_Enter_
ARCHBISHOP
STIGAND.
Tennyson
and poor Pole pines of it,
As I do, to the death. I am but a woman,
I have no power. --Ah, weak and meek old man,
Seven-fold dishonour'd even in the sight
Of thine own sectaries--No, no. No pardon!
Why that was false: there is the right hand still
Beckons me hence.
Sir, you were burnt for heresy, not for treason,
Remember that! 'twas I and Bonner did it,
And Pole; we are three to one--Have you found mercy there,
Grant it me here: and see, he smiles and goes,
Gentle as in life.
ALICE. Madam, who goes? King Philip?
MARY. No, Philip comes and goes, but never goes.
Women, when I am dead,
Open my heart, and there you will find written
Two names, Philip and Calais; open his,--
So that he have one,--
You will find Philip only, policy, policy,--
Ay, worse than that--not one hour true to me!
Foul maggots crawling in a fester'd vice!
Adulterous to the very heart of Hell.
Hast thou a knife?
ALICE. Ay, Madam, but o' God's mercy--
MARY. Fool, think'st thou I would peril mine own soul
By slaughter of the body? I could not, girl,
Not this way--callous with a constant stripe,
Unwoundable. The knife!
ALICE. Take heed, take heed!
The blade is keen as death.
MARY. This Philip shall not
Stare in upon me in my haggardness;
Old, miserable, diseased,
Incapable of children. Come thou down.
[_Cuts out the picture and throws it down_.
Lie there. (_Wails_) O God, I have kill'd my Philip!
ALICE. No,
Madam, you have but cut the canvas out;
We can replace it.
MARY. All is well then; rest--
I will to rest; he said, I must have rest.
[_Cries of_ 'ELIZABETH' _in the street_.
A cry! What's that? Elizabeth? revolt?
A new Northumberland, another Wyatt?
I'll fight it on the threshold of the grave.
LADY CLARENCE. Madam, your royal sister comes to see you.
MARY. I will not see her.
Who knows if Boleyn's daughter be my sister?
I will see none except the priest. Your arm.
[_To_ LADY CLARENCE.
O Saint of Aragon, with that sweet worn smile
Among thy patient wrinkles--Help me hence.
[_Exeunt_.
_The_ PRIEST _passes. Enter_ ELIZABETH _and_ SIR WILLIAM CECIL.
ELIZABETH. Good counsel yours--
No one in waiting? still,
As if the chamberlain were Death himself!
The room she sleeps in--is not this the way?
No, that way there are voices. Am I too late?
Cecil . . . God guide me lest I lose the way.
[_Exit_ ELIZABETH.
CECIL. Many points weather'd, many perilous ones,
At last a harbour opens; but therein
Sunk rocks--they need fine steering--much it is
To be nor mad, nor bigot--have a mind--
Nor let Priests' talk, or dream of worlds to be,
Miscolour things about her--sudden touches
For him, or him--sunk rocks; no passionate faith--
But--if let be--balance and compromise;
Brave, wary, sane to the heart of her--a Tudor
School'd by the shadow of death--a Boleyn, too,
Glancing across the Tudor--not so well.
_Enter_ ALICE.
How is the good Queen now?
ALICE. Away from Philip.
Back in her childhood--prattling to her mother
Of her betrothal to the Emperor Charles,
And childlike--jealous of him again--and once
She thank'd her father sweetly for his book
Against that godless German. Ah, those days
Were happy. It was never merry world
In England, since the Bible came among us.
CECIL. And who says that?
ALICE. It is a saying among the Catholics.
CECIL. It never will be merry world in England,
Till all men have their Bible, rich and poor.
ALICE. The Queen is dying, or you dare not say it.
_Enter_ ELIZABETH.
ELIZABETH. The Queen is dead.
CECIL. Then here she stands! my homage.
ELIZABETH. She knew me, and acknowledged me her heir,
Pray'd me to pay her debts, and keep the Faith:
Then claspt the cross, and pass'd away in peace.
I left her lying still and beautiful,
More beautiful than in life. Why would you vex yourself,
Poor sister? Sir, I swear I have no heart
To be your Queen. To reign is restless fence,
Tierce, quart, and trickery. Peace is with the dead.
Her life was winter, for her spring was nipt:
And she loved much: pray God she be forgiven.
CECIL. Peace with the dead, who never were at peace!
Yet she loved one so much--I needs must say--
That never English monarch dying left
England so little.
ELIZABETH. But with Cecil's aid
And others, if our person be secured
From traitor stabs--we will make England great.
_Enter_ PAGET, _and other_ LORDS OF THE COUNCIL,
SIR RALPH BAGENHALL, _etc_.
LORDS. God save Elizabeth, the Queen of England!
BAGENHALL. God save the Crown! the Papacy is no more.
PAGET (_aside_).
Are we so sure of that?
ACCLAMATION. God save the Queen!
END OF QUEEN MARY.
HAROLD: A DRAMA.
TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE RIGHT HON. LORD LYTTON, VICEROY AND
GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF INDIA.
My Dear Lord Lytton,--After old-world records--such as the Bayeux
tapestry and the Roman de Rou,--Edward Freeman's History of the Norman
Conquest, and your father's Historical Romance treating of the same
times, have been mainly helpful to me in writing this Drama. Your
father dedicated his 'Harold' to my father's brother; allow me to
dedicate my 'Harold' to yourself.
A. TENNYSON.
SHOW-DAY AT BATTLE ABBEY, 1876.
A garden here--May breath and bloom of spring--
The cuckoo yonder from an English elm
Crying 'with my false egg I overwhelm
The native nest:' and fancy hears the ring
Of harness, and that deathful arrow sing,
And Saxon battleaxe clang on Norman helm.
Here rose the dragon-banner of our realm:
Here fought, here fell, our Norman-slander'd king.
O Garden blossoming out of English blood!
O strange hate-healer Time! We stroll and stare
Where might made right eight hundred years ago;
Might, right? ay good, so all things make for good--
But he and he, if soul be soul, are where
Each stands full face with all he did below.
_DRAMATIS PERSONAE_
KING EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.
STIGAND, _created Archbishop of Canterbury by the Antipope Benedict_.
ALDRED, _Archbishop of York_.
THE NORMAN BISHOP OF LONDON.
HAROLD, _Earl of Wessex, afterwards King of England, Son of Godwin_
TOSTIG, _Earl of Northumbria, Son of Godwin_
GURTH, _Earl of East Anglia, Son of Godwin_
LEOFWIN, _Earl of Kent and Essex, Son of Godwin_
WULFNOTH
COUNT WILLIAM OF NORMANDY.
WILLIAM RUFUS.
WILLIAM MALET, _a Norman Noble_. [1]
EDWIN, _Earl of Mercia, Son of Alfgar of Mercia_
MORCAR, _Earl of Northumbria after Tostig, Son of Alfgar of Mercia_
GAMEL, _a Northumbrian Thane_.
GUY, _Count of Ponthieu_.
ROLF, _a Ponthieu Fisherman_.
HUGH MARGOT, _a Norman Monk_.
OSGOD _and_ ATHELRIC, _Canons from Waltham_.
THE QUEEN, _Edward the Confessor's Wife, Daughter of Godwin_.
ALDWYTH, _Daughter of Alfgar and Widow of Griffyth, King of Wales_.
EDITH, _Ward of King Edward_.
Courtiers, Earls and Thanes, Men-at-Arms, Canons of Waltham,
Fishermen, etc.
[Footnote 1: . . . quidam partim Normannus et Anglus
Compater Heraldi. (_Guy of Amiens_, 587. )]
HAROLD
ACT I.
SCENE I. --LONDON. THE KING'S PALACE.
(_A comet seen through the open window_. )
ALDWYTH, GAMEL, COURTIERS _talking together_.
FIRST COURTIER. Lo! there once more--this is the seventh night!
Yon grimly-glaring, treble-brandish'd scourge Of England!
SECOND COURTIER. Horrible!
FIRST COURTIER. Look you, there's a star
That dances in it as mad with agony!
THIRD COURTIER. Ay, like a spirit in Hell who skips and flies
To right and left, and cannot scape the flame.
SECOND COURTIER. Steam'd upward from the undescendable
Abysm.
FIRST COURTIER. Or floated downward from the throne
Of God Almighty.
ALDWYTH. Gamel, son of Orm,
What thinkest thou this means?
GAMEL. War, my dear lady!
ALDWYTH. Doth this affright thee?
GAMEL. Mightily, my dear lady!
ALDWYTH. Stand by me then, and look upon my face,
Not on the comet.
_Enter_ MORCAR.
Brother! why so pale?
MORCAR. It glares in heaven, it flares upon the Thames,
The people are as thick as bees below,
They hum like bees,--they cannot speak--for awe;
Look to the skies, then to the river, strike
Their hearts, and hold their babies up to it.
I think that they would Molochize them too,
To have the heavens clear.
ALDWYTH. They fright not me.
_Enter_ LEOFWIN, _after him_ GURTH.
Ask thou Lord Leofwin what he thinks of this!
MORCAR. Lord Leofwin, dost thou believe, that these
Three rods of blood-red fire up yonder mean
The doom of England and the wrath of Heaven?
BISHOP OF LONDON (_passing_).
Did ye not cast with bestial violence
Our holy Norman bishops down from all
Their thrones in England? I alone remain.
Why should not Heaven be wroth?
LEOFWIN. With us, or thee?
BISHOP OF LONDON. Did ye not outlaw your archbishop Robert,
Robert of Jumieges--well-nigh murder him too?
Is there no reason for the wrath of Heaven?
LEOFWIN. Why then the wrath of Heaven hath three tails,
The devil only one.
[_Exit_ BISHOP OF LONDON.
_Enter_ ARCHBISHOP STIGAND.
Ask _our_ Archbishop.
Stigand should know the purposes of Heaven.
STIGAND. Not I. I cannot read the face of heaven;
Perhaps our vines will grow the better for it.
LEOFWIN (_laughing_).
He can but read the king's face on his coins.
STIGAND. Ay, ay, young lord, _there_ the king's face is power.
GURTH. O father, mock not at a public fear,
But tell us, is this pendent hell in heaven
A harm to England?
STIGAND. Ask it of King Edward!
And he may tell thee, _I_ am a harm to England.
Old uncanonical Stigand--ask of _me_
Who had my pallium from an Antipope!
Not he the man--for in our windy world
What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.
Our friends, the Normans, holp to shake his chair.
I have a Norman fever on me, son,
And cannot answer sanely. . . . What it means?
Ask our broad Earl.
[_Pointing to_ HAROLD, _who enters_.
HAROLD (_seeing_ GAMEL).
Hail, Gamel, son of Orm!
Albeit no rolling stone, my good friend Gamel,
Thou hast rounded since we met. Thy life at home
Is easier than mine here. Look! am I not
Work-wan, flesh-fallen?
GAMEL. Art thou sick, good Earl?
HAROLD. Sick as an autumn swallow for a voyage,
Sick for an idle week of hawk and hound
Beyond the seas--a change! When camest thou hither?
GAMEL. To-day, good Earl.
HAROLD. Is the North quiet, Gamel?
GAMEL. Nay, there be murmurs, for thy brother breaks us
With over-taxing--quiet, ay, as yet--
Nothing as yet.
HAROLD. Stand by him, mine old friend,
Thou art a great voice in Northumberland!
Advise him: speak him sweetly, he will hear thee.
He is passionate but honest. Stand thou by him!
More talk of this to-morrow, if yon weird sign
Not blast us in our dreams. --Well, father Stigand--
[_To_ STIGAND, _who advances to him_.
STIGAND (_pointing to the comet_).
War there, my son? is that the doom of England?
HAROLD. Why not the doom of all the world as well?
For all the world sees it as well as England.
These meteors came and went before our day,
Not harming any: it threatens us no more
Than French or Norman. War? the worst that follows
Things that seem jerk'd out of the common rut
Of Nature is the hot religious fool,
Who, seeing war in heaven, for heaven's credit
Makes it on earth: but look, where Edward draws
A faint foot hither, leaning upon Tostig.
He hath learnt to love our Tostig much of late.
LEOFWIN. And _he_ hath learnt, despite the tiger in him,
To sleek and supple himself to the king's hand.
GURTH. I trust the kingly touch that cures the evil
May serve to charm the tiger out of him.
LEOFWIN. He hath as much of cat as tiger in him.
Our Tostig loves the hand and not the man.
HAROLD. Nay! Better die than lie!
_Enter_ KING, QUEEN, _and_ TOSTIG.
EDWARD. In heaven signs!
Signs upon earth! signs everywhere! your Priests
Gross, worldly, simoniacal, unlearn'd!
They scarce can read their Psalter; and your churches
Uncouth, unhandsome, while in Normanland
God speaks thro' abler voices, as He dwells
In statelier shrines. I say not this, as being
Half Norman-blooded, nor as some have held,
Because I love the Norman better--no,
But dreading God's revenge upon this realm
For narrowness and coldness: and I say it
For the last time perchance, before I go
To find the sweet refreshment of the Saints.
I have lived a life of utter purity:
I have builded the great church of Holy Peter:
I have wrought miracles--to God the glory--
And miracles will in my name be wrought
Hereafter. --I have fought the fight and go--
I see the flashing of the gates of pearl--
And it is well with me, tho' some of you
Have scorn'd me--ay--but after I am gone
Woe, woe to England! I have had a vision;
The seven sleepers in the cave at Ephesus
Have turn'd from right to left.
HAROLD. My most dear Master,
What matters? let them turn from left to right
And sleep again.
TOSTIG. Too hardy with thy king!
A life of prayer and fasting well may see
Deeper into the mysteries of heaven
Than thou, good brother.
ALDWYTH (_aside_). Sees he into thine,
That thou wouldst have his promise for the crown?
EDWARD. Tostig says true; my son, thou art too hard,
Not stagger'd by this ominous earth and heaven:
But heaven and earth are threads of the same loom,
Play into one another, and weave the web
That may confound thee yet.
HAROLD. Nay, I trust not,
For I have served thee long and honestly.
EDWARD. I know it, son; I am not thankless: thou
Hast broken all my foes, lighten'd for me
The weight of this poor crown, and left me time
And peace for prayer to gain a better one.
Twelve years of service! England loves thee for it.
Thou art the man to rule her!
ALDWYTH (_aside_). So, not Tostig!
HAROLD. And after those twelve years a boon, my king,
Respite, a holiday: thyself wast wont
To love the chase: thy leave to set my feet
On board, and hunt and hawk beyond the seas!
EDWARD. What, with this flaming horror overhead?
HAROLD. Well, when it passes then.
EDWARD. Ay if it pass.
Go not to Normandy--go not to Normandy.
HAROLD. And wherefore not, my king, to Normandy?
Is not my brother Wulfnoth hostage there
For my dead father's loyalty to thee?
I pray thee, let me hence and bring him home.
EDWARD. Not thee, my son: some other messenger.
HAROLD. And why not me, my lord, to Normandy?
Is not the Norman Count thy friend and mine?
EDWARD. I pray thee, do not go to Normandy.
HAROLD. Because my father drove the Normans out
Of England? --That was many a summer gone--
Forgotten and forgiven by them and thee.
EDWARD. Harold, I will not yield thee leave to go.
HAROLD. Why then to Flanders. I will hawk and hunt
In Flanders.
EDWARD. Be there not fair woods and fields
In England? Wilful, wilful. Go--the Saints
Pilot and prosper all thy wandering out
And homeward. Tostig, I am faint again.
Son Harold, I will in and pray for thee.
[_Exit, leaning on_ TOSTIG, _and followed by_
STIGAND, MORCAR, _and_ COURTIERS.
HAROLD. What lies upon the mind of our good king
That he should harp this way on Normandy?
QUEEN. Brother, the king is wiser than he seems;
And Tostig knows it; Tostig loves the king.
HAROLD. And love should know; and--be the
king so wise,--
Then Tostig too were wiser than he seems.
I love the man but not his phantasies.
_Re-enter_ TOSTIG.
Well, brother,
When didst thou hear from thy Northumbria?
TOSTIG. When did I hear aught but this '_When_' from thee?
Leave me alone, brother, with my Northumbria:
She is _my_ mistress, let _me_ look to her!
The King hath made me Earl; make me not fool!
Nor make the King a fool, who made me Earl!
HAROLD. No, Tostig--lest I make myself a fool
Who made the King who made thee, make thee Earl.
TOSTIG. Why chafe me then? Thou knowest I soon go wild.
GURTH. Come, come! as yet thou art not gone so wild
But thou canst hear the best and wisest of us.
HAROLD. So says old Gurth, not I: yet hear! thine earldom,
Tostig, hath been a kingdom. Their old crown
Is yet a force among them, a sun set
But leaving light enough for Alfgar's house
To strike thee down by--nay, this ghastly glare
May heat their fancies.
TOSTIG. My most worthy brother,
Thou art the quietest man in all the world--
Ay, ay and wise in peace and great in war--
Pray God the people choose thee for their king!
But all the powers of the house of Godwin
Are not enframed in thee.
HAROLD. Thank the Saints, no!
But thou hast drain'd them shallow by thy tolls,
And thou art ever here about the King:
Thine absence well may seem a want of care.
Cling to their love; for, now the sons of Godwin
Sit topmost in the field of England, envy,
Like the rough bear beneath the tree, good brother,
Waits till the man let go.
TOSTIG. Good counsel truly!
I heard from my Northumbria yesterday.
HAROLD. How goes it then with thy Northumbria?
Well?
TOSTIG. And wouldst thou that it went aught else than well?
HAROLD. I would it went as well as with mine earldom,
Leofwin's and Gurth's.
TOSTIG. Ye govern milder men.
GURTH. We have made them milder by just government.
TOSTIG. Ay, ever give yourselves your own good word.
LEOFWIN. An honest gift, by all the Saints, if giver
And taker be but honest! but they bribe
Each other, and so often, an honest world
Will not believe them.
HAROLD. I may tell thee, Tostig,
I heard from thy Northumberland to-day.
TOSTIG. From spies of thine to spy my nakedness
In my poor North!
HAROLD. There is a movement there,
A blind one--nothing yet.
TOSTIG. Crush it at once
With all the power I have! --I must--I will! --
Crush it half-born! Fool still? or wisdom there,
My wise head-shaking Harold?
HAROLD. Make not thou
The nothing something. Wisdom when in power
And wisest, should not frown as Power, but smile
As kindness, watching all, till the true _must_
Shall make her strike as Power: but when to strike--
O Tostig, O dear brother--If they prance,
Rein in, not lash them, lest they rear and run
And break both neck and axle.
As I do, to the death. I am but a woman,
I have no power. --Ah, weak and meek old man,
Seven-fold dishonour'd even in the sight
Of thine own sectaries--No, no. No pardon!
Why that was false: there is the right hand still
Beckons me hence.
Sir, you were burnt for heresy, not for treason,
Remember that! 'twas I and Bonner did it,
And Pole; we are three to one--Have you found mercy there,
Grant it me here: and see, he smiles and goes,
Gentle as in life.
ALICE. Madam, who goes? King Philip?
MARY. No, Philip comes and goes, but never goes.
Women, when I am dead,
Open my heart, and there you will find written
Two names, Philip and Calais; open his,--
So that he have one,--
You will find Philip only, policy, policy,--
Ay, worse than that--not one hour true to me!
Foul maggots crawling in a fester'd vice!
Adulterous to the very heart of Hell.
Hast thou a knife?
ALICE. Ay, Madam, but o' God's mercy--
MARY. Fool, think'st thou I would peril mine own soul
By slaughter of the body? I could not, girl,
Not this way--callous with a constant stripe,
Unwoundable. The knife!
ALICE. Take heed, take heed!
The blade is keen as death.
MARY. This Philip shall not
Stare in upon me in my haggardness;
Old, miserable, diseased,
Incapable of children. Come thou down.
[_Cuts out the picture and throws it down_.
Lie there. (_Wails_) O God, I have kill'd my Philip!
ALICE. No,
Madam, you have but cut the canvas out;
We can replace it.
MARY. All is well then; rest--
I will to rest; he said, I must have rest.
[_Cries of_ 'ELIZABETH' _in the street_.
A cry! What's that? Elizabeth? revolt?
A new Northumberland, another Wyatt?
I'll fight it on the threshold of the grave.
LADY CLARENCE. Madam, your royal sister comes to see you.
MARY. I will not see her.
Who knows if Boleyn's daughter be my sister?
I will see none except the priest. Your arm.
[_To_ LADY CLARENCE.
O Saint of Aragon, with that sweet worn smile
Among thy patient wrinkles--Help me hence.
[_Exeunt_.
_The_ PRIEST _passes. Enter_ ELIZABETH _and_ SIR WILLIAM CECIL.
ELIZABETH. Good counsel yours--
No one in waiting? still,
As if the chamberlain were Death himself!
The room she sleeps in--is not this the way?
No, that way there are voices. Am I too late?
Cecil . . . God guide me lest I lose the way.
[_Exit_ ELIZABETH.
CECIL. Many points weather'd, many perilous ones,
At last a harbour opens; but therein
Sunk rocks--they need fine steering--much it is
To be nor mad, nor bigot--have a mind--
Nor let Priests' talk, or dream of worlds to be,
Miscolour things about her--sudden touches
For him, or him--sunk rocks; no passionate faith--
But--if let be--balance and compromise;
Brave, wary, sane to the heart of her--a Tudor
School'd by the shadow of death--a Boleyn, too,
Glancing across the Tudor--not so well.
_Enter_ ALICE.
How is the good Queen now?
ALICE. Away from Philip.
Back in her childhood--prattling to her mother
Of her betrothal to the Emperor Charles,
And childlike--jealous of him again--and once
She thank'd her father sweetly for his book
Against that godless German. Ah, those days
Were happy. It was never merry world
In England, since the Bible came among us.
CECIL. And who says that?
ALICE. It is a saying among the Catholics.
CECIL. It never will be merry world in England,
Till all men have their Bible, rich and poor.
ALICE. The Queen is dying, or you dare not say it.
_Enter_ ELIZABETH.
ELIZABETH. The Queen is dead.
CECIL. Then here she stands! my homage.
ELIZABETH. She knew me, and acknowledged me her heir,
Pray'd me to pay her debts, and keep the Faith:
Then claspt the cross, and pass'd away in peace.
I left her lying still and beautiful,
More beautiful than in life. Why would you vex yourself,
Poor sister? Sir, I swear I have no heart
To be your Queen. To reign is restless fence,
Tierce, quart, and trickery. Peace is with the dead.
Her life was winter, for her spring was nipt:
And she loved much: pray God she be forgiven.
CECIL. Peace with the dead, who never were at peace!
Yet she loved one so much--I needs must say--
That never English monarch dying left
England so little.
ELIZABETH. But with Cecil's aid
And others, if our person be secured
From traitor stabs--we will make England great.
_Enter_ PAGET, _and other_ LORDS OF THE COUNCIL,
SIR RALPH BAGENHALL, _etc_.
LORDS. God save Elizabeth, the Queen of England!
BAGENHALL. God save the Crown! the Papacy is no more.
PAGET (_aside_).
Are we so sure of that?
ACCLAMATION. God save the Queen!
END OF QUEEN MARY.
HAROLD: A DRAMA.
TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE RIGHT HON. LORD LYTTON, VICEROY AND
GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF INDIA.
My Dear Lord Lytton,--After old-world records--such as the Bayeux
tapestry and the Roman de Rou,--Edward Freeman's History of the Norman
Conquest, and your father's Historical Romance treating of the same
times, have been mainly helpful to me in writing this Drama. Your
father dedicated his 'Harold' to my father's brother; allow me to
dedicate my 'Harold' to yourself.
A. TENNYSON.
SHOW-DAY AT BATTLE ABBEY, 1876.
A garden here--May breath and bloom of spring--
The cuckoo yonder from an English elm
Crying 'with my false egg I overwhelm
The native nest:' and fancy hears the ring
Of harness, and that deathful arrow sing,
And Saxon battleaxe clang on Norman helm.
Here rose the dragon-banner of our realm:
Here fought, here fell, our Norman-slander'd king.
O Garden blossoming out of English blood!
O strange hate-healer Time! We stroll and stare
Where might made right eight hundred years ago;
Might, right? ay good, so all things make for good--
But he and he, if soul be soul, are where
Each stands full face with all he did below.
_DRAMATIS PERSONAE_
KING EDWARD THE CONFESSOR.
STIGAND, _created Archbishop of Canterbury by the Antipope Benedict_.
ALDRED, _Archbishop of York_.
THE NORMAN BISHOP OF LONDON.
HAROLD, _Earl of Wessex, afterwards King of England, Son of Godwin_
TOSTIG, _Earl of Northumbria, Son of Godwin_
GURTH, _Earl of East Anglia, Son of Godwin_
LEOFWIN, _Earl of Kent and Essex, Son of Godwin_
WULFNOTH
COUNT WILLIAM OF NORMANDY.
WILLIAM RUFUS.
WILLIAM MALET, _a Norman Noble_. [1]
EDWIN, _Earl of Mercia, Son of Alfgar of Mercia_
MORCAR, _Earl of Northumbria after Tostig, Son of Alfgar of Mercia_
GAMEL, _a Northumbrian Thane_.
GUY, _Count of Ponthieu_.
ROLF, _a Ponthieu Fisherman_.
HUGH MARGOT, _a Norman Monk_.
OSGOD _and_ ATHELRIC, _Canons from Waltham_.
THE QUEEN, _Edward the Confessor's Wife, Daughter of Godwin_.
ALDWYTH, _Daughter of Alfgar and Widow of Griffyth, King of Wales_.
EDITH, _Ward of King Edward_.
Courtiers, Earls and Thanes, Men-at-Arms, Canons of Waltham,
Fishermen, etc.
[Footnote 1: . . . quidam partim Normannus et Anglus
Compater Heraldi. (_Guy of Amiens_, 587. )]
HAROLD
ACT I.
SCENE I. --LONDON. THE KING'S PALACE.
(_A comet seen through the open window_. )
ALDWYTH, GAMEL, COURTIERS _talking together_.
FIRST COURTIER. Lo! there once more--this is the seventh night!
Yon grimly-glaring, treble-brandish'd scourge Of England!
SECOND COURTIER. Horrible!
FIRST COURTIER. Look you, there's a star
That dances in it as mad with agony!
THIRD COURTIER. Ay, like a spirit in Hell who skips and flies
To right and left, and cannot scape the flame.
SECOND COURTIER. Steam'd upward from the undescendable
Abysm.
FIRST COURTIER. Or floated downward from the throne
Of God Almighty.
ALDWYTH. Gamel, son of Orm,
What thinkest thou this means?
GAMEL. War, my dear lady!
ALDWYTH. Doth this affright thee?
GAMEL. Mightily, my dear lady!
ALDWYTH. Stand by me then, and look upon my face,
Not on the comet.
_Enter_ MORCAR.
Brother! why so pale?
MORCAR. It glares in heaven, it flares upon the Thames,
The people are as thick as bees below,
They hum like bees,--they cannot speak--for awe;
Look to the skies, then to the river, strike
Their hearts, and hold their babies up to it.
I think that they would Molochize them too,
To have the heavens clear.
ALDWYTH. They fright not me.
_Enter_ LEOFWIN, _after him_ GURTH.
Ask thou Lord Leofwin what he thinks of this!
MORCAR. Lord Leofwin, dost thou believe, that these
Three rods of blood-red fire up yonder mean
The doom of England and the wrath of Heaven?
BISHOP OF LONDON (_passing_).
Did ye not cast with bestial violence
Our holy Norman bishops down from all
Their thrones in England? I alone remain.
Why should not Heaven be wroth?
LEOFWIN. With us, or thee?
BISHOP OF LONDON. Did ye not outlaw your archbishop Robert,
Robert of Jumieges--well-nigh murder him too?
Is there no reason for the wrath of Heaven?
LEOFWIN. Why then the wrath of Heaven hath three tails,
The devil only one.
[_Exit_ BISHOP OF LONDON.
_Enter_ ARCHBISHOP STIGAND.
Ask _our_ Archbishop.
Stigand should know the purposes of Heaven.
STIGAND. Not I. I cannot read the face of heaven;
Perhaps our vines will grow the better for it.
LEOFWIN (_laughing_).
He can but read the king's face on his coins.
STIGAND. Ay, ay, young lord, _there_ the king's face is power.
GURTH. O father, mock not at a public fear,
But tell us, is this pendent hell in heaven
A harm to England?
STIGAND. Ask it of King Edward!
And he may tell thee, _I_ am a harm to England.
Old uncanonical Stigand--ask of _me_
Who had my pallium from an Antipope!
Not he the man--for in our windy world
What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.
Our friends, the Normans, holp to shake his chair.
I have a Norman fever on me, son,
And cannot answer sanely. . . . What it means?
Ask our broad Earl.
[_Pointing to_ HAROLD, _who enters_.
HAROLD (_seeing_ GAMEL).
Hail, Gamel, son of Orm!
Albeit no rolling stone, my good friend Gamel,
Thou hast rounded since we met. Thy life at home
Is easier than mine here. Look! am I not
Work-wan, flesh-fallen?
GAMEL. Art thou sick, good Earl?
HAROLD. Sick as an autumn swallow for a voyage,
Sick for an idle week of hawk and hound
Beyond the seas--a change! When camest thou hither?
GAMEL. To-day, good Earl.
HAROLD. Is the North quiet, Gamel?
GAMEL. Nay, there be murmurs, for thy brother breaks us
With over-taxing--quiet, ay, as yet--
Nothing as yet.
HAROLD. Stand by him, mine old friend,
Thou art a great voice in Northumberland!
Advise him: speak him sweetly, he will hear thee.
He is passionate but honest. Stand thou by him!
More talk of this to-morrow, if yon weird sign
Not blast us in our dreams. --Well, father Stigand--
[_To_ STIGAND, _who advances to him_.
STIGAND (_pointing to the comet_).
War there, my son? is that the doom of England?
HAROLD. Why not the doom of all the world as well?
For all the world sees it as well as England.
These meteors came and went before our day,
Not harming any: it threatens us no more
Than French or Norman. War? the worst that follows
Things that seem jerk'd out of the common rut
Of Nature is the hot religious fool,
Who, seeing war in heaven, for heaven's credit
Makes it on earth: but look, where Edward draws
A faint foot hither, leaning upon Tostig.
He hath learnt to love our Tostig much of late.
LEOFWIN. And _he_ hath learnt, despite the tiger in him,
To sleek and supple himself to the king's hand.
GURTH. I trust the kingly touch that cures the evil
May serve to charm the tiger out of him.
LEOFWIN. He hath as much of cat as tiger in him.
Our Tostig loves the hand and not the man.
HAROLD. Nay! Better die than lie!
_Enter_ KING, QUEEN, _and_ TOSTIG.
EDWARD. In heaven signs!
Signs upon earth! signs everywhere! your Priests
Gross, worldly, simoniacal, unlearn'd!
They scarce can read their Psalter; and your churches
Uncouth, unhandsome, while in Normanland
God speaks thro' abler voices, as He dwells
In statelier shrines. I say not this, as being
Half Norman-blooded, nor as some have held,
Because I love the Norman better--no,
But dreading God's revenge upon this realm
For narrowness and coldness: and I say it
For the last time perchance, before I go
To find the sweet refreshment of the Saints.
I have lived a life of utter purity:
I have builded the great church of Holy Peter:
I have wrought miracles--to God the glory--
And miracles will in my name be wrought
Hereafter. --I have fought the fight and go--
I see the flashing of the gates of pearl--
And it is well with me, tho' some of you
Have scorn'd me--ay--but after I am gone
Woe, woe to England! I have had a vision;
The seven sleepers in the cave at Ephesus
Have turn'd from right to left.
HAROLD. My most dear Master,
What matters? let them turn from left to right
And sleep again.
TOSTIG. Too hardy with thy king!
A life of prayer and fasting well may see
Deeper into the mysteries of heaven
Than thou, good brother.
ALDWYTH (_aside_). Sees he into thine,
That thou wouldst have his promise for the crown?
EDWARD. Tostig says true; my son, thou art too hard,
Not stagger'd by this ominous earth and heaven:
But heaven and earth are threads of the same loom,
Play into one another, and weave the web
That may confound thee yet.
HAROLD. Nay, I trust not,
For I have served thee long and honestly.
EDWARD. I know it, son; I am not thankless: thou
Hast broken all my foes, lighten'd for me
The weight of this poor crown, and left me time
And peace for prayer to gain a better one.
Twelve years of service! England loves thee for it.
Thou art the man to rule her!
ALDWYTH (_aside_). So, not Tostig!
HAROLD. And after those twelve years a boon, my king,
Respite, a holiday: thyself wast wont
To love the chase: thy leave to set my feet
On board, and hunt and hawk beyond the seas!
EDWARD. What, with this flaming horror overhead?
HAROLD. Well, when it passes then.
EDWARD. Ay if it pass.
Go not to Normandy--go not to Normandy.
HAROLD. And wherefore not, my king, to Normandy?
Is not my brother Wulfnoth hostage there
For my dead father's loyalty to thee?
I pray thee, let me hence and bring him home.
EDWARD. Not thee, my son: some other messenger.
HAROLD. And why not me, my lord, to Normandy?
Is not the Norman Count thy friend and mine?
EDWARD. I pray thee, do not go to Normandy.
HAROLD. Because my father drove the Normans out
Of England? --That was many a summer gone--
Forgotten and forgiven by them and thee.
EDWARD. Harold, I will not yield thee leave to go.
HAROLD. Why then to Flanders. I will hawk and hunt
In Flanders.
EDWARD. Be there not fair woods and fields
In England? Wilful, wilful. Go--the Saints
Pilot and prosper all thy wandering out
And homeward. Tostig, I am faint again.
Son Harold, I will in and pray for thee.
[_Exit, leaning on_ TOSTIG, _and followed by_
STIGAND, MORCAR, _and_ COURTIERS.
HAROLD. What lies upon the mind of our good king
That he should harp this way on Normandy?
QUEEN. Brother, the king is wiser than he seems;
And Tostig knows it; Tostig loves the king.
HAROLD. And love should know; and--be the
king so wise,--
Then Tostig too were wiser than he seems.
I love the man but not his phantasies.
_Re-enter_ TOSTIG.
Well, brother,
When didst thou hear from thy Northumbria?
TOSTIG. When did I hear aught but this '_When_' from thee?
Leave me alone, brother, with my Northumbria:
She is _my_ mistress, let _me_ look to her!
The King hath made me Earl; make me not fool!
Nor make the King a fool, who made me Earl!
HAROLD. No, Tostig--lest I make myself a fool
Who made the King who made thee, make thee Earl.
TOSTIG. Why chafe me then? Thou knowest I soon go wild.
GURTH. Come, come! as yet thou art not gone so wild
But thou canst hear the best and wisest of us.
HAROLD. So says old Gurth, not I: yet hear! thine earldom,
Tostig, hath been a kingdom. Their old crown
Is yet a force among them, a sun set
But leaving light enough for Alfgar's house
To strike thee down by--nay, this ghastly glare
May heat their fancies.
TOSTIG. My most worthy brother,
Thou art the quietest man in all the world--
Ay, ay and wise in peace and great in war--
Pray God the people choose thee for their king!
But all the powers of the house of Godwin
Are not enframed in thee.
HAROLD. Thank the Saints, no!
But thou hast drain'd them shallow by thy tolls,
And thou art ever here about the King:
Thine absence well may seem a want of care.
Cling to their love; for, now the sons of Godwin
Sit topmost in the field of England, envy,
Like the rough bear beneath the tree, good brother,
Waits till the man let go.
TOSTIG. Good counsel truly!
I heard from my Northumbria yesterday.
HAROLD. How goes it then with thy Northumbria?
Well?
TOSTIG. And wouldst thou that it went aught else than well?
HAROLD. I would it went as well as with mine earldom,
Leofwin's and Gurth's.
TOSTIG. Ye govern milder men.
GURTH. We have made them milder by just government.
TOSTIG. Ay, ever give yourselves your own good word.
LEOFWIN. An honest gift, by all the Saints, if giver
And taker be but honest! but they bribe
Each other, and so often, an honest world
Will not believe them.
HAROLD. I may tell thee, Tostig,
I heard from thy Northumberland to-day.
TOSTIG. From spies of thine to spy my nakedness
In my poor North!
HAROLD. There is a movement there,
A blind one--nothing yet.
TOSTIG. Crush it at once
With all the power I have! --I must--I will! --
Crush it half-born! Fool still? or wisdom there,
My wise head-shaking Harold?
HAROLD. Make not thou
The nothing something. Wisdom when in power
And wisest, should not frown as Power, but smile
As kindness, watching all, till the true _must_
Shall make her strike as Power: but when to strike--
O Tostig, O dear brother--If they prance,
Rein in, not lash them, lest they rear and run
And break both neck and axle.
