 | Athelwold |  |
46
ACT IV.
SCENE: Athelwold's Apartment.Elfrid, and a Lady.
Elfrid.
What does her Coming mean?—He could not send her.
Of what Distinction seems she?
Lady.
In her Deportment,
Awfully sad, or proudly angry, Madam.
Elfrid.
I saw her from the Window. She seems much mov'd,
And carries, in her Face, a kind of War,
Of Sorrow, against Pride; that shades, yet softens
The Rigour of her Beauty; as I have seen
A hovering Cloud obscure too fierce a Sun,
And make his Influence sweeter.—Said she, my Lord
Commissioned her to see me.—
Lady.
Madam, she did;
On sudden Business, of the utmost Consequence,
To your own Peace, and his.
Elfrid.
Look!—what Impatience!
She stays not your Return.—Wait, within Call.
[Exit Lady.
Enter Ethelinda.
I thought myself so much a Stranger, here,
That I receive you, Madam, in Surprize,
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To whom I owe this Favour.
Ethelinda.
You owe it, Madam,
To the too liberal Will of one, whose Favours
More of your Sex, than you, have been oblig'd to.
So kind a Purposer, as Athelwold,
Means much, he leaves imperfect.—You had rather
He should have come, his own Ambassador,
That sent a Representer, such as I am;
Unqualified to smooth your angry Brow,
That frowns cold Welcome at me.
Elfrid.
I frown, indeed!
To hear the Name of Athelwold pronounc'd
With this familiar Licence!—Sure! You know him
With more than common Intimacy, Madam,
Who treat him with this Frankness?
Ethelinda.
If to have been his Intimate,
May licence Frankness toward him, the Court has Claimers,
Who can dispute their Title to your Lover,
By Rights, of longer Date, and juster Tenure,
Than those you hold him by.
Elfrid.
Your Pardon, Madam,
I find, I was mistaken in your Purpose;
But 'twas my Woman's Error. She inform'd me,
You came from Athelwold. Had she said for him,
I should have better known with what Respect
To entertain your Visit.—On my Word,
He was unkind, to give a Lady Pain,
Who lost him thus reluctantly.—You watch
His first Return to Court, with Eye, too keen,
To be so coldly look'd at.
Ethelinda.
Though he told me,
His Roof conceal'd a Witness of his Guilt,
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His Falshood may be trusted, when he speaks
Of his own Baseness.—Think me not abrupt.—
If Oaths had Power to bind, he should be mine.
Triumphant in the prosperous Pride of Beauty,
Your easy Scorn insults the Miserable,
Unconscious of their Anguish.—Sense of lost Peace,
Perhaps, transported an afflicted Heart,
And I appear'd too warm.—
I shall no more invade your wish'd Repose;
All I would ask is—Pardon the dreadful Question,
Are you the Wife of Athelwold?
Elfrid.
The Wife!
What Right of Claim could he presume, to Me,
But what that Title gave him?
Ethelinda.
Farewell—for ever.
Kneel, and pray Heaven, to whose indulgent Hand
You owe Attraction, to increase, and guard it;
Else will your destin'd Ruin soon instruct you,
That he, who, tempted by your Charms, betray'd
His Heart's vow'd Mistress, and deceiv'd his King,
Will, for some new Temptation, give up you,
And leave you subject to another's Pity,
As I am, now, to yours.
Elfrid.
Stay, Madam, stay.
You have alarm'd me, to my inmost Soul;
And I adjure you, as you hope Return
Of your departed Peace, not to go hence,
Till you explain the fatal Mystery,
Which your last Words were fill'd with.—
Ethelinda.
The Part I bear
In the black Meaning, my sad Soul determines
To feel in Silence, till I shake it off,
To Distance, whence it can return no more.
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To court you to the Bed of Royal Edgar,
Not that of Athelwold,—The King, thus wrong'd,
Will punish your false Lover, with Revenge,
Which, amidst all my Agonies, I dread;
And tremble for his Woes, who has destroyed me.
Elfrid.
O my foreboding Heart!—A thousand Wonders,
A thousand Mysteries, at once reveal'd,
Come rushing on my Memory!—Now, Athelwold,
No longer is it doubtful to my Thought,
Why the King's Eye was judg'd more dangerous
Than Shoals, and Rocks, and Shipwrecks!—Now the Mystery
Of Royal Edgar's Words, so lately heard,
Opens, unveil'd, upon my frighted Soul;
And Pain, and Terror, and Confusion, shake me.
Oh! cruel Undeceiver! why have you wak'd me?
Why have you torn me from my joyless Calm?
Which, though it gave no Transport, lull'd me in Quiet,
And kept these Storms of Life from breaking on me.
Enter Lady.
Lady.
Madam!—The King!—
Elfrid.
What would'st thou say?
Lady.
The King is entring here!
And my Lord with him.—Scarce had I Breath, to fly
Before,—and give you Notice.
Elfrid.
Save him, kind Heaven!—
Teach me, some Angel, to avoid this King.
Teach my distracted Heart to 'scape this Precipice.
Which Way may we retire?—Yon inmost Door
Opens upon the Gallery.
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'Tis lock'd, and they are here!
Ethelinda.
Oh! the severe Resolve of righteous Heaven!
They come!—I tremble, for this false Man's Fate;
And my unwilling Feet are rooted here!
Enter Edgar, followed by Athelwold.
Edgar.
Why dost thou linger, Athelwold?—Look here!
The Secret thou would'st have withheld, yet longer,
Shines out, like the Sun's Heat, to gladden Nature,
And make Creation smile!—Elfrid!—my Queen!
Soul of my Kingdom's Hopes! my Fame! my Glory!
Thou art his Gift!—Oh! let thy Angel-Tongue
Join, to confirm my Vow, to this lov'd Friend!
This Friend, to whom I owe the sweet Surprize,
That I thus gaze upon thee, thus approach thee!
Lend me thy wish'd Consent, to firm this Oath,
Which, by my Soul's eternal Hopes, I swear!
That Day and Night shall cease, and Time be lost,
And Nature's slack'ning Springs unwind the World,
E're I forget his Interest in my Heart;
Or hold my Athelwold less dear than now.
Elfrid.
Confirm his Oath, kind Heav'n!
Edgar.
Thou saint-like Goodness!
How shall my swelling Heart contain this Joy!
This over-pow'ring Gladness!—Bless'd, as I am,
Center'd in Happiness, 'twixt Love and Friendship,
I can look down on my neglected Throne;
Can see the Pride of Power rise, far beneath me;
And Heaven has scarce reserv'd one Bliss, to wish for.
Ethelinda.
Oh! blind, blind Man!
[Exit disorder'd.
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[Aside.]
Her ardent Sense of Wrongs
Points at her Life, and Charity compels me,
To save her, from herself.
[Exit Elfrid.
Edgar.
What mean their Looks?
Signals of Terror, and disorder'd Partings!
Why are they vanish'd thus?—Ha! By my Soul!
Thou, too, art touch'd with the contagious Madness!
Now has some Devil, malignant to thy Truth,
Wrought to perplex thee.—No Part of Earth I govern,
Dares cherish Mischief that could wound my Friend,
With this quick Sense of Anguish!
Athelwold.
Oh! that all Language
Cou'd be express'd by Looks! or that my King,
Great Substitute of Heaven, could read my Heart;
Like that first Power who made it!
Edgar.
What hast thou suffer'd?
I think I should have said, what hast thou done?
But that I speak to Athelwold.
Athelwold.
How base,
How like a Coward, fighting blind, is he,
Who dares commit the Crime he dares not own;
And, bold enough to know himself a Villain,
Fears, least Another knows it!
Edgar.
Stop.—Say no more.
Art not thou Athelwold? Let me look on thee.—
No:—By thy sacred Empire, in my Heart,
It cannot be.—I am at Peace, again.
Go on—thy Enemies, in vain, accus'd thee;
But thy own Words alarm'd me.—Yet, my glad Eyes
Have trac'd thee over, and absolve that Form,
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Unsuited and deceitful.
Athelwold.
What can I say?
Guilt, when it meets Suspicion, or Reproach,
Sustains itself, within, and learns to balance
Offence, by Punishment. But where it finds
Compassion, and has wrong'd a gen'rous Confidence,
It ought to blush, in Blood; and has no Way
To Pardon, or to Peace, but this—through Death.
Edgar.
[Disarming him.]
Hold thy rash Hand—And, like my Subject, learn,
To die, when I command thee.—Can it be possible,
One, brave, as Thou art, shou'd have Guilt, to justify
This Fear of a Friend's Eye?—Is Elfrid mine?
Or, trusted with the Wants that press'd my Soul,
Hast thou, instead of giving, robb'd me of more,
And left thy Prince a Bankrupt? Unbless'd by Love,
And yet depriv'd of Friendship!
Athelwold.
What has not Love
Made Honour guilty of!—Turn, Royal Sir,
Turn your Eyes inward, and, in Emma's Tears,
Read the too fatal Power of Elfrid's Beauty.
How cou'd weak Athelwold expect to conquer,
Where god-like Edgar fell!
Edgar.
Heav'n! 'tis Thy Hand,
When Subjects, thus, from Prince's Crimes, grow bold,
To charge their Treasons on their King's Example,
And shame us into Justice!—True, I have err'd;
But mark, what Difference 'twixt my Guilt, and that
Which thou nor dar'st to speak, nor I to hear.
By Elfrid won, from Emma; Love, in me,
Prov'd but too strong for Love. In thee, not Love,
To Love was treacherous.—But Love, to Honour,
To Friendship, Loyalty, to sworn Obedience;
To all the violated Laws of Life!—
What Subject, though unfavour'd, dares invade
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A Servant too, bound by the double Tie,
Of Duty and Allegiance; when, beyond all,
His King, his Master, whom he wrongs, selected him;
Treasur'd his Hopes and Wishes, in his Heart;
Liv'd in his Breast; partial but in his Cause;
And, against warring Worlds, wou'd have defended him!
What can that faithless Traitor's Reason urge,
To match his Guilt, with mine?
Enter Elfrid hastily.
Elfrid.
Oh!—Athelwold!
The injur'd Stranger, strong, by Despair's wild Rage,
Breaks, like a Tempest, from your Servant's Care,
And meditates Destruction. No Voice but yours
Will calm her into Patience.—In her Heart's Anguish,
She calls on Athelwold, till Shrieks of Woe
Eccho, from Tower to Tower, your Fatal Name,
And the wide Castle rings, with her Reproaches.
Edgar.
Go—and appease her Grief, thou Source of Sorrow!
Free my dim'd Eyes from aching at thy Presence,
And leave me to the Pain of sharp Reflection,
What thou should'st suffer, from a Prince's Hand,
Who is this Wretch, by thine!
[Exit Athelwold.
Too fatal Beauty!
Why have I found thee, but to lose thee more,
And change a painful Hope, for certain Misery!
Elfrid.
If, in your royal Heart, I hold such Influence,
Abate your Wonder at my Power in Athelwold's.
Why were you Friends, but that your Souls had Sympathy,
And purpos'd, each like other?—'Tis scarce a Moment,
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He wrong'd his Sov'reign's Meaning: Yet, already,
I find the Fault most yours.—Love is a Leveller,
And all Degrees are equall'd, where he reigns.
Why was another sent, if Edgar lov'd me?
Why was not Cornwall honour'd by your Presence,
When your unnumber'd Navy swept her Coasts,
In your last Guardian Circuit?—Had you then landed,
Indulgent to my loyal Father's Prayer,
From what a dreadful Length of destin'd Woe,
Had my sad Heart been guarded!
Edgar.
I saw thee, first,
Unknowing thou wer't Elfrid, at the dread Altar,
Where, from our aweful Dunstan's holy Hands,
The consecrated Oil confirm'd me King.—
How wer't thou lost, so soon?
Elfrid.
Swear but to pardon
The gen'rous, tho' unfaithful, Athelwold,
And I will shew you, we were doom'd unhappy,
But by the Will of Heav'n.
Edgar.
Kings shou'd be just:
And such compulsive Oaths, too lightly sworn,
Make That Necessity, which might be Choice,
And strip the Grace from Mercy.
Elfrid.
Then hear my Vow:
Since you decline to bind your doubtful Will,
Thus, on my Knees, all-powerful Heav'n! my Soul
Appeals thy righteous Throne.—Hear,—and afflict me
With every woful Curse, thy Wrath has stor'd
For Perjury, if ever I consent
To quit the Breast, or Claim, of Athelwold.
Or, should he fall, by your revenging Hand,
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The Sight, the Voice, the Name, of Royal Edgar.
Edgar.
Cruel, cold, proud, disdainful,—glorious Elfrid!
What has thy Rashness sworn?—Yet, let me perish,
If to have sworn it, has not made thy Loveliness
As awful as Divinity!—Was ever
Distress thus hopeless? Could your untouch'd Heart
Have Sense of what mine suffers, you wou'd have fear'd
To wound me, with this Pain of fix'd Despair.
Elfrid.
Now, shielded by the Safeguard of my Oath,
Virtue may speak, secure, and own its Weakness:
There was a Time, e'er Athelwold was mine,
When, to have been the Wife of uncrown'd Edgar,
Wou'd have been more than Monarchy, to Elfrid.—
Fatally curious, from the deep Impression
Of an alarming Dream, I saw you crown'd,
Hid, in a clam'rous Press, that shouted, round me,
And shook the sacred Dome, with Peals of Joy.
Edgar.
Oh! tell it me again.—Was I so bless'd,
That you then thought with Tenderness on Edgar?
What was that Dream? Charm me, thou rising Wonder,
With each soft Circumstance of pleasing Pain:
For, while I die, with Terror of my Fate,
'Tis Heav'n to hear it, from a Voice like thine:
Elfrid.
Oh! sooth not Misery.—Forbear to speak
With this untimely, this forbidden, Softness!
Aw'd, by Rememb'rance of my dreadful Dream,
I tremble, ign'rant of the Will of Heaven,
Too dimly gleam'd upon my distant Soul.
I dreamt I sat, and saw th'Imperial Crown
Plac'd on your sacred Head: Your Form the same,
As when I, after, view'd you at the Altar,
And, fainting with Reflection, left the Throng!
Soon as the Diadem adorn'd your Brow,
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Held it, presented thus; and, high in Air,
Stept to the Seat that bore me! When strait a cold,
A shadowy Hand divided us: Loud Shrieks
Rung thro' the Temple: The gay Pomp was darken'd,
And a broad Sea of Blood rose high, between us,
And bore us from each other.
Edgar.
Thy ominous Dream
Creeps, in cold Tides, and curdles all my Veins.
Seek we, thou lost Inflamer of Desire,
The false, the fated Athelwold.—My Heart
Heaves, with unusual Bodings. Powerful Pity
Struggles with Justice; and 'tis more painful to me,
To think, my Friend, should fall, to need Forgiveness,
Than to forgive my Enemy.
Elfrid.
This is, indeed,
To reign! So reigns the World's supreme Disposer.
All Things, but one, are subject to his Power;
But even his Pow'r, itself, obeys his Mercy.
Proud of Dominion, yet enslav'd to Fear,
Kings who love Blood, thro' one long Tempest steer,
While the calm Monarch, who with Smiles controuls,
Roots his safe Empire, and is King of Souls.
Edgar.
When Woman, form'd to soften Man to Peace,
Fans his Disquiet, and gives Care Increase,
Love is a Weakness, and to wish in vain,
Were a forc'd Freedom, and Escape from Pain:
But where our Hearts are charm'd, by Forms like thee,
Where Passions sympathize, and Souls agree,
There to love hopeless, is, in Life, to die,
And, languid, in void Blanks of Being, lie.
End of the Fourth Act.
| Athelwold | |