University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene.—Exterior of Harold's Castle in Finland. The windows of the Banquet-hall of the Castle and a flight of steps leading into the interior are to the left of the scene; to the right, an old Gothic arch, leading to a Chapel beyond. Along the back of the scene runs a turreted walk, overlooking the sea below, which, with a mountainous coast, forms the background. In its centre a rough cairn of stone. Evening.
(As the Curtain rises, Gerda is discovered watching by the Gothic arch. A psalm is heard from the Chapel.)
Enter Rolf from the Castle, looking back.
Rolf.
Ay, drink away; there were more space for brains,
Were there less room for liquor, in some heads.
(Seeing Gerda.
But soft! what vision breaks upon my path?
Gerda, my pretty Gerda!

Ger.
Not so fast!
Gerda I am, and pretty, but not yours.

Rolf.
I took you for an angel.

Ger.
So I am;
Or so you used to say.

Rolf.
Yes, so I did,
And so I do, and so I always will,
Till better knowledge kill the simile.

Ger.
Then shall that better knowledge never be.
I'll moult no feather of my angel-wing
For such a faithless worshipper as you.

Rolf.
Faithless!

Ger.
Ay, faithless! faithless as your lord
To my dear mistress; faithless as all men
Are to all women. Oh, we know you, sir,
And all the doings of your wicked crew;
That villainous old Sigurd and the rest;
Sigurd the hunchback—Sigurd, the arch-fiend,
In the disguise of some malicious ape!
Sigurd, who makes of Harold what he pleases!
The savage foe of the pure faith that dawns
In morning splendour o'er our darkened land.

Rolf.
Not so; when Sigurd would have driven out
The band of Christian zealots that do hold
Their meetings in the ruined chapel there,
He swore he would not have them meddled with,
Or driven from their eyrie on the rock
For half his lordship.

Ger.
That's a sign of grace
Beyond my lady's hopes. Tell her of that;
She is among them now.

Rolf.
Thordisa there!

Ger.
Ay; with the morning she and I set forth
Upon a certain distant pilgrimage;
And first she prays for him; sweet, innocent soul,
To waste such breath in vain.

Rolf.
Why does she go?
And let her half-fledged warrior walk alone
When most he needs her? He is but a boy,
And he wants counsel.

Ger.
Why, what can she do?
He scorns her counsel; with high words of anger
They parted yesterday; oh, I am shamed
To think of what he said.

Rolf.
He was but mad
With a brief madness; for he loves her well;
As well as I love you.

Ger.
I'll believe that,
If ever the day come when he shall give
Proof of his love by driving from his castle
The ribald band that do deface the sun
With heathen rites and wild debauchery.

Rolf.
And will you love me when that day shall come?

Ger.
Ay, that I will, and long days afterwards,
And till I die, or you, or both of us;
By every pretty and becoming oath,
I'll love you—just as well as I do now;
Not a bit better!

Rolf.
Mock me as you will,
I yet will draw you to my lure some day;
Or else may the White Pilgrim call for me.

Ger.
What's that?

Rolf.
A legend in my family.

Ger.
You have a family, and make love to me?

Rolf.
My master's family is to me as mine;
I spoke in metaphor.

Ger.
Let that alone:
Plain speaking suits you better.

Rolf.
'Tis a tale
Of terror, Gerda! children tremble still
At the Earl Olaf's vow. 'Twill make you creep.

Ger.
I like to creep. Tell it.

Rolf.
Men say that once,
Between this land and distant Normandy,
There raged a bitter feud, which with the years
Was dying slowly out. One of the worst
And the most daring of Lord Harold's race,
Who ruled in these old halls, was feasting high
With kindred spirits; and half mad with wine,
And all the devil in his blood let loose,
He swore in fearful words a fearful oath;
Swore that to Norman hand and Norman life
Men owned nor knightly faith nor fealty;
And that, should foot of Norman knight that day
Cross but the threshold of his castle home,
And seek a knightly hospitality,
Within one month that trusting guest should die,
By his host's hand struck to the earth and slain!
Earl Olaf swore the oath in fearful words,
And, as the mighty rafters rang again
In hollow sound of ominous laughter back,
He called on Death to register the vow!

Ger.
How very awful!

Rolf.
Is it not? Sit close,
And listen how the legend runs. 'Tis said
That as the last irrevocable words
Fell from his impious lips, a sudden light
Flashed from the chapel window, and there passed
A sad and white-robed figure from its door
In pilgrim guise, but veiled from foot to head,
That with a gracious majesty of gait,
But footfall dumb and printless, glided down,
Halted awhile beside yon cairn of stone,
Then like a clouded shadow passed away
There, where you look!

Ger.
How you do frighten me
I cannot listen to such tales as these
Upon the very spot, and yet I feel
I wouldn't lose the rest for all the world!
Come this way, and go on.

Rolf.
Yes, step aside!
Here comes my master. Leave him here awhile,
And let him meet Thordisa; we will watch.
Then like a clouded shadow passed away—

Ger.
Go on, dear Rolf, go on.

[Exeunt. As they go out, Harold enters from the Castle.
Har.
What forms were those?
Methought I saw a woman's figure pass,
And heard the rustle of a woman's dress.
Again the fumes of wine—again the dream
Of the one face whose starry maidenhood
Shone luminous through my spirit's trackless gloom,
Until my own mad hand put out the light.
[Shouts and laughter within.
Ay, riot on, fit mates for such as I!
I know no fellowship with better things,
But live as the beasts live, to die like them.
A God, Thordisa said. Where is He, then?
There is a Spirit of Evil, that I know,
For all day long he wantons in my veins,
Turns every nobler impulse into ill,
And sins—and sins—and sins. 'Tis he, not I!
Why, he was stronger than Thordisa's love,
To which the world without him were as naught:
He is a thing more living than myself;
But if there is a God, where tarries He?
Oh, answer me, thou great dumb oracle,
Pent in the steel-blue vault above my head,
In the vast silence of a world-wide grave!
Is there no key that shall let in the light
On all the imprisoned terrors that surround
The central mystery of life and death?
If thou hast ever answered, answer me!
Answer, I say!

[At the last words, Thordisa has entered from the Chapel.
Tho.
Harold!

Har.
What voice was that?

Tho.
Harold!

Har.
Is this mine answer? Art thou sent
Out of the misty spirit-world of air
To tell me—that God is? I dare not look
Upon thy face. Thordisa! Can it be
The ghost of a dead love that smiles on me,
Or does the devil of wine fever mine eyes,
And give my love-dream shape to mock at me?
Thou seem'st to tell me I am pardoned.

Tho.
How
Hast thou deserved that pardon?

Har.
'Tis her voice!
Sweet voice, speak on for ever! Though thou come
To call me hence into an unknown world,
I am prepared to go, if 'tis with thee.

Tho.
Do not mistake me longer; I am one
As mortal and as erring as thyself.
I am that same Thordisa whom you loved,
Or said you did—so often—and so well!
How could I choose but trust you, when you wooed
With such a magic eloquence of tongue?
Yet 'twas thy tongue, and not thy heart that spake.

Har.
It was my heart that spake, and not my tongue!
My tongue is rude, and has not learnt the trade
Of ready lovers; but my heart made words
So true, so strong, so tender, for thy sake,
They burst the barrier of common speech,
And poured my very soul out at thy foot,
To trample, spurn, and play with, what you pleased!
If that thou art Thordisa, leave me not!
If that thou art Thordisa, stay with me!
If that thou art Thordisa, be to me
My genius of good, my draught of health,
To kill the subtle poison in my blood,
Which makes me seem so all unworthy thee!
There is a devil within me, if thou wilt,
But all I have of good is only thine!

Tho.
Oh, Harold, rise! you fright me, wayward boy!
You are as rough—and sunny—as the sea!
As crystal seeming, yet as changeable!
How can I trust you? trust is all in all;
It is the keystone of that arch of love
Which in its rainbow beauty spans the world!
Such trust was mine; what did you do with it?

Har.
I know; I know; yet know not how to plead
That you were ever cold—

Tho.
Cold, cold! for shame!
Why, while the red-hot ardour of your love
Was quenched even in the wine which bore it up,
I with my prayers for thee was wearying Heaven,
Which seemed one mirror to reflect thy face!
But pardon me—I speak unmaidenly:
Cold! well, I may have been; but watch the sun
Behind yon bleak heights wake the tremulous dawn,
Ere yet has paled the evening after-glow;—
We northern maidens are not passionate;
Yet is our love like to our summer, Harold—
It may lack colour, but it knows no night.

Har.
Then let the shadow that has blurred our loves
Be but the twilight link 'twixt night and day,
Which softens, not obscures, their radiance.
Oh, thou sweet saint, thou pretty moralist,
Teach me to woo thee as thou wouldst be wooed,
Even in thy loved faith's chosen formulas!

Tho.
'Tis the true faith.

Har.
I know not; it is thine.

Tho.
Wilt thou then learn it?

Har.
Ay. Thou knowest not
How often I have communed with the stars
To give me answer; but they seem to me
Like rivets set in the far wall of heaven
To shut all entrance out.

Tho.
Oh no! they are
Heaven's portals, Harold, golden gates that stand
Unbarred above to let our prayers in;
Heaven is so near.

Har.
It seems not so to me.
Perchance I see it through a haze of wine,
Which lends it distance. Let me learn of thee!
I'll hold no longer with my father's gods,
If they must part us two. Ask what thou wilt,
So thou wilt be but mine. Take me, and take
My lands, my wealth, my heritage, my youth,
All that I have and all that I may win;
But let me wear thee as an amulet
Against the powers of evil!

Tho.
It may be
That I too hastily left thee. But, my love,
For that I hold my soul dearer than thee,
That are to me more dear than all the world,
Strive for my sake, strive for one little year,
To be the Harold of thy lady's dream,
Her very true and very upright servant,
Her Christian knight in very word and deed,
To cast the pagan bonds from off thy soul,
Live worthy of thyself—of Heaven—of me—
And, if what simple service I can render
Should in thine eyes seem good, my hand shall follow
The heart that I had almost lost from sight,
So long ago it travelled forth—to thee.

Har.
But for that year, you will not leave me?

Tho.
No.
I do not think I could; but for a while
We must be parted; for I go to-morrow
Upon a pilgrimage to a certain shrine,
To which I have been sent—

Har.
Sent?

Tho.
Yes; a sign
Was given me to obey. I shall be back
Before the month is over.

Har.
It will seem
All the long year, till then. I take thy promise;
And, in what words thou wilt, I give thee mine.

Tho.
(taking a cross from her neck).
Here, take this cross; I give it you to wear
As proxy for that amulet you spoke of,
In token it is only yours. Read there.

Har.
(reading from the cross).
Through Life to Death—through Death to Life.” Ay, so.
Thordisa mine, I will be true to thee
Through Life to Death, through Death to Life!

Tho.
Amen!

[They embrace, and go up the scene.
Re-enter Rolf and Gerda.
Ger.
'Tis a strange legend. Is it really true?

Rolf.
I always tell the truth.

Ger.
Here is my lady
In close talk with your master.

Rolf.
Very close.
See, Gerda, what a thing is confidence!
When will you learn such confidence in me?

Ger.
When you become as handsome as your lord.
—My lady, it grows late.

Har.
Peace, envious girl!
Wouldst thou part lovers newly reconciled,
On such an earthly plea?

Ger.
My lord, you owe
Much to my pleading, if you knew the truth.

Tho.
Yes, Harold, she has ever stood your friend
And mine—dear Gerda!

Har.
Let me thank her then,
And leave my sign upon her little hand.

[Kissing Gerda's hand.
Ger.
(to Rolf.)
When will you kiss with such a grace as that?

Rolf.
Now, if you'll let me!

Tho.
Have you quarrelled too?

Har.
Nay, pretty Gerda, be not hard with him,
'Tis a right honest fellow, take my word;
And he has better merited of you
Than I of my Thordisa.

Ger.
Possibly.
He might be better looking, for all that.

Rolf.
Such better looks are for our betters. Rest
Contented with my virtues.

Tho.
Gerda, come,
I know you like him well.

Ger.
Faith, well enough!
But not so well but that I'll follow you
Where'er you go, dear lady, to the end.

Har.
Then when she places this white hand in mine,
As she has sworn to me but now she will,
When my year's test is over, follow her
And profit by example.

Tho.
Now, good-bye!
Thus lovers trifle with the passing hour,
And find “Good-bye!” so hard a word to say.

Har.
Good-bye, beloved, good-bye! for one brief month,
That I will wear away in thoughts of you;
None else could lend it wings. Why do I draw
So ill a presage from so short a parting?
I should be glad, yet am I sick at heart.

Tho.
'Tis but thy fancy, Harold; be but true
To me and to thyself, thro' Death, to Life!

[Exeunt Thordisa and Gerda.
Har.
Farewell, my better angel! as she goes
I seem to feel the spirit of ill fall on me,
To darken all her sunlight into gloom,
And with its mocking echo drown her voice!

Enter Sigurd from the Castle.
Sig.
Come, Harold, come! you were not wont to be
A laggard in your cups. There's Leofric
Snoring at table, Siegfried underneath it;
Some fighting, and some kissing, but all do
Their duty to the wine-cup manfully,
Except their lazy host. Why, your wine blushes
A deeper purple than its mother grape
At such a want of proper courtesy.
Come in and drink.

Har.
I'll drink no more to-night.

Sig.
You'll drink no more? Harold will drink no more!
Hear that, ye spirits of his forefathers!
Such words must cure, if anything can cure,
Your everlasting deafness. Oh, my boy,
Think of your gallant father's charge to me,
To guard you and to keep you as myself;
To train and perfect you in manly arts!
And so I have. Harold, you know I have!
You wrestle, fight, play, swear—as none else can;
And now you turn your back upon your drink,
The noblest and the manliest art of all!

Rolf
(aside).
At least it has one merit. Drink alone
Has power to bring the tears to Sigurd's eyes.

Har.
Truce to this fooling, Sigurd. I have said
I'll have no more of it to-night.

Sig.
(turning on Rolf).
You knave!
You wretched, puny, scurvy, sober knave!
This is your doing; curse your canting ways!
Because your own infernal little head
Declines to carry its due weight of wine,
Others must thirst to please you.

Har.
(angrily).
Let him be!
And listen, Sigurd. I have had to-night
A glimpse of the heaven you would shut me from;
The heaven of a pure woman's holy love.

Sig.
A woman!

Har.
Ay; unless Thordisa bear
Some other name, to show she stands alone
Above the race of women. I know well
That in all love for me you think to draw me
Away from her—

Sig.
A recreant! false to all
Her country's story and her country's gods!
A priest of that rebellious heresy,
That would discrown our royal deities,
Make women of our men, monks of our heroes,
And shame of our dear honours! Even here,
In the great shadow of our fathers' halls,
Fell Superstition, like a baleful star,
Misleads and baffles us! A wicked witch!
A pale-faced heretic!

Har.
Do not blaspheme!
For I will live a Christian, for her sake.

Rolf.
And so will I for Gerda's.

Sig.
Hold your peace!
A Christian, you! a fickle, feeble boy,
Led by the halter of a woman's hair,
Charmed with the sorcery of a woman's tongue,
Drunk in the bad wine of a woman's eyes,
Which cannot touch the palate, and but racks
The head i' the morning? So, she has been here,
Your white Thordisa! Wenches are the worst
Of all men's damning vices—yet she comes
And preaches you out of good honest liquor,
And a good honest friend and guardian.
I hate all women! but by my father's bones,
Were she a warm frail piece of flesh and blood,
With a good spice of the devil, I'd forgive you.

Rolf
(aside).
If that's his taste, I must take care of Gerda.

Sig.
But this cold hypocrite—

Har.
Silence! One more word,
And I forget my father's love for you,
And all the ties between us—I forget
All but the saint at whom your slanderous tongue
Rails all in vain. Your insults pass her over,
As idle darts the warrior armed in proof!
For she is armoured against ribaldry,
Even in the silver mail of maidenhood.
Not for her sake I bid you pause, but mine;
Mine—and your own. Breathe but another word,
And dearly as I love you, we cross swords.

Sig.
Thou most ungrateful and irreverent boy!
[Turning to the Castle.
What ho, there! Leofric! Frioth! Ludwig! each
And any of you that can stand upright,
Come here, and listen.

Enter Leofric and Frioth and Companions.
Leo.
What's the matter now?
Is there a fight on hand?

Fri.
I'll bear my part,
And his besides that has no stomach for it.

Leo.
Here's Harold with his sword out!

Fri.
Quarrelsome,
And very drunk, no doubt.

Sig.
And if he were
I would forgive him. Look at him, my comrades!
Look at our pride—our master-spirit—our hero;
Since he last left us, but an hour ago,
He has turned Christian.

Leo.
Christian! What a freak!

Fri.
He really must be very drunk indeed.
Fear nothing, Sigurd. Put the boy to bed;
To-morrow morning he'll recant his errors.

Leo.
Or quite forget he'd errors to recant.

Fri.
Come in, my Harold, come, and have some wine!

Har.
When you are sober, I will talk with you.

Fri.
Then may you never talk with me again.

Har.
Sigurd, you know me!

Sig.
(aside).
Better than you think,
For a hot-headed and unstable child,
Who shall forget Thordisa in a trice.

Har.
I would not quarrel with you, and to-night
We are too heated to be reasonable.
To-morrow we will speak of this again:
And now I sheathe my steel; sheathe thou thy tongue.
(Aside).
Sweet saint, for thee I rule myself to-night,
And thus begins my service.

Sig.
Holy sir!
I am at your orders at what time you will.

Fri.
Is there no fight, then? This is most unfair;
Who'll have a turn with me?

Sig.
Our Harold's valour
Is not well primed to-night. He has not drunk
Enough to make it boil. But he talks big,
And that is something.

Fri.
Very sad indeed!

Leo.
I've often heard of Christian meeknesses,
But never thought to meet with them in him.
Hail, gentle creature!

Fri.
Hail, thou man of peace!

Leo.
Should but the Norman foe come back again,
He'd find an easy market for his sword,
When our best warriors turn saints.

Sig.
Not so
Lord Harold's fathers talked—

Har.
Unmannerly!
I dare do anything my fathers dared.

Sig.
I'll lay you a round wager that you dare not—
A thousand crowns!

Har.
I take your wager!

Fri.
Bravo!
Next to a fight I love a bet.

[Sigurd whispers to Leofric, who goes into the Castle, and returns with a large sword.
Rolf
(to Harold).
My lord,
Think of Thordisa.

Har.
So I do. Would she
Have me insulted thus?

Sig.
I wager then
That the Lord Harold dares not take the oath
His bold forefather swore upon the sword
The oath they call Earl Olaf's.

Rolf.
Oh, not that!
Why do you call that devilish memory up,
Tempter?

Sig.
(threatening him).
What means the rascal?

Rolf.
I care not!
Do what you please; ay, kill me if you will;
But let not my dear master soil his lips
With blasphemies like that. He shall not do it
While I stand by.

Fri.
Then you shall not stand by,
For I'll proceed at once to knock you down!

Har.
Back, Frioth! This is folly. Norman foot
Has never trod our coast for years.

Sig.
And yet
You are afraid to take that oath! Pay down
Your crowns, and write yourself a coward, boy.

Har.
Coward! you lie!

[Drawing.
Sig.
Oh, you will fight, perhaps,
But dare not take the oath!

Har.
I dare, and will.

All.
Bravo! The oath! The oath!

Rolf.
My lord! My lord!

Har.
Silence, I say! I'll not be baited thus.
Shall I be frighted with a bugbear, made
To scare a baby with?

Sig.
(giving him the sword).
Here is the weapon!
I say you dare not do it!

Har.
Listen, then.

Rolf.
Oh, Heaven, be deaf to him, and pardon us!

Har.
(lays his hand upon the sword and recites the oath, while the others, except Rolf, gather round).
By the might of Odin's hand,
By the light of Odin's brand,
By the trumpet-blast sent forth
On the echoes of the north,
By the thunderbolt of war
Welded by the hand of Thor,
By this falchion's jewelled hilt,
By the blood its blade hath spilt,
Northern valour, Norman guilt,
By its dye of scarlet red,
By the living, by the dead—
Ere the world's unmeasured bound
Once the sun hath travelled round,
Should but foot of Norman fall
In the shadow of my wall,
Yonder moon of silver stain
Shall not wane and wax again,
Ere with sure and secret blow
I will lay that Norman low!
By mine own hand he shall die,
Meed of Norman perjury!
If he fall not so, then Death
Call for me that break my faith!
Hear mine oath, and mark it well;
Be my witness, Death—and Hell!

[All stand silent in a circle round the sword. Rolf, on his knees, gazes back at the chapel. A light appears in the window, and the White Pilgrim enters from the chapel, and walks silently down to the stone in the centre at the back, and there pauses, unseen by all but Rolf. A bell strikes one.
Rolf
(aside).
'Tis the White Pilgrim, and they see him not!

[The sound of a horn is heard outside; all start.
Har.
What sound is that?—a stranger—at the gate?—
And at this hour! Great Heaven!

Sig.
What can it mean?

Har.
(to Rolf).
Go, see who asks admittance.
[Rolf goes out. As he goes, the White Pilgrim goes off slowly behind the Castle on the opposite side. The others stand grouped, in silence, in the centre till Rolf returns.
Well, what news?

Rolf.
A stranger knight—and lady—at the gate!

Har.
Bid them come in.

[Rolf introduces Hugo and Isabelle, who come forward; Harold and the others standing back, as in fear.
Hugo.
This is cold welcome, sirs,
For a spent traveller, who has wandered far.

Har.
From what—land—do you come?

Hugo.
From Normandy.

The Curtain Falls.
Between the First and Second Acts a month, all but a day, is supposed to elapse.