A Series of Plays in which it is attempted to delineate The Stronger Passions of the Mind, Volume Two/Ethwald - Part Second Act 3
ACT III.
SCENE I. A gloomy vaulted apartment in an old castle, with no windows to it, and a feeble light burning in one corner. Enter Edward from a dark recess near the bottom of the stage, with slow pensive steps, frequently stopping as he advances, and remaining for some time in a thoughtful posture.
Ed. Doth the bright sun from the high arch of heaven,
In all his beauteous robes of flecker'd clouds,
And ruddy vapours, and deep glowing flames,
And softly varied shades, look gloriously?
Do the green woods dance to the wind? the lakes
Cast up their sparkling waters to the light?
Do the sweet hamlets in their bushy dells
Send winding up to heaven their curling smoke
On the soft morning air?
Do the flocks bleat, and the wild creatures bound
In antic happiness? and mazy birds
Wing the mid air in lightly skimming bands?
Ay, all this is; men do behold all this;
The poorest man. Even in this lonely vault,
My dark and narrow world, oft do I hear
The crowing of the cock so near my walls,
And sadly think how small a space divides me
From all this fair creation.
From the wide spreading bounds of beauteous nature
I am alone shut out; I am forgotten.
Peace, peace! he who regards the poorest worm
Still cares for me, albeit he shends me sorely,
This hath its end. Perhaps, small as these walls,
A bound unseen divides my dreary state
From a more beauteous world; that world of souls,
Fear'd and desir'd by all; a veil unseen
I'll lay me down; perchance kind sleep will come,
And open to my view an inward world
Of gairish fantasies, from which nor walls,
Nor bars, nor tyrant's power can shut me out.
(he wraps himself in a cloak and lies down.
Enter a Ruffian, stealing up softly to him as supposing him asleep. Edward, hearing him, uncovers his face, and then starts up immediately.)
Ed. What art thou?
Or man or sprite? Thou lookest wond'rous stern,
What dost thou want? Com'st thou to murder me?
Ruff. Yes, I am come to do mine office on thee:
Thy life is wretched and my stroke is sure.
Ed. Thou sayest true; yet, wretched as it is,
It is my life, and I will grapple for it.
Ruff. Full vainly wilt thou strive, for thinkest thou
We enter walls like these, with changeling hearts
To leave our work undone?
Ed. We, sayest thou?
There are more of you then?
Ruff. Ay, ay, there are enow to make it sure;
But, if thou wilt be quiet, I'll do't myself.
Mine arm is strong; I'll give no second stroke;
And all escape is hopeless.
Ed. What, thinkest thou I'll calmly stretch my neck
Until thou butch'rest me?
No, by good heaven! I'll grapple with thee still,
Ruff. Well, since thou'lt have it so, thou soon shalt see
If that my mates be lovelier than myself.(Exit.
Ed. O that I still in some dark cell could rest
Out from the walls, ye flints, and fill my grasp!
Nought! nought! Is there not yet within this nook
Some bar or harden'd brand that I may clutch?
(Exit hastily into the dark recess, and is followed immediately by two Ruffians, who enter by the opposite side and cross the stage after him.)
SCENE II. An apartment adjoining to the former, with a door leading to it at the bottom of the stage. Enter Alwy with a stern anxious face, and listens at the door; then enter, by the opposite side, Ethwald with a very haggard countenance.
Ethw. Dost thou hear aught?
Alwy. No, nothing.
Ethw. But thou dost!
Is it not done?
Alwy. I hope it is, my Lord,
Ethw. Thou doubtest then.—It is long past the hour
That should have lapp'd it. Hark! I hear a noise.
(a noise heard within of people struggling.)
Alwy. They're dealing with him now. They struggle hard.
(after a pause.)
Is it not done yet? Dost thou hear them still?
Alwy. I hear them still; they struggle harder now.
(The noise within heard more distinctly.)
Ethw. By hell's dark host thy fiends are weak of arm,
And cannot do their task! He will break forth
With all the bloody work half done upon him!
(running furiously to the door, and then shuddering and turning away from it.)
No, no, I cannot go! do thou go in,
And give thy strength. Let him be still'd i'the instant!
(a noise heard within of one falling.)
Alwy. There's no need now. Did you not hear him fall?
(A groan heard within.) And that groan too? List, list! The deed is done.
(They both retire from the door, and Ethw. leaning his back against the wall, looks stedfastly towards it, in silent expectation, whilst it is seen to open slowly a little way, then shut, then open again, without any one appearing.)
Ethw. What may this mean? This pause is horrible:
Will they or enter quickly or forbear!
(Enter First Ruffian with his hands and clothes bloody, and all his hair and dress in disorder, like one who has been struggling hard. Enter soon after him Sec. Ruffian in a similar plight.)
Alwy. (eagerly.) Ye've done it? is he dead?
First Ruf. He is still'd now, but with such horrid strength
He grappled with us! we have had fell work.
Alwy. Then let us see the body.
First Ruf. Yes, enter if it please ye.
Alwy. Be pleas'd, my Lord—(to Ethw.)
Ethw. Pray thee be satisfied! I cannot go.
Alwy. (to the Ruffians.) Bring ye the body hither. (Exeunt Ruffians.
(A silent pause. Re-enter Ruffians bearing the body and laying it down before Ethw.)
It is his very face, tho' somewhat changed
With long confinement in these sickly damps,
And the convulsive throes of violent death.
Changed indeed! Much he must needs have suffer'd
In his lone prison-house. Thou bruised flower!
And hast thou struggled all so bravely too
For thy most wretched life? Base bloody work!
Remove it from my sight. (turning hastily from it.)
Alwy. What farther orders would you give these men?
Ethw. Away! speak to me not! thou'st made me curs'd!
Would all the realm of Mercia I had lost
Ere it had come to this!
Once in the battle's heat I saved his life,
Alwy. Nay good, my Lord! be not so keenly moved.
Where shall we lay the body?
Ethw. Thou and those fiends do with it as thou wilt:
It is a damned work!(Exit hastily.
Alwy. (to First Ruf.) Come thou with me. (to Sec. Ruf.)
We will return anon;
Meanwhile remain thou here and watch the corpse.
(Exeunt Alwy and First Ruffian.
Sec, Ruf. (alone) Watch it! I would not watch it here alone
SCENE III. A Saxon hall in the former castle. Enter Elb. and Dwina, talking earnestly as they enter.
Elb. But didst thou truly question ev'ry groom,
And the stern keeper of that postern gate?
Dwi. I have, but no one knew that he is absent.
It was dark night when the king went, and Alwy
Alone was with him. This is all I know.
Elb. Thus secretly, at night!—Ethelbert's castle
Is not far distant.—That distracted maid—
If this be so, by the true royal blood
Dwi. Alas, you need not fear! far distant stand
The towers of Ethelbert; and that poor maid
Has found at last her rest with the quiet dead.
Elb. And is't not well? Why dost thou shake thy head,
As tho' thou told'st sad news?— Yet what avails it?
I, ne'ertheless, must be a humble mate,
With scarcely e'en the semblance of a queen,
And bow my head whilst Mollo's son doth say,
"Be silent, wife."—Shall I endure all this?
O Edward! gentle Ethling! thou who once
Didst bear the title of my future lord!
Would'st thou have used me thus! I'll not endure it.
Dwi. Yet be more patient!
Elb. Be patient, say'st thou! go to, for I hate thee
When thou so calmly talk'st. Tho' seemingly,
I oft before his keen commanding eye
Submissive am, think'st thou I am subdued?
No, by my royal race, I'll not endure it!
I will unto the bishop with my wrongs!
Rever'd and holy men shall do me right.
And here he comes unsent for: this my hope
Calls a good omen.
Enter Hexulf.
I crave your blessing.
Hex, Thou hast it, royal daughter. Art thou well?
Thou seem'st disorder'd.
Elb. Yes, rev'rend father, I am sorely gall'd
Beneath a heavy and ignoble yoke;
My crowned head is in subjection bow'd,
Like meanest household dame; and thinkest thou
That it becomes the daughter of a king,
The chief descendant of your royal race
To bear all this, and say that she is well?
Hex. My daughter, your great Lord, indeed, is form'd
Of soul more stern than was the gentle Edward,
On whom your maiden fancy first was taught
To dwell with sanguine hope
Elb. O holy Hexulf! thou hast nam'd a name
Which to my conscience gives such secret pangs!
Oh! I have done such wrong to that sweet youth,
The thoughts of it makes my heart bleed, I would—
Yea there is nothing that I would not do
In reparation of the wrong I've done him.
Speak, my good father, if thou aught canst say!
Edward, 'tis said, has many powerful friends
In secret still devoted to his cause,
And not far distant stands his dreary tower.
O speak to me! Thou turn'st away thy head
Disturb'd and frowningly: hast thou no counsel,
For a soul-smitten and distracted woman?
(laying her clasped hands earnestly on his shoulder as he turn's from her much displeased.)
Hex. Daughter, forbear! you are, indeed, distracted.
Ethwald, by right of holy bands your lord,
Is in his seat too firmly fix'd; and Edward
Is only by some restless Thanes desired,
Under the influence of that dark wizard,
That heretic, who still ensnares the young.
Be wise then, I beseech you, and, in peace,
Live in the meek subjection of a wife.
Elb. (stepping back from him with haughty contempt.)
And so, meek holy man, this is your counsel,
Breath'd from the gentle spirit of your state.
I've seen the chaffings of your saintly ire,
Restrain'd with less concern for sober duty,
When aught pertaining to your priestly rights
Was therein touch'd.
Dwi. Hush! Ethelbert approaches with his friends.
They come, methinks, at an unwonted hour.
Hex. That artful heretic regards not times.
His spells still shew him what hour best will suit
His wicked purposes.
Dwi. Heaven save us all! methinks at his approach
The air grows chill around us, and a hue
Of strange unnat'ral paleness spreads o'er all.
Elb. (to Dwi.) Peace, fool! thy fancy still o'ertops thy wit.
Enter Selred, Ethelbert, and Hereulf.
Eth. In your high presence, gracious dame, we are
Thus early visitors, upon our way
To crave admittance to the royal chamber.
Is the king stirring yet? Forgive my boldness.
Elb. Good Ethelbert, thou dost me no offence.
And you, lord Selred, and brave Hereulf, too;
I bid good morrow to you all. The king
Is not within his chamber: unattended
Of all but Alwy, at the close of night
He did go forth, and is not yet return'd.
Sel. This much amazes me: the moon was dark.
And cold and rudely blew the northern blast.
Dwi. (listening.) Hark! footsteps sound along the secret passage:
Look to yon door, for something moves the bolt.
The king alone that secret entry treads.
(Enter Ethwald from a small secret door, followed by Alwy, and starts back upon seeing Ethelbert, &c.)
Ethw. (recovering from his confusion.)
A good and early morrow to you all;
I little thought—You are astir by times.
Eth. The same to you, my Lord, with loving duty.
Sel. And you, too, royal brother, you are moving
At an unwonted hour. But you are pale;
A ghastly hollow look is in your eyes;
What sudden stratagem of nightly war
Has call'd you forth at such untimely season?
The night was dark and cold, the north wind blew,
And, if that I can read that alter'd brow,
You come not back unscath'd.
Ethw. (confused.) No, I am well.—The blast has beat against me,
And tossing boughs my tangled path-way cross'd—
In sooth I've held contention with the night.
Sel. Yea, in good sooth, thou lookest, too, like one
Who has contention held with damned sprites.
Hast thou not cross'd that glen where, as 'tis said.
The restless ghost of a dead murd'rer stalks?
Thou shudd'rest and art pale: O thou hast seen it!
Thou hast, indeed, the haggard face of one
Who has seen fearful things.
Ethw. Thou'rt wild and fanciful: I have seen nothing:
I am forspent and faint: rest will restore me.
Much good be to you all!(going.
Eth. (preventing him.) Nay, on your royal patience, gracious king,
We must a moment's trespass make, to plead
For one, upon whose brave but gentle soul
The night of thraldom hangs
Ethw. (shrinking back.)
I know—I know thy meaning—speak it not.
It cannot be—There was a time—'tis past.
Sel. O say not so! the time for blessed mercy
Is ever present. For the gentle Edward
We'll pledge our lives, and give such hostages
As shall secure your peace.
Eth. Turn not away !
We plead for one whose meek and gen'rous soul
Most unaspiring is, and full of ruth;
For one who loved you, Ethwald; one by nature
Form'd for the placid love of all his kind;
One who did ever in your growing fame
Take most unenvious joy. Such is our thrall.
Yea, and the boon that we do crave for him
Is but the free use of his cramped limbs,
And leave to breathe, beneath the cope of heaven,
The wholesome air; to see the cheering sun:
To be again reckon'd with living men.
(kneeling and clasping his knees.)
Ethw. Let go, dark Thane! thou rack'st me with thy words!
They are vain sounds—the wind has wail'd as thou dost,
And pled as sadly too. But that must be
Which needs must be. Reckon'd with living men!
Would that indeed—O would that this could be!
The term of all is fix'd.—Good night to you—
I—I should say good morning, but this light
Glares strangely on mine eyes. (breaking from Eth.)
Sel. (following him.) My dearest brother! by a brother's love!
Ethw. (putting him away with great agitation.)
My heart no kindred holds with human thing.
(Exit quickly in great perturbation, followed by Alwy.)
Sel. and Hereulf (looking expressively at each other, and then at Ethelbert.)
Good Ethelbert, what ails thee?
Her. Thy fix'd look has a dreadful meaning in it.
Eth. Let us begone.
Sel. No, do not yield it so. I still will plead
The gentle Edward's cause: his frowns I fear not.
Eth. Come, come! there is no cause;
Edward is free.
Sel. How so? thou speak'st it with a woeful voice.
Eth. Is not the disembodied spirit free?
Sel. Ha! think'st thou that? No, no! it cannot be!
Her. (stamping on the ground and grasping his sword.)
I'll glut my sword with the foul murderer's blood!
If such foul deed hath been!
Eth. Hush, hush! intemp'rate boy! Let us be gone.
(Exeunt Eth. Sel. and Her.
El. (to Dwi.) Heard'st thou how they conceive it?
Dwi. Ay, mercy! and it is a fearful thought:
It glanced e'en o'er my mind before they spoke.
El. Thou'rt silent, rev'rend father, are thy thoughts
Of such dark hue? (with solemn earnestness to Hex.)
Hex. Heaven's will be done in all things! erring man
Bows silently. Good health attend your greatness.
El. Nay, go not yet, good Hexulf! in my closet
I much desire some converse with thee. Thou
Belike, hast misconceiv'd what I have utter'd
In unadvised passion, thinking it bore
Some serious meaning 'gainst my lord the king.
Hex. No, gracious daughter, I indeed receiv'd it
As words of passion. You are mov'd, I see;
But let not this dismay you. If the king
Has done the deed suspicion fastens on him,
We o'er his mind shall hold the surer sway.
A restless penitent will docile prove
To priestly counsel: this will be our gain.
But in your closet we'll discourse of this.
Heaven's will be done in ail things!(Exeunt.
SCENE IV. The kings chamber. Enter Ethwald with a thoughtful miserable look, and stands silently muttering to himself, when Alwy enters in haste, followed by an Officer.
Alwy. Pardon, my Lord! we bring you pressing tidings.
Ethw. (angrily.) Shall I ne'er rest in peace in mine own chamber?
Ha! would that peace were there! You bring me tidings?
And from what quarter come they?
Alwy. From Utherbald, who holds your western fortress.
Ethw. He doth not yield, I hope, unto the foe?
It is, my strongest hold, and may defy
The strength of Wessex and of Briton join'd.
Of. True, king, but famine all things will subdue.
Ethw. He has surrender'd then—by heaven and hell.
I'll have his head for this!
Alwy. No, royal Ethwald!
It is not yet so bad. But this brave man,
Commission'd by himself, will tell you all.
Ethw. Speak warriour: then he holds the fortress still?
Of. He does, my Lord, but much he lives in fear
He shall not hold it long, unless your highness
Will give your warrant to release the prisoners;
Those ill designing Mercians whom your wisdom
Under his guard has placed.
He bade me say the step is dangerous;
But, if it is not done, those idle mouths
Consuming much, will starve him and his men
Into compliance with the foe's demand.
What is your sovereign will? for on the instant
I must return.
Ethw. Tell him this is no time for foolish hazard:
Let them be put to death.
Of. (shrinking back.) Must I return with this? all put to death?
Ethw. Yes, I have said: didst thou not hear my words?
Of. I heard, in truth, but mine ears strangely rung.
Good saints! there are, my Lord, within our walls.
Close pris'ners kept, of war-bred men alone,
Of whom, I trow, there scarcely is a man
Who has not some fair stripling by his side
Sharing the father's bonds, threescore and ten;
And must they all
Ethw. I understand thee, fool.
Let them all die! have I not said it? Go;
Linger not here, but bear thy message quickly.
(Exit Officer sorrowfully.
(angrily to Alwy.) What thou look'st on me too, as if forsooth,
Thou wert amaz'd at this. Perceiv'st thou not
How hardly I'm beset to keep the power
I have so dearly bought? Shall this impede me?
Let infants shrink! I have seen blood enough;
And what have I to do with mercy now?
(stalking gloomily away, then returning.)
Selred and Ethelbert, and fiery Hereulf
Are to their castles sullenly retired,
With many other warlike Thanes. The storm
Is gath'ring round me, but we'll brave it nobly.
Alwy. The discontented chiefs, as I'm inform'd
By faithful spies, are in the halls of Hereulf
Assembled, brooding o'er their secret treason.
Ethw. Are they? Then let us send a chosen band
And seize them unprepared. A nightly march
Will bring them near their castle. Let us, then,
Immediate orders give; the time is precious.
(Exeunt.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.