University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Chamber in Athelwold's Castle.
Elfrida discovered, in a rich undress, reclining on a couch of carved oak.
ELFRIDA.
Perchance he thinks to find me ever thus
Greeting him from the revel with a smile
Of meek endurance! Why, even now he bends
In courtly reverence to some mincing dame,
Haply the star of Edgar's festival;
While I, with this high heart and queenly form,
Pine in neglect and solitude;—shall it be?
Shall I not rend my fetters, and be free?
Ay! be the cooing turtle-dove, content,
Safe in her own loved nest!—the eagle soars
On restless plumes to meet the imperial sun!
And Edgar is my day-star, in whose light
This heart's proud wings shall yet be furled to rest!
Why wedded I with Athelwold? for this?
To pace, day after day, the same dull round,
With some half-dozen maidens for my train?
No! even at the altar when I stood—
My hand in his—his gaze upon my cheek—
I did forget his presence, and the scene!
A gorgeous vision rose before mine eyes,
Of power, and pomp, and regal pageantry;
A king was at my feet, and as he knelt
I smiled; and turning, met—a husband's kiss!
But still I smiled, for in my guilty soul
I blessed him as the being by whose means
I should be brought within my idol's sphere—
My haughty, glorious, brave, impassioned Edgar!
Well I remember when these wondering eyes
Beheld him first—I was a maiden then—
A dreaming child—but from that thrilling hour
I've been a queen in visions! Yet he passed
With his proud train, unheeding—ha! that step!
What if my loving lord were listener now!
He comes!—oh! noble Edgar!

Enter Athelwold.
ELFRIDA.
My Lord! my love!
Thou'rt here in haste; hath aught
Of evil chanced thee?

ATHELWOLD.
Dost thou love me, wife?

ELFRIDA.
With a love so deep,
Thou canst not fathom it.

ATHELWOLD.
Speak it once more, mine own!

ELFRIDA.
Who doubts Elfrida? am I not thy wife—
Thy true and loving wife—who never yet
In thought, or word, or deed, dishonoured thee?
Nay, Athelwold! thou dost me grievous wrong,
Thou dost, indeed. I to be doubted thus!
Go to!—it vexes me!

ATHELWOLD.
Nay! dry those tears!
I meant not thus to wound! I will not doubt—
Thy pardon, love! And now—

ELFRIDA.
And now—since I have pardoned thee—thou'lt grant—
I know thou wilt—one trifling boon.

ATHELWOLD.
Name it;—but quick, Elfrida!

ELFRIDA.
Take me to court, my gracious husband!

ATHELWOLD
(aside.)
Ha!
Wend her light fancies thither?—then farewell
To Athelwold's fond dream of peace!—but no!
She will not yield so lightly to temptation.
(Aloud.)
Beseech thee, sweet, forget these idle dreams!
I've that to speak, of import deep and grave,
Will ask thy calmest mood, thy gentlest thoughts.
By all my trust, my passion, and my truth;
By thine own purity; thy stainless name—
Dearer to me than is the light of heaven,—
I do conjure thee listen tenderly—
With your heart listen, for your husband speaks.
The King—

ELFRIDA.
What of the King?— (Aside.)
My heart indeed will listen!

ATHELWOLD.
So eager, lady?

ELFRIDA.
Nay! I did but ask—

ATHELWOLD.
It matters not!—thou know'st that some months back,
In Devon's bowers, I sought the famed Elfrida;
I came—

ELFRIDA.
With Edgar's gracious leave to wed.

ATHELWOLD.
No, love! with Edgar's gracious leave to look
On her whom but to look upon was bliss!
Not for myself I gazed, but for the King,
Yet lost myself in gazing, and forgot
My trust, my fealty, honour, Edgar—all—
Ay, all save thee Oh! pardon, that I proved
A traitor to thy beauty! I returned,
With coward falsehood sullying my lip,
Till then a stranger there.—Nay! chide me not,
It was for thy dear sake, my fairest love.
I bade him blot thee from his memory,
As one unworthy of his kingly thoughts;
Ungraced of nature's gifts, unlovely, rude.
The credulous King believed, and for a time
The theme was dropped; but in my miser soul
Thy image lived unaltered, and again
I sought his presence, with a perjured tongue.
I said, Elfrida's wealth had magic in't,
To make her beauteous in mine humble eyes;
Then won I from his royal lips a boon
That makes me more a monarch than himself,
Lord of thy love and beauty.

ELFRIDA.
False—forsworn!

ATHELWOLD.
How now!

ELFRIDA.
'Twas jest, my gentle Lord.

ATHELWOLD.
A most untimely one;—but hear me still.
To-night the King comes hither with his train—
Look not so wild, he shall not harm thee, love!
I'll dim my jewel, lest he covet it;
Thou shalt disguise thy beauty in some garb
Of coarse material and fashion rude,
That least becomes thee; put some rough restraint
Upon thy gentle stateliness and grace;
Shrink from his gaze, as if in shame-faced fear.
Alas! can aught obscure the fire of soul
That flashes from thine eyes? beseech thee weep
Until thou dim its glory.—Oh! Elfrida,
Would thou wert not so beautiful!—but haste—
Thou'lt do it, sweet?

ELFRIDA.
And dost thou doubt me still?

ATHELWOLD.
Thou art but woman.

ELFRIDA.
Yet a loving one.
I'll straightway don such weeds as even thou
Wilt own would mar a fairer face than mine.

ATHELWOLD.
Earth hath no fairer—Heaven no lovelier knows.
Adieu! We meet at supper-time,—till then—
Remember wife—honour and Athelwold!
[Exit Athelwold.

ELFRIDA.
Love, glory, and the King! by all the gods,
A noble chance! and I will husband it
As doth become my breeding and my birth.
What, ho! sir Page!
(Enter Page.)
Bid Gillian hither!
As doth become my breeding.—I remember,
When but a thoughtless child, my sire did part
The wild curls from my brow, and call me queen—
His fairy queen; and when I gaily tossed
My ringlets back, and bounding on his knee,
Cried, with a look of mimic majesty,
This is my throne!—but who my subjects be!
He bade me keep that proud and glowing smile,
(Enter Gillian.)
And it should lure a sovereign to my feet.
And shall it not? by Edgar's self it shall!
(To Gillian.)
Why art thou here?

GILLIAN.
Your page did bid me, lady.

ELFRIDA.
I had forgot,—bring forth my richest robes,
My costliest ornaments,—be speedy, girl!
[Exit Gillian.
(After a pause.)
In lowly weeds, forsooth! the weeds I wear
Shall blind his recreant vision with their splendor,
Dazzle the King, and light me to the throne!
(Re-enter Gillian, who stands waiting behind her with dresses.)
I robed in mean array! I stoop and tremble!
I'll bear me like an Empress, tho' he die
For his fond treachery! Caitiff! but for him
My bridal-bed had been a royal one!
And shall be yet.
(To Gillian.)
So, Gillian, lay them there,
And tell me, girl, which in thy mind becomes
My features best.

GILLIAN.
Here is a rose-hued mantle wrought with pearls,
'Twill match full well my lady's glowing cheek.

ELFRIDA.
Nay, 'tis too bright,—
The rose upon my cheek is dim to-day,
And this will make it show more faintly still.
What next?

GILLIAN.
An amber velvet, madam,
Adown its vest the sunny topaz gleams,
'Mid wreaths of flowers in golden broidery.
How fittingly its gorgeous folds would sweep
Around that stately form.

ELFRIDA.
Out on the topaz—'tis a beggar-stone!
A vassal's wife may wear it—and shall I?
I'll have the white robe, girl, the silken one,
Resplendent with the diamond's regal ray;
The diamond suits the queen, and is alone
Of all earth's jewel star-drops worth the wearing.
Bid them prepare the bath with perfume rare,
Then, with all haste unto my chamber, Gillian:
And look you, my tiar of gems and gold,
My silver mirror, and my jewelled zone—
I'll be a star to-night, and win all eyes
Unto my wondrous splendour—oh! this heart!
[Exit Elfrida.

GILLIAN.
“The diamond suits the queen!” my lady mistress,
That haughty head of thine is turned I'm sure.
[Exit Gillian.

SCENE II.

A Grove, near the Castle.
Enter Elfrida and Adelmine.
ELFRIDA.
Ha! ha! ha!
Thou wouldst have laughed as I do to have heard him;
He bade me clip my glossy braids of hair,
Stoop in my gait, put on my lowliest garb,
My coldest look,—do all I could to mar
What he was pleased to call my loveliness.

ADELMINE.
And will you not, dear lady?

ELFRIDA.
Will I not?
Nay, most obedient Adelmine, would you?

ADELMINE.
Oh! ask me not, Elfrida; did mine eyes
Wear the soft glory of an angel's smile,
I'd shut them with a still and stern resolve,
Nor lift their lashes at a King's command;
Waved my rich tresses with the golden gleam
That lighted Eve's in paradise—I'd mar
Their soft luxuriance with unfaltering hand;
I'd spare as soon the serpent that would sting me,
Because its coils with changing splendour shone,
As let a ringlet's sunny lustre lure
My heart from rectitude, my love to shame;
Rivalled my roseate cheek the glowing dawn,
I'd find some dye would change it, till its hue
Were swart as Ethiop girl's; and should my smile
Awake some sportive dimple from its sleep,
To make that shadow lovely—like a star
Twinkling on night's dark cheek—I'd wear a look
Solemn as eastern sage; if peace and love
Reposed upon my pure mouth's glowing arch,
I'd bid repelling scorn usurp the throne;
A sculptor's model were my glorious form
For grace and queenly bearing as I moved,
I'd stoop, I'd limp, to spoil its loveliness,—
Nay, I would lame my limbs, deform my shape,
And glory in the sacrifice, if so
My husband were unperilled.

ELFRIDA.
And what would prompt thee to this strange romance?

ADELMINE.
Love, holy love, Elfrida!

ELFRIDA.
What if love were not?

ADELMINE.
Do you not love your husband, gentle lady?

ELFRIDA.
Nay, that I spoke not of;—but is there aught
Save love would tempt thee to so dear a loss?

ADELMINE.
Ay, madam!—if affection's voice were mute,
Honor and woman's pride—they too have tongues,
Whose word is law with those who love themselves.

ELFRIDA.
Now, prithee, peace!

ADELMINE.
Oh! lady, say not so!
I will not pause—I'll bid thee think of all
The shame, the ruin, it may guard thee from.
Thou know'st the King's impassioned love of beauty—
His lawless violence—his tyrant will;—
He'll wreak his wrath upon your noble husband,
The gentle, generous Athelwold,—whose peace,
Honour—nay, life perchance, are in thy keeping.
Elfrida! will you risk them all to please
A stranger's eye—to win the wanton gaze
Of reckless Edgar, whose least look, methinks.
Were insult to your loveliness?

ELFRIDA.
Fond girl!
Thou may'st well prate that hast no charms to hide.
(Aside.)
Now would I that were not a barefaced lie,
For well I dread she'll rival me to-night;
So young, so innocent, so beautiful!
But no! I have it—'tis a simple task
To work her grateful spirit to my purpose.
(Aloud.)
Hear me, sweet Adelmine! I did but jest;
But wilt thou too a simple guise assume?
Some rustic garb?—It were not well, methinks;—
'Twould seem too like a plot—attract too much
The curious and enquiring gaze, if thou
Wert robed in rich array, with gems and gold,
And I, the lady of the castle—I,
A noble's wife, more meanly, poorly clad.
If both are thus, 'twill win less observation,
And seem our common custom,—wilt thou so?

ADELMINE.
Yes, dear Elfrida, robe me as thou wilt;
I would do more to save the noble Earl
From danger; he was kind to me, thou know'st,
When I was lone and sad;—but how wilt thou
Make thyself aught but beautiful, Elfrida?

ELFRIDA
(smiling.)
I can but try.

ADELMINE.
And wilt thou do his bidding with thy hair?

ELFRIDA.
What! rashly rob myself of woman's pride—
Her dearest ornament?—that auburn hair
Which Athelwold a thousand times has praised?

ADELMINE.
Ay! fling the worthless tresses to the wind!
He'll bless thee for it; and believe me, lady,
The graceful deed will but adorn thee more
In his adoring eyes;—why! with this hand
I'll sever mine, if thou wilt, dearest cousin!

ELFRIDA.
Thine! what are thine? coarse stragglers!

ADELMINE.
Are they so?
Then would I they were lovely as the light,—
Each hair of them a thread of purest gold!
If seeming thus a dearer sacrifice,
It might ennoble in thine eyes my loss,
And win thee to thy duty!

ELFRIDA.
Duty, girl?

ADELMINE.
Ay! duty, noble lady!

ELFRIDA.
Thou art bold,
And dost forget, moreover, simple maid,
As he forgot, that slaves alone do go
With shaven head. How then may I appear
Without my wealth of hair? It does not need;
I'll fold it simply 'neath some awkward gear,—
See thou do so. And now, my dearest coz,
Hie to thy chamber. Keep thy kind resolve,
And meet me in the banquet-room. I'll send
A fitting dress to thee.

ADELMINE.
Good-bye, then, dear Elfrida;—
How I shall love thee in thy homely garb!

[Exit.
ELFRIDA.
She's gone! poor child!
Poor, fond, confiding child! She'll prove a foil,
Garbed like a rustic, in her rude attire,
To proud Elfrida's majesty!
Heigh ho!
I would this royal banquet were well over!
My heart, that should beat high with hope, is cold,
And still, and dark, and passionless!—heigh ho!
With hope—what hope? a most unholy! Ay,
Strive as I may to hide its shadowy form,
Into the hateful light it will steal forth;
For conscience is a mirror true and clear
As heaven itself, and in it lives a spell,
Divine, perchance, by whose resistless power
All thoughts, deeds, wishes, passions, good or ill,
Are won to view themselves reflected fairly;—
Even so the voice of music doth beguile
And awe the gliding serpent with its charm.
Yes! hide it as I may, that guilty hope
Doth stand before that magic mirror now,
All undisguised in native hideousness!
It looks a demon there—so dark, so wild,
So merciless! Its smile is fierce, yet cold;
(Enter Gillian.)
Its brow hath blood upon it!—ha!

GILLIAN
(aside.)
“Its brow hath blood upon it!”—she is mad!
(Aloud.)
My lady! here's the chain.

ELFRIDA.
The chain that is to link me to my fate!
Give it me, girl, and leave me.
[Exit Gillian.
'Twas his first gift!—I do remember well
How tenderly he clasped it round my throat,
And bade me when I wore it, think of him!
To-night I'll wear it. 'Tis a gorgeous toy,—
Will it not choke me? let it. Athelwold!—
What, tears? Elfrida weeping—and for him!
Has he not wronged Elfrida? played her false?
Dethroned her?—for in Edgar's heart I dwelt
A crowned queen, until his perjured tongue
Did so belie me I was banished thence.
Why! 'twas undoubted treason!—he did owe
As true allegiance to me there, as if
On England's throne I sat; and shall I weep,
I that was born to be his Sovereign?—no!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

A large Banquetting Hall in Athelwold's Castle. Supper-table seen in the distance, at the upper end. Slaves bearing dishes on their heads.
In front, King Edgar—Athelwold—Oswald— Guido, and other Nobles—Attendants, &c.
EDGAR
(to Athelwold.)
Methinks, my Lord, this dainty dame of thine
Doth slight our noble presence. Doth she look
To see us in her chamber, good my Lord?
Waits she the royal hand to lead her forth?
Beware, sir Earl! If thou art—Ha! she comes!
By heaven, a noble creature!

Enter Elfrida, dressed with great splendour, attended by her maidens; and at the opposite door, Adelmine, in a peasant's dress.
ATHELWOLD.
Woman!

ADELMINE.
Elfrida!

ELFRIDA
(Crossing the stage, kneels at the King's feet.)
My gracious Sovereign!

EDGAR
(raising her.)
Rise, most noble lady!
Here is thy station, at thy Sovereign's side,
Let traitors kneel to him! And now permit
That we remove this most disloyal veil,
Which like a careful subject whom we wot of,
Would hide thy dangerous beauty from our eyes.
(Puts back her veil.)
What! Athelwold! we prithee where's thy wife?—
Thy thin, pale, homely, haggard, awkward wife?
This is some captive queen, whom thou hast stolen,
And we should claim her as our kingly right;—
Nay, by the mass, we'll seal our title too.

(Kisses her.)
ATHELWOLD
(aside.)
Death! will she suffer it?

EDGAR.
Thou hast a regal eye for beauty, sir;—
But, gentle Earl, we prithee where's thy wife?

ATHELWOLD.
I have no wife!
My sometime wife is dead—
Dead to her Lord! I had a wife, my Liege,—
A generous, lovely wife—a leal, and pure;
I did belie her when I called her else!
She never looked unlovely until now,—
Yet now she doth but keep her faith with me,
For she did promise, with an angel-smile,
She'd so transform herself, that she should seem
Deform'd in these fond eyes—she's kept her faith!

EDGAR.
What! kept her faith! if she did promise this,
In very sooth those beauteous lips are perjured,
For look! the diamond-glory of her eyes!
Those silken braids! that pure and cloudless brow!
The changing beauty of her dimpled cheek!
The graceful curving of her swan-white throat!
Each airy motion—every glance and smile—
Are all resistless witnesses against her,
And prove her still an angel!
Thou art blind!
By the blest rood, if she had kept her faith,
We would have cursed her sacrilegious hand,
That dared profane so heavenly fair a temple—
The shrine of beauty and of love—at which
Our knee—even ours—shall not disdain to bend,
Albeit unused in yielding.
Athelwold!
Thou art a double traitor!—thou hast robbed
Thy liege Lord of this smiling paradise,
And hast defamed her loveliness, that thou
Might'st revel safely in her Eden-bloom.

ATHELWOLD
(rushing forward, and throwing himself at the King's feet.)
King! strike thy sword into this breaking heart,
'Twill find one victim there will woo the wound!

EDGAR.
And what is that?—Remorse?

ATHELWOLD.
Despair!

EDGAR.
No more of this!
The banquet waits our presence—on, my Lords!
Thy hand, sweet lady of our revels!—so—

(The King passes up the Hall, with Elfrida, followed by Nobles, Attendants, &c.—to the rude Music of various warlike instruments, heard from without. As they seat themselves at the table, the Music ceases.)

SCENE IV.

Another Room in the same.
Enter Manbert, with a Minstrel.
MANBERT.
Tarry thou here, good Minstrel. Fear not thou
But I will make thee sharer in the feast.
Music is ever welcome to my Lord.
I think,
'Tis that his heart is never out of tune!
My lady's is a trifle higher toned,
And some rude hand, or I am much deceived,
Hath strained a string too sharply, till it cracked.
Of this I'm sure,—it does not chord with his!—
But stay thou here; I'll be with thee anon.

[Exit.
Enter Gillian, without perceiving the Minstrel; crosses the stage with affected dignity, in imitation of Elfrida.
GILLIAN.
“And it shall lure a sovereign to my feet!”

MINSTREL
(following her.)
A wandering bard, so please you.

GILLIAN
(still not seeing him.)
“Caitiff! but for him
My bridal-bed had been a royal one!”

MINSTREL.
Wilt list the gleeman's lay?

GILLIAN.
“Out on the topaz—'tis a beggar-stone,
The diamond fits the queen!”

MINSTREL.
No jewels I,—but I have many a song
To charm thine ear withal.

GILLIAN.
“Dazzle the King, and light me to the throne!”

MINSTREL
(starting back.)
Nay! that is rather too much
To ask of a poor minstrel!
but my harp—

GILLIAN
(turns and sees him.)
“Its brow hath blood upon it”—
Ha!

MINSTREL
(in alarm.)
Blood! Where?

GILLIAN.
And who art thou?

MINSTREL.
Why! I've been telling you the last half hour.
I am a wandering bard, most mighty madam.

GILLIAN.
Madam! I'm not a madam.

MINSTREL.
My gracious queen that is to be.

GILLIAN.
How dar'st thou queen me thus?

MINSTREL.
I queen'd thee not—it was thyself that queen'd thee

GILLIAN.
Thou'rt mad, poor minstrel!
All the world I think
Is mad to-night.—My mistress is, I'm sure.

(Re-enter Manbert.)
MANBERT.
And so's my master!
He says he's not i' the mood for melody.

GILLIAN.
But, gentle bard, whence come you?

MINSTREL.
From Scotland, from the generous Kenneth's court.

GILLIAN.
Kenneth of Scotland! ay! a noble King!
They say, when, with the other dozen of them,
He helped to row our Monarch up the Dee,
He looked a very tempest, and his brow
Wore haughtier sovereignty even then than Edgar's

MINSTREL.
He help to row your Monarch up the Dee!
A goodly tale, forsooth.—I tell thee, girl,
He would have perished first. Had he been there,
Your Edgar knew too well his kingly heart
To bid him do it.

MANBERT.
Hush! Know'st thou not our King doth vaunt his triumph!
And should he hear—

MINSTREL.
His triumph! 'twas a mean one at the best,
And never harp of mine its praise should ring.

Enter a Servant.
SERVANT.
The King
Desires the minstrel's presence at the banquet.
This way, good harper!

(Exeunt Harper and Servant.)
MANBERT.
Gillian, my lord is strangely stern to-night.

GILLIAN.
Manbert, my lady's stranger than my lord.

MANBERT.
I like it not.

GILLIAN.
Nor I—good faith! I'm weary of her whims.
Why, at her toilet, ere the King arrived,
Nothing would suit her—not a plait could I
Fold to her liking—not a jewelled clasp
Was where it should be—not a tress would fall
As she would have it—even the pure white robe
With silver flowers in-wrought and star-like diamonds,
In which she looked majestic as a swan,
And blooming as a rose,—was tawdry;—mean,
Of shape uncouth.—I had no patience with her.

MANBERT.
Nor I with thee;—thy thoughts, that used to seem
Lowly and gentle as a cooing dove,
Have caught, I know not how, a peacock's dress,
And strut—

GILLIAN.
In borrowed plumage? say'st thou so?
(The sound of a harp is heard.)
But hark! the harp! I must e'en take a peep.
(She goes to a door leading to the banquet-room, opens it slightly.)
They pass the harp round, as their custom is.
Elfrida has it—hist!

(Elfrida's voice is heard from the banquet-room, singing the following.)

GILLIAN.
And now she yields it, with a winning smile,
Unto the King.

(The King's voice.)

MANBERT.
Our gracious King is ever mixing up
His love and his religion in one draught.

GILLIAN.
That noble dark-eyed youth, who came they say
From the rich southern land, and whom they call
Guido, has ta'en it now; and lo! he bends
Courteously to the Lady Adelmine!
Who lovelier looks in that strange lowly garb
Than a pure rosebud in its veil of moss;
Fairer than even she e'er looked before,
And fairer far than any of the rest.—
But listen, Manbert.

(Guido's voice.)

GILLIAN.
Love! love! its nothing but love—vulgar fellows!
I will not hear another syllable.

(Runs off—Manbert follows her.)