University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

The Danish quarters at Northampton. Enter Canute and Emma. A crowd of Normans and Danes is seen retiring. Emma seats herself in the royal chair. Canute stands abashed before her.
Emma.
And now we are together.—O my king,
Is it not I that crowned thee? Streona,
Whom I, in all things, have the shaping of,
Hath thrice at my command waylaid the life
Of Edmund, thine arch-enemy. He drew
The English from their leader, left thee lord,
And victor of the field. Did I not first
See thee in London, at the siege? We took
Counsel together, you and I apart;
That day we settled kingdoms. Dear my lord,
Now tell me wherefore thou would'st mate with me,
Who am a wife, and mother of young kings,
To whom the crown upon this brow is but
A jewel repossessed, who must enact
The past in all things, unto whom you can
Reveal no wonder, give no morning gift
I shall not smile at as familiar? Say,
My handsome Dane, my sea-king, O my love,
Bright as the prow-head of thy fairest fleets,
Why did you choose me, when Duke Richard's girls,
My brother's children, stitch their broidery,
And sigh for lovers,—why? Am I not old,
The ancient lady of these realms, and thou
A rank invader, who hast exiled me,
Distressed my husband, driven out my bairns,
Ravaged my lands? There should be enmity
Between us. Wherefore dost thou bring me here,
Where naturally, from long habitude,
I take the throne, as grand-dame by the fire
Her honoured corner in the ingle-nook?
What wilt thou with me, young barbarian,
Who with so many wiles of courtesy
Hast brought me over seas? The rumour is
Thou wilt espouse me,—if for policy,
Thou'lt rue it; if, Canute, it be for love. . . .
Why would'st thou wed me?

Canute.
Lady, I have lived
A ruthless warrior, but love the things
Of peace and order. I have slain, and burnt,
And mutilated, and have loathed myself,
Yea, loathed the savagery. I would restore
To England all her holy usages,
Her laws, her Church, the treasures of her shrines,
And, chief, the lady who has gemmed her crown,
Her ever-honoured Lady Elfgifu.

Emma
[aside].
It is not then my beauty.—Why, there is,
I hear, another Elfgifu, the child
Of murdered Aldhelm. Thou hast sons by her.
Oh, tell me, are they like thee? Do they stamp
In spring's eternity thy radiant brows;
Is there young kingship in them? I have children
So like their father, I have flung them off,
For they recall the great misgovernance
Of Ethelred the Redeless past the term
Of my maternal patience. I am true
In marriage, fair usurper. My two lads
Will bear the characters of Cerdic's line,
If they inherit. But this Elfgifu,
The lady of Northampton, speak of her.
Say, will you cast away the things she calls
Your sons, and trust the future sole to me,
Who, for your sake, relinquish all my right
In well-begotten Edward and the young
Alfred his brother? What of Elfgifu?
You hesitate.

Canute.
Her name shall be forgotten;
Her boys shall rule the far, barbarian lands;
But for this England, that I love as mine,
I will beget, lady, a kingly son,
And you shall be his mother.

Emma
[sobbing].
Oh, my lord,
I would I could unearth the buried past,
To look it in the face and mock at it,
Then fling it out as refuse. I, for you,
Do so obliterate my loathèd days;
They are dark to me, imageless, unknown,
As the nine months before I saw the light,
And I in heart a virgin come to you,
A queenly virgin, Gem of Normandy—
So say the writers. Dost thou find it so?
Canute, had I been ta'en thy spoil in war,
How had'st thou served me? Had'st thou said, She's fair,
But worn, I'll give her to my eldest chief;
And turned to some soft, dimpled child, with eyes
That stare at love as at a pageantry,
That awes and dulls them; or, more circumspect,
Had'st thou espoused me, and with Elfgifu
Spent thy unlawful hours?

Canute.
Had'st thou been brought
In all thy dazzling beauty to my knees,
I had not given thee thy liberty;
I had commanded thou should'st braid thy hair
In wifely coronets; and thou with me
Had'st made strong covenant thou would'st keep faith
Till death should part us.

Emma.
When I bear a boy—
As doubt not this my joy in thee shall take
Its form in flesh, that thou may'st see how deep
It enters in my nature, spite my years;—
When our young Dane is born, thou wilt confer
On him all English royalties?

Canute
[throwing himself at her feet and clasping her hand].
All, all.
Yet, my enchanting queen, see that he show
Some traces of his mother. If you crave
That I should dote on him, he must not be
A simple warrior, but of courtly grace,
Compelling charm, accomplished in all arts,
Loving the harp, a gentle-mannered king,
Lavish to learning.

Emma.
Mother to a monk!
Is child-bed labour for the tonsure? Whew!
My Danish son shall war, burn, ravage, slay,
Never break faith, never buy off with gold
His country's enemies, despise all guile,
And, like a man, sin, harry, and pursue,
Till all is under foot.

Canute.
Then must you give
A daughter to me, that these clear, keen eyes
A second time subdue a conqueror,
And give us broad dominion. Noble lady,
How bountiful and blessèd you must be,
Thus to forget my many injuries,
And give me promise of an empire, rich
In heirs and kingdoms,—rich to me in this
[passionately embracing her],
My Norman gem, Emma, my Elfgifu.
My stately England. Come, thou art my queen.

Emma.
And beautiful?

Canute
[drawing back].
You must not sting my blood.
Oh, you will learn.—I struggle with my awe;
I have known sack and pillage. Should I take you
As a man takes the woman he desires—
I cannot speak. Mine, mine!

Emma.
You are afraid
To touch me. What, you tremble!

Canute.
Emma, think!
I hold back by the jaws a savageness
Of inbred nature. And a fear of shame,
Of uttering dishonour to my love,
My worship of you, makes me almost stone,
And courteous like a host. You should not ask me
If you are beautiful. All charms of earth,
All that draws waves to shore, all influence
Of stars or sun are in your face, and quiver
In me as I behold it.

Emma.
You should woo
Trusting my courage. Speak to me of fear
In love—

Canute.
The taunt is perilous.

Emma.
As well
Face a great warrior with dissuasive words:
We will not meet; we are not matched in skill.
From stripling's mouth such words are vanity,
They show the arrant craven.

Canute.
For your sake
I wrestled to become a Christian lover;
You challenge my fierce past; you have no mercy.
I'm made of primal stuff. You do not know.

Emma.
My heart is like the magnet, unalarmed
At its completest triumph.

Canute.
Cruel queen,
You go the way to make me cold with terror,
And powerless to approach you. Give your voice
Its softest resonance; 'twill win me back
To love, to warmth, and confidence. O Emma,
It was your sovereign culture, and your tones,
Almost religious in their loveliness,
That bound my passion to you.

Emma.
Ah, forgive.
I glory in your mettle, in the flash
Of bright desire that hurries from your eyes.
Canute, I have been mated with a creature
Who took my favours with a weary face,
Whose hands were soft, whose lips were treacherous.
It injures me to think of him; he's naught.
In you I greet a man—whose sex stands up
Within him, ruling every element;
'Tis captain of his body. When 'tis so,
And those who wed us bear the virile stamp,
What can we do but worship?

Canute.
Nay, my part
Is to revere. I ponder on your grace,
Your state in movement: why, your very smile
Tames like a lyre. Great lady, shall my love
Be sacrilegious? I have seen them burn
The lovely missals in the libraries,
And a hot flush has come into my face;
'Twas all that they could do with them, but there—
The pictures, and the story, the bright words
Of God—all wasted: let me be your scholar,
Instruct me, make me worshipful, be patient,
And you will fashion me a king so great
That you yourself shall tremble at my fame;
For I will raise an empire and excel
In every princely art. I have ambition,
But there is something that I lack that sways
The conduct of the world. That hour we met
At London, how I loved to watch your face
Wrinkling in state-craft, and in policy
So subtle 'mid the blundering warriors!
I could not let the beauty simply stir
Desire, that may redeem the negligence
Of my untempered youth, raise me to honour,
Benignity, and wisdom.

Emma.
But the toil!
One must not dim these glittering, blue eyes
With the thick-lettered pages. Woo me, woo!
Be amorous; a woman best imparts
Her knowledge and her mysteries to one
Adoringly receptive. Ah—the Redeless
Had not been christened so, had he relied
On my illuming sense, my intellect,
My temper, and discretion. All are yours,
So you will be my lover.

Canute.
Now I feel
Strength to found kingdoms.

Emma
[embracing him].
For thou art a king.