University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene I.

Assandun. The English army on high ground above the river Crouch. The Danish army on lower ground, moving with booty toward their ships.
Enter Edmund.
Edmund.
Under the royal ensign I await
The Danish onslaught; but I fear the cowards
Refuse to grapple, and with robber-stealth
Are slinking to their ships. Can I remain
Here in my strong position on the hill,
And see the wealth of ravaged Mercia borne
To pirate vessels? [Enter Edric.]
Edric, you mistake
The English keep the heights; your Danish chieftain
Is skulking with his booty to the shore.

Edric.
Now what a temper! I have grown so artful
In tactics that you take me for a spy;
Yet in your six great battles I have helped,
As if I stood beside you,—veered about,
Given your foes false hope, and spurred them on,
Then back to my true post. As for my motive
In joining you to-day, I tell you plainly,
I acted from a passion in my veins
That drove me hither. In the foreign herd
I could not tarry.

Edmund.
It was natural,
Your country in such peril. I rejoice
To have you by my side, and thus to turn you
From action that discomforted my mind,
And often stained your honour. Look below.
Canute is marching by the river-bed,
Laden with plunder: we must intercept:
He shall not carry my dear England's wealth
Of corn and cattle to the fallow ocean.
In proof of trust I give you your old troops,
The stalwart Mercian bands; but, Streona,
Let there be honest fighting. All my soul
Abhors deceit. It ill becomes a Christian,
And Englishman, to play his wits against
A rude, untutored warrior.

Edric.
To-day
I show you my true colours; you shall learn
My inner disposition.

Edmund
[to his army].
Englishmen,
Attack those recreants hastening to the sea;
Hard hand-play give the robbers, beat them off
From shelter of their boats. Your fathers' spirit
Make ye defenders of the land, its fame,
Its homes, its ancient crown. Think of the days
When Alfred rose among ye, how he smote
The northern hosts, and drove them from his fields.
Ye have been faithful to me, and have followed
The hurry of my marches, borne scant fare,
Tempest, and cold, and weariness. Together
Six times have we encountered on the plain
Yon scowling mariners, and God has given
A measure of success. With rush of banners,
Descend, and strike them as a thunder-bolt.

[Exeunt.]
[On the lower ground enter Canute, Hardegon, Thororin, and Danes.]
Hardegon.
The enemy is on us and our ranks
Waver and break; they would not thus have faltered
If Swend had marshalled them; he stood so tall,
And bellowed out his orders.

Thororin
[waving the Danish flag].
Let them see
The glorious sign—our Raven's open beak,
And wings that flap triumphant in the wind!
Good is the omen; when those plumes are stirred
The hour is come for fated warriors
To fall beneath the battle-axe.

Canute.
Stand firm!
Give them no inch of ground. Though young in years,
My father trained my hands to slaughter, filled me
With great ambition for the raging field,
Its noble chances. In this valley's breadth
Free space is given. Manfully resist.

[Re-enter Edmund, and English.]
Edmund.
I sought you through the ranks. I know your helm,
And fierce, bright eyes. You are the Danish chief.

Canute.
The king of England.

Edmund.
I deny the name
To any stranger in whose alien veins
The blood of Cerdic flows not. The great title
Is mine by birthright and election.

Canute.
I
Have half the country's voice; my father swayed
These lands before me. I will have my own.
We'll speak together with the noise of swords;
That talk may have an issue.

Edmund.
So it shall.

[Strikes at Canute vehemently. Exit.]
Hardegon.
Danes, to your king! His shield is cut in twain.

Canute.
Back, fools; must I be cheated of revenge!
He goes, and I am left with cloven arms,
Abased and powerless.

Hardegon.
Odin, how they press us!
Retreat, or we are lost.

Canute.
God only knows
Which shall be master; I will wait the end,
And then myself cut down my clouded youth,
If I am vanquished. Curse that heavy blow;
It stunned me like a giant. Down it crashed,
And brought a darkness after it.

Thororin.
My king,
A cruel fortune works against our powers;
Our fighting men, who struggle with set teeth,
Are beaten. I am weary, sick of war.
To see the hostile folk upon our track,
Hewing behind our fugitives!

Canute.
The English
Are now disturbed; for, with a whirlpool's sweep,
Half of their army swings round to our side.
Ah, it is Edric! He will save the day;
He has deserted. Shout your welcome loud;
Pour forth your darts, and speed your death-spears 'gainst
The trapped and yielding English.

[Re-enter Edric.]
Edric.
You may fight,
But I defeat them with my trickery.
They cannot stand against me. All is lost
For them; for you, all gained.

Canute.
Hack, slay, o'erwhelm!

[Exit.]
[The English and Danes fight desperately.]
An Englishman
[pointing to Edric].
There is the traitor, the deceiver. Shame!
The curse of ignominy take the wretch;
May his own snares entrap him!

Another.
As we fall
Our race disowns him. See, from our last glances
The devil shrinks, and turns. Comrades, farewell.

Another.
Farewell, for we must perish, if we stand.

[The English are slain. Exeunt Danes and Edric.]
[Enter Edmund.]
Edmund.
Late, and so many slain! A narrow kingdom,
But yet of honest souls. Oh, I could stoop,
And kiss them, as a woman, one by one.
The brave, blue eyes! Each step a recognition.
Ulfcytel, Wulfsige! My Ethelweard!
I would keep watch beside you, did no remnant
Wander the darkness for King Edmund's voice.
Brave hearts still ache for me. It is enough!
I will divide my kingdom with my foe;
We will rule neighbour chieftains. And Canute
Shall feel the virtue of my severed lands
Pass through his blood? It is impossible;
What barrier could divide us? If a river
Were made the confine, I would breast the current;
Or if the pleasant ranges of clear down
Defined my border I should clamber them,
And look forth coveting the golden tracts
O' the other side. Impenetrable forest
Must block me from the view. God's hand hath set
The limit of my empire in the sea;—
I bear His finger-mark across the sand,
It chafes not;—but wherever English voices
Gladden the breeze, there should be deep accord
In custom, purpose, hope.
[Turning to the dead.]
I have a people
Will none of the invader; all my best
Are here. How simply they laid down their lives!
An Englishman sleeps soundly in his death,
As fearing no ill vision. Not a man
Found faithless; this is Heaven's great reward.

[Exit.]
[Re-enter by torchlight Canute, Edric, Hardegon, Thororin, and Danes.]
Edric.
Pooh, pooh! You say 'tis no clear victory:
Look at this heap of Edmund's subjects—all
Of note about the court.

Canute
[looking wistfully at the dead].
And goodly faces!
Here is a churchman. What a noble brow,
So full of thought and sweetness! These are creatures
To stand about a throne.

Hardegon.
The soil breeds English,
And Edmund lives.

Canute
[impetuously].
This day shall end the war;
Peace, treaty, or division of the land—

Soldier
[behind].

Hark ye! Edmund gave our king
a drubbing; the place hurts, so no more encounters.
He's meek as a beaten man; yet we sweated all day
for him.

Canute
[striking him].
And duly
Receive your wage, you braggart,—a king's blow
To strike you into silence.

Hardegon.
Bravely done!

Thororin.

Canute.
This blinding flicker of the torch! Sweep down
The flame across his face, so!—He is stunned.
God! but his look has hardened. Thororin,
Stoop, find the breath.

Thororin.
It will not come again;
The blow was fatal,—a swift punishment.

Canute
[muttering].

Punishment, punishment! and
the crime faithful speaking; it is the false tongue wants
stopping.

[Edric moves away, examining the corpses.]

That Edric—faugh!—I hate to see him fingering
the dead. Once he laid his impudent hand on my

shoulder. I have no pleasure in these victories; they
are the gift of his treachery; I have not won them.
All the great English are here, dead and loyal; and
the knave spoke true, I am no match for their king.

[Aside.]
You talk of punishment. By English law
A mulct of forty talents is the sum
Due from a man who murders in hot blood;
But from a king, thrice guilty, triple fine
Shall be exacted. I will make amends;
We are no more barbarian. Give this fellow
An honourable burial; recount,
My Thororin, the sequel of my passion.
I will to meditation.

[Exit.]
[As Canute retires, an English messenger is seen approaching his tent.]
Thororin.
Write the end!
Impossible! The Viking is a Christian,
And the great virtue of revenge is dead.
I sing the fiery current of the blood,
Its rapids, its revulsions. Let him learn
The mournful metres of tear-dropping women,
And mourn each mighty deed.

Hardegon.
I give him up.
Great men can get the virtue out of good
And wickedness; they know that right and wrong
Work well together. I have seen old Gorm
Cry like a baby, but no whit the worse
Next day, and ready for a massacre.
This lad is hopeless; he will come to terms.
[Re-enter Edric.]
Here is his enemy, a man to crumble,
And eat into his soul.—What brings you here?
You seek for your old master 'mong the dead?
You will not find him, so best spare your pains.

Edric.

Well, it would have saved trouble; he will
scarcely take me into favour again,—but it is with my new
master I must parley. I am the hero of the day. He
owes everything to me; and I and my Mercian troops
look for reward. I want money and dignities. Ah,
there is the royal tent. Just tell our young conqueror
I must break on his privacy. [Exit Hardegon.]
The
dogged, old creature!—but I sent him trudging on my
errand. Now I come to a bit of work I shall relish.
This high-bred sea-king thinks he can use me contemptuously.
He shall be my dependent. He has a
notion of keeping faith; and the oaths he shall break!
Oh, it rejoices me to dye folks my own colour, and to
see them wince at the discovery of their vileness. You
can do it easily with a woman. But it is difficult to
menace a keen man, with a conscience, and intrepid. I
must convince him he owes everything to me; and a just
king rewards his servants; ingratitude is the part of a
barbarian. He shall set me in the rank and place I like
to name, and then I can degrade him step by step. I
will force him to look inwards when he feels contempt.
That is how I dominate.

[Re-enter Hardegon.]
Hardegon.

The king is musing; you would interrupt.

Edric.

The king! He must wait for that title. Then
you tell him, if he does not choose to converse with me—

[Re-enter Canute wildly.]
Canute.

Edric, come hither; I shall need your service.
King Edmund has sent to propose that we divide the
land. I could win it back for myself with my sword;
but your hireling soldiers damp enterprise. There would
be no more honour in the war; I could never trust my
men again, after they had been in the company of your
vile, flattering Mercians. There would be nothing but
ill-luck and treachery, so we had best make a covenant,
and keep that. Within a week we meet at Olney. I do
not know the country. Where lies the fosse?

Edric.

Ha, ha! Again at fault! I must fight his
battles, then prescribe his policy. Wanted at every turn.
But thanks first, and wages. Let us wipe off the old
score.

Canute.

Stop that bluster, you recreant! The day
would have been ours without your knavery. Our men
had begun to rally, and the Raven gave the sign.

Edric.

Just fancy! the gods were favourable. What
a pity I passed into your ranks with weapons. I forgot
what a young one you are. If the banner floated right,
you did not need recruits. Well, Edmund is a man; if
I had kept firm to him, to-night we should have divided
the spoil. And the Mercian booty too your pirates were
making off with—that would all have been mine!

Canute.

You shall be well rewarded. But, Edric, I
would have proved myself a soldier. I did not conquer.
The field is mine through an artifice.

Edric.

The result pleases you,—the issue. Scarcely
anything is fit to look at in the process. I am preparing

for your glory; leave me a little to myself. As for the
boundary-line, we will not hurt our brains with calculations;
they are all artificial. A bit of blue sea is the
border of our empire, and, if I recollect, it is the royal
Danish colour. But come in, come in! I must look to
your affairs. If I had not wheeled round to your
ranks—

[Moving towards the royal tent.]
Canute.

There lie your people. Be careful: do not
trample friends' faces on your way to my tent. These
are all English we are passing; you should know every
man by name.

Edric.

As I was saying, if I had not given you my
forces, young man, I should have been saved this business
of halving the kingdom. I am indispensable. So
no retort.

[Exeunt.]

Scene II.

Olney. An island in the Ouse.
Enter Canute, Edric, Hardegon, Thororin, and Danes.
Canute.
Edmund is late in coming. It is grey
O'er head, and sluggishly the river swims,
And laps up its own sound into itself,
As cattle are contented with their cud.
The noises of these English streams are low
After the cry of torrents. Thororin,
Yon willow-roots grow in fat peace along,
Not like the striving pines. Edric, I own
To some rejoicing I am here the first;
It gives me sense of full possession. Mind you,
I do not think this treaty will endure;
Our hosts are tired, and we consent to slumber
Till one of us awakes.

Edric.
Or not.—He stares
Across the river. Did he take the hint?
His swift glance was uncertain.

Canute
[apart].
Now they shout;
The boat is launched: it is a hateful moment.
[To Edric.]
Why do you slip behind me?

Edric.
But to show
I am your servant.

Hardegon.
'Tis to hide that face.

Canute.
He is not yet in sight, no glimpse,—yon isle
Of waving grass so blocks the view. My Danes
In rows are grimly silent. Thororin,
You love the headlong rapids of the North:
They fall too sudden; one could never build
Beside them, never stablish governments
In their rude neighbourhood. Edric, he comes;
I see vast shoulders moving through the rushes.
Would I might never meet him!

Edric.
Why?

Canute.
No matter.

Edric.
Something has caught your eye among the Danes.
Vexed?

Canute.
'Tis that woman sitting on the slope,
With streaming locks and wind-distended raiment:
One fierce hand tugs the grass, the other draws
A tress of hair through her uncertain mouth;
Her narrowed, eager eyes are fixed on me;
They call her Gunhild; long have I defied her.
Why is she here?

Edric.
To see the spectacle;
All women love to gape at pageants. Now
Edmund is on the stream; the oars are splashing
Among the weeds. Heigh! He has got my child
Against his side.

Canute.
Noble to glance at, worn,
Though stronger built than I! He cleft my shield;
It has not been avenged. A placid look:
Much like his country's. Ah, the hateful thought,
It makes me feel a stranger, though I call
Half England mine. He smiles at that fair boy
Dipping his palm,—an honest, brightening pleasure
Straight from the eyes. He sees me, and the king
Comes forward on his face. I must prepare
A welcome.

Edric
[aside, glancing at Canute].
Ho, his pride! At handy-dandy
He cares not to be first. My Dane's full lip
Is sulky, in his eyes a sullen gleam.
I cannot reach his mood. Best keep behind.

[Enter Edmund, the child, and an English train.]
Edmund.
Hail, brave Canute. That you have met my terms
I thank your generosity; forget
The strife between us. With clear boundaries,
And heavy payment to your fleet, I settle
Beside you as a brother in this isle.
I am an Englishman, and, once at peace,
All grudge and wrath are over. There's my hand.

Canute.
I like your speech, King Edmund. There is mine.
All England lying southward of the Thames,
East Anglia and Essex are your realm;
Mine what is left.

Edmund.
A mighty stretch of kingdom!
Such the agreement. Now, before all men,
Clear-hearted before God, I swear an oath
Of friendship and of brotherhood to one
Whom I have tried in battle as a man,
And would, as king, be bound to.

Edric.
In a trice
Canute is clearing, and a sudden touch
Of sun lights up his scowl.

Canute.
I, too, will swear
With a good heart; the heavens seal a vow
That I will live your brother. [Aside.]
In his grasp
There is such amity.

Edmund.
My arms and mantle
Take as a pledge that I am wholly yours
In purpose and affection.

Canute.
Take my shield,
My sword, my robe, great Edmund.

[They exchange clothes and weapons.]
Edric.
It is time
I gave my brat a kiss, and showed myself
With insolent composure. Well, young pup!

[The child recoils, and clings to Edmund's hand.]
Canute.
Is this your son? [Aside.]
Who shrinks away from him,
As culprit from the touch of burning shares.
It makes me hate the man.

Edmund.
Ah, Edric, you!
To-day annuls offences, and you chose
To serve the better master.

Edric.
With your pardon,
I venture to declare I was your friend
When I forsook you; I discerned the future
Must be a compromise, and how to hasten
This reconciling hour.

Edmund.
My ears are shut.
[To Canute.]
Brother, farewell. May we so grave the vows
Which we have made deep in our memory,
That God may call us faithful when we join
Before His face hereafter.

Canute.
Let me take
King Edmund to his boat.

Edmund.
A gracious offer.

Thororin.
Hateful to see him by his enemy,
In this flat place, amid rank grass, and mud,
And sated, yellow lilies.

Edmund
[to the child].
Come, my boy.

Child.
Look, uncle Edmund, at the bulrushes;
How huge they stand.

Edmund.
Here is a goodly spike;
I'll cut it down, and arm you with a lance.

Child.
My father gives me weapons; let it drop.

Edmund.
Nay, grasp it like a man! This noble king
Will think our little English boys are cravens,
If a reed makes them tremble.

Canute.
Edric's child!—
Not featured like his father.

Edmund.
In each trait
His mother's gentle self. [To the child.]
Now jump aboard.
[To Canute.]
Good-bye, this honour pleases me, so well
I love my valiant compeer. I am staunch,
Canute, when I may trust.

Canute.
Brother, farewell.
[Exeunt Edmund, the child, and English.]
A king in sooth, he looks imperial,
And royal London owns him as her lord.

Edric
[stealing up behind]
My liege, your eye moves wistfully across
To Edmund's train: there cannot be two kings;
There shall not.

Canute.
Edric, put no evil thoughts
Into my heart. He is a goodly man,
This Edmund, sworn my brother; in his robe
I stand.

Edric.
Invested in his majesty?

Canute.
For I have none to give him in exchange.
How grew he thus? His father was a fool.

Edric.
His step-dame counts him as her enemy;
Your crown were well established, she at home
Once more in her old place.

Canute.
I feel the time
Is come to knot our passion. Seek her presence,
Ask her by all she loves in England, all
She covets, by her solitude, her beauty,
Wreathless and disenthroned, to cross the sea,
And take back everything.

Edric.
A husband, yes;
But her old kingdom also?

Canute.
Thororin,
Carry this borrowed cloak; it fits me ill.

Edric.
It hampers you; it is too large.

Canute.
His arms,—
Rid me of all. And half the land is mine:
I am not king to eastward and to south,
And that clear ocean-marge my father's right,
And heritage by conquest shall be his?
[Pacing apart.]
How if I whisper murder to this vile,
Mean-hearted alderman? . . . My word, my oath!
If that great lady would come back, she is
So fearful an enchantress, might I take her
To wife—then, as the lucky figure-head,
That speeds the sea-king to his victory,
She would ensure me monarch absolute.
I noted how she kept her smile alit
When she was thwarted—and her ancient hate
For Edmund! But with him my faith is sworn.
[Turning.]
Why do you cast your leg along that willow,
As if to ponder, Edric?

Edric.
I would sleep,
And dream your dreams.

Canute.
What?

Edric.
Nay, your face knows all.

Canute.
Where is that woman?

Thororin.
When she saw you leave
Edmund for Edric's company, she bounded,
And plucked the grass, and threw it on the stream,
And turned home full of smiles.

Canute.
I almost think
I hate this river-bed. Quick, ferryman!
We'll pass these segs and flowering rushes by,
And reach the stable pastures. Edric, come;
Brown-study wastes your time.

Edric.
At my good pleasure.
Thanks, thanks!

Canute
[to Thororin].
My bard, be ready with your harp;
I need the sound of seas and cataracts.

[Exit, with his followers.]
Edric.

As for me, I will just look about. Providence
will direct me. I am lazy; I must have leisure, and to
plot murders is a real toil to the brain. Yon heron drops
by instinct his long neck into the water, when the fish is
under his bill. Meanwhile he is contemplative. But
the Old Lady will never rest till she has King Edmund's
head in a charger. Though it be fine sport to inveigle
him, the decoy-duck is not yet found. There is no
chance of my luring him into a gin; and his kinsfolk
and acquaintance, followers, friends, sister, wife, nephew,

all dote on him. I have it!—nice, tame, and such an
innocent. Eh, the lad can draw him to the cage. But
slow, slow, my sludge-river; we need time.

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.

Scene IV.

A dimly-lighted room; in a smaller room, the child sleeping. Enter Edith.
Edith.
They bound me to a traitor and a churl,
And yet my grandsire had eight under-kings
For vassals. He will weary of me soon,
And I at Romsey, or some royal house,
Shall dwell where there is diligence and peace.
How beautiful this loneliness! It seems,
At balmy evening, like that holy time
Spent in the cloister, with this difference—
My son lies in my sight; and I who ever
Have loved men's souls, and prayed for their redemption,—
But coldly, as God loved the world before
The Bethlehem Babe lay in His cradle,—now
Faint in my importunity to save.
For I have learnt how terrible the strength
Of evil, and how great infirmity
Besets soft, striving natures. When I kneel
And offer supplication for the child,
I feel him press and vibrate in the chords
O' my inmost being. Ghostly premonitions
Enhance my restless care and terror, portents
No stretch of happy days could quite expunge:
For I had vision of him, ere his birth,
Lifting a gory hand half-full of flowers;
It seemed while he lay slumbering on my knee,
One came and whispered to him, and he laughed,
And did not know me any more. I shudder
When his remorseless father forces him
To lash his favourite hound, or blind the falcon
He cherished from the nest. A messenger
Says Edric comes to-night; and I have known
The child turn cold, yea, stammer, and tell lies
If he but heard his footfall on the stairs.
There is one way to save him; as he sleeps
Gently to part him from his enemies:
I have so often tried, but he will lie
With soft, wide lips, as when I suckled him,
And he fell dreaming from the breast. Alas!
He never has outgrown his infancy.
How I must pray!

[Enter Edric, unperceived.]
Edric.
She looks a lady born,
And I am proud to own her; slender hands,
And hair down to the knees! Her eyes are fresh
With constant tears,—a dew that shall not dry,—
And the thin, curving lips are beautiful,
Though worn with ceaseless prayers. My pretty saint!
I love her, and must now, in jealousy,
Purge her of earthly passion. Will she yield
To the proposal I shall make to-night?
How long ago she would have lost her wits,
Save for the chapel and confessional!
[Edith perceives him, and starts back.]
Edith, sit down by me. I ride at dawn,
And need some hours of rest. Watch by my couch,
And waken me at midnight, when I start
For Edmund's quarters; for your brother sends
A chamberlain to beg that he may borrow
Our Alfgar—a month's play and bed-fellow;
And the request is opportune. My king
Is sick of semi-governance. I know
An easy death to keep the murderer
Clean of suspicion;—a few, pregnant words
To our meek offspring, and, without offence,
Canute is well-established on his throne,
And heavily my debtor. You are mute;
My plan commends itself?

Edith.
If it must be,
Why did you tell me of it?

Edric.
To bespeak
Heaven's blessing on the scheme and execution.
Give me a kiss;—a face of ivory
To match yon crucifix. Now get within.
[Motioning to the child's room. Exit Edith.]
Unearthly creature! She will win forgiveness
Of my vile sin before it is committed;
While Edmund lies at peace upon his bed,
She will have prayed me guiltless of his murder.
She was revolted when I married her
By my dull lewdness; in our wedded hours,
As I unfolded to her my atrocious
And unimagined culpability,
She grew the guardian angel of my spirit;
And now, asleep or waking, I am certain
Of pardon for my most appalling crimes,
And, trusting to her saintly vigilance,
Can close my eyes and fall asleep without
A pater-noster.

[Lies down—closes his eyes.]
[Re-enter Edith, with a dagger.]
Edith.
I will not suborn
Any poor, guilty wretch to do the deed,
But ope for him myself the door of Hell,
And close it on the instant. And the child—
This is an easy deed, and, unforbidden,
I lift my arm to slay. His time is come!

[She strikes his breast, and swoons. He rises in armour, unhurt.]
Edric.
A simple scratch, but sly and treacherous;
She must not go unpunished. How to hurt?
If I should leave her thus, she will wake dazed,
And stutter forth my deed. By heaven, such hate
Comes on me I could kill her.—What, revived!
You woke me roughly, and an hour too soon.
Now we can talk of my design.

Edith.
Oh, if
Edmund must die—
As there may be state reasons, do it thus—
Let him not suffer. You had never known.
Take, take the sword.

Edric.
Here is my instrument.
[Turning to the child, who watches from his bed.]
Awake! Ha, ha, awake! What, sirrah, staring?
You have not slept. Get ready for a journey.
You watched, I know it by your face, the way
Your mother raised her arm to murder me.
Get up; I want you to do that again
On uncle Edmund, when he lies asleep.
I'll teach you.

[The child trembles, and dresses himself, his eyes fixed on his mother. Edric puts a dagger in his bosom.]
Edith.
There are voices—it begins.
God! God! the dagger gleams from out his vest,
And his white, witless eyes are fixed on me;
There is no speech upon his lips, he wanders
As the fiend to and fro. Come to me, Alfgar;
I cannot lift myself. My boy, be brave,
Put that way [pointing to the dagger]
, and though he torture you. . . .
O God! I cannot speak, it grows confused;
I feel the fetters on my brain struck off.
No matter, you can play about the same;
I feel so happy.

Edric.
He shall promise me
Entire obedience. If he disobey,
He knows his punishment: I blind his eyes,
And leave him shut up in the dark for ever.

[The child utters a wild scream.]
Edith.
Ah, ah! an idiot laugh. How pleasantly
He'll spend the days, and mutter in the grass.
'Tis sweet as death, this madness. Up and down
I' the sunshine, and to laugh the whole long day.

Child.
I could not see to do it!

Edith.
No; he's blind!
Give me the dagger. I am free at last—
Free, free. And now I'll tell you something strange;
I never shall remember any more.
Come, we are play-fellows, and you must hide
In the deep water. None will find you there,
Down in the moat, by the neglected well—
The sedges keep a-rocking.
[She seizes the child, and sways to and fro with him in her arms.]
Though he's drowsy,
I cannot close his eyes; but never mind,
We are quite happy.

[Edric snatches the child, and strikes Edith down.]
Child.
Father, let us go:
I cannot bear the feel of her,—her arms
Are snaky—take me where it must be done:
I will not flinch

Edric
[setting the child before him].
With this young innocent
To cloak my purpose, I will set aside
The royal line, and push up to the throne.
[Glancing at Edith.]
Will it not gall her? I foresaw this raving,
And brought a nun to take her to her cell
At Malmesbury; after my sore discipline,
The cordials of religion. [To the child.]
Come along.

[Exit, with the child.]
[Edith rises, and looks carefully round the room.]
Edith.
An orphan! I shall find him hereabouts.
They said I must go searching in the tombs;
But there are madmen in the rocks, and one
Has struck me on the brow. A pretty boy,
And his poor mother crying. I am fearful
That she has lost her wits. I will be bold,
And face the peril.

Prioress.
Lady, come with me.

Edith.
No, no! that is the way to Paradise;
I will not be your dupe. If you can lead
To the black moat, by the neglected well,
Down in the rushes, I will whisper you
Where he is hidden. Softly step along.

[Exeunt.]