 | The Rightful Heir |  |
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;
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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?
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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;
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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.
| The Rightful Heir | |