Chastelard, a tragedy/Act 2
ACT II.
DARNLEY.
SCENE I.--The great Chamber in Holyrood.
The QUEEN and MARY SEYTON.
QUEEN.
But will you swear it?
MARY SEYTON. Swear it, madam?
QUEEN. Ay-- Swear it.
MARY SEYTON. Madam, I am not friends with them.
QUEEN. Swear then against them if you are not friends.
MARY SEYTON. Indeed I saw them kiss.
QUEEN. So lovers use-- What, their mouths close? a goodly way of love! Or but the hands? or on her throat? Prithee-- You have sworn that.
MARY SEYTON. I say what I saw done.
QUEEN. Ay, you did see her cheeks (God smite them red!) Kissed either side? what, they must eat strange food Those singing lips of his?
MARY SEYTON. Sweet meat enough-- They started at my coming five yards off, But there they were.
QUEEN. A maid may have kissed cheeks And no shame in them--yet one would not swear. You have sworn that. Pray God he be not mad: A sickness in his eyes. The left side love (I was told that) and the right courtesy. 'T is good fools' fashion. What, no more but this? For me, God knows I am no whit wroth; not I; But, for your fame's sake that her shame will sting, I cannot see a way to pardon her-- For your fame's sake, lest that be prated of.
MARY SEYTON. Nay, if she were not chaste--I have not said She was not chaste.
QUEEN. I know you are tender of her; And your sweet word will hardly turn her sweet.
MARY SEYTON. Indeed I would fain do her any good. Shall I not take some gracious word to her?
QUEEN. Bid her not come or wait on me to-day.
MARY SEYTON. Will you see him?
QUEEN. See--O, this Chastelard? He doth not well to sing maids into shame; And folk are sharp here; yet for sweet friends' sake Assuredly I 'll see him. I am not wroth. A goodly man, and a good sword thereto-- It may be he shall wed her. I am not wroth.
MARY SEYTON. Nay, though she bore with him, she hath no great love, I doubt me, that way.
QUEEN. God mend all, I pray-- And keep us from all wrongdoing and wild words. I think there is no fault men fall upon But I could pardon. Look you, I would swear She were no paramour for any man, So well I love her.
MARY SEYTON. Am I to bid him in?
QUEEN. As you will, sweet. But if you held me hard You did me grievous wrong. Doth he wait there? Men call me over tender; I had rather so, Than too ungracious. Father, what with you?
[Enter FATHER BLACK.]
FATHER BLACK. God's peace and health of soul be with the queen! And pardon be with me though I speak truth. As I was going on peaceable men's wise Through your good town, desiring no man harm, A kind of shameful woman with thief's lips Spake somewhat to me over a thrust-out chin, Soliciting as I deemed an alms; which alms (Remembering what was writ of Magdalen) I gave no grudging but with pure good heart, When lo some scurril children that lurked near, Set there by Satan for my stumbling-stone, Fell hooting with necks thwart and eyes asquint, Screeched and made horns and shot out tongues at me, As at my Lord the Jews shot out their tongues And made their heads wag; I considering this Took up my cross in patience and passed forth: Nevertheless one ran between my feet And made me totter, using speech and signs I smart with shame to think of: then my blood Kindled, and I was moved to smite the knave, And the knave howled; whereat the lewd whole herd Brake forth upon me and cast mire and stones So that I ran sore risk of bruise or gash If they had touched; likewise I heard men say, (Their foul speech missed not mine ear) they cried, "This devil's mass-priest hankers for new flesh Like a dry hound; let him seek such at home, Snuff and smoke out the queen's French--"
QUEEN. They said that?
FATHER BLACK. "--French paramours that breed more shames than sons All her court through;" forgive me.
QUEEN. With my heart. Father, you see the hatefulness of these- They loathe us for our love. I am not moved: What should I do being angry? By this hand (Which is not big enough to bruise their lips), I marvel what thing should be done with me To make me wroth. We must have patience with us When we seek thank of men.
FATHER BLACK. Madam, farewell; I pray God keep you in such patient heart.
[Exit.]
QUEEN. Let him come now.
MARY SEYTON. Madam, he is at hand.
[Exit.]
[Enter CHASTELARD.]
QUEEN. Give me that broidery frame; how, gone so soon? No maid about? Reach me some skein of silk. What, are you come, fair lord? Now by my life That lives here idle, I am right glad of you; I have slept so well and sweet since yesternight It seems our dancing put me in glad heart. Did you sleep well?
CHASTELARD. Yea, as a man may sleep.
QUEEN. You smile as if I jested; do not men Sleep as we do? Had you fair dreams in the night? For me-but I should fret you with my dreams- I dreamed sweet things. You are good at soothsaying: Make me a sonnet of my dream.
CHASTELARD. I will, When I shall know it.
QUEEN. I thought I was asleep In Paris, lying by my lord, and knew In somewise he was well awake, and yet I could not wake too; and I seemed to know He hated me, and the least breath I made Would turn somehow to slay or stifle me. Then in brief time he rose and went away, Saying, Let her dream, but when her dream is out I will come back and kill her as she wakes. And I lay sick and trembling with sore fear, And still I knew that I was deep asleep; And thinking I must dream now, or I die, God send me some good dream lest I be slain, Fell fancying one had bound my feet with cords And bade me dance, and the first measure made I fell upon my face and wept for pain: And my cords broke, and I began the dance To a bitter tune; and he that danced with me Was clothed in black with long red lines and bars And masked down to the lips, but by the chin I knew you though your lips were sewn up close With scarlet thread all dabbled wet in blood. And then I knew the dream was not for good. And striving with sore travail to reach up And kiss you (you were taller in my dream) I missed your lips and woke.
CHASTELARD. Sweet dreams, you said? An evil dream I hold it for, sweet love.
QUEEN. You call love sweet; yea, what is bitter, then? There's nothing broken sleep could hit upon So bitter as the breaking down of love. You call me sweet; I am not sweet to you, Nor you-O, I would say not sweet to me, And if I said so I should hardly lie. But there have been those things between us, sir, That men call sweet.
CHASTELARD. I know not how There is Turns to There hath been; 't is a heavier change Than change of flesh to dust. Yet though years change And good things end and evil things grow great, The old love that was, or that was dreamed about, That sang and kissed and wept upon itself, Laughed and ran mad with love of its own face, That was a sweet thing.
QUEEN. Nay, I know not well. 'T is when the man is held fast underground They say for sooth what manner of heart he had. We are alive, and cannot be well sure If we loved much or little: think you not It were convenient one of us should die?
CHASTELARD. Madam, your speech is harsh to understand.
QUEEN. Why, there could come no change then; one of us Would never need to fear our love might turn To the sad thing that it may grow to be. I would sometimes all things were dead asleep That I have loved, all buried in soft beds And sealed with dreams and visions, and each dawn Sung to by sorrows, and all night assuaged By short sweet kissed and by sweet long loves For old life's sake, lest weeping overmuch Should wake them in a strange new time, and arm Memory's blind hand to kill forgetfulness.
CHASTELARD. Look, you dream still, and sadly.
QUEEN. Sooth, a dream; For such things died or lied in sweet love's face, And I forget them not, God help my wit! I would the whole world were made up of sleep And life not fashioned out of lies and loves. We foolish women have such times, you know, When we are weary or afraid or sick For perfect nothing.
CHASTELARD. [Aside.] Now would one be fain To know what bitter or what dangerous thing She thinks of, softly chafing her soft lip. She must mean evil.
QUEEN. Are you sad too, sir, That you say nothing?
CHASTELARD. I? not sad a jot- Though this your talk might make a blithe man sad.
QUEEN. O me! I must not let stray sorrows out; They are ill to fledge, and if they feel blithe air They wail and chirp untunefully. Would God I had been a man! when I was born, men say, My father turned his face and wept to think I was no man.
CHASTELARD. Will you weep too?
QUEEN. In sooth, If I were a man I should be no base man; I could have fought; yea, I could fight now too If men would show me; I would I were the king! I should be all ways better than I am.
CHASTELARD. Nay, would you have more honor, having this- Men's hearts and loves and the sweet spoil of souls Given you like simple gold to bind your hair? Say you were king of thews, not queen of souls, An iron headpiece hammered to a head, You might fall too.
QUEEN. No, then I would not fall, Or God should make me woman back again. To be King James-you hear men say King James, The word sounds like a piece of gold thrown down, Rings with a round and royal note in it- A name to write good record of; this king Fought here and there, was beaten such a day, And came at last to a good end, his life Being all lived out, and for the main part well And like a king's life; then to have men say (As now they say of Flodden, here they broke And there they held up to the end) years back They saw you-yea, I saw the king's face helmed Red in the hot lit foreground of some fight Hold the whole war as it were by the bit, a horse Fit for his knees' grip-the great rearing war That frothed with lips flung up, and shook men's lives Off either flank of it like snow; I saw (You could not hear as his sword rang), saw him Shout, laugh, smite straight, and flaw the riven ranks, Move as the wind moves, and his horse's feet Stripe their long flags with dust. Why, if one died, To die so in the heart and heat of war Were a much goodlier thing than living soft And speaking sweet for fear of men. Woe's me, Is there no way to pluck this body off? Then I should never fear a man again, Even in my dreams I should not; no, by heaven.
CHASTELARD. I never thought you did fear anything.
QUEEN. God knows I do; I could be sick with wrath To think what grievous fear I have 'twixt whiles Of mine own self and of base men: last night If certain lords were glancing where I was Under the eyelid, with sharp lip and brow, I tell you, for pure shame and fear of them, I could have gone and slain them.
CHASTELARD. Verily, You are changed since those good days that fell in France; But yet I think you are not so changed at heart As to fear man.
QUEEN. I would I had no need. Lend me your sword a little; a fair sword; I see the fingers that I hold it with Clear in the blade, bright pink, the shell-color, Brighter than flesh is really, curved all round. Now men would mock if I should wear it here, Bound under bosom with a girdle, here, And yet I have heart enough to wear it well. Speak to me like a woman, let me see If I can play at man.
CHASTELARD. God save King James!
QUEEN. Would you could change now! Fie, this will not do; Unclasp your sword; nay, the hilt hurts my side; It sticks fast here. Unbind this knot for me: Stoop, and you'll see it closer; thank you: there. Now I can breathe, sir. Ah! it hurts me, though: This was fool's play.
CHASTELARD. Yea, you are better so, Without the sword; your eyes are stronger things, Whether to save or slay.
QUEEN. Alas, my side! It hurts right sorely. Is it not pitiful Our souls should be so bound about with flesh Even when they leap and smite with wings and feet, The least pain plucks them back, puts out their eyes, Turns them to tears and words? Ah my sweet knight, You have the better of us that weave and weep While the blithe battle blows upon your eyes Like rain and wind; yet I remember too When this last year the fight at Corrichie Reddened the rushes with stained fen-water, I rode with my good men and took delight, Feeling the sweet clear wind upon my eyes And rainy soft smells blown upon my face In riding: then the great fight jarred and joined, And the sound stung me right through heart and all; For I was here, see, gazing off the hills, In the wet air; our housings were all wet, And not a plume stood stiffly past the ear But flapped between the bridle and the neck; And under us we saw the battle go Like running water; I could see by fits Some helm the rain fell shining off, some flag Snap from the staff, shorn through or broken short In the man's falling: yea, one seemed to catch The very grasp of tumbled men at men, Teeth clenched in throats, hands riveted in hair, Tearing the life out with no help of swords. And all the clamor seemed to shine, the light Seemed to shout as a man doth; twice I laughed-- I tell you, twice my heart swelled out with thirst To be into the battle; see, fair lord, I swear it seemed I might have made a knight, And yet the simple bracing of a belt Makes me cry out; this is too pitiful, This dusty half of us made up with fears.-- Have you been ever quite so glad to fight As I have thought men must? pray you, speak truth.
CHASTELARD. Yea, when the time came, there caught hold of me Such pleasure in the head and hands and blood As may be kindled under loving lips: Crossing the ferry once to the Clerks' Field, I mind how the plashing noise of Seine Put fire into my face for joy, and how My blood kept measure with the swinging boat Till we touched land, all for the sake of that Which should be soon.
QUEEN. Her name, for God's love, sir; You slew your friend for love's sake? nay, the name.
CHASTELARD. Faith, I forget.
QUEEN. Now by the faith I have You have no faith to swear by.
CHASTELARD. A good sword: We left him quiet after a thrust or twain.
QUEEN. I would I had been at hand and marked them off As the maids did when we played singing games: You outwent me at rhyming; but for faith, We fight best there. I would I had seen you fight.
CHASTELARD. I would you had; his play was worth an eye; He made some gallant way before that pass Which made me way through him.
QUEEN. Would I saw that-- How did you slay him?
CHASTELARD. A clean pass--this way; Right in the side here, where the blood has root. His wrist went round in pushing, see you, thus, Or he had pierced me.
QUEEN. Yea, I see, sweet knight. I have a mind to love you for his sake; Would I had seen.
CHASTELARD. Hugues de Marsillac-- I have the name now; 't was a goodly one Before he changed it for a dusty name.
QUEEN. Talk not of death; I would hear living talk Of good live swords and good strokes struck withal, Brave battles and the mirth of mingling men, Not of cold names you greet a dead man with. You are yet young for fighting; but in fight Have you never caught a wound?
CHASTELARD. Yea, twice or so: The first time in a little outlying field (My first field) at the sleepy gray of dawn, They found us drowsy, fumbling at our girths, And rode us down by heaps; I took a hurt Here in the shoulder.
QUEEN. Ah, I mind well now; Did you not ride a day's space afterward, Having two wounds? yea, Dandelot it was, That Dandelot took word of it. I know, Sitting at meat when the news came to us I had nigh swooned but for those Florence eyes Slanting my way with sleek lids drawn up close-- Yea, and she said, the Italian brokeress, She said such men were good for great queens' love. I would you might die, when you come to die, Like a knight slain. Pray God we make good ends. For love too, love dies hard or easily, But some way dies on some day, ere we die.
CHASTELARD. You made a song once of old flowers and loves, Will you not sing that rather? 't is long gone Since you sang last.
QUEEN. I had rather sigh than sing And sleep than sigh; 't is long since verily, But I will once more sing; ay, thus it was.
[Sings.]
1. J'ai vu faner bien des choses, Mainte feuille aller au vent. En songeant aux vieilles roses,
J'ai pleure souvent.
2. Vois-tu dans les roses mortes Amour qui sourit cache? O mon amant, a nos portes
L'as-tu vu couche?
3. As-tu vu jamais au monde Venus chasser et courir? Fille de l'onde, avec l'onde
Doit-elle mourir?
4. Aux jours de neige et de givre L'amour s'effeuille et s'endort; Avec mai doit-il revivre,
Ou bien est-il mort?
5. Qui sait ou s'en vont les roses? Qui sai ou s'en va le vent? En songeant a telles choses,
J'ai pleure souvent.
I never heard yet but love made good knights, But for pure faith, by Mary's holiness, I think she lies about men's lips asleep, And if one kiss or pluck her by the hand To wake her, why God help your woman's wit, Faith is but dead; dig her grave deep at heart, And hide her face with cerecloths; farewell faith. Would I could tell why I talk idly. Look, Here come my riddle-readers. Welcome all;
[Enter MURRAY, DARNLEY, RANDOLPH, LINDSAY, MORTON, and other LORDS.]
Sirs, be right welcome. Stand you by my side, Fair cousin, I must lean on love or fall; You are a goodly staff, sir; tall enough, And fair enough to serve. My gentle lords, I am full glad of God that in great grace He hath given me such a lordly stay as this; There is no better friended queen alive. For the repealing of those banished men That stand in peril yet of last year's fault, It is our will; you have our seal to that. Brother, we hear harsh bruits of bad report Blown up and down about our almoner; See you to this: let him be sought into: They say lewd folk make ballads of their spleen, Strew miry ways of words with talk of him; If they have cause let him be spoken with.
LINDSAY. Madam, they charge him with so rank a life Were it not well this fellow were plucked out-- Seeing this is not an eye that doth offend, But a blurred glass it were no harm to break; Yea rather it were gracious to be done?
QUEEN. Let him be weighed, and use him as he is; I am of my nature pitiful, ye know, And cannot turn my love unto a thorn In so brief space. Ye are all most virtuous; Yea, there is goodness grafted on this land; But yet compassion is some part of God. There is much heavier business held on hand Than one man's goodness: yea, as things fare here, A matter worth more weighing. All you wot I am choose a help to my weak feet, A lamp before my face, a lord and friend To walk with me in weary ways, high up Between the wind and rain and the hot sun. Now I have chosen a helper to myself, I wot the best a woman ever won; A man that loves me, and a royal man, A goodly love and lord for any queen. But for the peril and despite of men I have sometime tarried and withheld myself, Not fearful of his worthiness nor you, But with some lady's loathing to let out My whole heart's love; for truly this is hard, Not like a woman's fashion, shamefacedness And noble grave reluctance of herself To be the tongue and cry of her own heart. Nathless plain speech is better than much wit, So ye shall bear with me; albeit I think Ye have caught the mark whereat my heart is bent. I have kept close counsel and shut up men's lips, But lightly shall a woman's will slip out, The foolish little winged will of her, Through cheek or eye when tongue is charmed asleep. For that good lord I have good will to wed, I wot he knew long since which way it flew, Even till it lit on his right wrist and sang. Lo, here I take him by the hand: fair lords, This is my kinsman, made of mine own blood, I take to halve the state and services That bow down to me, and to be my head, My chief, my master, my sweet lord and king. Now shall I never say "sweet cousin" more To my dear head and husband; here, fair sir, I give you all the heart of love in me To gather off my lips. Did it like you, The taste of it? sir, it was whole and true. God save our king!
DARNLEY. Nay, nay, sweet love, no lord; No king of yours though I were lord of these.
QUEEN. Let word be sent to all good friends of ours To help us to be glad; England and France Shall bear great part of our rejoicings up. Give me your hand, dear lord; for from this time I must not walk alone. Lords, have good cheer: For you shall have a better face than mine To set upon your kingly gold and show For Scotland's forehead in the van of things. Go with us now, and see this news set out.
[Exeunt QUEEN, DARNLEY, and LORDS.]
[As CHASTELARD is going out, enter MARY BEATON.]
MARY BEATON. Have you yet heard? You knew of this?
CHASTELARD. I know. I was just thinking how such things were made And were so fair as this is. Do you know She held me here and talked--the most sweet talk Men ever heard of?
MARY BEATON. You hate me to the heart. What will you do?
CHASTELARD. I know not: die some day, But live as long and lightly as I can. Will you now love me? faith, but if you do, It were much better you were dead and hearsed. Will you do one thing for me?
MARY BEATON. Yea, all things.
CHASTELARD. Speak truth a little, for God's sake: indeed It were no harm to do. Come, will you, sweet? Though it be but to please God.
MARY BEATON. What will you do?
CHASTELARD. Ay, true, I must do somewhat. Let me see: To get between and tread upon his face-- Catch both her hands and bid men look at them, How pure they were--I would do none of these, Though they got wedded all the days in the year. We may do well yet when all's come and gone. I pray you on this wedding-night of theirs Do but one thing that I shall ask of you, And Darnley will not hunger as I shall For that good time. Sweet, will you swear me this?
MARY BEATON. Yea; though to do it were mortal to my soul As the chief sin.
CHASTELARD. I thank you: let us go.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.