University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene 1.

St. Kinian's Cliff. A year is supposed to have passed since the date of Act IV.
Enter Sir Grey de Malpas.
Sir G.
A year—and Wrecklyffe still is mute and absent,
Even as Vyvyan is! Most clear! He saw,
And haply shared, the murderous deed of Beaufort;
And Beaufort's wealth hath bribed him to desert
Penury and me. That Clarence slew his brother
I cannot doubt. He shuts me from his presence;
But I have watched him, wandering, lone, yet haunted—
Marked the white lip and glassy eyes of one
For whom the grave has ghosts, and silence, horror.
His mother, on vague pretext of mistrust
That I did sell her first-born to the pirate,
Excludes me from her sight, but sends me alms
Lest the world cry, “See, her poor cousin starves!”
Can she guess Beaufort's guilt? Nay! For she lives!
I know that deed, which, told unto the world,
Would make me heir of Montreville. O, mockery!
For how proceed?—no proof! How charge?—no witness!
How cry, “Lo! murder!” yet produce no corpse!

Enter Alton.
Alton.
Sir Grey de Malpas! I was on my way
To your own house.

Sir G.
Good Alton—can I serve you?

Alton.
The boy I took from thee, returned a man
Twelve months ago: mine oath absolved.

Sir G.
'Tis true.

Alton.
Here did I hail the rightful lord of Montreville,
And from these arms he rushed to claim his birthright.

Sir G.
(aside)
She never told me this.

Alton.
That night, his war-ship
Sailed to our fleet. I deemed him with the battle.
Time went; Heaven's breath had scattered the Armada.
I sate at my porch to welcome him—he came not.
I said, “His mother has abjured her offspring,
And law detains him while he arms for justice.”
Hope sustained patience till to-day.

Sir G.
To-day?

Alton.
The very friend who had led me to his breast
Returns, and—

Sir G.
(soothingly.)
Well?

Alton.
He fought not with his country.

Sir G.
And this cold friend lets question sleep a year?

Alton.
His bark too rashly chased the flying foe;
Was wrecked on hostile shores; and he a prisoner.

Sir G.
Lean on my arm, thou'rt faint.

Alton.
Oh, Grey de Malpas,
Can men so vanish—save in murderous graves?
You turn away.

Sir G.
What murder without motive?
And who had motive here?

Alton.
Unnatural kindred.

Sir G.
Kindred! Ensnare me not! Mine, too, that kindred.
Old man, beware how thou asperse Lord Beaufort!

Alton.
Beaufort! Oh, horror! How the instinctive truth
Starts from thy lips!

Sir G.
From mine—priest!

Alton.
Not of man
Ask pardon, if accomplice—

Sir G.
I accomplice!
Nay, since 'tis my good name thou sulliest now—
This is mine answer: Probe; examine; search;
And call on justice to belie thy slander.
Go, seek the aid of stout Sir Godfrey Seymour;
A dauntless magistrate; strict, upright, honest:
(Aside.)
At heart a Puritan, and hates a Lord,
With other slides that fit into my grooves.

Alton.
He bears with all the righteous name thou giv'st him,
Thy zeal acquits thyself.

Sir G.
And charges none.

Alton.
Heaven reads the heart. Man can but track the deed.
My task is stern.
[Exit Alton.

Sir G.
Scent lies—suspicion dogs—
And with hot breath pants on the flight of conscience.
Ah! who comes here? Sharp wit, round all occasion!

Enter Falkner with Sailors.
Falk.
Learn all you can—when latest seen, and where—
Meanwhile I seek yon towers.

[Exeunt Sailors.
Sir G.
Doubtless, fair sir,—
I speak to Vyvyan's friend. My name is Malpas—
Can it be true, as Alton doth inform me,
That you suspect your comrade died by murder?

Falk.
Murder?

Sir G.
And by a rival's hand? Amazed!
Yet surely so I did conceive the priest.

Falk.
Murder!—a rival!—true, he loved a maiden!

Sir G.
In yonder halls!

Falk.
Despair! Am I too late
For all but vengeance! Speak, sir—who this rival?

Sir G.
Vengeance!—fie—seek those towers, and learn compassion.
Sad change indeed, since here, at silent night,
Your Vyvyan met the challenge of Lord Beaufort.

Falk.
A challenge?—here?—at night?

Sir G.
Yes, this the place.
How sheer the edge! crag, cave, and chasm below!
If the foot slipped,—nay, let us think slipped heedless,—
Or some weak wounded man were headlong plunged,
What burial place more secret?

Falk.
Hither, look!
Look where, far down the horrible descent,
Through some fresh cleft rush subterranean waves,
How wheel and circle ghastly swooping wings!

Sir G.
The sea-gulls ere a storm,

Falk.
No! Heaven is clear!
The storm they tell, speeds lightning towards the guilty.
So have I seen the foul birds in lone creeks
Sporting around the shipwrecked seaman's bones.
Guide me, ye spectral harbingers!

[Descends the cliff.
Sir G.
From bough
To bough he swings—from peak to slippery peak
I see him dwindling down;—the loose stones rattle;
He falls—he falls—but 'lights on yonder ledge,
And from the glaring sun turns stedfast eyes
Where still the sea-gulls wheel; now crawls, now leaps;
Crags close around him—not a glimpse nor sound!
O, diver for the dead,—bring up but bones,
And round the skull I'll wreathe my coronet.

[Scene closes on Sir Grey seated.

Scene 2.

A room in the castle of Montreville—with casement opening on a balcony that overhangs the sea.
Enter Lady Montreville and Marsden.
Lady M.
Will he nor hunt nor hawk? This constant gloom!
Canst thou not guess the cause? He was so joyous!

Mars.
Young plants need air and sun; man's youth the world.
Young men should pine for action. Comfort, madam,
The cause is clear, if you recall the date.

Lady M.
Thou hast marked the date?

Mars.
Since that bold seaman's visit.

Lady M.
Thy tongue runs riot, man. How should that stranger,—
I say a stranger, strike dismay in Beaufort?

Mars.
Dismay! Not that, but emulation!

Lady M.
Ay!
You speak my thoughts, and I have prayed our Queen
To rank your young lord with her chivalry;
This day mine envoy should return.

Mars.
This day?
Let me ride forth and meet him!

Lady M.
Go!
[Exit Marsden.
'Tis true!
Such was the date. Hath Clarence guessed the secret—
Guessed that a first-born lives? I dread to question!
Yet sure the wronged was faithful, and the wrong
Is my heart's canker-worm and gnaws unseen.
Where wanderest thou, sad Edmond? Not one word
To say thou liv'st—thy very bride forsaken,
As if love, frozen at the parent well-spring,
Left every channel dry! What hollow tread,
Heavy and weary falls? Is that the step
Which touched the mean earth with a lightsome scorn,
As if the air its element?

Enter Beaufort—his dress neglected—wrapped in a loose mantle of fur.
Lord B.
Cold! cold!
And yet I saw the beggar doff his frieze,
Warm in his rags. I shiver under ermine.
For me 'tis never summer—never—never!

Lady M.
How fares my precious one?

Lord B.
Well;—but so cold.
Ho! there! without
Enter Servant.
Wine—wine!

[Exit Servant.
Lady M.
Alas! alas!
Why, this is fever—thy hand burns.

Lord B.
That hand!
Ay, that hand always burns.
Re-enter Servant with wine, and a goblet of rich workmanship, set in jewels.
Look you—the cup
The wondrous Tuscan jeweller, Cellini,
Made for a king! A king's gift to thy father!
What? Serve such gauds to me!

Lady M.
Thyself so ordered
In the proud whims thy light heart made so graceful.

Lord B.
Was I proud once? Ha! ha! What's this?—not wine?

Servant.
The Malvoisie your lordship's friends, last year,
Esteemed your rarest.

Lord B.
How one little year
Hath soured it into nausea! Faugh—'tis rank.

Lady M.
(to servant.)
Send for the leech—quick—go.
[Exit Servant.
Oh, Clarence! Clarence!
Is this the body's sickness, or the soul's?
Is it life's youngest sorrow, love misplaced?
Thou dost not still love Eveline?

Lord B.
Did I love her?

Lady M.
Or one whose birth might more offend my pride?
Well, I am proud. But I would hail as daughter
The meanest maiden from whose smile thy lip
Caught smiles again. Thy smile is day to me.

Lord B.
Poor mother, fear not. Never hermit-monk,
Gazing on skulls in lone sepulchral cells,
Had heart as proof to woman's smile as mine.

Lady M.
The court—the camp—ambition—

Enter Marsden with a letter.
Mars.
From the Queen!
(While the Countess reads, Marsden, turning to Lord Beaufort,
My dear young lord, be gay! The noblest knight
In all the land, Lord Essex, on his road
From conquered Cadiz, with the armëd suite
That won his laurels, sends before to greet you,
And prays you will receive him in your halls.

Lord B.
The flower of England's gentry, spotless Essex!
Sully him not, old man, bid him pass on.

Lady M.
Joy, Beaufort, joy! August Elizabeth
Owns thee her knight, and bids thee wear her colours,
And break thy maiden lance for England's lady.

Lord B.
I will not go. Barbed steeds and knightly banners—
Baubles and gewgaws!

Mars.
Glorious to the young.

Lord B.
Ay—to the young! Oh, when did poet-dreams
Ever shape forth such fairy land as youth!
Gossamer hopes, pearled with the dews of morn,
Gay valour, bounding light on welcome peril,—
Errors themselves, the sparkling overflow,
Of life as headlong, but as pure as streams
That rush from sunniest hill-tops kissing heaven,—
Lo! that is youth. Look on my soul, old man,
Well—is it not more grey than those blanched hairs?

Lady M.
He raves—heed not his words. Go, speed the leech!

[Exit Marsden.
Lady M.
(aside.)
I know these signs—by mine own soul I know them;
This is nor love, nor honour's sigh for action,
Nor Nature's milder suffering. This is guilt!
Clarence—now, side by side, I sit with thee!
Put thine arms round me, lean upon my breast—
It is a mother's breast. So, that is well;
Now—whisper low—what is thy crime?

Lord B.
(bursting into tears.)
O, mother!
Would thou hadst never borne me!

Lady M.
Ah, ungrateful!

Lord B.
No—for thy sake I speak. Thou—justly proud,
For thou art pure; thou, on whose whitest name
Detraction spies no soil—dost thou say “crime”
Unto thy son; and is his answer tears?

Enter Eveline, weaving flowers as in first act.
Evel.-
(Approaching Beaufort.)
Have you no news?

Lord B.
Of whom?

Evel.
Of Vyvyan?

Lord B.
That name! Her reason wanders; and O, mother,
When that name's uttered—so doth mine—hush, hush it.

[Eveline goes to the balcony, and throws the garland into the sea.
Lady M.
Kill me at once—or when I ask again,
What is thy crime?—reply, ‘No harm to Vyvyan!’

Lord B.
(breaking away.)
Unhand me! Let me go!
[Exit Lord Beaufort.

Lady M.
This pulse beats still!
Nature rejects me!

Evel.
(from the balcony.)
Come, come—see the garland,
It dances on the waves so merrily.

Enter Marsden.
Mars.
(drawing aside Lady M.)
Forgive this haste. Amid St. Kinian's cliffs
Where, once an age, on glassy peaks may glide
The shadow of a man, a stranger venturing
Hath found bleached human bones, and to your hall,
Nearest at hand, and ever famed for justice,
Leads on the crowd, and saith the dead was Vyvyan.

Evel.
Ha! who named Vyvyan? Has he then come back?

Mars.
Fair mistress, no.

Lady M.
If on this terrible earth
Pity lives still—lead her away. Be tender.

Evel.
(approaching Lady M.)
I promised him to love you as a mother.
Kiss me, and trust in Heaven! He will return!

[Exeunt Eveline and Marsden.
Lady M.
These horrors are unreal.

Enter a Servant.
Servant.
Noble mistress,
Sir Godfrey Seymour, summoned here in haste,
Craves your high presence in the Justice Hall.

Lady M.
Mine—Mine? Where goëst thou?

Servant.
Sir Godfrey bade me
Seek my young lord.

Lady M.
Stir not. My son is ill.
Thyself canst witness how the fever— (hurrying to the side scene)
Marsden!
Enter Marsden.
My stricken Clarence!—In his state, a rumour
Of—of what passes here, might blast life—reason:
Go, lure him hence—if he resist, use force
As to a maniac.—Good old man, thou lov'st him;
His innocent childhood played around thy knees—
I know I can trust thee—Quick—speak not:—Save!
[Exit Marsden.
(to Servant.)
Announce my coming.
[Exit Servant.
This day, life to shield
The living son:—Death, with the dead, to-morrow!
[Exit Lady Montreville.

Scene 3.

A vast feudal hall in the castle. At the extreme end, the carved screen work of later date, supporting the minstrels' gallery (similar to that in Hampton Court). The opening in the screen is made the principal entry on the scene. In another part of the hall a high Gothic casement forms a recess, over which a curtain is drawn aside. In the recess a tressel, serving as a bier for the remains of the dead, which are covered with a cloth. At each side of the screen entry, a halberdier in the service of Sir Godfrey Seymour, officiating as constable. Alton kneeling before the tressel in the recess.

In front of the stage, a table, before which Sir Godfrey Seymour seated. A Clerk employed in writing. Sir Grey de Malpas standing near Sir Godfrey. Falkner a little apart.

Sir Godf.
(to Falkner.)
Be patient, sir, and give us ampler proof
To deem yon undistinguishable bones
The relics of your friend.

Falk.
That gentleman
Can back my oath, that these, the plume, the gem
Which Vyvyan wore—I found them on the cliff.

Sir Godf.
Verily, is it so?

Sir Grey.
(with assumed reluctance.)
Sith law compel me—
Yes, I must vouch it.

Enter Servant.
Servant.
(placing a chair of state.)
Sir, my lady comes.

Sir Godf.
Let not that sight appal her.

Sir Grey.
And her son.

[Servant draws the curtain round the recess, leaving Alton still kneeling within, and exit.
Enter Lady Montreville, and seats herself.
Sir Godf.
You pardon, madam, mine imperious duties,
And know my dismal task—

Lady M.
Pray you be brief, sir.

Sir Godf.
Was, this time year, the captain of a war-ship,
Vyvyan his name, your guest?

Lady M.
But one short day—
To see my ward, whom he had saved from pirates.

Sir Godf.
I pray you, madam, in his converse with you
Spoke he of any foe, concealed or open,
Whom he had cause to fear?

Lady M.
Of none!

Sir Godf.
Nor know you
Of any such?

Lady M.
(after a pause.)
I do not.

Sir Godf.
(aside to Falkner.)
Would you farther
Question this lady, sir?

Falk.
No, she is woman,
And mother; let her go. I wait Lord Beaufort.

Sir Godf.
Madam, no longer will we task your presence.

Enter Lord Beaufort, breaking from Marsden, and other Attendants.
Lord B.
Off, dotard, off! Guests in our hall!

Lady M.
He is ill.
Sore ill—fierce fever—I will lead him forth.
Come, Clarence; darling, come!

Lord B.
Who is this man?

Falk.
The friend of Vyvyan, whose pale bones plead yonder.

Lord B.
I—I will go. Let's steal away, my mother.

[Sir Grey intercepts the retreat of Beaufort, and, with bye play intimating remonstrance and encouragement, urges him forward.
Falk.
Lost friend, in war, how oft thy word was ‘spare.’—
Methinks I hear thee now. (drawing aside Lord Beaufort.)

Young lord, I came
Into these halls, demanding blood for blood—
But thy remorse (this is remorse) disarms me.
Speak; do but say—(look, I am young myself,
And know how hot is youth;) speak—do but say,
After warm words, struck out from jealous frenzy,
Quick swords were drawn: Man's open strife with man—
Passion, not murder: Say this, and may law
Pardon thee, as a soldier does!

Sir Grey
(to Marsden.)
Call Eveline,
She can attest our young lord's innocence.

[Exit Marsden.
Falk.
He will not speak, sir, let my charge proceed.

Lady M.
(aside.)
Whate'er the truth—of that—of that hereafter,
Now but remember, child, thy birth, thy name;—
Thy mother's heart, it beats beside thee—take
Strength from its pulses.

Lord B.
Keep close, and for thy sake
I will not cry—‘'Twas passion, yet still, murder!’

Sir Godf.
(who has been conversing aside with Sir Grey.)
Then jealous love the motive? Likelier that
Than Alton's wilder story.
Enter Eveline and Marsden.
Sweet young madam,
If I be blunt, forgive me; we are met
On solemn matters which relate to one
Who, it is said, was your betrothed:

Evel.
To Vyvyan!

Sir Godf.
'Tis also said, Lord Beaufort crossed his suit,
And your betrothed resented.

Evel.
No! forgave.

Sir Grey.
Yes, when you feared some challenge from Lord Beaufort,
Did Vyvyan not cast down his sword and say,
‘Both will be safe, for one will be unarmed?’

(Great sensation through the hall. Falkner and Sir Godfrey both.)
Unarmed!

Evel.
His very words!

Falk.
Oh, vile assassin!

Sir Godf.
Accuser, peace! This is most grave. Lord Beaufort,
Upon such tokens, with your own strange bearing,
As ask appeal to more august tribunal,
You stand accused of purposed felon murder
On one named Vyvyan, Captain of the Dreadnought—
Wouldst thou say aught against this solemn charge?

Evel.
Murdered!—he—Vyvyan! Thou his murderer, Clarence,
In whose rash heat my hero loved frank valour?
Lo! I, to whom his life is as the sun
Is to the world—with my calm trust in Heaven
Mantle thee thus.

Lady M.
(aside.)
Be firm—deny, and live.

Lord B.
(with a vacillating attempt at his former haughtiness.)
You call my bearing “strange”—what marvel, sir?
Stunned by such charges, of a crime so dread.
What proof against me?

Lady M.
(whilst Lady M. speaks, Sir Grey steals behind the curtain.)
Words deposed by whom?
A man unknown;—a girl's vague fear of quarrel—
His motive what? A jealous anger! Phantoms!
Is not my son mine all?—And yet this maid
I plighted to another. Had I done so
If loved by him, and at the risk of life?
Again, I ask all present what the motive?

Alton.
(advancing from the recess with Sir Grey.)
Rank, fortune, birthright. Miserable woman!

Lady M.
Whence com'st thou, pale accuser?

Alton.
From the dead!
Which of ye two will take the post I leave?
Which of ye two will draw aside that veil,
Look on the bones behind, and cry, “I'm guiltless?”
Hast thou conspired with him to slay thy first-born,
Or knows he not that Vyvyan was his brother?

[Lady Montreville swoons. Till now Eveline has held to Beaufort—now she rushes to Lady Montreville.
Lord B.
My brother! No! no! no! (clutching hold of Sir Grey.)

Kinsman, he lies!

Sir Grey.
Alas!

Lord B.
Wake, mother, wake. I ask not speech.
Lift but thy brow—one flash of thy proud eye
Would strike these liars dumb!

Alton.
Read but those looks
To learn that thou art—

Lord B.
Cain! (grasping Falkner.)
Out with thy sword—
Hew off this hand. Thou calledst me “Assassin!”
Too mild—say “Fratricide!” Cain, Cain, thy brother!

[Falls.
Evel.
It cannot be so! No. Thou wondrous Mercy,
That, from the pirate's knife, the funeral seas
And all their shapes of death, didst save the lone one,
To prove to earth how vainly man despairs
While God is in the heavens—I cling to thee,
As Faith unto its anchor! (To Sir Grey.)
Back, false kinsman!
I tell thee Vyvyan lives—the boy is guiltless!

Falk.
Poor, noble maid! How my heart bleeds for her!

Lady M.
(starting up.)
Sentence us both! or, stay,—would law condemn
A child so young, if I had urged him to it?

Sir Godf.
Unnatural mother, hush! Sir Grey, to you,
Perchance ere long, by lives too justly forfeit,
Raised to this earldom, I entrust these—prisoners.

[Motions to the halberdiers, who advance to arrest Beaufort and Lady Montreville.
Mars.
O, day of woe!

Sir Grey.
Woe—yes! Make way for us.

[Trumpet.
Enter Servant.
Servant.
My lord of Essex just hath passed the gates;
But an armed knight who rode beside the Earl,
After brief question to the crowd without,
Sprang from his steed, and forces here his way!

Enter Knight in half armour—wrapped in his horseman's cloak, his vizor three parts down.
Knight.
Forgiveness of all present!

Sir Godf.
Who art thou?

Knight.
A soldier, knighted by the hand of Essex
Upon the breach of Cadiz.

Sir Godf.
What thy business?

Knight.
To speak the truth. Who is the man accused
Of Vyvyan's murder?

Sir Grey.
You behold him yonder.

Knight.
'Tis false.

Sir Grey.
His own lips have confessed his crime.

Knight.
(throwing down his gauntlet.)
This to the man whose crushing lie bows down
Upon the mother's bosom that young head!
Say you “confess'd!” O tender, tender conscience!
Vyvyan, rough sailor, galled him and provoked;
He raised his hand. To the sharp verge of the cliff
Vyvyan recoiled, backed by an outstretched bough.
The bough gave way—he fell, but not to perish;
Saved by a bush-grown ledge that broke his fall;
Long stunned he lay; when opening dizzy eyes,
On a grey crag between him and the abyss
He saw the face of an old pirate foe;
Saw the steel lifted, saw it flash and vanish,
As a dark mass rushed thro' the moonlit air
Dumb into deeps below—the indignant soil
Had slid like glass beneath the murderer's feet,
And his own death-spring whirled him to his doom.
Then Vyvyan rose, and, crawling down the rock,
Stood by the foe, who, stung to late remorse
By hastening death, gasped forth a dread confession.
The bones ye find are those of Murder's agent—
Murder's arch-schemer—Who?—Ho! Grey de Malpas,
Stand forth! Thou art the man!

Sir Grey.
Hemm'd round with toils,
Soul, crouch no more! Base hireling, doff thy mask,
And my sword writes the lie upon thy front.
By Beaufort's hand died Vyvyan—

Knight.
As the spell
Shatters the sorcerer when his fiends desert him,
Let thine own words bring doom upon thyself!
Now face the front on which to write the lie.

[Casts off his helmet.
[Sir Grey drops his sword and staggers back into the arms of the retainers.
Evel.
Thou liv'st, thou liv'st—

Vyv.
(kneeling to her.)
Is life worth something still?

Sir Grey.
Air, air—my staff—some chord seems broken here.
[Pressing his heart.
Marsden, your lord shot his poor cousin's dog;
In the dog's grave—mark!—bury the poor cousin.

[Sinks exhausted, and is borne out.
Vyv.
Mine all on earth, if I may call thee mine.

Evel.
Thine, thine, thro' life, thro' death—one heart, one grave!
I knew thou wouldst return, for I have lived
In thee so utterly, thou couldst not die
And I live still.—The dial needs the sun;
But love reflects the image of the loved,
Tho' every beam be absent!—Thine, all thine!

Lady M.
My place is forfeit on thy breast, not his.
[Pointing to Beaufort.
Clarence, embrace thy brother, and my first-born.
His rights are clear—my love for thee suppressed them—
He may forgive me yet—wilt thou?

Beau.
Forgive thee!
Oh mother, what is rank to him who hath stood
Banished from out the social pale of men,
Bowed like a slave, and trembling as a felon?
Heaven gives me back mine ermine, innocence;
And my lost dignity of manhood, honour.
I miss nought else.—Room there for me, my brother!

Vyv.
Mother, come first!—love is as large as heaven!

Falk.
But why so long—

Vyv.