University of Virginia Library

Scene V.

—Hastings: a Room. The King moodily pacing to and fro, and from time to time flinging his head out of the window to feel the wind.
Rufus.
Curse the still winds, as huswives they keep close
And dare not stalk abroad to work my will.
They are for Robert: were they tangible,
I would uneye and mutilate the knaves.
I must take ship for Normandy; subserve,
Ye elements; it will be worse for you
If now ye palter with me. I will rule
O'er England, Normandy, the stubborn sea,
And you, ye lurking cravens. To mine aid
Or, by the Heavenly Feet—

[Looks out, cursing wildly.
[Enter Anselm.]
Anselm.
Belovèd son.

Rufus.
Father, you caught me in profanity.
This calm—

Anselm.
On Saturday you were at prayers.
I would hold counsel with you: let us sit
Together, while I tell you all my heart.
[They sit together.]
You go to war; it is an enterprise
On which you need God's blessing, and He looks
Upon a realm that through your wickedness
Is left unfenced to Satan. Dare you ask
For favourable winds from Him you mock
And in each action of your life blaspheme?

Rufus.
How sayest thou? Did I not hear the mass
At Battle Minster? Showed I impious?

Anselm.
Nay, for in heart you trembled at the thought
Of your great sire whose will you reverenced
Rearing a church that should confirm his praise
For Senlac's fight victorious. I marked
The struggle in you; for the wailing souls
We prayed, who on Calixta's awful day,
Passed unabsolved to Christ. More bitterly,
As one who hath long fasted for your sake,
Importunate as widow to the judge
Slow in reprisal, I laid hold on God,
Firm not to loose Him from the bond of prayer,
Till He had blessed me with your penitence.
The tears you dropped men said were for your sire;
I, looking up, beheld the angels' eyes
Dewy with joy; and knew the weeping king
Was praying for the servant's hire in place
Of the lost rank and nearness of a son.

Rufus.
Lost, lost, yea damned! If there were any hope
I dare not curse. God has a memory
For old offences, and they spring up fresh
With every vicious phrensy of the blood.
Mend me? I am incorrigible. Speak!
What remedy is in your conscience?

Anselm.
Let me hold synod ere the council part.
We will denounce the sins effeminate
That spread corruption on this English ground;
And scourge with spiritual whips the slaves
Bartering their manhood's birthright-liberty.
Help me to stay this curse; and for your soul—
I'd part with all the riches of my faith
So I might offer it a precious pearl
To Christ the treasure-seeker. Cleanse yourself,
Bow in the dust; then peaceful as a child
That waits in patience the authority
That honours him with business or command,
Pause for the favouring wind.

Rufus.
And did I choose
Stir in the matter, what would come of it
For you, Archbishop?

Anselm.
Nothing: but for God
Much, and for you. [Enter Eadmer.]
Edmer! He brings some news
Of import, thus to break our privacy.
[To Eadmer].
Seek'st thou the king?

Eadmer
[to the King].
Oh pardon, that I thus
Present the mariners' impatient prayer
For instant embarkation. All's astir;
The sails already flutter as 'twere March,
And the sea wrinkles.

Rufus.
Jolly messenger!
I was about to get me to my prayers,
But find my royal menaces suffice
To earn the traitor-winds' submission.
I stood and cursed them at the casement there,
And now they throng with halters round their necks,
Craving my pardon, humble to fulfil
My instant order;—'tis Embark for France.
I'm with you. [To Anselm.]
Good Archbishop, do not stay
To bless our sail at Hastings. We are safe
Under the Devil who walks to and fro
About the earth, and snorts out mighty winds.
Farewell!

[Rushes out.
Anselm.
My Edmer, we will quit the court
With speed, and [looking after the King]
henceforth leave him to his will.

[Exeunt.