Chapter 5
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_.