MALET (_whispering_ HAROLD).
My friend, thou hast gone too far to palter now.
WULFNOTH (_whispering_ HAROLD).
Swear thou to-day, to-morrow is thine own.
HAROLD. I swear to help thee to the crown of England ...
According as King Edward promises.
WILLIAM. Thou must swear absolutely, noble Earl.
MALET (_whispering_).
Delay is death to thee, ruin to England.
WULFNOTH (_whispering_).
Swear, dearest brother, I beseech thee, swear!
HAROLD (_putting his hand on the jewel_).
I swear to help thee to the crown of England.
WILLIAM. Thanks, truthful Earl; I did not doubt thy word, But that my barons might believe thy word, And that the Holy Saints of Normandy When thou art home in England, with thine own, Might strengthen thee in keeping of thy word, I made thee swear.--Show him by whom he hath sworn.
[_The two_ BISHOPS _advance, and raise the cloth of gold.
The bodies and bones of Saints are seen lying in the ark_.
The holy bones of all the Canonised From all the holiest shrines in Normandy!
HAROLD. Horrible! [_They let the cloth fall again_.
WILLIAM. Ay, for thou hast sworn an oath Which, if not kept, would make the hard earth rive To the very Devil's horns, the bright sky cleave To the very feet of God, and send her hosts Of injured Saints to scatter sparks of plague Thro' all your cities, blast your infants, dash The torch of war among your standing corn, Dabble your hearths with your own blood.--Enough!
Thou wilt not break it! I, the Count--the King-- Thy friend--am grateful for thine honest oath, Not coming fiercely like a conqueror, now, But softly as a bridegroom to his own.
For I shall rule according to your laws, And make your ever-jarring Earldoms move To music and in order--Angle, Jute, Dane, Saxon, Norman, help to build a throne Out-towering hers of France.... The wind is fair For England now.... To-night we will be merry.
To-morrow will I ride with thee to Harfleur.
[_Exeunt_ WILLIAM _and all the_ NORMAN BARONS, _etc_.
HAROLD. To-night we will be merry--and to-morrow-- Juggler and bastard--bastard--he hates that most-- William the tanner's bastard! Would he heard me!
O God, that I were in some wide, waste field With nothing but my battle-axe and him To spatter his brains! Why let earth rive, gulf in These cursed Normans--yea and mine own self.
Cleave heaven, and send thy saints that I may say Ev'n to their faces, 'If ye side with William Ye are not noble.' How their pointed fingers Glared at me! Am I Harold, Harold, son Of our great Godwin? Lo! I touch mine arms, My limbs--they are not mine--they are a liar's-- I mean to be a liar--I am not bound-- Stigand shall give me absolution for it-- Did the chest move? did it move? I am utter craven!
O Wulfnoth, Wulfnoth, brother, thou hast betray'd me!
WULFNOTH. Forgive me, brother, I will live here and die.
_Enter_ PAGE.
PAGE. My lord! the Duke awaits thee at the banquet.
HAROLD. Where they eat dead men's flesh, and drink their blood.
PAGE. My lord--
HAROLD. I know your Norman cookery is so spiced, It masks all this.
PAGE. My lord! thou art white as death.
HAROLD. With looking on the dead. Am I so white?
Thy Duke will seem the darker. Hence, I follow.
[_Exeunt_.
ACT III.
SCENE I.--THE KING'S PALACE. LONDON.
KING EDWARD _dying on a couch, and by him standing the_ QUEEN, HAROLD, ARCHBISHOP STIGAND, GURTH, LEOFWIN, ARCHBISHOP ALDRED, ALDWYTH, _and_ EDITH.
STIGAND. Sleeping or dying there? If this be death, Then our great Council wait to crown thee King-- Come hither, I have a power; [_To_ HAROLD.
They call me near, for I am close to thee And England--I, old shrivell'd Stigand, I, Dry as an old wood-fungus on a dead tree, I have a power!
See here this little key about my neck!
There lies a treasure buried down in Ely: If e'er the Norman grow too hard for thee, Ask me for this at thy most need, son Harold, At thy most need--not sooner.
HAROLD. So I will.
STIGAND. Red gold--a hundred purses--yea, and more!
If thou canst make a wholesome use of these To chink against the Norman, I do believe My old crook'd spine would bud out two young wings To fly to heaven straight with.
HAROLD. Thank thee, father!
Thou art English, Edward too is English now, He hath clean repented of his Normanism.
STIGAND. Ay, as the libertine repents who cannot Make done undone, when thro' his dying sense Shrills 'lost thro' thee.' They have built their castles here; Our priories are Norman; the Norman adder Hath bitten us; we are poison'd: our dear England Is demi-Norman. He!-- [_Pointing to_ KING EDWARD, _sleeping_.
HAROLD. I would I were As holy and as passionless as he!
That I might rest as calmly! Look at him-- The rosy face, and long down-silvering beard, The brows unwrinkled as a summer mere.--
STIGAND. A summer mere with sudden wreckful gusts From a side-gorge. Passionless? How he flamed When Tostig's anger'd earldom flung him, nay, He fain had calcined all Northumbria To one black ash, but that thy patriot passion Siding with our great Council against Tostig, Out-passion'd his! Holy? ay, ay, forsooth, A conscience for his own soul, not his realm; A twilight conscience lighted thro' a chink; Thine by the sun; nay, by some sun to be, When all the world hath learnt to speak the truth, And lying were self-murder by that state Which was the exception.
HAROLD. That sun may God speed!
STIGAND. Come, Harold, shake the cloud off!
HAROLD. Can I, father?
Our Tostig parted cursing me and England; Our sister hates us for his banishment; He hath gone to kindle Norway against England, And Wulfnoth is alone in Normandy.
For when I rode with William down to Harfleur, 'Wulfnoth is sick,' he said; 'he cannot follow;'
Then with that friendly-fiendly smile of his, 'We have learnt to love him, let him a little longer Remain a hostage for the loyalty Of Godwin's house.' As far as touches Wulfnoth I that so prized plain word and naked truth Have sinn'd against it--all in vain.