 | The Rightful Heir |  |
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ACT IV.
Scene 1.
Lady Montreville's apartment as in Sc. 1st, Act II. Lights. During the scene the moon rises, seen through the casement. Lady Montreville seated.Enter Vyvyan.
Lady M.
Thou com'st already to demand thy bride?
Vyv.
Alas! such nuptials are deferred. This night
The invader summons me—my sole bride, Honour,
And my sole altar—England! (Aside.)
How to break it?
Lady M.
My Clarence on the land, and thou on sea,
Both for their country armed! Heaven shield ye both!
Vyv.
Say you that?—Both?—You, who so love your son?
Lady M.
Better than life, I love him!
Vyv.
(aside.)
I must rush
Into the thick. Time goads me! (Aloud.)
Had you not
Another son? A first-born?
Lady M.
Sir!
Vyv.
A son,
On whom those eyes dwelt first—whose infant cry
Broke first on that divine and holiest chord
In the deep heart of woman, which awakes
All Nature's tenderest music? Turn not from me!
I know the mystery of thy mournful life.
Will it displease thee—will it—to believe
That son is living still?
Lady M.
Sir—sir—such license
Expels your listener (rises)
.
Vyv.
No, thou wilt not leave me?
I say, thou wilt not leave me—on my knees
I say, thou shalt not leave me!
Lady M.
Loose thine hold!
Vyv.
I am thy son—thine Edmond—thine own child!
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Rising from death to thee—the source of life!
Flung by kind heaven once more upon thy breast,
Kissing thy robe, and clinging to thy knees.
Dost thou reject thy son?
Lady M.
I have no son,
Save Clarence Beaufort.
Vyv.
Do not—do not hear her,
Thou who, enthroned amid the pomp of stars,
Dost take no holier name than that of Father!
Thou hast no other son? O, cruel one!
Look—look—these letters to the priest who reared him—
See where thou call'st him “Edmond”—“child”—“life's all!”—
Can the words be so fresh on this frail record,
Yet fade, obliterate from the undying soul?
By these—by these—by all the solemn past,
By thy youth's lover—by his secret grave—
By every kiss upon thine infant's cheek—
By every tear that wept his fancied death—
Grieve not that still a first-born calls thee “Mother!”
Lady M.
Rise. If these prove that such a son once lived,
Where are your proofs that still he lives in you?
Vyv.
There! in thine heart!—thine eyes that dare not face me!
Thy trembling limbs, each power, each pulse of being,
That vibrates at my voice! Let pride encase thee
With nine-fold adamant, it rends asunder
At the great spell of Nature—Nature calls;
Parent, come forth!
Lady M.
(aside).
Resolve gives way! Lost Clarence!
What! “Fall as Romans fell, on their swords' point?”
No, Clarence, no! (turning fiercely.)
Impostor! If thy craft
Hath, by suborning most unworthy spies,
Sought in the ruins of a mourner's life
Some base whereon to pile this laboured falsehood,
Let law laugh down the fable—Quit my presence.
Vyv.
No. I will not.
Lady M.
Will not! Ho!
Vyv.
Call your hirelings,
And let them hear me (striding to the hearth)
. Lo, beneath thy roof,
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Under their 'scutcheon, and before their forms
Which from the ghostly canvas I invoke
To hail their son—I take my dauntless stand,
Armed with my rights; now bid your menials thrust
From his own hearth the heir of Montreville!
Enter Servants.
Lady M.
Seize on— (Clasping her hands before her face.)
Out—out! His father stands before me
In the son's image. No, I dare not!
Servant.
Madam,
Did you not summon us?
Vyv.
They wait your mandate,
Lady of Montreville.
Lady M.
I called not. Go!
[Exeunt Servants.
Art thou my son? If so, have mercy, Edmond!
Let Heaven attest with what remorseful soul
I yielded to my ruthless father's will,
And with cold lips profaned a second vow.
I had a child—I was a parent, true;
But exiled from the parent's paradise,
Not mine the frank joy in the face of day,
The pride, the boast, the triumph, and the rapture;
Thy couch was sought as with a felon's step,
And whispering nature shuddered at detection.
Oh, couldst thou guess what hell to loftier minds
It is to live in one eternal lie!
Yet, spite of all, how dear thou wert!
Vyv.
I was?
Is the time past for ever? What my sin?
Lady M.
I loved thee till another son was born,
A blossom 'mid the snows. Thou wert afar,
Seen rarely—alien—on a stranger's breast
Leaning for life. But this thrice-blessëd one
Smiled in mine eyes, took being from my breast,
Slept in mine arms; here love asked no concealment—
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Here I put on my royalty of woman—
The guardian, the protector; food, health, life—
It clung to me for all. Mother and child,
Each was the all to each.
Vyv.
O, prodigal,
Such wealth to him, yet nought to spare to me!
Lady M.
My boy grew up, my Clarence. Looking on him
Men prized his mother more—so fair and stately,
And the world deemed to such high state the heir!
Years went; they told me that by Nature's death
Thou hadst in boyhood passed away to heaven.
I wept thy fate; and long ere tears were dried,
The thought that danger, too, expired for Clarence,
Did make thy memory gentle.
Vyv.
Do you wish
That I were still what once you wept to deem me?
Lady M.
I did rejoice when my lip kissed thy brow;
I did rejoice to give thy heart its bride;
I would have drained my coffers for her dowry;
But wouldst thou ask me if I can rejoice
That a life rises from the grave abrupt
To doom the life I cradled, reared, and wrapt
From every breeze, to desolation?—No!
Vyv.
What would you have me do?
Lady M.
Accept the dowry,
And, blest with Eveline's love, renounce thy mother.
Vyv.
Renounce thee! No—these lips belie not Nature!
Never!
Lady M.
Eno'—I can be mean no more,
Ev'n in the prayer that asked his life. Go, slay it.
Vyv.
Why must my life slay his?
Lady M.
Since his was shaped
To soar to power—not grovel to dependence—
And I do seal his death-writ when I say,
“Down to the dust, Usurper; bow the knee
And sue for alms to the true Lord of Beaufort.”
Those words shall not be said—I'll find some nobler.
Thy rights are clear. The law might long defer them—
I do forestall the law. These lands be thine.
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Thus I say not to Clarence, “Be dependent”—
But I can say, “Share poverty with me.”
I go to seek him; at his side depart;
He spurns thine alms: I wronged thee—take thy vengeance!
Vyv.
Merciless—hold, and hear me—I—alms!—vengeance!—
True—true, this heart a mother never cradled,
Or she had known it better.
Lady M.
Edmond!
Vyv.
Hush!
Call me that name no more—it dies for ever!
Nay, I renounce thee not, for that were treason
On the child's lip. Parent, renounce thy child!
As for these nothings (giving the papers)
, take them; if you dread
To find words, once too fond, they're blurr'd already—
You'll see but tears: tears of such sweetness, madam.
I did not think of lands and halls, pale Countess,
I did but think—these arms shall clasp a mother.
Now they are worthless—take them. Never guess
How covetous I was—how hearts, cast off,
Pine for their rights—rights not of parchment, lady.
Part we, then, thus? No, put thine arms around me;
Let me remember in the years to come,
That I have lived to say, a mother blessed me!
Lady M.
Oh, Edmond, Edmond, thou hast conquered, Edmond!
Thy father's voice!—his eyes! Look down from heaven,
Bridegroom, and pardon me; I bless thy child!
Vyv.
Hark! she has blessed her son! It mounts to heaven,
The blessing of the mother on her child!
Mother, and mother;—how the word thrills thro' me!
Mother, again dear mother! Place thy hand
Here—on my heart. Now thou hast felt it beat,
Wilt thou misjudge it more? Recoil'st thou still?
Lady M.
(breaking from him.)
What have I done?—betrayed, condemned my Clarence!
Vyv.
Condemned thy Clarence! By thy blessing, No!
That blessing was my birthright. I have won
That which I claimed. Give Clarence all the rest.
Silent, as sacred, be the memory
Of this atoning hour. Look, evermore (kissing her)
Thus—thus I seal the secret of thy first-born!
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Now deem me dead to thee. Farewell, farewell!
[Exit Vyvyan.
Lady M.
(rushing after him).
Hold, hold—too generous, hold! Come back, my son!
[Exit Lady Montreville.
Scene 2.
St. Kinian's Cliff. The ship on the sea. Wrecklyffe standing in the shadow of a broken rock.Enter Lord Beaufort.
Lord B.
And still not here! The hour has long since passed.
I'll climb yon tallest peak, and strain mine eyes
Down the sole path between the cliff and ocean.
[Exit Lord Beaufort.
Wreck.
(advancing).
The boors first grinned, then paled, and crept away;
The tavern-keeper slunk, and muttered “Hangdog!”
And the she-drudge whose rough hand served the drink,
Stifled her shriek, and let the tankard fall!
It was not so in the old merry days:
Then the scarred hangdog was “fair gentleman.”
And—but the reckoning waits. Why tarries he?
[Signal gun from the ship.
A signal! Ha!
Vyv.
(without).
I come! I come!
Wreck.
(grasping his knife, but receding as he sees Beaufort, who appears above).
Hot lordling!
I had well nigh forestalled thee. Patience!
[Creeps under the shadow of the rock, and thence steals out of sight in the background.
Enter Lord Beaufort.
Lord B.
Good!
From crag to crag he bounds—my doubts belied him;
His haste is eager as my own.
Enter Vyvyan.
Sir, welcome.
Vyv.
Stay me not, stay me not! Thou hast all else
But honour—rob me not of that! Unhand me!
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Unhand thee? yes—to take thy ground and draw.
Vyv.
Thou know'st not what thou sayest. Let me go!
Lord B.
Thyself didst name the place and hour:
Vyv.
For here
I thought to clasp— (aside)
I have no brother now!
Lord B.
He thought to clasp his Eveline. Death and madness!
Vyv.
Eveline! Thou lov'st not Eveline. Be consoled.
Thou hast not known affliction—hast not stood
Without the porch of the sweet home of men;
Thou hast leaned upon no reed that pierced the heart;
Thou hast not known what it is, when in the desert
The hopeless find the fountain: happy boy,
Thou hast not loved. Leave love to man and sorrow!
Lord B.
Dost thou presume upon my years? Dull scoffer!
The brave is man betimes—the coward never.
Boy if I be, my playmates have been veterans;
My toy a sword, and my first lesson valour.
And, had I taken challenge as thou hast,
And on the ground replied to bold defiance
With random words implying dastard taunts,
With folded arms, pale lip, and haggard brow,
I'd never live to call myself a man.
Thus says the boy, since manhood is so sluggard,
Soldier and captain. Do not let me strike thee!
Vyv.
Do it,—and tell thy mother, when thy hand
Outraged my cheek, I pardoned thee, and pitied.
Lord B.
Measureless insult! Pitied!
[Second gun.
Vyv.
There, again!
And still so far! Out of my path, insane one!
Were there nought else, thy youth, thy mother's love
Should make thee sacred to a warrior's arm—
Out of my path. Thus, then (suddenly lifts, and puts him aside)
Oh, England—England!
Do not reject me too!—I come! I come!
[Exit up the cliff.
Lord B.
Thrust from his pathway—every vein runs fire!
Thou shalt not thus escape me—Stand or die! (rushes after him.)
[Vyvyan retreats to the edge of the cliff, and grasps for support at the bough of a tree.
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Forbear, forbear!
Lord B.
Thy blood on thine own head!
[Third gun.
[As Beaufort lifts his sword and strikes, Vyvyan retreats —the bough breaks, and Vyvyan falls down the precipice.
Wreck.
(who has followed part of the way, peering down the precipice)
—Is the deed done? If not, this steel completes it.
[Descends the cliff, and disappears.
[Lord Beaufort sinks on his knee in horror. The ship sails on as the scene closes slowly.
END OF ACT IV.
| The Rightful Heir | |