University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

London. Ethelred's corpse, on a great bed, in a large room.
Enter Emma.
Emma.
Thou infamy, the harlots found thee fair!
Vindictive, mercenary, treacherous, vile,
A laggard, and a waverer; how well
Did nature fit thee for thine enemies,
Thy mistresses, and all corrupting things.
The worm that eats thy body will revolt
At the unvirgin soil. Yea, I will speak.
Death gives us widows opportunity
To put such questions as at judgment-day
Will rise in accusation. From my anger
Thou canst not hide; thy face is bare and fixed
Before my eyes and lips. Didst thou not sport
With other women, while I bore thee sons
With Saxon faces, boys so like their father
I loathed to give them suck, young heritors
Of thy unfeatured kingship, timid lads,
For whom I begged a refuge at the table
Of my great Norman brother? Dost thou hear?
Wilt thou not bribe me from my inquisition?
Nay, but thy Danish foe shall take thy place,
In my own inmost bower. Ah me, ah me!
Bride to the Viking! What deep modesty
Restrains me from the thought? I grew a girl,
When, from the walls of London, I looked down
On his young, glittering, tempestuous face,
And blushed, and gave him all the terms he sought
To win one smile. I look about the chamber;
Do I resign my queenship? I am fair,
My finger-tips can thrill men to their doom,
And my whole body is for empery.
I do not crave to rule; I crave to spend
The flower o' my years, my faculties, my grace,
In service of a simple, king-like man,
Clean as the ocean, and as terrible
I' the day of tempest.
[Going up to the corpse.]
Redeless thing, thou'rt dead.
My soul peals to the echo—dead, dead, dead!
[Enter Edric.]
What brings you hither, my fair son-in-law?
Has faithful London looked upon your face,
And suffered quiet passage through her streets?
You leave the Dane?

Edric.
Since you would have me give
My services to this young cub of Swend,
I give them; and report in Edmund's ear
That I am rallying forces in the north.
But for my presence—do not feign surprise;
You summoned me to bear you to the court
Of Normandy. I am obedient
To your least whim, but fear that I have journeyed
O'er hastily. I find you at your vigils.

Emma.
Weeping the man who has dishonoured me.

Edric.
There is a sure revenge. Now is your time
For freedom and for pleasure.

Emma.
Insolence!
[Aside, glancing toward the bed.]
I would not be his mate in anything,
Nor re-enact his lewdness. I am free,
Free, till I love.—How fares the Danish monarch?
We met once. Edric, does he speak my name
In the same way as yours?

Edric.
'Tis never breathed
Within my hearing.

Emma.
Time is in my hair.
[Aside, taking a mirror.]
I am a matron and a queen, and yet
There is a starving girlhood in this face,
That bitterly contrasts.

Edric.
Now cheerly! Once
I named you, and he started to his feet,
Calling his men to vanquish Ethelred;
That day the foe was routed.

Emma.
Thane, on you
I build my future and my blessedness.
Let not his ears forget my syllables;
Picture my destiny.

Edric.
I'll make it ring.

Emma.
You shall not mention me—except my pride.

Edric.
A young man soon forgets.

Emma.
False, false; in youth
There is a warm fidelity; all's cold
When greybeards hug the past. [Aside.]
Oh, my beloved!

Edric.
Lady, take heart. I am a counsellor
The raw, young soldier may not well despise;
And I will show him the advantage. What!
You blench; I mean I will extol the beauty
Of my fair mistress. Yet I claim reward.
Come now, a kiss.

Emma.
My lips are put away
For some high festival.

Edric.
You yield your hand?

Emma.
As I were still a queen. It costs some pangs
To part with royalty. My blessèd crown,
My fond, familiar circlet. Ah, alas!
My hair falls unsupported by this wreath
Of gold.

Edric.
A fair decline. Put this aside,
[Touching the crown.]
Or rather, press it to your lips, and swear
To give me of your widowhood some hours,
Ere you again are royal.

Emma.
Edric, hush!
'Tis my ambition makes me amorous;
And I will give you sweeter recompense
Than any woman's favour may confer.
Share this my royal passion; make me queen,
And I will win for you the highest place
In the young Viking's trust. You will not sway
My second husband as you swayed my first;
But I have tracked allegiance in your eyes,
You feel he is your master.

Edric.
Ironsides
Has valour.

Emma.
And a child's simplicity;
A melancholy, brave, clear-purposed man,
Whom any knave may cozen. Let it be
Your part to circumvent him. Love the Dane,
And you shall rise in honour.

Edric.
Well, I swear—
Give me your hand to print my oath upon.

Emma.
Edric, refrain! My step-son at the door,
Must not behold us in close colloquy.
[Edric advances to the door, and greets Edmund.]
Safe, safe! He has not touched me.
[Looking toward the bed.]
Safe from him,
The licensed to defile. And now how sweet
My maidenhood returns on me. To fill
Some narrow convent bed in Normandy,
Dream of Canute, and all day say my prayers!
But that is not so cleansing. Oh, this love
Is a diviner power than holiness;
It puts all evil past imagining,
And crowds the soul as full as Paradise
With rapturous desires. Ah me, they come,
And I must to my tears.

[Drooping over the corpse.]
Edric
[to Edmund].
You give consent,
Most noble Atheling, that I bear away
Your lady-mother to Duke Richard's court?

Edmund.
She doubtless will be welcome there, and here
Adds to confusion. Take her oversea.

Emma
[half-aside].
I cannot leave him, such a proper man
He looks, with that great brow and curling hair.
He has won many hearts.

[Enter Edith and the child.]
Edmund.
My sister comes
To pray for the great dead. Disturb her not
By more than briefest parting.

Edric.
My sweet wife,
You bring our boy to look upon your sire;
May he repeat his virtues!

[Edith shudders.]
Edmund
[to the child, drawing him away from the bed].
Ah, my man,
Your grandsire was so loved, when wicked Swend
Was smitten by St. Edmund, whose dear name
I bear, the English people called him home
To govern them again. They rally now
Round me, his son, your king. Down on your knees;
You rascal, do me homage!

Child
[glancing fearfully at the corpse].
Who has made him
Like that? O father!

Edric.
See the lad! He thinks
That I have power of life and death. [Aside.]
I train him
To wither at a look. Though terrified,
He shall be forced to creep up to the corpse,
And toucn it.— [Aloud.]
Come now, kiss your grandfather.
He cannot hurt you. Never be afraid.
[The child goes straight up to the king's body, and shrieks.]
[To Edmund.]
He does whate'er I tell him; I can count
On that.—Now, sirrah, down upon your knees;
You must learn all your duty. Swear to fight
For good King Edmund.

Child.
I shall be a priest,
But I will bless your armies. I am glad
That you will rule.

Edric
[to Edith].
I go to Normandy,
My saintly princess. To your brother's care
And your just grief I leave you. But our boy—

Edmund.
I will instruct my nephew.

Emma
[embracing the child].
Dearest child,
My infant Ethelred, thy living cheek
Shall take the print of my last English kiss;
For, oh, I cannot give my lips again
To that cold, marble brow. [To Edmund.]
Our elder son,
Recover our lost kingdom.

Edric.
Noble prince,
I shall make haste to hear the proclamation
Of your new royalties, when this fair lady
Is rendered to her kinsman. [Aside.]
Mark my purpose;
To rid you of the dowager means friendship,—
No step-dame on the throne!

Edmund.
Lady, farewell.

[Exeunt Emma and Edric.]
Edith.
My brother! What, together and alone
By this dear bed—to clasp you in my arms,
To feel that you are here, our country's lord
And saviour, and that no usurper's hand
Will tear our father's crown!

Edmund.
Dear, send the boy
Away; his eyes are wandering fearfully,
Too shy to look upon this stranger, Death,
That puts us from our ease, who every day
Encounter him.

Edith.
Go, darling, to your prayers
In the near chamber. [Exit child.]
All the Londoners
Are staunchly yours?

Edmund.
Edith, all Englishmen
Are mine; they lack a leader, but their faith
Is without flaw.

Edith.
You think there will be peace?

Edmund.
Hard fighting rather. We will give our blood
To these invaders, and our gold shall feed
The sick and hungry. Glorious battlefields
Shall glow upon our southern pasture plains;
Where the sheep graze such victories shall be won
As shall not need the cairn to chronicle.
Edith, I bear my people in my heart
As bard his unbreathed song.

Edith.
Yet stay to mourn
Our father; he is desolate and cold.
Let me draw back the curtain.

Edmund
[looking steadfastly at Ethelred].
Ah, no bribes,
No hostages, thyself,
To pay the penalty when death exacts.
No more evasion, the straight road to hell,
And Judas' bag for thy blood-rusted gold.
Away, to the true miser!

Edith.
Edmund, Edmund!
Give him your prayers; we may redeem him still.

Edmund.
From his deserts? Then I shake off religion.
Heaven looks facts in the face; he sold his country,
Which in a king is as he sold his God.
He made all fearful, for he put no trust
In any man, and he has died a stranger
To life's sweet faiths and holy confidence.
He leaves a Danish heir, but honest Edric
Makes secret preparation for my rule.

Edith
[nervously caressing him].
When we were children, and your play-fellows
Would cheat at games, you let me counsel you,
And show who played you false. As king, beware;
Lean not on Edric's love.

Edmund.
Edith, your husband!
I never will be warned the damnèd way
Of vile suspicion. You misjudge the thane,
And irritate his plain, outspoken nature
With timid reticence.

Edith.
One cannot love
A stranger as one loves the face one knows
As early as the sky.

Edmund.
Dear heart, although
The pompous Emma from our mother's tomb
Hath turned the people's thoughts, we two possess,
Each in the other, a fair gift of hers
For keepsake and remembrance. Hast thou heard
Of my great joy? Elgiva is my wife,
And of her frank, sweet nature I will get
A race clear as the stars. Your pretty lad,
For his sake I could wish a brood of girls;
All Cerdic's majesty is in his face;
Though he is sickly. . . Alfred as a child
Was fragile, loved his missal. Never fear
But he will make a man, though full of thought,
And blue-eyed as an angel. Comfort, love!
Will you not come along? The priests attend.
Then I must bid farewell.

[They kiss. Exit Edmund.]
Edith.
How angrily
They all turn from his pillow! In the midst
Of the great winter storms I often sighed
To be with those whom the encircling sea,
When it blew inward on our isle, submerged.
I think they will lie quiet in the deep,
Unharassed by the Judgment: no account
Is left of them; their villages and towns
Have all escaped taxation and distress;
They are no more bewildered by the dread
Of an invader;—whilst, alas! these kings
Can lay no hold upon oblivion.
There is great beauty still upon his face;
It hath not been beloved. Infirmity
Sows sorer rancour in men's hearts than crime:
I know not why. He shall have many prayers.

[She kneels by the bed. Enter monks chanting.]