University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—Warlewood Chase. Evening.
Dunstan
(alone).
Spirit of speculation, rest, oh rest,
And push not from her place the spirit of prayer!
God, thou'st given unto me a troubled being—
So move upon the face thereof, that light
May be, and be divided from the darkness!
Arm thou my soul that I may smite and chase
The Spirit of that darkness, whom not I
But Thou through me compellest.—Legions vast,
The mind's glad host for victory arrayed,
Has thou committed to my large command,
Weapons of light and glittering shafts of day,
And steeds that trample on the tumbling clouds.
But with them it hath pleased Thee to let mingle
Evil imaginations, corporal stings,
A swarm of Imps and Ethiops, dark doubts,
Suggestions of revolt.—Who is't that dares—
Enter Gurmo.
Oh! is it thou? What saith my Lord Archbishop?

Gurmo.
He will be there.

Dunstan.
At Sheen to-morrow?

Gurmo.
Yes.

Dunstan.
And what my Lady the Queen Mother?

Gurmo.
Here
To-night.

Dunstan.
I wished not she should come so soon.
No matter—let her choose—to-night then be it.
Go, get thee to the hollow of yon tree,
And let none else approach.

Gurmo.
I'll howl and screech
That any this way coming shall be scared
And think the howls are Satan's.

Dunstan.
Get thee gone.
[Exit Gurmo.
And if thou howlest otherwise than Satan,
It is not for the lack of Satan's sway
'Stablished within thee.
[Strange howls are heard.
Say then that they do—
Say that they do hear Satan's voice in his,
And prate of red-hot pincers and what not,
And are they then deceived? Thou loose lay-priest,
Thou secular lack-brain, No, I tell thee, No.
Do I not warfare wage in very deed
With Satan—yea, and conquer? and who's he
Saith falsehood is delivered in these howls,
If so it be that they impart to boors
Truths else to them ineffable? Where's Satan?
His presence, life, and kingdom? Not the air
Nor bowels of the earth nor central fires
His habitat exhibits; it is here,
Here in the heart of Man; and if from hence
I cast him with discomfiture, that truth
Is verily of the vulgar sense conceived,
By utterance symbolic, when they deem
That met in bodily oppugnancy
I tweak him by the snout; a fair belief
Wherein the fleshly and the palpable type
Doth of pure truth substantiate the essence.
Enough! Come down; the screech-owl from afar
Upbraids thy usurpation; cease, I say.
[Gurmo descends.
Await me in the border of the forest
By Elstan's well.
[Exit Gurmo.
A sturdy knave is yon!
He has transacted murder in his time,
Yet will he walk in darkness through the forest
Nothing discomforted nor scared. Who next?
Ha! the Queen Mother!
Enter the Queen Mother, in a Peasant's garb.
Give your Grace good even!
You are a faithful servant of the Church,
And humbler weeds than these would gladly wear,
And wilder solitudes, by night or day,
Would seek to serve her.

Queen Mother.
Father, I am faint,
For a strange terror seized me by the way.
I pray you let me sit.

Dunstan.
I say, forbear!
Thou'rt in a Presence that thou wot'st not of,
Wherein no mortal may presume to sit.
If stand thou can'st not, kneel.

[She falls on her knees.
Queen Mother.
Oh, merciful Heaven!
Oh, sinner that I am!

Dunstan.
Dismiss thy fears;
Thine errand is acceptable to him
Who rules the hour, and thou art safer here
Than in thy palace. Quake not, but be calm,
And tell me of the wretched King, thy son.
This black, incestuous, unnatural love
For his blood-relative—yea worse, a seed
That ever was at enmity with God—
His cousin of the house of Antichrist!
Is it as I surmised?

Queen Mother.
Alas! lost boy!

Dunstan.
Yea, lost for time and for eternity,
If he should wed her. But that shall not be.
Something more lofty than a boy's wild love
Governs the course of kingdoms. From beneath
This arching umbrage, step aside; look up;
The alphabet of Heaven is o'er thy head,
The starry literal multitude. To few,
And not in mercy, is it given to read
The mixed celestial cypher. Not in mercy,
Save as a penance merciful in issue,
Doth God bestow that mournfullest of gifts
Which pushes farther into future time
The bounds of human foresight. Yonder book
In mercy to the King and not to me
Unfolds its tragic page. Is written there
Something that must be, something more that may,
But yet may be prevented.

Queen Mother.
On my knees,
I pray thee, holy Dunstan, read not there
Of ruin to my son.

Dunstan.
What there is writ
Needs must I read; and if this wily wench
That, profiting by the softness and green sap
Of ignorant youth, doth round her finger twine
The sceptre like a sliver—

Queen Mother.
Insolent jade!
Were it not, father, a good deed in Christ
To have her—in a manner . . . say . . . removed?
For truly, truly I may say, my Lord,
Yea and in sooth I witness it against her,
That with her witcheries and wanton looks
She hath inveigled and ensnared the King,
Bewitched past reason, that he flouts his mother,
Forgets his duty—woeful, woeful day!
Says “Silence,” if I do but say “God bless him!”
And all by her procurement and behest!
Scandalous minion! Were it not, I say,
An excellent deed and righteous before God
To take her from his sight, that she should cease
To vex good men and holy with her wiles?

Dunstan.
With thee the cry is ever “Kill and Kill.”
I tell thee once again, my soul abhors
This vulture's appetite, not more foul in act
Than gross in apprehension. Look we round:
In Wessex Athulf more prevails than we;
Leolf in Sussex; which of us is first
In Hampshire, hard to say. I tell thee, no;
It must not be.

Queen Mother.
Or but to mew her up . . .

Dunstan.
Nay, that were worse; it were but to inflame
By opposition the boy's passionate will.
Be patient; meddle not with means; put trust
In Providence, whose ways how knowest thou?
Say that loose access to that girl were gained,
Despite thy watch and ward, by that loose boy—
What thence should follow is not for us to know;
Nought, peradventure, that should thrive with her.
In women's breasts the passions that are bred,
Which for a summer's season work their will,
As surely with the dangerous hour's approach
Rise like armed Helots raging, and are found
Of their worst enemies the best allies.
With—with a woman's passions, not against them,
He takes the field who wisely would pursue
Her ultimate overthrow.

Queen Mother.
Most true, my Lord,
Most excellently true!

Dunstan.
I bid thee not
By either mean to practise to that end;
I do but tell thee 'tis a patient part
To stand aside in faith, nor put thy hand
To work that is not thine.

Queen Mother.
Oh, man of God!
Command me always.

Dunstan.
Hist! I hear a Spirit!
Another—and a third. They're trooping up.

Queen Mother.
St. Magnus shield us!

Dunstan.