Becket And Other Plays Part 5

Friend, am I so much better than thyself That thou shouldst help me? Thou art wearied out With this day's work, get thee to thine own bed.

Leave me with Herbert, friend. [_Exit_ SERVANT.

Help me off, Herbert, with this--and this.

HERBERT.

Was not the people's blessing as we past Heart-comfort and a balsam to thy blood?

BECKET.

The people know their Church a tower of strength, A bulwark against Throne and Baronage.

Too heavy for me, this; off with it, Herbert!

HERBERT.

Is it so much heavier than thy Chancellor's robe?

BECKET.

No; but the Chancellor's and the Archbishop's Together more than mortal man can bear.

HERBERT.

Not heavier than thine armour at Thoulouse?

BECKET.

O Herbert, Herbert, in my chancellors.h.i.+p I more than once have gone against the Church.

HERBERT.

To please the King?

BECKET.

Ay, and the King of kings, Or justice; for it seem'd to me but just The Church should pay her scutage like the lords.

But hast thou heard this cry of Gilbert Foliot That I am not the man to be your Primate, For Henry could not work a miracle-- Make an Archbishop of a soldier?

HERBERT.

Ay, For Gilbert Foliot held himself the man.

BECKET.

Am I the man? My mother, ere she bore me, Dream'd that twelve stars fell glittering out of heaven Into her bosom.

HERBERT.

Ay, the fire, the light, The spirit of the twelve Apostles enter'd Into thy making.

BECKET.

And when I was a child, The Virgin, in a vision of my sleep, Gave me the golden keys of Paradise. Dream, Or prophecy, that?

HERBERT.

Well, dream and prophecy both.

BECKET.

And when I was of Theobald's household, once-- The good old man would sometimes have his jest-- He took his mitre off, and set it on me, And said, 'My young Archbishop--thou wouldst make A stately Archbishop!' Jest or prophecy there?

HERBERT.

Both, Thomas, both.

BECKET.

Am I the man? That rang Within my head last night, and when I slept Methought I stood in Canterbury Minster, And spake to the Lord G.o.d, and said, 'O Lord, I have been a lover of wines, and delicate meats, And secular splendours, and a favourer Of players, and a courtier, and a feeder Of dogs and hawks, and apes, and lions, and lynxes.

Am _I_ the man?' And the Lord answer'd me, 'Thou art the man, and all the more the man.'

And then I asked again, 'O Lord my G.o.d, Henry the King hath been my friend, my brother, And mine uplifter in this world, and chosen me For this thy great archbishop.r.i.c.k, believing That I should go against the Church with him.

And I shall go against him with the Church, And I have said no word of this to him: 'Am _I_ the man?' And the Lord answer'd me, 'Thou art the man, and all the more the man.'

And thereupon, methought, He drew toward me, And smote me down upon the Minster floor.

I fell.

HERBERT.

G.o.d make not thee, but thy foes, fall.

BECKET.

I fell. Why fall? Why did He smite me? What?

Shall I fall off--to please the King once more?

Not fight--tho' somehow traitor to the King-- My truest and mine utmost for the Church?

HERBERT.

Thou canst not fall that way. Let traitor be; For how have fought thine utmost for the Church, Save from the throne of thine archbishop.r.i.c.k?

And how been made Archbishop hadst thou told him, 'I mean to fight mine utmost for the Church, Against the King?'

BECKET.

But dost thou think the King Forced mine election?

HERBERT.

I do think the King Was potent in the election, and why not?

Why should not Heaven have so inspired the King?

Be comforted. Thou art the man--be thou A mightier Anselm.

BECKET.

I do believe thee, then. I am the man.

And yet I seem appall'd--on such a sudden At such an eagle-height I stand and see The rift that runs between me and the King.

I served our Theobald well when I was with him; I served King Henry well as Chancellor; I am his no more, and I must serve the Church.

This Canterbury is only less than Rome, And all my doubts I fling from me like dust, Winnow and scatter all scruples to the wind, And all the puissance of the warrior, And all the wisdom of the Chancellor, And all the heap'd experiences of life, I cast upon the side of Canterbury-- Our holy mother Canterbury, who sits With tatter'd robes. Laics and barons, thro'

The random gifts of careless kings, have graspt Her livings, her advowsons, granges, farms, And goodly acres--we will make her whole; Not one rood lost. And for these Royal customs, These ancient Royal customs--they _are_ Royal, Not of the Church--and let them be anathema, And all that speak for them anathema.

HERBERT.

Thomas, thou art moved too much.

BECKET.

O Herbert, here I gash myself asunder from the King, Tho' leaving each, a wound; mine own, a grief To show the scar for ever--his, a hate Not ever to be heal'd.

_Enter_ ROSAMUND DE CLIFFORD, _flying from_ SIR REGINALD FITZURSE. _Drops her veil_.

BECKET.

Rosamund de Clifford!

ROSAMUND.

Save me, father, hide me--they follow me-- and I must not be known.