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.
TOSTIG.
Good again!
Good counsel tho’ scarce needed. Pour not water
In the full vessel running out at top
To swamp the house.
LEOFWIN.
Nor thou be a wild thing
Out of the waste, to turn and bite the hand
Would help thee from the trap.
TOSTIG.
Thou playest in tune.
LEOFWIN.
To the deaf adder thee, that wilt not dance
However wisely charm’d.
TOSTIG.
No more, no more!
GURTH.
I likewise cry ‘no more.’ Unwholesome talk
For Godwin’s house! Leofwin, thou hast a tongue!
Tostig, thou look’st as thou wouldst spring upon him.
St. Olaf, not while I am by! Come, come,
Join hands, let brethren dwell in unity;
Let kith and kin stand close as our shield-wall,
Who breaks us then? I say, thou hast a tongue,
And Tostig is not stout enough to bear it.
Vex him not, Leofwin.
TOSTIG.
No, I am not vext, —
Altho’ ye seek to vex me, one and all.
I have to make report of my good earldom
To the good king who gave it — not to you —
Not any of you. — I am not vext at all.
HAROLD.
The king? the king is ever at his prayers;
In all that handles matter of the state
I am the king.
TOSTIG.
That shall thou never be
If I can thwart thee.
HAROLD.
Brother, brother!
TOSTIG. Away!
[Exit Tostig.
QUEEN.
Spite of this grisly star ye three must gall
Poor Tostig.
LEOFWIN.
Tostig, sister, galls himself;
He cannot smell a rose but pricks his nose
Against the thorn, and rails against the rose.
QUEEN.
I am the only rose of all the stock
That never thorn’d him; Edward loves him, so
Ye hate him. Harold always hated him.
Why — how they fought when boys — and, Holy Mary!
How Harold used to beat him!
HAROLD.
Why, boys will fight.
Leofwin would often fight me, and I beat him.
Even old Gurth would fight. I had much ado
To hold mine own against old Gurth. Old Gurth,
We fought like great states for grave cause; but Tostig —
On a sudden — at a something — for a nothing —
The boy would fist me hard, and when we fought
I conquer’d, and he loved me none the less,
Till thou wouldst get him all apart, and tell him
That where he was but worsted, he was wrong’d.
Ah! thou hast taught the king to spoil him too;
Now the spoilt child sways both. Take heed, take heed;
Thou art the Queen; ye are boy and girl no more:
Side not with Tostig in any violence,
Lest thou be sideways guilty of the violence.
QUEEN.
Come fall not foul on me. I leave thee, brother.
HAROLD.
Nay, my good sister —
[Exeunt Queen, Harold, Gurth, and Leofwin.
ALDWYTH.
Gamel, son of Orm,
What thinkest thou this means? [Pointing to the comet.
GAMEL.
War, my dear lady,
War, waste, plague, famine, all malignities.
ALDWYTH.
It means the fall of Tostig from his earldom.
GAMEL.
That were too small a matter for a comet!
ALDWYTH.
It means the lifting of the house of Alfgar.
GAMEL.
Too small! a comet would not show for that!
ALDWYTH.
Not small for thee, if thou canst compass it.
GAMEL.
Thy love?
ALDWYTH.
As much as I can give thee, man;
This Tostig is, or like to be, a tyrant;
Stir up thy people: oust him!
GAMEL.
And thy love?
ALDWYTH.
As much as thou canst bear.
GAMEL.
I can bear all,
And not be giddy.
ALDWY
TH.
No more now: to-morrow.
Scene II
In the Garden. The King’s house near London. Sunset.
EDITH.
Mad for thy mate, passionate nightingale. . . .
I love thee for it — ay, but stay a moment;
He can but stay a moment: he is going.
I fain would hear him coming! . . . near me . . . near.
Somewhere — To draw him nearer with a charm
Like thine to thine.
(Singing.)
Love is come with a song and a smile,
Welcome Love with a smile and a song:
Love can stay but a little while.
Why cannot he stay? They call him away:
Ye do him wrong, ye do him wrong;
Love will stay for a whole life long.
Enter HAROLD.
HAROLD.
The nightingales in Havering-at-the-Bower
Sang out their loves so loud, that Edward’s prayers
Were deafen’d and he pray’d them dumb, and thus
I dumb thee too, my wingless nightingale!
[Kissing her.
EDITH.
Thou art my music! Would their wings were mine
To follow thee to Flanders! Must thou go?
HAROLD.
Not must, but will. It is but for one moon.
EDITH.
Leaving so many foes in Edward’s hall
To league against thy weal. The Lady Aldwyth
Was here to-day, and when she touch’d on thee,
She stammer’d in her hate; I am sure she hates thee,
Pants for thy blood.
HAROLD.
Well, I have given her cause —
I fear no woman.
EDITH.
Hate not one who felt
Some pity for thy hater! I am sure
Her morning wanted sunlight, she so praised
The convent and lone life — within the pale —
Beyond the passion. Nay — she held with Edward,
At least methought she held with holy Edward,
That marriage was half sin.
HAROLD.
A lesson worth
Finger and thumb — thus (snaps his fingers). And my answer to it —
See here — an interwoven H and E!
Take thou this ring; I will demand his ward
From Edward when I come again. Ay, would she?
She to shut up my blossom in the dark!
Thou art my nun, thy cloister in mine arms.
EDITH (taking the ring).
Yea, but Earl Tostig —
HAROLD.
That’s a truer fear!
For if the North take fire, I should be back;
I shall be, soon enough.
EDITH.
Ay, but last night
An evil dream that ever came and went —
HAROLD.
A gnat that vext thy pillow! Had I been by,
I would have spoil’d his horn. My girl, what was it?
EDITH.
Oh! that thou wert not going!
For so methought it was our marriage-morn,
And while we stood together, a dead man
Rose from behind the altar, tore away
My marriage ring, and rent my bridal veil;
And then I turn’d, and saw the church all fill’d
With dead men upright from their graves, and all
The dead men made at thee to murder thee,
But thou didst back thyself against a pillar,
And strike among them with thy battle-axe —
There, what a dream!
HAROLD.
Well, well — a dream — no more!
EDITH.
Did not Heaven speak to men in dreams of old?
HAROLD.
Ay — well — of old. I tell thee what, my child;
Thou hast misread this merry dream of thine,
Taken the rifted pillars of the wood
For smooth stone columns of the sanctuary,
The shadows of a hundred fat dead deer
For dead men’s ghosts. True, that the battle-axe
Was out of place; it should have been the bow. —
Come, thou shalt dream no more such dreams; I swear it,
By mine own eyes — and these two sapphires — these
Twin rubies, that are amulets against all
The kisses of all kind of womankind
In Flanders, till the sea shall roll me back
To tumble at thy feet.
EDITH.
That would but shame me,
Rather than make me vain. The sea may roll
Sand, shingle, shore-weed, not the living rock
Which guards the land.
HAROLD.
Except it be a soft one,
And undereaten to the fall. Mine amulet . . .
This last . . . upon thine eyelids, to shut in
A happier dream. Sleep, sleep, and thou shalt see
My grayhounds fleeting like a beam of light,
And hear my peregrine and her bells in heaven;
And other bells on earth, which yet are heaven’s;
Guess what they be.
EDITH.
He cannot guess who knows.
Farewell, my king.
HAROLD.
Not yet, but then — my queen.
[Exeunt.
Enter ALDWYTH from the thicket.
ALDWYTH.
The kiss that charms thine eyelids into sleep,
Will hold mine waking. Hate him? I could love him
More, tenfold, than this fearful child can do;
Griffyth I hated: why not hate the foe
Of England? Griffyth when I saw him flee,
Chased deer-like up his mountains, all the blood
That should have only pulsed for Griffyth, beat
For his pursuer. I love him or think I love him.
If he were King of England, I his queen,
I might be sure of it. Nay, I do love him. —
She must be cloister’d somehow, lest the king
Should yield his ward to Harold’s will. What harm?
She hath but blood enough to live, not love. —
When Harold goes and Tostig, shall I play
The craftier Tostig with him? fawn upon him?
Chime in with all? ‘O thou more saint than king!’
And that were true enough. ‘O blessed relics!’
‘O Holy Peter!’ If he found me thus,
Harold might hate me; he is broad and honest,
Breathing an easy gladness . . . not like Aldwyth . . .
For which I strangely love him. Should not England
Love Aldwyth, if she stay the feuds that part
The sons of Godwin from the sons of Alfgar
By such a marrying? Courage, noble Aldwyth!
Let all thy people bless thee!
Our wild Tostig,
Edward hath made him Earl: he would be king: —
The dog that snapt the shadow, dropt the bone. —
I trust he may do well, this Gamel, whom
I play upon, that he may play the note
Whereat the dog shall howl and run, and Harold
Hear the king’s music, all alone with him,
Pronounced his heir of England.
I see the goal and half the way to it. —
Peace-lover is our Harold for the sake
Of England’s wholeness — so — to shake the North
With earthquake and disruption — some division —
Then fling mine own fair person in the gap
A sacrifice to Harold, a peace-offering,
A scape-goat marriage — all the sins of both
The houses on mine head — then a fair life
And bless the Queen of England.
MORCAR (coming from the thicket).
Art thou assured
By this, that Harold loves but Edith?
AL
DWYTH.
Morcar!
Why creep’st thou like a timorous beast of prey
Out of the bush by night?
MORCAR.
I follow’d thee.
ALDWYTH.
Follow my lead, and I will make thee earl.
MORCAR.
What lead then?
ALDWYTH.
Thou shalt flash it secretly
Among the good Northumbrian folk, that I —
That Harold loves me — yea, and presently
That I and Harold are betroth’d — and last —
Perchance that Harold wrongs me; tho’ I would not
That it should come to that.
MORCAR.
I will both flash
And thunder for thee.
ALDWYTH.
I said ‘secretly;’
It is the flash that murders, the poor thunder
Never harm’d head.
MORCAR.
But thunder may bring down
That which the flash hath stricken.
ALDWYTH.
Down with Tostig!
That first of all — And when doth Harold go?
MORCAR.
To-morrow — first to Bosham, then to Flanders.
ALDWYTH.
Not to come back till Tostig shall have shown
And redden’d with his people’s blood the teeth
That shall be broken by us — yea, and thou
Chair’d in his place. Good-night, and dream thyself
Their chosen Earl.
[Exit Aldwyth.
MORCAR.
Earl first, and after that
Who knows I may not dream myself their king!
Act II
Scene I
Seashore. Ponthieu. Night.
HAROLD and his MEN, wrecked.
HAROLD.
Friends, in that last inhospitable plunge
Our boat hath burst her ribs; but ours are whole;
I have but bark’d my hands.
ATTENDANT.
I dug mine into
My old fast friend the shore, and clinging thus
Felt the remorseless outdraught of the deep
Haul like a great strong fellow at my legs,
And then I rose and ran. The blast that came
So suddenly hath fallen as suddenly —
Put thou the comet and this blast together —
HAROLD.
Put thou thyself and mother-wit together.
Be not a fool!
Enter FISHERMEN with torches, HAROLD going up to one of them, ROLF.
Wicked sea-will-o’-the-wisp!
Wolf of the shore! dog, with thy lying lights
Thou hast betray’d us on these rocks of thine!
ROLF.
Ay, but thou liest as loud as the black herring-pond behind thee. We be fishermen; I came to see after my nets.
HAROLD.
To drag us into them. Fishermen? devils!
Who, while ye fish for men with your false fires,
Let the great Devil fish for your own souls.
ROLF.
Nay then, we be liker the blessed Apostles; they were fishers of men, Father Jean says.
HAROLD.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Delphi Poets Series Page 149