The Saxons: A Drama of Christianity in the North — Reading Companion

Diction and the Division of Speech

The play's three human groups—Saxon, Roman, Greek—are distinguished by their diction. The Saxons speak in short, concrete lines: 'I'll give you five, you pick them' and 'I'll keep my ewes, then.' Their speech is direct, often monosyllabic, and concerned with tangible objects: ewes, axes, a dragon. The Roman unit, led by Father Benedict, uses more elaborate, Latinate constructions: 'He need not think that God revealed to him / Alone my glory, for I knew it, too.' Father Benedict's lines are full of self-dramatization and theological assertion. The Greek monks, by contrast, engage in wordplay and jesting: 'Well, it is spring when asses put forth leaves' and 'Pluck-pudding or crupper?' Their dialogue is more playful, even punning, and often directed at one another in asides. These three registers create a linguistic map of the play's cultural conflicts.

The Supernatural as a Dramatic Device

The cast includes a dwarf named Sigurd, a witch named Hulga, gnomes (Zip, Gimel, Kilo, Suk), and fairies (Zory). These figures are listed under 'The Supernatural' and are distinct from the human units. In the excerpts, however, no supernatural character speaks; the supernatural is referenced only in human dialogue. Father Benedict claims to have seen blood on his hands and altar cups taking fire, and he speaks of a 'great hound' and a white dove. The gleeman Wiglaf is listed among the Saxons, suggesting a figure who might carry oral tradition or supernatural tales. The play thus embeds the supernatural in reported visions and folk belief rather than direct action, at least in the opening scenes.

Setting and Symbolic Objects

The opening stage direction is precise: a road through a forest, trees 'thick and dark,' a rude bridge, a narrow stream. The crucifix is 'apparently new,' elaborately carved, set in a deep frame, with a kneeling place and a white sheep's pelt. This object is the first thing the audience sees, and it immediately establishes the Christian presence in a pagan or pre-Christian landscape. The sheep's pelt—a Saxon commodity—lies at the foot of the Roman cross, a detail that quietly suggests appropriation or conversion. Later, Father Benedict pulls an ass by the bridle toward wine vessels, and the hunter Macias enters with a young deer and geese. These objects—cross, pelt, ass, wine, deer—are not merely decorative; they are the material stuff of the play's world, each carrying cultural and economic weight.

Voice and Self-Presentation in Clerical Speech

Father Benedict's speeches are marked by a grandiose, self-justifying tone. He says, 'I have been shown the blood of that great hound. / And I have got God's meaning. I am called.' He contrasts his own courage with what others would feel: 'You would have quaked with fear, / And sought the books of some old heathen sage / For explanation.' His language is full of claims to special revelation and divine favor. The Abbot and Louis, by contrast, speak in more measured, even skeptical tones: 'You may mistake what Father had in mind' and 'Be wary, Father; it may be a snare.' The dialogue between them reveals a power struggle masked as theological debate. Father Benedict's insistence on his own glory—'He need not think that God revealed to him / Alone my glory'—suggests a character driven by pride as much as faith.

Readers attentive to the play's verse will notice how Schoonmaker uses line breaks and repetition to create rhythm and emphasis. The Saxons' short lines, the Romans' longer speeches, and the Greeks' banter each establish a distinct vocal identity. The supernatural characters, though listed, do not appear in the excerpts; their role may become clearer later. The play rewards attention to the interplay of speech styles and the symbolic weight of objects like the crucifix and the sheep's pelt.

Reading this drama’s clash of old forest faith and new clergy, I remembered winters at my grandmother’s, where The White Christmas and other Merry Christmas Plays — Story, Setting & Ideas sat on her shelf. Both books share that hush of candlelight on snow—not doctrine, but the feel of people holding onto something older than their arguments. A quiet stubbornness, like Sigurd’s, that I’ve never quite shaken.