The bishop of Winchester, seeing his brother's party regaining some strength, deserted the opposite side, and declared again for the prisoner at Bristol; he set up Stephen's banner on Windsor Castle, and on his episcopal residence, which he had fortified and embattled like a castle. Robert of Gloucester and the partisans of Matilda came and laid siege to it. The garrison of the castle, built in the middle of the town, set fire to the houses to annoy the besiegers; and, at the same time, the army of London, attacking them unawares, obliged them to take refuge in the churches, which were then set fire to, in order to drive them out. Robert of Gloucester was taken prisoner, and his followers dispersed. Barons and knights, throwing away their arms, and marching on foot, in order not to be recognised, traversed the towns and villages under false names. But besides the partisans of the king, who pressed them closely, they encountered other enemies on their road, the Saxon peasants and serfs, who were as remorseless to them in their defeat as they had formerly been to the opposite faction. They arrested the progress of these proud Normans, who, in spite of their attempts at disguise, were betrayed by their language, and drove them along with whips. The bishop of Canterbury, some other bishops, and numbers of great lords were maltreated in this manner, and stripped of their clothing. Thus this war was to the English a cause both of misery and of joy, of that frantic joy which is experienced, in the midst of suffering, by rendering evil for evil, The grand-son of a man slain at Hastings would feel a moment's pleasure when he found the life of a Norman in his power, and the Englishwomen, who had plied the distaff in the service of the high Norman ladies, joyfully recounted the story of the sufferings of queen Matilda on her departure from Oxford: how she fled, accompanied only by three men-at-arms, in the night, on foot, through the snow, and how she had passed, in great alarm, close to the enemy's posts, hearing the voice of the sentinels, and the sound of the military signals. 59.-STEPHEN AND MAUD. KEATS. "As soon as Keats had finished Otho,' Mr. Brown suggested to him the character and reign of King Stephen, beginning with his defeat by the Empress Maud, and ending with the death of his son Eustace, as a fine subject for an English historical tragedy. This Keats undertook, assuming to himself, however, the whole conduct of the drama, and wrote some hundred and thirty lines." Moncton Milnes's Life of Keats. SCENE I. Field of Battle. Alarum. Enter King Stephen, Knights, and Soldiers. Stephen. If shame can on a soldier's vein-swoll'n front Spread deeper crimson than the battle's toil, Blush in your casing helmets! for see, see! Could reach your dastard ears, and fright you more! The enemy First Knight. Second Knight. Sure of a bloody prey, seeing the fens Will swamp them girth-deep. Stephen. Over head and ears, No matter! "Tis a gallant enemy; How like a comet he goes streaming on. But we must plague him in the flank,-hey, friends? We are well breath'd,-follow! Enter Earl Baldwin and Soldiers, as defeated. Stephen. Baldwin. No scare-crow, but the fortunate star This way he comes, and if you would maintain Take horse, my lord. Stephen. SCENE II. Another part of the Field. [Exeunt. Alarum. Trumpets sounding a Victory. Enter Glocester, Knights, and Forces. And take the flattering freshness of the air, While the wide din of battle dies away Into times past, yet to be echoed sure In the silent pages of our chroniclers. First Knight. Will Stephen's death be mark'd there, my good lord, Or that we gave him lodging in yon towers? Glocester. Fain would I know the great usurper's fate. Enter two Captains severally. First Captain. My lord! Second Captain. Most noble earl! First Captain. The king Second Captain. The empress greets— Glocester. What of the king? First Captain. He sole and lone maintains A hopeless bustle 'mid our swarming arms, He must by this have fallen. Baldwin is taken; From the throng'd towers of Lincoln hath look'd down, Like Pallas from the walls of Ilion, And seen her enemies havock'd at her feet. She greets most noble Glocester from her heart, Are envious which shall see your triumph pass; Glocester. Why do you made such echoing of his name? Second Knight. Because I think, my lord, he is no man, But a fierce demon, 'nointed safe from wounds, And misbaptised with a Christian name. Glocester. A mighty soldier !-Does he still hold out? Second Knight. He shames our victory. His valour still Keeps elbow-room amid our eager swords, And holds our bladed falchions all aloof His gleaming battle-axe being slaughter-sick, Broke short in his hand; upon the which he flung It paunch'd the Earl of Chester's horse, who then Spleen-hearted came in full career at him. Glocester. Did no one take him at a vantage then? A throng of foes, and in this renew'd strife, My sword met his and snapp'd off at the hilt. Glocester. Come, lead me to this man-and let us move In silence, not insulting his sad doom With clamorous trumpets. To the Empress bear My salutation as befits the time. Exeunt Glocester and Forces. SCENE III. The Field of Battle. Enter Stephen unarmed. Stephen. Another sword! And what if I could seize One from Bellona's gleaming armoury, Or choose the fairest of her sheaved spears! Where are my enemies? Here, close at hand, I'm faint a biting sword! A noble sword! Enter De Kaims and Knights, &c. De Kaims. Is't madness or a hunger after death That makes thee thus unarm'd throw taunts at us ?Yield, Stephen, or my sword's point dips in The gloomy current of a traitor's heart. Stephen. Do it, De Kaims, I will not budge an inch. De Kaims. How dare, against a man disarm'd } Stephen. What weapons has the lion but himself? Come not near me, De Kaims, or by the price Of all the glory I have won this day, Being a king, I will not yield alive To any but the second man of the realm, De Kaims. Thou shalt vail to me. Stephen. Shall I, when I have sworn against it, sir? Thou think'st it brave to take a breathing king, That, on a court-day bow'd to haughty Maud, The awed presence-chamber may be bold De Kaims. What, you are vulnerable! my prisoner Death as a sovereign right unto a king Who 'sdains to yield to any but his peer, If not in title, yet in noble deeds, The Earl of Glocester. Stab to the hilt, De Kaims, For I will never by mean hands be led From this so famous field. Do you hear! Be quick! Trumpets. Enter the Earl of Chester and Knights. SCENE IV.-A Presence Chamber. Queen Maud in a Chair of State, the Earls of Glocester and Chester, Lords, Attendants. Maud. Glocester, no more: I will behold that Boulogne: Of regal pomp and a vain-glorious hour, Glocester. Faithful counsel have I given ; If wary, for your Highness' benefit. Maud. The Heavens forbid that I should not think so. For by thy valour have I won this realm, Which by thy wisdom I will ever keep. To sage advisers let me ever bend A meek attentive ear, so that they treat Of the wide kingdom's rule and government, Not trenching on our actions personal. Advis'd, not school'd, I would be; and henceforth Not side-ways sermon'd at. Glocester. Then in plain terms, Once more for the fallen king— Maud. Your pardon, brother, I would no more of that; for, as I said, Glocester. If 't must be so, I'll bring him to your presence. Maud. A meaner summoner might do as well My Lord of Chester, is 't true what I hear Of Stephen of Boulogne, our prisoner, Chester. More than that, my gracious Queen, In counsel, dreams too much among his books. It may read well, but sure 'tis out of date To play the Alexander with Darius. Exit Glocester. Maud. Truth! I think so. By Heavens it shall not last How Glocester overstrains his courtesy To that crime-loving rebel, that Boulogne |