 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
Scene V.—Abbey of St. Colombe.
Archbishop of Sens, Herbert of Bosham.Arch. of Sens.
Herbert! your legate must be told these rumours:
I trust he'll soon return. Your king is sudden:
The tidings of his march and victory reach us
Like runners matched. That slender, sinewy frame,
That ardent eye, that swift on-striding step,
Yet graceful as a tiger's, foot descending
Silent but sure on the predestinate spot—
From signs like these looks forth the inward man.
Expect grave news ere long. 'Twill task the legate;
Yea, though his greatness patent is to all,
'Twill task it sore.
Her.
So best! 'Twill task to crown it!
My lord, fear naught: I knew him in old days:
I saw that greatness hid, though thick its veil,
In every gesture of his soul and body.
Not when he cried, ‘I spurn your Customs new,’
But when he said, ‘I sinned, and sin no more.’
Nor ends it there: all this was prologue merely:
As o'er the petty pomps of earthly pride
Rises the heroic greatness, so in grade
Loftier, the saintly springs o'er that to heaven,
A Tree of Life whose leaves shall heal sick lands.
I shall not die till Thomas is a Saint;
And then we'll die together. Lo, he comes!
[Becket enters.
Arch. of Sens.
My lord, you have heard those rumours: they are grave.
Bec.
Your Grace is gloomier than your wont, and show
Less than yourself therein. My lord, that bishop
Who crowns, in scorn of great Augustine's right,
An English king, stands excommunicate.
I deem these rumours idle things. The Pope
To bar all danger, issued letters thrice,
First from Anagni, from the Lateran next,
And last from Alba, to our English bishops:
I saw no need for such.
Arch. of Sens.
A whisper stirs
That instruments consenting to that deed,
The sigil of the Fisherman appended,
Were forged by John of Oxford. Others say
He won the Pope's consent long since by fraud;
His fraud exposed, that sanction was withdrawn;
But to those instruments consent withdrawing
The English ports are closed.
Bec.
Remember Montmirail! There stood I sole
The good French king—nay, Rome itself against me:
The King of France—I sought him out at Sens:
The account given by Canon Morris of the interview between Becket and the two kings at Montmirail includes much that is characteristic: ‘Before the conference began, St. Thomas was surrounded by his friends, who, almost unanimously, tried to induce him to make his submission to King Henry absolutely, adding no condition or clause, and leaving all the matter in dispute to the king's generosity. . . . Herbert of Bosham managed to thrust himself in amongst the crowd of great people to whisper a warning to the saint that, if he omitted the clause “saving God's honour” now, he would be sure afterwards to repent it as bitterly as he had done the omission of the former clause in England. There was not time for him to answer by more than a look when they were in the presence of the kings.’ Henry addressed Louis. ‘This speech produced a great effect. Some people called out, “The king humbles himself enough.” The archbishop was silent for a while, when Louis said, in a way which delighted the friends of the King of England, “My Lord Archbishop, do you want to be more than a saint? or better than Peter? Why do you doubt? Peace is at hand.” . . . The majority even of his own followers were led away by the current feeling, and were jealous of losing the restoration to their homes, which had seemed just within their grasp. As they were riding away after the conference the horse of one of them, named Henry de Hoctune, who was riding just before the Archbishop, stumbled, on which the rider called out, loud enough for the saint to hear, “Go on, saving the honour of God, and of holy Church, and of my Order.” Here again the Archbishop, much as he was pained, did not speak.’ The poor never forsook him. ‘As they went, people asked who it was that was going by; and when they heard that it was the Archbishop of Canterbury, they pointed him out to one another, saying “That is the Archbishop who yesterday would not deny God or neglect His honour for the sake of the kings.” Soon after all was changed. King Louis discovered that Henry had deceived him; and one of the Papal envoys, Bernard of Grammont, said to Herbert, “I would rather have my foot cut off than that your lord the Archbishop should have made peace at that conference, as I and all the others advised him.”’
With head bent low in heaviness he sat:
I deemed myself once more an exiled man:
One moment, and he knelt before my feet;
‘You, you alone,’ he cried, ‘that day had eyes;
Blind were we all;—except that youthful prince,
You have not a friend in England.’
How sped you on your way?
Llew.
My errand failed.
Bec.
No fault of yours, good friend!
Llew.
By night I landed,
And sped to London in a beggar's garb:
Day after day, in banquet hall and church,
I strove to reach my Lords of York and London;
They knew the danger near and stood on guard:
At last I sought my Lord of London's house:
Slowly the bishop crossed the court in prayer,
And, reading, cast at times a sidelong glance:
I knelt me down, and raised the Papal missive:
He deemed it some petition; softly took it;—
Ere long he learned the truth.
Bec.
But not in public?
Llew.
The humbleness in his regard grew sour;
Yet wroth he seemed not: ‘From the Pope—a mandate!
Knowing the parchment forged, I read it not:
The Pope's authentic mandate is with us.’
He spake, and tossed it from him, and passed by.
In rushed the prince with mummers, and I 'scaped;
Else had my lot been hard.
Bec.
What next befell?
Llew.
At morn the king was knighted by his father,
Bec.
By whom?
Llew.
By one
Who little liked his office, Roger of York.
Bec.
His time will come. That coronation oath
At least bears witness 'gainst the ‘Royal Customs;’
The prince made oath to guard the Church's freedom—
Pray God he guard it better than his sire!
Llew.
That sentence from his oath was razed: the bishops
Who crowned him sware to keep the Royal Customs!
Bec.
(rising suddenly).
The mask is off! Thank God, 'tis off for ever!
(After a pause)
No more of that. Proceed! The prince was crowned.
Llew.
The rest was naught but jubilee and triumph,
Wine-fountains, pealing bells, the bonfires' glare,
The tournament, and charging of the steeds
In the ordered lists. High up, o'er-canopied
By cloth of gold, refulgent sat the queen;
Her ladies round her in a silken haze
Like the moon's halo round the moon, when night
On hills of Wales—
Her.
Let be your hills of Wales;
The feast? You saw it?
Llew.
Ay, in minstrel's garb:
The tables groaned with gold: I scorned the pageant!
The Norman pirates and the Saxon boors
Sat round and fed: I hated them alike
The rival races, one in sin. Alone
We Britons tread our native soil.
Her.
Both kings
Were present?
There a merry chance befell:
King Henry stood behind his son, and served.
‘Give thanks, young prince,’ my Lord of York brake forth,
‘For ne'er till now—’ ‘Is it strange,’ the boy replied,
If by an earl's son a king's son is served?’
The great hall roared with laughter; high o'er all
His father's voice!
Bec.
How like my youthful pupil!
God bless the child! I am glad he wears the crown!
God grant him grace!
Arch. of Sens.
Grave tidings these, my lord!
Bec.
My lord, you take me back from morn to night.
The coronation's naught; we are hurt elsewhere.
That Oath to keep the Church in liberty,
That baptism vow of England Christian made,
That bridal pledge of England wed to Christ,
That sister link 'twixt her and Christendom,
Whose holy kingdoms weep henceforth her fall;
That oath, that vow, that pledge, that link all-blessèd,
The birthright of the nations ere their birth,
The talisman which 'mid their youthful struggles
Charmed them from fate and saved them from themselves;
Which still for suffering weakness found defence
In the great conscience of Humanity
Impersonate in God's Church and armed and missioned;—
Lo, where that Oath is dashed aside, cast off
Unceremoniously as a shifted robe
Or banquet-trencher changed, or rotted bandage
Foul from a wound and flung into the filth!
This thing no comment bears: too grave it is
For wrath or further speech. I go to England.
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