Chapter 37
Chapter 37 of Brave Men and Women, Their Struggles, Failures, and Triumphs by Osgood E. Fuller. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Kristen Hand Harold, the last Saxon King of England The father of Harold, the last Saxon King of England, was named Godwin, and was the
first great English statesman. It was from him that Harold in a great measure inherited his vigor and power, though indeed he came altogether of a noble race, both by lineage and character, for his mother was a daughter of Canute the Great. While the English loved Harold, he was strong and generous, and a better counselor than Godwin his father in many ways. At first he never sought anything for
himself, but as time went on he found how he was obeyed and how he was beloved, how the whole country turned her eyes to him as the fittest king when Edward the Confessor should be gone. He also took the same idea into his mind and gave himself to rule, to teach, and to act as one who should by and by be king. Edward's queen Edith was Harold's sister, but there was another Edith who influenced Harold more than anyone else in many ways. From his boyhood, she and he had played
together, and they grew up never so much as thinking that a time would come when they would separate. The more Harold saw her, the more he felt like he should like to ask her to be his wife and have her always with him. But there were many things which made that impossible. And then England required Harold. If he thought only of his own happiness, his country must suffer. The great nobles wished him to establish the kingdom by marrying the daughter of one of the
most powerful lords. This would connect the people and the land more closely and prevent quarrels and divisions. And the government required the whole of Harold's services, and the people required his watchfulness, his thought, his care, his presence. All his life through he had consulted Edith, and now at this terrible moment he consulted her again. He stood before her, and in great trouble and agony of spirit told her just how things were,
scarcely daring to look at the woman he loved. For if he looked at her, England, her greatness, and her needs all melted away, and he saw nothing but a beaming vision of a quiet, beloved home, free from the storms of the great world outside. But Edith, too, was unselfish, pure, and good. So she put all thought of personal happiness away, and putting her hand on his shoulder, said, Never, O Harold, did I feel so proud of thee, for Edith could not love thee as she doth,
and will till the grave clasp her, if thou didst not love England more than Edith. So these two separated. His whole energy was given to his king and his country. He had no great love for the monks, but he sought out the good and noble ones, put power into their hands, and gave them his support in ruling wisely and well. The Abbey of Waltham had fallen into almost complete decay. He chose two humbly born men, renowned for the purity and benevolence of their
lives, and gave to them the charge of selecting a new brotherhood there, which he largely endowed. At last Edward passed quietly away, and with one accord Harold the Beloved was chosen king and crowned. Over the sea dwelt William, Duke of the Normans. With no careless ear did he hear that Edward was dead, Edward dead, Edward. Why Edward, in a moment of friendship, had promised the English thrown to him, had even, William asserted, left it him in will. Therefore his rage was great when
he heard that Harold was not only proclaimed and crowned king, but was ready to defend his claim by battle sooner than yield. William was a man of power and iron will. He forced his reluctant Normans to listen to his complaint, equipped an army, and sailed for Britain. On came the queer little ships of war, nearer and nearer to England's white free cliffs, and cast anchor in Pevensey Bay. William, eager and impatient, sprang from his ship, but his foot slipping, he fell to rise again
with both hands full of earth, which he showed to his scared soldiers in triumph, crying, So do I grasp the earth of a new country. Meanwhile, Harold had gathered his forces, and they were assembled on Senlac Hill, an advantageous position. He himself was in the center, his brave brother Girth at his right hand. A general in charge of the Norman foot opened the battle, which raged the whole day, victory now leaning to the English and now to the Normans.
There was a cry that the Duke was killed. I live, he shouted, and by God's help we'll conquer yet. And tearing off his helmet, he rushed into the thickest of the battle and aimed right at the standard. Round that standard, the last sharp, long struggle took place. Harold, Girth, all the greatest who still survived, met there. With his tremendous battle axe, the king did mighty slaughter, till looking upward as he swung his axe with both hands,
a Norman arrow pierced his eye, and he fell. Fight on, he gasped. Conceal my death, England to the rescue. One instant he sprang to his feet and then fell back, lifeless. One by one the other noble guardians fell around him, till only Girth was left, brave chief and last man, with no thought of surrender, though all was gone and lost. Spare him, spare the brave, shouted one, but the brave heart was already pierced, and he sank beside his king and brother.
So fell the last of the Saxon kings, and so arose the Norman race. Long did they search the battlefield for Harold's body, disfigured by wounds and loss of blood, but long did they seek it in vain, till a woman whose toil had never ceased burst into a sharp cry over a lifeless form. It was Edith, who with many another woman had watched the battle. The body was too changed to be recognized even by its nearest friends,
but beneath his heart was punctured in old Saxon letters, Edith, and just below, in characters more fresh, England. The new love he had taken when duty bade him turn from Edith, which recalls the lines of Lovelace to La Costa, Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, that from the nunnery of thy chaste breast and quiet mind to war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, the first foe of the field, and with a stronger faith embrace a sword,
a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such as you too shall adore. I could not love thee, dear, so much. Loved I not, not, honor more. End of chapter 37
