.
Mother, is it so?
Say that thou didst but sport upon my pride;
That thou wouldst try me! Speak!
LADY ARUNDEL.
Alas, alas!
It is the truth!
ASHDALE.
All is unravell'd now!
I ask no proofs—thy looks suffice for proof!
I will not hear a tale, perhaps of shame!
So, a long farewell, mother!
LADY ARUNDEL.
Do not leave me!
Oh, do not leave me! Think how I have loved thee!
How, for thy sake, I sinn'd against my soul,
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All, all for thee!
VIOLET
(timidly).
We are young—we love each other!
We do not want titles and gold, my Norman!
LADY ARUNDEL.
Say you forgive—and yet, what have you to pardon?
ASHDALE.
Everything, madam. Had you shaped my youth
Unto the pauper lot which waits me now,
I had not nursed desires, and pamper'd wants,
Into a second nature: my good sword,
And my free heart, the genii of my fortunes.
Oh, thou hast wrong'd me foully!
NORMAN.
Shame, boy, shame!
Dost thou with ruthless and ungrateful taunts
Answer those agonizing tears! Ah, mother,
I loved thee more than he does!—Thou repentest!
Thou tak'st her hand!—Forgive him!
(Solemnly.)
My dead father!
I never saw thee living; but methinks
Thy presence fills my soul!—Poor trembling mourner!
If, as I feel, that low-born father loved thee
Not for thy gold and lands—from yonder grave
His spirit would chide the son who for such gauds
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A source of shame and sorrow—not of solace!—
Hear him then speak in me!—as lightly as
I, from this mantle, shake the glistening dews,
So my soul shakes off the unwholesome thoughts
Born of the cloud and earth.—
(Goes to the torches.)
Look ye—all dead!
My sire—the priest—all who attest my rights!
With a calm hand, unto this flame I yield
What rest, these scrolls!—and as the fire consumes them,
So wither all that henceforth can dismay
Or haunt thy heart, my mother!—
ASHDALE.
Hold—hold—no!
I am not so base—'twas but a moment's weakness.
Hail the true heir!
(Falling on his breast.)
My brother—oh, my brother!
NORMAN.
A mother and a brother, both!—O joy!
LADY ARUNDEL.
My children in each other's arms!—
ASHDALE.
Now summon
All friends, and let them know the rightful heir.
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True—be the justice done—an awful tale:
But ye shall hear me speak it. (falteringly)
My poor Percy!
My father's crime too—well—
NORMAN.
You mark her, brother.
Shall we bring this upon her?—
[Holding the papers over the torches till they are consumed.
It is past!
Now, never more a bar betwixt your hearts
And mine—ah, mother! now thine arms embrace me—
Now thy kiss melts into my soul!—
LADY ARUNDEL.
Oh, bless thee!—
NORMAN.
Hark! she has bless'd her son—I bid ye witness,
Ye listening Heavens—thou circumambient air:
The ocean sighs it back—and with the murmur
Rustle the happy leaves. All Nature breathes
Aloud—aloft—to the Great Parent's ear,
The blessing of the mother on her child.
ASHDALE.
How nobler this than our nobility!
NORMAN.
Each to his element!—the land has form'd
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It is no sacrifice. By men and angels!
Better one laurel-leaf the brave hand gathers
Than all the diadems pluck'd from dead men's brows—
So speaks my father's son!—Were there before us
All—all who in this busy and vast mart
Of merchant traffickers—this land of England—
Worship the yellow god—how one great truth
Should shake the sceptred Mammon on his throne!
Here, in our souls, we treasure up the wealth
Fraud cannot filch, nor waste destroy;—the more
'Tis spent, the more we have;—the sweet affections—
The heart's religion—the diviner instincts
Of what we shall be when the world is dust!
Is it so, Violet?
VIOLET.
I never loved thee—
No, never—till this hour! A moment since,
When thou wert what the wrong world calls more great,
Methought thou wert less Norman!
ASHDALE.
It must not be.
Fire cannot quench thy claims—at least together
We'll live, and share alike.
NORMAN.
Thou shalt find vent
For generous thoughts. Give me what dower thou wilt
With Violet, if ungrieving thou canst yield
That priceless treasure to me now, my brother!
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The dower shall halve the heritage.
ASHDALE.
Sweet cousin,
Forgive me!—All the heat of my wild will
Melts in the light of that bright soul,—and never
Did knight upon the hand of some fair queen
Press lips of holier and more loyal homage,
Than this pure kiss which hails a brother's bride.
Enter Sir Maurice (with a bag)
SIR MAURICE.
All done ere this!—My patent is made out.
Ugh! but the fees are heavy!—Ha, these torches!
Confusion!— (drops the bag.)
ASHDALE.
Knave, thy hireling is no more!
Take up thy bribe!
LADY ARUNDEL.
Was it for this, base ingrate,
Thou didst ask gold?—a double murder!
SIR MAURICE.
Hush!
He'll hear.
LADY ARUNDEL.
Begone!
SIR MAURICE
(clinging to Lord Ashdale).
'Twas meant in kindness, Hotspur.
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Off, or I spurn thee, hang-dog!
SIR MAURICE.
Spurn me!—Thou
Shalt live to crawl to me for pence!—All hail,
Arthur, the heir of Arundel!—thy claims—
NORMAN.
Are nought.
SIR MAURICE.
How?—but the proofs—
NORMAN.
No proofs, but of thy guilt!
SIR MAURICE.
O, wrong'd young man!
[Norman points significantly to the torches.
I see it—I'm robb'd and murder'd!
NORMAN.
Hence! and be mute on what concerns thee not—
Or—But I will not threaten thy grey hairs.—
Hence, and repent!
SIR MAURICE.
I thank you kindly, sir:
I am a very poor old Knight!—My Lord,
Your very humble cousin!—To my grave
A sordid, spat-upon, revengeless, worthless,
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Bury my monies—hang myself—and make
The parish pay the funeral!—Ugh!—I'll spite them!
[Exit.
Enter Falkner, Chaplain, Sailors, &c.
FALKNER.
Captain—the priest—and now the ship's in sight—
Wind and tide serve.
LADY ARUNDEL.
I cannot part from thee,
My long-lost—my beloved!
NORMAN.
We will not part!
Violet the link that binds me to thy hearth,
And makes thy love (tho' secret the true cause)
Not in the world's eye strange;—we will not part
Till the first moon of wedded love be o'er;
And then, if glory call me to the seas,
Thine eyes shall lure me back from year to year.
LADY ARUNDEL.
If ever thou repent'st—
ASHDALE.
The half I hold
Thine with the birthright.
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Nay, your love my birthright;
And for the rest, who can aspire to more
Than a true heart for ever blent with his—
Blessings when absent—welcome when return'd;—
His merry bark with England's flag to crown her,
Fame for his hopes, and woman in his cares?
THE END.
| The Sea-Captain ; Or, The Birthright | |