Queen Mary; and, Harold

by Baron Alfred Tennyson Tennyson

SCENE I.—SEASHORE. PONTHIEU. NIGHT.
HAROLD and his MEN, wrecked.

HAROLD. Friends, in that last inhospitable plunge
Our boat hath burst her ribs; but ours are whole;
I have but bark'd my hands.
ATTENDANT. I dug mine into
My old fast friend the shore, and clinging thus
Felt the remorseless outdraught of the deep
Haul like a great strong fellow at my legs,
And then I rose and ran. The blast that came
So suddenly hath fallen as suddenly—
Put thou the comet and this blast together—
HAROLD. Put thou thyself and mother-wit together.
Be not a fool!
Enter FISHERMEN with torches, HAROLD going
up to one of them, ROLF.
Wicked sea-will-o'-the-wisp!
Wolf of the shore! dog, with thy lying lights
Thou hast betray'd us on these rocks of thine!
ROLF. Ay, but thou liest as loud as the black herring-pond behind
thee. We be fishermen; I came to see after my nets.
HAROLD. To drag us into them. Fishermen? devils!
Who, while ye fish for men with your false fires,
Let the great Devil fish for your own souls.
ROLF. Nay then, we be liker the blessed Apostles; they were fishers
of men, Father Jean says.
HAROLD. I had liefer that the fish had swallowed me,
Like Jonah, than have known there were such devils.
What's to be done?
[To his MEN—goes apart with them.
FISHERMAN. Rolf, what fish did swallow Jonah?
ROLF. A whale!
FISHERMAN. Then a whale to a whelk we have swallowed the King of
England. I saw him over there. Look thee, Rolf, when I was down in the
fever, she was down with the hunger, and thou didst stand by her and
give her thy crabs, and set her up again, till now, by the patient
Saints, she's as crabb'd as ever.
ROLF. And I'll give her my crabs again, when thou art down again.
FISHERMAN. I thank thee, Rolf. Run thou to Count Guy; he is hard at
hand. Tell him what hath crept into our creel, and he will fee thee as
freely as he will wrench this outlander's ransom out of him—and why
not? for what right had he to get himself wrecked on another man's
land?
ROLF. Thou art the human-heartedest, Christian-charitiest of all
crab-catchers. Share and share alike!
[Exit.
HAROLD (to FISHERMAN).
Fellow, dost thou catch crabs?
FISHERMAN. As few as I may in a wind, and less than I would in a calm.
Ay!
HAROLD. I have a mind that thou shalt catch no more.
FISHERMAN. How?
HAROLD. I have a mind to brain thee with mine axe.
FISHERMAN. Ay, do, do, and our great Count-crab will make his nippers
meet in thine heart; he'll sweat it out of thee, he'll sweat it out of
thee. Look, he's here! He'll speak for himself! Hold thine own, if
thou canst!
Enter GUY, COUNT OF PONTHIEU.
HAROLD. Guy, Count of Ponthieu?
GUY. Harold, Earl of Wessex!
HAROLD. Thy villains with their lying lights have wreck'd us!
GUY. Art thou not Earl of Wessex?
HAROLD. In mine earldom
A man may hang gold bracelets on a bush,
And leave them for a year, and coming back
Find them again.
GUY. Thou art a mighty man
In thine own earldom!
HAROLD. Were such murderous liars
In Wessex—if I caught them, they should hang
Cliff-gibbeted for sea-marks; our sea-mew
Winging their only wail!
GUY. Ay, but my men
Hold that the shipwreckt are accursed of God;—
What hinders me to hold with mine own men?
HAROLD. The Christian manhood of the man who reigns!
GUY. Ay, rave thy worst, but in our oubliettes
Thou shalt or rot or ransom. Hale him hence!
[To one of his ATTENDANTS.
Fly thou to William; tell him we have Harold.

SCENE II.—BAYEUX. PALACE.
COUNT WILLIAM and WILLIAM MALET.

WILLIAM. We hold our Saxon woodcock in the springe,
But he begins to flutter. As I think
He was thine host in England when I went
To visit Edward.
MALET. Yea, and there, my lord,
To make allowance for their rougher fashions,
I found him all a noble host should be.
WILLIAM. Thou art his friend: thou know'st my claim on England
Thro' Edward's promise: we have him in the toils.
And it were well, if thou shouldst let him feel,
How dense a fold of danger nets him round,
So that he bristle himself against my will.
MALET. What would I do, my lord, if I were you?
WILLIAM. What wouldst thou do?
MALET. My lord, he is thy guest.
WILLIAM. Nay, by the splendour of God, no guest of mine.
He came not to see me, had past me by
To hunt and hawk elsewhere, save for the fate
Which hunted him when that un-Saxon blast,
And bolts of thunder moulded in high heaven
To serve the Norman purpose, drave and crack'd
His boat on Ponthieu beach; where our friend Guy
Had wrung his ransom from him by the rack,
But that I slept between and purchased him,
Translating his captivity from Guy
To mine own hearth at Bayeux, where he sits
My ransom'd prisoner.
MALET. Well, if not with gold,
With golden deeds and iron strokes that brought
Thy war with Brittany to a goodlier close
Than else had been, he paid his ransom back.
WILLIAM. So that henceforth they are not like to league
With Harold against me.
MALET. A marvel, how
He from the liquid sands of Coesnon
Haled thy shore-swallow'd, armour'd Normans up
To fight for thee again!
WILLIAM. Perchance against
Their saver, save thou save him from himself.
MALET. But I should let him home again, my lord.
WILLIAM. Simple! let fly the bird within the hand,
To catch the bird again within the bush!
No.
Smooth thou my way, before he clash with me;
I want his voice in England for the crown,
I want thy voice with him to bring him round;
And being brave he must be subtly cow'd,
And being truthful wrought upon to swear
Vows that he dare not break. England our own
Thro' Harold's help, he shall be my dear friend
As well as thine, and thou thyself shalt have
Large lordship there of lands and territory.
MALET. I knew thy purpose; he and Wulfnoth never
Have met, except in public; shall they meet
In private? I have often talk'd with Wulfnoth,
And stuff'd the boy with fears that these may act
On Harold when they meet.
WILLIAM. Then let them meet!
MALET. I can but love this noble, honest Harold.
WILLIAM. Love him! why not? thine is a loving office,
I have commission'd thee to save the man:
Help the good ship, showing the sunken rock,
Or he is wreckt for ever.
Enter WILLIAM RUFUS.
WILLIAM RUFUS. Father.
WILLIAM. Well, boy.
WILLIAM RUFUS. They have taken away the toy thou gavest me,
The Norman knight.
WILLIAM. Why, boy?
WILLIAM RUFUS. Because I broke
The horse's leg—it was mine own to break;
I like to have my toys, and break them too.
WILLIAM. Well, thou shalt have another Norman knight!
WILLIAM RUFUS. And may I break his legs?
WILLIAM. Yea,—get thee gone!
WILLIAM RUFUS. I'll tell them I have had my way with thee.
[Exit.
MALET. I never knew thee check thy will for ought
Save for the prattling of thy little ones.
WILLIAM. Who shall be kings of England. I am heir
Of England by the promise of her king.
MALET. But there the great Assembly choose their king,
The choice of England is the voice of England.
WILLIAM. I will be king of England by the laws,
The choice, and voice of England.
MALET. Can that be?
WILLIAM. The voice of any people is the sword
That guards them, or the sword that beats them down.
Here comes the would-be what I will be ... king-like ...
Tho' scarce at ease; for, save our meshes break,
More kinglike he than like to prove a king.
Enter HAROLD, musing, with his eyes on the ground.
He sees me not—and yet he dreams of me.
Earl, wilt thou fly my falcons this fair day?
They are of the best, strong-wing'd against the wind.
HAROLD (looking up suddenly, having caught but the last word).
Which way does it blow?
WILLIAM. Blowing for England, ha?
Not yet. Thou hast not learnt thy quarters here.
The winds so cross and jostle among these towers.
HAROLD. Count of the Normans, thou hast ransom'd us,
Maintain'd, and entertain'd us royally!
WILLIAM. And thou for us hast fought as loyally,
Which binds us friendship-fast for ever!
HAROLD. Good!
But lest we turn the scale of courtesy
By too much pressure on it, I would fain,
Since thou hast promised Wulfnoth home with us,
Be home again with Wulfnoth.
WILLIAM. Stay—as yet
Thou hast but seen how Norman hands can strike,
But walk'd our Norman field, scarce touch'd or tasted
The splendours of our Court.
HAROLD. I am in no mood:
I should be as the shadow of a cloud
Crossing your light.
WILLIAM. Nay, rest a week or two,
And we will fill thee full of Norman sun,
And send thee back among thine island mists
With laughter.
HAROLD. Count, I thank thee, but had rather
Breathe the free wind from off our Saxon downs,
Tho' charged with all the wet of all the west.
WILLIAM. Why if thou wilt, so let it be—thou shalt.
That were a graceless hospitality
To chain the free guest to the banquet-board;
To-morrow we will ride with thee to Harfleur,
And see thee shipt, and pray in thy behalf
For happier homeward winds than that which crack'd
Thy bark at Ponthieu,—yet to us, in faith,
A happy one—whereby we came to know
Thy valour and thy value, noble earl.
Ay, and perchance a happy one for thee,
Provided—I will go with thee to-morrow—
Nay—but there be conditions, easy ones,
So thou, fair friend, will take them easily.
Enter PAGE.
PAGE. My lord, there is a post from over seas
With news for thee. [Exit PAGE.
WILLIAM. Come, Malet, let us hear!
[Exeunt COUNT WILLIAM and MALET.
HAROLD. Conditions? What conditions? pay him back
His ransom? 'easy '—that were easy—nay—
No money-lover he! What said the King?
'I pray you do not go to Normandy.'
And fate hath blown me hither, bound me too
With bitter obligation to the Count—
Have I not fought it out? What did he mean?
There lodged a gleaming grimness in his eyes,
Gave his shorn smile the lie. The walls oppress me,
And yon huge keep that hinders half the heaven.
Free air! free field!
[Moves to go out. A MAN-AT-ARMS follows him.
HAROLD (to the MAN-AT-ARMS).
I need thee not. Why dost thou follow me?
MAN-AT-ARMS. I have the Count's commands to follow thee.
HAROLD. What then? Am I in danger in this court?
MAN-AT-ARMS. I cannot tell. I have the Count's commands.
HAROLD. Stand out of earshot then, and keep me still
In eyeshot.
MAN-AT-ARMS. Yea, lord Harold. [Withdraws.
HAROLD. And arm'd men
Ever keep watch beside my chamber door,
And if I walk within the lonely wood,
There is an arm'd man ever glides behind!
Enter MALET.
Why am I follow'd, haunted, harass'd, watch'd?
See yonder! [Pointing to the MAN-AT-ARMS.
MALET. 'Tis the good Count's care for thee!
The Normans love thee not, nor thou the Normans,
Or—so they deem.
HAROLD. But wherefore is the wind,
Which way soever the vane-arrow swing,
Not ever fair for England? Why but now
He said (thou heardst him) that I must not hence
Save on conditions.
MALET. So in truth he said.
HAROLD. Malet, thy mother was an Englishwoman;
There somewhere beats an English pulse in thee!
MALET. Well—for my mother's sake I love your England,
But for my father I love Normandy.
HAROLD. Speak for thy mother's sake, and tell me true.
MALET. Then for my mother's sake, and England's sake
That suffers in the daily want of thee,
Obey the Count's conditions, my good friend.
HAROLD. How, Malet, if they be not honourable!
MALET. Seem to obey them.
HAROLD. Better die than lie!
MALET. Choose therefore whether thou wilt have thy conscience
White as a maiden's hand, or whether England
Be shatter'd into fragments.
HAROLD. News from England?
MALET. Morcar and Edwin have stirr'd up the Thanes
Against thy brother Tostig's governance;
And all the North of Humber is one storm.
HAROLD. I should be there, Malet, I should be there!
MALET. And Tostig in his own hall on suspicion
Hath massacred the Thane that was his guest,
Gamel, the son of Orm: and there be more
As villainously slain.
HAROLD. The wolf! the beast!
Ill news for guests, ha, Malet! More? What more?
What do they say? did Edward know of this?
MALET. They say, his wife was knowing and abetting.
HAROLD. They say, his wife!—To marry and have no husband
Makes the wife fool. My God, I should be there.
I'll hack my way to the sea.
MALET. Thou canst not, Harold;
Our Duke is all between thee and the sea,
Our Duke is all about thee like a God;
All passes block'd. Obey him, speak him fair,
For he is only debonair to those
That follow where he leads, but stark as death
To those that cross him.—Look thou, here is Wulfnoth!
I leave thee to thy talk with him alone;
How wan, poor lad! how sick and sad for home!
[Exit MALET.
HAROLD (muttering).
Go not to Normandy—go not to Normandy!
Enter WULFNOTH.
Poor brother! still a hostage!
WULFNOTH. Yea, and I
Shall see the dewy kiss of dawn no more
Make blush the maiden-white of our tall cliffs,
Nor mark the sea-bird rouse himself and hover
Above the windy ripple, and fill the sky
With free sea-laughter—never—save indeed
Thou canst make yield this iron-mooded Duke
To let me go.
HAROLD. Why, brother, so he will;
But on conditions. Canst thou guess at them?
WULFNOTH. Draw nearer,—I was in the corridor,
I saw him coming with his brother Odo
The Bayeux bishop, and I hid myself.
HAROLD. They did thee wrong who made thee hostage; thou
Wast ever fearful.
WULFNOTH. And he spoke—I heard him—
'This Harold is not of the royal blood,
Can have no right to the crown,' and Odo said,
'Thine is the right, for thine the might; he is here,
And yonder is thy keep.'
HAROLD. No, Wulfnoth, no.
WULFNOTH. And William laugh'd and swore that might was right,
Far as he knew in this poor world of ours—
'Marry, the Saints must go 'along with us,
And, brother, we will find a way,' said he—
Yea, yea, he would be king of England.
HAROLD. Never!
WULFNOTH. Yea, but thou must not this way answer him.
HAROLD. Is it not better still to speak the truth?
WULFNOTH. Not here, or thou wilt never hence nor I:
For in the racing toward this golden goal
He turns not right or left, but tramples flat
Whatever thwarts him; hast thou never heard
His savagery at Alencon,—the town
Hung out raw hides along their walls, and cried
'Work for the tanner.'
HAROLD. That had anger'd me Had I been William.
WULFNOTH. Nay, but he had prisoners,
He tore their eyes out, sliced their hands away,
And flung them streaming o'er the battlements
Upon the heads of those who walk'd within—
O speak him fair, Harold, for thine own sake.
HAROLD. Your Welshman says, 'The Truth against the World,'
Much more the truth against myself.
WULFNOTH. Thyself?
But for my sake, oh brother! oh! for my sake!
HAROLD. Poor Wulfnoth! do they not entreat thee well?
WULFNOTH. I see the blackness of my dungeon loom
Across their lamps of revel, and beyond
The merriest murmurs of their banquet clank
The shackles that will bind me to the wall.
HAROLD. Too fearful still!
WULFNOTH. Oh no, no—speak him fair!
Call it to temporize; and not to lie;
Harold, I do not counsel thee to lie.
The man that hath to foil a murderous aim
May, surely, play with words.
HAROLD. Words are the man.
Not ev'n for thy sake, brother, would I lie.
WULFNOTH. Then for thine Edith?
HAROLD. There thou prick'st me deep.
WULFNOTH. And for our Mother England?
HAROLD. Deeper still.
WULFNOTH. And deeper still the deep-down oubliette,
Down thirty feet below the smiling day—
In blackness—dogs' food thrown upon thy head.
And over thee the suns arise and set,
And the lark sings, the sweet stars come and go,
And men are at their markets, in their fields,
And woo their loves and have forgotten thee;
And thou art upright in thy living grave,
Where there is barely room to shift thy side,
And all thine England hath forgotten thee;
And he our lazy-pious Norman King,
With all his Normans round him once again,
Counts his old beads, and hath forgotten thee.
HAROLD. Thou art of my blood, and so methinks, my boy,
Thy fears infect me beyond reason. Peace!
WULFNOTH. And then our fiery Tostig, while thy hands
Are palsied here, if his Northumbrians rise
And hurl him from them,—I have heard the Normans
Count upon this confusion—may he not make
A league with William, so to bring him back?
HAROLD. That lies within the shadow of the chance.
WULFNOTH. And like a river in flood thro' a burst dam
Descends the ruthless Norman—our good King
Kneels mumbling some old bone—our helpless folk
Are wash'd away, wailing, in their own blood—
HAROLD. Wailing! not warring? Boy, thou hast forgotten
That thou art English.
WULFNOTH. Then our modest women—
I know the Norman license—thine own Edith—
HAROLD. No more! I will not hear thee—William comes.
WULFNOTH. I dare not well be seen in talk with thee.
Make thou not mention that I spake with thee.
[Moves away to the back of the stage.
Enter WILLIAM, MALET, and OFFICER.
OFFICER. We have the man that rail'd against thy birth.
WILLIAM. Tear out his tongue.
OFFICER. He shall not rail again.
He said that he should see confusion fall
On thee and on thine house.
WILLIAM. Tear out his eyes, And plunge him into prison.
OFFICER. It shall be done.
[Exit OFFICER.
WILLIAM. Look not amazed, fair earl! Better leave undone
Than do by halves—tongueless and eyeless, prison'd—
HAROLD. Better methinks have slain the man at once!
WILLIAM. We have respect for man's immortal soul,
We seldom take man's life, except in war;
It frights the traitor more to maim and blind.
HAROLD. In mine own land I should have scorn'd the man,
Or lash'd his rascal back, and let him go.
WILLIAM. And let him go? To slander thee again!
Yet in thine own land in thy father's day
They blinded my young kinsman, Alfred—ay,
Some said it was thy father's deed.
HAROLD. They lied.
WILLIAM. But thou and he—whom at thy word, for thou
Art known a speaker of the truth, I free
From this foul charge—
HAROLD. Nay, nay, he freed himself
By oath and compurgation from the charge.
The king, the lords, the people clear'd him of it.
WILLIAM. But thou and he drove our good Normans out
From England, and this rankles in us yet.
Archbishop Robert hardly scaped with life.
HAROLD. Archbishop Robert! Robert the Archbishop!
Robert of Jumieges, he that—
MALET. Quiet! quiet!
HAROLD. Count! if there sat within the Norman chair
A ruler all for England—one who fill'd
All offices, all bishopricks with English—
We could not move from Dover to the Humber
Saving thro' Norman bishopricks—I say
Ye would applaud that Norman who should drive
The stranger to the fiends!
WILLIAM. Why, that is reason!
Warrior thou art, and mighty wise withal!
Ay, ay, but many among our Norman lords
Hate thee for this, and press upon me—saying
God and the sea have given thee to our hands—
To plunge thee into life-long prison here:—
Yet I hold out against them, as I may,
Yea—would hold out, yea, tho' they should revolt—
For thou hast done the battle in my cause;
I am thy fastest friend in Normandy.
HAROLD. I am doubly bound to thee ... if this be so.
WILLIAM. And I would bind thee more, and would myself
Be bounden to thee more.
HAROLD. Then let me hence With Wulfnoth to King Edward.
WILLIAM. So we will. We hear he hath not long to live.
HAROLD. It may be.
WILLIAM. Why then the heir of England, who is he?
HAROLD. The Atheling is nearest to the throne.
WILLIAM. But sickly, slight, half-witted and a child,
Will England have him king?
HAROLD. It may be, no.
WILLIAM. And hath King Edward not pronounced his heir?
HAROLD. Not that I know.
WILLIAM. When he was here in Normandy,
He loved us and we him, because we found him.
A Norman of the Normans.
HAROLD. So did we.
WILLIAM. A gentle, gracious, pure and saintly man!
And grateful to the hand that shielded him,
He promised that if ever he were king
In England, he would give his kingly voice
To me as his successor. Knowest thou this?
HAROLD. I learn it now.
WILLIAM. Thou knowest I am his cousin,
And that my wife descends from Alfred?
HAROLD. Ay.
WILLIAM. Who hath a better claim then to the crown
So that ye will not crown the Atheling?
HAROLD. None that I know ... if that but hung upon
King Edward's will.
WILLIAM. Wilt thou uphold my claim?
MALET (aside to HAROLD).
Be careful of thine answer, my good friend.
WULFNOTH (aside to HAROLD).
Oh! Harold, for my sake and for thine own!
HAROLD. Ay ... if the king have not revoked his promise.
WILLIAM. But hath he done it then?
HAROLD. Not that I know.
WILLIAM. Good, good, and thou wilt help me to the crown?
HAROLD. Ay ... if the Witan will consent to this.
WILLIAM. Thou art the mightiest voice in England, man,
Thy voice will lead the Witan—shall I have it?
WULFNOTH (aside to HAROLD).
Oh! Harold, if thou love thine Edith, ay.
HAROLD. Ay, if—
MALET (aside to HAROLD).
Thine 'ifs' will sear thine eyes out—ay.
WILLIAM. I ask thee, wilt thou help me to the crown?
And I will make thee my great Earl of Earls,
Foremost in England and in Normandy;
Thou shalt be verily king—all but the name—
For I shall most sojourn in Normandy;
And thou be my vice-king in England. Speak.
WULFNOTH (aside to HAROLD).
Ay, brother—for the sake of England—ay.
HAROLD. My lord—
MALET (aside to HAROLD).
Take heed now.
HAROLD. Ay.
WILLIAM. I am content,
For thou art truthful, and thy word thy bond.
To-morrow will we ride with thee to Harfleur.
[Exit WILLIAM.
MALET. Harold, I am thy friend, one life with thee,
And even as I should bless thee saving mine,
I thank thee now for having saved thyself.
[Exit MALET.
HAROLD. For having lost myself to save myself,
Said 'ay' when I meant 'no,' lied like a lad
That dreads the pendent scourge, said 'ay' for 'no'!
Ay! No!—he hath not bound me by an oath—
Is 'ay' an oath? is 'ay' strong as an oath?
Or is it the same sin to break my word
As break mine oath? He call'd my word my bond!
He is a liar who knows I am a liar,
And makes believe that he believes my word—
The crime be on his head—not bounden—no.
[Suddenly doors are flung open, discovering in an
inner hall COUNT WILLIAM in his state robes,
seated upon his throne, between two BISHOPS,
ODO OP BAYEUX being one: in the centre of
the hall an ark covered with cloth of gold;
and on either side of it the NORMAN BARONS.
Enter a JAILOR before WILLIAM'S throne.
WILLIAM (to JAILOR).
Knave, hast thou let thy prisoner scape?
JAILOR. Sir Count,
He had but one foot, he must have hopt away,
Yea, some familiar spirit must have help'd him.
WILLIAM. Woe knave to thy familiar and to thee!
Give me thy keys. [They fall clashing.
Nay let them lie. Stand there and wait my will.
[The JAILOR stands aside.
WILLIAM (to HAROLD).
Hast thou such trustless jailors in thy North?
HAROLD. We have few prisoners in mine earldom there,
So less chance for false keepers.
WILLIAM. We have heard
Of thy just, mild, and equal governance;
Honour to thee! thou art perfect in all honour!
Thy naked word thy bond! confirm it now
Before our gather'd Norman baronage,
For they will not believe thee—as I believe.
[Descends from his throne and stands by the ark.
Let all men here bear witness of our bond!
[Beckons to HAROLD, who advances.
Enter MALET behind him.
Lay thou thy hand upon this golden pall!
Behold the jewel of St. Pancratius
Woven into the gold. Swear thou on this!
HAROLD. What should I swear? Why should I swear on this?
WILLIAM (savagely).
Swear thou to help me to the crown of England.
MALET (whispering HAROLD).
My friend, thou hast gone too far to palter now.
WULFNOTH (whispering HAROLD).
Swear thou to-day, to-morrow is thine own.
HAROLD. I swear to help thee to the crown of England ...
According as King Edward promises.
WILLIAM. Thou must swear absolutely, noble Earl.
MALET (whispering).
Delay is death to thee, ruin to England.
WULFNOTH (whispering).
Swear, dearest brother, I beseech thee, swear!
HAROLD (putting his hand on the jewel).
I swear to help thee to the crown of England.
WILLIAM. Thanks, truthful Earl; I did not doubt thy word,
But that my barons might believe thy word,
And that the Holy Saints of Normandy
When thou art home in England, with thine own,
Might strengthen thee in keeping of thy word,
I made thee swear.—Show him by whom he hath sworn.
[The two BISHOPS advance, and raise the cloth of gold.
The bodies and bones of Saints are seen lying in the ark.
The holy bones of all the Canonised
From all the holiest shrines in Normandy!
HAROLD. Horrible! [They let the cloth fall again.
WILLIAM. Ay, for thou hast sworn an oath
Which, if not kept, would make the hard earth rive
To the very Devil's horns, the bright sky cleave
To the very feet of God, and send her hosts
Of injured Saints to scatter sparks of plague
Thro' all your cities, blast your infants, dash
The torch of war among your standing corn,
Dabble your hearths with your own blood.—Enough!
Thou wilt not break it! I, the Count—the King—
Thy friend—am grateful for thine honest oath,
Not coming fiercely like a conqueror, now,
But softly as a bridegroom to his own.
For I shall rule according to your laws,
And make your ever-jarring Earldoms move
To music and in order—Angle, Jute,
Dane, Saxon, Norman, help to build a throne
Out-towering hers of France.... The wind is fair
For England now.... To-night we will be merry.
To-morrow will I ride with thee to Harfleur.
[Exeunt WILLIAM and all the NORMAN BARONS, etc.
HAROLD. To-night we will be merry—and to-morrow—
Juggler and bastard—bastard—he hates that most—
William the tanner's bastard! Would he heard me!
O God, that I were in some wide, waste field
With nothing but my battle-axe and him
To spatter his brains! Why let earth rive, gulf in
These cursed Normans—yea and mine own self.
Cleave heaven, and send thy saints that I may say
Ev'n to their faces, 'If ye side with William
Ye are not noble.' How their pointed fingers
Glared at me! Am I Harold, Harold, son
Of our great Godwin? Lo! I touch mine arms,
My limbs—they are not mine—they are a liar's—
I mean to be a liar—I am not bound—
Stigand shall give me absolution for it—
Did the chest move? did it move? I am utter craven!
O Wulfnoth, Wulfnoth, brother, thou hast betray'd me!
WULFNOTH. Forgive me, brother, I will live here and die.
Enter PAGE.
PAGE. My lord! the Duke awaits thee at the banquet.
HAROLD. Where they eat dead men's flesh, and drink their blood.
PAGE. My lord—
HAROLD. I know your Norman cookery is so spiced,
It masks all this.
PAGE. My lord! thou art white as death.
HAROLD. With looking on the dead. Am I so white?
Thy Duke will seem the darker. Hence, I follow.
[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.—THE KING'S PALACE. LONDON.
KING EDWARD dying on a couch, and by him standing the QUEEN, HAROLD,
ARCHBISHOP STIGAND, GURTH, LEOFWIN, ARCHBISHOP ALDRED, ALDWYTH, and EDITH.

STIGAND. Sleeping or dying there? If this be death,
Then our great Council wait to crown thee King—
Come hither, I have a power; [To HAROLD.
They call me near, for I am close to thee
And England—I, old shrivell'd Stigand, I,
Dry as an old wood-fungus on a dead tree,
I have a power!
See here this little key about my neck!
There lies a treasure buried down in Ely:
If e'er the Norman grow too hard for thee,
Ask me for this at thy most need, son Harold,
At thy most need—not sooner.
HAROLD. So I will.
STIGAND. Red gold—a hundred purses—yea, and more!
If thou canst make a wholesome use of these
To chink against the Norman, I do believe
My old crook'd spine would bud out two young wings
To fly to heaven straight with.
HAROLD. Thank thee, father!
Thou art English, Edward too is English now,
He hath clean repented of his Normanism.
STIGAND. Ay, as the libertine repents who cannot
Make done undone, when thro' his dying sense
Shrills 'lost thro' thee.' They have built their castles here;
Our priories are Norman; the Norman adder
Hath bitten us; we are poison'd: our dear England
Is demi-Norman. He!—
[Pointing to KING EDWARD, sleeping.
HAROLD. I would I were
As holy and as passionless as he!
That I might rest as calmly! Look at him—
The rosy face, and long down-silvering beard,
The brows unwrinkled as a summer mere.—
STIGAND. A summer mere with sudden wreckful gusts
From a side-gorge. Passionless? How he flamed
When Tostig's anger'd earldom flung him, nay,
He fain had calcined all Northumbria
To one black ash, but that thy patriot passion
Siding with our great Council against Tostig,
Out-passion'd his! Holy? ay, ay, forsooth,
A conscience for his own soul, not his realm;
A twilight conscience lighted thro' a chink;
Thine by the sun; nay, by some sun to be,
When all the world hath learnt to speak the truth,
And lying were self-murder by that state
Which was the exception.
HAROLD. That sun may God speed!
STIGAND. Come, Harold, shake the cloud off!
HAROLD. Can I, father?
Our Tostig parted cursing me and England;
Our sister hates us for his banishment;
He hath gone to kindle Norway against England,
And Wulfnoth is alone in Normandy.
For when I rode with William down to Harfleur,
'Wulfnoth is sick,' he said; 'he cannot follow;'
Then with that friendly-fiendly smile of his,
'We have learnt to love him, let him a little longer
Remain a hostage for the loyalty
Of Godwin's house.' As far as touches Wulfnoth
I that so prized plain word and naked truth
Have sinn'd against it—all in vain.
LEOFWIN. Good brother,
By all the truths that ever priest hath preach'd,
Of all the lies that ever men have lied,
Thine is the pardonablest.
HAROLD. May be so!
I think it so, I think I am a fool
To think it can be otherwise than so.
STIGAND. Tut, tut, I have absolved thee: dost thou scorn me,
Because I had my Canterbury pallium,
From one whom they dispoped?
HAROLD. No, Stigand, no!
STIGAND. Is naked truth actable in true life?
I have heard a saying of thy father Godwin,
That, were a man of state nakedly true,
Men would but take him for the craftier liar.
LEOFWIN. Be men less delicate than the Devil himself?
I thought that naked Truth would shame the Devil,
The Devil is so modest.
GURTH. He never said it!
LEOFWIN. Be thou not stupid-honest, brother Gurth!
HAROLD. Better to be a liar's dog, and hold
My master honest, than believe that lying
And ruling men are fatal twins that cannot
Move one without the other. Edward wakes!—
Dazed—he hath seen a vision.
EDWARD. The green tree!
Then a great Angel past along the highest
Crying 'the doom of England,' and at once
He stood beside me, in his grasp a sword
Of lightnings, wherewithal he cleft the tree
From off the bearing trunk, and hurl'd it from him
Three fields away, and then he dash'd and drench'd,
He dyed, he soak'd the trunk with human blood,
And brought the sunder'd tree again, and set it
Straight on the trunk, that thus baptized in blood
Grew ever high and higher, beyond my seeing,
And shot out sidelong boughs across the deep
That dropt themselves, and rooted in far isles
Beyond my seeing: and the great Angel rose
And past again along the highest crying
'The doom of England!'—Tostig, raise my head!
[Falls back senseless.
HAROLD (raising him).
Let Harold serve for Tostig!
QUEEN. Harold served
Tostig so ill, he cannot serve for Tostig!
Ay, raise his head, for thou hast laid it low!
The sickness of our saintly king, for whom
My prayers go up as fast as my tears fall,
I well believe, hath mainly drawn itself
From lack of Tostig—thou hast banish'd him.
HAROLD. Nay—but the council, and the king himself.
QUEEN. Thou hatest him, hatest him.
HAROLD (coldly).
Ay—Stigand, unriddle
This vision, canst thou?
STIGAND. Dotage!
EDWARD (starting up).
It is finish'd.
I have built the Lord a house—the Lord hath dwelt
In darkness. I have built the Lord a house—
Palms, flowers, pomegranates, golden cherubim
With twenty-cubit wings from wall to wall—
I have built the Lord a house—sing, Asaph! clash
The cymbal, Heman! blow the trumpet, priest!
Fall, cloud, and fill the house—lo! my two pillars,
Jachin and Boaz!— [Seeing HAROLD and GURTH.
Harold, Gurth,—where am I?
Where is the charter of our Westminster?
STIGAND. It lies beside thee, king, upon thy bed.
EDWARD. Sign, sign at once—take, sign it, Stigand, Aldred!
Sign it, my good son Harold, Gurth, and Leofwin,
Sign it, my queen!
ALL. We have sign'd it.
EDWARD. It is finish'd!
The kingliest Abbey in all Christian lands,
The lordliest, loftiest minster ever built
To Holy Peter in our English isle!
Let me be buried there, and all our kings,
And all our just and wise and holy men
That shall be born hereafter. It is finish'd!
Hast thou had absolution for thine oath? [To HAROLD.
HAROLD. Stigand hath given me absolution for it.
EDWARD. Stigand is not canonical enough
To save thee from the wrath of Norman Saints.
STIGAND. Norman enough! Be there no Saints of England
To help us from their brethren yonder?
EDWARD. Prelate,
The Saints are one, but those of Normanland
Are mightier than our own. Ask it of Aldred.
[To HAROLD.
ALDRED. It shall be granted him, my king; for he
Who vows a vow to strangle his own mother
Is guiltier keeping this, than breaking it.
EDWARD. O friends, I shall not overlive the day.
STIGAND. Why then the throne is empty. Who inherits?
For tho' we be not bound by the king's voice
In making of a king, yet the king's voice
Is much toward his making. Who inherits?
Edgar the Atheling?
EDWARD. No, no, but Harold.
I love him: he hath served me: none but he
Can rule all England. Yet the curse is on him
For swearing falsely by those blessed bones;
He did not mean to keep his vow.
HAROLD. Not mean
To make our England Norman.
EDWARD. There spake Godwin,
Who hated all the Normans; but their Saints
Have heard thee, Harold.
EDITH. Oh! my lord, my king!
He knew not whom he sware by.
EDWARD. Yea, I know
He knew not, but those heavenly ears have heard,
Their curse is on him; wilt thou bring another,
Edith, upon his head?
EDITH. No, no, not I.
EDWARD. Why then, thou must not wed him.
HAROLD. Wherefore, wherefore?
EDWARD. O son, when thou didst tell me of thine oath,
I sorrow'd for my random promise given
To yon fox-lion. I did not dream then
I should be king.—My son, the Saints are virgins;
They love the white rose of virginity,
The cold, white lily blowing in her cell:
I have been myself a virgin; and I sware
To consecrate my virgin here to heaven—
The silent, cloister'd, solitary life,
A life of life-long prayer against the curse
That lies on thee and England.
HAROLD. No, no, no.
EDWARD. Treble denial of the tongue of flesh,
Like Peter's when he fell, and thou wilt have
To wail for it like Peter. O my son!
Are all oaths to be broken then, all promises
Made in our agony for help from heaven?
Son, there is one who loves thee: and a wife,
What matters who, so she be serviceable
In all obedience, as mine own hath been:
God bless thee, wedded daughter.
[Laying his hand on the QUEEN'S head.
QUEEN. Bless thou too
That brother whom I love beyond the rest,
My banish'd Tostig.
EDWARD. All the sweet Saints bless him!
Spare and forbear him, Harold, if he comes!
And let him pass unscathed; he loves me, Harold!
Be kindly to the Normans left among us,
Who follow'd me for love! and dear son, swear
When thou art king, to see my solemn vow
Accomplish'd.
HAROLD. Nay, dear lord, for I have sworn
Not to swear falsely twice.
EDWARD. Thou wilt not swear?
HAROLD. I cannot.
EDWARD. Then on thee remains the curse,
Harold, if thou embrace her: and on thee,
Edith, if thou abide it,—
[The KING swoons; EDITH falls and kneels by the couch.
STIGAND. He hath swoon'd!
Death?... no, as yet a breath.
HAROLD. Look up! look up!
Edith!
ALDRED. Confuse her not; she hath begun
Her life-long prayer for thee.
ALDWYTH. O noble Harold,
I would thou couldst have sworn.
HAROLD. For thine own pleasure?
ALDWYTH. No, but to please our dying king, and those
Who make thy good their own—all England, Earl.
ALDRED. I would thou couldst have sworn. Our holy king
Hath given his virgin lamb to Holy Church
To save thee from the curse.
HAROLD. Alas! poor man,
His promise brought it on me.
ALDRED. O good son!
That knowledge made him all the carefuller
To find a means whereby the curse might glance
From thee and England.
HAROLD. Father, we so loved—
ALDRED. The more the love, the mightier is the prayer;
The more the love, the more acceptable
The sacrifice of both your loves to heaven.
No sacrifice to heaven, no help from heaven;
That runs thro' all the faiths of all the world.
And sacrifice there must be, for the king
Is holy, and hath talk'd with God, and seen
A shadowing horror; there are signs in heaven—
HAROLD. Your comet came and went.
ALDRED. And signs on earth!
Knowest thou Senlac hill?
HAROLD. I know all Sussex;
A good entrenchment for a perilous hour!
ALDRED. Pray God that come not suddenly! There is one
Who passing by that hill three nights ago—
He shook so that he scarce could out with it—
Heard, heard—
HAROLD. The wind in his hair?
ALDRED. A ghostly horn
Blowing continually, and faint battle-hymns,
And cries, and clashes, and the groans of men;
And dreadful shadows strove upon the hill,
And dreadful lights crept up from out the marsh—
Corpse-candles gliding over nameless graves—
HAROLD. At Senlac?
ALDRED. Senlac.
EDWARD (waking).
Senlac! Sanguelac,
The Lake of Blood!
STIGAND. This lightning before death
Plays on the word,—and Normanizes too!
HAROLD. Hush, father, hush!
EDWARD. Thou uncanonical fool,
Wilt thou play with the thunder? North and South
Thunder together, showers of blood are blown
Before a never-ending blast, and hiss
Against the blaze they cannot quench—a lake,
A sea of blood—we are drown'd in blood—for God
Has fill'd the quiver, and Death has drawn the bow—
Sanguelac! Sanguelac! the arrow! the arrow! [Dies.
STIGAND. It is the arrow of death in his own heart—
And our great Council wait to crown thee King.

SCENE II.—IN THE GARDEN. THE KING'S HOUSE NEAR LONDON.

EDITH. Crown'd, crown'd and lost, crown'd King—and lost to me!
(Singing.)
Two young lovers in winter weather,
None to guide them,
Walk'd at night on the misty heather;
Night, as black as a raven's feather;
Both were lost and found together,
None beside them.
That is the burthen of it—lost and found
Together in the cruel river Swale
A hundred years ago; and there's another,
Lost, lost, the light of day,
To which the lover answers lovingly
'I am beside thee.'
Lost, lost, we have lost the way.
'Love, I will guide thee.'
Whither, O whither? into the river,
Where we two may be lost together,
And lost for ever? 'Oh! never, oh! never,
Tho' we be lost and be found together.'
Some think they loved within the pale forbidden
By Holy Church: but who shall say? the truth
Was lost in that fierce North, where they were lost,
Where all good things are lost, where Tostig lost
The good hearts of his people. It is Harold!
Enter HAROLD.
Harold the King!
HAROLD. Call me not King, but Harold.
EDITH. Nay, thou art King!
HAROLD. Thine, thine, or King or churl!
My girl, thou hast been weeping: turn not thou
Thy face away, but rather let me be
King of the moment to thee, and command
That kiss my due when subject, which will make
My kingship kinglier to me than to reign
King of the world without it.
EDITH. Ask me not,
Lest I should yield it, and the second curse
Descend upon thine head, and thou be only
King of the moment over England.
HAROLD. Edith,
Tho' somewhat less a king to my true self
Than ere they crown'd me one, for I have lost
Somewhat of upright stature thro' mine oath,
Yet thee I would not lose, and sell not thou
Our living passion for a dead man's dream;
Stigand believed he knew not what he spake.
Oh God! I cannot help it, but at times
They seem to me too narrow, all the faiths
Of this grown world of ours, whose baby eye
Saw them sufficient. Fool and wise, I fear
This curse, and scorn it. But a little light!—
And on it falls the shadow of the priest;
Heaven yield us more! for better, Woden, all
Our cancell'd warrior-gods, our grim Walhalla,
Eternal war, than that the Saints at peace
The Holiest of our Holiest one should be
This William's fellow-tricksters;—better die
Than credit this, for death is death, or else
Lifts us beyond the lie. Kiss me—thou art not
A holy sister yet, my girl, to fear
There might be more than brother in my kiss,
And more than sister in thine own.
EDITH. I dare not.
HAROLD. Scared by the church—'Love for a whole life long'
When was that sung?
EDITH. Here to the nightingales.
HAROLD. Their anthems of no church, how sweet they are!
Nor kingly priest, nor priestly king to cross
Their billings ere they nest.
EDITH. They are but of spring,
They fly the winter change—not so with us—
No wings to come and go.
HAROLD. But wing'd souls flying
Beyond all change and in the eternal distance
To settle on the Truth.
EDITH. They are not so true,
They change their mates.
HAROLD. Do they? I did not know it.
EDITH. They say thou art to wed the Lady Aldwyth.
HAROLD. They say, they say.
EDITH. If this be politic,
And well for thee and England—and for her—
Care not for me who love thee.
GURTH (calling). Harold, Harold!
HAROLD. The voice of Gurth! (Enter GURTH.)
Good even, my good brother!
GURTH. Good even, gentle Edith.
EDITH. Good even, Gurth.
GURTH. Ill news hath come! Our hapless brother, Tostig—
He, and the giant King of Norway, Harold
Hardrada—Scotland, Ireland, Iceland, Orkney,
Are landed North of Humber, and in a field
So packt with carnage that the dykes and brooks
Were bridged and damm'd with dead, have overthrown
Morcar and Edwin.
HAROLD. Well then, we must fight.
How blows the wind?
GURTH. Against St. Valery
And William.
HAROLD. Well then, we will to the North.
GURTH. Ay, but worse news: this William sent to Rome,
Swearing thou swarest falsely by his Saints:
The Pope and that Archdeacon Hildebrand
His master, heard him, and have sent him back
A holy gonfanon, and a blessed hair
Of Peter, and all France, all Burgundy,
Poitou, all Christendom is raised against thee;
He hath cursed thee, and all those who fight for thee,
And given thy realm of England to the bastard.
HAROLD. Ha! ha!
EDITH. Oh! laugh not!... Strange and ghastly in the gloom
And shadowing of this double thunder-cloud
That lours on England—laughter!
HAROLD. No, not strange!
This was old human laughter in old Rome
Before a Pope was born, when that which reign'd
Call'd itself God.—A kindly rendering
Of 'Render unto Caesar.' ... The Good Shepherd!
Take this, and render that.
GURTH. They have taken York.
HAROLD. The Lord was God and came as man—the Pope
Is man and comes as God.—York taken?
GURTH. Yea,
Tostig hath taken York!
HAROLD. To York then. Edith,
Hadst thou been braver, I had better braved
All—but I love thee and thou me—and that
Remains beyond all chances and all churches,
And that thou knowest.
EDITH. Ay, but take back thy ring.
It burns my hand—a curse to thee and me.
I dare not wear it.
[Proffers HAROLD the ring, which he takes.
HAROLD. But I dare. God with thee!
[Exeunt HAROLD and GURTH.
EDITH. The King hath cursed him, if he marry me;
The Pope hath cursed him, marry me or no!
God help me! I know nothing—can but pray
For Harold—pray, pray, pray—no help but prayer,
A breath that fleets beyond this iron world,
And touches Him that made it.

ACT IV.