ACT IV.
SCENE I.—The Outskirts of the Bower.
GEOFFREY (coming out of the wood).Light again! light again! Margery? no, that's a finer thing there. Howit glitters!ELEANOR (entering).Come to me, little one. How camest thou hither?GEOFFREY.On my legs.ELEANOR.And mighty pretty legs too. Thou art the prettiest child I ever saw.Wilt thou love me?GEOFFREY.No; I only love mother.ELEANOR.Ay; and who is thy mother?GEOFFREY.They call her—But she lives secret, you see.ELEANOR.Why?GEOFFREY.Don't know why.ELEANOR.Ay, but some one comes to see her now and then. Who is he?GEOFFREY.Can't tell.ELEANOR.What does she call him?GEOFFREY.My liege.ELEANOR.Pretty one, how camest thou?GEOFFREY.There was a bit of yellow silk here and there, and it looked prettylike a glowworm, and I thought if I followed it I should find thefairies.ELEANOR.I am the fairy, pretty one, a good fairy to thy mother. Take me toher.GEOFFREY.There are good fairies and bad fairies, and sometimes she cries, andcan't sleep sound o' nights because of the bad fairies.ELEANOR.She shall cry no more; she shall sleep sound enough if thou wilt takeme to her. I am her good fairy.GEOFFREY.But you don't look like a good fairy. Mother does. You are not pretty,like mother.ELEANOR.We can't all of us be as pretty as thou art—(aside) little bastard.Come, here is a golden chain I will give thee if thou wilt lead me tothy mother.GEOFFREY.No—no gold. Mother says gold spoils all. Love is the only gold.ELEANOR.I love thy mother, my pretty boy. Show me where thou camest out of thewood.GEOFFREY.By this tree; but I don't know if I can find the way back again.ELEANOR.Where's the warder?GEOFFREY.Very bad. Somebody struck him.ELEANOR.Ay? who was that?GEOFFREY.Can't tell. But I heard say he had had a stroke, or you'd have heardhis horn before now. Come along, then; we shall see the silk here andthere, and I want my supper.[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—ROSAMUND'SBower.
ROSAMUND.The boy so late; pray God, he be not lost.I sent this Margery, and she comes not back;I sent another, and she comes not back.I go myself—so many alleys, crossings,Paths, avenues—nay, if I lost him, nowThe folds have fallen from the mystery,And left all naked, I were lost indeed.EnterGEOFFREYandELEANOR.Geoffrey, the pain thou hast put me to![SeeingELEANOR.Ha, you!How came you hither?ELEANOR.Your own child brought me hither!GEOFFREY.You said you couldn't trust Margery, and I watched her and followedher into the woods, and I lost her and went on and on till I found thelight and the lady, and she says she can make you sleep o' nights.ROSAMUND.How dared you? Know you not this bower is secret,Of and belonging to the King of England,More sacred than his forests for the chase?Nay, nay, Heaven help you; get you hence in hasteLest worse befall you.ELEANOR.Child, I am mine own selfOf and belonging to the King. The KingHath divers ofs and ons, ofs and belongings,Almost as many as your true Mussulman—Belongings, paramours, whom it pleases himTo call his wives; but so it chances, child,That I am his main paramour, his sultana.But since the fondest pair of doves will jar,Ev'n in a cage of gold, we had words of late,And thereupon he call'd my children bastards.Do you believe that you are married to him?ROSAMUND,Ishouldbelieve it.ELEANOR.You must not believe it,Because I have a wholesome medicine herePuts that belief asleep. Your answer, beauty!Do you believe that you are married to him?ROSAMUND.Geoffrey, my boy, I saw the ball you lost in the fork of the greatwillow over the brook. Go. See that you do not fall in. Go.GEOFFREY.And leave you alone with the good fairy. She calls you beauty, but Idon't like her looks. Well, you bid me go, and I'll have my ballanyhow. Shall I find you asleep when I come back?ROSAMUND.Go. [ExitGEOFFREY.
ELEANOR.He is easily found again.Doyou believe it?I pray you then to take my sleeping-draught;But if you should not care to take it—see![Draws a dagger.What! have I scared the red rose from your faceInto your heart. But this will find it there,And dig it from the root for ever.ROSAMUND.Help! help!ELEANOR.They say that walls have ears; but these, it seems,Have none! and I have none—to pity thee.ROSAMUND.I do beseech you—my child is so young,So backward too; I cannot leave him yet.I am not so happy I could not die myself,But the child is so young. You have children—his;And mine is the King's child; so, if you love him—Nay, if you love him, there is great wrong doneSomehow; but if you do not—there are thoseWho say you do not love him—let me goWith my young boy, and I will hide my face,Blacken and gipsyfy it; none shall know me;The King shall never hear of me again,But I will beg my bread along the worldWith my young boy, and God will be our guide.I never meant you harm in any way.See, I can say no more.ELEANOR.Will you not say you are not married to him?ROSAMUND.Ay, Madam, I cansayit, if you will.ELEANOR.Then is thy pretty boy a bastard?ROSAMUND.No.ELEANOR.And thou thyself a proven wanton?ROSAMUND.No.I am none such. I never loved but one.I have heard of such that range from love to love,Like the wild beast—if you can call it love.I have heard of such—yea, even among thoseWho sit on thrones—I never saw any such,Never knew any such, and howsoeverYou do misname me, match'd with any such,I am snow to mud.ELEANOR.The more the pity thenThat thy true home—the heavens—cry out for theeWho art too pure for earth.EnterFITZURSE.FITZURSE.Give her to me.ELEANOR.The Judas-lover of our passion-playHath track'd us hither.FITZURSE.Well, why not? I follow'dYou and the child: he babbled all the way.Give her to me to make my honeymoon.ELEANOR.Ay, as the bears love honey. Could you keep herIndungeon'd from one whisper of the wind,Dark even from a side glance of the moon,And oublietted in the centre—No!I follow out my hate and thy revenge.FITZURSE.You bad me take revenge another way—To bring her to the dust.... Come with me, love,And I will love thee.... Madam, let her live.I have a far-off burrow where the KingWould miss her and for ever.ELEANOR.How sayst thou, sweetheart?Wilt thou go with him? he will marry thee.ROSAMUND.Give me the poison; set me free of him![ELEANORoffers the vial.No, no! I will not have it.ELEANOR.Then this other,The wiser choice, because my sleeping-draughtMay bloat thy beauty out of shape, and makeThy body loathsome even to thy child;While this but leaves thee with a broken heart,A doll-face blanch'd and bloodless, over whichIf pretty Geoffrey do not break his own,It must be broken for him.ROSAMUND.O I see nowYour purpose is to fright me—a troubadourYou play with words. You had never used so many,Not if you meant it, I am sure. The child....No.... mercy! No! (Kneels.)ELEANOR.Play!... that bosom neverHeaved under the King's hand with such true passionAs at this loveless knife that stirs the riot,Which it will quench in blood! Slave, if he love thee,Thy life is worth the wrestle for it: arise,And dash thyself against me that I may slay thee!The worm! shall I let her go? But ha! what's here?By very God, the cross I gave the King!His village darling in some lewd caressHas wheedled it off the King's neck to her own.By thy leave, beauty. Ay, the same! I warrantThou hast sworn on this my cross a hundred timesNever to leave him—and that merits death,False oath on holy cross—for thou must leave himTo-day, but not quite yet. My good Fitzurse,The running down the chase is kindlier sportEv'n than the death. Who knows but that thy loverMay plead so pitifully, that I may spare thee?Come hither, man; stand there. (To Rosamund)Take thy one chance;Catch at the last straw. Kneel to thy lord Fitzurse;Crouch even because thou hatest him; fawn upon himFor thy life and thy son's.ROSAMUND (rising).I am a Clifford,My son a Clifford and Plantagenet.I am to die then, tho' there stand beside theeOne who might grapple with thy dagger, if heHad aught of man, or thou of woman; or IWould bow to such a baseness as would make meMost worthy of it: both of us will die,And I will fly with my sweet boy to heaven,And shriek to all the saints among the stars:'Eleanor of Aquitaine, Eleanor of England!Murder'd by that adulteress Eleanor,Whose doings are a horror to the east,A hissing in the west!' Have we not heardRaymond of Poitou, thine own uncle—nay,Geoffrey Plantagenet, thine own husband's father—Nay, ev'n the accursed heathen Saladdeen—Strike!I challenge thee to meet me before God.Answer me there.ELEANOR (raising the dagger).This in thy bosom, fool,And after in thy bastard's!EnterBECKETfrom behind. Catches hold of her arm.BECKET.Murderess![The dagger falls; they stare at one another. After a pause.ELEANOR.My lord, we know you proud of your fine hand,But having now admired it long enough,We find that it is mightier than it seems—At least mine own is frailer: you are laming it.BECKET.And lamed and maim'd to dislocation, betterThan raised to take a life which Henry bad meGuard from the stroke that dooms thee after deathTo wail in deathless flame.ELEANOR.Nor you, nor IHave now to learn, my lord, that our good HenrySays many a thing in sudden heats, which heGainsays by next sunrising—often readyTo tear himself for having said as much.My lord, Fitzurse—BECKET.He too! what dost thou here?Dares the bear slouch into the lion's den?One downward plunge of his paw would rend awayEyesight and manhood, life itself, from thee.Go, lest I blast thee with anathema,And make thee a world's horror.FITZURSE.My lord, I shallRemember this.BECKET.Idoremember thee;Lest I remember thee to the lion, go.[ExitFITZURSE.Take up your dagger; put it in the sheath.ELEANOR.Might not your courtesy stoop to hand it me?But crowns must bow when mitres sit so high.Well—well—too costly to be left or lost.[Picks up the dagger.I had it from an Arab soldan, who,When I was there in Antioch, marvell'd atOur unfamiliar beauties of the west;But wonder'd more at my much constancyTo the monk-king, Louis, our former burthen,From whom, as being too kin, you know, my lord,God's grace and Holy Church deliver'd us.I think, time given, I could have talk'd him out ofHis ten wives into one. Look at the hilt.What excellent workmanship. In our poor westWe cannot do it so well.BECKET.We can do worse.Madam, I saw your dagger at her throat;I heard your savage cry.ELEANOR.Well acted, was it?A comedy meant to seem a tragedy—A feint, a farce. My honest lord, you are knownThro' all the courts of Christendom as oneThat mars a cause with over-violence.You have wrong'd Fitzurse. I speak not of myself.We thought to scare this minion of the KingBack from her churchless commerce with the KingTo the fond arms of her first love, Fitzurse,Who swore to marry her. You have spoilt the farce.My savage cry? Why, she—she—when I stroveTo work against her license for her good,Bark'd out at me such monstrous charges, thatThe King himself, for love of his own sons,If hearing, would have spurn'd her; whereuponI menaced her with this, as when we threatenA yelper with a stick. Nay, I deny notThat I was somewhat anger'd. Do you hear me?Believe or no, I care not. You have lostThe ear of the King. I have it.... My lord Paramount,Our great High-priest, will not your HolinessVouchsafe a gracious answer to your Queen?BECKET.Rosamund hath not answer'd you one word;Madam, I will not answer you one word.Daughter, the world hath trick'd thee. Leave it, daughter;Come thou with me to Godstow nunnery,And live what may be left thee of a lifeSaved as by miracle alone with HimWho gave it.Re-enterGEOFFREY.GEOFFREY.Mother, you told me a great fib: it wasn't in the willow.BECKET.Follow us, my son, and we will find it for thee—Or something manlier.[ExeuntBECKET, ROSAMUND,andGEOFFREY.ELEANOR.The world hath trick'd her—that's the King; if so,There was the farce, the feint—not mine. And yetI am all but sure my dagger was a feintTill the worm turn'd—not life shot up in blood,But death drawn in;—(looking at the vial) thiswas no feint then?no.But can I swear to that, had she but givenPlain answer to plain query? nay, methinksHad she but bow'd herself to meet the waveOf humiliation, worshipt whom she loathed,I should have let her be, scorn'd her too muchTo harm her. Henry—Becket tells him this—To take my life might lose him Aquitaine.Too politic for that. Imprison me?No, for it came to nothing—only a feint.Did she not tell me I was playing on her?I'll swear to mine own self it was a feint.Why should I swear, Eleanor, who am, or was,A sovereign power? The King plucks out their eyesWho anger him, and shall not I, the Queen,Tear out her heart—kill, kill with knife or venomOne of his slanderous harlots? 'None of such?'I love her none the more. Tut, the chance gone,She lives—but not for him; one point is gain'd.O I, that thro' the Pope divorced King Louis,Scorning his monkery,—I that wedded Henry,Honouring his manhood—will he not mock at meThe jealous fool balk'd of her will—withhim?But he and he must never meet again.Reginald Fitzurse!Re-enterFITZURSE.FITZURSE.Here, Madam, at your pleasure.ELEANOR.My pleasure is to have a man about me.Why did you slink away so like a cur?FITZURSE.Madam, I am as much man as the King.Madam, I fear Church-censures like your King.ELEANOR.He grovels to the Church when he's black-blooded,But kinglike fought the proud archbishop,—kinglikeDefied the Pope, and, like his kingly sires,The Normans, striving still to break or bindThe spiritual giant with our island lawsAnd customs, made me for the moment proudEv'n of that stale Church-bond which link'd me with himTo bear him kingly sons. I am not so sureBut that I love him still. Thou as much man!No more of that; we will to France and beBeforehand with the King, and brew from outThis Godstow-Becket intermeddling suchA strong hate-philtre as may madden him—maddenAgainst his priest beyond all hellebore.
ACT V.
SCENE I.—Castle in Normandy. King's Chamber.HENRY, ROGER OF YORK, FOLIOT, JOCELYN OF SALISBURY.
ROGER OF YORK.Nay, nay, my liege,He rides abroad with armed followers,Hath broken all his promises to thyself,Cursed and anathematised us right and left,Stirr'd up a party there against your son—HENRY.Roger of York, you always hated him,Even when you both were boys at Theobald's.ROGER OF YORK.I always hated boundless arrogance.In mine own cause I strove against him there,And in thy cause I strive against him now.HENRY.I cannot think he moves against my son,Knowing right well with what a tendernessHe loved my son.ROGER OF YORK.Before you made him king.But Becket ever moves against a king.The Church is all—the crime to be a king.We trust your Royal Grace, lord of more landThan any crown in Europe, will not yieldTo lay your neck beneath your citizens' heel.HENRY.Not to a Gregory of my throning! No.FOLIOT.My royal liege, in aiming at your love,It may be sometimes I have overshotMy duties to our Holy Mother Church,Tho' all the world allows I fall no inchBehind this Becket, rather go beyondIn scourgings, macerations, mortifyings,Fasts, disciplines that clear the spiritual eye,And break the soul from earth. Let all that be.I boast not: but you know thro' all this quarrelI still have cleaved to the crown, in hope the crownWould cleave to me that but obey'd the crown,Crowning your son; for which our loyal service,And since we likewise swore to obey the customs,York and myself, and our good Salisbury here,Are push'd from out communion of the Church.JOCELYN OF SALISBURY.Becket hath trodden on us like worms, my liege;Trodden one half dead; one half, but half-alive,Cries to the King.HENRY (aside).Take care o' thyself, O King.JOCELYN OF SALISBURY.Being so crush'd and so humiliatedWe scarcely dare to bless the food we eatBecause of Becket.HENRY.What would ye have me do?ROGER OF YORK.Summon your barons; take their counsel: yetI know—could swear—as long as Becket breathes,Your Grace will never have one quiet hour.HENRY.What?... Ay ... but pray you do not work upon me.I see your drift ... it may be so ... and yetYou know me easily anger'd. Will you hence?He shall absolve you ... you shall have redress.I have a dizzying headache. Let me rest.I'll call you by and by.[ExeuntROGER OF YORK, FOLIOT,andJOCELYN OF SALISBURY.Would he were dead! I have lost all love for him.If God would take him in some sudden way—Would he were dead. [Lies down.PAGE (entering).My liege, the Queen of England.HENRY.God's eyes! [Starting up.EnterELEANOR.ELEANOR.Of England? Say of Aquitaine.I am no Queen of England. I had dream'dI was the bride of England, and a queen.HENRY.And,—while you dream'd you were the bride of England,—Stirring her baby-king against me? ha!ELEANOR.The brideless Becket is thy king and mine:I will go live and die in Aquitaine.HENRY.Except I clap thee into prison here,Lest thou shouldst play the wanton there again.Ha, you of Aquitaine! O you of Aquitaine!You were but Aquitaine to Louis—no wife;You are only Aquitaine to me—no wife.ELEANOR.And why, my lord, should I be wife to oneThat only wedded me for Aquitaine?Yet this no wife—her six and thirty sailOf Provence blew you to your English throne;And this no wife has born you four brave sons,And one of them at least is like to proveBigger in our small world than thou art.HENRY.Ay—Richard, if hebemine—I hope him mine.But thou art like enough to make him thine.ELEANOR.Becket is like enough to make all his.HENRY.Methought I had recover'd of the Becket,That all was planed and bevell'd smooth again,Save from some hateful cantrip of thine own.ELEANOR.I will go live and die in Aquitaine.I dream'd I was the consort of a king,Not one whose back his priest has broken.HENRY.What!Is the end come? You, will you crown my foeMy victor in mid-battle? I will beSole master of my house. The end is mine.What game, what juggle, what devilry are you playing?Why do you thrust this Becket on me again?ELEANOR.Why? for Iamtrue wife, and have my fearsLest Becket thrust you even from your throne.Do you know this cross, my liege?HENRY (turning his head).Away! Not I.ELEANOR.Not ev'n the central diamond, worth, I think,Half of the Antioch whence I had it.HENRY.That?ELEANOR.I gave it you, and you your paramour;She sends it back, as being dead to earth,So dead henceforth to you.HENRY.Dead! you have murder'd her,Found out her secret bower and murder'd her.ELEANOR.Your Becket knew the secret of your bower.HENRY (calling out).Ho there! thy rest of life is hopeless prison.ELEANOR.And what would my own Aquitaine say to that?First, free thy captive fromherhopeless prison.HENRY.O devil, can I free her from the grave?ELEANOR.You are too tragic: both of us are playersIn such a comedy as our court of ProvenceHad laugh'd at. That's a delicate Latin layOf Walter Map: the lady holds the clericLovelier than any soldier, his poor tonsureA crown of Empire. Will you have it again?(Offering the cross. He dashes it down.)St. Cupid, that is too irreverent.Then mine once more. (Puts it on.)Your cleric hath your lady.Nay, what uncomely faces, could he see you!Foam at the mouth because King Thomas, lordNot only of your vassals but amours,Thro' chastest honour of the DecalogueHath used the full authority of his ChurchTo put her into Godstow nunnery.HENRY.To put her into Godstow nunnery!He dared not—liar! yet, yet I remember—I do remember.He bad me put her into a nunnery—Into Godstow, into Hellstow, Devilstow!The Church! the Church!God's eyes! I would the Church were down in hell![Exit.ELEANOR.Aha!Enter the fourKNIGHTS.FITZURSE.What made the King cry out so furiously?ELEANOR.Our Becket, who will not absolve the Bishops.I think ye four have cause to love this Becket.FITZURSE.I hate him for his insolence to all.DE TRACY.And I for all his insolence to thee.DE BRITO.I hate him for I hate him is my reason,And yet I hate him for a hypocrite.DE MORVILLE.I do not love him, for he did his bestTo break the barons, and now braves the King.ELEANOR.Strike, then, at once, the King would have him—See!Re-enterHENRY.HENRY.No man to love me, honour me, obey me!Sluggards and fools!The slave that eat my bread has kick'd his King!The dog I cramm'd with dainties worried me!The fellow that on a lame jade came to court,A ragged cloak for saddle—he, he, he,To shake my throne, to push into my chamber—My bed, where ev'n the slave is private—he—I'll have her out again, he shall absolveThe bishops—they but did my will—not you—Sluggards and fools, why do you stand and stare?You are no king's men—you—you—you are Becket's men.Down with King Henry! up with the Archbishop!Will no man free me from this pestilent priest? [Exit.[TheKNIGHTSdraw their swords.ELEANOR.Areye king's men? I am king's woman, I.THE KNIGHTS.King's men! King's men!
SCENE II.—A Room in Canterbury Monastery.BECKETandJOHN OF SALISBURY.
BECKET.York said so?JOHN OF SALISBURY.Yes: a man may take good counselEv'n from his foe.BECKET.York will say anything.What is he saying now? gone to the KingAnd taken our anathema with him. York!Can the King de-anathematise this York?JOHN OF SALISBURY.Thomas, I would thou hadst return'd to England,Like some wise prince of this world from his wars,With more of olive-branch and amnestyFor foes at home—thou hast raised the world against thee.BECKET.Why, John, my kingdom is not of this world.JOHN OF SALISBURY.If it were more of this world it might beMore of the next. A policy of wise pardonWins here as well as there. To bless thine enemies—BECKET.Ay, mine, not Heaven's.JOHN OF SALISBURY.And may there not be somethingOf this world's leaven in thee too, when cryingOn Holy Church to thunder out her rightsAnd thine own wrong so pitilessly. Ah, Thomas,The lightnings that we think are only Heaven'sFlash sometimes out of earth against the heavens.The soldier, when he lets his whole self goLost in the common good, the common wrong,Strikes truest ev'n for his own self. I craveThy pardon—I have still thy leave to speak.Thou hast waged God's war against the King; and yetWe are self-uncertain creatures, and we may,Yea, even when we know not, mix our spitesAnd private hates with our defence of Heaven.[EnterEDWARD GRIM.BECKET.Thou art but yesterday from Cambridge, Grim;What say ye there of Becket?GRIM.Ibelieve himThe bravest in our roll of Primates downFrom Austin—there are some—for there are menOf canker'd judgment everywhere—BECKET.Who holdWith York, with York against me.GRIM.Well, my lord,A stranger monk desires access to you.BECKET.York against Canterbury, York against God!I am open to him.[ExitGRIM.EnterROSAMUNDas a Monk.ROSAMUND.Can I speak with youAlone, my father?BECKET.Come you to confess?ROSAMUND.Not now.BECKET.Then speak; this is my other self,Who like my conscience never lets me be.ROSAMUND (throwing back the cowl).I know him; our good John of Salisbury.BECKET.Breaking already from thy noviciateTo plunge into this bitter world again—These wells of Marah. I am grieved, my daughter.I thought that I had made a peace for thee.ROSAMUND.Small peace was mine in my noviciate, father.Thro' all closed doors a dreadful whisper creptThat thou wouldst excommunicate the King.I could not eat, sleep, pray: I had with meThe monk's disguise thou gavest me for my bower:I think our Abbess knew it and allow'd it.I fled, and found thy name a charm to get meFood, roof, and rest. I met a robber once,I told him I was bound to see the Archbishop;'Pass on,' he said, and in thy name I pass'dFrom house to house. In one a son stone-blindSat by his mother's hearth: he had gone too farInto the King's own woods; and the poor mother,Soon as she learnt I was a friend of thine,Cried out against the cruelty of the King.I said it was the King's courts, not the King;But she would not believe me, and she wish'dThe Church were king: she had seen the Archbishop once,So mild, so kind. The people love thee, father.BECKET.Alas! when I was Chancellor to the King,I fear I was as cruel as the King.ROSAMUND.Cruel? Oh, no—it is the law, not he;The customs of the realm.BECKET.The customs! customs!ROSAMUND.My lord, you have not excommunicated him?Oh, if you have, absolve him!BECKET.Daughter, daughter,Deal not with things you know not.ROSAMUND.I knowhim.Then you have done it, and I callyoucruel.JOHN OF SALISBURY.No, daughter, you mistake our good Archbishop;For once in France the King had been so harsh,He thought to excommunicate him—Thomas,You could not—old affection master'd you,You falter'd into tears.ROSAMUND.God bless him for it.BECKET.Nay, make me not a woman, John of Salisbury,Nor make me traitor to my holy office.Did not a man's voice ring along the aisle,'The King is sick and almost unto death.'How could I excommunicate him then?ROSAMUND.And wilt thou excommunicate him now?BECKET.Daughter, my time is short, I shall not do it.And were it longer—well—I should not do it.ROSAMUND.Thanks in this life, and in the life to come.BECKET.Get thee back to thy nunnery with all haste;Let this be thy last trespass. But one question—How fares thy pretty boy, the little Geoffrey?No fever, cough, croup, sickness?ROSAMUND.No, but savedFrom all that by our solitude. The plaguesThat smite the city spare the solitudes.BECKET.God save him from all sickness of the soul!Thee too, thy solitude among thy nuns,May that save thee! Doth he remember me?ROSAMUND.I warrant him.BECKET.He is marvellously like thee.ROSAMUND.Liker the King.BECKET.No, daughter.ROSAMUND.Ay, but waitTill his nose rises; he will be very king.BECKET.Ev'n so: but think not of the King: farewell!ROSAMUND.My lord, the city is full of armed men.BECKET,Ev'n so: farewell!ROSAMUND.I will but pass to vespers,And breathe one prayer for my liege-lord the King,His child and mine own soul, and so return.BECKET.Pray for me too: much need of prayer have I.[ROSAMUNDkneels and goes.Dan John, how much we lose, we celibates,Lacking the love of woman and of child.JOHN OF SALISBURY.More gain than loss; for of your wives you shallFind one a slut whose fairest linen seemsFoul as her dust-cloth, if she used it—oneSo charged with tongue, that every thread of thoughtIs broken ere it joins—a shrew to boot,Whose evil song far on into the nightThrills to the topmost tile—no hope but death;One slow, fat, white, a burthen of the hearth;And one that being thwarted ever swoonsAnd weeps herself into the place of power;And one anuxor pauperis Ibyci.So rare the household honey-making bee,Man's help! but we, we have the Blessed VirginFor worship, and our Mother Church for bride;And all the souls we saved and father'd hereWill greet us as our babes in Paradise.What noise was that? she told us of arm'd menHere in the city. Will you not withdraw?BECKET.I once was out with Henry in the daysWhen Henry loved me, and we came uponA wild-fowl sitting on her nest, so stillI reach'd my hand and touch'd; she did not stir;The snow had frozen round her, and she satStone-dead upon a heap of ice-cold eggs.Look! how this love, this mother, runs thro' allThe world God made—even the beast—the bird!JOHN OF SALISBURY.Ay, still a lover of the beast and bird?But these arm'd men—will you not hide yourself?Perchance the fierce De Brocs from Saltwood Castle,To assail our Holy Mother lest she broodToo long o'er this hard egg, the world, and sendHer whole heart's heat into it, till it breakInto young angels. Pray you, hide yourself.BECKET.There was a little fair-hair'd Norman maidLived in my mother's house: if Rosamund isThe world's rose, as her name imports her—sheWas the world's lily.JOHN OF SALISBURY.Ay, and what of her?BECKET.She died of leprosy.JOHN OF SALISBURY.I know not whyYou call these old things back again, my lord.BECKET.The drowning man, they say, remembers allThe chances of his life, just ere he dies.JOHN OF SALISBURY.Ay—but these arm'd men—willyoudrownyourself?He loses half the meed of martyrdomWho will be martyr when he might escape.BECKET.What day of the week? Tuesday?JOHN OF SALISBURY.Tuesday, my lord,BECKET.On a Tuesday was I born, and on a TuesdayBaptized; and on a Tuesday did I flyForth from Northampton; on a Tuesday pass'dFrom England into bitter banishment;On a Tuesday at Pontigny came to meThe ghostly warning of my martyrdom;On a Tuesday from mine exile I return'd,And on a Tuesday—[TRACYenters, thenFITZURSE, DE BRITO,andDE MORVILLE. MONKSfollowing.—on a Tuesday——Tracy!A long silence, broken byFITZURSEsaying, contemptuously,God help thee!JOHN OF SALISBURY (aside).How the good Archbishop reddens!He never yet could brook the note of scorn.FITZURSE.My lord, we bring a message from the KingBeyond the water; will you have it alone,Or with these listeners near you?BECKET.As you will.FITZURSE.Nay, asyouwill.BECKET.Nay, asyouwill.JOHN OF SALISBURY.Why thenBetter perhaps to speak with them apart.Let us withdraw.[All go out except the fourKNIGHTSandBECKET.FITZURSE.We are all alone with him.Shall I not smite him with his own cross-staff?DE MORVILLE.No, look! the door is open: let him be.FITZURSE.The King condemns your excommunicating——BECKET.This is no secret, but a public matter.In here again![JOHN OF SALISBURYandMONKSreturn.Now, sirs, the King's commands!FITZURSE.The King beyond the water, thro' our voices,Commands you to be dutiful and lealTo your young King on this side of the water,Not scorn him for the foibles of his youth.What! you would make his coronation voidBy cursing those who crown'd him. Out upon you!BECKET.Reginald, all men know I loved the Prince.His father gave him to my care, and IBecame his second father: he had his faults,For which I would have laid mine own life downTo help him from them, since indeed I loved him,And love him next after my lord his father.Rather than dim the splendour of his crownI fain would treble and quadruple itWith revenues, realms, and golden provincesSo that were done in equity.FITZURSE.You have brokenYour bond of peace, your treaty with the King—Wakening such brawls and loud disturbancesIn England, that he calls you overseaTo answer for it in his Norman courts.BECKET.Prate not of bonds, for never, oh, never againShall the waste voice of the bond-breaking seaDivide me from the mother church of England,My Canterbury. Loud disturbances!Oh, ay—the bells rang out even to deafening,Organ and pipe, and dulcimer, chants and hymnsIn all the churches, trumpets in the halls,Sobs, laughter, cries: they spread their raiment downBefore me—would have made my pathway flowers,Save that it was mid-winter in the street,But full mid-summer in those honest hearts.FITZURSE.The King commands you to absolve the bishopsWhom you have excommunicated.BECKET.I?Not I, the Pope. Askhimfor absolution.FITZURSE.But you advised the Pope.BECKET.And so I did.They have but to submit.THE FOUR KNIGHTS.The King commands you.We are all King's men.BECKET.King's men at least should knowThat their own King closed with me last JulyThat I should pass the censures of the ChurchOn those that crown'd young Henry in this realm,And trampled on the rights of Canterbury.FITZURSE.What! dare you charge the King with treachery?Hesanction thee to excommunicateThe prelates whom he chose to crown his son!BECKET.I spake no word of treachery, Reginald.But for the truth of this I make appealTo all the archbishops, bishops, prelates, barons,Monks, knights, five hundred, that were there and heard.Nay, you yourself were there: you heard yourself.FITZURSE.I was not there.BECKET.I saw you there.FITZURSE.I was not.BECKET.You were. I never forget anything.FITZURSE.He makes the King a traitor, me a liar.How long shall we forbear him?JOHN OF SALISBURY (drawingBECKETaside).O my good lord.Speak with them privately on this hereafter.You see they have been revelling, and I fearAre braced and brazen'd up with Christmas winesFor any murderous brawl.BECKET.And yet they prateOf mine, my brawls, when those, that name themselvesOf the King's part, have broken down our barns,Wasted our diocese, outraged our tenants,Lifted our produce, driven our clerics out—Why they, your friends, those ruffians, the De Brocs,They stood on Dover beach to murder me,They slew my stags in mine own manor here,Mutilated, poor brute, my sumpter-mule,Plunder'd the vessel full of Gascon wine,The old King's present, carried off the casks,Kill'd half the crew, dungeon'd the other halfIn Pevensey Castle—DE MORVILLE.Why not rather then,If this be so, complain to your young King,Not punish of your own authority?BECKET.Mine enemies barr'd all access to the boy.They knew he loved me.Hugh, Hugh, how proudly you exalt your head!Nay, when they seek to overturn our rights,I ask no leave of king, or mortal man,To set them straight again. Alone I do it.Give to the King the things that are the King's,And those of God to God.FITZURSE.Threats! threats! ye hear him.What! will he excommunicate all the world?[TheKNIGHTScome roundBECKET.DE TRACY.He shall not.DE BRITO.Well, as yet—I should be grateful—He hath not excommunicatedme.BECKET.Because thou wastbornexcommunicate.I never spied in thee one gleam of grace.DE BRITO.Your Christian's Christian charity!BECKET.By St. Denis——DE BRITO.Ay, by St. Denis, now will he flame out,And lose his head as old St. Denis did.BECKET.Ye think to scare me from my loyaltyTo God and to the Holy Father. No!Tho' all the swords in England flash'd above meReady to fall at Henry's word or yours—Tho' all the loud-lung'd trumpets upon earthBlared from the heights of all the thrones of her kings,Blowing the world against me, I would standClothed with the full authority of Rome,Mail'd in the perfect panoply of faith,First of the foremost of their files, who dieFor God, to people heaven in the great dayWhen God makes up his jewels. Once I fled—Never again, and you—I marvel at you—Ye know what is between us. Ye have swornYourselves my men when I was Chancellor—My vassals—and yet threaten your ArchbishopIn his own house.KNIGHTS.Nothing can be between usThat goes against our fealty to the King.FITZURSE.And in his name we charge you that ye keepThis traitor from escaping.BECKET.Rest you easy,For I am easy to keep. I shall not fly.Here, here, here will you find me.DE MORVILLE.Know you notYou have spoken to the peril of your life?BECKET.As I shall speak again.FITZURSE, DE TRACY,andDE BRITO.To arms![They rush out,DE MORVILLElingers.BECKET.De Morville,I had thought so well of you; and even nowYou seem the least assassin of the four.Oh, do not damn yourself for company!Is it too late for me to save your soul?I pray you for one moment stay and speak.DE MORVILLE.Becket, itistoo late. [Exit.BECKET.Is it too late?Too late on earth may be too soon in hell.KNIGHTS (in the distance).Close the great gate—ho, there—upon the town.BECKET'S RETAINERS.Shut the hall-doors. [A pause.BECKET.You hear them, brother John;Why do you stand so silent, brother John?JOHN OF SALISBURY.For I was musing on an ancient saw,Suaviter in modo, fortiter in re,Is strength less strong when hand-in-hand with grace?Gratior in pulchro corpore virtus. Thomas,Why should you heat yourself for such as these?BECKET.Methought I answer'd moderately enough.JOHN OF SALISBURY.As one that blows the coal to cool the fire.My lord, I marvel why you never leanOn any man's advising but your own.BECKET.Is it so, Dan John? well, what should I have done?JOHN OF SALISBURY.You should have taken counsel with your friendsBefore these bandits brake into your presence.They seek—you make—occasion for your death.BECKET.My counsel is already taken, John.I am prepared to die.JOHN OF SALISBURYWe are sinners all,The best of all not all-prepared to die.BECKET.God's will be done!JOHN OF SALISBURY.Ay, well. God's will be done!GRIM (re-entering).My lord, the knights are arming in the gardenBeneath the sycamore.BECKET.Good! let them arm.GRIM.And one of the De Brocs is with them, Robert,The apostate monk that was with Randulf here.He knows the twists and turnings of the place.BECKET.No fear!GRIM.No fear, my lord.[Crashes on the hall-doors. TheMONKSflee.BECKET (rising).Our dovecote flown!I cannot tell why monks should all be cowards.JOHN OF SALISBURY.Take refuge in your own cathedral, Thomas.BECKET.Do they not fight the Great Fiend day by day?Valour and holy life should go together.Why should all monks be cowards?JOHN OF SALISBURY.Are they so?I say, take refuge in your own cathedral.BECKET.Ay, but I told them I would wait them here.GRIM.May they not say you dared not show yourselfIn your old place? and vespers are beginning.[Bell rings for vespers till end of scene.You should attend the office, give them heart.They fear you slain: they dread they know not what.BECKET.Ay, monks, not men.GRIM.I am a monk, my lord,Perhaps, my lord, you wrong us.Some would stand by you to the death.BECKET.Your pardon.JOHN OF SALISBURY.He said, 'Attend the office.'BECKET.Attend the office?Why then—The Cross!—who bears my Cross before me?Methought they would have brain'd me with it, John.[GRIMtakes it.GRIM.I! Would that I could bear thy cross indeed!BECKET.The Mitre!JOHN OF SALISBURY.Will you wear it?—there![BECKETputs on the mitre.BECKET.The Pall!I go to meet my King! [Puts on the pall.GRIM.To meet the King?[Crashes on the doors as they go out.JOHN OF SALISBURY.Why do you move with such a stateliness?Can you not hear them yonder like a storm,Battering the doors, and breaking thro' the walls?BECKET.Why do the heathen rage? My two good friends,What matters murder'd here, or murder'd there?And yet my dream foretold my martyrdomIn mine own church. It is God's will. Go on.Nay, drag me not. We must not seem to fly.