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diff --git a/2137-0.txt b/2137-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f393b39 --- /dev/null +++ b/2137-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2743 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Rosamund, by Algernon Charles Swinburne + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Rosamund + Queen of the Lombards: a Tragedy + + +Author: Algernon Charles Swinburne + + + +Release Date: September 10, 2014 [eBook #2137] +[This file was first posted on 23 July 1999] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSAMUND*** + + +Transcribed 1899 Chatto & Windus edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + ROSAMUND, + + + QUEEN OF THE LOMBARDS + + A TRAGEDY + + * * * * * + + BY + ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE + + * * * * * + + LONDON + CHATTO & WINDUS + 1899 + + * * * * * + + + + +PERSONS REPRESENTED + + +ALBOVINE, _King of the Lombards_. + +ALMACHILDES, _a young Lombard warrior_. + +NARSETES, _an old leader and counsellor_. + + * * * * * + +ROSAMUND, _Queen of the Lombards_. + +HILDEGARD, _a noble Lombard maiden_. + + SCENE, VERONA. + + _Time_, June 573 + + + + +ACT I. + + + _A hall in the Palace_: _a curtain drawn midway across it_. + + _Enter_ ALBOVINE _and_ NARSETES. + + ALBOVINE. + + This is no matter of the wars: in war + Thy king, old friend, is less than king of thine, + And comrade less than follower. Hast thou loved + Ever—loved woman, not as chance may love, + But as thou hast loved thy sword or friend—or me? + Thou hast shewn me love more stout of heart than death. + Death quailed before thee when thou gav’st me life, + Borne down in battle. + + NARSETES. + + Woman? As I love + Flowers in their season. A rose is but a rose. + + ALBOVINE. + + Dost thou know rose from thistle or bindweed? Man, + Speak as our north wind speaks, if harsh and hard— + Truth. + + NARSETES. + + White I know from red, and dark from bright, + And milk from blood in hawthorn-flowers: but not + Woman from woman. + + ALBOVINE. + + How should God our Lord, + Except his eye see further than his world? + For women ever make themselves anew, + Meseems, to match and mock the maker. Friend, + If ever I were friend of thine in fight, + Speak, and I bid thee not speak truth: I know + Thy tongue knows nought but truth or silence. + + NARSETES. + + Is it + A king’s or friend’s part, king, to bid his friend + Speak what he knows not? Speak then thou, that I + May find thy will and answer it. + + ALBOVINE. + + I am fain + And loth to tell thee how it wrings my heart + That now this hard-eyed heavy southern sun + Hath wrought its will upon us all a year + And yet I know not if my wife be mine. + + NARSETES. + + Thy meanest man at arms had known ere dawn + Blinked on his bridal birthday. + + ALBOVINE. + + Did I bid thee + Mock, and forget me for thy friend—I say not, + King? Is thy heart so light and lean a thing, + So loose in faith and faint in love? I bade thee + Stand to me, help me, hold my hand in thine + And give my heart back answer. This it is, + Old friend and fool, that gnaws my life in twain— + The worm that writhes and feeds about my heart— + The devil and God are crying in either ear + One murderous word for ever, night and day, + Dark day and deadly night and deadly day, + Can she love thee who slewest her father? I + Love her. + + NARSETES. + + Thy wife should love thee as thy sire’s + Loved him. Thou art worth a woman—heart for heart. + + ALBOVINE. + + My sire’s wife loved him? Hers he had not slain. + Would God I might but die and burn in hell + And know my love had loved me! + + NARSETES. + + Is thy name + Babe? Sweet are babes as flowers that wed the sun, + But man may be not born a babe again, + And less than man may woman. Rosamund + Stands radiant now in royal pride of place + As wife of thine and queen of Lombards—not + Cunimund’s daughter. Hadst thou slain her sire + Shamefully, shame were thine to have sought her hand + And shame were hers to love thee: but he died + Manfully, by thy mightier hand than his + Manfully mastered. War, born blind as fire, + Fed not as fire upon her: many a maid + As royal dies disrobed of all but shame + And even to death burnt up for shame’s sake: she + Lives, by thy grace, imperial. + + ALBOVINE. + + He or I, + Her lord or sire, which hath most part in her, + This hour shall try between us. + + _Enter_ ROSAMUND. + + ROSAMUND. + + Royal lord, + Thy wedded handmaid craves of thee a grace. + + ALBOVINE. + + My sovereign bids her bondman what she will. + + ROSAMUND. + + I bid thee mock me not: I may ask thee + Aught, and be heard of any save my lord. + + ALBOVINE. + + Go, friend. + + [_Exit_ NARSETES.] + + Speak now. Say first what ails thee? + + ROSAMUND. + + Me? + + ALBOVINE. + + Thy voice was honey-hearted music, sweet + As wine and glad as clarions: not in battle + Might man have more of joy than I to hear it + And feel delight dance in my heart and laugh + Too loud for hearing save its own. Thou rose, + Why did God give thee more than all thy kin + Whose pride is perfume only and colour, this? + Music? No rose but mine sings, and the birds + Hush all their hearts to hearken. Dost thou hear not + How heavy sounds her note now? + + ROSAMUND. + + Sire, not I. + But sire I should not call thee. + + ALBOVINE. + + Surely, no. + I bade thee speak: I did not bid thee sing: + Thou canst not speak and sing not. + + ROSAMUND. + + Albovine, + I had at heart a simple thing to crave + And thought not on thy flatteries—as I think not + Now. Knowest thou not my handmaid Hildegard + Free-born, a noble maiden? + + ALBOVINE. + + And a fair + As ever shone like sundawn on the snows. + + ROSAMUND. + + I had at heart to plead for her with thee. + + ALBOVINE. + + Plead? hast thou found her noble maidenhood + Ignobly turned unmaidenlike? I may not + Lightly believe it. + + ROSAMUND. + + Believe it not at all. + Wouldst thou think shame of me—lightly? She loves + As might a maid whose kin were northern gods + The fairest-faced of warriors Lombard born, + Thine Almachildes. + + ALBOVINE. + + If he loves not her, + More fool is he than warrior even, though war + Have wakened laughter in his eyes, and left + His golden hair fresh gilded, when his hand + Had won the crown that clasps a boy’s brows close + With first-born sign of battle. + + ROSAMUND. + + No such fool + May live in such a warrior; if he love not + Some loveliness not hers. No face as bright + Crowned with so fair a Mayflower crown of praise + Lacked ever yet love, if its eyes were set + With all their soul to loveward. + + ALBOVINE. + + Ay? + + ROSAMUND. + + I know not + A man so fair of face. I like him well. + And well he hath served and loves thee. + + ALBOVINE. + + Ay? The boy + Seems winsome then with women. + + ROSAMUND. + + Hildegard + Hath hearkened when he spake of love—it may be, + Lightly. + + ALBOVINE. + + To her shall no man lightly speak. + Thy maiden and our natural kin is she. + Wilt thou speak with him—lightly? + + ROSAMUND. + + If thou wilt, + Gladly. + + ALBOVINE. + + The boy shall wait upon thy will. + + [_Exit_. + + ROSAMUND. + + My heart is heavier than this heat that weighs + With all the weight of June on us. I know not + Why. And the feast is close on us. I would + This night were now to-morrow morn. I know not + Why. + + _Enter_ ALMACHILDES. + + Ah! What would you? + + ALMACHILDES. + + Queen, our lord the king + Bade me before thee hither. + + ROSAMUND. + + Truth: I know it. + Thou art loved and honoured of our lord the king. + Dost thou, whom honour loves before thy time, + Love? + + ALMACHILDES. + + Ay: thy noble handmaid, Hildegard. + I know not if she love me. + + ROSAMUND. + + Thou shalt know. + But this thou knowest: I may not give thee her. + + ALMACHILDES. + + I would not take her from the Lord God’s hand + If hers were given against her will to mine. + + ROSAMUND. + + A man said that: a manfuller than men + Who grip the loveless hands of prisoners. Well + It must be with the bride whose happier hand + Lies fond and fast in thine. Our Hildegard, + Being free and noble as Albovine and we, + Born one with us in race and blood, and thence + Our equal in our sole nobility, + Must well be won by noble works, and love + Whose light is one with honour’s. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Queen, may I + Perchance not win it? I know not. + + ROSAMUND. + + Nay, nor I. + Soon may we know; they are entering toward the feast. + +[_The curtain drawn discovers a banquet_, _with guests assembled_: _among +them_ NARSETES _and_ HILDEGARD. + + _Re-enter_ ALBOVINE. + + ALBOVINE. + + Thine hand: I hold the whitest in the world. + Sit thou, boy, there, beside sweet Hildegard. + + [_They sit_. + + Bring me the cup. Queen, thou shalt pledge with me + A health to all this kingdom and its weal + Even from the bowl that here to hold in hand + Assures me lord of Lombardy and thine + By right and might of battle and of God— + The skull that was thy father’s: so shalt thou + Drink to me with thy father. + + ROSAMUND. + + Sire, my lord, + The life my sire, who gave thee up his life, + Gave me, and fostered till thou hadst given him death, + Is all now thine. Thy will be done. I drink + To thee, who art all this kingdom and its weal, + All health and honour that of right should be, + With all good things I wish thee. + + [_Drinks_. + + ALBOVINE. + + Wish me well, + And God must give me what thou wilt. Good friends, + My warriors and my brethren, hath not he + Given me to wife the best one born of man + And loveliest, and most loving? Silent, sirs? + Wherefore? + + ROSAMUND. + + Thou shouldst not ask it. Bid the cup + Go blithely round. + + ALBOVINE. + + By Christ and Thor, it shall. + What ails the boy there? Almachildes! + + ALMACHILDES. + + King, + Nought ails me. + + ALBOVINE. + + Nor thy maiden? + + ALMACHILDES. + + King, nor her. + + ALBOVINE. + + Fall then to feasting. Bear the cup away. + Some savour of the dust of death comes from it. + Sweet, be not wroth nor sad. + + ROSAMUND. + + I am blithe and fain, + Sire; and I loved thee never more than now. + + ALBOVINE. + + Nor ever I thee. Now I find thee mine, + And now no daughter of mine enemy’s. + + ROSAMUND. + + No. + Thou hast no enemy left on earth alive— + No soul unslain that hates thee. + + ALBOVINE. + + That were much. + What man may say it? and least of all may kings. + + ROSAMUND. + + What hast thou done that man should hate thee—man + Or woman? + + ALBOVINE. + + Which of us may answer, Nought? + + ROSAMUND. + + Thou might’st have made me—me, my father’s child— + Harlot and slave: thou hast made me wife and queen. + + ALBOVINE. + + Thee have I loved; ay, and myself in thee, + Who hast made me more than king and lord, being thine. + + ROSAMUND. + + Courtesy sets on kings a goldener crown + That sits upon them seemlier. + + ALBOVINE. + + Courtesy! + Truth. Hark thee, boy, and let thy Hildegard + Hearken. Is she, thy queen, a peer of mine? + + ALMACHILDES. + + She wears no crown but heaven’s about her head— + No gold that was not born upon her brows + Transfigures or disfigures them. She is not + A peer of thine. + + ROSAMUND. + + He answers well. + + ALBOVINE. + + He answers + Ill—as the spirit of shamelessness might speak. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Shameless are they that lie. I lie not. + + ALBOVINE. + + Boy, + Tempt not the rod. + + ALMACHILDES. + + The rod that man may wield + No man may fear: the slave who fears it is not + Man. + + ALBOVINE. + + Art thou crazed with wine? + + ALMACHILDES. + + Am I thy king? + + ALBOVINE. + + My thrall thou knowest thou art not, or thy tongue + Durst challenge not mine anger. + + ROSAMUND. + + Thrall and free, + Woman and man, yea, queen and king, are born + More wide apart than earth or hell and heaven. + Sirs, let no wrangling breath distune the peace + That shines and glows about us, and discerns + A banquet from a battle. Thou, my lord, + Hast bidden away the dust of death which fell + Between us at thy bidding, and is now + Nothing—a dream blown out at waking. Thou, + My lord’s young chosen of warriors, be not wroth, + Albeit thy wrath be noble, though my lord + See fit to try my love as gold is tried + By fire: it burns not thee. Strike hand in hand: + Ye have done so after battle. + + ALBOVINE. + + Drink again. + I pledge thee, boy. + + ALMACHILDES. + + I pledge thee, king. + + ROSAMUND. + + My lord, + I am weary at heart, and fain would sleep. Forgive me + That I can sit no more. + + ALBOVINE. + + What ails thee? + + ROSAMUND. + + Nought. + The hot and heavy time of year has bound + About my brows a band of iron. Sire, + Thou wouldst not see me sink aswoon, and mar + The raptures of thy revel. + + ALBOVINE. + + Get thee hence. + Go. God be with thee. + + ROSAMUND. + + God abide with thee. + + [_Exit with attendants_. + + ALBOVINE. + + This is no feast: I will no more of it. Boy, + Take note, and tempt not so thy bride, albeit + She tempt thee to the trial. + + ALMACHILDES. + + I shall not, king, + + ALBOVINE. + + She will not. Sirs, good night—if night may be + Good. Hardly may the day be, here. And yet + For you it may be—Hildegard and thee. + God give you joy. + + ALMACHILDES. + + God give thee comfort, king. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +ACT II. + + + _A room in the Queen’s apartments_. + + _Enter_ ROSAMUND. + + ROSAMUND. + + I am yet alive to question if I live + And wonder what may ever bid me die. + But live I will, being yet not dead with thee, + Father. Thou knowest in Paradise my heart. + I feel thy kisses breathing on my lips, + Whereto the dead cold relic of thy face + Was pressed at bidding of thy slayer last night, + And yet they were not withered: nay, they are red + As blood is—blood but newly spilt—not thine. + How good thou wast and sweet of spirit—how dear, + Father! None lives that knew thee now save one, + And none loves me but thou nor thee but I, + That was till yesternight thy daughter: now + That very name is tainted, and my tongue + Tastes poison as I speak it. There is nought + Left in the range and record of the world + For me that is not poisoned: even my heart + Is all envenomed in me. Death is life, + Or priesthood lies that swears it: then I give + The man my husband and thy homicide + Life, if I slay him—the life he gave thee. + + _Enter_ HILDEGARD. + + Girl, + I sent for thee, I think: stand near me. Child, + Thou art fairer than thou knowest, I doubt: thou art fair + As the awless maidenhood of morning: truth + Should live upon thy lips, though truth were dead + On all men’s tongues and women’s born save thine. + Dawn lies not when it laughs on us. Thy queen + I am not now: thy friend I would be. Tell + Thy friend if love sleep or awake in thee + Toward any man. Thou art silent. Tell me this, + Dost thou not think, where thought scarce knows itself— + Think in the subtle sense too deep for thought— + That Almachildes loves thee? + + HILDEGARD. + + More than I + Love Almachildes. + + ROSAMUND. + + Thus a maid should speak. + Dost thou love me? + + HILDEGARD. + + Thou knowest it, queen. + + ROSAMUND. + + It lies + Now in thy power to show me more of love + Than ever yet hath man or woman. Swear, + If thou dost love me, thou wilt show it. + + HILDEGARD. + + I swear. + + ROSAMUND. + + By all our fathers’ great forsaken gods + Who smiled on all their battles, and by him + Who clomb or crept or leapt upon their throne + And signed us Christian, swear it, then. + + HILDEGARD. + + I swear. + + ROSAMUND. + + What if I bid thee give thyself to shame— + Yield up thy soul and body—play such parts + As shameless fame records of women crowned + Imperial in the tale of lust and Rome? + + HILDEGARD. + + Thou couldst not bid me do it. + + ROSAMUND. + + Thou hast sworn. + + HILDEGARD. + + I have sworn. + Queen, I would do it, and die. + + ROSAMUND. + + Thou shalt not. Yet + This must thou do, and live. Thou shalt not be + Shamed. Thou shalt bid thine Almachildes come + And speak with thee by nightfall. Say, the queen + Will give not up the maiden so beloved + —And truth it is, I love thee—willingly + To the arms of one her husband loves: but were it + Shame, utter shame, that he should wed not her, + The shamefast queen could choose not. Then shall he + Plead. Then shalt thou turn gentler than the snow + That softens at the strong sun’s kiss, and yield. + But needs must night be close about your love + And darkness whet your kisses. Light were death. + Hast thou no heart to guess now? Fear not then. + Not thou but I must put on shame. I lack + A hand for mine to grasp and strike with. His + I have chosen. + + HILDEGARD. + + I see but as by lightning. Queen, + What should I do but warn the king—or him? + + ROSAMUND. + + Thou hast sworn. I hold thee by thy word. + + HILDEGARD. + + My Christ, + Help me! + + ROSAMUND. + + No God can break thine oath in twain + And leave thee less than perjured. Thou must bid him + Make thee to-night his bride. + + HILDEGARD. + + I could not say it. + + ROSAMUND. + + Thou shalt, or God shall smite thee down to hell. + What, art thou godless? + + HILDEGARD. + + Art not thou? + + ROSAMUND. + + Not I. + I find him just and gracious, girl: he gives me + My right by might set fast on thine and thee. + + HILDEGARD. + + For love of mercy, queen—for honour’s sake, + Bid me not shame myself before a man— + The man I love—who gives me back at least + Honour, if love he gives not. + + ROSAMUND. + + Ay, my maid? + And yet he loves thee, or thy maiden thought + Errs with no gracious error, more than thou + Him? + + HILDEGARD. + + Art thou woman born, to cast me back + My maiden shame for shame upon my face? + I would not say I loved him more than man + Loved ever woman since the light of love + Lit them alive together. Let us be. + + ROSAMUND. + + I will not. Mine are both by God’s own gift. + I will not cast it from me. Ye may live + Hereafter happy: never now shall I. + + HILDEGARD. + + Have mercy. Nay, I cannot do it. And thou, + Albeit thine heart be hot with hate as hell, + Couldst say not, nor fold round with fairer speech, + Those foul three words the Egyptian woman said + Who tempted and could tempt not Joseph. + + ROSAMUND. + + No. + He would not hearken. Joseph loved not her + More than thine Almachildes me. But thou + Shalt. Now no more may I debate with thee. + Go. + + HILDEGARD. + + God requite thee! + + ROSAMUND. + + That shall he and I, + Not thou, make proof of. If I plead with him, + I crave of God but wrong’s requital. Go. + + [_Exit_ HILDEGARD. + + And yet, God help me! Can I do it? God’s will + May no man thwart, or leave his righteousness + Baffled. I would not say, ‘My will be done,’ + Were God’s will not for righteousness as mine, + If right be righteous, wrong be wrong, must be. + How else may God work wrong’s requital? I + Must be or none may be his minister. + And yet what righteousness is his to cast + Athwart my way toward right this wrong to me, + A sin against the soul and honour? Why + Must this vile word of _yet_ cross all my thought + Always, a drifting doom or doubt that still + Strikes up and floats against my purpose? God, + Help me to know it! This weapon chosen of me, + This Almachildes, were his face not fair, + Were not his fame bright—were his aspect foul, + His name dishonourable, his line through life + A loathing and a spitting-stock for scorn, + Could I do this? Am I then even as they + Who queened it once in Rome’s abhorrent face + An empress each, and each by right of sin + Prostitute? All the life I have lived or loved + Hath been, if snows or seas or wellsprings be, + Pure as the spirit of love toward heaven is—chaste + As children’s eyes or mothers’. Though I sinned + As yet my soul hath sinned not, Albovine + Must bear, if God abhor unrighteousness, + The weight of penance heaviest laid on sin, + Shame. Not on me may shame be set, though hell + Take hold upon me dying. I would the deed + Were done, the wreak of wrath were wroken, and I + Dead. + + _Enter_ ALBOVINE. + + ALBOVINE. + + Art thou sick at heart to see me? + + ROSAMUND. + + No. + + ALBOVINE. + + Thou art sweet and wise as ever God hath made + Woman. I would not turn thine heart from me + Or set thy spirit against the sense of mine + For more than Rome’s old empire. + + ROSAMUND. + + That, albeit + Thou wouldst, be sure thou canst not. God nor man + Could wake within me toward my lord the king + A new strange love or loathing. Fear not this. + + ALBOVINE. + + From thee can I fear nothing. Now I know + How high thy heart is, and how true to me. + + ROSAMUND. + + Thou knowest it now. + + ALBOVINE. + + I know not if I should + Repent me, or repent not, that I tried + A heart so high so sorely—proved so true. + + ROSAMUND. + + Do not repent. I would not have thee now + Repent. + + ALBOVINE. + + By Christ, if God forbade it not, + I would have said within mine own fool’s heart, + Of all vile things that fool the soul of man + The vilest and the priestliest hath to name + Repentance. Could it blot one hour’s work out, + A wise thing and a manful thing it were, + And profit were it none for priests to preach. + This will I tell thee: what last night befell + Rejoices not but irks me. + + ROSAMUND. + + Let it not + Rejoice nor irk thee. Vex thou not thy soul + With any thought thereon, if none may bid thee + Rejoice: and that were harsh and hard of heart. + + ALBOVINE. + + I will not. Queen and wife, hell durst not say + I do not love thee. + + ROSAMUND. + + Heaven has heard—and I. + + ALBOVINE. + + Forget then all this foolishness, and pray + God may forget it. + + ROSAMUND. + + God forgets as I. + + [_Exit_ ALBOVINE. + + And had repentance helped him? Shall I think + It might have molten in my burning heart + The thrice-retempered iron of resolve? + Yet well it is to know that penitence + Lies further from that frozen heart of his + Than mercy from the tiger’s. Ay, God knows, + I had scorned him too had penitence bowed him down + Before me: now I do but hate. I am not + Abased as wholly, so supremely shamed, + As though I had wedded one as hard as he + Who yet might think to soften down with words + What hardly might be cleansed with tears of blood, + The monumental memory graven on steel + That burns the naked spirit of sense within me + Like the ardent sting of keen-edged ice, which makes + The naked flesh feel fire upon it. + + _Enter_ ALMACHILDES. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Queen, + I come to crave a word of thee. + + ROSAMUND. + + I hear. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Thou knowest I love thy noble Hildegard: + And rather would I give my soul to burn + Than wrong in thought her flawless maidenhood. + And now she hath told me what I dare not think + Truth. And I dare not think her lips may lie. + + ROSAMUND. + + I have heard. And what is this to me? She hath not + Said—hath not told thee, nor wouldst thou believe— + That I have breathed a lie upon her lips + Or taught them shamelessness by lesson? + + ALMACHILDES. + + No. + But she came forth from thee to me—from thee— + And spake with quivering mouth and quailing eyes + And face whose fire turned ashen, and again + Rekindling from that ashen agony + Flamed, what no heart could think to hear her speak, + Mine least of all, who love her. + + ROSAMUND. + + Ay? + + ALMACHILDES. + + Not she, + I know it as sure as night is known from day + And surelier than I know mine own soul’s truth, + Spake what she spake in broken bursts of breath + Out of her own heart and its love for me. + + ROSAMUND. + + Didst thou so answer her? + + ALMACHILDES. + + I might not well + Answer at all. + + ROSAMUND. + + Poor maid, she hath loved amiss. + Belike she thought to find in thee a man’s + Love. + + ALMACHILDES. + + That she hath found; nought meaner than a man’s; + No wolfish lust of ravenous insolence + To soil and spoil her of her noblest name. + + ROSAMUND. + + I do not ask thee what she said. I know. + + ALMACHILDES. + + I knew thou didst. + + ROSAMUND. + + To make your bridal sure + She bade thee make thy bride of her to-night. + + ALMACHILDES. + + She bade me as a slave might bid the scourge + Fall. + + ROSAMUND. + + Such a scourge no slave might shrink from; nay, + No free-born woman, Almachildes. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Queen, + I crave thy queenly mercy though I say + My maid, my bride that will be, shrank, and showed + In all the rosebright anguish of her face + A shuddering shame that wrung my heart. And thou + Hast surely set thereon that seal of shame. + I know it as thou dost. + + ROSAMUND. + + Ay, and more she said, + Surely: she said I would not yield her up + To the arms of one my husband loves and holds + Honoured at heart—I hate my husband so, + She told thee—were the need avoidable + Save by her sacrifice to shame. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Thou knowest + All, as I knew, and lacked not from thy lips + Confession. + + ROSAMUND. + + Warrior though thou be, and boy + Though my lord call thee, brainless art thou not— + No sword with man’s face carven on the heft + For mockery more than truth or help in fight. + I do not and I durst not play with thee. + Thy bride spake truth: I knew not she might need + So much of truth to tempt thee toward her. Now + Thou knowest, and I know. If this imminent night + Make not thy darkling bride of her, by day + Thy bride she may be never. She hath sworn. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Why wouldst thou shame her? + + ROSAMUND. + + Shamed she cannot be + If thou be found not shameless. Plead no more + Against thine own love’s surety. Doubt thou not + I wish thee well, and love her. Make not thou + Out of her shamefast maidenhood and fear + A sword to cleave your happiness in twain. + What if some oath constrain me, sworn in haste, + Infrangible for shame’s sake, sealed in heaven + Inevitable? Ask now no more of me. + Nightfall is here upon us. Nought on earth + May set the season of your bridal back + If thou be true as she must. Wait awhile + Here till a sign be sent thee—till a bell + Strike softly from this chamber here at hand. + I have sworn to her she shall not see thy face, + So sore she prayed she might not: and for thee + I swore that ere the darkling air grew grey + Thou shouldst arise and leave her, and behold + Thy midnight bride but when thou art bidden again + To meet her here to-morrow. Strange it were, + More strange than aught of all, that thou shouldst prove + Dishonourable: and except thou be, these things + Must all be wrought in this wise, lest her oath + And mine, at peril of her soul and life, + By passionate forgetfulness of thine + Disloyally be broken. Swear to us now + Thou wilt not break our oath and thine, or think + To look to-night upon thy bride. + + ALMACHILDES. + + I swear. + + ROSAMUND. + + I take thine oath. I bid not thee take heed + That I or thou or each of us at once, + Couldst thou play false, may die: I bid thee think + Thy bride will die, shamed. Swear me not again + She shall not: all our trust is set on thee. + What eyes and ears are keen about us here + Thou knowest not. Love, my love and thine for her, + Shall deafen and shall blind them. Be but thou + A bridegroom blind and dumb—speak soft as love, + And ask not answer louder than a sigh— + And when to-morrow sets thy bride and thee + Here face to face again, thy soul shall stand + Amazed: thy joy shall turn to wonder. This + Thy queen, whose power may seal her promise fast, + Swears for thine oath again to thee. Good night. + + [_Exit_. + + ALMACHILDES. + + I cannot think I live. Our Sigurd loved not + Brynhild as I love her, and even this hour + Shall make us great as they. No spell to break, + No fire to pass, divides us. Blind and dumb, + Love knows, would I be ever while I live + For love’s sake rather than forego the joy + That makes one godlike power of spirit and sense, + One godhead born of manhood. God requite + The queen who loves my love and cares for me + Thus! How may man or God requite her? Ah! + + [_Bell rings softly from without_. + + There sounds the note that opens heaven on me, + And how should man dare heaven? But love may dare. + + [_Exit_. + + + + +ACT III. + + + _An eastward room in the Palace_. + + _Enter_ ALBOVINE. + + ALBOVINE. + + This sun—no sun like ours—burns out my soul. + I would, when June takes hold on us like fire, + The wind could waft and whirl us northward: here + The splendour and the sweetness of the world + Eat out all joy of life or manhood. Earth + Is here too hard on heaven—the Italian air + Too bright to breathe, as fire, its next of kin, + Too keen to handle. God, whoe’er God be, + Keep us from withering as the lords of Rome— + Slackening and sickening toward the imperious end + That wiped them out of empire! Yea, he shall. + + _Enter_ HILDEGARD. + + HILDEGARD. + + The queen would wait upon your majesty. + + ALBOVINE. + + Bid her come in. And tell her ere she come + I wait upon her will. + + [_Exit_ HILDEGARD.] + + What would she now? + + _Enter_ ROSAMUND. + + By Christ, how fair thou art! I never saw thee + So like the sun in heaven: no rose on earth + Might think to match thee. + + ROSAMUND. + + All I am is thine. + + ALBOVINE. + + Mine? God might come from heaven to worship thee. + Thine eyes outlighten all the stars: thy face + Leaves earth no flower to worship. + + ROSAMUND. + + How should earth + Worship her children? Nought it is in me, + My lord’s dear love it is, that makes me seem + Fair. + + ALBOVINE. + + How thou liest thou knowest not. Rosamund, + What hast thou done to be so beautiful? + + ROSAMUND. + + The sun has left thine eyes half blind. + + ALBOVINE. + + I dare not + Kiss thee, or stare straight-eyed against the sun. + + ROSAMUND. + + Kiss me. Who knows how long the lord of life + May spare us time for kissing? Life and love + Are less than change and death. + + ALBOVINE. + + What ghosts are they? + So sweet thou never wast to me before. + The woman that is God—the God that is + Woman—the sovereign of the soul of man, + Our fathers’ Freia, Venus crowned in Rome, + Has lent my love her girdle; but her lips + Have robbed the red rose of its heart, and left + No glory for the flower beyond all flowers + To bid the spring be glad of. + + ROSAMUND. + + Summer and spring + May cleanse and heal the heart of man no more + Than winter may, or withering autumn. Sire, + Husband and lord, I have a woful word + To speak against a man beloved of thee, + A man well worth all glory man may give— + Against thine Almachildes. + + ALBOVINE. + + Has the boy + Transgressed again in awless heat of speech + And kindled wrath in thee against him—thee, + Who stood’st between my wrath and him? + + ROSAMUND. + + I would + His were no more transgression than of speech. + He hath wronged—I bid thee ask of me no more— + A noble maiden. Till her shame be healed, + Her name is dead upon my lips and his, + Who is yet not all ignoble. + + ALBOVINE. + + He shall die + Except he wed her, and she will to wed. + + ROSAMUND. + + That surely will she. + + ALBOVINE. + + Bid him hither. + + ROSAMUND. + + See, + There strides he through the sunshine toward the shade. + How light and high he steps! He sees thee. Bid him— + Beckon him in. + + ALBOVINE. + + He knows mine eye. He comes. + + ROSAMUND. + + Obedient as a hound is. + + ALBOVINE. + + As a man + That knows the law of loyal manhood. + + ROSAMUND. + + Ay? + God send it be so. + + _Enter_ ALMACHILDES. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Queen and king, I am here. + What would you? + + ALBOVINE. + + Truth. Hast thou not borne thyself + Toward any soul on earth disloyally + Ever? + + ALMACHILDES. + + Never. + + ALBOVINE. + + I would not say thou liest. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Do not: the lie should burn thy lips up, king. + + ALBOVINE. + + Thou hast wrought no wrong toward man or woman? + + ALMACHILDES. + + None. + + ALBOVINE. + + Speak thou: thou hast heard him answer me. + + ROSAMUND. + + I have heard. + No wrong it may be with the serfs of hell + To cast upon a woman for a curse + Shame: to defile the spirit and shrine of love, + Put out the sunlike eyes of maidenhood + And leave the soul dismantled. Has not he + So sinned?—Hast thou wrought no such work as this? + The king has heard thy silence. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Queen and king, + I have done no wrong, but right. I have chosen my bride, + And made her mine by gentle grace of hers + Lest wrong should come between us. Now no man + May think to unwed us: king nor queen may cross + This wedded love of ours: no thwart or stay + May sunder us till heaven and earth turn hell. + + ALBOVINE. + + I deemed not thee dishonourable: and thy queen + Now knows thee true as I did. Rosamund, + Forgive and give him back his bride. + + ROSAMUND. + + I will, + King. + + ALBOVINE. + + Boy, thy queen hath shown thee grace; be thou + Thankful. I leave thee here to yield her thanks. + + [_Exit_. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Queen, I would die to serve and thank thee. + + ROSAMUND. + + Die? + So young and glad and glorious? Thou shalt not + Die. Was thy bride’s face bright to look upon + When last night’s moon and stars illumined it? + + ALMACHILDES. + + Thou knowest I might not look upon it. + + ROSAMUND. + + No. + Thou hast never loved before? + + ALMACHILDES. + + I have loathed, not loved, + The loveless harlots clasped of all the camp: + I have followed wars and visions all my days + Even till my love’s eyes lit and stung to life + The soul within my body. Till I loved, + I knew not woman. + + ROSAMUND. + + Now thou knowest. This love + Is no good lord—no gentle god—no soft + Saviour. Thou knowest perchance thy bride’s name—hers + Whose body and soul were one but now with thine? + + ALMACHILDES. + + How should not I? What darkling light is this + That burns and broods and lightens in thine eyes, + Queen? + + ROSAMUND. + + Hildegard it was not. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Art not thou— + Or am not I—sun-smitten through the brain + By this mad might of midsummer? Who was it + That slept or slept not with me while the night + Was more than noon and more than heaven? What name + Was hers who made me godlike? + + ROSAMUND. + + Rosamund. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Thine? was it thou? It was not. + + ROSAMUND. + + It was I. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Does the sun stand in heaven? Or stands it fast + As when God bade it halt on high? My life + Is broken in me. + + ROSAMUND. + + Nay, fair sir, not yet. + Thy life is now mine—as the ring I wear + That seals my hand a wife’s. Die thou shalt not, + But slay, and live. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Slay whom? + + ROSAMUND. + + Thy lord and mine. + + ALMACHILDES. + + I had rather go down quick to hell. + + ROSAMUND. + + I know it. + I leave thee not the choice. Keep thou thy hand + Bloodless, and Hildegard, whom yet I love, + Dies, and in fire, the harlot’s death of shame. + Last night she lured thee hither. Hate of me, + Because of late I smote her, being in wrath + Forgetful of her noble maidenhood, + Stung her for shame’s sake to take hands with shame. + This if I swear, may she unswear it? Thou + Canst not but say she bade thee seek her. She + Lives while I will, as Albovine and thou + Live by my grace and mercy. Live, or die. + But live thou shalt not longer than her death, + Her death by burning, if thou slay not him. + I see my death shine in thine eyes: I see + My present death inflame them. That were not + Her surety, Almachildes. Thou shouldst know me + Now. Though thou slay me, this may save not her. + My lines are laid about her life, and may not + By breach of mine be broken. + + ALMACHILDES. + + God must be + Dead. Such a thing as thou could never else + Live. + + ROSAMUND. + + That concerns not thee nor me. Be thou + Sure that my will and power to serve it live. + Lift now thine eyes to look upon thy lord. + + _Re-enter_ ALBOVINE. + + ALBOVINE. + + By this time hath he thanked thee not enough? + + ROSAMUND. + + More hath he given than thanks. + + ALBOVINE. + + What more may be? + + ROSAMUND. + + His plighted faith to heal the wrong he wrought + Faithfully. + + ALBOVINE. + + Boy, strike then thy hand in mine. + Thou art loyal as I knew thee. + + ALMACHILDES. + + King, I may not + Touch hands with thee. + + ALBOVINE. + + Thou art false, then, ha? Thou hast lied? + + ALMACHILDES. + + King, till the wrong I have wrought be wreaked or healed + I clasp not hands with honour. Nay, and then + Perchance I may not. + + ALBOVINE. + + Boy I called thee: child + I call thee now. But, boy, the child thou art + Is noble as our sires. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Would God it were! + + [_Exit_. + + ALBOVINE. + + What ails him? + + ROSAMUND. + + Love and shame. + + ALBOVINE. + + No more than these? + + ROSAMUND. + + Enough are they to darken death and life. + + ALBOVINE. + + Thou art less than gentle towards his love and him. + + ROSAMUND. + + I would not speak ungently. Her I love, + Poor child, and him I hate not. + + ALBOVINE. + + Thou shalt live + To love him too. + + ROSAMUND. + + This heaviness of heat + Kills love and hate and life in me. I know not + Aught lovesome save the sweet brief death of sleep. + + ALBOVINE. + + I am weary as thou. Good night we may not say— + Good noon I bid thee. Sleep shall heal us. + + ROSAMUND. + + Ay; + No healing and no help for life on earth + Hath God or man found out save death and sleep. + + [_Exeunt_. + + + + +ACT IV. + + + _The same Scene_. + + _Enter_ ALMACHILDES _and_ HILDEGARD. + + HILDEGARD. + + Hast thou forgiven me? + + ALMACHILDES. + + I have not forgiven + God. + + HILDEGARD. + + Wilt thou slay thy soul and mine? + + ALMACHILDES. + + Wilt thou + Madden me? God hath given us up to her + Who is deadlier than the fiery fang of death— + Us, innocent and loyal. + + HILDEGARD. + + Nay, if I + Forgive her love of thee—though this be hard, + Canst thou forgive not? + + ALMACHILDES. + + Sweet, for thee and me + Remains no rescue save by death or flight + From worse than flight or death is. + + HILDEGARD. + + Worse is nought + But shame: and how may shame take hold on us, + On us who have sinned not? Me she bound to play thee + False, and betray thee to her arms: I might not + Choose, though my heart should rend itself in twain + And cleave with ravenous anguish: yet I live. + Vex not thy soul too sorely: me, not her, + Thy spirit embraced, thine arms and lips made thine + Me, not my darkling wraith, my changeling foe, + My thief of love, our traitress. This I bid thee, + Forget thy fear and shame to have wronged me: night + Breeds treacherous dreams that can but poison day + If thought be found so base a fool as dares + Fear. Did I doubt thy love of me, I durst not + Live or look back upon thee. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Wilt thou then + Fly? + + HILDEGARD. + + Dost thou know what flight means—thou? + It means + Fear. And is fear a new-born friend of thine? + + ALMACHILDES. + + God help us! if he live, and hate not man— + If Satan be not God. We will not fly. + + _Enter_ ALBOVINE _and_ ROSAMUND. + + ALBOVINE. + + Fly? What should love at height of happiness + Or youth at height of honour fear and fly? + Would ye take wing for heaven? take shame on earth + To wed in peace and honour? + + ALMACHILDES. + + No, my king. + No, surely. + + ROSAMUND. + + Weep not, maiden. Dost not thou, + Man, that we thought her bridegroom sealed of love, + Love her? + + ALMACHILDES. + + No saint loved ever God as I + Her. + + ROSAMUND. + + And betray her to shame thou wouldst not? + See, + My lord, the silent answer flash aloud + From cheek and eye a goodly witness. Thou, + My maiden, dost thou love not him? Nay, speak. + + HILDEGARD. + + I cannot say it—I cannot strive to say. + + ROSAMUND. + + Thou shalt. Are all we not fast bound in love— + My lord and thine, my maiden and her queen, + A fourfold chain of faith twice linked of love? + Speak: let not shame find place where shame is none. + + HILDEGARD. + + I will not. King and queen and God shall hear. + I love him as our songs of old time say + Men have been loved of women akin to gods + By blood as they by spirit, albeit in me + Nought lives that woman or man or God could say + Were worth his love, if mine by grace of love + Be found not all unworthy. Mine am I + No more: mine own in no wise now, but his + To save or slay, to cherish or cast out, + Crown and discrown, abase and comfort. Shame + Were more to me than honour if his will + It were that shame should clothe me round, and life + Were the only death left fearful if he bade me + Die. Could his love be turned from me, and set + On one less loving but more fair than I, + A thrall more base than treason or a queen + Too high for shame to brand her shameful, even + Though sin had stamped and signed her foul as fraud + And loathsome as a masked adulterous lie, + Hers would I make him if I might, and yield + To her the hatefullest of hell-born things + The man found lovelier by my love than heaven. + + ROSAMUND. + + Great love is this to brag of: great and strange. + + HILDEGARD. + + Love is no braggart: lust and fraud and hate + Vaunt their vile strength when shame unveils them: love + Vaunts not itself. I spake not uncompelled, + And blushed not out the avowal. + + ALBOVINE. + + Boy, I held + And hold thee noblest of my lords of war, + And worthier than thine elders born and tried + Ere battle found thee ripe and glad at heart + To stem and swim the tide of spears: but this + I know not if thou be or any man + Be worthy of. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Of all men born on earth + I am most unworthy of it. None might be + Worthy. + + ROSAMUND. + + He weeps: thy boy is humble. + + ALMACHILDES. + + Queen, + I weep not. Shamed with no ignoble shame + Thou seest me: but I weep not. Yea, God knows, + Humbled I am, and humble; not to thee. + + ALBOVINE. + + Chafe not: and thou, queen though thou be, and mine, + Tempt not a true man’s wrath with words that bear + Fangs keener than thou knowest of. + + ROSAMUND. + + King, henceforth, + Being warned, I will not. Dangerous as the sea + A true man’s wrath is—and a true man’s love: + A woman’s hath no peril in it: her tears + Wash wrath and peril away. + + ALBOVINE. + + I have never seen thee + Weep. + + ROSAMUND. + + How should I weep—I, thy wife? + + ALBOVINE. + + I have heard thee + Laugh; and thy smiles were always bright as fire. + + ROSAMUND. + + Well were it with me—ay, and reason found + For me to live and do the living world + Some service—could my husband warm thereat + His heart as winter-stricken hands in frost + Are warmed at winter fires. + + ALBOVINE. + + No need, no need: + The sun thou art warms all our year with love, + And leaves no chill on winter. + + ROSAMUND. + + Albovine, + Love now secludes us not from sight of man— + From sight of this my maiden and the man + Who shines but as the battle’s boy for thee + But lives for me my maiden’s lover—true + As truth is—Almachildes. + + ALBOVINE. + + How thy lips + Hang lingering on his name as though ’twere thou + That loved him! Thou shouldst love thy maiden well. + + ROSAMUND. + + As she loves me I love her. Hildegard, + Leave us. Thou knowest I love thee. + + HILDEGARD. + + Queen, I know. + + [_Exit_. + + ALBOVINE. + + What ails the boy? what rapturous agony + Torments and glorifies his glance at her + As with delight in torture? Cheer thee, man: + Thou art not thus all unworthy. + + ROSAMUND. + + Spare him, king. + A king may guess not how a man’s heart yearns + With all unkingly sense of love and shame + Not all unmanly. + + ALBOVINE. + + Shame is none to be + Loved, and to deem that love exceeds our due + Who may not well deserve it. Sick at heart + He seems, and should be gladder than the sea + When wind and sun strike life in it. + + ALMACHILDES. + + I am not + So stricken, king. I thank thy care of me. + + ALBOVINE. + + Heart-stricken or shame-stricken art thou? + + ROSAMUND. + + King, + Spare him. Thou knowest not love like his. It burns + And rends and wrings the spirit. + + ALBOVINE. + + No. And thou, + Dost thou then? + + ROSAMUND. + + Eyes and heart and sense are mine + As weak and strong as woman’s can but be; + As weak in strength and strong in weakness. Men, + Being wise, and mightier than their mates on earth, + Need no such knowledge born of inborn pain + As quickens all the spirit of sense in us. + Worms know what eagles know not. + + ALBOVINE. + + Like enough. + Rede me no redes and riddles. Never yet + I have loved thee more, and yet I have loved thee well, + Than now that loving-kindness borne toward love + Makes thee so gracious, pleading for it. + + ROSAMUND. + + Love + Sees all things lovely: thine, if praise there be, + Not mine the praise is: thee, not me, these twain + Must love and worship as their lord of love. + + ALBOVINE. + + Well, God be good to them and thee and me! + I would this fierce Italian June were dead, + So hard it weighs upon me. + + ROSAMUND. + + Now not long + Shall we sustain or sink aswoon from it: + It has but left a day or two to die. + + ALBOVINE. + + And well were that, if summer died with June. + Two red months more must set on sense and soul + The branding-iron stamped of summer: nay, + The sea is here no sea to cherish man: + It brings no choral comfort back with tides + That surge and sink and swell and chime and change + And lighten life with music where the breath + Dies and revives of night and day. + + ROSAMUND. + + Be thou + Content: a God hath driven us hither. + + ALBOVINE. + + Yea: + A God of death and fire and strife, whose hand + Is heavy on my spirit. Be not ye + Troubled, if peace be with you. + + ROSAMUND. + + Peace to thee. + + [_Exit_ ALBOVINE. + + Now follow: smite him now: thou art strong, but yet + Thy king is stronger—mightier thewed than thou. + Thou couldst not slay him in fight. + + ALMACHILDES. + + I cannot slay him + Thus. + + ROSAMUND. + + Canst thou slay thy bride by fire? He dies, + Or she dies, bound against the stake. His death + Were the easier. Follow him: save her: strike but once. + + ALMACHILDES. + + I cannot. God requite thee this! I will. + + [_Exit_. + + ROSAMUND. + + And I will see it. And, father, thou shalt see. + + [_Exit_. + + + + +ACT V. + + + _The Banqueting-hall_. + + _Enter_ ALBOVINE _and_ ROSAMUND. + + ALBOVINE. + + This June makes babes of men; last night I deemed + When thou hadst wished me peace as I passed forth + A footfall pressed behind me soft and fast, + And turning toward it I beheld nought: thee + I saw, and Almachildes hard at hand + Turned back toward thee: nought stranger: yet my heart + Sprang, and sank back. I laughed against myself, + That manhood should be girlish, when the heat + Burns life half out within us. Even thine eyes, + Like stars before the wind that brings the cloud, + Look fainter. Ere they fill the banquet full + And bid the guests about us where we sit, + Tell me if aught be worse than well with thee. + + ROSAMUND. + + Nought. + + ALBOVINE. + + Wilt thou swear it, sweet? + + ROSAMUND. + + By what thou wilt— + By God and man—by hell and earth and heaven. + I know what ails thy loyal heart of love + And binds thy tongue for fear to bid me know. + The cup we drank of when we feasted last + Tastes bitter on it yet. Thou wilt not bid me + Pledge thee therein again. If I bid thee, + Pledge me thou shalt—and seal thy pardon. + + ALBOVINE. + + Be not + Too sweet for woman. + + ROSAMUND. + + Cross me not in this. + + ALBOVINE. + + Mine old fast friend Narsetes hath my word + Plighted. All funeral reverence shall inter + The royal relic, and all thought therewith + Of strife between thy father’s child and me + Or less than love and honour. + + ROSAMUND. + + Nay, my lord, + Let the dead thing live as a lifelong sign + Of perfect plight in love and union. This + Were no dishonour done to fatherhood + But honour shown to wedlock. Here is spread + The feast, the bride-feast of my love and thine, + Whereat the cup of death shall serve our lips + To drink forgetfulness of all but love. + Herein thou shalt not thwart me. + + ALBOVINE. + + God forbid. + + ROSAMUND. + + God hath forbidden: and God shall be obeyed. + Bid thy Narsetes play the cup-bearer, + And I will pour the wine: my hand shall fill + The sacramental draught of love that seals + Our eucharist of wedlock. + + ALBOVINE. + + Yea, I know + To drink with thee is even to drink with God. + Thou art good as any God was ever. + + ROSAMUND. + + Ay? + We know not till we die. + + ALBOVINE. + + Thou art wise and true + As ever maid was born of the oldworld north + In the oldworld years of legend. Bid Narsetes + Bring thee the chalice: thou shalt mix the draught + Whence we will drink life, if true love be life, + Even from the lipless mouth of bone that speaks + Death. + + ROSAMUND. + + I will mix it well with honey and herb + Sweet as the mead our fathers drank, and dreamed + Their gods so drank in heaven—draughts deep and strong + As life is strong and death is deep. I go + To bid Narsetes hither. + + [_Exit_. + + ALBOVINE. + + Nay, by God, + Whoever God be, never Christ or Thor + Beheld or blessed a nobler wife, whose love + Was found through proof of purity by fire + More like our northern stars and snows and suns, + And sane in strong sufficiency of soul + As womanhood by godhead from the womb + Elected and exalted. + + _Enter_ NARSETES. + + NARSETES. + + King, thy wife + Hath given me back thy message given her. + + ALBOVINE. + + Ay? + And thou hast given her back my cup, then? + + NARSETES. + + King, + I have given it. Loth to give it if I were, + Ye know: she knows as thou: thou knowest as she. + + ALBOVINE. + + What ails thee to distaste thy duty? Man, + Thou shouldst be glad, being loyal. Knowest thou not + Her will it was that we should pledge therein + To-night, this hour, our lifelong love, and seal it + More surely so than priest or prayer can seal? + + NARSETES. + + Her will it was, I know, not thine. I would + Thou hadst not yielded up to hers thy will. + + ALBOVINE. + + Thou liest: I have not yielded it: I have given + Love, willing as the springtide sea gives up + Her will to the eastern sea-wind’s. + + NARSETES. + + Love should give + No more than love should crave of love: and this + Is such a gift as hate might crave of death + Or priests of God when angered. + + ALBOVINE. + + Hark thee, man. + Thou art old, and when I loved thee first and found thee + My lord and leader down the ways of war, + My master born by right of manfulness + And steersman through the surf of battle, time + Gaped as a gulf between us: sire and son + We might be: now I bid thee hold thy peace, + Lest all these memories perish, and their death + Give life more strong than theirs to wrath, and leave thee + Shelterless as a waif of the air when storm + Drives bird and beast to deathward. What I bade thee + I bid thee do, and leave me. + + NARSETES. + + King, I go. + + [_Exit_. + + ALBOVINE. + + What, have I played the Berserk with my friend? + So should not kings. What meant he? Men wax old, + And age eats out the natural sense of love + Which gives the soul sight of such nobler things + As trust may see by grace of truth more fair + Than doubt would fear to dream of. Rosamund + Knows more by might of faith and love than he. + And yet I would, and yet I would not, fool + As even in mine own eyes I am, she had not + Given me this proof, desired of me this sign, + How clear her soul is toward me save of love, + To attest her pardon of me. Would it were + Sunrise to-morrow! + + _Enter_ ALMACHILDES _and_ HILDEGARD. + + Whence come these, to bring + Sunrise about me? Nay, I bade you be + Here. Does thy memory too not fail thee, boy, + Burnt out by stress of summer + + ALMACHILDES. + + No. + + ALBOVINE. + + Nor hers? + + HILDEGARD. + + How might it, king? Thou art good to us. + + ALBOVINE. + + All things born + Seem good to lovers in their spring of love, + And all men should be. Maiden, God doth well + To give us foresight of the sight of heaven + By looking in such eyes as love like thine + Kindles and veils for love’s sake. Fain was I + To see my boy’s bride and her bridegroom here + Before the feast broke in on us, and bless + Their love with mine—if mine be blessing. + + HILDEGARD. + + Sire, + As the earth gives thanks in spring for the April sun + I would and cannot yield you thanks for this. + + ALMACHILDES. + + I cannot thank at all. I cannot thank + God. + + ALBOVINE. + + Art thou mazed with love? For her thou canst not + Thank God? What feverish doubt of love or life + Crazes or cramps thy spirit? + + ALMACHILDES. + + I cannot say. + My heart, if any heart be left in me, + Is as it was not thankless: yet, my king, + I know not how to thank thee. + + ALBOVINE. + + Thank me not: + I did not bid thee thank me. Love thy love, + And God be with you: so may God be found + Thankworthier. Keep some heart in thee awhile + For God’s and her sake. + + ALMACHILDES. + + All I may I will. + + _Re-enter_ ROSAMUND, _followed by_ NARSETES _and Guests_. + + ALBOVINE. + + Sit, friends and warriors: thou, my boy, next me, + And by my wife thy bride. This night, that leaves + But two days more for June to burn and live, + Plights with my queen’s troth mine in life and death + This last one time for ever, in the cup + Whence none shall drink hereafter. Not in scorn, + Sirs, but in honour now the draught is pledged + Between us, ere this relic stand enshrined + And hallowed as a saint’s on the altar. Queen, + I drink to thee. + + ROSAMUND. + + I thank thee. Good Narsetes, + Give him the chalice. Women slain by fire + Thirst not as I to pledge thee. + + [_As_ ALBOVINE _is about to take the cup_, ALMACHILDES _rises and stabs + him_. + + ALBOVINE. + + Thou, my boy? + + [_Dies_. + + ROSAMUND. + + I. But he hears not. Now, my warrior guests, + I drink to the onward passage of his soul + Death. Had my hand turned coward or played me false, + This man that is my hand, and less than I + And less than he bloodguilty, this my death + Had been my husband’s: now he has left it me. + + [_Drinks_. + + How innocent are all but he and I + No time is mine to tell you. Truth shall tell. + I pardon thee, my husband: pardon me. + + [_Dies_. + + NARSETES. + + Let none make moan. This doom is none of man’s. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSAMUND*** + + +******* This file should be named 2137-0.txt or 2137-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/3/2137 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. 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