Stories after Nature/Alfred of England, and the Force of Love
ALFRED OF ENGLAND,
and the Force of Love.
T the court of Alfred the Great, king of England, was a young nobleman, the son and heir of one of his wealthiest barons; allied to that great man, and bearing his name, Alfred. His father had been slain in a late battle, and had left him master of immense revenues.
This being soon after the expulsion of the Danes by the personal valour and great moves of the king, the government was somewhat weak; and the king sought to strengthen himself in the hearts of his subjects.
This young man, honouring the king's greatness, gave the whole of his riches into his hands, to farm for the use of the state, until it should be his pleasure to return them when they should cease to be needed. And as he was of a gentle and passive disposition, he betook himself to a villa on the banks of the Thames; and there lived, entertaining his friends. Being, however, of a melancholy habit for one so young, and very thoughtful, his inclination led him to travel for relief. Having received a sufficient sum of the king, he departed; they mutually embracing and honouring each other. The young man, in answer to his sage advice, telling him only, "Sir, I bear your name."
Having passed through many countries, he came into Tuscany. The sun was setting; and as he went over the bridge into the city, the bells were ringing, and the sound of music was distinctly heard in the meadows and vintages. The doors of the houses were open, and all the place seemed as one family. His melancholy left him; and his heart warmed within him. He no longer pondered, or looked down, but alighted gaily from his horse, and shook the dust from the feathers in his hat, inquiring the while the reasons for the rejoicings. He was told that the duke had, three days since, married a noble and beautiful lady, who much loved him; and that they were to rejoice for seven days.
When the evening was come, Alfred did not, as he might have done, challenge respect of the duke, but went into the hall as a common guest, and seated himself at the bottom of the table. There he sat, studying the favour of the duke, who was of a most noble appearance. His tanned cheek was freckled yellow with the sun: his eye fiery, and dark as his hair; and that curling heavily and as black as a crow. There hung a gold chain about his neck, and thereto a lady's likeness; and a favour of lady's hair, as yellow as gold, was tied above his naked elbow. His shoulders were covered with a lion's skin: his neck was bare and black with the sun of many a day: his belt was a chain of iron, and his kirtle of sable skins. Behind him stood dark boys, beautiful as Arcadians; one bearing his cup and grapes, and the other resting as David on Goliath's sword. Soft music was heard from without, and the Tuscan spoke: his voice was as the sound of the sea in a cave.
The trumpets sounded as he had commanded; the sweet music passed under the battlements, and when the doors opened, and the duchess advanced, his eyes shot fire. Shaking back his hair, he advanced towards her with extended arms, moving like a leopard. When they embraced, and her yellow hair mingled with his upon his back, they looked like images of the clouds.
Alfred's heart smote against his side, when he saw the beauty of that lady: he eat no meat, but still gazed upon her; nor did he crush any grapes, nor mingle any wine. He heard not, felt not, thought not. He hardly breathed. His senses were in his eyes. He was as one who is "gazing himself blind, by looking on the moon." All this while was his heart beating audibly, and he sat as quiet as a stone, till the feast was done. When the duke had led the duchess away, and the hall was cleared, he was aroused; and looking mournfully around, he sighed deeply, and departed weeping.
On the next day, he wrote to the king as follows:—
"Kind Father;
"It importeth my honour and my life, that I should be absent from your kingdom for some time; how long, I know not. I am a slave; but I serve those whom I most love, and do bless my bondage. I want no gold, therefore use my patrimony while you want it; when not, be it bestowed for the benefit of learning; giving to the church no more than it can demand. Though the tears I now shed are not mine, I do dedicate one drop to the remembrance of old times. Be assured, that which I do at present is honourable, for I bear your name.
"Alfred."
Calling his only attendant to him, and giving him gold, he bade him carry the letter to the king of England; and by no means to return, as he should pass forthwith into Germany. And wringing him by the hand, they parted.
As soon as he was gone, Alfred changed his habit; took a herdsman's staff, went to the gates of the Duke of Tuscany and demanded to see him. Now the duke had just returned from hunting, and Alfred approached like a nobleman, but demanded of him only to be his servant or page. The duke, seeing the greatness of the man through the poorness of his habit, entertained him, and granted his request; and, liking his face, placed him close to his person. Presently the duchess came riding in, he spoke to her of what he had done; and when she saw Alfred, she approved it all. The duke desired him to help his lady from her horse; but he began to shake like a leaf, looked down, and was rooted to the ground. The duke unhorsed the lady, chiding Alfred for his poorness; he laying it to his new fortune, that had gladdened him too much. Alfred soon took an opportunity to gain the duke's respect.
The duke and duchess, seeing continually the nobleness of his nature, grew kind to him; and took him often by the hand, questioning him of his sorrowful aspect, and promising to relieve his misfortunes. They often asked his advice, and would have made him great; but he refused it, liking his old office, and desiring nothing so much as to be opposite their countenances.
Thus did he live for ten years, under the affectionate notice of these two lovers (for neither time nor marriage had as yet weakened their hearts), when it happened that a Danish nobleman visited the court of Tuscany, with his daughter, a very beautiful girl. She seeing the nobleness of the duke fell violently in love with him; and the duke seeing the nobleness of the prize, and feeling the power of his conquest, was guilty enough to return her passion; forgetting the heart of the duchess. And because she should not know of his amour, he gave it out that both his guests would depart from his court, and ordered a feast to their honour. But he had secretly paid a weighty sum of gold to the Dane, that the lady, his daughter, should remain with him; and on the night of her departure she returned, and was received privily into a castle, that was in a wood, out of the city.
The delicate and susceptible nature of the duchess soon told her, that something perilous threatened her love. By the duke's manner and conduct, she could read a difference in his heart; yet could she by no means suspect the cause. Trusting, however, to his honour as well as she could, she stifled these feelings, and bent to all his humours; endeavouring by patient suffering to win him back to what he was. Yet did she never question him of the difference; nor even appear to know it, except by the greater tenderness of her conduct.
Alfred, who watched over the lady's happiness with the vigilance of a lynx; when he found the truth, hated the Tuscan, and dedicated himself by all means in his power to procure the duchess peace and tranquility. Willingly would he have taken what the duke had cast aside; but he knew the duchess's nature, and her love for the duke, and he never divulged himself, nor the heavy secret of his heart.
When he saw the duchess sicken, and become pale, his heart ached for her; and he tried by all means in his power to make good the stories of the duke, when he excused himself for having been abroad all night, by saying, he had hunted too far into the country, or that being sick he took a change of air. But her love for the duke could penetrate too easily through a veil so thin. She called a page to her, and said, "This evening my lord purposes to ride; bring me thy dress, and hide thou in my chamber. Fear not, I will stand betwixt thee and all harm." The page did as she had requested; and having disguised herself, she rode out with her husband, went with him to the castle, and staid there that night. Having seen all that had passed, she returned in the morning, broken-hearted; and shutting herself in her chamber, fell sick.
During this time, Alfred, who had been grieving for her, not knowing of what she had done, had planned to steal the lady from the castle, and carry her by force into England; and by that means once more bring the duke back again to his fair duchess; but ere his plan was ripe, more fatal matter ensued. The duchess never revealing to the duke, nor any other person, that she knew of his perfidy, determined to wait patiently till he should again think of her. But the continual pain was too much for her; and it wore her pale, and as thin as death. All this the duke saw, but it did not alter him; and Alfred was an equal sufferer with the duchess.
It chanced one afternoon, while the duke was with his syren, that Alfred was walking under the window of the duchess's chamber, thinking of the miseries of this world; when he heard her calling feebly to her maids, crying, "Help, help, I am dying." And they, being in a far chamber, and not hearing, Alfred climbed by the help of the vine into her chamber; and raising her in his arms, he said, "Pardon, dear lady, this intrusion to thy couch. What help will do thee good?" She knowing him to be so greatly her friend, and having a feeling for all his kindnesses, was satisfied; and said, "Oh! Alfred, nothing can help me but only Heaven. I am dying—dying of grief. My heart is broken. Oh! my husband." And she fainted from weakness. Alfred saw she was dying, and he grew as weak as a child; his throat ached, and his tears flowed till her hair was wet. And she lifted up her eyes once more, and died.
Having kissed her forehead, and murmured over her, he got down again by the vine: and he took two swords, and went into the woods; dumb with despair, but withal most wroth. There he lay all night under the trees, staring upon the sky; and early in the morning he betook him to the castle, and waited till the duke came from his paramour. When he heard the hinges of the gate, and saw the head of the duke's steed coming forth, he went into the wood, and blew a blast of defiance upon his horn, which the duke answered.
They met upon a level plain, where the duke dismounted. And Alfred said to him, "Sir, I do arraign you here under heaven, of being the murderer of an innocent and beautiful lady.—Oh! how most innocent and beautiful!—I here stand the champion of your duchess, who is dead through the neglect of such a beast as you; and thus I challenge you." And he struck him on the cheek, and offered him one of the swords. The giant, mad at the blow, seized upon the sword and attacked Alfred desperately; but he being determined on having the life of the duke, defended himself suddenly.
When they had fought some time, Alfred struck him on the head; he reeled against a tree, and fell. And seeing Alfred standing over him, he said, "Pause." Alfred replied, "Sir, you did not pause when your dear lady's life could have been saved through it. You have felt only for yourself, and have sacrificed her. When her pale look and aching eye have begged a merciful hour at your hand, you cared not for her pain. And lastly, whilst your hot veins were swelling with delight, you let her poorly die. You sold her unto death for your enjoyments—a sacrifice. You did not pause; wherefore, as you lie upon your back in these nettles, I will not pause!" So saying, he took him by the wrist, and stabbed him to the heart, and so killed him.
And he went to the court, where the elders were assembled, waiting for the duke's presence, to tell him of the death of his lady. Alfred walked in before them, and breaking his sword threw it on the ground; and after a short silence, he told them whose blood it was upon him, and what he had done. So they fell upon him, and bound him; while some went to the forest, and there found the duke upon his back, as he had said, stabbed through and through. They made a bier of twisted boughs, with loose leaves strewed over it, and brought the body into the hall.
They would not hear Alfred; but condemned him to be beheaded on the third day. But on the night of the second he died in his prison, of a broken heart.