University of Virginia Library

ACT II

SCENE I

A hall in the Saxon Castle of Earl Leofric, father of Edith; with a wide doorway at the back opened to the summer night. Harold is standing with a troubled countenance, Edith holding his hand.
Edith.
So my caged bird has fluttered back to me
And to its nest returned?

Har.
Ah, in this nest,
Edith, of thy sweet bosom I have been
O'er-happy; back on me the trouble comes;
Not even thy lips can kiss away that oath,
No woman's voice can still that harsher voice
That warned me of the vengeance of the dead.

Edith.
I love you, then what need to fear the dead?
Must I be jealous, not of men, but ghosts?
Be not dismayed by shadows. Here I stand,
These living arms about you, and you feel
This heart-beat; in that music let all go.
Here is the true oath, not compelled by force;
Freely to me you swore eternal faith,
And from this pledge there is no going back,
For you remember, Harold, that strange eve,
When in that very garden, now moon-lit,
The moon had not yet come; and all the world
Trembled 'twixt dark and light, and the dew fell.
And you remember, how in that dim air
You clasped me in a sudden fierceness close?
Thoughts struggled from us both, that ne'er were words,
Longing too deep to trust itself to sound;
A too great sweetness then did trouble you,
While world on world stole out upon the dusk.
That truth the stars did witness, not the Saints,
The living stars; to that alone be true.
There is thy anchorage and there thy haven!

Har.
Woman art thou all o'er.

Edith.
A woman, yes,
But listen! From duty I would keep you not;
Not even from battle would I hold you back.
I'd let you go dry-eyed, and brave, and still;
I would not dim your courage with a tear,
Nor send you from me with a breaking voice;
I am not of the stuff that weeps and clings.
No, I would buckle you with maiden hands
And make my lord all ready for the test,
In gladness of the soul, though not of heart.
I am not jealous of this land that loves you,
I'd hold you not from England; but by this
Extorted oath I will not see you bound.
I say to you: abjure it! Is there not
A wider honour than is that of priests,
A larger duty that makes glad the sun?
All England claims you; hers the greater claim.

Har.
If this indeed were so!

Edith.
Indeed 'tis so.
Can you not trust a woman's heart to see
More clearly than man's brain? Men more should trust us;
I do not speak of body-faithfulness,
But in great issues, if we surely love them,
Grandly forswear thyself.

Har.
My heart's with thee;
But an uneasy conscience pricks me still.

[There is heard a sound of approaching feet at the back, and the flare of torches illumines the night without. Stigand, Archbishop of Canterbury, enters with a grave air and certain Thanes follow him.
Stigand
(standing in doorway. Two torch-bearers behind).
The King is dead.
[Harold starts forward. Stigand and others slowly enter, while Edith retires into the shadow, where she remains watching.
I, the Archbishop, bear
This heavy news to thee in the deep night.
Harold of Wessex, though we mourn this death,
This hour is with the living, not the dead.
To thee we come, and we must know thy mind.
With me are come from North, South, East and West
Our chief of men: we come to make thee king.
[Harold starts. During this interview the eager face of Edith is visible from the gloom.
Listen! This is no moment for delays;
We cannot tarry and we cannot pause
To give dissension leave to raise its head
At home, lest a distracted people meet
The foreign menace, and, divided, fall.
This people cries to thee, the only man,
Our most beloved, our strongest, to stand forth,
And not refuse to bear this heavy crown.
There is no other; tremble not to reign.

Har.
Thou know'st the oath I swore on holy bones.

Stig.
I, Stigand, will absolve thee from a pledge
So taken; public absolution give thee
In Westminster and in all England's gaze.

A Thane
(holding his torch out towards Harold).
Harold of Wessex, of old Godwin's brood,
I look into thy face; do I see fear?
[Harold starts wrathfully.
What dost thou fear? Thou wast a soldier once;
I never knew thee from the breach to flinch.
What over-cows thee, man? Must we believe
That thou dost shake at cowls of Norman priests?
Bones cannot harm thee, holy though they be.
Thanes, he will seek the cloister, not the field,
We'll see him with no hair upon his face,
Muttering with shaven lips a Norman screed.
[Harold grasps his sword-hilt.
Give me that sword and fetch a rosary.
Harold the priest! Harold of Wessex, monk!

[Low derisive laughter.
Stig.
Harold, I make no taunt; I summon thee
To answer. In the name of all these Thanes
Answer us: wilt thou reign?

Thanes.
Answer us!

Edith
(starting from the gloom).
Reign!

[Acclamation from Thanes.
Har.
(after looking upon Edith).
Thanes, I will be your king!

[Loud shouts and waving of torches; the shouts are taken up outside of “Harold! Our king!”
Edith
(throwing her arms about Harold).
Harold! My king!

SCENE II

The Abbey of Westminster. English Thanes assembled in full armour; also a throng of people can be discerned, the leaders of whom are in the Abbey, the vast crowd unseen without. Sunset; the setting sun streaming through the stained windows. Harold is seated on the ancient throne-chair of the Saxon Kings on a dais, and under a canopy of gold. Above him floats the jewelled standard of “The Fighting Man.” Stigand, Archbishop, richly vested, with attendant priests, now advances and speaks from the foot of the throne.
Stig.
Earls, Thanes and priests, and all ye people, hear!
Behold, upon our throne Earl Harold sits,
Called thither not alone by Earl and Thane,
Nor priest; but by this people with one cry!
[Acclamation.
Now hear me, all of you. Harold, there sitting,
Hath sworn that he in no wise will resist
The claim of Norman William to our crown.
[Murmurs of indignation.
But know—and as God's priest I speak to you—
That oath by Norman craft was wrung from him.
[Angry mutterings.
He, cast upon that coast, a shipwracked man,
Had no way of escape, but by this way,
If he would see again his native land.
An oath, so taken, is no oath to God.
[Applause.
I therefore, in this church, before you all,
Pronounce him solemnly absolved; that he
Under no curse, a free man, be our King.
[Loud cries.
Here, Harold, inasmuch as thou didst swear
Unwillingly, by force, this crown away,
Absolve thee publicly in holy church.
So I pronounce, Archbishop of this land!
[Again a shout from those assembled.
Say then aloud, remembering where ye stand,
Will you have this man to reign over you?
Let English blood cry out to English blood,
Will ye have our man or the Norman Duke?
[There is a loud shout of “Yea, this man!” Swords are drawn and flash in the air.
By these drawn swords speak, England, yet again,
Will ye have Harold to reign over you?

[Cries of “Harold! Harold our King!” Waving of swords. The cry is taken up without by the unseen multitude who are pressing inward on their leaders from outside.
Stig.
(receiving from a priest the cruse of holy oil).
Then, Harold, in the sight of England I,
God's prelate, here anoint thee English King!

[He is about to anoint Harold, who has risen, when he is interrupted by a procession of Norman priests, whose leader, coming to the front, exclaims:
Priest
(to Stigand).
Stay thou that impious hand! Harold hath sworn,
And on the sacred bones of Christian Saints,
That he in no wise will resist the claim
Of William, Norman Duke, upon the crown!
Hear now, ye English people, if this man
Break oath, and stand a public perjurer,
Then shall reign over you a man accursed.
[Gradual silence falls heavy on the assembled throng during the speech.
Nor this alone: but ye yourselves shall stand
A people perjured-cursed; each man of you
Henceforward is forsworn, as is your King.
Your very corn shall rot, your fields decay,
And all the land shall moulder like the grave.
Upon you shall descend from utmost shores
Armies to pillage, devastate and burn;
And hearken to me now with trembling knees;
The Saints in anger shall invade your air,
The very grave a buried host dispatch.
Tempt not the vengeance of offended Saints!

[Stigand starts forward as though to answer, but is stayed by Harold, who rises.
Har.
I, Stigand, will make answer to this priest.
Back then to Norman William and say this:
That thou hast seen all England gathered here
To crown me king. My pledge to him he claims,
But this whole people hath a larger claim.
If I break oath, I break it nobly here;
If I am perjured, grand the perjury,
And if forsworn, rightly am I forsworn.
[Assenting murmurs.
Thou sayest our corn shall rot, our fields decay
Through visitation of offended Saints;
But I would sooner see our land so rot
Than wither underneath the conqueror's heel!
Strike then, ye Saints, but let no alien strike!
There is the deeper blight, the worse decay!
And as for foes, if we must fight, we fight,
And, Norman priest, be thou assured of this:
That if in bloody battle I go down,
Yet never fate, nor ever curse of Rome
Shall loose these English knees, or quail this heart.
That Roman curse shall string this arm to steel,
And very doom give edge unto this axe!
Dying, I will be liberal in death,
And with slain Normans will I sup in hell!
Back to thy Duke; I this defiance hurl!

[Loud shouts and brandishing of swords, with cries of “Harold our man.”
The Priest.
Woe to thee, Harold!
[Angry murmurs.
Woe to all this land!

[He slowly departs with his attendant monks.
Stig.
Harold of Wessex, I anoint thee king!

[He solemnly anoints Harold in deep silence and places on his head the crown. The Saxon coronation hymn peals out as the throng disperses; all but the chief Thanes, who remain to take the allegiance oath.
A Thane
(kneeling).
Harold of Wessex, here anointed King,
To thee do I devote my body, my land!

[A Courier now rushes in.
Courier.
O King, grave tidings hear! Hardrada now
Of Norway with a fleet lies off our coasts,
And summons thee to yield him England's crown.

Har.
Six feet of English earth I'll yield to him,
Or, seeing that he is a giant, seven.
Scarcely the crown is set upon my head,
When one starts up to snatch it. To the North!
A helmet more becomes me than this crown.
Friends, to the North!

Thanes.
For Harold, to the North!