ACT V.
SCENE I.—A TENT ON A MOUND, FROM WHICH CAN BE SEEN THE FIELD OFSENLAC.HAROLD,sitting; by him standingHUGH MARGOTthe Monk, GURTH,LEOFWIN,
HAROLD. Refer my cause, my crown to Rome!... The wolfMudded the brook and predetermined all.Monk,Thou hast said thy say, and had my constant 'No'For all but instant battle. I hear no more.MARGOT. Hear me again—for the last time. Arise,Scatter thy people home, descend the hill,Lay hands of full allegiance in thy Lord'sAnd crave his mercy, for the Holy FatherHath given this realm of England to the Norman.HAROLD. Then for the last time, monk, I ask againWhen had the Lateran and the Holy FatherTo do with England's choice of her own king?MARGOT. Earl, the first Christian Caesar drew to the EastTo leave the Pope dominion in the WestHe gave him all the kingdoms of the West.HAROLD. So!—did he?—Earl—I have a mind to playThe William with thine eyesight and thy tongue.Earl—ay—thou art but a messenger of William.I am weary—go: make me not wroth with thee!MARGOT. Mock-king, I am the messenger of God,His Norman Daniel! Mene, Mene, Tekel!Is thy wrath Hell, that I should spare to cry,Yon heaven is wroth withthee?Hear me again!Our Saints have moved the Church that moves the world,And all the Heavens and very God: they heard—They know King Edward's promise and thine—thine.HAROLD. Should they not know free England crowns herself?Not know that he nor I had power to promise?Not know that Edward cancell'd his own promise?And for my part therein—Back to that juggler,[Rising.Tell him the saints are nobler than he dreams,Tell him that God is nobler than the Saints,And tell him we stand arm'd on Senlac Hill,And bide the doom of God.MARGOT. Hear it thro' me.The realm for which thou art forsworn is cursed,The babe enwomb'd and at the breast is cursed,The corpse thou whelmest with thine earth is cursed,The soul who fighteth on thy side is cursed,The seed thou sowest in thy field is cursed,The steer wherewith thou plowest thy field is cursed,The fowl that fleeth o'er thy field is cursed,And thou, usurper, liar—HAROLD. Out, beast monk![Lifting his hand to strike him. GURTHstops the blow.I ever hated monks.MARGOT. I am but a voiceAmong you: murder, martyr me if ye will—HAROLD. Thanks, Gurth! The simple, silent, selfless manIs worth a world of tonguesters. (ToMARGOT.) Get thee gone!He means the thing he says. See him out safe!LEOFWIN. He hath blown himself as red as fire with curses.An honest fool! Follow me, honest fool,But if thou blurt thy curse among our folk,I know not—I may give that egg-bald headThe tap that silences.HAROLD. See him out safe.[ExeuntLEOFWINandMARGOT.GURTH. Thou hast lost thine even temper, brother Harold!HAROLD. Gurth, when I past by Waltham, my foundationFor men who serve the neighbour, not themselves,I cast me down prone, praying; and, when I rose,They told me that the Holy Rood had lean'dAnd bow'd above me; whether that which held itHad weaken'd, and the Rood itself were boundTo that necessity which binds us down;Whether it bow'd at all but in their fancy;Or if it bow'd, whether it symbol'd ruinOr glory, who shall tell? but they were sad,And somewhat sadden'd me.GURTH. Yet if a fear,Or shadow of a fear, lest the strange SaintsBy whom thou swarest, should have power to balkThy puissance in this fight with him, who madeAnd heard thee swear—brother—Ihave not sworn—If the king fall, may not the kingdom fall?But if I fall, I fall, and thou art king;And, if I win, I win, and thou art king;Draw thou to London, there make strength to breastWhatever chance, but leave this day to me.LEOFWIN (entering). And waste the land about thee as thou goest,And be thy hand as winter on the field,To leave the foe no forage.HAROLD. Noble Gurth!Best son of Godwin! If I fall, I fall—The doom of God! How should the people fightWhen the king flies? And, Leofwin, art thou mad?How should the King of England waste the fieldsOf England, his own people?—No glance yetOf the Northumbrian helmet on the heath?LEOFWIN. No, but a shoal of wives upon the heath,And someone saw thy willy-nilly nunVying a tress against our golden fern.HAROLD. Vying a tear with our cold dews, a sighWith these low-moaning heavens. Let her be fetch'd.We have parted from our wife without reproach,Tho' we have dived thro' all her practices;And that is well.LEOFWIN. I saw her even now:She hath not left us.HAROLD. Nought of Morcar then?GURTH. Nor seen, nor heard; thine, William's or his ownAs wind blows, or tide flows: belike he watches,If this war-storm in one of its rough rollsWash up that old crown of Northumberland.HAROLD. I married her for Morcar—a sin againstThe truth of love. Evil for good, it seems,Is oft as childless of the good as evilFor evil.LEOFWIN. Good for good hath borne at timesA bastard false as William.HAROLD. Ay, if WisdomPair'd not with Good. But I am somewhat worn,A snatch of sleep were like the peace of God.Gurth, Leofwin, go once more about the hill—What did the dead man call it—Sanguelac,The lake of blood?LEOFWIN. A lake that dips in WilliamAs well as Harold.HAROLD. Like enough. I have seenThe trenches dug, the palisades uprear'dAnd wattled thick with ash and willow-wands;Yea, wrought at them myself. Go round once more;See all be sound and whole. No Norman horseCan shatter England, standing shield by shield;Tell that again to all.GURTH. I will, good brother.HAROLD. Our guardsman hath but toil'd his hand and foot,I hand, foot, heart and head. Some wine!(One pours wine into a goblet which he hands toHAROLD.)Too much!What? we must use our battle-axe to-day.Our guardsmen have slept well, since we came in?LEOFWIN. Ay, slept and snored. Your second-sighted manThat scared the dying conscience of the king,Misheard their snores for groans. They are up againAnd chanting that old song of BrunanburgWhere England conquer'd.HAROLD. That is well. The Norman,What is he doing?LEOFWIN. Praying for Normandy;Our scouts have heard the tinkle of their bells.HAROLD. And our old songs are prayers for England too!But by all Saints—LEOFWIN. Barring the Norman!HAROLD. Nay,Were the great trumpet blowing doomsday dawn,I needs must rest. Call when the Norman moves—[Exeunt all, butHAROLD.No horse—thousands of horses—our shield wall—Wall—break it not—break not—break— [Sleeps.VISION OF EDWARD. Son Harold, I thy king, who came beforeTo tell thee thou shouldst win at Stamford-bridge,Come yet once more, from where I am at peace,Because I loved thee in my mortal day,To tell thee them shalt die on Senlac hill—Sanguelac!VISION OF WULFNOTH. O brother, from my ghastly oublietteI send my voice across the narrow seas—No more, no more, dear brother, nevermore—Sanguelac!VISION OF TOSTIG. O brother, most unbrotherlike to me,Thou gavest thy voice against me in my life,I give my voice against thee from the grave—Sanguelac!VISION OF NORMAN SAINTS. O hapless Harold!King but for an hour!Thou swarest falsely by our blessed bones,We give our voice against thee out of heaven!Sanguelac! Sanguelac! The arrow! the arrow!HAROLD (starting up, battle-axe in hand.) Away!My battle-axe against your voices. Peace!The king's last word—'the arrow!' I shall die—I die for England then, who lived for England—What nobler? men must die.I cannot fall into a falser world—I have done no man wrong. Tostig, poor brother,Artthouso anger'd?Fain had I kept thine earldom in thy handsSave for thy wild and violent will that wrench'dAll hearts of freemen from thee. I could doNo other than this way advise the kingAgainst the race of Godwin. Is it possibleThat mortal men should bear their earthly heatsInto yon bloodless world, and threaten us thenceUnschool'd of Death? Thus then thou art revenged—I left our England naked to the SouthTo meet thee in the North. The Norseman's raidHath helpt the Norman, and the race of GodwinHath ruin'd Godwin. No—our waking thoughtsSuffer a stormless shipwreck in the poolsOf sullen slumber, and arise againDisjointed: only dreams—where mine own selfTakes part against myself! Why? for a sparkOf self-disdain born in me when I swareFalsely to him, the falser Norman, overHis gilded ark of mummy-saints, by whomI knew not that I sware,—not for myself—For England—yet not wholly—EnterEDITH.Edith, Edith,Get thou into thy cloister as the kingWill'd it: be safe: the perjury-mongering CountHath made too good an use of Holy ChurchTo break her close! There the great God of truthFill all thine hours with peace!—A lying devilHath haunted me—mine oath—my wife—I fainHad made my marriage not a lie; I could not:Thou art my bride! and thou in after yearsPraying perchance for this poor soul of mineIn cold, white cells beneath an icy moon—This memory to thee!—and this to England,My legacy of war against the PopeFrom child to child, from Pope to Pope, from age to age,Till the sea wash her level with her shores,Or till the Pope be Christ's.EnterALDWYTH.ALDWYTH (toEDITH). Away from him!EDITH. I will.... I have not spoken to the kingOne word; and one I must. Farewell! [Going.HAROLD. Not yet.Stay.EDITH. To what use?HAROLD. The king commands thee, woman!(ToALDWYTH.)Have thy two brethren sent their forces in?ALDWYTH. Nay, I fear not.HAROLD. Then there's no force in thee!Thou didst possess thyself of Edward's earTo part me from the woman that I loved!Thou didst arouse the fierce Northumbrians!Thou hast been false to England and to me!—As ... in some sort ... I have been false to thee.Leave me. No more—Pardon on both sides—Go!ALDWYTH. Alas, my lord, I loved thee.HAROLD (bitterly). With a lovePassing thy love for Griffyth! wherefore nowObey my first and last commandment. Go!ALDWYTH. O Harold! husband! Shall we meet again?HAROLD. After the battle—after the battle. Go.ALDWYTH. I go. (Aside.) That I could stab her standing there![ExitALDWYTH.EDITH. Alas, my lord, she loved thee.HAROLD. Never! never!EDITH. I saw it in her eyes!HAROLD. I see it in thine.And not on thee—nor England—fall God's doom!EDITH. Onthee?on me. And thou art England! AlfredWas England. Ethelred was nothing. EnglandIs but her king, and thou art Harold!HAROLD. Edith,The sign in heaven—the sudden blast at sea—My fatal oath—the dead Saints—the dark dreams—The Pope's Anathema—the Holy RoodThat bow'd to me at Waltham—Edith, ifI, the last English King of England—EDITH. No,First of a line that coming from the people,And chosen by the people—HAROLD. And fighting forAnd dying for the people—EDITH. Living! living!HAROLD. Yea so, good cheer! thou art Harold, I am Edith!Look not thus wan!EDITH. What matters how I look?Have we not broken Wales and Norseland? slain,Whose life was all one battle, incarnate war,Their giant-king, a mightier man-in-armsThan William.HAROLD. Ay, my girl, no tricks in him—No bastard he! when all was lost, he yell'd,And bit his shield, and dash'd it on the ground,And swaying his two-handed sword about him,Two deaths at every swing, ran in upon usAnd died so, and I loved him as I hateThis liar who made me liar. If Hate can kill,And Loathing wield a Saxon battle-axe—EDITH. Waste not thy might before the battle!HAROLD. No,And thou must hence. Stigand will see thee safe,And so—Farewell. [He is going, but turns back.The ring thou darest not wear.I have had it fashion'd, see, to meet my hand.[HAROLDshows the ring which is on his finger.Farewell! [He is going, but turns back again.I am dead as Death this day to ought of earth'sSave William's death or mine.EDITH. Thy death!—to-day!Is it not thy birthday?HAROLD. Ay, that happy day!A birthday welcome! happy days and many!One—this! [They embrace.Look, I will bear thy blessing into the battleAnd front the doom of God.NORMAN CRIES (heard in the distance).Ha Rou! Ha Rou!EnterGURTH.GURTH. The Norman moves!HAROLD. Harold and Holy Cross![ExeuntHAROLDandGURTH.EnterSTIGAND.STIGAND. Our Church in arms—the lamb the lion—notSpear into pruning-hook—the counter way—Cowl, helm; and crozier, battle-axe. Abbot Alfwig,Leofric, and all the monks of Peterboro'Strike for the king; but I, old wretch, old Stigand,With hands too limp to brandish iron—and yetI have a power—would Harold ask me for it—I have a power.EDITH. What power, holy father?STIGAND. Power now from Harold to command thee henceAnd see thee safe from Senlac.EDITH. I remain!STIGAND. Yea, so will I, daughter, until I findWhich way the battle balance. I can see itFrom where we stand: and, live or die, I wouldI were among them!CANONSfrom Waltham (singing without).Salva patriamSancte Pater,Salva Fili,Salva Spiritus,Salva patriam,Sancta Mater [1][Footnote 1: Theathroughout these Latin hymns should besounded broad, as in 'father.']EDITH. Are those the blessed angels quiring, father?STIGAND. No, daughter, but the canons out of Waltham,The king's foundation, that have follow'd him.EDITH. O God of battles, make their wall of shieldsFirm as thy cliffs, strengthen their palisades!What is that whirring sound?STIGAND. The Norman arrow!EDITH. Look out upon the battle—is he safe?STIGAND. The king of England stands between his banners.He glitters on the crowning of the hill.God save King Harold!EDITH. —chosen by his peopleAnd fighting for his people!STIGAND. There is oneCome as Goliath came of yore—he flingsHis brand in air and catches it again,He is chanting some old warsong.EDITH. And no DavidTo meet him?STIGAND. Ay, there springs a Saxon on him,Falls—and another falls.EDITH. Have mercy on us!STIGAND. Lo! our good Gurth hath smitten him to the death.EDITH. So perish all the enemies of Harold!CANONS (singing).Hostis in AngliamRuit praedator,Illorum, Domine,Scutum scindatur!Hostis per AngliaePlagas bacchatur;Casa crematur,Pastor fugaturGrex trucidatur—STIGAND. Illos trucida, Domine.EDITH. Ay, good father.CANONS (singing).Illorum sceleraPoena sequatur!ENGLISH CRIES. Harold and Holy Cross! Out! out!STIGAND. Our javelinsAnswer their arrows. All the Norman footAre storming up the hill. The range of knightsSit, each a statue on his horse, and wait.ENGLISH CRIES. Harold and God Almighty!NORMAN CRIES. Ha Rou! Ha Rou!CANONS (singing).Eques cum peditePraepediatur!Illorum in lacrymasCruor fundatur!Pereant, pereant,Anglia precatur.STIGAND. Look, daughter, look.EDITH. Nay, father, look for me!STIGAND. Our axes lighten with a single flashAbout the summit of the hill, and headsAnd arms are sliver'd off and splinter'd byTheir lightning—and they fly—the Norman flies.EDITH. Stigand, O father, have we won the day?STIGAND. No, daughter, no—they fall behind the horse—Their horse are thronging to the barricades;I see the gonfanon of Holy PeterFloating above their helmets—ha! he is down!EDITH. He down! Who down?STIGAND. The Norman Count is down.EDITH. So perish all the enemies of England!STIGAND. No, no, he hath risen again—he bares his face—Shouts something—he points onward—all their horseSwallow the hill locust-like, swarming up.EDITH. O God of battles, make his battle-axe keenAs thine own sharp-dividing justice, heavyAs thine own bolts that fall on crimeful headsCharged with the weight of heaven wherefrom they fall!CANONS (singing).Jacta tonitruaDeus bellator!Surgas e tenebris,Sis vindicator!Fulmina, fulminaDeus vastator!EDITH. O God of battles, they are three to one,Make thou one man as three to roll them down!CANONS (singing).Equus cum equiteDejiciatur!Acies, AciesProna sternatur!Illorum lanceasFrange Creator!STIGAND. Yea, yea, for how their lances snap and shiverAgainst the shifting blaze of Harold's axe!War-woodman of old Woden, how he fellsThe mortal copse of faces! There! And there!The horse and horseman cannot meet the shield,The blow that brains the horseman cleaves the horse,The horse and horseman roll along the hill,They fly once more, they fly, the Norman flies!Equus cum equitePraecipitatur.EDITH. O God, the God of truth hath heard my cry.Follow them, follow them, drive them to the sea!Illorum sceleraPoena sequatur!STIGAND. Truth! no; a lie; a trick, a Norman trick!They turn on the pursuer, horse against foot,They murder all that follow.EDITH. Have mercy on us!STIGAND. Hot-headed fools—to burst the wall of shields!They have broken the commandment of the king!EDITH. His oath was broken—O holy Norman Saints,Ye that are now of heaven, and see beyondYour Norman shrines, pardon it, pardon it,That he forsware himself for all he loved,Me, me and all! Look out upon the battle!STIGAND. They thunder again upon the barricades.My sight is eagle, but the strife so thick—This is the hottest of it: hold, ash! hold, willow!ENGLISH CRIES. Out, out!NORMAN CRIES. Ha Rou!STIGAND. Ha! Gurth hath leapt upon himAnd slain him: he hath fallen.EDITH. And I am heard.Glory to God in the Highest! fallen, fallen!STIGAND. No, no, his horse—he mounts another—wieldsHis war-club, dashes it on Gurth, and Gurth,Our noble Gurth, is down!EDITH. Have mercy on us!STIGAND. And Leofwin is down!EDITH. Have mercy on us!O Thou that knowest, let not my strong prayerBe weaken'd in thy sight, because I loveThe husband of another!NORMAN CRIES. Ha Rou! Ha Rou!EDITH. I do not hear our English war-cry.STIGAND. No.EDITH. Look out upon the battle—is he safe?STIGAND. He stands between the banners with the deadSo piled about him he can hardly move.EDITH (takes up the war-cry).Out! out!NORMAN CRIES. Ha Rou!EDITH (cries out). Harold and Holy Cross!NORMAN CRIES. Ha Rou! Ha Rou!EDITH. What is that whirring sound?STIGAND. The Norman sends his arrows up to Heaven,They fall on those within the palisade!EDITH. Look out upon the hill—is Harold there?STIGAND. Sanguelac—Sanguelac—the arrow—the arrow!—away!
SCENE II—FIELD OF THE DEAD. NIGHT.ALDWYTHandEDITH.
ALDWYTH. O Edith, art thou here? O Harold, Harold—Our Harold—we shall never see him more.EDITH. For there was more than sister in my kiss,And so the saints were wroth. I cannot love them,For they are Norman saints—and yet I should—They are so much holier than their harlot's sonWith whom they play'd their game against the king!ALDWYTH, The king is slain, the kingdom over-thrown!EDITH. No matter!ALDWYTH. How no matter, Harold slain?—I cannot find his body. O help me thou!O Edith, if I ever wrought against thee,Forgive me thou, and help me here!EDITH. No matter!ALDWYTH. Not help me, nor forgive me?EDITH. So thou saidest.ALDWYTH. I say it now, forgive me!EDITH. Cross me not!I am seeking one who wedded me in secret.Whisper! God's angels only know it. Ha!What art thou doing here among the dead?They are stripping the dead bodies naked yonder,And thou art come to rob them of their rings!ALDWYTH. O Edith, Edith, I have lost both crownAnd husband.EDITH. So have I.ALDWYTH. I tell thee, girl,I am seeking my dead Harold.EDITH. And I mine!The Holy Father strangled him with a hairOf Peter, and his brother Tostig helpt;The wicked sister clapt her hands and laugh'd;Then all the dead fell on him.ALDWYTH. Edith, Edith—EDITH. What was he like, this husband? like to thee?Call not for help from me. I knew him not.He lies not here: not close beside the standard.Here fell the truest, manliest hearts of England.Go further hence and find him.ALDWYTH. She is crazed!EDITH. That doth not matter either. Lower the light.He must be here.Enter twoCANONS, OSGODandATHELRIC,withtorches. They turn over the dead bodies andexamine them as they pass.OSGOD. I think that this is Thurkill.ATHELRIC. More likely Godric.OSGOD. I am sure this bodyIs Alfwig, the king's uncle.ATHELRIC. So it is!No, no—brave Gurth, one gash from brow to knee!OSGOD. And here is Leofwin.EDITH. And here isHe!ALDWYTH. Harold? Oh no—nay, if it were—my God,They have so maim'd and murder'd all his faceThere is no man can swear to him.EDITH. But one woman!Look you, we never mean to part again.I have found him, I am happy.Was there not someone ask'd me for forgiveness?I yield it freely, being the true wifeOf this dead King, who never bore revenge.EnterCOUNT WILLIAMandWILLIAM MALET.WILLIAM. Who be these women? And what body is this?EDITH. Harold, thy better!WILLIAM. Ay, and what art thou?EDITH. His wife!MALET. Not true, my girl, here is the Queen![Pointing outALDWYTH.WILLIAM (toALDWYTH).Wast thou his Queen?ALDWYTH. I was the Queen of Wales.WILLIAM. Why then of England. Madam, fear us not.(ToMALET.) Knowest thou this other?MALET. When I visited England,Some held she was his wife in secret—some—Well—some believed she was his paramour.EDITH. Norman, thou liest! liars all of you,Your Saints and all! I am his wife! and she—For look, our marriage ring![She draws it off the finger ofHAROLD.I lost it somehow—I lost it, playing with it when I was wild.Thatbred the doubt! but I am wiser now ...I am too wise.... Will none among you allBear me true witness—only for this once—That I have found it here again? [She puts it on.And thou,Thy wife am I for ever and evermore.[Falls on the body and dies.WILLIAM. Death!—and enough of death for this one day,The day of St. Calixtus, and the day,My day when I was born.MALET. And this dead king'sWho, king or not, hath kinglike fought and fallen,His birthday, too. It seems but yesterevenI held it with him in his English halls,His day, with all his rooftree ringing 'Harold,'Before he fell into the snare of Guy;When all men counted Harold would be king,And Harold was most happy.WILLIAM. Thou art half EnglishTake them away!Malet, I vow to build a church to GodHere on the hill of battle; let our high altarStand where their standard fell ... where these two lie.Take them away, I do not love to see them.Pluck the dead woman off the dead man, Malet!MALET. Faster than ivy. Must I hack her arms off?How shall I part them?WILLIAM. Leave them. Let them be!Bury him and his paramour together.He that was false in oath to me, it seemsWas false to his own wife. We will not give himA Christian burial: yet he was a warrior,And wise, yea truthful, till that blighted vowWhich God avenged to-day.Wrap them together in a purple cloakAnd lay them both upon the waste sea-shoreAt Hastings, there to guard the land for whichHe did forswear himself—a warrior—ay,And but that Holy Peter fought for us,And that the false Northumbrian held aloof,And save for that chance arrow which the SaintsSharpen'd and sent against him—who can tell?—Three horses had I slain beneath me: twiceI thought that all was lost. Since I knew battle,And that was from my boyhood, never yet—No, by the splendour of God—have I fought menLike Harold and his brethren, and his guardOf English. Every man about his kingFell where he stood. They loved him: and, pray GodMy Normans may but move as true with meTo the door of death. Of one self-stock at first,Make them again one people—Norman, English;And English, Norman; we should have a handTo grasp the world with, and a foot to stamp it ...Flat. Praise the Saints, It is over. No more blood!I am king of England, so they thwart me not,And I will rule according to their laws.(ToALDWYTH.) Madam, we will entreat thee with all honour.ALDWYTH. My punishment is more than I can bear.