University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene 1.

In the foreground the house of Sir Grey de Malpas, small and decayed, the casements broken, &c. Ruins around, as if the present house were but the remains of some more stately edifice of great antiquity. In the background, a view of the sea. On a height at some little distance, the castle of Montreville, the sun full upon its turrets and gilded vanes.

N. B. The scene to be so contrived that the grandeur of the castle and the meanness of the ruin be brought into conspicuous contrast.

Sir Grey at work on a patch of neglected garden ground, throws down his spade and advances.
Sir G.
I cannot dig! Fie, what a helpless thing
Is the white hand of well-born poverty!
And yet between this squalor and that pomp
Stand but two lives, a woman's and a boy's—
But two frail lives. I may outlive them both.

Enter Wrecklyffe.
Wreck.
Ay, that's the house—the same; the master changed,
But less than I am. Winter creeps on him,
Lightning hath stricken me. Good day.

Sir G.
Pass on.
No spendthrift hospitable fool spreads here
The board for strangers. Pass.

Wreck.
Have years so dimmed
Eyes once so keen, De Malpas?

Sir G.
(after a pause.)
Ha! Thy hand.
What brings thee hither?

Wreck.
‘Brings me?’ say ‘hurls back.’
First, yellow pestilence, whose ghastly wings
Guard, like the fabled griffin, India's gold;
Unequal battle next; then wolfish famine;
And lastly, storm (rough welcome home to England)
Swept decks from stern to stem: to shore was flung
A lonely pirate on a battered hulk!
One wreck rots stranded;—you behold the other.

Sir G.
Penury hath still its crust and roof-tree—share them.
Time has dealt hardly with us both, since first
We two made friendship—thou straight-limbed, well-favoured,
Stern-hearted, disinherited dare-devil!

Wreck.
And thou?—

Sir G.
A stroke paints me. My lord's poor cousin.
How strong thou wert, yet I could twist and wind thee
Round these slight hands;—that is the use of brains!

Wreck.
Still jokes and stings?

Sir G.
Still a poor cousin's weapons.

Wreck.
Boast brains, yet starve?

Sir G.
Still a poor cousin's fate, sir.
Pardon my brains, since oft thy boasts they pardoned;
(Sad change since then), when rufflers aped thy swagger,
And village maidens sighed and, wondering, asked
Why heaven made men so wicked—and so comely.

Wreck.
'Sdeath! Wilt thou cease?

Sir G.
That scar upon thy front
Bespeaks grim service.

Wreck.
In thy cause, de Malpas;
The boy, whom at thine instance I allured
On board my bark, left me this brand of Cain.

Sir G.
That boy—

Wreck.
Is now a man—and on these shores.
This morn I peered from yonder rocks that hid me,
And saw his face. I whetted then this steel:
Need'st thou his death? In me behold Revenge!

Sir G.
He lives!—he lives! There is a third between
The beggar and the earldom!

Wreck.
Steps and voices!
When shall we meet alone? Hush, it is he!

Sir G.
He with the plume?

Wreck.
Ay.

Sir G.
Quick; within.

Wreck.
And thou?

Sir G.
I dig the earth; see the grave-digger's tool.

[Exit Wrecklyffe within the house.
Enter Harding and Sailors.
Hard.
Surely 'twas here the captain bade us meet him
While he went forth for news?

1st Sailor.
He comes.

Enter Vyvyan.
Hard.
Well, captain,
What tidings of the Spaniards' armament?

Vyv.
Bad, for they say the fighting is put off,
And storm in Biscay driven back the Dons.
This is but rumour—we will learn the truth.
Harding, take horse and bear these lines to Drake—
If yet our country needs stout hearts to guard her,
He'll not forget the men on board the Dreadnought.
Thou canst be back ere sunset with his answer,
And find me in yon towers of Montreville.
[Exit Harding.
Meanwhile make merry in the hostel, lads,
And drink me out these ducats in this toast:—
“No foes be tall eno' to wade the moat
Which girds the fort whose only walls are men.”

[Sailors cheer, and exeunt.
Vyv.
I never hailed reprieve from war till now.
Heaven grant but time to see mine Eveline,
And learn my birth from Alton.

Enter Falkner.
Falk.
Captain.

Vyv.
Falkner!
So soon returned? Thy smile seems fresh from home.
All well there?

Falk.
Just in time to make all well.
My poor old father!—bailiffs at his door;
He tills another's land, and crops had failed.
I poured mine Indian gold into his lap,
And cried, “O father, wilt thou now forgive
The son who went to sea against thy will?”

Vyv.
And he forgave.—Now tell me of thy mother;
I never knew one, but I love to mark
The quiver of a strong man's bearded lip
When his voice lingers on the name of mother.
Thy mother bless'd thee—

Falk.
Yes, I— (Falters and turns aside.)

Pshaw! methought
Her joy was weeping on my breast again!

Vyv.
I envy thee those tears.

Falk.
Eno' of me!
Now for thyself. What news? Thy fair betrothed—
The maid we rescued from the turbaned corsair
With her brave father in the Indian seas—
Found and still faithful?

Vyv.
Faithful, I will swear it;
But not yet found. Her sire is dead—the stranger
Sits at his hearth—and with her next of kin,
Hard by this spot—yea, in yon sunlit towers,
Mine Eveline dwells.

Falk.
Thy foster father, Alton,
Hast thou seen him?

Vyv.
Not yet. My Falkner, serve me.
His house is scarce a two hours' journey hence,
The nearest hamlet will afford a guide;
Seek him and break the news of my return,
Say I shall see him ere the day be sped.
And, hearken, friend (good men at home are apt
To judge us sailors harshly), tell him this—
On the far seas his foster son recalled
Prayers taught by age to childhood, and implored
Blessings on that grey head. Farewell! Now, Eveline.

[Exeunt, severally, Vyvyan and Falkner.
Sir G.
(advancing.)
Thou seekest those towers—go. I will meet thee there.
He must not see the priest—the hour is come
Absolving Alton's vow to guard the secret;
Since the boy left, two 'scutcheons moulder o'er
The dust of tombs from which his rights ascend;
He must not see the priest—but how forestall him?—
Within! For there dwells Want, Wit's counsellor,
Harbouring grim Force, which is Ambition's tool.
[Exit Sir Grey.

Scene 2.

The gardens of the castle of Montreville, laid out in the formal style of the times. Parterres sunk deep in beds of arabesque design. The gardens are enclosed within an embattled wall, which sinks, here and there, into low ornamented parapets, over which the eye catches a glimpse of the sea, which is immediately below. A postern gate in the wall is open, through which descends a flight of steps, hewn out of the cliff.
Enter Lady Montreville.
Lady M.
This were his birthday, were he living still!
But the wide ocean is his winding sheet,
And his grave—here! (Pressing her hand to her heart.)
I dreamed of him last night!
Peace! with the dead, died shame and glozing slander;
In the son left me still, I clasp a world
Of blossoming hopes which flower beneath my love,
And take frank beauty from the flattering day.
And—but my Clarence!—in his princely smile
How the air brightens!

Enter Lord Beaufort, speaking to Marsden.
Lord B.
Yes, my gallant roan,
And, stay—be sure the falcon, which my lord
Of Leicester sent me; we will try its metal.

Mars.
Your eyes do bless him, madam, so do mine:
A gracious spring; Heaven grant we see its summer!
Forgive, dear lady, your old servant's freedom.

Lady M.
Who loves him best, with me ranks highest, Marsden.
[Exit Marsden.
Clarence, you see me not.

Lord B.
Dear mother, welcome.
Why do I miss my soft-eyed cousin here?

Lady M.
It doth not please me, son, that thou should'st haunt
Her steps, and witch with dulcet words her ear.
Eveline is fair, but not the mate for Beaufort.

Lord B.
Mate! Awful word! Can youth not gaze on beauty
Save by the torch of Hymen? To be gallant,
Melt speech in sighs, or murder sense in sonnets;
Veer with each change in Fancy's April skies,
And o'er each sun-shower fling its fleeting rainbow.
All this—

Lady M.
(gloomily.)
Alas, is love.

Lord B.
No! Love's light prologue,
The sportive opening to the serious drama;
The pastime practice of Dan Cupid's bow,
Against that solemn venture at the butts
At which fools make so many random shafts,
And rarely hit the white! Nay, smile, my mother;
How does this plume become me?

Lady M.
Foolish boy!
It sweeps too loosely.

Lord B.
Now-a-days, man's love
Is worn as loosely as I wear this plume—
A glancing feather stirred with every wind
Into new shadows o'er a giddy brain
Such as your son's. Let the plume play, sweet mother!

Lady M.
Would I could chide thee!

Lord B.
Hark, I hear my steed
Neighing impatience; and my falcon frets
Noon's lazy air with lively silver bells;
Now, madam, look to it—no smile from me
When next we meet,—no kiss of filial duty,
Unless my fair-faced cousin stand beside you,
Blushing ‘Peccavi’ for all former sins—
Shy looks, cold words, this last unnatural absence,
And taught how cousins should behave to cousins.
[Exit Lord Beaufort.

Lady M.
Trifler! And yet the faults that quicken fear
Make us more fond—we parents love to pardon.

Enter Eveline, weaving flowers—not seeing Lady Montreville.
Evel.
(Sings)—

[Casts the flowers, woven into a garland, over the parapet, and advances.
Lady M.
A quaint but mournful rhyme.

Evel.
You, madam!—pardon!

Lady M.
What tells the song?

Evel.
A simple village tale
Of a lost seaman, and a crazëd girl,
His plighted bride—good Marsden knew her well,
And oft-times marked her singing on the beach,
Then launch her flowers, and smile upon the sea.
I know not why—both rhyme and tale do haunt me.

Lady M.
Sad thoughts haunt not young hearts, thou senseless child.

Evel.
Is not the child an orphan?

Lady M.
In those eyes
Is there no moisture softer than the tears
Which mourn a father? Roves thy glance for Beaufort?
Vain girl, beware! The flattery of the great
Is but the eagle's swoop upon the dove,
And, in descent, destroys.

Evel.
Can you speak thus,
Yet bid me grieve not that I am an orphan?

[Retires up the garden.
Lady M.
(to herself.)
I have high dreams for Beaufort; bright desires!
Son of a race whose lives shine down on Time
From lofty tombs, like beacon-towers o'er ocean,
He stands amidst the darkness of my thought,
Radiant as Hope in some lone captive's cell.
Far from the gloom around, mine eyes, inspired,
Pierce to the future, when these bones are dust,
And see him loftiest of the lordly choirs
Whose swords and coronals blaze around the throne,
The guardian stars of the imperial isle—
Kings shall revere his mother.

Enter Sir Grey, speaking to Servant.
Sir G.
What say'st thou?

Servant
(insolently.)
Sir Grey—ha! ha!—Lord Beaufort craves your pardon,
He shot your hound—its bark disturbed the deer.

Sir G.
The only voice that welcomed me! A dog—
Grudges he that?

Servant.
Oh sir, 'twas done in kindness
To you and him; the dog was wondrous lean, sir!

Sir G.
I thank my lord.
[Exit Servant.
So, my poor Tray is killed!
And yet that dog but barked—can this not bite?
[Approaches Lady Montreville vindictively, and in a whisper—
He lives!

Lady M.
He! who?

Sir G.
The heir of Montreville!
Another, and an elder Beaufort, lives!
(Aside.)
So—the fang fixes fast—good—good!

Lady M.
Thou saidst
Ten years ago—“Thy first-born is no more—
Died in far seas.”

Sir G.
So swore my false informant.
But now, the deep that took the harmless boy
Casts from its breast the bold-eyed daring man.

Lady M.
Clarence! My poor proud Clarence!

Sir G.
Ay, poor Clarence!
True; since his father, by his former nuptials
Had other sons, if you, too, own an elder,
Clarence is poor—as poor as his poor cousin.
Ugh! but the air is keen, and Poverty
Is thinly clad; subject to rheums and agues (shivers)
,
Asthma and phthisis (coughs)
, pains in the loins and limbs,
And leans upon a crutch, like your poor cousin.
If Poverty begs, Law sets it in the stocks;
If it is ill, the doctors mangle it;
If it is dying, the priests scold at it;
And, when 'tis dead, rich kinsmen cry, “Thank heaven!”
Ah! if the elder prove his rights, dear lady,
Your younger son will know what's poverty!

Lady M.
Malignant, peace! why dost thou torture me?
The priest who shares alone with us the secret
Hath sworn to guard it.

Sir G.
Only while thy sire
And second lord survived. Yet, what avails
In law his tale, unbacked by thy confession?

Lady M.
All! He hath proofs, clear proofs. Thrice woe to Clarence!

Sir G.
Proofs—written proofs?

Lady M.
Of marriage, and the birth!

Sir G.
Wherefore so long was this concealed from me?

Lady M.
Thou wert my father's agent, Grey de Malpas,
Not my familiar.

Sir G.
Here, then, ends mine errand.

Lady M.
Stay, sir—forgive my rash and eager temper;
Stay, stay, and counsel me. What! sullen still?
Needëst thou gold?—befriend, and find me grateful.

Sir G.
Lady of Montreville, I once was young,
And pined for gold, to wed the maid I loved:
Your father said, “Poor cousins should not marry,”
And gave that sage advice in lieu of gold.
A few years later, and I grew ambitious,
And longed for wars and fame, and foolish honours:
Then I lacked gold, to join the knights, mine equals,
As might become a Malpas and your kinsman:
Your father said he had need of his poor cousin
At home, to be his huntsman, and his falconer!

Lady M.
Forgetful! After my first fatal nuptials
And their sad fruit, count you as nought—

Sir G.
My hire!
For service and for silence; not a gift.

Lady M.
And spent in riot, waste, and wild debauch!

Sir G.
True; in the pauper's grand inebriate wish
To know what wealth is,—tho' but for an hour.

Lady M.
But blame you me or mine, if spendthrift wassail
Run to the dregs? Mine halls stand open to you;
My noble Beaufort hath not spurned your converse;
You have been welcomed—

Sir G.
At your second table,
And as the butt of unchastisëd lackeys;
While your kind son, in pity of my want,
Hath this day killed the faithful dog that shared it.
'Tis well; you need my aid, as did your father,
And tempt, like him, with gold. I take the service;
And, when the task is done, will talk of payment.
Hist! the boughs rustle. Closer space were safer;
Vouchsafe your hand, let us confer within.

Lady M.
Well might I dream last night! A fearful dream.

[Exeunt Lady Montreville and Sir Grey.
Re-enter Eveline.
Evel.
O, for some fairy talisman to conjure
Up to these longing eyes the form they pine for!
And yet, in love, there's no such word as absence;
The loved one glides beside our steps for ever;
Its presence gave such beauty to the world,
That all things beautiful its tokens are,
And aught in sound most sweet, to sight most fair,
Breathes with its voice, and haunts us with its aspect.
Enter Vyvyan through the postern gate.
There spoke my fancy, not my heart! Where art thou,
My unforgotten Vyvyan?

Vyv.
At thy feet!
Look up—look up!—these are the arms that sheltered
When the storm howled around; and these the lips
Where, till this hour, the sad and holy kiss
Of parting lingered, as the fragrance left
By angels, when they touch the earth and vanish.
Look up; night never hungered for the sun
As for thine eyes my soul!

Evel.
Oh! joy, joy, joy!

Vyv.
Yet weeping still, tho' leaning on my breast!
My sailor's bride, hast thou no voice but blushes?
Nay from those drooping roses let me steal
The coy reluctant sweetness!

Evel.
And, methought
I had treasured words, 'twould take a life to utter
When we should meet again!

Vyv.
Recall them later.
We shall have time eno', when life with life
Blends into one;—why dost thou start and tremble?

Evel.
Methought I heard her slow and solemn footfall!

Vyv.
Her! Why, thou speak'st of woman: the meek word
Which never chimes with terror.

Evel.
You know not
The dame of Montreville.

Vyv.
Is she so stern?

Evel.
Not stern, but haughty; as if high-born virtue
Swept o'er the earth to scorn the faults it pardoned.

Vyv.
Haughty to thee?

Evel.
To all, ev'n when the kindest;
Nay, I do wrong her; never to her son;
And when those proud eyes moisten as they hail him,
Hearts lately stung, yearn to a heart so human!
Alas, that parent love! how in its loss
All life seems shelterless!

Vyv.
Like thee, perchance,
Looking round earth for that same parent shelter,
I too may find but tombs. So, turn we both,
Orphans, to that lone parent of the lonely,
That doth like Sorrow ever upward gaze
On calm consoling stars—the mother Sea.

Evel.
Call not the cruel sea by that mild name.

Vyv.
She is not cruel if her breast swell high
Against the winds that thwart her loving aim
To link, by every raft whose course she speeds,
Man's common brotherhood from pole to pole;
Grant she hath danger—danger schools the brave,
And bravery leaves all cruel things to cowards.
Grant that she harden us to fear,—the hearts
Most proof to fear are easiest moved to love,
As on the oak whose roots defy the storm,
All the leaves tremble when the south-wind stirs.
Yet if the sea dismay thee, on the shores
Kissed by her waves, and far, as fairy isles
In poet dreams, from this grey care-worn world,
Blooms many a bower for the Sea Rover's bride.
I know a land where feathering palm-trees shade
To delicate twilight, suns benign as those
Whose dawning gilded Eden;—Nature, there,
Like a gay spendthrift in his flush of youth,
Flings her whole treasure on the lap of Time.
There, steeped in roseate hues, the lakelike sea
Heaves to an air whose breathing is ambrosia;
And, all the while, bright-winged and warbling birds,
Like happy souls released, melodious float
Thro' blissful light, and teach the ravished earth
How joy finds voice in Heaven. Come, rest we yonder,
And, side by side, forget that we are orphans!

[Vyvyan and Eveline retire up the stage.
Enter Lady Montreville and Sir Grey.
Lady M.
Yet still, if Alton sees—

Sir G.
Without the proofs,
Why, Alton's story were but idle wind;
The man I send is swift and strong, and ere
This Vyvyan (who would have been here before me
But that I took the shorter path) depart
From your own threshold to the priest's abode,
Our agent gains the solitary dwelling,
And—

Lady M.
But no violence!

Sir G.
Nay, none but fear—
Fear will suffice to force from trembling age
Your safety, and preserve your Beaufort's birthright.

Lady M.
Let me not hear the ignominious means;
Gain thou the end;—quick—quick!

Sir G.
And if, meanwhile,
This sailor come, be nerved to meet—a stranger;
And to detain—a guest.

Lady M.
My heart is wax,
But my will, iron—go.

Sir G.
(aside.)
To fear add force—
And this hand closes on the proofs, and welds
That iron to a tool.
[Exit Sir Grey.

Re-enter Vyvyan and Eveline.
Evel.
Nay, Vyvyan—nay,
Your guess can fathom not how proud her temper.

Vyv.
Tut for her pride! a king upon the deck
Is every subject's equal in the hall.
I will advance. (He uncovers.)


Lady M.
Avenging angels, spare me!

Vyv.
Pardon the seeming boldness of my presence.

Evel.
Our gallant countryman, of whom my father
So often spake—who from the Algerine
Rescued our lives and freedom.

Lady M.
Ah! Your name, sir?

Vyv.
The name I bear is Vyvyan, noble lady.

Lady M.
Sir, you are welcome. Walk within, and hold
Our home your hostel, while it lists you.

Vyv.
Madam,
I shall be prouder in all after time
For having been your guest.

Lady M.
How love and dread
Make tempest here! I pray you follow me.
[Exit Lady Montreville.

Vyv.
A most majestic lady—her fair face
Made my heart tremble, and called back old dreams:
Thou saidst she had a son?

Evel.
Ah, yes.

Vyv.
In truth
A happy man.

Evel.
Yet he might envy thee:

Vyv.
Most arch reprover, yes. As kings themselves
Might envy one whose arm entwines his all.

[Exeunt Eveline and Vyvyan.