University of Virginia Library

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.