University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene I.

—Tonbridge Castle.
Athulf and Grimbald.
Athulf.
There—take my truncheon—thou couldst rule my force
With more acceptance in the general mind
Than I. By Heaven, I am ashamed to see
Such bickerings in a camp! Give me a cowl
And let me rule a monastery rather.

Grimbald.
There—take my cap and bells—I'll rule your force,
And wisely too; but when I look for love
In change for wisdom from the multitude,
Give me again my good old cap and bells.

Athulf.
Ah, fool, you're right—and that man is not wise
That cannot bear to be accounted foolish.
I must be patient. Yet it frets my heart,
Amongst my many cares, to be reviled
By shallow coxcombs whom I daily save,
Rescue, redeem, snatch from a rubbishy tomb
Amongst the ruins of their wits, pulled down
By their own hands upon their heads, God help them!
Well, I'll be patient. Fetch me the muster-roll.
[Exit Grimbald.
'Tis ill to bear, though.
Enter Sidroc and Wulfstan the Wise.
Ha! my friends! in this
At least has fortune favoured me. I feared
The tidings of our misadventurous Synod
Augured but ill for both of you. Well met!
Bonfires shall blaze for this. What! 'twas your heels,
I think, that brought you hither?

Sidroc.
For myself,
When I am frightened I can run with wings,
Fast as an ostrich; but preserve me, Heaven!
From flying with Philosophy in hand!

Athulf.
What! was our philosophic friend so slow?

Sidroc.
When I am flying for my life henceforth
Welcome be any ordinary load—
Anchises on my back, if so ye will;
But spare me, Athulf, if you love your friend,
From bringing Wisdom with me.

Wulfstan.
Well, my Lords,
I will not cumber you again. Farewell!
I will return—

Sidroc.
To Mount Olympus?

Wulfstan.
Yes.
To such a sanctuary as that was once.
So tranquil were the elements there, 'tis said
That letters by the finger of the priest
Writ in the ashes of the sacrifice
Remained throughout the seasons uneffaced.
And Oxford now has academic bowers
Sacred to many a Muse, where such as I
May write, though in a rough, tempestuous age,
What Time shall spare. Thither, my Lords, I'll go,
And there I'll chronicle your deeds. Farewell.

Athulf.
Farewell, good Wulfstan; and I speak the word
With reverence and love; for gifts like yours
Are all unworthy to be wasted here.
But take this with you,—wild and unreclaimed
As doubtless must appear to yours my wit,
Yet you have scattered in that wilderness
Some seeds that will not perish. Fare you well.

Wulfstan.
My Lord, your kindness which doth cause these drops
Will pardon them.

Athulf.
God keep you in His peace!
If good betide us, it will bring you joy;
If evil, you are not so chilled by age,
But that you'll mourn.

Wulfstan.
Long, long, my Lord, if long
I live to mourn,—which may not be! 'Tis true
The sharpness of our pangs is less in age,
As sounds are muffled by the falling snow;
But true no less, that what age faintly feels
It flings not off. I'll pray for your success.

[Exit.
Athulf.
The miracle of the time is that old man
And kind as wise—mine own eyes, too, are moist—
Yet he'll forget us ere the sun go down.

Sidroc.
Then I beseech you to forget him now
And tell me of your counsels and intents.

Athulf.
Thus do I stand: My letters from the north
Advise me that the Queen's impatient heart
Brooks not prolonged captivity, and burns
To jeopardize herself, and with herself,
Leolf and all his power, in rash attempts
At premature escape. Meanwhile the Dane
Lurks in the Irish Sea, till civil strife,
The needfullest resources draining last,
Disarms the seaboard, and as well may hap
Disables us within. My army here
Frets at the Pope's anathema, and some,
Whose ears are open-doored to phantoms, swear
When they would sleep o' nights they hear the voice
That was, they're pleased to say, ne'er born of man,
And scared the Synod.

Sidroc.
Save me, Heaven, from dupes;
Leave me to deal with Devils as I may.
My life upon it, 'twas a thing contrived—
The voice, I'll warrant, of some deep-mouthed monk
That skulked behind the cross.

Athulf.
This pause, besides,
Disheartens them, and lo! a laggard I,
That lingers on the road for lack of heart.
There is a fortitude in standing still
Which leaders know, but they that follow, never.
Daily I hear ten thousand tongues cry out
“Forward to London,” and I stir not. Still
I must not stand upon this strength too long,
And truth to say, the levies that come now
Are scarcely worth the waiting for. That ban
Dispersed them on their way. All which revolved
I meditate to make a sudden march,
And seize the Tower by night.

Sidroc.
I am with you there.
The more, that we have friends within the walls.
That wily wench who carried in your letters
Remains behind, and unsuspected still.

Athulf.
Moreover, she hath with her store of gold;
And some there be keep watch and ward whose thirst
Gapes wide for golden showers.

Sidroc.
So frail are they!
Now, would you know the thirst that masters me,
Bethink you of the dust of sixty miles
Swallowed since sunrise with no drop to drink.

Athulf.
Ah! God forgive me! To the buttery, come.

Scene II.

—London. An Apartment in the Tower.
Dunstan and Gurmo.
Dunstan.
Whence com'st thou? From the King? Is he awake?

Gurmo.
He is.

Dunstan.
How slept he? Soundly through the night?

Gurmo.
He did.

Dunstan.
Why how? Did not the dogs then bark?

Gurmo.
Yes; he slept still.

Dunstan.
The watches of the night
Are changed too seldom. Once an hour henceforth
Let them be changed, and ever as they change
Let drums and trumpets sound.

Gurmo.
Her Majesty
Has waited long. Likewise the Primate.

Dunstan.
Whew!
I had forgotten them. Conduct them hither.
[Exit Gurmo.
The fear, but not the fact, of death . . . if this,
This only should suffice,—why, then, my soul
Should find a free deliverance to the work,
And after hold its state more cheerfully.
If not, the darkness of the mortal deed
Shall yet be kindled by a light divine.
Enter the Queen Mother and Odo.
Content you, Madam. Let me hear no more.
You have another and a better son;
Though this should not deserve to reign nor live,—
As he is truly dead in his offence
Already, yea, and stinketh,—yet should that
Applausively succeed. I say no more;
But leave to me the working out God's will
Touching them both.

Queen Mother.
My Lord, your very self
Was witness of his hardihood and spite,
And how most filthily by word of mouth
He spat upon me, so to say, and railed
Foully with evil speaking from his heart,
Renouncing and disowning me for aye,
Likewise the ten commandments. Yet, my Lord,
He is my son—this womb did bring him forth—
You know not what it is to be a mother;
I do beseech you, spare him!

Dunstan.
To what end?
For God's behoof, or yours, or his, or whose?

Queen Mother.
Speak, my Lord Primate; bid him to spare my son.

Dunstan.
Who biddeth me?

Odo.
Lord Abbot, by mine office
I might be bold to speak by way of bidding;
Yet still remembering thine unrivalled merits
And services to God, I say but this:
The times are evil; accidents may come
Yielding occasion of exceeding malice
With havoc to the Church and injury
And backward sliding, if beyond the range
Of Christian prudence, through inordinate zeal,
We push our present promise of success.
For of one colour though the city be,
And neighbouring shires the same, still is the land,
Eastward and northward specially, a web
Diversely diapered; for here the weft
Is spun of light and dipped in dyes of heaven;
There, dyed in Styx and spun of Satan's slaver.
We may not think that Athulf, who is held
To number twenty thousand, will be scared
By caps of citizens tossed up i' the air;
Nor may we count upon the citizens' caps
For courses which may seem to some extreme.
Wherefore behoves us so to use success
As not to raise against us those, though erring,
Whose honest zeal stands stoutly for the crown,
Demanding strict succession.

Dunstan.
Be content.
Though neither law nor usage of the realm
Did ever yet demand what these demand,
Nor ever yet did honesty so err,
Still have I pondered all. The godless King
Shall abdicate; he shall not be removed.

Odo.
If reason should so work with him at length
That such should be his choice, 'twere excellent.

Dunstan.
Since he was crowned, experience, by my hand
Directed, hath admonished him to deem
The state of Kings unenviable. Now
He shall be tutored to perceive the joys
Of privateness, best fitted for his years.
I pray you meddle not. Nor, Madam, you.
And when we meet again some three days hence,
'Twill be in Edgar's reign, whom God preserve!

Scene III.

—A Precinct of the Tower.
Ethilda and Emma.
Ethilda.
They will not; for they say that I am watched,
And to find entrance to the King for me
Should bring a double danger; but for you
They would attempt it. At the hour of none
The Abbot will be with him, after which
You will have least to fear.

Emma.
Unless a ghost
Stand in the doorway, terror is there none
Can turn me backward.

Ethilda.
Is your father safe?

Emma.
Fled with Earl Sidroc. We shall meet ere-night.

Scene IV.

—A Chamber in the Tower.
Dunstan and Edwin.
Dunstan.
How does your Grace?

Edwin.
What need for you to ask?
Let me remind you of an antique verse:
What sent the messengers to hell
Was asking what they knew full well.
You know that I am ill and very weak.

Dunstan.
You do not answer with a weakened wit.
Is there offence in this my visitation?
If so, I leave you.

Edwin.
Yes, there is offence.
And yet I would not you should go. Offence
Is better than this blank of solitude.
I am so weary of no company,
That I could almost welcome to these walls
The Devil and his Angels. You may stay.

Dunstan.
What makes you weak? Do you not like your food,
Or have you not enough?

Edwin.
Enough is brought;
But he that brings it drops what seems to say
That it is mixed with poison—some slow drug;
So that I scarce dare eat and hunger always.

Dunstan.
Your food is poisoned by your own suspicions.
'Tis your own fault. Though Gurmo's zeal is great,
It is impossible he should so exceed
As to put poison in your food,—I think.
But thus it is with Kings; suspicions haunt
And dangers press around them all their days;
Ambition galls them, luxury corrupts,
And wars and treasons are their talk at table.

Edwin.
This homily you should read to prosperous Kings;
It is not needed for a King like me.

Dunstan.
Who shall read homilies to a prosperous King!
'Twas not long since that thou didst seem to prosper,
And then I warned thee; and with what event
Thou knowest; for thy heart was high in pride.
A hope that, like Salome, danced before thee
Did ask my head. But I reproach thee not.
Much rather would I, seeing thee abased,
Lift up thy mind to wisdom.

Edwin.
Heretofore
It was not in my thoughts to take thy head;
But should I reign again . . . Come, then, this wisdom
That thou wouldst teach me; harmless as the dove
I have been whilom; let me now, though late,
Learn from the serpent.

Dunstan.
To thy credulous ears
The world, or what is to a King the world,
The triflers of thy Court, have imaged me
As cruel and insensible to joy,
Austere and ignorant of all delights
That arts can minister. Far from the truth
They wander who say thus. I but denounce
Loves on a throne and pleasures out of place.
I am not old; not twenty years have fled
Since I was young as thou; and in my youth
I was not by those pleasures unapproached
Which youth converses with.

Edwin.
No! wast thou not?
How came they in thy sight?

Dunstan.
When Satan first
Attempted me, 'twas in a woman's shape;
Such shape as may have erst misled mankind
When Greece or Rome upreared with Pagan rites
Temples to Venus, pictured there or carved
With rounded, polished, and exuberant grace,
And mien whose dimpled changefulness betrayed
Through jocund hues the seriousness of passion.
I was attempted thus, and Satan sang
With female pipe and melodies that thrilled
The softened soul, of mild voluptuous ease
And tender sports that chased the kindling hours
In odorous gardens or on terraces
To music of the fountains and the birds,
Or else in skirting groves by sunshine smitten
Or warm winds kissed, whilst we from shine to shade
Roved unregarded. Yes, 'twas Satan sang,
Because 'twas sung to me, whom God had called
To other pastime and severer joys.
But were it not for this, God's strict behest
Enjoined upon me,—had I not been vowed
To holiest service rigorously required,
I should have owned it for an Angel's voice,
Nor ever could an earthly crown, or toys
And childishness of vain ambition, gauds
And tinsels of the world, have lured my heart
Into the tangle of those mortal cares
That gather round a throne. What call is thine
From God or man, what voice within bids thee
Such pleasures to forego, such cares confront?

Edwin.
What voice? My kingdom's voice—my people's cry,
Whom ye devour—the wail of shepherds true
Over their flocks, those godly, kindly priests
That love my people and love me withal—
Their voice requires me, and the voice of Kings
Who died with honour and who live in me,
The voice of Egbert, Ethelbert, and Alfred.
What wouldst thou more? the voice of Kings unborn
To whom my sceptre and my blood descends—
A thousand voices call me.

Dunstan.
Sir, not so;
The voicesof this people and those Kings
Call on Prince Edgar, not on thee, to reign.
There is a voice calls thee, but not to reign,
The voice of her thou fain wouldst take to wife;
An excommunicated wretch she is
Ev'n now, and if thy lust of kingly power
Outbid thine other lusts, and starken thee
In grasping of that shadow of a sceptre
That still is left thee, 'tis a dying voice.
For know—unless thou by an instant act
Renounce the crown, Elgiva shall not live.
The deed is ready, to which thy name affixed
Discharges from restraint both her and thee.
Say wilt thou sign?

Edwin.
I will not.

Dunstan.
Be advised.
What hast thou to surrender? I look round;
This chamber is thy palace, court, and realm.
I do not see the crown. Where is it hidden?
Is that thy throne? why, 'tis a base joint-stool;
Or this thy sceptre? 'tis an ashen stick
Notched with the days of thy captivity.
Such royalties to abdicate, methinks,
Should hardly hold thee long; nay, I myself,
That love not ladies greatly, would give these
To ransom whom I loved.

Edwin.
If all I have
Be nothing worth, why ask'st thou me to give it?
I trust thee not. I deem myself a King.
But let me go at large, and knowing then
How stands my realm, what's lost and what remains,
I'll answer thee.

Dunstan.
Now, now, I bid thee answer.
Anon I bring the parchment that redeems
Another and thyself, from durance both,
And one from worse. I bid thee be prepared.

[Exit.
Edwin.
Elgiva! for thy ransom, life were little,
A kingdom in itself of no account.
But oh! an abject and unkingly act
Done by a King, and, as his foes will say,
To save himself in his extremity,—
This is a purchase thou thyself wilt scorn,
Although thyself the rescued. Yet, oh! yet . . .
What step is this?

Enter Emma.
Emma.
My Lord, the Abbot comes,
And I am here at peril of my life . . .
This from Earl Leolf . . . it says the Queen is safe . . .
No more or I am lost . . . Earl Athulf . . . nay . . .

[Exit.
Edwin.
Farewell, then, loved Elgiva! I shall die,
As now I may, with honour from mankind,
And no one in thine ear shall dare to breathe
A defamation of my kingly name.
They shall not say but that I died a King,
And like a King in my regalities.

Re-enter Dunstan (holding a scroll).
Dunstan.
Thy signature to this.

Edwin.
I will not sign.

Dunstan.
Thou wilt not! Wilt thou that thy mistress die?

Edwin.
Insulting Abbot! she is not my mistress;
She is my wife, my Queen.

Dunstan.
Predestinate pair!
He knoweth who is the searcher of our hearts
That I was ever backward to take life
Albeit at His command. Still have I striven
To put aside that service, seeking still
All ways and shifts that wit of man could scheme
To spare the cutting off your wretched souls
In unrepented sin. But tendering here
Terms of redemption, it is thou, not I,
The sentence that deliverest.

Edwin.
Our lives
Are in God's hands.

Dunstan.
Sot, liar, miscreant, no!
God puts them into mine! and may my soul
In tortures howl away eternity
If ever again it yield to that false fear
That turned me from the shedding of thy blood!
Thy blood, rash traitor to thy God, thy blood!
Thou delicate Agag, I will spill thy blood!
Ho, Gurmo! . . . I have sinned like Saul . . . What, ho!
Gurmo, I say . . . The sword of Samuel . . . ho!
Enter Gurmo.
Thou knowest thine office. Let me see thee soon.

[Exit.
Gurmo
(falling on his knees).
Mercy, my Lord! Oh, say you grant me life.

Edwin.
Mercy for thee; what mercy canst thou show?
Yet thou art but another's senseless weapon,
And if thou needs must do thy bloody work,
Strike; I forgive thee.

Gurmo.
Gracious Lord, not I.

Edwin.
Then I may have some minutes more to live;
But if thou falter, soon will the Abbot find
A readier hand.

Gurmo.
He knows not what I know.

Edwin.
What dost thou know?

Gurmo.
Hark! hear you not, my Lord?
Trumpets and shouts! Anon they storm the Tower.

Edwin.
'Tis Athulf's cry! the guards are gone! 'Tis he!

Scene V.

—A Garden within the walls of Chester Castle.
Elgiva
(alone).
How pleasant it might seem to a bird of the air
Passing upon the wing, or aught that's free,
In this delightful garden to abide,
And be a captive ever. Make me free
And I myself should linger on this ground
Reluctant to depart. But as I am
The shadow of the imprisoned spirit falls
On everything around; the warbling thrush
Is tedious in the telling of his loves,
The perfume of the wallflower taints the air.
And yet in much of this adornment lurks
A lover's hand. They gave me to the ward
Of age and bitterness in Ruold's father,
Forgetting Ruold's father had a son.
I am his captive and he mine, poor youth!
For though they stripped me of my royalties,
In the prerogatives of beauty still
I found myself acknowledged. Ah! he comes.
He shall have audience. No, he's not alone.
I'll hide my head awhile. 'Tis Sigeric.

[Retires into an arbour.
Enter Ruold and Sigeric.
Sigeric.
The King thus rescued from that imminent fate,
The cry was now for Dunstan. Where was he?
For with his traitorous head should he atone
The meditation of that mortal blow
Which he had all but dealt. So where was he?
Gone! vanished! not a footstep to be found!
Whether by transformation magical,
Or subterranean egress, to which he,
And no one else, was privy,—how none knew,
But gone he was; and Sidroc in pursuit
Went babbling like a buckhound all abroad
That vainly seeks the slot. His creature, too,
Gruff Gurmo, disappeared.

Ruold.
Ere long, be sure,
He will be heard of.

Sigeric.
Should he gain the coast,
'Tis thought he'll cross to Flanders. Either way
The Primate, unto whom the King speaks fair,
Demurs not to his banishment, if so
The kingdom's wounds be healed; and with this word
He sends me to be present on his part
At Edgar's Witenagemót. When meets it?

Ruold.
'Tis summoned for the Vigil of St. Chad
At Malpas, whither is my father gone
Since yesterday. He went ensuing peace,
Constrained, though last to be constrained, to own
That peace is needful. Not a day but teems
With tidings of the Dane. He threatens now
The coasts of Somerset and Severn's mouth.
This, with the loss of Dunstan from our ranks,
And Odo's inclination, looks one way.

Sigeric.
I think it brings us peace.

Ruold.
Which seen, my friend,
Advise me, I beseech you. What results?
A peace is made, my father last to join
The general voice, and odious more than others
As the Queen's gaoler—how shall fare his head?

Sigeric.
He must be cared for in the composition;
An amnesty for all, and him by name,
Must stand upon the treaty.

Ruold.
Who shall trust it?
My friend, the terms that I would trust are terms
For service rendered.

Sigeric.
If I know your drift,
You would let loose the Queen.

Ruold.
And wherefore not?

Sigeric.
As servant of the Primate and the State,
I say God speed you in your bold intent.
In private, as your father's friend and yours,
I bid you to beware. If peace be made,
And you have still been constant to your charge,
It is but, at the worst, uncertainties
That hang about you. But if peace be missed,
And you have set at large this royal pledge,
The very aim and purport of the war,
It shall be then no question nor surmise
What shall befall you.

Ruold.
If no risk were run,
Where were the service that could claim reward?
Keep you my counsel for my father's sake,
And if at Malpas when you meet the Witan
You hear a rumour of the Queen escaped,
Call it a misadventure and mischance.

Sigeric.
Save what shall reach me when I'm gone from hence
I shall know nought. God send you well to fare!

[Exit.
Ruold.
I thank you, worthy Sigeric. Farewell.
Elgiva! Royal mistress! Beautiful Queen!
Would that the danger to my head were more,
Lest you should deem it but a politic cast,
And not a loyal venture.

Re-enter Elgiva.
Elgiva.
My good Ruold,
'Twas Sigeric went from you, was it not?
What tidings brought he?

Ruold.
Madam, he confirms
Our yesterday's intelligence. The King
Is rescued by Earl Athulf. Dunstan fled.
And this besides,—Ethilda is betrothed
With solemn ceremonial to the Earl,
Though yet the nuptials are not; for the Pope
To Dunstan only gave authority
The sentence which he uttered to revoke;
And whilst the Earl is excommunicate
The Princess to the marriage rite demurs.

Elgiva.
Her heart was ever scrupulous, and splits
Betwixt the Pope and Athulf. Notwithstanding,
Athulf will prosper. Ruold, faithful friend,
Now must I put thy loyalty to proof.
The letters from Earl Leolf that were brought
Are full of hope. At Audley is his force,
And with a light and deftly mounted troop
Ere midnight struck to Tilston could he come,
And me, there meeting him, could carry thence,
And pass the interspace of hostile ground
Ere break of day. No more of doubtful looks,
Dear faithful Ruold; I must brush away
These cobwebs from thy brow—Ah, now 'tis clear,
Free, frank, and bold!—Well, Ruold, what reply?

Ruold.
My Royal mistress, doubts if I have had,
They were not craven nor disloyal doubts;
They were but such as fear for you proposed,
Not for myself; and now my fears are less,
My faith the same; my answer is, then,—go,
Go at your gracious pleasure, if your flight
Be deemed more safe than your captivity.

Elgiva.
Oh! I am sick of safety in a prison.
Give me that dangerous liberty I seek,
And through the tossings of one turbulent night
Let me descry the harbour of my home,
With waving hands and welcomings of friends,
When 'mid the shoutings of the multitude
I shoot triumphant o'er the perilous bar
And pass at once to gladness and to peace.

Ruold.
Ev'n be it as you will. But stir not yet.
Wait till the Lords have drawn their forces in
And gathered to the Witenagemót.
Then shall you send to Leolf, and appoint
The period of your flight.

Elgiva.
'Twill not be long,
Good Ruold, will it? I will try to wait.