University of Virginia Library

ACT I

SCENE I

(This scene can be omitted if necessary.)
A starry midnight sky. In the foreground a tall, muffled figure, with back to the audience, seeming neither man nor woman. In silence two brilliant stars, rushing from opposite ends of the firmament, clash together in mid-space, making in their meeting an increased blaze of splendour. One falls earthward, the other continues its career across the vault in increased brilliancy. Throughout the scene there is unbroken stillness, but as the curtain falls there is heard, preluding Scene II, the roll of a dying thunderstorm, which continues during the change of scene, and intermittently through Scene II.

SCENE II

A chamber in a sea-castle of William on the Norman coast. William is gazing outward through the casement at the departing storm-cloud and a wreck-strewn coast. Lanfranc is seated busy with papers at a table. Enter courier hastily with dispatches, which he delivers to the Duke.
William
(surveying the papers).
From England!
[He signs to the courier, who goes out. He reads.
Lanfranc! News here of deep note!
Edward of England, ailing long, sinks fast.
And for that English throne the dying man
Hath given me his voice.
[Lanfranc starts to his feet.
Now, Lanfranc, listen!
Crowned with that crown it is my dearest wish
To bring this lawless, untamed, English horde
Under our See of Rome: and to enrich
These holy coffers, all too empty grown;
If I go thither, then, I go for Rome
As for myself to spread her sacred sway,
A soldier of the Holy Father girt.

[Lanfranc starting forward eagerly.
Lanfranc.
And on this errand chiefly am I sped.
And here I hail thee, William, our dear son,
Embattled for the true Church of the earth.
To bring these wandering and wayward sheep
Back to the fold and bosom of this world.
Thou hast the sole authoritative voice
Of him that even now is dying fast.
Here is my mission ended!

Wil.
No! Not yet!

Lan.
Why! What can hinder now?

Wil.
One man alone.

Lan.
What man is this that can disdain the august,
Dying command of him that makes thee heir?
His name?

Wil.
Harold of England! He alone.

Lan.
But the King's dying voice—

Wil.
How shall it weigh
Against the unanimous and rolling cry
Of a whole people? Edward being dead,
The living easily overwhelms the ghost.
Full in men's eyes, dethrones a memory.
Then, he is of the soil, an alien I.

[A vivid flash of lightning from the departing storm suddenly reveals a breathless seaman, hastening in, followed by servants.
Seaman.
Harold of England, Sir, thrown on our coast
In shipwreck: he is wandering in the search
For hospitable shelter, and by now
Cannot be far!

Wil.
(throwing purse to seaman who exits; to a servant, who lingers).
Summon, and instantly,
The Sire de Mallet.
[Exit servant
O Lanfranc, this no casual storm that burst
Upon our coasts. This tempest with design
Hath spent its fury thus. The Lord Himself
Dispatched this lightning as a courier,
A message to the bellowing thunder gave;
He roused the sea from its uneasy sleep,
Its very rage did execute His will.
He found a dread employment for the surge,
And to the tempest did He give a task.
This uproar was commissioned from on high;
Behind the seeming fury there was Fate
And Wisdom in this welter: and the barge
Of Harold with deep purpose here is flung
Upon that hissing beach: I will attend
This loud direction:
[Enter Mallet.
Mallet, before all,
You have my trust.
[Mallet bows low.
Harold of England here
Is cast in shipwreck and is wandering
Unsure of shelter near our very walls.
Take with you others and with ceremony
Escort him hither. With our Norman grace
Subdue suspicion in him: bring him fast!
[Exit Mallet.
I have him! Lanfranc, I will cage him here
Most courteously, and detain him so
In most polite imprisonment, till the voice
Of Edward, holy from the bed of death,
Ingratiate me smoothly to the throne.
He is delivered to me by the storm.

Lan.
I like not this. I fear lest you offend
The sense of Europe, which by you must be
Most courted, and most delicately nursed;
Less of the soldier then and more of priest.
Let Harold be persuaded, ere he go,
To swear an oath that he shall not oppose
The voice of the dead man bequeathing you
The crown of England. He shall take that oath
Publicly o'er the concecrated bones
Of famous Saints,
[William makes an impatient gesture.
and let it be conveyed
To Harold that this oath is but a form
To satisfy your too unruly knights
And ever murmuring barons; yet perhaps
Refusal may entail his further stay.

Wil.
(striding to and fro).
Yes, yes. And if, his feet on English earth,
With acclamation rolling in his ears,
The throne so easy, within reach the crown,
He shall abjure an oath so wrung from him?

Lan.
Then we invoke on him a holy war,
Arm Christendom against a perjurer.
A narrow quarrel betwixt you and him
Now looms a menace to the Holy See!
Europe shall thunder on a man accursed,
Horsemen shall spur as to the grave of Christ,
And London lure men as Jerusalem!
No more 'gainst Harold, 'gainst a perjurer,
The bow of God in vengeance shall be bent;
The arrow of God shall strike him to the earth.

[A trumpet is heard and an announcing cry, “Harold of England!” Harold strides swiftly into the chamber, his fair, flowing hair and flaxen beard contrasting vividly with the dark, clean-shaven Normans. He is followed by Gurth and others.
Wil.
Harold, I greet thee! Thou art welcome, Harold!
Here I extend the refuge of our coast
And thank the tempest that hath driven you here.
Thou art in need of rest. Here rest secure.

[As the scene closes the last thunder is heard of the departing storm.

SCENE III

A brief scene in a corridor of the Castle. Enter Harold hastily, in agitation, followed by Lanfranc.
Lan.
Sir, but a little thing is asked of thee.

Har.
An oath!

Lan.
A formal oath to pacify
Not William, but his too unruly knights,
For ever murmuring in discontent.
An oath from thee that thou wilt not resist
The claim of William on the English crown
Will oil a troubled sea. 'Tis all we ask.
The voice of dying Edward stands with thee,
All-holy—doth it not?

Har.
Holy it stands,
And yet—

Lan.
And yet?

Har.
Lanfranc, I have a doubt
If I may disinherit not an oath;
Who knows? The will of a whole people—Thus,
If I refuse?

Lan.
Thou art on foreign soil—
Kindly entreated—yet on foreign soil.
Refusal might induce a longer stay.
Retract a while the exile—not by force,
But to allow a pause for calmer thought,
To weigh the consequence with stiller mind.

Har.
Oh, speak it out! We like not crooked ways
And dark, uncertain speech in that free land
Where I was born, and I am little used
To wiles of prelates or the purr of priests.
Give this its downright name; it is a trick
To hold me here till I have sworn away
A people's heritage; prelate, speak out!
I am here a prisoner, in durance held.
You would put bonds on me, and smile, and smile,
Tie fast my hands, and smile, enmesh me thus
With shoulder-shrug. The storm hath cast me here
And William cages me, a shipwrecked man,
Far from my friends, and sundered from my home.

Lan.
I say not that!

Har.
It seems that I am trapped.

[Lanfranc ushers Harold off with soothing gestures.

SCENE IV

A ceremonial hall in the Norman Castle. The chief Norman nobles are assembled. William seated on a dais at the upper end. A chest covered with a gorgeous cloth is visible on the right of the chamber. William rises.
Wil.
Seigneurs and Lords and famous Chivalry,
Edward of England at the point of death
[Murmurs amid the throng.
To me, your Duke, hath he bequeathed that throne
And with a failing hand hath crowned this brow.
Sirs, will you follow me to a fair land,
Not barren soil as this our Norman earth,
No sterile tilth where none may sow nor reap,
But to a region rich with springing corn
And yellowing wheat, where falls a prosperous dew,
And all the isle thrives in benignant rain.
No pasture there is niggard, none is bare,
But all its acres, rife, and sweet, and rich,
Yield plenty and abundance in the sun.
Say, will you leave this leanness for that fatness,
Sail with me from this desert to that sown,
Out of this greyness to that greenness go?
[Loud cries of acclamation from the knights assembled.
None here I force; no one of you compel;
If me you follow, follow with free will;
I'll drag behind me no unwilling host,
Or bribe to arms a sullen soldiery.
There may ye grasp what falleth to your hand
And wield a sway that is denied you here.
Here we but gasp for room, are let confined;
Out to an ampler, a more spacious field!
Who then goes with me and who bides at home?

[Again cries of acclamation and swords flash. As they stand thus with drawn swords, Harold enters with Lanfranc, Gurth and others following.
Wil.
(turning to Harold and taking him publicly by the hand).
Harold of England, Sirs, our steadfast friend.
[Pleased murmurs.
He comes to take an oath before you all,
A holy oath, that he, an English Earl,
Will not oppose and will not disregard
This my succession solemnly bequeathed.
This, Harold, thou wilt do?

Har.
Sir, I have said it.

Wil.
And willingly, by no compulsion driven?

Har.
I yearn for my own land; then let me swear
And go.

[William makes gesture to Lanfranc, who advances.
Lan.
Harold, before these Lords convened,
Assembled knights, I call on thee to swear
As thou fear'st God and keep'st thy given word,
That thou in no way wilt oppose or stay
The due succession to the English crown
Of William, Duke of Normandy, bequeathed
And solemnly assigned from bed of death:
Then lay thy hand upon this chest and swear.

Har.
Why on this chest? I will uplift my hand.

Lan.
It is our Norman custom handed down.

Har.
(laying his hand on the chest).
Here then I swear and take this public oath
That I in no wise will oppose or stay
The due succession, solemnly bequeathed
To William, Norman Duke, of England's crown.

Lan.
And thou dost abjure it, God deal with thee.

Har.
(after a pause, repeating).
And if I do abjure it, God deal with me.

[Lanfranc signs to a monk, who, uncovering and opening the chest, reveals within it the bones of the Saints.
Har.
(starting back).
What bones are these that I have sworn upon?

Lan.
(solemnly).
Harold, behold these bones of mighty Saints.
[A deep thrill runs through the assembly, followed by silence.
Not lightly hast thou sworn, no passing oath;
These holy dead have heard thy solemn word.
If then thou shouldst be tempted to forswear,
Lured by the rabble-shout, thou shalt incense
Now not alone the living, but the dead,
And rouse to ire spirits in paradise.
No voice of breathing man can now absolve thee
If thou offend this unseen audience,
Invisible, unforgetting witnesses.
A damp already stands upon thy brow,
Well mayst thou shake; what seemed but bones shall rise,
They shall take flesh and quicken and stand up;
Beware! Already they about thee throng.
They fill the hall; see! see! They point at thee.
I hear the solemn whisper of the tombs.

Har.
(reeling backwards; then commanding himself).
But thou shalt scare me not, I swore indeed,
But upon what I knew not.

Lan.
Thou hast sworn.

Wil.
(rising).
Friend, I will not detain thee longer. Thou
Art hot for England, our belovèd land.
Harold, farewell! In England we shall meet!

[William and his knights now retire in solemn silence; Lanfranc remaining.
Lan.
I leave thee, Harold, leave thee—to the dead.
[Exit Lanfranc.

Har.
Brother, thy arm.
[Gurth starts forward to support Harold.
O Gurth!

Gurth.
What thou hast sworn
Thou wast compelled to swear.

Har.
What other way?
Here am I trapped, here like a lion rage,
Meshed by the cunning hunter. Only thus
Could I break free. Forgive me, England, then!
If I have seemed to lay thee at the feet
Of shaven smilers.
(Suddenly, with change of tone.)
Oh, wast thou aware
Of any ghostly movings through the hall?
Were those about us that we might not see?
Did others hear me than those visible,
Convened in awful cerements from the dust?
Or didst thou hear—I will not say a voice,
But even a whisper from those witnesses,
Recording silent that unwilling pledge?
Say, say! The panic breaks out on my brow
In fearful dew; listen!

Gurth.
Command thyself!
Art thou a soldier? Or art thou the son
Of that fierce Godwin who ne'er quailed nor bowed?
Summon the English blood back to thy heart!
Man of the whirling axe! Art thou become
The sport of mumbling priests? I see thee stand
A-tremble from the mummery of monks.
How shall they laugh in England!

Har.
Oh, to strike
In mine an English hand again! I gasp,
I stifle and sicken in this air! To feel
The stinging salt-shower of the singing sea!
To have in sight those cliffs for freedom pale!
God! For the blowing winds and rolling downs!
The good kind smoke a-curl from rural thatch!
Noises of kine from fields in cloudy dawn!
The rainy green of slopes where I did roam!
The simple, blue-eyed folk that I have loved!
To set the roar of waters between me
And him; or stand against him axe in hand,
Where never a shift shall staunch his Norman blood!

Gurth.
There Harold speaks at last!

Har.
And most to hold
Again upon this bosom, over-fraught,
My Edith of the Swan-Neck! In her ear
To tell the treachery and the foreign guile!
To England fast!

Gurth
(going).
For England then!

Har.
(starting and hesitating).
O brother!
The lid—the lid, didst see?—of yonder chest;
Didst thou not see it raised a little, but no
Hand that did raise it?

Gurth.
Ah! To England—hence!

[Gurth strides out and Harold follows more slowly.