Chapter 13
BECKET _and_ JOHN OF SALISBURY.
BECKET. York said so?
JOHN OF SALISBURY. Yes: a man may take good counsel Ev'n from his foe.
BECKET. York will say anything. What is he saying now? gone to the King And 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 amnesty For 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 be More of the next. A policy of wise pardon Wins here as well as there. To bless thine enemies--
BECKET. Ay, mine, not Heaven's.
JOHN OF SALISBURY. And may there not be something Of this world's leaven in thee too, when crying On Holy Church to thunder out her rights And thine own wrong so pitilessly. Ah, Thomas, The lightnings that we think are only Heaven's Flash sometimes out of earth against the heavens. The soldier, when he lets his whole self go Lost in the common good, the common wrong, Strikes truest ev'n for his own self. I crave Thy pardon--I have still thy leave to speak. Thou hast waged God's war against the King; and yet We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may, Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites And private hates with our defence of Heaven.
[_Enter_ EDWARD GRIM.
BECKET. Thou art but yesterday from Cambridge, Grim; What say ye there of Becket?
GRIM. _I_ believe him The bravest in our roll of Primates down From Austin--there are some--for there are men Of canker'd judgment everywhere--
BECKET. Who hold With 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. [_Exit_ GRIM.
_Enter_ ROSAMUND _as a Monk_.
ROSAMUND. Can I speak with you Alone, 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 noviciate To 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 crept That thou wouldst excommunicate the King. I could not eat, sleep, pray: I had with me The 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 me Food, 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'd From house to house. In one a son stone-blind Sat by his mother's hearth: he had gone too far Into 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'd The 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 know _him_. Then you have done it, and I call _you_ cruel.
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 saved From all that by our solitude. The plagues That 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 wait Till 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. [ROSAMUND _kneels 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 shall Find one a slut whose fairest linen seems Foul as her dust-cloth, if she used it--one So charged with tongue, that every thread of thought Is broken ere it joins--a shrew to boot, Whose evil song far on into the night Thrills to the topmost tile--no hope but death; One slow, fat, white, a burthen of the hearth; And one that being thwarted ever swoons And weeps herself into the place of power; And one an _uxor pauperis Ibyci_. So rare the household honey-making bee, Man's help! but we, we have the Blessed Virgin For worship, and our Mother Church for bride; And all the souls we saved and father'd here Will greet us as our babes in Paradise. What noise was that? she told us of arm'd men Here in the city. Will you not withdraw?
BECKET. I once was out with Henry in the days When Henry loved me, and we came upon A wild-fowl sitting on her nest, so still I reach'd my hand and touch'd; she did not stir; The snow had frozen round her, and she sat Stone-dead upon a heap of ice-cold eggs. Look! how this love, this mother, runs thro' all The 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 brood Too long o'er this hard egg, the world, and send Her whole heart's heat into it, till it break Into young angels. Pray you, hide yourself.
BECKET. There was a little fair-hair'd Norman maid Lived in my mother's house: if Rosamund is The world's rose, as her name imports her--she Was the world's lily.
JOHN OF SALISBURY. Ay, and what of her?
BECKET. She died of leprosy.
JOHN OF SALISBURY. I know not why You call these old things back again, my lord.
BECKET. The drowning man, they say, remembers all The chances of his life, just ere he dies.
JOHN OF SALISBURY. Ay--but these arm'd men--will _you_ drown _yourself?_ He loses half the meed of martyrdom Who 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 Tuesday Baptized; and on a Tuesday did I fly Forth from Northampton; on a Tuesday pass'd From England into bitter banishment; On a Tuesday at Pontigny came to me The ghostly warning of my martyrdom; On a Tuesday from mine exile I return'd, And on a Tuesday--
[TRACY _enters, then_ FITZURSE, DE BRITO, _and_ DE MORVILLE. MONKS _following_.
--on a Tuesday----Tracy!
_A long silence, broken by_ FITZURSE _saying, 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 King Beyond the water; will you have it alone, Or with these listeners near you?
BECKET. As you will.
FITZURSE. Nay, as _you_ will.
BECKET. Nay, as _you_ will.
JOHN OF SALISBURY. Why then Better perhaps to speak with them apart. Let us withdraw.
[_All go out except the four_ KNIGHTS _and_ BECKET.
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 SALISBURY _and_ MONKS _return_. Now, sirs, the King's commands!
FITZURSE. The King beyond the water, thro' our voices, Commands you to be dutiful and leal To your young King on this side of the water, Not scorn him for the foibles of his youth. What! you would make his coronation void By 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 I Became his second father: he had his faults, For which I would have laid mine own life down To 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 crown I fain would treble and quadruple it With revenues, realms, and golden provinces So that were done in equity.
FITZURSE. You have broken Your bond of peace, your treaty with the King-- Wakening such brawls and loud disturbances In England, that he calls you oversea To answer for it in his Norman courts.
BECKET. Prate not of bonds, for never, oh, never again Shall the waste voice of the bond-breaking sea Divide 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 hymns In all the churches, trumpets in the halls, Sobs, laughter, cries: they spread their raiment down Before 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 bishops Whom you have excommunicated.
BECKET. I? Not I, the Pope. Ask _him_ for 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 know That their own King closed with me last July That I should pass the censures of the Church On 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? _He_ sanction thee to excommunicate The prelates whom he chose to crown his son!
BECKET. I spake no word of treachery, Reginald. But for the truth of this I make appeal To 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 (_drawing_ BECKET _aside_). O my good lord. Speak with them privately on this hereafter. You see they have been revelling, and I fear Are braced and brazen'd up with Christmas wines For any murderous brawl.
BECKET. And yet they prate Of mine, my brawls, when those, that name themselves Of 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 half In 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?
[_The_ KNIGHTS _come round_ BECKET.
DE TRACY. He shall not.
DE BRITO. Well, as yet--I should be grateful-- He hath not excommunicated _me_.
BECKET. Because thou wast _born_ excommunicate. 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 loyalty To God and to the Holy Father. No! Tho' all the swords in England flash'd above me Ready to fall at Henry's word or yours-- Tho' all the loud-lung'd trumpets upon earth Blared from the heights of all the thrones of her kings, Blowing the world against me, I would stand Clothed with the full authority of Rome, Mail'd in the perfect panoply of faith, First of the foremost of their files, who die For God, to people heaven in the great day When God makes up his jewels. Once I fled-- Never again, and you--I marvel at you-- Ye know what is between us. Ye have sworn Yourselves my men when I was Chancellor-- My vassals--and yet threaten your Archbishop In his own house.
KNIGHTS. Nothing can be between us That goes against our fealty to the King.
FITZURSE. And in his name we charge you that ye keep This 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 not You have spoken to the peril of your life?
BECKET. As I shall speak again.
FITZURSE, DE TRACY, _and_ DE BRITO. To arms!
[_They rush out,_ DE MORVILLE _lingers_.
BECKET. De Morville, I had thought so well of you; and even now You 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, it _is_ too 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 lean On 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 friends Before 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 SALISBURY We 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 garden Beneath 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. The_ MONKS _flee_.
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 yourself In 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.
[GRIM _takes it_.
GRIM. I! Would that I could bear thy cross indeed!
BECKET. The Mitre!
JOHN OF SALISBURY. Will you wear it?--there!
[BECKET _puts 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 martyrdom In mine own church. It is God's will. Go on. Nay, drag me not. We must not seem to fly.