University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

A wood. Enter Alfred in a brown cowled habit, with a white beard, and his harp. A good Welch harper close behind the scene must play to his pantomime. Some Danish outposts come along, and he pleases them with his martial bardic tunes, such as “Men of Harlech,” and the like. After a tune or two he addresses them, in an old man's voice—
Alfred.
Is this the track to Guthrom's camp, good folk?
[one offers to take his harp, &c.
Nay, friend, I've nought for pillage but this harp;
If thou canst play upon it, take it,—or
My skill shall go along with it and thee,—
Haply thy fellows there may like my songs.

[he plays spiritedly to their great admiration, they crowd round him, and one of them cries out—

Ay, bring him on to the camp; come along, old bones.

[they all follow, leaving the scene empty. Bertha comes in timidly.
Bertha.
I heard his harp: I'm sure it was his harp.
O what a dreary place for evil beasts
And evil men to lurk in,—God protect me!

[more marauders come in, meeting her tumultuously: she, battling down fear, courageously addresses their gruff blackbearded chief.
Bertha.
Sir, did a harper pass thee?

Sidroc.
Surely, pretty one;—
They've ta'en him with his harping to the camp:
Curse all these fellows,—had I been alone—

Bertha.
Wilt take me thither too? I sing with him.

Sidroc.
Ay, ay, come on with me.
[the others crowd round, he eyes them savagely; and they jeer him, saying—
What? all for one?
Ha! ha! No, Sidroc! we are coming too!

Bertha
(cheerfully).
Thanks! I can sing you many pretty songs,—
One now, friends, if ye list.
[she sings, to the tune of Codiad yr haul, or “the rising Sun,” a well-known old British bardism.
[the rough Danes are enchanted, and raising her in triumph on their locked shields, four of them, they shout,

A prize for the Viking himself, and worth a gold bracelet to
every man of us!

[and so they carry her off admiringly and exultingly; Sidroc following, looking black.

SCENE II.

A splendid perspective scene of the Danish encampment, with all characteristic appointments: in the distance is heard Alfred's harp, and acclamations. The Viking's magnificent pavilion at side, full of renegade English lords, Danish chiefs, and Guthrom throned in the midst. After a pause, the Danish marauders of last scene bring in Bertha on their shields in tumultuous joy, shouting—
A prize for the Viking! A goddess for the Viking!
Beautiful as Freja! melodious as Iduna!

Guthrom
(to Bertha, as she is set down at his footstool by the kneeling Danes.)
If any one of these hath harmed thee, maiden,
Speak fearlessly.

Bertha.
Not one, my lord, not one.

Guthrom
(to a Danish official),
Chancellor, give them largesse handsomely.
[he gives them each a gilt armlet, which they wear proudly.
Now, maiden, canst thou sing some country song,
To cheer and soothe us after all this fighting?

Bertha,
(hearing Alfred's harp, while he approaches midway up the scene).
There is a harper yon; I sing with him.

Voices.
The harper, the harper! take him to the Viking.

[they recognise each other, and sing together before the lords and Guthrom: tune, Codiad Yr Hedydd, “the rising of the lark:” Bertha sings to the harp music,

[Guthrom looks and listens delightedly, as enchanted by her beauty and singing: meanwhile, it being full noon, a grand procession of skalds and priests with hideous bloodstained idols and the sacred Raven banner winds up the camp to Guthrom's tent: where with prostrations he offers incense to the Raven and other idols; he then turns to Alfred and Bertha.
Guthrom.
Harper and maid,—a hymn, and bow the knee.

Alfred.
We may not kneel before thy gods, O Viking;
Our's is another faith, and thy great mind
Tolerant, as true greatness ever is,
Will have respect to conscience: we dare not.

Chief Skald.
Dare not? yet dare to disobey the Viking?
Kneel, or ye die.

Alfred.
Then will we die, not kneel.

[Guthrom looks round at the English lords and whispers with them: the chief Skald approaches with a hieroglyphical scroll: he reads
Chief Scald.
The sentence in the Edda is distinct;
That men who will not worship Hilda's Raven
Be torn asunder by wild horses; women,
That they be burnt alive.

Guthrom.
Now, maid and harper,
How answer ye to this? Can your god save you?

Bertha.
He can, He will! we worship only Him.
[to the tune of Ar hyd y nos, Bertha sings,

[Guthrom is entranced more and more, but an English lord beside him says,
The brainless fanatics,—why can't they kneel?

Guthrom
(turning on him fiercely,)
Thou recreant to thy country and thy creed!
Be silent in these holy presences:
I honour this young maiden, this old man,
For honouring their god. Yet must they die
For thinking scorn of our's. Maid, canst thou bear
The fierce flame gnawing at thy living flesh
A writhe in that terrific agony,
And all to please some—let us say some god
Like Hilda's Raven?—Would I had such faith.

Alfred.
Viking, the God we serve created all things,
He is the glorious Spirit of all worlds,
Made thee, and me, and feedeth men and ravens;
We worship our Creator and our Judge.

Guthrom
(alarmed),
Our Judge?—Will the Creator be our Judge?

Alfred.
All that is done on earth in thought or deed
Riseth again for judgment: evil then
Is doomed to endless dying, endless hate;
Good lives the life of everlasting love.

Guthrom
(musingly),
These words are new, and of strange force. But, maiden,
Canst thou endure the fire on this fair flesh,
Thy body's utter anguish? Ay, and first
Endure like anguish of the feeling heart
To see thy grandsire there torn by wild horses,
Rather than bend the knee one easy minute?

Bertha.
The pain is terrible I know, my lord;
And yet more terrible to see another
In extreme torment: yet, I will not kneel.

[the priests and Skalds crowd round and lay hold of them: then suddenly and determinedly, as convinced after a struggle,
Guthrom.
Release them, Skalds and Priests!—they shall not die:
A constancy like this must have its root
In a true faith: I will not tempt their god.
Give them safe conduct through the lines.

[Alfred and Bertha bow to Guthrom, whose eye follows them with interest, as they are honourably escorted up the camp by the armletted party of Danes. The idol procession goes away at side hurriedly and angrily; then
Guthrom.
Who's here?

[Wulf the neatherd is dragged before the presence as a spy.
Wulf.

Ay, bring me to the king, I say: nay now, don't buffet
me, mates: I'm no spy, but an honest true Briton,
wishing well to everybody; like those noble gentry
yonder who are all for peace and good King Guthrom.
He's the strongest now, so he's my king.

Guthrom.
Why this disturbance, fellow? what's your errand?

[Wulf drops ridiculously on his knees, dumb-foundered.
Guthrom.
Speak, Sirrah!—not this pantomime.

Wulf.
I can't.—
I had a speech o' my tongue, but I've forgot it,—
I, I,—O yes! I'll tell you where he is,—
He's hiding in my hovel handy to us,
Or was there twelve hours back; only my wife
Thinking to get here first and clutch the gold
(A thousand links—a thousand links, they tell me!)
Lock'd me i'th' cowhouse, till I well nigh starved,—
—O here she comes to tell us all about it.

Guthrom.
What means this dull buffoon? who's in his hovel?

Wulf.
King Alfred!—I, I—crave your royal pardon,
Alfred, not king:—at least he should be there.

[Egga, the neatherd's wife, is pulled in by the Danish soldiers.
Egga.

There now, adone, adone! why the camp followers
ha'been tumbling me about all night and morning, and I
couldn't get anigh your great royalty to tell you sooner;
but its true,—he's a brownquilted archer and burnt my
manchets.

Guthrom.
Go with this beldame, some of you, and search:
Bring Alfred back,—they shall have golden links;
But, if he have escaped through their contentions,
They shall be hung,—their links will then be iron.

[Egga is hurried out: Wulf remains in custody, looking ridiculously miserable; meanwhile
Guthrom.
The fugitive must then be near us still;
I hoped him slain; but among all those thousands
Narrowly as we searched, he was not found.
So, seeing our camp, after this victory
Is safe and fearless without one foe nigh,
Captain,—proclaim a general holiday,
That all our soldiers search the country round
(Saving our royal body-guard alone)
And so take two days license foraging.

[great huzzaing in the camp, an ovation to Guthrom, and the Third Act ends.)
(The interlude music to include “Hark, hark, the lark at heaven's gate sings,” and “Hearts of oak,” &c.)