University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

A Hall in the Castle of Yveloc.
Walter and a Sea Captain.
Walt.
Why, were you with him there?

Capt.
Ay was I, sir.

Walt.
And how came she aboard?

Capt.
I know not that;
Only I know she came like one that fled,
With frequent eye cast back upon her track,
And cheek whose whiteness seemed to blanch the night;
And when we sailed, she on the quarter-deck
Kneeled, voiding her full eyes, and sadly cried,
“O my dear father! O my native land!”
And when he kissed her, looked up smilingly,
And said, “Dear lord, deal kindly by me now;
I have but only thee.”

Walt.
Alas! poor soul!—
And he?—

Capt.
Looked strangely, and bade us steer away
To any land, save only Brittany.

Walt.
How came you here, then?

Capt.
Heard you not the storm?
We scarce had heaved our anchor a good hour,
When the dull sea began to moan and swell,
And all the rippling waves were tipped with foam;
And yet no breath of wind, only the air
Heaved hollow sighs. Then you might see the sailors
Whisp'ring each other, and with hasty hands
Furling their canvas, clapping to their ports,
And with the straining of their pitchy cordage
Tightening the sinews of their boat for storm.
Scarce had they finished, and the trembling lady
(Ill clad for such a night) been safely cabined,
When the north-west, shouting tumultuously,
And brushing his black wings against the heaven,
Swooped on the shuddering sea; and the good ship,
Like some strong wrestler overmatched in grip,
Stooped till her maintop almost touched the waves,
Then, springing up before the whistling wind,
Raced at her topmost speed towards our shore;
Which when our lord saw, he with iron hand
Grasping the helm would have outmatched the storm,
Or steeped us all in death, but the weak engine
Cracked with the strain, and helpless on we drifted
Through the black throat of night. “God's hand,” he said,
And in the cabin wrapped his manly arms
About the lady, in whose shaking frame
Life seemed to flicker.

Walt.
She died, did she not?

Capt.
But not of fear. The superstitious sailors,
Losing their reverence in their greater awe
Of death, sole master now, began to mutter
Against their lord, saying this storm was bred
Out of his sin; and thronging to his cabin,
Threatened to throw the lady overboard
To appease the waves; coarsely upbraiding him
Adulterously to carry off this maid,
Having a wife at home; which when she heard,
Though he with storming strove to drown their words,
“A wife!” she cried, and heaving back her head,
Stiffened in death. Eliduke, frenzy-mad,
Seized the ringleader by his foot, and hurled him
Into the gaping deep, which quelled the rest.
Now day began to dawn, and sullen Dark,
Wrapping his hair about his moody brow,
Went trampling the dim west down to the sea,
Which now showed calmer, and we found ourselves
Close on the Yveloc cliffs, and by our boats
Gained the dry shore.

Walt.
Eliduke with you, then?

Capt.
And the dead lady.

Walt.
Whither went he then?

Capt.
Indeed I wonder greatly; for no sooner
Had we run keel upon the sea-drencht sand
Than he, with hasty foot, made towards the woods,
Pointing an angry sword against pursuit:
Since that I saw him not.

Walt.
Sir, this is strange,—
Too strange for common ears. I would not have you,
Valuing his wife's dear peace, as sure you must,
Breathe any whisper of this night's events.
You were too loose to open them to me.

Capt.
I did it at the instance of my lord,
Who in the boat bade me seal up your lips,
Who knew his object. Therefore, look, be silent;
As for myself, I did not lack your warning
To be as dumb as death.

Walt.
I am glad to hear it. Fear you not for me.

Enter hastily Castabel, Blancaflor, and Roland.
Cast..
Where? where? Is this he? Speak, man! were you with him?
Where is your lord?

Capt.
'Beseech you, be not frighted,
If I must say I do not know.

Cast..
Not know?—
Your arm.

[To Blancaflor.
Rol.
O God!

Blanc.
Sweet sister!

Capt.
Oh, be calm!
I can assure him safe.

Cast..
He is not safe.
You do but tell me this. You forge a tale,
Setting my sorrow in a frame of hope,
Wrapping your bitter medicine in sweet words,
Building me up to pull me down again,
Saying he's safe, because he is in heaven.
I know! I know!

Capt.
La—

Cast..
Stop, stop, man! I am faint!
Be not so hasty, let me hang awhile;
You have not said it yet; I have not yet
Shook hands with hope and you with certainty—
He's dead! O heart!

Capt.
Lady!

Rol.
Be still, I say!

Capt.
I say he lives; myself three hours ago
Saw him alive. Is all the world gone mad?

Cast..
How dare you, then, shake me with terrors thus?
Ha! Enter Eliduke; she flies to his arms.

Do you not smile? Are you not glad? Oh, dark!

[She falls at his feet.
Rol.
Great heaven! She's dead!

Eli.
'Tis common. Why not she?

Rol.
Gently, sweet Blancaflor.

Blanc.
Why, Margaret! Helen!

Enter Women.
Wom.
O my dear lady!

Rol.
Water! Stop! she breathes.
Softly! oh, softly!

Cast..
Ah me!

[Exeunt Castabel, Blancaflor, and Women.
Rol.
Do you stand thus? [To Eliduke.
]—I pray you, give us leave.
[Exeunt Walter and Captain.
What's this, my lord, that you should let her fall,
Even at your feet? What wrong hath she committed,
That at your coming you should stand like stone,
And never lift an eye to meet her welcome?
What's this, my lord? Perhaps you think me bold,
That set my foot within your wedlock rights,
And interfere me in your sanctities.
Why, what care I? That title of her husband
Gives you the claim to cherish and to love her,
To live within her soul, and see yourself
Written in her eyes,—lays heaven bare to you;
But if you are become so black a devil
As make it pretext for a right to wrong her,
Why then I may come in;—and, look, I will!
Nor all the favouring puissances of hell
Shall save you from my arm. Nay, stand awhile!
You have come back, and therefore have not done
The wrong you made such talk of; but since then
You have o'erstepped that wrong a thousand times,—
Looked coldly on your wife. Ha! why was this?
I am angry, and I am not made to play with.
I will not see it.

Eli.
Pray you, talk not with me;
I am not in the answering mood to-day.

[Exit.
Rol.
What, gone? I cannot think he meant her wrong;
He is too noble. I was wrong to urge him.
How placidly he bore it from my tongue,
Who to most men had answered with his sword!
Something hath shaken him much;—I was too hasty.

[Exit.