Becket and other plays

by Baron Alfred Tennyson Tennyson

SCENE III.—The Hall in Northampton Castle.
On one side of the stage the doors of an inner Council-chamber,
half-open. At the bottom, the great doors of the Hall. ROGER
ARCHBISHOP OF YORK, FOLIOT BISHOP OF LONDON, HILARY OF CHICHESTER,
BISHOP OF HEREFORD, RICHARD DE HASTINGS (Grand Prior of Templars),
PHILIP DE ELEEMOSYNA (the Pope's Almoner), and others. DE BROC,
FITZURSE, DE BRITO, DE MORVILLE, DE TRACY, and other BARONS
assembled—a table before them. JOHN OF OXFORD, President of the
Council.

Enter BECKET and HERBERT OF BOSHAM.
BECKET.
Where is the King?
ROGER OF YORK.
Gone hawking on the Nene,
His heart so gall'd with thine ingratitude,
He will not see thy face till thou hast sign'd
These ancient laws and customs of the realm.
Thy sending back the Great Seal madden'd him,
He all but pluck'd the bearer's eyes away.
Take heed, lest he destroy thee utterly.
BECKET.
Then shalt thou step into my place and sign.
ROGER OF YORK.
Didst thou not promise Henry to obey
These ancient laws and customs of the realm?
BECKET.
Saving the honour of my order—ay.
Customs, traditions,—clouds that come and go;
The customs of the Church are Peter's rock.
ROGER OF YORK.
Saving thine order! But King Henry sware
That, saving his King's kingship, he would grant thee
The crown itself. Saving thine order, Thomas,
Is black and white at once, and comes to nought.
O bolster'd up with stubbornness and pride,
Wilt thou destroy the Church in fighting for it,
And bring us all to shame?
BECKET.
Roger of York,
When I and thou were youths in Theobald's house,
Twice did thy malice and thy calumnies
Exile me from the face of Theobald.
Now I am Canterbury and thou art York.
ROGER OF YORK.
And is not York the peer of Canterbury?
Did not Great Gregory bid St. Austin here
Found two archbishopricks, London and York?
BECKET.
What came of that? The first archbishop fled,
And York lay barren for a hundred years.
Why, by this rule, Foliot may claim the pall
For London too.
FOLIOT.
And with good reason too,
For London had a temple and a priest
When Canterbury hardly bore a name.
BECKET.
The pagan temple of a pagan Rome!
The heathen priesthood of a heathen creed!
Thou goest beyond thyself in petulancy!
Who made thee London? Who, but Canterbury?
JOHN OF OXFORD.
Peace, peace, my lords! these customs are no longer
As Canterbury calls them, wandering clouds,
But by the King's command are written down,
And by the King's command I, John of Oxford,
The President of this Council, read them.
BECKET.
Read!
JOHN OF OXFORD (reads).
'All causes of advowsons and presentations, whether between laymen or
clerics, shall be tried in the King's court.'
BECKET.
But that I cannot sign: for that would drag
The cleric before the civil judgment-seat,
And on a matter wholly spiritual.
JOHN OF OXFORD.
'If any cleric be accused of felony, the Church shall not protect him:
but he shall answer to the summons of the King's court to be tried
therein.'
BECKET.
And that I cannot sign.
Is not the Church the visible Lord on earth?
Shall hands that do create the Lord be bound
Behind the back like laymen-criminals?
The Lord be judged again by Pilate? No!
JOHN OF OXFORD.
'When a bishoprick falls vacant, the King, till another be appointed,
shall receive the revenues thereof.'
BECKET.
And that I cannot sign. Is the King's treasury
A fit place for the monies of the Church,
That be the patrimony of the poor?
JOHN OF OXFORD.
'And when the vacancy is to be filled up, the King shall summon the
chapter of that church to court, and the election shall be made in the
Chapel Royal, with the consent of our lord the King, and by the advice
of his Government.'
BECKET.
And that I cannot sign: for that would make
Our island-Church a schism from Christendom,
And weight down all free choice beneath the throne.
FOLIOT.
And was thine own election so canonical,
Good father?
BECKET.
If it were not, Gilbert Foliot,
I mean to cross the sea to France, and lay
My crozier in the Holy Father's hands,
And bid him re-create me, Gilbert Foliot.
FOLIOT.
Nay; by another of these customs thou
Wilt not be suffer'd so to cross the seas
Without the license of our lord the King.
BECKET.
That, too, I cannot sign.
DE BROC, DE BRITO, DE TRACY, FITZURSE, DE
MORVILLE, start up—a clash of swords.
Sign and obey!
BECKET.
My lords, is this a combat or a council?
Are ye my masters, or my lord the King?
Ye make this clashing for no love o' the customs
Or constitutions, or whate'er ye call them,
But that there be among you those that hold
Lands reft from Canterbury.
DE BROC.
And mean to keep them,
In spite of thee!
LORDS (shouting).
Sign, and obey the crown!
BECKET.
The crown? Shall I do less for Canterbury
Than Henry for the crown? King Stephen gave
Many of the crown lands to those that helpt him;
So did Matilda, the King's mother. Mark,
When Henry came into his own again,
Then he took back not only Stephen's gifts,
But his own mother's, lest the crown should be
Shorn of ancestral splendour. This did Henry.
Shall I do less for mine own Canterbury?
And thou, De Broc, that holdest Saltwood Castle—
DE BROC.
And mean to hold it, or—
BECKET.
To have my life.
DE BROC.
The King is quick to anger; if thou anger him,
We wait but the King's word to strike thee dead.
BECKET.
Strike, and I die the death of martyrdom;
Strike, and ye set these customs by my death
Ringing their own death-knell thro' all the realm.
HERBERT.
And I can tell you, lords, ye are all as like
To lodge a fear in Thomas Becket's heart
As find a hare's form in a lion's cave.
JOHN OF OXFORD.
Ay, sheathe your swords, ye will displease the King.
DE BROC.
Why down then thou! but an he come to Saltwood,
By God's death, thou shalt stick him like a calf!
[Sheathing his sword.
HILARY.
O my good lord, I do entreat thee—sign.
Save the King's honour here before his barons.
He hath sworn that thou shouldst sign, and now but shuns
The semblance of defeat; I have heard him say
He means no more; so if thou sign, my lord,
That were but as the shadow of an assent.
BECKET.
'Twould seem too like the substance, if I sign'd.
PHILIP DE ELEEMOSYNA.
My lord, thine ear! I have the ear of the Pope.
As thou hast honour for the Pope our master,
Have pity on him, sorely prest upon
By the fierce Emperor and his Antipope.
Thou knowest he was forced to fly to France;
He pray'd me to pray thee to pacify
Thy King; for if thou go against thy King,
Then must he likewise go against thy King,
And then thy King might join the Antipope,
And that would shake the Papacy as it stands.
Besides, thy King swore to our cardinals
He meant no harm nor damage to the Church.
Smoothe thou his pride—thy signing is but form;
Nay, and should harm come of it, it is the Pope
Will be to blame—not thou. Over and over
He told me thou shouldst pacify the King,
Lest there be battle between Heaven and Earth,
And Earth should get the better—for the time.
Cannot the Pope absolve thee if thou sign?
BECKET.
Have I the orders of the Holy Father?
PHILIP DE ELEEMOSYNA.
Orders, my lord—why, no; for what am I?
The secret whisper of the Holy Father.
Thou, that hast been a statesman, couldst thou always
Blurt thy free mind to the air?
BECKET.
If Rome be feeble, then should I be firm.
PHILIP.
Take it not that way—balk not the Pope's will.
When he hath shaken off the Emperor,
He heads the Church against the King with thee.
RICHARD DE HASTINGS (kneeling).
Becket, I am the oldest of the Templars;
I knew thy father; he would be mine age
Had he lived now; think of me as thy father!
Behold thy father kneeling to thee, Becket.
Submit; I promise thee on my salvation
That thou wilt hear no more o' the customs.
BECKET.
What!
Hath Henry told thee? hast thou talk'd with him?
Another TEMPLAR (kneeling).
Father, I am the youngest of the Templars,
Look on me as I were thy bodily son,
For, like a son, I lift my hands to thee.
PHILIP.
Wilt thou hold out for ever, Thomas Becket?
Dost thou not hear?
BECKET (signs).
Why—there then—there—I sign,
And swear to obey the customs.
FOLIOT.
Is it thy will,
My lord Archbishop, that we too should sign?
BECKET.
O ay, by that canonical obedience
Thou still hast owed thy father, Gilbert Foliot.
FOLIOT.
Loyally and with good faith, my lord Archbishop?
BECKET.
O ay, with all that loyalty and good faith
Thou still hast shown thy primate, Gilbert Foliot.
[BECKET draws apart with HERBERT.
Herbert, Herbert, have I betray'd the Church?
I'll have the paper back—blot out my name.
HERBERT.
Too late, my lord: you see they are signing there.
BECKET.
False to myself—it is the will of God
To break me, prove me nothing of myself!
This Almoner hath tasted Henry's gold.
The cardinals have finger'd Henry's gold.
And Rome is venal ev'n to rottenness.
I see it, I see it.
I am no soldier, as he said—at least
No leader. Herbert, till I hear from the Pope
I will suspend myself from all my functions.
If fast and prayer, the lacerating scourge—
FOLIOT (from the table).
My lord Archbishop, thou hast yet to seal.
BECKET.
First, Foliot, let me see what I have sign'd.
[Goes to the table.
What, this! and this!—what! new and old together!
Seal? If a seraph shouted from the sun,
And bad me seal against the rights of the Church,
I would anathematise him. I will not seal.
[Exit with HERBERT.
Enter KING HENRY.
HENRY.
Where's Thomas? hath he sign'd? show me the papers!
Sign'd and not seal'd! How's that?
JOHN OF OXFORD.
He would not seal.
And when he sign'd, his face was stormy-red—
Shame, wrath, I know not what. He sat down there
And dropt it in his hands, and then a paleness,
Like the wan twilight after sunset, crept
Up even to the tonsure, and he groan'd,
'False to myself! It is the will of God!'
HENRY.
God's will be what it will, the man shall seal,
Or I will seal his doom. My burgher's son—
Nay, if I cannot break him as the prelate,
I'll crush him as the subject. Send for him back.
[Sits on his throne.
Barons and bishops of our realm of England,
After the nineteen winters of King Stephen—
A reign which was no reign, when none could sit
By his own hearth in peace; when murder common
As nature's death, like Egypt's plague, had fill'd
All things with blood; when every doorway blush'd,
Dash'd red with that unhallow'd passover;
When every baron ground his blade in blood;
The household dough was kneaded up with blood;
The millwheel turn'd in blood; the wholesome plow
Lay rusting in the furrow's yellow weeds,
Till famine dwarft the race—I came, your King!
Nor dwelt alone, like a soft lord of the East,
In mine own hall, and sucking thro' fools' ears
The flatteries of corruption—went abroad
Thro' all my counties, spied my people's ways;
Yea, heard the churl against the baron—yea,
And did him justice; sat in mine own courts
Judging my judges, that had found a King
Who ranged confusions, made the twilight day,
And struck a shape from out the vague, and law
From madness. And the event—our fallows till'd,
Much corn, repeopled towns, a realm again.
So far my course, albeit not glassy-smooth,
Had prosper'd in the main, but suddenly
Jarr'd on this rock. A cleric violated
The daughter of his host, and murder'd him.
Bishops—York, London, Chichester, Westminster—
Ye haled this tonsured devil into your courts;
But since your canon will not let you take
Life for a life, ye but degraded him
Where I had hang'd him. What doth hard murder care
For degradation? and that made me muse,
Being bounden by my coronation oath
To do men justice. Look to it, your own selves!
Say that a cleric murder'd an archbishop,
What could ye do? Degrade, imprison him—
Not death for death.
JOHN OF OXFORD.
But I, my liege, could swear,
To death for death.
HENRY.
And, looking thro' my reign,
I found a hundred ghastly murders done
By men, the scum and offal of the Church;
Then, glancing thro' the story of this realm,
I came on certain wholesome usages,
Lost in desuetude, of my grandsire's day,
Good royal customs—had them written fair
For John of Oxford here to read to you.
JOHN OF OXFORD.
And I can easily swear to these as being
The King's will and God's will and justice; yet
I could but read a part to-day, because——
FITZURSE.
Because my lord of Canterbury——
DE TRACY.
Ay,
This lord of Canterbury——
DE BRITO.
As is his wont
Too much of late whene'er your royal rights
Are mooted in our councils——
FITZURSE.
—made an uproar.
HENRY.
And Becket had my bosom on all this;
If ever man by bonds of gratefulness—
I raised him from the puddle of the gutter,
I made him porcelain from the clay of the city—
Thought that I knew him, err'd thro' love of him,
Hoped, were he chosen archbishop, Church and Crown,
Two sisters gliding in an equal dance,
Two rivers gently flowing side by side—
But no!
The bird that moults sings the same song again,
The snake that sloughs comes out a snake again.
Snake—ay, but he that lookt a fangless one,
Issues a venomous adder.
For he, when having dofft the Chancellor's robe—
Flung the Great Seal of England in my face—
Claim'd some of our crown lands for Canterbury—
My comrade, boon companion, my co-reveller,
The master of his master, the King's king.—
God's eyes! I had meant to make him all but king.
Chancellor-Archbishop, he might well have sway'd
All England under Henry, the young King,
When I was hence. What did the traitor say?
False to himself, but ten-fold false to me!
The will of God—why, then it is my will—
Is he coming?
MESSENGER (entering).
With a crowd of worshippers,
And holds his cross before him thro' the crowd,
As one that puts himself in sanctuary.
HENRY.
His cross!
ROGER OF YORK.
His cross! I'll front him, cross to cross.
[Exit ROGER OF YORK.
HENRY.
His cross! it is the traitor that imputes
Treachery to his King!
It is not safe for me to look upon him.
Away—with me!
[Goes in with his BARONS to the Council Chamber,
the door of which is left open.
Enter BECKET, holding his cross of silver before him.
The BISHOPS come round him.
HEREFORD.
The King will not abide thee with thy cross.
Permit me, my good lord, to bear it for thee,
Being thy chaplain.
BECKET.
No: it must protect me.
HERBERT.
As once he bore the standard of the Angles,
So now he bears the standard of the angels.
FOLIOT.
I am the Dean of the province: let me bear it.
Make not thy King a traitorous murderer.
BECKET.
Did not your barons draw their swords against me?
Enter ROGER OF YORK, with his cross,
advancing to BECKET.
BECKET.
Wherefore dost thou presume to bear thy cross,
Against the solemn ordinance from Rome,
Out of thy province?
ROGER OF YORK.
Why dost thou presume,
Arm'd with thy cross, to come before the King?
If Canterbury bring his cross to court,
Let York bear his to mate with Canterbury.
FOLIOT (seizing hold of BECKET'S cross).
Nay, nay, my lord, thou must not brave the King.
Nay, let me have it. I will have it!
BECKET.
Away!
[Flinging him off.
FOLIOT.
He fasts, they say, this mitred Hercules!
He fast! is that an arm of fast? My lord,
Hadst thou not sign'd, I had gone along with thee;
But thou the shepherd hast betray'd the sheep,
And thou art perjured, and thou wilt not seal.
As Chancellor thou wast against the Church,
Now as Archbishop goest against the King;
For, like a fool, thou knowst no middle way.
Ay, ay! but art thou stronger than the King?
BECKET.
Strong—not in mine own self, but Heaven; true
To either function, holding it; and thou
Fast, scourge thyself, and mortify thy flesh,
Not spirit—thou remainest Gilbert Foliot,
A worldly follower of the worldly strong.
I, bearing this great ensign, make it clear
Under what Prince I fight.
FOLIOT.
My lord of York,
Let us go in to the Council, where our bishops
And our great lords will sit in judgment on him.
BECKET.
Sons sit in judgment on their father!—then
The spire of Holy Church may prick the graves—
Her crypt among the stars. Sign? seal? I promised
The King to obey these customs, not yet written,
Saving mine order; true too, that when written
I sign'd them—being a fool, as Foliot call'd me.
I hold not by my signing. Get ye hence,
Tell what I say to the King.
[Exeunt HEREFORD, FOLIOT, and other BISHOPS.
ROGER OF YORK.
The Church will hate thee.
[Exit.
BECKET.
Serve my best friend and make him my worst foe;
Fight for the Church, and set the Church against me!
HERBERT.
To be honest is to set all knaves against thee.
Ah! Thomas, excommunicate them all!
HEREFORD (re-entering).
I cannot brook the turmoil thou hast raised.
I would, my lord Thomas of Canterbury,
Thou wert plain Thomas and not Canterbury,
Or that thou wouldst deliver Canterbury
To our King's hands again, and be at peace.
HILARY (re-entering).
For hath not thine ambition set the Church
This day between the hammer and the anvil—
Fealty to the King, obedience to thyself?
HERBERT.
What say the bishops?
HILARY.
Some have pleaded for him,
But the King rages—most are with the King;
And some are reeds, that one time sway to the current,
And to the wind another. But we hold
Thou art forsworn; and no forsworn Archbishop
Shall helm the Church. We therefore place ourselves
Under the shield and safeguard of the Pope,
And cite thee to appear before the Pope,
And answer thine accusers.... Art thou deaf?
BECKET.
I hear you. [Clash of arms.
HILARY.
Dost thou hear those others?
BECKET.
Ay!
ROGER OF YORK (re-entering).
The King's 'God's eyes!' come now so thick and fast,
We fear that he may reave thee of thine own.
Come on, come on! it is not fit for us
To see the proud Archbishop mutilated.
Say that he blind thee and tear out thy tongue.
BECKET.
So be it. He begins at top with me:
They crucified St. Peter downward.
ROGER OF YORK.
Nay,
But for their sake who stagger betwixt thine
Appeal, and Henry's anger, yield.
BECKET.
Hence, Satan!
[Exit ROGER OF YORK.
FITZURSE (re-entering),
My lord, the King demands three hundred marks,
Due from his castles of Berkhamstead and Eye
When thou thereof wast warden.
BECKET.
Tell the King
I spent thrice that in fortifying his castles.
DE TRACY (re-entering.)
My lord, the King demands seven hundred marks,
Lent at the siege of Thoulouse by the King.
BECKET.
I led seven hundred knights and fought his wars.
DE BRITO (re-entering).
My lord, the King demands five hundred marks,
Advanced thee at his instance by the Jews,
For which the King was bound security.
BECKET.
I thought it was a gift; I thought it was a gift.
Enter Lord LEICESTER (followed by BARONS and BISHOPS).
My lord, I come unwillingly. The King
Demands a strict account of all those revenues
From all the vacant sees and abbacies,
Which came into thy hands when Chancellor.
BECKET.
How much might that amount to, my lord Leicester?
LEICESTER.
Some thirty—forty thousand silver marks.
BECKET.
Are these your customs? O my good lord Leicester,
The King and I were brothers. All I had
I lavish'd for the glory of the King;
I shone from him, for him, his glory, his
Reflection: now the glory of the Church
Hath swallow'd up the glory of the King;
I am his no more, but hers. Grant me one day
To ponder these demands.
LEICESTER.
Hear first thy sentence!
The King and all his lords—
BECKET.
Son, first hear me!
LEICESTER.
Nay, nay, canst thou, that holdest thine estates
In fee and barony of the King, decline
The judgment of the King?
BECKET.
The King! I hold
Nothing in fee and barony of the King.
Whatever the Church owns—she holds it in
Free and perpetual alms, unsubject to
One earthly sceptre.
LEICESTER.
Nay, but hear thy judgment.
The King and all his barons—
BECKET.
Judgment! Barons!
Who but the bridegroom dares to judge the bride,
Or he the bridegroom may appoint? Not he
That is not of the house, but from the street
Stain'd with the mire thereof.
I had been so true
To Henry and mine office that the King
Would throne me in the great Archbishoprick:
And I, that knew mine own infirmity,
For the King's pleasure rather than God's cause
Took it upon me—err'd thro' love of him.
Now therefore God from me withdraws Himself,
And the King too.
What! forty thousand marks!
Why thou, the King, the Pope, the Saints, the world,
Know that when made Archbishop I was freed,
Before the Prince and chief Justiciary,
From every bond and debt and obligation
Incurr'd as Chancellor.
Hear me, son.
As gold
Outvalues dross, light darkness, Abel Cain,
The soul the body, and the Church the Throne,
I charge thee, upon pain of mine anathema,
That thou obey, not me, but God in me,
Rather than Henry. I refuse to stand
By the King's censure, make my cry to the Pope,
By whom I will be judged; refer myself,
The King, these customs, all the Church, to him,
And under his authority—I depart. [Going.
[LEICESTER looks at him doubtingly.
Am I a prisoner?
LEICESTER.
By St. Lazarus, no!
I am confounded by thee. Go in peace.
DE BROC.
In peace now—but after. Take that for earnest.
[Flings a bone at him from the rushes.
DE BRITO, FITZURSE, DE TRACY, and others (flinging wisps of rushes).
Ay, go in peace, caitiff, caitiff! And that too, perjured prelate—and
that, turncoat shaveling! There, there, there! traitor, traitor,
traitor!
BECKET.
Mannerless wolves! [Turning and facing them.
HERBERT.
Enough, my lord, enough!
BECKET.
Barons of England and of Normandy,
When what ye shake at doth but seem to fly,
True test of coward, ye follow with a yell.
But I that threw the mightiest knight of France,
Sir Engelram de Trie,—
HERBERT.
Enough, my lord.
BECKET.
More than enough. I play the fool again.
Enter HERALD.
HERALD.
The King commands you, upon pain of death,
That none should wrong or injure your Archbishop.
FOLIOT.
Deal gently with the young man Absalom.
[Great doors of the Hall at the back open, and
discover a crowd. They shout:
Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord!

SCENE IV.—Refectory of the Monastery at Northampton.
A Banquet on the Tables.

Enter BECKET. BECKET'S RETAINERS.
1ST RETAINER.
Do thou speak first.
2ND RETAINER.
Nay, thou! Nay, thou! Hast not thou drawn the short straw?
1ST RETAINER.
My lord Archbishop, wilt thou permit us—
BECKET.
To speak without stammering and like a free man?
Ay.
1ST RETAINER.
My lord, permit us then to leave thy service.
BECKET.
When?
1ST RETAINER.
Now.
BECKET.
To-night?
1ST RETAINER.
To-night, my lord.
BECKET.
And why?
1ST RETAINER.
My lord, we leave thee not without tears.
BECKET.
Tears? Why not stay with me then?
1ST RETAINER.
My lord, we cannot yield thee an answer altogether to thy
satisfaction.
BECKET.
I warrant you, or your own either. Shall I find
you one? The King hath frowned upon me.
1ST RETAINER.
That is not altogether our answer, my lord.
BECKET.
No; yet all but all. Go, go! Ye have eaten of my dish and drunken of
my cup for a dozen years.
1ST RETAINER.
And so we have. We mean thee no wrong. Wilt thou not say, 'God bless
you,' ere we go?
BECKET.
God bless you all! God redden your pale blood! But mine is human-red;
and when ye shall hear it is poured out upon earth, and see it
mounting to Heaven, my God bless you, that seems sweet to you now,
will blast and blind you like a curse.
1ST RETAINER.
We hope not, my lord. Our humblest thanks for
your blessing. Farewell!
[Exeunt RETAINERS.
BECKET.
Farewell, friends! farewell, swallows! I wrong the bird; she leaves
only the nest she built, they leave the builder. Why? Am I to be
murdered to-night?
[Knocking at the door.
ATTENDANT.
Here is a missive left at the gate by one from the castle.
BECKET.
Cornwall's hand or Leicester's: they write marvellously alike.
[Reading.
'Fly at once to France, to King Louis of France: there be those about
our King who would have thy blood.' Was not my lord of Leicester
bidden to our supper?
ATTENDANT.
Ay, my lord, and divers other earls and barons. But the hour is past,
and our brother, Master Cook, he makes moan that all be a-getting
cold.
BECKET.
And I make my moan along with him. Cold after warm, winter after
summer, and the golden leaves, these earls and barons, that clung to
me, frosted off me by the first cold frown of the King. Cold, but look
how the table steams, like a heathen altar; nay, like the altar at
Jerusalem. Shall God's good gifts be wasted? None of them here! Call
in the poor from the streets, and let them feast.
HERBERT.
That is the parable of our blessed Lord.
BECKET.
And why should not the parable of our blessed Lord be acted again?
Call in the poor! The Church is ever at variance with the kings, and
ever at one with the poor. I marked a group of lazars in the
marketplace—half-rag, half-sore—beggars, poor rogues (Heaven bless
'em) who never saw nor dreamed of such a banquet. I will amaze them.
Call them in, I say. They shall henceforward be my earls and barons—
our lords and masters in Christ Jesus.
[Exit HERBERT.
If the King hold his purpose, I am myself a beggar. Forty thousand
marks! forty thousand devils—and these craven bishops!
A POOR MAN (entering) with his dog.
My lord Archbishop, may I come in with my poor friend, my dog? The
King's verdurer caught him a-hunting in the forest, and cut off his
paws. The dog followed his calling, my lord. I ha' carried him ever so
many miles in my arms, and he licks my face and moans and cries out
against the King.
BECKET.
Better thy dog than thee. The King's courts would use thee worse than
thy dog—they are too bloody. Were the Church king, it would be
otherwise. Poor beast! poor beast! set him down. I will bind up his
wounds with my napkin. Give him a bone, give him a bone! Who misuses a
dog would misuse a child—they cannot speak for themselves. Past help!
his paws are past help. God help him!
Enter the BEGGARS (and seat themselves at the Tables).
BECKET and HERBERT wait upon them.
1ST BEGGAR.
Swine, sheep, ox—here's a French supper. When thieves fall out,
honest men——
2ND BEGGAR.
Is the Archbishop a thief who gives thee thy supper?
1ST BEGGAR.
Well, then, how does it go? When honest men fall out, thieves—no, it
can't be that.
2ND BEGGAR.
Who stole the widow's one sitting hen o' Sunday, when she was at mass?
1ST BEGGAR.
Come, come! thou hadst thy share on her. Sitting hen! Our Lord
Becket's our great sitting-hen cock, and we shouldn't ha' been sitting
here if the barons and bishops hadn't been a-sitting on the
Archbishop.
BECKET.
Ay, the princes sat in judgment against me, and the Lord hath prepared
your table—Sederunt principes, ederunt pauperes.
A Voice.
Becket, beware of the knife!
BECKET.
Who spoke?
3RD BEGGAR.
Nobody, my lord. What's that, my lord?
BECKET.
Venison.
3RD BEGGAR.
Venison?
BECKET.
Buck; deer, as you call it.
3RD BEGGAR.
King's meat! By the Lord, won't we pray for your lordship!
BECKET.
And, my children, your prayers will do more for me in the day of peril
that dawns darkly and drearily over the house of God—yea, and in the
day of judgment also, than the swords of the craven sycophants would
have done had they remained true to me whose bread they have partaken.
I must leave you to your banquet. Feed, feast, and be merry. Herbert,
for the sake of the Church itself, if not for my own, I must fly to
France to-night. Come with me.
[Exit with HERBERT.
3RD BEGGAR.
Here—all of you—my lord's health (they drink). Well—if that isn't
goodly wine—
1ST BEGGAR.
Then there isn't a goodly wench to serve him with it: they were
fighting for her to-day in the street.
3RD BEGGAR.
Peace!
1ST BEGGAR.
The black sheep baaed to the miller's ewe-lamb,
The miller's away for to-night.
Black sheep, quoth she, too black a sin for me.
And what said the black sheep, my masters?
We can make a black sin white.
3RD BEGGAR.
Peace!
1ST BEGGAR.
'Ewe lamb, ewe lamb, I am here by the dam.'
But the miller came home that night,
And so dusted his back with the meal in his sack,
That he made the black sheep white.
3RD BEGGAR.
Be we not of the family? be we not a-supping with the head of the
family? be we not in my lord's own refractory? Out from among us; thou
art our black sheep.
Enter the four KNIGHTS.
FITZURSE.
Sheep, said he? And sheep without the shepherd, too. Where is my lord
Archbishop? Thou the lustiest and lousiest of this Cain's brotherhood,
answer.
3RD BEGGAR.
With Cain's answer, my lord. Am I his keeper? Thou shouldst call him
Cain, not me.
FITZURSE.
So I do, for he would murder his brother the State.
3RD BEGGAR (rising and advancing).
No my lord; but because the Lord hath set his mark upon him that no
man should murder him.
FITZURSE.
Where is he? where is he?
3RD BEGGAR.
With Cain belike, in the land of Nod, or in the land of France for
aught I know.
FITZURSE.
France! Ha! De Morville, Tracy, Brito—fled is he? Cross swords all of
you! swear to follow him! Remember the Queen!
[The four KNIGHTS cross their swords.
DE BRITO.
They mock us; he is here.
[All the BEGGARS rise and advance upon them.
FITZURSE.
Come, you filthy knaves, let us pass.
3RD BEGGAR.
Nay, my lord, let us pass. We be a-going home
after our supper in all humbleness, my lord; for the
Archbishop loves humbleness, my lord; and though
we be fifty to four, we daren't fight you with our
crutches, my lord. There now, if thou hast not laid
hands upon me! and my fellows know that I am all
one scale like a fish. I pray God I haven't given thee
my leprosy, my lord.
[FITZURSE shrinks from him and another presses upon DE BRITO.
DE BRITO.
Away, dog!
4TH BEGGAR.
And I was bit by a mad dog o' Friday, an' I be half dog already by
this token, that tho' I can drink wine I cannot bide water, my lord;
and I want to bite, I want to bite, and they do say the very breath
catches.
DE BRITO.
Insolent clown. Shall I smite him with the edge of the sword?
DE MORVILLE.
No, nor with the flat of it either. Smite the shepherd and the sheep
are scattered. Smite the sheep and the shepherd will excommunicate
thee.
DE BRITO.
Yet my fingers itch to beat him into nothing.
5TH BEGGAR.
So do mine, my lord. I was born with it, and sulphur won't bring it
out o' me. But for all that the Archbishop washed my feet o' Tuesday.
He likes it, my lord.
6TH BEGGAR.
And see here, my lord, this rag fro' the gangrene i' my leg. It's
humbling—it smells o' human natur'. Wilt thou smell it, my lord? for
the Archbishop likes the smell on it, my lord; for I be his lord and
master i' Christ, my lord.
DE MORVILLE.
Faugh! we shall all be poisoned. Let us go.
[They draw back, BEGGARS following.
7TH BEGGAR.
My lord, I ha' three sisters a-dying at home o' the sweating sickness.
They be dead while I be a-supping.
8TH BEGGAR.
And I ha' nine darters i' the spital that be dead ten times o'er i'
one day wi' the putrid fever; and I bring the taint on it along wi'
me, for the Archbishop likes it, my lord.
[Pressing upon the KNIGHTS till they disappear thro' the door.
3RD BEGGAR.
Crutches, and itches, and leprosies, and ulcers, and gangrenes, and
running sores, praise ye the Lord, for to-night ye have saved our
Archbishop!
1ST BEGGAR.
I'll go back again. I hain't half done yet.
HERBERT OF BOSHAM (entering).
My friends, the Archbishop bids you good-night. He hath retired to
rest, and being in great jeopardy of his life, he hath made his bed
between the altars, from whence he sends me to bid you this night pray
for him who hath fed you in the wilderness.
3RD BEGGAR.
So we will—so we will, I warrant thee. Becket shall be king, and the
Holy Father shall be king, and the world shall live by the King's
venison and the bread o' the Lord, and there shall be no more poor for
ever. Hurrah! Vive le Roy! That's the English of it.

ACT II.

SCENE I.—ROSAMUND'S Bower. A Garden of Flowers. In the midst a bank
of wild-flowers with a bench before it.

Voices heard singing among the trees.
Duet.
1. Is it the wind of the dawn that I hear in the pine overhead?
2. No; but the voice of the deep as it hollows the cliffs of the land.
1. Is there a voice coming up with the voice of the deep from the
strand,
One coming up with a song in the flush of the glimmering red?
2. Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea.
1. Love that can shape or can shatter a life till the life shall have
fled?
2. Nay, let us welcome him, Love that can lift up a life from the
dead.
1. Keep him away from the lone little isle. Let us be, let us be.
2. Nay, let him make it his own, let him reign in it—he, it is he,
Love that is born of the deep coming up with the sun from the sea.
Enter HENRY and ROSAMUND.
ROSAMUND.
Be friends with him again—I do beseech thee.
HENRY.
With Becket? I have but one hour with thee—
Sceptre and crozier clashing, and the mitre
Grappling the crown—and when I flee from this
For a gasp of freer air, a breathing-while
To rest upon thy bosom and forget him—
Why thou, my bird, thou pipest Becket, Becket—
Yea, thou my golden dream of Love's own bower,
Must be the nightmare breaking on my peace
With 'Becket.'
ROSAMUND.
O my life's life, not to smile
Is all but death to me. My sun, no cloud!
Let there not be one frown in this one hour.
Out of the many thine, let this be mine!
Look rather thou all-royal as when first
I met thee.
HENRY.
Where was that?
ROSAMUND.
Forgetting that
Forgets me too.
HENRY.
Nay, I remember it well.
There on the moors.
ROSAMUND.
And in a narrow path.
A plover flew before thee. Then I saw
Thy high black steed among the flaming furze,
Like sudden night in the main glare of day.
And from that height something was said to me
I knew not what.
HENRY.
I ask'd the way.
ROSAMUND.
I think so.
So I lost mine.
HENRY.
Thou wast too shamed to answer.
ROSAMUND.
Too scared—so young!
HENRY.
The rosebud of my rose!—
Well, well, no more of him—I have sent his folk,
His kin, all his belongings, overseas;
Age, orphans, and babe-breasting mothers—all
By hundreds to him—there to beg, starve, die—
So that the fool King Louis feed them not.
The man shall feel that I can strike him yet.
ROSAMUND.
Babes, orphans, mothers! is that royal, Sire?
HENRY.
And I have been as royal with the Church.
He shelter'd in the Abbey of Pontigny.
There wore his time studying the canon law
To work it against me. But since he cursed
My friends at Veselay, I have let them know,
That if they keep him longer as their guest,
I scatter all their cowls to all the hells.
ROSAMUND.
And is that altogether royal?
HENRY.
Traitress!
ROSAMUND.
A faithful traitress to thy royal fame.
HENRY.
Fame! what care I for fame? Spite, ignorance, envy,
Yea, honesty too, paint her what way they will.
Fame of to-day is infamy to-morrow;
Infamy of to-day is fame to-morrow;
And round and round again. What matters? Royal—I
mean to leave the royalty of my crown
Unlessen'd to mine heirs.
ROSAMUND.
Still—thy fame too:
I say that should be royal.
HENRY.
And I say,
I care not for thy saying.
ROSAMUND.
And I say,
I care not for thy saying. A greater King
Than thou art, Love, who cares not for the word,
Makes 'care not'—care. There have I spoken true?
HENRY.
Care dwell with me for ever, when I cease
To care for thee as ever!
ROSAMUND.
No need! no need!...
There is a bench. Come, wilt thou sit?... My bank
Of wild-flowers [he sits]. At thy feet!
[She sits at his feet.
HENRY.
I had them clear
A royal pleasaunce for thee, in the wood,
Not leave these countryfolk at court.
ROSAMUND.
I brought them
In from the wood, and set them here. I love them
More than the garden flowers, that seem at most
Sweet guests, or foreign cousins, not half speaking
The language of the land. I love them too,
Yes. But, my liege, I am sure, of all the roses—
Shame fall on those who gave it a dog's name—
This wild one (picking a briar-rose)—nay, I shall not prick myself—
Is sweetest. Do but smell!
HENRY.
Thou rose of the world!
Thou rose of all the roses!
[Muttering.
I am not worthy of her—this beast-body
That God has plunged my soul in—I, that taking
The Fiend's advantage of a throne, so long
Have wander'd among women,—a foul stream
Thro' fever-breeding levels,—at her side,
Among these happy dales, run clearer, drop
The mud I carried, like yon brook, and glass
The faithful face of heaven—
[Looking at her, and unconsciously aloud,
—thine! thine!
ROSAMUND.
I know it.
HENRY (muttering).
Not hers. We have but one bond, her hate of Becket.
ROSAMUND (half hearing).
Nay! nay! what art thou muttering? I hate Becket?
HENRY (muttering).
A sane and natural loathing for a soul
Purer, and truer and nobler than herself;
And mine a bitterer illegitimate hate,
A bastard hate born of a former love.
ROSAMUND,
My fault to name him! O let the hand of one
To whom thy voice is all her music, stay it
But for a breath.
[Puts her hand before his lips.
Speak only of thy love.
Why there—like some loud beggar at thy gate—
The happy boldness of this hand hath won it
Love's alms, thy kiss (looking at her hand)—Sacred!
I'll kiss it too. [Kissing it.
There! wherefore dost thou so peruse it? Nay,
There may be crosses in my line of life.
HENRY.
Not half her hand—no hand to mate with her,
If it should come to that.
ROSAMUND.
With her? with whom?
HENRY.
Life on the hand is naked gipsy-stuff;
Life on the face, the brows-clear innocence!
Vein'd marble—not a furrow yet—and hers
[Muttering.
Crost and recrost, a venomous spider's web—
ROSAMUND (springing up).
Out of the cloud, my Sun—out of the eclipse
Narrowing my golden hour!
HENRY.
O Rosamund,
I would be true—would tell thee all—and something
I had to say—I love thee none the less—
Which will so vex thee.
ROSAMUND.
Something against me?
HENRY.
No, no, against myself.
ROSAMUND.
I will not hear it.
Come, come, mine hour! I bargain for mine hour.
I'll call thee little Geoffrey.
HENRY.
Call him!
ROSAMUND.
Geoffrey!
[Enter GEOFFREY.
HENRY.
How the boy grows!
ROSAMUND.
Ay, and his brows are thine;
The mouth is only Clifford, my dear father.
GEOFFREY.
My liege, what hast thou brought me?
HENRY.
Venal imp!
What say'st thou to the Chancellorship of England?
GEOFFREY.
O yes, my liege.
HENRY.
'O yes, my liege!' He speaks
As if it were a cake of gingerbread.
Dost thou know, my boy, what it is to be Chancellor of England?
GEOFFREY.
Something good, or thou wouldst not give it me.
HENRY.
It is, my boy, to side with the King when Chancellor, and then to be
made Archbishop and go against the King who made him, and turn the
world upside down.
GEOFFREY.
I won't have it then. Nay, but give it me, and I promise thee not to
turn the world upside down.
HENRY (giving him a ball).
Here is a ball, my boy, thy world, to turn anyway and play with as
thou wilt—which is more than I can do with mine. Go try it, play.
[Exit GEOFFREY.
A pretty lusty boy.
ROSAMUND.
So like to thee;
Like to be liker.
HENRY.
Not in my chin, I hope!
That threatens double.
ROSAMUND.
Thou art manlike perfect.
HENRY.
Ay, ay, no doubt; and were I humpt behind,
Thou'dst say as much—the goodly way of women
Who love, for which I love them. May God grant
No ill befall or him or thee when I
Am gone.
ROSAMUND.
Is he thy enemy?
HENRY.
He? who? ay!
ROSAMUND.
Thine enemy knows the secret of my bower.
HENRY.
And I could tear him asunder with wild horses
Before he would betray it. Nay—no fear!
More like is he to excommunicate me.
ROSAMUND.
And I would creep, crawl over knife-edge flint
Barefoot, a hundred leagues, to stay his hand
Before he flash'd the bolt.
HENRY.
And when he flash'd it
Shrink from me, like a daughter of the Church.
ROSAMUND.
Ay, but he will not.
HENRY.
Ay! but if he did?
ROSAMUND.
O then! O then! I almost fear to say
That my poor heretic heart would excommunicate
His excommunication, clinging to thee
Closer than ever.
HENRY (raising ROSAMUND and kissing her).
My brave-hearted Rose!
Hath he ever been to see thee?
ROSAMUND
Here? not he.
And it is so lonely here—no confessor.
HENRY.
Thou shall confess all thy sweet sins to me.
ROSAMUND.
Besides, we came away in such a heat,
I brought not ev'n my crucifix.
HENRY.
Take this.
[Giving her the Crucifix which ELEANOR gave him.
ROSAMUND.
O beautiful! May I have it as mine, till mine
Be mine again?
HENRY (throwing it round her neck).
Thine—as I am—till death!
ROSAMUND.
Death? no! I'll have it with me in my shroud,
And wake with it, and show it to all the Saints.
HENRY.
Nay—I must go; but when thou layest thy lip
To this, remembering One who died for thee,
Remember also one who lives for thee
Out there in France; for I must hence to brave
The Pope, King Louis, and this turbulent priest.
ROSAMUND (kneeling).
O by thy love for me, all mine for thee,
Fling not thy soul into the flames of hell:
I kneel to thee—be friends with him again.
HENRY.
Look, look! if little Geoffrey have not tost
His ball into the brook! makes after it too
To find it. Why, the child will drown himself.
ROSAMUND.
Geoffrey! Geoffrey!
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.—Montmirail. 'The Meeting of the Kings.'
JOHN OF OXFORD and HENRY. 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 mother
Would make him play his kingship against mine.
JOHN OF OXFORD.
Not have him crown'd?
HENRY.
Not now—not yet! and Becket
Becket 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 again
To serve your will?
HENRY.
He hates my will, not me.
JOHN OF OXFORD.
There's York, my liege.
HENRY.
But England scarce would hold
Young 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 Holiness
Hath all but climb'd the Roman perch again,
And we shall hear him presently with clapt wing
Crow over Barbarossa—at last tongue-free
To blast my realms with excommunication
And interdict. I must patch up a peace—
A piece in this long-tugged at, threadbare-worn
Quarrel of Crown and Church—to rend again.
His Holiness cannot steer straight thro' shoals,
Nor I. The citizen's heir hath conquer'd me
For the moment. So we make our peace with him.
[Enter Louis.
Brother of France, what shall be done with Becket?
LOUIS.
The holy Thomas! Brother, you have traffick'd
Between the Emperor and the Pope, between
The Pope and Antipope—a perilous game
For men to play with God.
HENRY.
Ay, ay, good brother,
They call you the Monk-King.
LOUIS.
Who calls me? she
That was my wife, now yours? You have her Duchy,
The point you aim'd at, and pray God she prove
True wife to you. You have had the better of us
In secular matters.
HENRY.
Come, confess, good brother,
You did your best or worst to keep her Duchy.
Only the golden Leopard printed in it
Such hold-fast claws that you perforce again
Shrank into France. Tut, tut! did we convene
This 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 home
To 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 Church
May rock, but will not wreck, nor our Archbishop
Stagger on the slope decks for any rough sea
Blown by the breath of kings. We do forgive you
For aught you wrought against us.
[HENRY holds up his hand.
Nay, I pray you,
Do not defend yourself. You will do much
To rake out all old dying heats, if you,
At my requesting, will but look into
The 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.
Enter BECKET, after him, JOHN OF OXFORD, ROGER
OF YORK, GILBERT FOLIOT, DE BROC, FITZURSE, etc.
Only that the rift he made
May 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 controversy
Into 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, you
That owe to me your power over me—
Nay, nay—
Brother of France, you have taken, cherish'd him
Who 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—that
Is clean against God's honour—a shift, a trick
Whereby to challenge, face me out of all
My regal rights. Yet, yet—that none may dream
I go against God's honour—ay, or himself
In any reason, choose
A hundred of the wisest heads from England,
A hundred, too, from Normandy and Anjou:
Let these decide on what was customary
In olden days, and all the Church of France
Decide on their decision, I am content
More, what the mightiest and the holiest
Of all his predecessors may have done
Ev'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 eel
When the time serves. (Aloud.) My lieges and my lords,
The thanks of Holy Church are due to those
That went before us for their work, which we
Inheriting 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 those
Who went before us did not wholly clear
The deadly growths of earth, which Hell's own heat
So dwelt on that they rose and darken'd Heaven.
Yet they did much. Would God they had torn up all
By the hard root, which shoots again; our trial
Had so been less; but, seeing they were men
Defective or excessive, must we follow
All that they overdid or underdid?
Nay, if they were defective as St. Peter
Denying 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 sake
Of 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 have
None other God but me—me, Thomas, son
Of 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 brother
Had wrong'd you; but this day he proffer'd peace.
You will have war; and tho' we grant the Church
King 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 under
The 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 Brocs
That hold our Saltwood Castle from our see!
Cursed Fitzurse, and all the rest of them
That sow this hate between my lord and me!
Voices from the Crowd.
Blessed be the Lord Archbishop, who hath withstood two Kings to their
faces 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 Heaven
Is my true king.
HERBERT.
Thy true King bad thee be
A fisher of men; thou hast them in thy net.
BECKET.
I am too like the King here; both of us
Too headlong for our office. Better have been
A fisherman at Bosham, my good Herbert,
Thy birthplace—the sea-creek—the petty rill
That 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-nest
Piping 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.
Enter WALTER 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 kindled
again 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, my
son, straight to Heaven.' And the smoke said, 'I go;' but anon the
North-east took and turned him South-west, then the South-west turned
him North-east, and so of the other winds; but it was in him to go up
straight if the time had been quieter. Your lordship affects the
unwavering perpendicular; but His Holiness, pushed one way by the
Empire and another by England, if he move at all, Heaven stay him, is
fain 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 rolled
out from a full mouth? or any harm done to the people if my jest be in
defence of the Truth?
BECKET.
Ay, if the jest be so done that the people
Delight 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 kennel
sweet, your lordship would suspend me from verse-writing, as you
suspended 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 Pope
let you down again; and tho' you suspend Foliot or another, the Pope
will not leave them in suspense, for the Pope himself is always in
suspense, like Mahound's coffin hung between heaven and earth—always
in suspense, like the scales, till the weight of Germany or the gold
of 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 the
time, we keep the time, ay, and we serve the time; for I have heard
say that if you boxed the Pope's ears with a purse, you might stagger
him, but he would pocket the purse. No saying of mine—Jocelyn of
Salisbury. But the King hath bought half the College of Red-hats. He
warmed to you to-day, and you have chilled him again. Yet you both
love God. Agree with him quickly again, even for the sake of the
Church. My one grain of good counsel which you will not swallow. I
hate a split between old friendships as I hate the dirty gap in the
face 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? condemn
The 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 self
And shakes at mortal kings—her vacillation,
Avarice, craft—O God, how many an innocent
Has left his bones upon the way to Rome
Unwept, uncared for. Yea—on mine own self
The 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 Louis
Returning, 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-enter KING 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 given
To our own self of pardon, evilly used
And put to pain. I have lost all trust in him.
The Church alone hath eyes—and now I see
That I was blind—suffer the phrase—surrendering
God'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-enter HENRY and JOHN OF OXFORD.
HENRY (looking after KING LOUIS and BECKET).
Ay, there they go—both backs are turn'd to me—
Why then I strike into my former path
For England, crown young Henry there, and make
Our 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—flatter
And fright the Pope—bribe all the Cardinals—leave
Lateran 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.