SCENE II.—Montmirail. 'The Meeting of the Kings.'JOHN OF OXFORDandHENRY.Crowd in the distance.
JOHN OF OXFORD.You have not crown'd young Henry yet, my liege?HENRY.Crown'd! by God's eyes, we will not have him crown'd.I spoke of late to the boy, he answer'd me,As if he wore the crown already—No,We will not have him crown'd.'Tis true what Becket told me, that the motherWould make him play his kingship against mine.JOHN OF OXFORD.Not have him crown'd?HENRY.Not now—not yet! and BecketBecket should crown him were he crown'd at all:But, since we would be lord of our own manor,This Canterbury, like a wounded deer,Has fled our presence and our feeding-grounds.JOHN OF OXFORD.Cannot a smooth tongue lick him whole againTo serve your will?HENRY.He hates my will, not me.JOHN OF OXFORD.There's York, my liege.HENRY.But England scarce would holdYoung Henry king, if only crown'd by York,And that would stilt up York to twice himself.There is a movement yonder in the crowd—See if our pious—what shall I call him, John?—Husband-in-law, our smooth-shorn suzerain,Be yet within the field.JOHN OF OXFORD.I will. [Exit.HENRY.Ay! Ay!Mince and go back! his politic HolinessHath all but climb'd the Roman perch again,And we shall hear him presently with clapt wingCrow over Barbarossa—at last tongue-freeTo blast my realms with excommunicationAnd interdict. I must patch up a peace—A piece in this long-tugged at, threadbare-wornQuarrel of Crown and Church—to rend again.His Holiness cannot steer straight thro' shoals,Nor I. The citizen's heir hath conquer'd meFor the moment. So we make our peace with him.[EnterLouis.Brother of France,what shall be done with Becket?LOUIS.The holy Thomas! Brother, you have traffick'dBetween the Emperor and the Pope, betweenThe Pope and Antipope—a perilous gameFor men to play with God.HENRY.Ay, ay, good brother,They call you the Monk-King.LOUIS.Who calls me? sheThat was my wife, now yours? You have her Duchy,The point you aim'd at, and pray God she proveTrue wife to you. You have had the better of usIn secular matters.HENRY.Come, confess, good brother,You did your best or worst to keep her Duchy.Only the golden Leopard printed in itSuch hold-fast claws that you perforce againShrank into France. Tut, tut! did we conveneThis conference but to babble of our wives?They are plagues enough in-door.LOUIS.We fought in the East,And felt the sun of Antioch scald our mail,And push'd our lances into Saracen hearts.We never hounded on the State at homeTo spoil the Church.HENRY.How should you see this rightly?LOUIS.Well, well, no more! I am proud of my 'Monk-King,'Whoever named me; and, brother, Holy ChurchMay rock, but will not wreck, nor our ArchbishopStagger on the slope decks for any rough seaBlown by the breath of kings. We do forgive youFor aught you wrought against us.[HENRYholds up his hand.Nay, I pray you,Do not defend yourself. You will do muchTo rake out all old dying heats, if you,At my requesting, will but look intoThe wrongs you did him, and restore his kin,Reseat him on his throne of Canterbury,Be, both, the friends you were.HENRY.The friends we were!Co-mates we were, and had our sport together,Co-kings we were, and made the laws together.The world had never seen the like before.You are too cold to know the fashion of it.Well, well, we will be gentle with him, gracious—Most gracious.EnterBECKET,after him,JOHN OF OXFORD, ROGEROF YORK, GILBERT FOLIOT, DE BROC, FITZURSE,etc.Only that the rift he madeMay close between us, here I am wholly king,The word should come from him.BECKET (kneeling).Then, my dear liege,I here deliver all this controversyInto your royal hands.HENRY.Ah, Thomas, Thomas,Thou art thyself again, Thomas again.BECKET (rising).Saving God's honour!HENRY.Out upon thee, man!Saving the Devil's honour, his yes and no.Knights, bishops, earls, this London spawn—by Mahound,I had sooner have been born a Mussulman—Less clashing with their priests—I am half-way down the slope—will no man stay me?I dash myself to pieces—I stay myself—Puff—it is gone. You, Master Becket, youThat owe to me your power over me—Nay, nay—Brother of France, you have taken, cherish'd himWho thief-like fled from his own church by night,No man pursuing. I would have had him back.Take heed he do not turn and rend you too:For whatsoever may displease him—thatIs clean against God's honour—a shift, a trickWhereby to challenge, face me out of allMy regal rights. Yet, yet—that none may dreamI go against God's honour—ay, or himselfIn any reason, chooseA hundred of the wisest heads from England,A hundred, too, from Normandy and Anjou:Let these decide on what was customaryIn olden days, and all the Church of FranceDecide on their decision, I am contentMore, what the mightiest and the holiestOf all his predecessors may have doneEv'n to the least and meanest of my own,Let him do the same to me—I am content.LOUIS.Ay, ay! the King humbles himself enough.BECKET.(Aside) Words! he will wriggle out of them like an eelWhen the time serves. (Aloud.) My lieges and my lords,The thanks of Holy Church are due to thoseThat went before us for their work, which weInheriting reap an easier harvest. Yet—LOUIS.My lord, will you be greater than the Saints,More than St. Peter? whom—what is it you doubt?Behold your peace at hand.BECKET.I say that thoseWho went before us did not wholly clearThe deadly growths of earth, which Hell's own heatSo dwelt on that they rose and darken'd Heaven.Yet they did much. Would God they had torn up allBy the hard root, which shoots again; our trialHad so been less; but, seeing they were menDefective or excessive, must we followAll that they overdid or underdid?Nay, if they were defective as St. PeterDenying Christ, who yet defied the tyrant,We hold by his defiance, not his defect.O good son Louis, do not counsel me,No, to suppress God's honour for the sakeOf any king that breathes. No, God forbid!HENRY.No! God forbid! and turn me Mussulman!No God but one, and Mahound is his prophet.But for your Christian, look you, you shall haveNone other God but me—me, Thomas, sonOf Gilbert Becket, London merchant. Out!I hear no more. [Exit.LOUIS.Our brother's anger puts him,Poor man, beside himself—not wise. My lord,We have claspt your cause, believing that our brotherHad wrong'd you; but this day he proffer'd peace.You will have war; and tho' we grant the ChurchKing over this world's kings, yet, my good lord,We that are kings are something in this world,And so we pray you, draw yourself from underThe wings of France. We shelter you no more.[Exit.JOHN OF OXFORD.I am glad that France hath scouted him at last:I told the Pope what manner of man he was.[Exit.ROGER OF YORK.Yea, since he flouts the will of either realm,Let either cast him away like a dead dog![Exit.FOLIOT.Yea, let a stranger spoil his heritage,And let another take his bishoprick![Exit.DE BROC.Our castle, my lord, belongs to Canterbury.I pray you come and take it. [Exit.FITZURSE.When you will.[Exit.BECKET.Cursed be John of Oxford, Roger of York,And Gilbert Foliot! cursed those De BrocsThat hold our Saltwood Castle from our see!Cursed Fitzurse, and all the rest of themThat sow this hate between my lord and me!Voices from the Crowd.Blessed be the Lord Archbishop, who hath withstood two Kings to theirfaces for the honour of God.BECKET.Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, praise!I thank you, sons; when kings but hold by crowns,The crowd that hungers for a crown in HeavenIs my true king.HERBERT.Thy true King bad thee beA fisher of men; thou hast them in thy net.BECKET.I am too like the King here; both of usToo headlong for our office. Better have beenA fisherman at Bosham, my good Herbert,Thy birthplace—the sea-creek—the petty rillThat falls into it—the green field—the gray church—The simple lobster-basket, and the mesh—The more or less of daily labour done—The pretty gaping bills in the home-nestPiping for bread—the daily want supplied—The daily pleasure to supply it.HERBERT.Ah, Thomas,You had not borne it, no, not for a day.BECKET.Well, maybe, no.HERBERT.But bear with Walter Map,For here he comes to comment on the time.EnterWALTER MAP.WALTER MAP.Pity, my lord, that you have quenched the warmth of France toward you,tho' His Holiness, after much smouldering and smoking, be kindledagain upon your quarter.BECKET.Ay, if he do not end in smoke again.WALTER MAP.My lord, the fire, when first kindled, said to the smoke, 'Go up, myson, straight to Heaven.' And the smoke said, 'I go;' but anon theNorth-east took and turned him South-west, then the South-west turnedhim North-east, and so of the other winds; but it was in him to go upstraight if the time had been quieter. Your lordship affects theunwavering perpendicular; but His Holiness, pushed one way by theEmpire and another by England, if he move at all, Heaven stay him, isfain to diagonalise.HERBERT.Diagonalise! thou art a word-monger!Our Thomas never will diagonalise.Thou art a jester and a verse-maker.Diagonalise!WALTER MAP.Is the world any the worse for my verses if the Latin rhymes be rolledout from a full mouth? or any harm done to the people if my jest be indefence of the Truth?BECKET.Ay, if the jest be so done that the peopleDelight to wallow in the grossness of it,Till Truth herself be shamed of her defender.Non defensoribus istis, Walter Map.WALTER MAP.Is that my case? so if the city be sick, and I cannot call the kennelsweet, your lordship would suspend me from verse-writing, as yoususpended yourself after subwriting to the customs.BECKET.I pray God pardon mine infirmity.WALTER MAP.Nay, my lord, take heart; for tho' you suspended yourself, the Popelet you down again; and tho' you suspend Foliot or another, the Popewill not leave them in suspense, for the Pope himself is always insuspense, like Mahound's coffin hung between heaven and earth—alwaysin suspense, like the scales, till the weight of Germany or the goldof England brings one of them down to the dust—always in suspense,like the tail of the horologe—to and fro—tick-tack—we make thetime, we keep the time, ay, and we serve the time; for I have heardsay that if you boxed the Pope's ears with a purse, you might staggerhim, but he would pocket the purse. No saying of mine—Jocelyn ofSalisbury. But the King hath bought half the College of Red-hats. Hewarmed to you to-day, and you have chilled him again. Yet you bothlove God. Agree with him quickly again, even for the sake of theChurch. My one grain of good counsel which you will not swallow. Ihate a split between old friendships as I hate the dirty gap in theface of a Cistercian monk, that will swallow anything. Farewell.[Exit.BECKET.Map scoffs at Rome. I all but hold with Map.Save for myself no Rome were left in England,All had been his. Why should this Rome, this Rome,Still choose Barabbas rather than the Christ,Absolve the left-hand thief and damn the right?Take fees of tyranny, wink at sacrilege,Which even Peter had not dared? condemnThe blameless exile?—HERBERT.Thee, thou holy Thomas!I would that thou hadst been the Holy Father.BECKET.I would have done my most to keep Rome holy,I would have made Rome know she still is Rome—Who stands aghast at her eternal selfAnd shakes at mortal kings—her vacillation,Avarice, craft—O God, how many an innocentHas left his bones upon the way to RomeUnwept, uncared for. Yea—on mine own selfThe King had had no power except for Rome.'Tis not the King who is guilty of mine exile,But Rome, Rome, Rome!HERBERT.My lord, I see this LouisReturning, ah! to drive thee from his realm.BECKET.He said as much before. Thou art no prophet,Nor yet a prophet's son.HERBERT.Whatever he say,Deny not thou God's honour for a king.The King looks troubled.Re-enterKING LOUIS.LOUIS.My dear lord Archbishop,I learn but now that those poor Poitevins,That in thy cause were stirr'd against King Henry,Have been, despite his kingly promise givenTo our own self of pardon, evilly usedAnd put to pain. I have lost all trust in him.The Church alone hath eyes—and now I seeThat I was blind—suffer the phrase—surrenderingGod's honour to the pleasure of a man.Forgive me and absolve me, holy father. [Kneels.BECKET.Son, I absolve thee in the name of God.LOUIS (rising).Return to Sens, where we will care for you.The wine and wealth of all our France are yours;Rest in our realm, and be at peace with all.[Exeunt.Voices from the Crowd.Long live the good King Louis! God bless the great Archbishop!Re-enterHENRYandJOHN OF OXFORD.HENRY (looking afterKING LOUISandBECKET).Ay, there they go—both backs are turn'd to me—Why then I strike into my former pathFor England, crown young Henry there, and makeOur waning Eleanor all but love me!John,Thou hast served me heretofore with Rome—and well.They call thee John the Swearer.JOHN OF OXFORD.For this reason,That, being ever duteous to the King,I evermore have sworn upon his side,And ever mean to do it.HENRY (claps him on the shoulder).Honest John!To Rome again! the storm begins again.Spare not thy tongue! be lavish with our coins,Threaten our junction with the Emperor—flatterAnd fright the Pope—bribe all the Cardinals—leaveLateran and Vatican in one dust of gold—Swear and unswear, state and misstate thy best!I go to have young Henry crown'd by York.
ACT III.
SCENE I.—The Bower. HENRYandROSAMUND.
HENRY.All that you say is just. I cannot answer itTill better times, when I shall put away—ROSAMUND.What will you put away?HENRY.That which you ask meTill better times. Let it content you nowThere is no woman that I love so well.ROSAMUND.No woman but should be content with that—HENRY.And one fair child to fondle!ROSAMUND.O yes, the childWe waited for so long—heaven's gift at last—And how you doated on him then! To-dayI almost fear'd your kiss was colder—yes—But then the childissuch a child. What chanceThat he should ever spread into the manHere in our silence? I have done my best.I am not learn'd.HENRY.I am the King, his father,And I will look to it. Is our secret ours?Have you had any alarm? no stranger?ROSAMUND.No.The warder of the bower hath given himselfOf late to wine. I sometimes think he sleepsWhen he should watch; and yet what fear? the peopleBelieve the wood enchanted. No one comes,Nor foe nor friend; his fond excess of wineSprings from the loneliness of my poor bower,Which weighs even on me.HENRY.Yet these tree-towers,Their long bird-echoing minster-aisles,—the voiceOf the perpetual brook, these golden slopesOf Solomon-shaming flowers—that was your saying,All pleased you so at first.ROSAMUND.Not now so much.My Anjou bower was scarce as beautiful.But you were oftener there. I have none but you.The brook's voice is not yours, and no flower, notThe sun himself, should he be changed to one,Could shine away the darkness of that gapLeft by the lack of love.HENRY.The lack of love!ROSAMUND.Of one we love. Nay, I would not be bold,Yet hoped ere this you might—[Looks earnestly at him.HENRY.Anything further?ROSAMUND.Only my best bower-maiden died of late,And that old priest whom John of Salisbury trustedHath sent another.HENRY.Secret?ROSAMUND.I but ask'd herOne question, and she primm'd her mouth and putHer hands together—thus—and said, God help her,That she was sworn to silence.HENRY.What did you ask her?ROSAMUND.Some daily something—nothing.HENRY.Secret, then?ROSAMUND.I do not love her. Must you go, my liege,So suddenly?HENRY.I came to England suddenly,And on a great occasion sure to wakeAs great a wrath in Becket—ROSAMUND.Always Becket!He always comes between us.HENRY.—And to meet itI needs must leave as suddenly. It is raining,Put on your hood and see me to the bounds.[ExeuntMARGERY (singing behind scene).Babble in bowerUnder the rose!Bee mustn't buzz,Whoop—but he knows.Kiss me, little one,Nobody near!Grasshopper, grasshopper,Whoop—you can hear.Kiss in the bower,Tit on the tree!Bird mustn't tell,Whoop—he can see.EnterMARGERY.I ha' been but a week here and I ha' seen what I ha' seen, for to besure it's no more than a week since our old Father Philip that hasconfessed our mother for twenty years, and she was hard put to it, andto speak truth, nigh at the end of our last crust, and that mouldy,and she cried out on him to put me forth in the world and to make me awoman of the world, and to win my own bread, whereupon he asked ourmother if I could keep a quiet tongue i' my head, and not speak till Iwas spoke to, and I answered for myself that I never spoke more thanwas needed, and he told me he would advance me to the service of agreat lady, and took me ever so far away, and gave me a great pat o'the cheek for a pretty wench, and said it was a pity to blindfold sucheyes as mine, and such to be sure they be, but he blinded 'em for allthat, and so brought me no-hows as I may say, and the more shame tohim after his promise, into a garden and not into the world, and badme whatever I saw not to speak one word, an' it 'ud be well for me inthe end, for there were great ones who would look after me, and to besure I ha' seen great ones to-day—and then not to speak one word, forthat's the rule o' the garden, tho' to be sure if I had been Eve i'the garden I shouldn't ha' minded the apple, for what's an apple, youknow, save to a child, and I'm no child, but more a woman o the worldthan my lady here, and I ha' seen what I ha' seen—tho' to be sure ifI hadn't minded it we should all on us ha' had to go, bless theSaints, wi' bare backs, but the backs 'ud ha' countenanced oneanother, and belike it 'ud ha' been always summer, and anyhow I am aswell-shaped as my lady here, and I ha' seen what I ha' seen, andwhat's the good of my talking to myself, for here comes my lady(enterROSAMUND), and, my lady, tho' I shouldn't speak one word, Iwish you joy o' the King's brother.ROSAMUND.What is it you mean?MARGERY.I mean your goodman, your husband, my lady, for I saw your ladyshipa-parting wi' him even now i' the coppice, when I was a-getting o'bluebells for your ladyship's nose to smell on—and I ha' seen theKing once at Oxford, and he's as like the King as fingernail tofingernail, and I thought at first it was the King, only you know theKing's married, for King Louis—ROSAMUND.Married!MARGERY.Years and years, my lady, for her husband, King Louis—ROSAMUND.Hush!MARGERY.—And I thought if it were the King's brother he had a better bridethan the King, for the people do say that his is bad beyond allreckoning, and—ROSAMUND.The people lie.MARGERY.Very like, my lady, but most on 'em know an honest woman and a ladywhen they see her, and besides they say, she makes songs, and that'sagainst her, for I never knew an honest woman that could make songs,tho' to be sure our mother 'ill sing me old songs by the hour, butthen, God help her, she had 'em from her mother, and her mother fromher mother back and back for ever so long, but none on 'em ever madesongs, and they were all honest.ROSAMUND.Go, you shall tell me of her some other time.MARGERY.There's none so much to tell on her, my lady, only she kept theseventh commandment better than some I know on, or I couldn't lookyour ladyship i' the face, and she brew'd the best ale in allGlo'ster, that is to say in her time when she had the 'Crown.'ROSAMUND.The crown! who?MARGERY.Mother.ROSAMUND.I mean her whom you call—fancy—my husband's brother's wife.MARGERY.Oh, Queen Eleanor. Yes, my lady; and tho' I be sworn not to speak aword, I can tell you all about her, if——ROSAMUND.No word now. I am faint and sleepy. Leave me.Nay—go. What! will you anger me.[ExitMARGERY.He charged me not to question any of thoseAbout me. Have I? no! she question'dme.Did she not slanderhim? Should she stay here?May she not tempt me, being at my side,To questionher? Nay, can I send her henceWithout his kingly leave! I am in the dark.I have lived, poor bird, from cage to cage, and knownNothing but him—happy to know no more,So that he loved me—and he loves me—yes,And bound me by his love to secrecyTill his own time.Eleanor, Eleanor, have INot heard ill things of her in France? Oh, she'sThe Queen of France. I see it—some confusion,Some strange mistake. I did not hear aright,Myself confused with parting from the King.MARGERY (behind scene).Bee mustn't buzz,Whoop—but he knows.ROSAMUND.Yet her—what her? he hinted of some her—When he was here before—Something that would displease me. Hath he stray'dFrom love's clear path into the common bush,And, being scratch'd, returns to his true rose,Who hath not thorn enough to prick him for it,Ev'n with a word?MARGERY (behind scene).Bird mustn't tell,Whoop—he can see.ROSAMUND.I would not hear him. Nay—there's more—he frown'd'No mate for her, if it should come to that'—To that—to what?MARGERY (behind scene).Whoop—but he knows,Whoop—but he knows.ROSAMUND.O God! some dreadful truth is breaking on me—Some dreadful thing is coming on me.[EnterGEOFFREY.Geoffrey!GEOFFREY.What are you crying for, when the sun shines?ROSAMUND.Hath not thy father left us to ourselves?GEOFFREY.Ay, but he's taken the rain with him. I hearMargery: I'll go play with her. [ExitGEOFFREY.ROSAMUND.Rainbow, stay,Gleam upon gloom,Bright as my dream,Rainbow, stay!But it passes away,Gloom upon gleam,Dark as my doom—O rainbow stay.
SCENE II.—Outside the Woods nearROSAMUND'SBower.ELEANOR. FITZURSE.
ELEANOR.Up from the salt lips of the land we twoHave track'd the King to this dark inland wood;And somewhere hereabouts he vanish'd. HereHis turtle builds: his exit is our adit:Watch! he will out again, and presently,Seeing he must to Westminster and crownYoung Henry there to-morrow.FITZURSE.We have watch'dSo long in vain, he hath pass'd out again,And on the other side. [A great horn winded.Hark! Madam!ELEANOR.Ay,How ghostly sounds that horn in the black wood![A countryman flying.Whither away, man? what are you flying from?COUNTRYMAN.The witch! the witch! she sits naked by a great heap of gold in themiddle of the wood, and when the horn sounds she comes out as a wolf.Get you hence! a man passed in there to-day: I holla'd to him, but hedidn't hear me: he'll never out again, the witch has got him. Idaren't stay—I daren't stay!ELEANOR.Kind of the witch to give thee warning tho'.[Man flies.Is not this wood-witch of the rustic's fearOur woodland Circe that hath witch'd the King?[Horn sounded. Another flying.FITZURSE.Again! stay, fool, and tell me why thou fliest.COUNTRYMAN.Fly thou too. The King keeps his forest head of game here, and whenthat horn sounds, a score of wolf-dogs are let loose that will tearthee piecemeal. Linger not till the third horn. Fly![Exit.ELEANOR.This is the likelier tale. We have hit the place.Now let the King's fine game look to itself. [Horn.FITZURSE.Again!—And far on in the dark heart of the woodI hear the yelping of the hounds of hell.ELEANOR.I have my dagger here to still their throats.FITZURSE.Nay, Madam, not to-night—the night is falling.What can be done to-night?ELEANOR.Well—well—away.
SCENE III.—Traitor's Meadow at Fréteval. Pavilions and Tents of theEnglish and French Baronage. BECKETandHERBERT OF BOSHAM.
BECKET.See here!HERBERT.What's here?BECKET.A notice from the priest,To whom our John of Salisbury committedThe secret of the bower, that our wolf-QueenIs prowling round the fold. I should be backIn England ev'n for this.HERBERT.These are by-thingsIn the great cause.BECKET.The by-things of the LordAre the wrong'd innocences that will cryFrom all the hidden by-ways of the worldIn the great day against the wronger. I knowThy meaning. Perish she, I, all, beforeThe Church should suffer wrong!HERBERT.Do you see, my lord,There is the King talking with Walter Map?BECKET.He hath the Pope's last letters, and they threatenThe immediate thunder-blast of interdict:Yet he can scarce be touching upon those,Or scarce would smile that fashion.HERBERT.Winter sunshine!Beware of opening out thy bosom to it,Lest thou, myself, and all thy flock should catchAn after ague-fit of trembling. Look!He bows, he bares his head, he is coming hither.Still with a smile.EnterKING HENRYandWALTER MAP.HENRY.We have had so many hours together, Thomas,So many happy hours alone together,That I would speak with you once more alone.BECKET.My liege, your will and happiness are mine.[ExeuntKINGandBECKET.HERBERT.The same smile still.WALTER MAP.Do you see that great black cloud that hath come over the sun and castus all into shadow?HERBERT.And feel it too.WALTER MAP.And see you yon side-beam that is forced from under it, and sets thechurch-tower over there all a-hell-fire as it were?HERBERT.Ay.WALTER MAP.It is this black, bell-silencing, anti-marrying, burial-hinderinginterdict that hath squeezed out this side-smile upon Canterbury,whereof may come conflagration. Were I Thomas, I wouldn't trust it.Sudden change is a house on sand; and tho' I count Henry honestenough, yet when fear creeps in at the front, honesty steals out atthe back, and the King at last is fairly scared by this cloud—thisinterdict. I have been more for the King than the Church in thismatter—yea, even for the sake of the Church: for, truly, as the casestood, you had safelier have slain an archbishop than a she-goat: butour recoverer and upholder of customs hath in this crowning of youngHenry by York and London so violated the immemorial usage of theChurch, that, like the gravedigger's child I have heard of, trying toring the bell, he hath half-hanged himself in the rope of the Church,or rather pulled all the Church with the Holy Father astride of itdown upon his own head.HERBERT.Were you there?WALTER MAP.In the church rope?—no. I was at the crowning, for I have pleasure inthe pleasure of crowds, and to read the faces of men at a great show.HERBERT.And how did Roger of York comport himself?WALTER MAP.As magnificently and archiepiscopally as our Thomas would have done:only there was a dare-devil in his eye—I should say a dare-Becket. Hethought less of two kings than of one Roger the king of the occasion.Foliot is the holier man, perhaps the better. Once or twice there rana twitch across his face as who should say what's to follow? butSalisbury was a calf cowed by Mother Church, and every now and thenglancing about him like a thief at night when he hears a door open inthe house and thinks 'the master.'HERBERT.And the father-king?WALTER MAP.The father's eye was so tender it would have called a goose off thegreen, and once he strove to hide his face, like the Greek king whenhis daughter was sacrificed, but he thought better of it: it was butthe sacrifice of a kingdom to his son, a smaller matter; but as to theyoung crownling himself, he looked so malapert in the eyes, that had Ifathered him I had given him more of the rod than the sceptre. Thenfollowed the thunder of the captains and the shouting, and so we cameon to the banquet, from whence there puffed out such an incense ofunctuosity into the nostrils of our Gods of Church and State, thatLucullus or Apicius might have sniffed it in their Hades ofheathenism, so that the smell of their own roast had not come acrossit—HERBERT.Map, tho' you make your butt too big, you overshoot it.WALTER MAP.—For as to the fish, they de-miracled the miraculous draught, andmight have sunk a navy—HERBERT.There again, Goliasing and Goliathising!WALTER MAP.—And as for the flesh at table, a whole Peter's sheet, with allmanner of game, and four-footed things, and fowls—HERBERT.And all manner of creeping things too?WALTER MAP.—Well, there were Abbots—but they did not bring their women; and sowe were dull enough at first, but in the end we flourished out into amerriment; for the old King would act servitor and hand a dish to hisson; whereupon my Lord of York—his fine-cut face bowing and beamingwith all that courtesy which hath less loyalty in it than the backwardscrape of the clown's heel—'great honour,' says he, 'from the King'sself to the King's son.' Did you hear the young King's quip?HERBERT.No, what was it?WALTER MAP.Glancing at the days when his father was only Earl of Anjou, heanswered:—'Should not an earl's son wait on a king's son?' And whenthe cold corners of the King's mouth began to thaw, there was a greatmotion of laughter among us, part real, part childlike, to be freedfrom the dulness—part royal, for King and kingling both laughed, andso we could not but laugh, as by a royal necessity—part childlikeagain—when we felt we had laughed too long and could not stayourselves—many midriff-shaken even to tears, as springs gush outafter earthquakes—but from those, as I said before, there may come aconflagration—tho', to keep the figure moist and make it hold water,I should say rather, the lacrymation of a lamentation; but look ifThomas have not flung himself at the King's feet. They have made it upagain—for the moment.HERBERT.Thanks to the blessed Magdalen, whose day it is.Re-enterHENRYandBECKET. (During their conferencetheBARONSandBISHOPSofFRANCEandENGLANDcomein at back of stage.)BECKET.Ay, King! for in thy kingdom, as thou knowest,The spouse of the Great King, thy King, hath fallen—The daughter of Zion lies beside the way—The priests of Baal tread her underfoot—The golden ornaments are stolen from her—HENRY.Have I not promised to restore her, Thomas,And send thee back again to Canterbury?BECKET.Send back again those exiles of my kinWho wander famine-wasted thro' the world.HENRY.Have I not promised, man, to send them back?BECKET.Yet one thing more. Thou hast broken thro' the palesOf privilege, crowning thy young son by York,London and Salisbury—not Canterbury.HENRY.York crown'd the Conqueror—not Canterbury.BECKET.There was no Canterbury in William's time.HENRY.But Hereford, you know, crown'd the first Henry.BECKET.But Anselm crown'd this Henry o'er again.HENRY.And thou shalt crown my Henry o'er again.BECKET.And is it then with thy good-will that IProceed against thine evil councillors,And hurl the dread ban of the Church on thoseWho made the second mitre play the first,And acted me?HENRY.Well, well, then—have thy way!It may be they were evil councillors.What more, my lord Archbishop? What more, Thomas?I make thee full amends. Say all thy say,But blaze not out before the Frenchmen here.BECKET.More? Nothing, so thy promise be thy deed.HENRY (holding out his hand).Give me thy hand. My Lords of France and England,My friend of Canterbury and myselfAre now once more at perfect amity.Unkingly should I be, and most unknightly,Not striving still, however much in vain,To rival him in Christian charity.HERBERT.All praise to Heaven, and sweet St. Magdalen!HENRY.And so farewell until we meet in England.BECKET.I fear, my liege, we may not meet in England.HENRY.How, do you make me a traitor?BECKET.No, indeed!That be far from thee.HENRY.Come, stay with us, then,Before you part for England.BECKET.I am boundFor that one hour to stay with good King Louis,Who helpt me when none else.HERBERT.He said thy lifeWas not one hour's worth in England saveKing Henry gave thee first the kiss of peace.HENRY.He said so? Louis, did he? look you, Herbert.When I was in mine anger with King Louis,I sware I would not give the kiss of peace,Not on French ground, nor any ground but English,Where his cathedral stands. Mine old friend, Thomas,I would there were that perfect trust between us,That health of heart, once ours, ere Pope or KingHad come between us! Even now—who knows?—I might deliver all things to thy hand—If ... but I say no more ... farewell, my lord.BECKET.Farewell, my liege![ExitHENRY,then theBARONSandBISHOPS.WALTER MAP.There again! when the full fruit of the royal promise might have droptinto thy mouth hadst thou but opened it to thank him.BECKET.He fenced his royal promise with anif.WALTER MAP.And is the King'siftoo high a stile for your lordship to overstepand come at all things in the next field?BECKET.Ay, if thisifbe like the Devil's 'ifThou wilt fall down and worship me.'HERBERT.Oh, Thomas;I could fall down and worship thee, my Thomas,For thou hast trodden this wine-press alone.BECKET.Nay, of the people there are many with me.WALTER MAP.I am not altogether with you, my lord, tho' I am none of those thatwould raise a storm between you, lest ye should draw together like twoships in a calm. You wrong the King: he meant what he said to-day. Whoshall vouch for his to-morrows? One word further. Doth not thefewnessof anything make the fulness of it in estimation? Is notvirtue prized mainly for its rarity and great baseness loathed as anexception: for were all, my lord, as noble as yourself, who would lookup to you? and were all as base as—who shall I say—Fitzurse and hisfollowing—who would look down upon them? My lord, you have put somany of the King's household out of communion, that they begin tosmile at it.BECKET.At their peril, at their peril—WALTER MAP.—For tho' the drop may hollow out the dead stone,doth not the living skin thicken against perpetual whippings?This is the second grain of good counsel Iever proffered thee, and so cannot suffer by the rule offrequency. Have I sown it in salt? I trust not, forbefore God I promise you the King hath many morewolves than he can tame in his woods of England, andif it suit their purpose to howl for the King, and youstill move against him, you may have no less than todie for it; but God and his free wind grant your lordshipa happy home-return and the King's kiss of peacein Kent. Farewell! I must follow the King.[Exit.HERBERT.Ay, and I warrant the customs. Did the KingSpeak of the customs?BECKET.No!—To die for it—I live to die for it, I die to live for it.The State will die, the Church can never die.The King's not like to die for that which dies;But I must die for that which never dies.It will be so—my visions in the Lord:It must be so, my friend! the wolves of EnglandMust murder her one shepherd, that the sheepMay feed in peace. False figure, Map would say.Earth's falses are heaven's truths. And when my voiceIs martyr'd mute, and this man disappears,That perfect trust may come again between us,And there, there, there, not here I shall rejoiceTo find my stray sheep back within the fold.The crowd are scattering, let us move away!And thence to England.[Exeunt.