University of Virginia Library

1. PART THE FIRST.

THE COURTIERS.
The Palace of London.
Enter the Earls of Northumberland, Bulloign, and Cornwall; Frithegist, Morcar, and Sigiferth.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Brother of Bulloign, 'tis a day of sorrow
That frowns on your arrival.

BULLOIGN.
Thou speak'st truly,
Good brother Uthred: he has lost all spirit,
And seems, indeed, in great extremity.
How happen'd this? Such deep despondency
Is sanction'd by nought urgent?

NORTHUMBERLAND.
He has been ill
Of body, and much shaken in his mind
Since those sad, bloody vespers of Saint Brice.

BULLOIGN.
Ay, 'twas a sweeping massacre.

CORNWALL.
Methinks
The ghosts of all those pretty Danish babes
That, with their slaughter'd mothers, died that night,
Are ever present at his bed and board.
And yet the deed was needful.

BULLOIGN.
Say not so:
The act was hellish; mark the penalty.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
The act was needful, and I sanction'd it.
Eustace, there was a rank disease, that needed
To be let blood. Shake not your head: we are not
Nice reasoners here on points of precedent,
But cut our way through with our Saxon swords.

Enter Prince Edwy: after him Edmund.
BULLOIGN.
Edwy, how fares our father Ethelred?

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Good brother, speak.

[Edwy walks past, moodily, and in silence.
All salute Edmund.
EDMUND.
My lords, I give you thanks.
Yet, though you bow thus, like th' old Persian sages,
In worship of the rising sun, believe me,
I much rejoice to be the messenger
Of comfortable news to loyal hearts.
My brother, here, doubtless, hath told how far
His grace hath been revived.

EDWY.
Nay, sir, not I:
Enough for me the king is like to live:
Such news will be its own good trumpeter.

NORTHUMBERLAND
(aside).
Well art thou named, proud Edwy, King of Churls!

EDMUND.
Dear brother of Northumberland, the king,
In this extremity of ill-timed sickness,
Yields for a space his sceptre to my hands;
(Weak though they be in youth, and lacking that
Which yet your sage experience shall supply);
And, furthermore, to make assurance firm,
Hath join'd Lord Edric, Duke of Mercia,
In the commission. So shall our fiery haste
Be, by his politic caution, tempered.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Oh, sorrowful conclusion to our hopes!
So ends a dream of promise.

SIGIFERTH.
Hath the king
Named Edric as joint regent with your grace?
Why then 'tis time for honest men to fly;
At least, good Morcar, we, though loyal, yet
Most hateful, being Danes.

EDMUND.
Nay, Sigiferth,
Your speech is more in haste than reason. Oh!
You have a fair wife; fame speaks kindly of her.
You seek excuse for leisure, she being absent;—
A daughter too?

SIGIFERTH.
My liege, I have a wife
That is indeed a miracle; but not
As being beautiful, though she is beautiful;
Nor yet as wise, though she is full of wisdom;
But for strong virtue and a pious heart.
How can we live, sir, 'neath the savage hand,
Red with the gore of our slain countrymen?
Edric being king, then tremble Danes!

EDMUND.
By heaven!
You give your tongue, my lord, a dangerous licence.
A fell deed hath been done, (how I abhor
The act ye know) and idle imputations
Have touch'd this Duke of Mercia. Sir, his name
Must not be shot at with these random shafts.
He is my sister's husband, and most closely
Wrapp'd in the mantle of my father's favour.
Speak then advisedly.

BULLOIGN.
Brave brother Edmund—
Or, pardon me, my Prince!—as your new station—

EDMUND.
Nay, Eustace, call me brother still. Affection
Regards not unsubstantial things, as titles.
All hearts that love are equal.

BULLOIGN.
Well, my brother—
My noble-minded brother (I will call you so),
Trust not your generous heart too far. Duke Edric,
Though of our kindred, is not—I must say it—
The favourite of good fame. I am distrustful.

EDMUND.
'Tis hard to judge men's hearts; nor should we judge
Too harshly. As for me, I'm somewhat young
T' have studied men's minds deeply. I look round
Upon the superficial face of things,
And, like the swallow, skim the smoothest wave;
Or, moth-like, perch upon the brightest flower.
'Till now I deem'd all life was as a spring,
And turn'd my cheek to sunshine, like a plant.
I saw all nature beautiful, and deem'd
All creatures good. Now must I prune my spirit,
And bend my mind down to the tasks of age.
I must discard those graceful witcheries
That take the buoyant phantasy of youth,
Moulding its airy speculation to
Shapes almost palpable. Away with them!
The dark days of reality are come.
Welcome the storms of life! Welcome the strife
That flashes round the stations of the great,
Like lightnings o'er the mountain-tops! Why, ay,—
I was not made to lie for ever on
The lap of joy. I'll strain my eaglet-wing
Against these tempests, and with dauntless eye
Look up unto this sun of Denmark. But,
My lords, I cry you mercy for this sally:
Somewhat too harshly, I do think, opinion
Deals with the Duke of Mercia.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Know you not Edric?
Alas, sir, you will know him soon,—too soon!
Even thus he wound his thrall round Ethelred,
Who felt not 'twas a yoke firmer than steel.
I have seen him, in the midst of all our nobles,
A well-proved traitor; yet was he seated so,
Even in the heart's core of his cheated sovereign,
That, with some specious fawning, a fair show
Of zealous protestation, upturn'd eyes,
Hand on the heart, and bold appeals to Heaven,
He so rubb'd off the stain, that it but won him
The greater trust. None could withstand him,—none.
Nor is't so strange; for we must all admit him
A man of a most admirable presence,
Subtle of wit, and eloquent of speech,
Of station high, most noble in alliance,
Second to none for riches; and, with all,
Unbending in his selfishness; cool, crafty,
Scorner of truth, heartless, inexorable;—
In fine, a man without a conscience.

CORNWALL.
Truly,
Lord Uthred, you have laid your colours on
With an unsparing hand; and, I make bold
To say, a coarse one, and not just to nature.
I'm honour'd in his confidence, and assert
The king has not a liege-man truer of faith,
Juster of thought, more resolute in action,
Than him you trample down in absence thus.

[During these speeches Edric has entered unobserved.
EDRIC
(stepping forward).
My generous lord of Cornwall, many thanks
For your protection of an absent friend.
My lords! I knew not that I stood on trial.
Where are my jury?—who the judge? Prince Edmund!
You here? Oh, then, I'm sure of justice! Pray you,
Earl of Northumberland, proceed: you play
Th' accuser well: proceed. Few words I caught;
But they were eloquent, and took my fancy.
I thank you for this pleasantry; go on.
I feel a real debt that you should notice
My poor obscurity,—thus dragging forth
My blushing weakness to this brilliant circle.
Nay, sir, you seem abash'd,—confused,—believe it,
I ever lie uneasy under debt.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Edric of Mercia, there are certain debts
You do make point of cancelling. Abash'd?
By thee?—Sir, I conceive your irony:
Ay, sir, and brave it!

EDMUND.
Brothers, no more of this.
Edric, you have been to blame. What thus by stealth
You have heard, conceive unsaid: I will it so.
Dishonourable ways can never lead
To honourable issues. Uthred, I charge you
Follow this up no further.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
I, my lord,
Am cased in stoutest armour, a free conscience.
I neither fear, nor am vindictive.

EDMUND.
Edric,
You answer not.

EDRIC.
Why, my young brother, thou art
O' th' sudden grown most peremptory: nay,
You now but jest with me, your simple colleague,
Raised by a breath, and whom a breath can level.
There was an open censure in your words,
There was a hidden sarcasm in your eye,
Which suit not our joint station: yet, I pass it
Off with a smile, you see: 'twas but a banter—
The world, at least, should think so, and reflection
Will make that thought your own. I bow to you,
As a good liegeman to his future lord;
But 'tis in private. Here we are as one,
Coequal in authority; my age
Poising your youth—my hairs, with anxious thought
Grey in their prime, giving a sober face
To the hot promise of your unshorn cheek:
So shall the purblind people be content.
Yours be the place of honour, mine of toil;
Enough for Edric if young Edmund deem
His labours worth their best reward, his love.

EDMUND.
Edric, you speak unto an open heart
With openness and honest seeming. Take
My hand—and, Uthred, yours too. Now, my lords,
Be brothers once again.

EDRIC.
I tender mine,
In full forgiving amity. There is not
One whom I treasure up more faithfully
In my close heart.

EDMUND.
No more. Lord Sigiferth,
What say you of King Sweyn—comes he not hither
Breathing defiance lion like?

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Why, so
He has done before, then meanly crept away,
Ashamed of his false spring.

SIGIFERTH.
A deadly rancour
Now fills him. On his way he met his daughter,
The wrong'd Gunilda, in her flight; who told
In some short words her piteous tale, then died.
On her cold body they have pledged an oath
Of vengeance.

EDRIC.
And these ravens will have prey;
So ends your logic, lord—spoke like a Dane.
And now to council: but, remember all,
Wisdom is secret.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Well—to council. Yet
Our argument, methinks, lies in its scabbard;
And thus I would advance it!

[Half drawing his sword.
EDRIC.
In that hand
It is indeed most cogent. But, methinks,
A calculating head may here outweigh
The vigour of an arm. I say—to council!

[Exeunt.
The Apartment of Edric.
Edric alone.
EDRIC.
Oh fool! that knowing not thyself, know'st nought!
What am I, that an idiot's jeer should shake
The equipoise that marks the master mind?
I that have pass'd o'er faction's wildest sea
As a proud galley, tossing from my stem
The darkest tempest surge, as easily
As Pleasure's banner'd bark, from her smooth side,
Scatters the light foam of a summer wave;
Shall I, I swerve from my true course, to shun
This hollow frothy bubble of the North?
Shame! is't not ever thus the chafing eddies
Boil, fret, and bubble, in the wake of Greatness?
I am not wont to meet those crosses:—ay
Unwelcome monitors! ye speak to me
Of fleeting power, decaying fame, lost influence,
And all those nameless horrors that assail
A favourite in his fall: and therefore quails
My spirit 'neath Opinion's steadfast eye.
King Ethelred! ere many days are pass'd,
Death will release thee from my nets; so be it:
Cannot another web, as finely spun,
Suffice to snare another royal moth?
And so—ha! ha! by heaven, I hate myself
For nursing the base thought—once more must I
Resume the flatterer's trade, and to the son
Kneel, fawn, lie, pander, worship, and betray
As erst, with toil mechanical, I truckled,
And won, and ruled the father?—Cornwall!—'tis well—
Now will I try thy mettle.

Enter Cornwall.
CORNWALL.
My lord, I trust the presence of a friend
May not be held intrusion.

EDRIC
(after a pause).
Gentle Cornwall,
Excuse these wandering thoughts. Sorrow hath thrown
A cloud across as firm a brow ere now.

CORNWALL.
Now, may they perish—

EDRIC.
Nay, my grief is not
That lying lips have licence in a court;
Or, that a fool, in presence of his peers,
Unchid, may spit his venom on the wise;
And yet, it is because such things may be,
When hearts and hands united most are needed,
I mourn for my devoted country. Ay,
The foe is now on horse that must be met—

CORNWALL.
By babbling greybeards, and a schoolboy king!

EDRIC
(keenly regarding him).
Lord Ethelmar! what say you?—can a man
Who by his foe is stricken on the cheek,
Present the other to the blow—and smile—
And squeeze the hand that wrought the shame on him?

CORNWALL.
Your father Abbot will cry ay,—and cite you
Texts writ by hands that never held a sword.

EDRIC.
Shall a man dwell in fellowship with men
(Cornwall is none of such) who, when a friend
Is baited by a cur, lend him no aid,
But preach—'tis philosophic to endure?
Shall subjects owe allegiance, nor receive
Protection?

CORNWALL.
If, my lord, I might, unchidden,
Unfold the secret map of troubled thought,
And body forth the pictures of the heart
To the true friend that can aright peruse them,
Then would I surmise (but with deference,
Such as good men feel touching sacred things)
What med'cine best might reach those public ills,
And heal our private wrongs.

EDRIC.
You hesitate;
Speak—and speak fearlessly.

CORNWALL.
I pause, my lord,
Not doubting mine own honesty, not doubting
Th' expediency of that which my true heart,
Faithful in its allegiance to its friend,
(The best allegiance nature owns) makes manifest;
But jealous, lest I touch not in your bosom
An answering chord. I pause—

EDRIC.
Speak, fearlessly.

CORNWALL
(kneeling).
The evils which have wrung Duke Edric's heart
King Edric may redeem.

EDRIC.
My lord!—how say you?
The skill is hazardous that probes men's minds.
Beware!—if you judge wrong, you do a wrong
That cautious wisdom should avenge; but if
Rightly you surmise—he that shuts such dreams,
As you now give a body to, within
The deep and gloomy shadows of the mind,
May not be thankful that rash hands should drag
The pallid monsters from their den.

CORNWALL.
Forgive
This rash—

EDRIC
(hastily).
Dear Ethelmar! the human soul
Is a more sensitive and plastic thing,
Apt to temptation, ductile in desire,
Than the monks picture when they people hell.
Art thou their fiend? thus, with a breath, to give
A palpable shape to that which else had slept
The dim abortion of the imperfect mind.
Ye wild suggestions! desperate hopes!—Say, where,
Where is that fatal fire within mine eye—
Where is that black corruption on my skin—
Where that o'erboiling of the feverish heart,
Rushing in venom to the parched lip,
That thus presumptuously thou tempt'st me, tearing
Phantom Ambition from his cloudy home,
To clothe him in my mortal garb?—Oh, sir,
How easy 'tis to wake this spectre—how
Impossible to lay the fiend to rest!
Ay, he will live, live as fiends live, on blood!
Nor hecatombs may sate his wolfish maw!

CORNWALL.
My lord!—my liege!—

EDRIC.
Ay, so it is—proceed—
Woo coy desire, with soft, seductive words;
Pamper imagination—and so steal
Warm on the fainting heart, and then—nay, speak not;
I will not add—betray. Cornwall, I'll trust thee:
Yet rashly hast thou ravish'd confidence.
On thy head be the sin.

CORNWALL.
On my head rest it!
And, as I prove myself thy bane or weal,
Welcome the weight, whether it come allied
With the keen axe, or sparkling coronet!

EDRIC.
Thy hand, Duke Ethelmar!—thy hand. It is,
Indeed, an easy thing to dream of crowns,
And fancy vision'd sceptres in the grasp—
But how to compass them?—

CORNWALL.
It may be done.

EDRIC.
By many roads men may accomplish greatness:
Some have stol'n bashful to the tardy throne;
Some, with a nobler grasp, rent the bright bauble
From the smooth brow of silken royalty,
Scorning to crush a form so impotent;
Some, with glaived hand, have, in the front of battle,
Shook their proud banner, dared the world in arms,
And ruled with iron what they won with steel;
Some have, with noiseless step, and vizar'd features,
Cloak'd in th' accomplice gloom of ruffian night,
Crept to the couch of sleeping power, and sped
Th' unwary dreamer to the dreamless grave;
Some—no, no,—none of these—I am not yet
So steep'd in the intoxicating cup,
That I must quaff, howe'er the draught be spiced.
Cornwall—why speak you not?

CORNWALL.
I wait, my lord,
To learn, not prompt, your will.

EDRIC.
Indeed?

CORNWALL.
Nay, more—
Whate'er it be, to forward as I may.

EDRIC.
'Tis well.

CORNWALL.
You are wedded to the royal blood—

EDRIC.
Proceed.

CORNWALL.
The people know your rule.

EDRIC.
They ought:
It has been felt.

CORNWALL.
The king is dying.

EDRIC.
But
Bequeathing to the realm two prosperous youths,
Heirs to his kingdom, and our love.

CORNWALL.
It may be
The people shall respect his legacy
In such sort as they note his living will;
And deem Duke Edric, or Queen Emma—

EDRIC.
Wherefore
Link you our names?

CORNWALL.
My lord, if once again
I touch a string that vibrates, pardon me.
But many minds have mated you ere now:
Nay, there have been lips that have whisper'd treason
(When you are named together) 'gainst the zeal
Wherewith her grace hath watch'd the nuptial lamp.—

EDRIC.
Forbear, my lord of Cornwall! If, as you say,
And truly, that I love, such ribald trifling
With a loved name suits not the past; still less
Chimes with the future.

CORNWALL.
I offend no more.
I would have said, my lord, and now will say,
There are, among our nobles, men who recognize
Queen Emma's beauty and Duke Edric's wisdom,
And may be wrought upon to wish them mated.
The public weal's at stake: a foreign foe,
The Danish raven, that from far had smelt
That carnage of Saint Brice—(Start not, my lord,
The retrospect is needful) the base carrion
Hath lured this bird of prey unto our vitals,
Where he would gorge, as his forefathers have.
Look at the state! 'tis, as the king who rules it,
Upon the brink of a sure grave: in idiot
Apathy wrapp'd up, or childish terror,
As each event succeeds: afraid to trust,
Yet impotent to act: without a leader,
(For shall a beardless boy degrade the title?)
Unless (albeit with gentle violence)
The hand, so long our secret guide, shall boldly
Assume the vacant helm; and rule of right
That which is his by merit.

EDRIC.
Flatterer!—
Yet is the scene thou sketchest a true picture;
A fore-ground rough, beneath a turbid sky,
Opening in glory to a golden distance—
Yet, oh, how far remote!

CORNWALL.
Not to the bold.
Plume thy stout shoulders, even with dæmons wings,
And thou shalt clear the barrier. Let us reflect.
The younger of the royal spawn, that churl,
As in their infinite contempt men style
Prince Edwy, may, like any worthless weed,
Be flung to any dunghill; but his brother,
Edmund, hath qualities that royally
Endow a stripling form. Ay, though as wild
A gallant as e'er rifled female lips;
Ardent as colt that never felt the bit;
Tameless as greyhound first from collar slipp'd;
Fierce as a falcon cast upon the wind;
He has, withal, th' exterior attributes
That mark high birth, high spirit, and great deeds.
The brow whereon throned Wisdom sits; the eyes
From whose twin orbs the glorious brethren glance,
Valour and Mercy; the sweet mouth whose smile
Wins, like the spirit of love, by unseen paths,
Upon the inmost heart.—

EDRIC.
'Sdeath! what's to me
His beauties, or his virtues, or his vices?
Why talk you thus?

CORNWALL.
To stamp one grinding truth
Into your soul: to bear it down upon you,
With all th' emphatic force, weight, pain,—that fear,
Relentless hate, and jealousy may heap,
Like coals of fire, upon your aching brain:—
For one inevitable evil clogs
Your path, that must—

EDRIC.
Good oracle, I will
Anticipate your fiat—must be removed.
But how, good time and Cornwall may suggest.

CORNWALL.
Trust me.

EDRIC.
I will. And now we separate.
Our conference may breed suspicion. Haply
Men's eyes are on us: be discreet—I feel,
Thus on the eve of greatness, more disturb'd
Than in my worst obscurity. Farewell—
Each to his labour; thou to sound the depths
Of popular opinion; I to weigh
Men's character and opportunity.

[Exit Cornwall.
EDRIC.
Cornwall! thou art mine own; bound by such links
As shall compel thee to my will; whilst I
Am free. 'Tis ever thus the master-genius
Subdues the meaner slaves of crime, and works
His hidden course with mole-like instruments.
Now Cornwall plumes his airy nothingness,
And makes the trusty wind his confidant,
How he has worm'd stern Edric's heart, and 'stablish'd
Himself i' the post of most obsequious jackal
To the roused lion. Let him think so. Men
Who try these dangerous ventures, do well to give
The lead in guilt to such free myrmidons:
So are they shielded from the worst, should worst
Befal: or, should a prosperous cast be thrown,
May sweep the stakes up with a smiling face,
Tossing to menial guilt the common fee.
Men too are zealous, deeming that they play
A swelling part, and bustle through the scene,
Giving in energy what lacks in grace.
Cornwall! take then thy station at mine ear,
And deem thyself a dæmon's minister:
A name shall not affright me from my purpose.

[Exit.