University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene.—The same. Morning.
Enter from the Castle Sigurd and Rolf.
Rolf.
I say it must not be.

Sig.
I say it shall.
You're a nice knave to preach flat perjury
To the “good master,” whom you whine about.
I do not like the business, and am sorry
I ever put him on it; but to waste
Time in regrets is idle. He has sworn,
And trifles with his purpose all too long.
To-morrow ends the month, and the sun sets
On Harold perjured, or on Hugo dead.

Rolf.
And were that all, there were no room for doubt;
I had rather see him perjured ten times o'er,
Than turn a murderer for conscience' sake.

Sig.
You irreligious dog! An oath is sacred:
What is a Norman more or less, to that?
He swore to strike the blow, and strike himself.
Would I might do the deed, and that my hand
Might save young Harold from the penalty
Which must await him if he break the vow.

Rolf
(aside).
Ay, the White Pilgrim! did I dream that night?
Was that pale phantom my embodied fear?
No! it was real; I saw it! You speak truly;
And, tempter that you are, Lord Harold's life
Hangs on the base fulfilment of his vow.
Oh, my dear master, must I see thee die,
Or live a thing of shame, a traitor, false
To hospitable trust, to knightly honour,
Outcast from heaven and from Thordisa's love?

Sig.
That love is out of date.
[Pointing off the stage.
Look where he goes
With his new charmer—with his dainty sample
Of luscious fruit grafted from southern vines
Upon our polar ice. What pretty things
He whispers in the little ear, which blushes
In proof it listens not! “Sweet Isabelle,”
“I never loved till now!” Ay, ay, go on.

Rolf.
You do him grievous wrong; he would not be
So light and fickle a thing.

Sig.
Fickle, not he!
Once let a man swear vassalage to women,
And he remains so very true to them,
That, if the first should leave him for awhile,
He must e'en find a second, then and there.
I like this wanton well; for she will arm
Young Harold's hand against her husband's life,
Which stands between their passion and the sun.
The iron is red hot, the furnace full!
And of the flowers that spring from Hugo's grave,
Harold shall weave new chains for Isabelle.
I must go call the Norman to the chase,
His last! Sing on, my love-birds! ere to-morrow
To harsher chords we'll fit your melody.

[Exit into Castle.
Rolf.
Can such a liar speak truth, and has my lord
So soon forgot Thordisa? No, not he;
I'll not believe it! Courtesy, not love,
Draws him to Isabelle; that man's foul thoughts
Soil purity itself. Her gentle face
Must palsy Harold's arm ere it can strike
At his guest and her husband. Horrible!
Since that accursëd night I live in fear
Lest every moment bring a deed so black
That it would overcast the smiling Heaven,
And from its own dark womb draw lightning down
To scorch us into nothingness! And yet,
What if the vow be broken—if that life
That I, poor slave, have loved and tended so,
Must perish as the forfeit? Many a time
Would I have warned these Normans of their danger,
But that I feared their safety were his death.
Where is Thordisa? Why, thou guardian saint,
Leav'st thou thy shrine untenanted, when most
Our knees should wear the stones out at thy foot
In agony of prayer? I have not dared
To breathe the fearful secret in the ear
Of living soul, till she return.

Enter Harold and Isabelle from the shore. Rolf watches behind.
Isa.
Your friends
Will miss you, my Lord Harold.

Har.
Gentle lady,
They have your husband with them as my pledge.
May I not stay with you?

Rolf
(aside).
Too close, too close!

Isa.
You ask the favour of me rather late.
Have you not stayed some time?

Har.
I do not think it.
In your sweet presence time goes much too fast.

Isa.
(aside).
And other things go quite as fast as time.
I thought you told me that you never learned
To flatter, my kind host?

Har.
I never have.

Isa.
Faith, then, it comes by instinct, or by ear.
There's ne'er a gallant in our Norman court
Pays compliments so smooth.

Har.
Am I not rough?
I always thought so; but would gladly change
The image of myself my thoughts reflect,
If they distort it.

Isa.
Good Sir Pagan, no,
I can't deny the roughness; but it makes
The better setting for smooth compliments.
Contrast is always pleasing.

Har.
Then I think
That I should please you well.

Isa.
Perhaps you do;
But change the subject.

Rolf
(aside).
It is time to change it!

Isa.
You said that time flies fast, and you said true;
One month to-morrow since we stormed your hold
And took possession. Why do you start so?

Har.
(aside).
A month to-morrow! Oh, how I have striven
To drown the memory; to think of it
As of an evil nightmare born of wine!
That oath, I dare not break, and cannot keep!
How have I lived since then!

Isa.
What mutter you?
Some Pagan charm against the evil eye?
Am I so dangerous?

Har.
All is dangerous here!
Most dangerous to yourself—to your lord—to me!
There's danger in the sea and in the air,
Danger within the castle, and without,
Danger by day, by night, above, around,
Danger in the eye that drinks your beauty in,
And danger—in the hand that presses yours!

Isa.
(shrinking as he takes her hand),
You hurt me! What means this?

Rolf
(coming up to her and speaking rapidly).
It means he is right!
Danger there is—it comes!

Enter Sigurd, Hugo, Leofric, Frioth, &c.
Hugo.
My good Lord Sigurd,
You do yourself much wrong—our monarchs give
No truer hospitality than you.
Good morrow, my brave host. You were stirring early:
You join the chase with us?

Har.
No; not to-day.

Hugo.
Why is your face so clouded? Isabelle,
Is there a quarrel between him and you?

Isa.
Something has crossed him, sir; I know not what.
(Aside to Hugo)
I pray you, Hugo, make him go with you,
And I will wait within for your return.

Har.
Fair Isabelle, I am not so much a churl
As to leave you untended and alone.
These gentlemen will pardon me, if to-day
I bear you company.

Isa.
That will not I, then!
And, good mine host, you have so maimed my hand,
That I am better tended—by myself;
While air and exercise will cool your brain,
Which, I think, needs it. Rolf, come in with me.

[Exeunt Isabelle and Rolf into Castle.
Hugo.
You have your quittance. Come, 'twere sin to tarry;
See how the hunt of heaven is afoot!
The clouds that chase each other through the skies
Vie with the hounds' impatience, and set us
A great example. 'Tis a day for sport
To make a hunter of a hermit.

Sig.
(apart to Har.)
Harold,
What mean these looks, man?

Har.
Do not speak to me!
You know their meaning.—Friends, I am not well,
And you must pardon me.

Leo.
Impossible!
There are some sins past pardon. Shun the chase!

Fri.
You ill deserve the bottle if you do.
My life upon it that he means to stay,
And have a morning drink all to himself.
Harold, this is not fair, upon my soul.

Hugo.
Let me entreat you, friend.

Sig.
Leave him to me;
I know his moods, Sir Knight, and will persuade him,
Ere you have passed the mountain, to put by
This gloomy humour.

Leo.
Come, then, to the chase.

[Exeunt all but Harold and Sigurd.
Sig.
Harold—

Har.
Begone and leave me, tempter! fiend!
Do I not know you? I can read your face,
And speak the words in which your lips would hiss
Their poison in mine ear. The hour is come
When I have sworn to do a thing more vile
Than e'er the vilest did, and write myself
More vile than they, than villany, than thou!
But—I have sworn it! Sigurd, you have been
My guardian, father, and, I thought, my friend.
Is there no way but this? I am ill-taught,
Uncultured, rude of spirit and of speech,
But I have loved you—you, and one beside!
Thordisa, my good angel, come to me!
I dare not think of her, or I go mad!

Sig.
Think not of her, then. I am sorry, boy,
To see you thus—I am sorry that my tongue
Outran my sense that night, and laid this oath
Upon your soul—but, Harold, it is there!
I never thought of it save as a jest.

Har.
Then as a jest let me but pass it by.

Sig.
It may not be—you know it! After all,
The Heaven you grope your way so blindly after
Must have a purpose on this Norman's life,
Or it had never sent him here so pat.
And what is a man's life, that you should make
So much ado about it? Every day
Your Heaven takes many lives, with much less cause,
And just as blindly, here and there, by chance!

Har.
Blasphemer!

Sig.
Nonsense; it's philosophy.

Har.
But this man is my guest; his hand and mine
Have clasped each other; and the wife he loves—

Sig.
You love. More reason; now, it is a sin;
Then, you may do it freely.

Har.
It is false!
I do not love her. From my darkened soul
Thordisa stands severed as by a veil!
With the good part of me I worship her,
And that you have robbed me of. My evil self
Woos this warm beauty's fiery loveliness
As it woos the wine-cup, for oblivion!

Sig.
Then woo her to some purpose, man alive!
Why, the rich blood that wantons in her cheeks
Flutters an answering signal to Desire,
Whene'er you speak with her. She's a glorious prize
For the bold cruiser in forbidden seas!
Take heart of grace, man; do what must be done—
You have delayed too long.

Har.
My guest and friend!

Sig.
Who made him so? Had you but kept your vow
A month ago—not feasted him, and fawned,
Where you were sworn to strike—he had not been
Aught but a doomed and alien enemy.
It must be done to-day!

Har.
There is one day more;
Let him live till to-morrow.

Sig.
No, to-day.

Har.
Well, be it so. I dare not break that oath;
Its fearful burdens' damning monotone
Appals my sense—I dare not break that oath!
Oh, were it but to die instead of him,
I would die fifty thousand deaths a day;
But to die perjured is to die accursed,
And to be pointed at in worlds unknown
As he that did the worst the worst can do!
Look down on me, ye spirits of my sires,
See what your faith, your creed, have done for me!
I know no other creed, no better faith!
Thordisa's God is deaf—Thordisa gone.
And I am helpless. I will do this thing!
And as all mercy fails me, I will fill
The measure to the full. I will win that woman,
And riot in her arms, until we two,
Locked in an earthy and abhored embrace,
Go down together to the lowest deep,
Embosomed in the everlasting fire!
But—you and I are of one blood no more!
And mark me, when we meet beyond the earth,
In whatsoever place lost spirits are,
I will nor touch your hand, nor know your face,
For ever and for ever! In an hour
I will meet you in the wood, at the mountain's foot,
And damn us both at once. Go to our friends,
Bid Hugo look for me in an hour, in the wood!

[Exeunt severally. Rolf has re-entered at the back with Isabelle just at the last words.
Rolf.
An hour! In the wood! You heard the words?

Isa.
I did,
But know not what they mean. Why do you hint
So darkly, man? Speak out, and speak your mind,
If you have got one.

Rolf.
I can scarcely tell
Whether I have or no—whether I am
Or am not—whether anything has been
Or ever will be. What I ought to do
Is quite beyond me, a poor willing knave,
That only seeks to live at peace with men
And women—Gerda most especially.
Oh, where is Gerda, to advise with me?
She ever says there's wisdom in my head,
And thinks that she can find it. I can not!

Isa.
I vow, the changes of the northern moon
Give colour to the proverb, that the brain
Turns with its turnings. Both your lord and you
Are strangely out of tune. When first we came,
You greeted us with such scant courtesy
And such odd looks, that we had almost gone,
Wrecked as we were upon your coast, to find
Some other shelter. As the moon grew less
Our cheer grew better. Now she broadens over
The face of Heaven once more—

Rolf.
Ay, ay, that's it.

Isa.
What is it, in God's name?

Rolf.
Not in God's name,
But in the devil's! More I dare not say
Than I have told you. Keep my master by you,
Encourage him, let him make love to you,
Make love to him—do anything on earth
Save let him join the hunt, or go to-night
To that dark wood he spoke of—dark indeed
With all the shadows of the nether gloom.
(Aside).
He shall not do the deed; though the white robe
Of that dread visitant enshroud us all,
And make one mighty pall on Nature's face,
In folds to shrivel her!—Look, my lord comes!
I dare not meet him now. Remember well
The charge I gave you—for your husband's life!

[Exit.
Isa.
My husband's life! What can this warning mean?
His wild words strike the key of mine own dread.
All things are savage here; at night, the air
Seems living with strange whispers, which the day
Swells to a louder tone; I seemed to hear
One when he spoke. What would they do with us?
Ah, my young host, beware a woman's wit!
Forewarned, forearmed, they say, and I will throw
About your eyes a mist of witchery,
To which your warlocks, and your imps, and all
Your battery of pagan devilries,
Shall be a common conjuror's clumsy play.
You shall not leave my side to-night, Lord Harold,
Before I know your secrets as mine own.
I am a practised warrior, and in arms.
Here comes the enemy!
Enter Harold.
Still muttering charms?

Har.
Charms for the charmer! Ah! I thought the sun
Shone brighter than it did a while ago.
It has come back again to shine on you.

Isa.
I think the sun is hidden in a cloud.

Har.
Then 'tis because she sees a rival here,
And dares not show her face.

Isa.
The sun's a man!

Har.
A woman, on my life! a very woman!
A woman in her light, her warmth, her splendour,
Whose satellites pale before her where she goes.
A woman! for 'tis summer where she lingers,
And winter when she hastens to be gone!
A woman! for she warms one land to life,
Then leaves it for another—blighted—blank—
You are my sun. I love you!

Isa.
(terrified).
Ah!

Har.
I see
You are afraid of me—yes, you are fair,
And, I think, pure and good; (aside)
and what have I
To do with goodness and with purity?
My hand can strike him; soil her it shall not.
Forgive me. I spoke wildly. Fare you well!

Isa.
(aside).
The wood! He must not leave me! Do not go!

Har.
(aside).
Sigurd was right, then. We are all alike;
Women and men—save one!—I will stay with you
For ever, if you will.

Isa.
That's a long day.

Har.
Is it? I fear it is.

Isa.
You say you love me?
It is a courtly phrase, and means, I know,
No more than fashion. Let us walk this way.
(Aside).
Will the time never pass?—Why do you start?

Har.
It was a sudden gust that stirred the trees.
(Aside).
Methought Thordisa's voice was on the wind
Wailing a sad good-bye!—You are beautiful!

[Exeunt behind the Castle.
Enter Thordisa.
Tho.
How slowly heavenward rolls the stream of time
For parted lovers; but how swift the tide,
Slipping in noiseless current out of sight,
When on his full broad breast he bears along
Two happy lives in sweet companionship.
Thus Love points out the quickest road to Heaven,
And Heaven's best angel upon earth is Love.
How will you meet me, Harold? Oh, my soul
Shrinks from its own excess of happiness.
Thou art too much the burden of my prayers,
Too much my incarnate Heaven—too much? Oh, no
I'll not believe it; 'tis an idle fear
Engendered of the Evil One, who tempts us
To put aside the choicest cup that God
Has offered to our lips. I cannot think
Too much of him that only thinks of me.
To-day, then, I shall see him once again,
And feel once more his kisses on my lips,
And speak with him once more, and once more hear
The words of the troth-plight he plighted me,
The words—

Isa.
(without).
Through Life to Death, through Death to Life!

Tho.
A woman's voice! A woman's!—oh! no, no!
My ears deceive me—that way came the sound;
I heard it.
[Looks off the Scene.
Ah! Yes: I did love too much!

[She falls back and listens.
Enter Harold and Isabelle.
Isa.
A pretty posy, and a pretty token:
Who gave it you?

Har.
What matter? It was given me
By a vision, in a dream, a dream that passed
So long ago.

Tho.
(aside).
One month!

Har.
Don't speak of it.
Speak only of ourselves; there are to us
No others in the world; its mighty orbit
Has not an inch of breathing space save that
My passion needs. Will you not answer me
Save with excuses? Dalliance is well;
But there are better things than dalliance.

Isa.
(aside).
I know not what to do; I am at the end
Of all my fence.—Nay, but I have a fancy
That in this text you pledge yourself to me.

Har.
I will not.

Isa.
No? Then you have sworn most falsely,
And I will never trust so false a love.

Har.
Ask anything but that.

Isa.
No other boon
I care to ask. 'Tis but a little thing,
And it means nothing.

Tho.
(aside).
Nothing!

Har.
No; not much.
I will buy you at that price— (Aside)
nor you alone!
—Fair Isabelle, I will be true to thee
Through Life to Death, through Death to Life!

[Music heard from the Chapel.
Isa.

Har.
I'll have those Christians silenced. I have said it;
And if we need a witness, Death, attend
And take me at my word!

Tho.
(aside).
Ay, come, come, Death!
In the most fearful of the shapes you wear,
Take them and me! Ay, come, thou thing accursed!
Come, terrible phantom! severer of hearts
That beat for thee to blight when hope is highest!
Thou stealthy reaper of the golden grain!
Thou image of the darkness whereupon
Thou sitt'st enthroned! Thou nightmare of the night!
Come with the cruellest weapons that thou hast,
Red-heated from thine awful armoury!
Bring all thy choicest tortures for these two,
And spare me not. Come, fiend!
[The White Pilgrim appears, seen only by Thordisa; she throws herself between it and the others.
Oh, no, not yet!

Isa.
It is very cold. Oh, take me from this place;
There is a rush of darkness in the air.
I am afraid.

Har.
Fear nothing; come with me.

[Exeunt Harold and Isabelle.
Tho.
Spirit, I know thee not. I look on thee
With awe, but not with terror. All my fears
Fall from me as a garment. Art thou—

Pilgrim.

Tho.
A little while!
Give me a little yet! Spirit, I love him
And would not go till I have heard once more
In accents whose rich music was the tune
To which my life was set, not that he loves me,
But that he loved me once. Spirit, not yet!
I am all too earthly in my thoughts of him;
I am not fit for—

Pilgrim.
Hush! Miscall me not!

[The Spirit disappears; Thordisa remains prostrate.
Enter Gerda.
Ger.
Mistress, where are you?

Tho.
[Thordisa remains looking backward to the place where the Spirit stood.