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 offic
e.’
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.
Scene III
North Transept of Canterbury Cathedral. On the right hand a flight of steps leading to the Choir, another flight on the left, leading to the North Aisle. Winter afternoon slowly darkening. Low thunder now and then of an approaching storm. MONKS heard chanting the service. ROSAMUND kneeling.
ROSAMUND.
O blessed saint, O glorious Benedict, —
These arm’d men in the city, these fierce faces —
Thy holy follower founded Canterbury —
Save that dear head which now is Canterbury,
Save him, he saved my life, he saved my child,
Save him, his blood would darken Henry’s name;
Save him till all as saintly as thyself
He miss the searching flame of purgatory,
And pass at once perfect to Paradise.
[Noise of steps and voices in the cloisters.
Hark! Is it they? Coming! He is not here —
Not yet, thank heaven. O save him!
[Goes up steps leading to choir.
BECKET (entering, forced along by JOHN OF SALISBURY and GRIM). No, I tell you!
I cannot bear a hand upon my person,
Why do you force me thus against my will?
GRIM.
My lord, we force you from your enemies.
BECKET.
As you would force a king from being crown’d.
JOHN OF SALISBURY.
We must not force the crown of martyrdom.
[Service stops. MONKS come down from the
stairs that lead to the choir.
MONKS.
Here is the great Archbishop! He lives! he lives!
Die with him, and be glorified together.
BECKET.
Together? . . . get you back! go on with the office.
MONKS.
Come, then, with us to vespers.
BECKET. How can I come
When you so block the entry? Back, I say!
Go on with the office. Shall not Heaven be served
Tho’ earth’s last earthquake clash’d the minster-bells,
And the great deeps were broken up again,
And hiss’d against the sun?
[Noise in the cloisters.
MONKS.
The murderers, hark!
Let us hide! let us hide!
BECKET.
What do these people fear?
MONKS.
Those arm’d men in the cloister.
BECKET. Be not such cravens!
I will go out and meet them.
GRIM and others.
Shut the doors!
We will not have him slain before our face.
[They close the doors of the transept. Knocking.
Fly, fly, my lord, before they burst the doors!
[Knocking.
BECKET.
Why, these are our own monks who follow’d us!
And will you bolt them out, and have them slain?
Undo the doors: the church is not a castle:
Knock, and it shall be open’d. Are you deaf?
What, have I lost authority among you?
Stand by, make way!
[Opens the doors. Enter MONKS from cloister.
Come in, my friends, come in!
Nay, faster, faster!
MONKS.
Oh, my lord Archbishop,
A score of knights all arm’d with swords and axes —
To the choir, to the choir!
[Monks divide, part flying by the stairs on the right, part by those on the left. The rush of these last bears BECKET along with them some way up the steps, where he is left standing alone.
BECKET.
Shall I too pass to the choir,
And die upon the Patriarchal throne
Of all my predecessors?
JOHN OF SALISBURY.
No, to the crypt!
Twenty steps down. Stumble not in the darkness,
Lest they should seize thee.
GRIM.
To the crypt? no — no,
To the chapel of St. Blaise beneath the roof!
JOHN OF SALISBURY (pointing upward and downward).
That way, or this! Save thyself either way.
BECKET.
Oh, no, not either way, nor any way
Save by that way which leads thro’ night to light.
Not twenty steps, but one.
And fear not I should stumble in the darkness,
Not tho’ it be their hour, the power of darkness,
But my hour too, the power of light in darkness!
I am not in the darkness but the light,
Seen by the Church in Heaven, the Church on earth —
The power of life in death to make her free!
[Enter the four KNIGHTS. JOHN OF SALISBURY flies to the altar of St. Benedict.
FITZURSE.
Here, here, King’s men!
[Catches hold of the last flying MONK.
Where is the traitor Becket?
MONK.
I am not he! I am not he, my lord.
I am not he indeed!
FITZURSE.
Hence to the fiend!
[Pushes him away.
Where is this treble traitor to the King?
DE TRACY.
Where is the Archbishop, Thomas Becket?
BECKET. Here.
No traitor to the King, but Priest of God,
Primate of England.
[Descending into the transept.
I am he ye seek.
What would ye have of me?
FITZURSE.
Your life.
DE TRACY. Your life.
DE MORVILLE.
Save that you will absolve the bishops.
BECKET. Never, —
Except they make submission to the Church.
You had my answer to that cry before.
DE MORVILLE.
Why, then you are a dead man; flee!
BECKET. I will not.
I am readier to be slain, than thou to slay.
Hugh, I know well thou hast but half a heart
To bathe this sacred pavement with my blood.
God pardon thee and these, but God’s full curse
Shatter you all to pieces if ye harm
One of my flock!
FITZURSE.
Was not the great gate shut?
They are thronging in to vespers — half the town.
We shall be overwhelm’d. Seize him and carry him!
Come with us — nay — thou art our prisoner — come!
DE MORVILLE.
Ay, make him prisoner, do not harm the man.
[FITZURSE lays hold of the ARCHBISHOP’S pall.
BECKET.
Touch me not!
DE BRITO.
How the good priest gods himself!
He is not yet ascended to the Father.
FITZURSE.
I will not only touch, but drag thee hence.
BECKET.
Thou art my man, thou art my vassal. Away!
[Flings him off till he reels, almost to falling.
DE TRACY (lays hold of the pall).
Come; as he said, thou art our prisoner.
BECKET. Down!
[Throws him headlong.
FITZURSE (advances with drawn sword).
I told thee that I should remember thee!
BECKET.
Profligate pander!
FITZURSE.
Do you hear that? strike, strike.
[Strikes off the ARCHBISHOP’S mitre, and wounds him in the forehead.
BECKET (covers his eyes with his hand).
I do commend my cause to God, the Virgin,
St. Denis of France and St. Alphege of England,
And all the tutelar Saints of Canterbury.
[GRIM wraps his arms about the ARCHBISHOP.
Spare this defence, dear brother.
[TRACY has arisen, and approaches, hesitatingly, ;with his sword raised.
FITZURSE. Strike him, Tracy!
ROSAMUND (rushing down steps from the choir).
No, No, No, No!
FITZURSE.
This wanton here. De Morville,
Hold her away.
DE MORVILLE.
I hold her.
ROSAMUND (held back by DE MORVILLE, and stretching out her arms).
Mercy, mercy,
As you would hope for mercy.
FITZURSE.
Strike, I say.
GRIM.
O God, O noble knights, O sacrilege!
Strike our Archbishop in his own cathedral!
The Pope, the King, will curse you — the whole world
Abhor you; ye will die the death of dogs!
Nay, nay, good Tracy. [Lifts his arm.
FITZURSE.
Answer not, but strike.
DE TRACY.
There is my answer then.
[Sword falls on GRIM’S arm, and glances from it, wounding BECKET.
GRIM.
Mine arm is sever’d.
I can no more — fight out the good fight — die
Conqueror.
[Staggers into the chapel of St. Benedict.
BECKET (falling on his knees).
At the right hand of Power —
Power and great glory — for thy Church, O Lord —
Into Thy hands, O Lord — into Thy hands! ——
[Sinks prone.
DE BRITO.
This last to rid thee of a world of brawls! (Kills him.)
The traitor’s dead, and will arise no more.
FITZURSE.
Nay, have we still’d him? What! the great Archbishop!
Does he breathe? No?
DE TRACY.
No, Reginald, he is dead.
(Storm bursts.)1
DE MORVILLE.
Will the earth gape and swallow us?
DE BRITO. The deed’s done —
Away!
[DE BRITO, DE TRACY, FITZURSE. rush out, crying ‘King’s men!’ DE MORVILLE follows slowly. Flashes of lightning thro’ the Cathedral. ROSAMUND seen kneeling by the body of BECKET.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Delphi Poets Series Page 166
