.r^ f^ I ^0>*|»,! ■H^^i^ ^ ^^i»?y .*>«^^ it.*'*^ ■4. ^iri-; >ir^j J I^-Ci r m^j\ > '^*lai>^^k!^^ ^k\^^i}. THOMAS A BECKET. A DRAMATIC CHRONICLE. IN FIVE ACTS. GEORGE DARLEY, AUTHOR OF "SYLVIA, OR THE MAV-QIIEEN," ETC. LONDON : EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET, tONDOM : BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRrNTERS, WHITEFRIARS. PREFACE Being impressed with an idea that the age of legitimate Acting Drama lias long gone by, — that means to reproduce such a species of literature do not exist in our present cast of mind, manners, and language, — I have under this persuasion spent no vain time upon attempts to fit ' Thomas a Becket ' for the public scene. Yet a subject more nobly suited thereto could scarce be chosen, if dramatic faculties to grapple with its colossal nature were forthcoming. I feel bound to point the attention of my brother- authors towards it, as some among them may consider ray above-mentioned opinion mistaken, and no theme would aftbrd a better chance of refuting it than the one here suggested. Despite of all his faults, and all our prejudices, we must admit the grandeur of Becket's character, his indomitable resolution, his sublime arrogance itself, the ability and rectitude which distinguished much of his conduct : experienced eyes will perceive the stage-effectiveness of his peculiarities, his triumphs, his failures, and the terrific pathos of his fate. Again : just such an antagonist as drama requires to wrestle with and at length overthrow this potent spirit, our Chronicles tell us, did stand up against him — Henry the Second ; so precise a counterpoise for Becket, that to make either preponderate, a sword had to be cast into the scale. Henry is moreover an admirable type of his times, a2 866993 IV PREFACE. wlien the Norman population was about to blend with the Saxon, or rather both were about to form a new one combining their dis- tinctive qualities. His character exhibits the romantic and ad- venturous spirit, the wit, brilliancy, passionate temperament, and fitful despotism of the former ; as well as the wisdom, solid worth, rough humour, good-fellowship, and good-nature of the latter. England perhaps owes more to Henry the Second in the way of those corner-stones for a free Constitution — Equal Laws — than to any other among her monarchs between Alfred and Edward the Third. Queen Eleanor furnishes an excellent though very opposite stage-character, being strongly marked by her vices, by her very weaknesses. But in truth the era itself, when Feudal, Ecclesiastical, Political, and Academical Institutions were establishing themselves broader and firmer on the rude bases left by previous barbarity ; when men had still about them all the vigour of their primitive life, and all the entlmsiasm of commencing civilisation ; — such an era by natural consequence teemed with characters, enterprises, vicissitudes, &c., dramatic because so pregnant with individualism and with action. I have adopted without scruple the rough, bold features of these times, wherever, like rocks and cataracts in a landscape, they appeared to give the scene poetical impressiveness. If they realised, as it were, those times to myself while ruminating over them, I supposed they would have a like efiect upon the reader. He will recollect, however, the popular distinction between History and Chronicle, — the latter admitting a degree of romance and inter- mixture of tradition, besides a picturesque enrichment by materials which are splendid rubbish to the mere annalist, but to the dramatist most precious. Though preserving the general line and sequence of facts as they happened, I have subordinated them, of poetic right, to poetic purposes; and moreover taken the privilege to modify PREFACE. V uncertain points at will. Thus my Heroine, being less a historical than romantic personage, is made contemporaneous with, although in truth somewhat antecedent to the facts dramatised. No important falsification of history is committed by this anachronism, yet the interest of a gracious female character is acquired. Other real per- sonages of the time, but about whose private qualities we know little or nothing, I have likewise delineated as was most conformable to what we do know, or most convenient to dramatic ends: John of Salisbury, the profound scholar and author of '•'•Nugce Curialium" "Walter Mapes, translator of " Sang-Real" are examples. Perhaps every species of literature, wherein persons come under -view, is the better for being, as far as it may be, dramatic : history, epic poetry, ballad, novel, become more vivid and truth-like, by the adoption of dramatic form and spirit : Plato in this way dramatises his philosophy, Socrates his morality, Dante his religious poem. It will therefore seem natural enough that a dramatic intention should evince itself throughout a Dramatic Chronicle : there is little fear of any dramatist now-a-days, whether he write for the stage or no, writing too dramatically. In accordance with this belief, I have seldom made my characters what the metaphysicians call sub- jective, but on the contrary made them agents of the first person, themselves doing and sufi"ering, where possible, that which they are supposed to have done and suflered. Let me signalise the opposite practice as most antidramatic, yet as one much too frequent and always fatal among writers for the stage. Subjective composition is however the natural tendency of our refined age, and on this pos- tulate founds itself an argument I fear convincing against the pro- bable regeneration of Acting Drama. Can we restrain that tendency ? or should we, if we could ? Though fatal to the drama, it may be vital to something else as desirable. vi PREFACE. Those singularities and salient particulars, customs, phrases, even fabulous notions, superstitions, &c., which characterise the Feudal and Romantic ages, forced themselves perpetually into my mind and often into my vrork. Need I crave pardon for what seems to reflect these ages best ? I certainly need not offer any illustrative notes upon them, in this era of universal enlightenment, as all of them lie at the surface of our numerous histories. Thus no one requires to be told that Britain, according to Geoffrey of Monmouth, derives its name from Brit or Brut, a Trojan prince, who fled hither after an accidental parricide: that a grudge long prevailed between the Norman settlers here and the Saxons and Saxonising Britons, which only began to subside about the time of Becket : &c. &c. Details less important or familiar than these would not, however true, have shed a broad or strong enough colour upon the scene ; and in attempt- ing to portray antiquity, a dramatist paints with a very different pencil from that of an antiquarian. PERSONS. Henry II. Prince Henry, Richard {afterwards Richard I.), aiid John {nfler- wards King), Sons of Henry II. Earl of Cornwall, the King^s Uncle, Earls o/'Clare and o/" Leicester. Richard de Lucy, High Justiciar]/. HuMFREY DE BoHUN, High Constable. Richard de Hastings, Grand Prior of the Templars. William de Eynsford, a Military/ Retainer of the King. Lord Walter de Clifford. Sir Reginald Fitz-Urse, ^ Sir Hugh de Morville, r- • ., r.i « j „ ,TT rri y Knights of the Body. Sir William de Tragi, r ^ .> j Sir Richard Brito, j Ralph de Broke. Sir Mottram Fier-a-bras, Warder of Woodstock. Cardinal Philip, the Pope's Legate. Becket. Roger, Archbishop of York. Henry de Blois, Bishop q/* Win Chester, Brother of King Stephen. FOLLIOTT, Bishop q/'LoNDON. Bishops q/" Salisbury ami (/Norwich. Geoffrey Radel and Richard Gryme, Priests. John of Oxford. Glanville, a Jurisprudent. John of Salisbury, ^ Peter of Blois, I „ . , ' , , . , ,^- >• Scholars. Walter Mapes, Chaplain to the King, I Henry Bosham, Secretary to Becket, j Gabel, a Park- Keeper. Physician. Conjurer. Pursuivant at Arms. Inn-Keeper. Boy. Ostler. Beggarman. Henchman. Eleanor, Queen q/ Henry II. Rosamond de Clifford. Maids of Honour to the Queen. Dwerga, yemo/e Dwarf to the Queen. ■ Knights and Ladies. Minstrels. Soldiers. Monks and Nuns. Attendants, ^c. THOMAS A BECKET. ACT I. SCENE I. A Street in London. De Morville, De Tragi, and Brito, meeting. De Trad. Good morrow, Hugh de Morville ! — Richard Brito, Grandson, how great I know not, of the Brut That kiird his father, and gave life to Britons, {Brutings they should be call'd !), — honjour, Sir Richard ! Brito. I love but little to be jeer'd, Sir Gwillini, By you, or any spring-heePd Norman knight, About mine ancestors. That Trojan Brutus Was a king''s son, and Conqueror of this Isle, No Bastard Conqueror neither ! — I have heard Our learned Chancellor tell of it. De Trad. What, Becket ? Learned he is in sooth ; and gallant too. And wise, as few of his compatriots are. Brito. Gallant as ye ! gallant and wise as ye. Half-brethren of the seagulls ! whom foul blasts. Loosed from her wallet by some Lapland witch, B 2 THOMAS A BECKET. [act i. Blew o"'er the Northern foam to prance, and thence The next ill wind puff'd hither ! De Morville. Down with these swords ! Will ye ne'er stop this brawlii^g ? Fie ! be friends : He's young, Sir Richard ; he 's hot-brain'd, De Traci. — Yes, as you said., i^scket 's a cunning' clerk, Or he would scarce be an Archdeacon ; wise As Guiscard's self, or what had made him Chancellor ? For boldness, he exceeds all priests ; and dares Take even the very Devil by the horns Did he fall out with him. De Traci Well, if he be Falcon in fight, he's vulture after it ! De Morville. He '11 have his pickings ! Know you not our adage — The Church's crook When rightly shod, Is a reaping hook On a fishing-rod ! De Traci. Yet he 's against the Bishops, in this strife About their jurisdiction ; so 'twould seem At least : and echoes our sharp-witted king, Who cries them up as ' Shepherds skilFd to fleece, Drive, and make market of, those sheep the people.' — Allans^ Fitz-Urse ! what think you of this man ? Enter Fitz-Urse. Fitz-Urse. Whom? De Traci. Why, the man of men — him with more names Than blaze in Doomsday-Book — the Provost of Beverley ! De Morville. Dean of Hastings ! Brito. Constable of the Tower ! De Morville. Secretary of State ! Chancellor of the Realm ! Archdeacon of Canterbury ! Castellan of Cahors ! Lord of the baronies of Eye and Berkham ! SCENE I.] THOMAS A BECKET. 3 With some few other — scores of trusts and titles, Enough to break Ambition's back withal. He's a mere sumpter-mule for robes and riches, Save that he trots with them to his own stall, Where sables are his litter, cloth of ermine His housing, and his fodder golden corn. But more : As if the custody of the Royal Seal, U ith all the perquisites thereto belonging. The administration of all Sees and Abbeys Whilst vacant — which they are whene'er his purse is ! — The Wardship of all Minors, whose revenues Leave a I'ich crust in running through his hands ; As if these gifts sufficed not to fulfil His huge capacity for power and office, He is made tutor to the Prince himself. Young Henry, whom the crown o'er-hangs — this Becket ! This son of a Saxon truckster, Gilbert Becket, And a bought Moor-woman ! — this Jack o'the Beanstalk, That climbs up to the clouds, lark-swift, and there Mocks the mazed world beneath him ! Fitz-Urse. Very true. De Morville. This glib Bologna lawyer — Fitz-Urse. True, but yet — De Morville. But what, Fitz-Crse ? Fitz-Urse. Thirty-five score picked lances He brought us, when much needed at Toulouse : Twelve hundred in the Norman wars. King Harry Owes him some precious jewels of his crown. De Traci. Pardic, but he has claimed them ! If he saved them, 'Twas for himself, to perk in his own cap. Fitz-Urse. He's a stout soldier — that's well : sits his horse Firm as St. Michael sits his jVIount ; no storm Moves him a hair : Can drive his lance right through B 2 4 THOMAS A BECKET. [act i. A mailed breast, and out between the shoulders; That 's pretty well too ! Brito. J have seen him strain One of our bows, our mightiest English bows, Till the tough 3'ew bent withy-like ; and when it Whirr'd straight again, his shaft was in an oak Barb-deep, twelve-score yards off:— that's not ill neither ! De Trad. He gives brave galas, keeps a Cour cV Amour And Castle-Joyous.) throng'd with dames and knights, One blaze of brilliant arms and brighter beauty. Where minstrels warble thick as birds on boughs, And softest instruments thrill through the halls, And murmurs sweet make up the swarming sound, And merrv bells ring aye a gaudeamus ! This holy Chancellor hawks, hunts, jousts, drinks, Games, and etceteras — 'slife, a noble fellow ! De Morville {aside). Our youth's brain is all feathers, so his thoughts Are of the flightiest — Fitz-Urse. As for me, gentlemen. While Becket aids the king, with sword or pen. With head in helm or cowl, I am content To like him. De Trad. Bah ! so am I. Brito. And I. De Morville. Then 1. Enter a Beffoennan. Beggarman. Your charity, brave gentlemen ! De Trad. If a pennon were as tattered as this fellow's cloak, 'twould be called the more honourable, and per- chance hung up in a chapel. — Here 's money for thee — go ! De Morville. 'Tis so small a piece of brass, that it shines in the abyss of his hat, like a glow-worm in a dark ditch. Here 's another munificent speck — go ! we are but poor Knights of the King's Body. SCENE I.] THOMAS A BECKET. 5 Beggarman. Bless ye, but T am poverty itself! De Trad. Thou ? thou art a Knight of the Hospital, no less, as 1 see by thy crutch and bandages. Get thee away, Sir Lazarus ! here comes the king. Brito. Heaven smiles in his blue eye, and from his brow The sun himself shines out ! De Morville. Becket is with him. They seem right jocund. How they laugh ! as boys, With their ripe-apple cheeks Brito. The Chancellor 's a wit, And our good Harry loves it, seasoning wisdom, As an abbot loves a pot of ale with spice in't. — Get thee along, fellow ! Beggarman {going helimd the knights). I'll steal, if nothing else, a look at him. What's a king like? (niod lack, I suppose St. George-and-the-Dragon. He has two bodies, that's sure ! Enter Henr^ and Becket, the King with his hands on Becket's shoidders. Henry. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! By Mahound, an excellent tale ! Come, let us have the other ! Press thee a little; Thou overflow'st with humour, like the gourd With richest juice. — Come, shall we hear it, ha.-' Becket. May 't please you, sire, now that the evening sun Reflects him somewhat redly in our looks, Which he perchance, — so tinged are they with wassail, — Mistakes for clustering grape, whereon he loves To hang; with warmest kisses — Henry. Let him kiss ! And send his burning soul into our cheeks, Till he change back our blood again to wine, That fed it ! An old VVassailer himself! That swills the nectarous ether till he reels. 6 THOMAS A BECKET. [act i. Look you, he wears an after-dinner flush Crimson as ours! Rogue, he has had his drench, And purple streams run down his fleecy skirts, Staining them deep as thine ! — Ha ? what, Fitz-Urse ? What news from Canterbury? Fitz- Urse. My liege, his Grace The archbishop gasps so hard for life, he scarce Had breath to make fit answer to your Highness. Henrrj. Poor man ! Heaven's gates stand aye ajar for him : He has a very Saint been ere he died : A meek, good man ! — What mightiness in mildness ! I 've never gain'd from his soft nature half I had wrung from a stern one. — But he gave some proof That he agreed the felon-priest should stand Trial in our Courts, not his ? Fitz- Urse. Ay, my liege : Here is the instrument his death-stricken hand Marked with the cross. \_Giving a parchment. Henry. So ! well. Keep it, Chancellor, \_Handing it to him. Till further time. — Have with you to your palace. And we will hear that story by the way, You promised us. [Becket stands abstracted. Prithee what mood and figure Is this deep syllogism thouVt solving now? He 's sunk within himself! — Ho, Chancellor! Becket (starts). I was but conning o'er the tale — my memory — Henri/. Since you can fold you in your loose fur-sleeves, And in the sable pall of thought besides, You want not this warm gown ? Becket. I would in trutli Put it off' — soon — with your good leave — Henri/. See'st there [Point inf/ to the Beggarman. SCENE 1.] THOMAS A BECKET. 7 Yon shiverer, in rags as few as hang Upon the roadside thorn ?— Were it not well To give that wretch, who shakes i' the summer's sun Like Winter's image, something of your too-much For his too-little ? Becket. I am all content, And will provide him quickly. Henry. Thou wert ever Most charitable, Thomas ! — Come, strip off This superfluity. VLmjing hold of his robe. Becket. Nay, nay, your Highness. {^Struggling to keep it. Henry. I swear 111 have it !— You shall walk the town Naked as dame Godiva, and more stared at. But I will have it ! {They struggle. Knights. Ha! ha! ha !— the King will carry it!— the Chancellor doubles it close !—'Tis a stiff tussle !— Lion against Bear I De Morville. No ; but shepherd against wolf in sheep's clothino- !' T will be rent between them !— Becket. It is the maddest humour [—\_He lets the cloak go. Henry. Tut, man ! thou need'st but bury thee again In Meditation's solemn robe : it much Becomes so grave a lord I — Ha ! ha ! — I never Saw thee so lost in foggy thought before. 'Twas a rich mantle, but thou wilt be covered With blessings far more precious. — Give it him ! [It is Jiung to the Beggar. Beggarman. Heaven guard your Majesty, and send my Lord All that he wishes ! And for his good-will In leaving me this benetit, may he live A glory to the Church, and at his death Be worshipt 'mongst the blessed saints and martyrs ! No worse I pray for him — 8 THOMAS A BECKET. [act i. Becket. Enough, enough ! [Exit Beggar. Henry. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! Thou 'rt well repaid for thy benevolence ! — Fitz-Urse, I say ? — Again to Canterbury : Stay by the Primate ; let no buzzing monks (Save his confessor, Gryme, whom we can trust,) Haunt his bedside ; nor, while he drops to slumber On the eternal pillow of repose, With pestilent whispers sting him in the ear. He's not to change the instrument— mark that ! — He has given o'er the priest to the King's Bench, Lawful tribunal for such crime.— And Reginald ! If the Archbishop hold his promise well, Give his meek spirit my god-speed, and send me Immediate tidings when he is in \\ea.\eu.—\_Exit Fitz-Urse. Have with you. Chancellor. Becket. At your Grace's pleasure. [Exeunt omnes. SCENE II. A Royal Apartment. — Queen Eleanor alone. Eleanor. Henry, thou play'st me false ! With whom, I know not. But to find that out, feel myself all eyes : Each sense, except my sight, is numb, null ! null ! I do not taste my meats ; I hear no music Even when the trumpet brays it at my side ; To me the rose is scentless as the briar ; What touches me might be a burning share, Or wedge of ice, they are indifferent : SCENE II.] THOMAS A BECKET. 9 But I can see! see — atomies! " Thou shall not, Minion, escape me! 'Mongst ten thousand faces Were thine one, I could swear to its bold blush. ! I could guess her from a gown, a glove, A cap, or aught her wanton form had ever Swell'd out ! — Suspicion, thou art call'd the dam Of false conceits, to which the Devil is sii'e ; To me thou seem'st somewhat almost divine. That canst discern all things at once — a searcher Into the murkiest heart ! Come, Inspiration Of the abused ; suggest the shape, the air, The vision of my rival, and my victim ! — Let me consider : — 1 should know something of the stratagems Play'd off by tricksy woman ; all the webs She weaves before menu's eyes to hide herself; The painted bashfulness she can put on, To seem what she is not ; the brazen front She steps so high with, to be thought impregnable As Pallas, when as slippery as Venu.s : All these, ere my divorce from that nice fool, Louis of France, punctilious Louis ! I Had perfect-making practice in ; and if I have the pain of such repute, I '11 have The gain, please Vengeance ! — Oh, she must find out Some holier sanctuary than the sepulchre. Even for her dead bones, that I shall not gibbet them As high as Haman's, to the grinning world ! — My Maidens there ? — \_E7}ter the Maids of Honour. If ye be such ? — Now, Bold-face ! Are you the King's — toy ? First Maid. Madam, my humbleness never Reach'd the majestic level of his eyes. Eleanor. Nor you, stale Prudery ? Second Maid. Madam, not I I 10 THOMAS A BECKET. [act i. Eleanor. You'll all say so ! you'll all say so ! when even The infamous brand had burnt plain Harlot there On the convenient tablet of your brows. — Get ye all gone!— Come back, and dress me quick — {To herself.) I will go talk with that same cunning man At Clerkenwell, who kens all covert doings Which Night's dark mantle wraps.— (^foz