University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene 1.

A Gothic chamber. On one side a huge hearth, over which an armorial scutcheon and an carl's coronet, boldly carved. The walls covered with old portraits—tall beaufets in recesses filled with goblets and other vessels of silver. An open door admits a view of a cloister, and the alleys in the courtyard without.
A table spread with fruits and wines, at which are seated Lady Montreville, Vyvyan, and Eveline.
Vyv.
Ha! ha! In truth we made a scurvy figure
After our shipwreck.

Lady M.
You jest merrily
On your misfortunes.

Vyv.
'Tis the way with sailors:
Still in extremes. I can be sad sometimes.

Lady M.
That sigh, in truth, speaks sadness. Sir, if I
In aught could serve you, trust me.

Evel.
Trust her, Vyvyan.
Methinks the mournful tale of thy young years
Would raise thee up a friend, wherever pity
Lives in the heart of woman.

Vyv.
Gentle lady,
The key of some charmed music in your voice
Unlocks a haunted chamber in my soul;
And—would you listen to an outcast's tale,—
'Tis briefly told. Until my fifteenth year,
Beneath the roof of a poor village priest,
Not far from hence, my childhood wore away;
Then stirred within me restless thoughts and deep;—
Throughout the liberal and harmonious nature
Something seemed absent,—what, I scarcely knew,
Till one calm night, when over slumbering seas
Watched the still heaven, and down on every wave
Looked some soft lulling star—the instinctive want
Learned what it pined for; and I asked the priest
With a quick sigh—“Why I was motherless?”

Lady M.
And he?—

Vyv.
Replied that—I was nobly born,
And that the cloud which dimmed a dawning sun,
Oft but foretold its splendour at the noon.
As thus he spoke, faint memories struggling came—
Faint as the things some former life hath known.

Lady M.
Of what?

Vyv.
A face sweet with a stately sorrow,
And lips which breathed the words that mothers murmur.

Lady M.
(aside.)
Back, tell-tale tears!

Vyv.
About that time, a stranger
Came to our hamlet; rough, yet, some said, well-born;
Roysterer, and comrade, such as youth delights in.
Sailor he called himself, and nought belied
The sailor's metal ringing in his talk
Of El Dorados, and Enchanted Isles,
Of hardy Raleigh, and of dauntless Drake,
And great Columbus with prophetic eyes
Fixed on a dawning world. His legends fired me—
And, from the deep whose billows washed our walls,
The alluring wave called with a Siren's music.
And thus I left my home with that wild seaman.

Lady M.
The priest, consenting, still divulged not more?

Vyv.
No; nor rebuked mine ardour. “Go,” he said,
“The noblest of all nobles are the men
In whom their country feels herself ennobled.”

Lady M.
(aside.)
I breathe again. Well, thus you left these shores—

Vyv.
Scarce had the brisker sea-wind filled our sails,
When the false traitor who had lured my trust
Cast me to chains and darkness. Days went by,
At length—one belt of desolate waters round,
And on the decks one scowl of swarthy brows,
(A hideous crew, the refuse of all shores)—
Under the flapping of his raven flag
The pirate stood revealed, and called his captive.
Grimly he heard my boyish loud upbraidings,
And grimly smiled in answering: “I, like thee,
Cast off, and disinherited, and desperate,
Had but one choice, death or the pirate's flag—
Choose thou—I am more gracious than thy kindred;
I proffer life; the gold they gave me paid
Thy grave in ocean!”

Lady M.
Hold! The demon lied!

Vyv.
Swift, as I answered so, his blade flashed forth;
But self-defence is swifter still than slaughter;
I plucked a sword from one who stood beside me,
And smote the slanderer to my feet. Then all
That human hell broke loose; oaths rang, steel lightened;
When in the death-swoon of the caitiff chief,
The pirate next in rank forced back the swarm,
And—in that superstition of the sea
Which makes the sole religion of its outlaws—
Forbade my doom by bloodshed—griped and bound me
To a slight plank; spread to the winds the sail,
And left me on the waves alone with God.

Evel.
Pause. Let my hand take thine—feel its warm life,
And, shuddering less, thank Him whose eye was o'er thee.

Vyv.
That day, and all that night, upon the seas
Tossed the frail barrier between life and death;
Heaven lulled the gales; and when the stars came forth,
All looked so bland and gentle that I wept,
Recalled that wretch's words, and murmured, “All,
Ev'n wave and wind, are kinder than my kindred!”
But—nay, sweet lady—

Lady M.
Heed me not. Night passed—

Vyv.
Day dawned; and, glittering in the sun, behold
A sail—a flag!

Evel.
Well—well?

Vyv.
Like Hope, it vanished!
Noon glaring came—with noon came thirst and famine,
And with parched lips I called on death, and sought
To wrench my limbs from the stiff cords that gnawed
Into the flesh, and drop into the deep:
And then—the clear wave trembled, and below
I saw a dark, swift-moving, shapeless thing,
With watchful, glassy eyes;—the ghastly shark
Swam hungering round its prey—then life once more
Grew sweet, and with a strained and horrent gaze
And lifted hair I floated on, till sense
Grew dim, and dimmer; and a terrible sleep
(In which still—still—those livid eyes met mine)
Fell on me—and—

Evel.
Quick—quick!

Vyv.
I woke, and heard
My native tongue! Kind looks were bent upon me.
I lay on deck—escaped the ravening death—
For God had watched the sleeper.

Evel.
Oh, such memories
Make earth, for ever after, nearer heaven;
And each new hour an altar for thanksgiving.

Lady M.
Break not the tale my ear yet strains to listen.

Vyv.
True lion of the ocean was the chief
Of that good ship. Beneath his fostering eyes,
Nor all ungraced by Drake's illustrious praise,
And the frank clasp of Raleigh's kingly hand,
I fought my way to manhood. At his death
The veteran left me a more absolute throne
Than Cæsar filled—his war-ship; for my realm
Add to the ocean, hope—and measure it!
Nameless, I took his name. My tale is done—
And each past sorrow, like a wave on shore,
Dies on this golden hour. (Turns to Eveline.)


Lady M.
(observing them.)
He loves my ward,
Whom Clarence, too—that thought piles fear on fear;
Yet, hold—that very rivalship gives safety—
Affords pretext to urge the secret nuptials,
And the prompt parting, ere he meet with Alton.
I—but till Nature sobs itself to peace,
Here's that which chokes all reason. Will ye not
Taste summer air, cooled through yon shadowy alleys?
Anon I'll join you.
[Exit Lady Montreville.

Vyv.
We will wait your leisure.
A most compassionate and courteous lady—
How couldst thou call her proud?

Evel.
Nay, ever henceforth,
For the soft pity she hath shown to thee,
I'll love her as a mother.

Vyv.
Thus I thank thee (kissing her hand)
.

[Exeunt through the cloisters.

Scene 2.

Exterior of the castle. On one side, a terrace, with a low embattled parapet, hangs over the rock on which the castle is built, and admits a glimpse of the scene below. On another side, the ground stretches away into avenues and alleys. The castle thus seen, takes the character of a strong fortified hold.

N. B. The scene should present the space within a vast, but irregular embattled wall, large enough to enclose trees and undulating ground. The cloister, with the door leading to Lady Montreville's apartment, will form part of the building, and a gate of great strength, with portcullis, &c., should form a side scene. Through this gate, as the principal portal, will enter Lord Beaufort, and, towards the end of the act, Falkner.

Enter Sir Grey de Malpas from the terrace.
Lord B.
(speaking without.)
A noble falcon! Marsden, hood him gently.
Enter Lord Beaufort.
Good day, old knight, thou hast a lowering look,
As if still ruffled by some dire affray
With lawless mice, at riot in thy larder.

Sir G.
Mice in my house! magnificent dreamer, mice!
The last was found three years ago last Christmas,
Stretched out beside a bone; so lean and worn
With pious fast—'twas piteous to behold it;
I canonized its corpse in spirits of wine,
And set it in the porch—a solemn warning
To its—poor cousins! (Aside)
Shall I be avenged?
He killed my dog too.

Enter Vyvyan and Eveline, lingering in an alley in the background.
Lord B.
Knight, look there!—A stranger,
And whispering with my cousin.

Sir G.
(aside)
Jealous? Ha!
Something should come of this: Hail, green-eyed fiend!
(Aloud)
Let us withdraw—tho' old I have been young;
The whispered talk of lovers should be sacred.

Lord B.
Lovers!

Sir G.
Ah! true! You know not, in your absence
You mother hath received a welcome guest
In your fair cousin's wooer. Note him well,
A stalwart comely gallant.

Lord B.
Art thou serious?
A wooer to my cousin—quick, his name!

Sir G.
His name?—my memory doth begin to fail me—
Your mother will recall it. Seek—ask her—

Lord B.
(advancing)
Whom have we here? Familiar sir, excuse me,
I do not see the golden spurs of knighthood.

Vyv.
Alack, we sailors have not so much gold
That we should waste it on our heels! The steeds
We ride to battle need no spurs, Sir Landsman;

Lord B.
And overleap all laws; methinks thou art
One of those wild Sea Rovers who—

Vyv.
Refuse
To yield to Spain's proud tyranny, her claim
To treat as thieves and pirates all who cross
The line Spain's finger draws across God's ocean.
We, the Sea Rovers, on our dauntless decks
Carry our land, its language, laws, and freedom;
We wrest from Spain the sceptre of the seas,
And in the New World build up a new England.
For this high task, if we fulfil it duly,
The Old and New World both shall bless the names
Of Walter Raleigh and his bold Sea Rovers.

Lord B.
Of those names thine is—

Vyv.
Vyvyan.

Lord B.
Master Vyvyan,
Our rank scarce fits us for a fair encounter
With the loud talk of blustering mariners.
We bar you not our hospitality;
Our converse, yes. Go, ask the Seneschal
To lodge you with your equals!

Vyv.
Equals, stripling!
Mine equals truly should be bearded men,
Noble with titles carpet lords should bow to—
Memories of dangers dared, and service done,
And scars on bosoms that have bled for England!

Sir G.
Nay, coz, he has thee there. (withholding Lord Beaufort.)

Thou shalt not, Clarence.
Strike me. I'm weak and safe—but he is dangerous.

Enter Lady Montreville from the cloister as Lord Beaufort breaks from Sir Grey and draws his sword.
Evel.
Protect your guest from your rash son.

Lady M.
Thy sword
Drawn on thy—Back, boy! I command thee, back!
To you, sir guest, have I in aught so failed,
That in the son you would rebuke the mother?

Vyv.
Madam, believe, my sole offence was this,
That rated as a serf, I spoke as man.

Lady M.
Wherefore, Lord Beaufort, such unseemly humours?

Lord B.
(drawing her aside)
Wherefore?—and while we speak, his touch profanes her!
Who is this man? Dost thou approve his suit?
Beware!

Lady M.
You would not threaten—Oh, my Clarence,
Hear me—you—

Lord B.
Learned in childhood from my mother
To brook no rival—and to curb no passion.
Aid'st thou you scatterling against thy son,
Where most his heart is set?

Lady M.
Thy heart, perverse one?
Thou saidst it was not love.

Lord B.
That was before
A rival made it love—nay, fear not, mother,
If you dismiss this insolent;—but, mark me,
Dismiss him straight, or, by mine honour, madam,
Blood will be shed.

Lady M.
Thrice miserable boy!
Let the heavens hear thee not!

Lord B.
(whispering as he passes Vyvyan)
Again, and soon, sir!
[Exit Lord Beaufort.

Lady M.
(seeing Sir Grey)
Villain!—but no, I dare not yet upbraid—
(Aloud)
After him, quick! Appease, soothe, humour him.

Sir G.
Ay, madam, trust to your poor cousin.
[Exit Sir Grey.

Lady M.
Eveline,
Thou lov'st this Vyvyan?

Evel.
Lady—I—he saved
My life and honour.

Lady M.
Leave us, gentle child,
I would confer with him. May both be happy!

Evel.
(to Vyvyan).
Hush! she consents; well mayst thou bid me love her.
[Exit Eveline.

Lady M.
Sir, if I gather rightly from your speech,
You do not mean long sojourn on these shores?

Vyv.
Lady, in sooth, mine errand here was two-fold.
First, to behold, and, if I dare assume
That you will ratify her father's promise,
To claim my long affianced; next, to learn
If Heaven vouchsafe me yet a parent's heart.
I gained these shores to hear of war and danger—
The long-suspended thunderbolt of Spain
Threatened the air. I have despatched an envoy
To mine old leader, Drake, to crave sure tidings;
I wait reply: If England be in peril,
Hers my first service; if, as rumour runs,
The cloud already melts without a storm,
Then, my bride gained, and my birth tracked, I sail
Back to the Indian seas, where wild adventure
Fulfils in life what boyhood dreamed in song.

Lady M.
'Tis frankly spoken—frankly I reply.
First—England's danger: Now, for five slow years
Have Spain's dull trumpets blared their braggart war,
And Rome's grey monk-craft muttered new crusades;
Well, we live still—and all this deluge dies
In harmless spray on England's scornful cliffs.
And, trust me, sir, if war beleaguer England,
Small need of one man's valour: lacked she soldiers,
Methinks a Mars would strike in childhood's arm,
And woman be Bellona!

Vyv.
Stately matron,
So would our mother country speak and look,
Could she take visible image!

Lady M.
Claim thy bride
With my assent, and joyous gratulation.
She shall not go undowried to your arms.
Nor deem me wanting to herself and you
If I adjure prompt nuptials and departure.
Beaufort—thou see'st how fiery is his mood—
In my ward's lover would avenge a rival:
Indulge the impatient terrors of a mother,
And quit these shores. Why not this night?

Vyv.
This night?
With her—my bride?

Lady M.
So from the nuptial altar
Pledge thou thy faith to part—to spread the sail
And put wide seas between my son and thee.

Vyv.
This night, with Eveline!—dream of rapture! yet—
My birth untracked—

Lady M.
Delay not for a doubt
Bliss when assured. And, heed me, I have wealth
To sharpen law, and power to strengthen justice;
I will explore the mazes of this mystery;
I—I will track your parents.

Vyv.
Blessed lady;
My parents—find me one with eyes like thine,
And were she lowliest of the hamlet born,
I would not change with monarchs.

Lady M.
(aside)
Can I bear this?
Your Eveline well nigh is my daughter; you
Her plighted spouse; pray you this kiss—O, sweet!

[He sinks on his knee as she kisses his forehead.
Vyv.
Ah, as I kneel, and as thou bendest o'er me,
Methinks an angel's hand lifts up the veil
Of Time, the great magician, and I see
Above mine infant couch, a face like thine.

Lady M.
Mine, stranger!

Vyv.
Pardon me; a vain wild thought
I know it is; but on my faith, I think
My mother was like thee.

Lady M.
Peace, peace! We talk
And fool grave hours away. Inform thy bride;
Then to thy bark, and bid thy crew prepare;
Meanwhile, I give due orders to my chaplain.
Beside the altar we shall meet once more;—
And then—and then—Heaven's blessing and farewell!
[Exit Lady Montreville.

Vyv.
Most feeling heart! its softness hath contagion,
And melts mine own! Her aspect wears a charm
That half divides my soul with Eveline's love!
Strange! while I muse, a chill and ominous awe
Creeps thro' my veins! Away, ye vague forebodings!
Eveline! At thy dear name the phantoms vanish,
And the glad future breaks like land on sea,
When rain-mists melt beneath the golden morn.

Enter Falkner.
Falk.
Ha! Vyvyan!

Vyv.
Thou!

Falk.
Breathless with speed to reach thee.
I guessed thee lingering here. Thy foster sire
Hath proofs that clear the shadow from thy birth.
Go—he awaits thee where yon cloud-capt rock
Jags air with barbëd peaks—St. Kinian's Cliff.

Vyv.
My birth! My parents live?

Falk.
I know no more.

Enter Harding.
Hard.
Captain, the rumour lied. I bring such news
As drums and clarions and resounding anvils
Fashioning the scythes of reapers into swords,
Shall ring from Thames to Tweed.

Vyv.
The foeman comes!

Hard.
(giving letter.)
These lines will tell thee; Drake's own hand.

Vyv.
(reading.)
“The Armada
Has left the Groyne, and we are ranging battle.
Come! in the van I leave one gap for thee.”
Poor Eveline! Shame on such unworthy weakness!

Falk.
(taking him aside.)
Time to see her and keep thy tryst with Alton.
Leave me to call the crews and arm the decks.
Not till the moon rise, in the second hour
After the sunset, will the deepening tide
Float us from harbour—ere that hour be past
Our ship shall wait thee by St. Kinian's Cliff.
Small need to pray thee not to miss the moment
Whose loss would lose thee honour.

Vyv.
If I come not
Ere the waves reel to thy third signal gun,
Deem Death alone could so delay from duty,
And step into my post as o'er my corpse.

Falk.
Justly, my captain, thou rebuk'st my warning,
And couldst thou fail us, I would hold the signal
As if thy funeral knell—crowd every sail,
And know thy soul—

Vyv.
Was with my country still.

[Shouts without.
Enter Sub-officer, Sailors, Retainers, and Villagers, confusedly.
Sub-officer
(with broadsheet.)
Captain, look here. Just come!

Vyv.
The Queen's Address
From her own lips to the armed lines at Tilbury.

Voices.
Read it, sir, read it—

Vyv.