Chastelard, a tragedy/Act 3

ACT III.

THE QUEEN.

SCENE I.--The Queen's Chamber. Night. Lights burning In front of the bed.

[Enter CHASTELARD and MARY BEATON.]

MARY BEATON. Be tender of your feet.

CHASTELARD. I shall not fail: These ways have light enough to help a man That walks with such stirred blood in him as mine.

MARY BEATON. I would yet plead with you to save your head: Nay, let this be then: sir, I chide you not. Nay, let all come. Do not abide her yet.

CHASTELARD. Have you read never in French books the song Called the Duke's Song, some boy made ages back, A song of drag-nets hauled across thwart seas And plucked up with rent sides, and caught therein A strange-haired woman with sad singing lips, Cold in the cheek like any stray of sea, And sweet to touch? so that men seeing her face, And how she sighed out little Ahs of pain And soft cries sobbing sideways from her mouth, Fell in hot love, and having lain with her Died soon? one time I could have told it through: Now I have kissed the sea-witch on her eyes And my lips ache with it; but I shall sleep Full soon, and a good space of sleep.

MARY BEATON. Alas!

CHASTELARD. What makes you sigh though I be found a fool? You have no blame: and for my death, sweet friend, I never could have lived long either way. Why, as I live, the joy I have of this Would make men mad that were not mad with love; I hear my blood sing, and my lifted heart Is like a springing water blown of wind For pleasure of this deed. Now, in God's name, I swear if there be danger in delight I must die now: if joys have deadly teeth, I'll have them bite my soul to death, and end In the old asp's way, Egyptian-wise; be killed In a royal purple fashion. Look, my love Would kill me if my body were past hurt Of any man's hand; and to die thereof, I say, is sweeter than all sorts of life. I would not have her love me now, for then I should die meanlier some time. I am safe, Sure of her face, my life's end in her sight, My blood shed out about her feet--by God, My heart feels drunken when I think of it. See you, she will not rid herself of me, Not though she slay me: her sweet lips and life Will smell of my spilt blood.

MARY BEATON. Give me good-night.

CHASTELARD. Yea, and good thanks.

[Exit MARY BEATON.]

Here is the very place: Here has her body bowed the pillows in And here her head thrust under made the sheet Smell sort of her mixed hair and spice: even here Her arms pushed back the coverlet, pulled here The golden silken curtain halfway in It may be, and made room to lean out loose, Fair tender fallen arms. Now, if God would, Doubtless he might take pity on my soul To give me three clear hours, and then red hell Snare me forever: this were merciful: If I were God now I should do thus much. I must die next, and this were not so hard For him to let me eat sweet fruit and die With my lips sweet from it. For one shall have This fare for common days'-bread, which to me Should be a touch kept always on my sense To make hell soft, yea, the keen pain of hell Soft as the loosening of wound arms in sleep. Ah, love is good, and the worst part of it More than all things but death. She will be here In some small while, and see me face to face That am to give up life for her and go Where a man lies with all his loves put out And his lips full of earth. I think on her, And the old pleasure stings and makes half-tears Under mine eyelids. Prithee, love, come fast, That I may die soon: yea, some kisses through, I shall die joyfully enough, so God Keep me alive till then. I feel her feet Coming far off; now must I hold my heart, Steadying my blood to see her patiently.

[Hides himself by the bed.]

[Enter the QUEEN and DARNLEY.]

QUEEN. Nay, now go back: I have sent off my folk, Maries and all. Pray you, let be my hair; I cannot twist the gold thread out of it That you wound in so close. Look, here it clings: Ah! now you mar my hair unwinding it. Do me no hurt, sir.

DARNLEY. I would do you ease; Let me stay here.

QUEEN. Nay, will you go, my lord?

DARNLEY. Eh? would you use me as a girl does fruit, Touched with her mouth and pulled away for game To look thereon ere her lips feed? but see, By God, I fare the worse for you.

QUEEN. Fair sir, Give me this hour to watch with and say prayers; You have not faith-it needs me to say prayers, That with commending of this deed to God I may get grace for it.

DARNLEY. Why, lacks it grace? Is not all wedlock gracious of itself?

QUEEN. Nay, that I know not of. Come, sweet, be hence.

DARNLEY. You have a sort of jewel in your neck That's like mine here.

QUEEN. Keep off your hands and go: You have no courtesy to be a king.

DARNLEY. Well, I will go: nay, but I thwart you not. Do as you will, and get you grace; farewell, And for my part, grace keep this watch with me! For I need grace to bear with you so much.

[Exit.]

QUEEN. So, he is forth. Let me behold myself; I am too pale to be so hot; I marvel So little color should be bold in the face When the blood is not quieted. I have But a brief space to cool my thoughts upon. If one should wear the hair thus heaped and curled Would it look best? or this way in the neck? Could one ungirdle in such wise one's heart

[Taking off her girdle.]

And ease it inwards as the waist is eased By slackening of the slid clasp on it! How soft the silk is-gracious color too; Violet shadows like new veins thrown up Each arm, and gold to fleck the faint sweet green Where the wrist lies thus eased. I am right glad I have no maids about to hasten me- So I will rest and see my hair shed down On either silk side of my woven sleeves, Get some new way to bind it back with-yea, Fair mirror-glass, I am well ware of you, Yea, I know that, I am quite beautiful. How my hair shines!-Fair face, be friends with me And I will sing to you; look in my face Now, and your mouth must help the song in mine.

Alys la chatelaine Voit venir de par Seine Thiebault le capitaine Qui parle ainsi!

Was that the wind in the casement? nay, no more But the comb drawn through half my hissing hair Laid on my arms-yet my flesh moved at it.

Dans ma camaille Plus de clou qui vaille, Dans ma cotte-maille Plus de fer aussi.

Ah, but I wrong the ballad-verse: what's good In such frayed fringes of old rhymes, to make Their broken burden lag with us? meseems I could be sad now if I fell to think The least sad thing; aye, that sweet lady's fool, Fool sorrow, would make merry with mine eyes For a small thing. Nay, but I will keep glad, Nor shall old sorrow be false friends with me. But my first wedding was not like to this- Fair faces then and laughter and sweet game, And a pale little mouth that clung on mine When I had kissed him by the faded eyes And either thin cheek beating with faint blood. Well, he was sure to die soon; I do think He would have given his body to be slain, Having embraced my body. Now, God knows, I have no man to do as much for me As give me but a little of his blood To fill my beauty from, though I go down Pale to my grave for want-I think not. Pale- I am too pale purely-Ah!

[See him in the glass, coming forward.]

CHASTELARD. Be not afraid.

QUEEN. Saint Mary! what a shaken wit have I! Nay, is it you? who let you through the doors? Where be my maidens? which way got you in? Nay, but stand up, kiss not my hands so hard; By God's fair body, if you but breathe on them You are just dead and slain at once. What adder Has bit you mirthful mad? for by this light A man to have his head laughed off for mirth Is no great jest. Lay not your eyes on me; What, would you not be slain?

CHASTELARD. I pray you, madam, Bear with me a brief space and let me speak. I will not touch your garments even, nor speak But in soft wise, and look some other way, If that it like you; for I came not here For pleasure of the eyes; yet, if you will, Let me look on you.

QUEEN. As you will, fair sir. Give me that coif to gather in my hair- I thank you-and my girdle-nay, that side. Speak, if you will; yet if you will be gone, Why, you shall go, because I hate you not. You know that I might slay you with my lips, With calling out? but I will hold my peace.

CHASTELARD. Yea, do some while. I had a thing to say; I know not wholly what thing. O my sweet, I am come here to take farewell of love That I have served, and life that I have lived Made up of love, here in the sight of you That all my life's time I loved more than God, Who quits me thus with bitter death for it. For you well know that I must shortly die, My life being wound about you as it is, Who love me not; yet do not hate me, sweet, But tell me wherein I came short of love; For doubtless I came short of a just love, And fell in some fool's fault that angered you. Now that I talk men dig my grave for me Out in the rain, and in a little while I shall be thrust in some sad space of earth Out of your eyes; and you, O you my love, A newly-wedded lady full of mirth And a queen girt with all good people's love, You shall be fair and merry in all your days. Is this so much for me to have of you? Do but speak, sweet: I know these are no words A man should say though he were now to die, But I am as a child for love, and have No strength at heart; yea, I am afraid to die, For the harsh dust will lie upon my face Too thick to see you past. Look how I love you; I did so love you always, that your face Seen through my sleep has wrung mine eyes to tears For pure delight in you. Why do you thus? You answer not, but your lips curl in twain And your face moves; there, I shall make you weep And be a coward too; it were much best I should be slain.

QUEEN. Yea, best such folk were slain; Why should they live to cozen fools with lies? You would swear now you have used me faithfully; Shall I not make you swear? I am ware of you: You will not do it; nay, for the fear of God You will not swear. Come, I am merciful; God made a foolish woman, making me, And I have loved your mistress with whole heart; Say you do love her, you shall marry her And she give thanks: yet I could wish your love Had not so lightly chosen forth a face; For your fair sake, because I hate you not.

CHASTELARD. What is to say? why, you do surely know That since my days were counted for a man's I have loved you; yea, how past all help and sense, Whatever thing was bitter to my love, I have loved you; how when I rode in war Your face went floated in among men's helms, Your voice went through the shriek of slipping swords; Yea, and I never have loved women well, Seeing always in my sight I had your lips Curled over, red and sweet; and the soft space Of carven brows, and splendor of great throat Swayed lily-wise; what pleasure should one have To wind his arms about a lesser love? I have seen you; why, this were joy enough For God's eyes up in heaven, only to see And to come never nearer than I am. Why, it was in my flesh, my bone and blood, Bound in my brain, to love you; yea, and writ All my heart over: if I would lie to you I doubt I could not lie. Ah, you see now, You know now well enough; yea, there, sweet love, Let me kiss there.

QUEEN. I love you best of them. Clasp me quite round till your lips cleave on mine, False mine, that did you wrong. Forgive them dearly As you are sweet to them; for by love's love I am not that evil woman in my heart That laughs at a rent faith. O Chastelard, Since this was broken to me of your new love I have not seen the face of a sweet hour. Nay, if there be no pardon in a man, What shall a woman have for loving him? Pardon me, sweet.

CHASTELARD. Yea, so I pardon you, And this side now; the first way. Would God please To slay me so! who knows how he might please? Now I am thinking, if you know it not, How I might kill you, kiss your breath clean out, And take your soul to bring mine through to God, That our two souls might close and be one twain Or a twain one, and God himself want skill To set us either severally apart. O, you must overlive me many years. And many years my soul be in waste hell; But when some time God can no more refrain To lay death like a kiss across your lips, And great lords bear you clothed with funeral things, And your crown girded over deadly brows, Then after you shall touch me with your eyes, Remembering love was fellow with my flesh Here in sweet earth, and make me well of love And heal my many years with piteousness.

QUEEN. You talk too sadly and too feignedly.

CHASTELARD. Too sad, but not too feigned; I am sad That I shall die here without feigning thus; And without feigning I were fain to live.

QUEEN. Alas, you will be taken presently And then you are but dead. Pray you get hence.

CHASTELARD. I will not.

QUEEN. Nay, for God's love be away; You will be slain and I get shame. God's mercy! You were stark mad to come here; kiss me, sweet. Oh, I do love you more than all men! yea, Take my lips to you, close mine eyes up fast, So you leave hold a little; there, for pity, Abide now, and to-morrow come to me. Nay, lest one see red kisses in my throat- Dear God! what shall I give you to be gone?

CHASTELARD. I will not go. Look, here's full night grown up; Why should I seek to sleep away from here? The place is soft and the lights burn for sleep; Be not you moved; I shall lie well enough.

QUEEN. You are utterly undone. Sweet, by my life, You shall be saved with taking ship at once. For if you stay this foolish love's hour out There is not ten days' likely life in you. This is no choice.

CHASTELARD. Nay, for I will not go.

QUEEN. O me! this is that Bayard's blood of yours That makes you mad; yea, and you shall not stay. I do not understand. Mind, you must die. Alas, poor lord, you have no sense of me; I shall be deadly to you.

CHASTELARD. Yea, I saw that; But I saw not that when my death's day came You could be quite so sweet to me.

QUEEN. My love! If I could kiss my heart's root out on you You would taste love hid at the core of me.

CHASTELARD. Kiss me twice more. This beautiful bowed head That has such hair with kissing ripples in And shivering soft eyelashes and brows With fluttered blood! but laugh a little, sweetly, That I may see your sad mouth's laughing look I have used sweet hours in seeing. O, will you weep? I pray you do not weep.

QUEEN. Nay, dear, I have No tears in me; I never shall weep much, I think, in all my life; I have wept for wrath Sometimes and for mere pain, but for love's pity I cannot weep at all. I would to God You loved me less; I give you all I can For all this love of yours, and yet I am sure I shall live out the sorrow of your death And be glad afterwards. You know I am sorry. I should weep now; forgive me for your part, God made me hard, I think. Alas, you see I had fain been other than I am.

CHASTELARD. Yea, love. Comfort your heart. What way am I do die?

QUEEN. Ah, will you go yet, sweet?

CHASTELARD. No, by God's body. You will not see? how shall I make you see? Look, it may be love was a sort of curse Made for my plague and mixed up with my days Somewise in their beginning; or indeed A bitter birth begotten of sad stars At mine own body's birth, that heaven might make My life taste sharp where other men drank sweet; But whether in heavy body or broken soul, I know it must go on to be my death. There was the matter of my fate in me When I was fashioned first, and given such life As goes with a sad end; no fault but God's. Yea, and for all this I am not penitent: You see I am perfect in these sins of mine, I have my sins writ in a book to read; Now I shall die and be well done with this. But I am sure you cannot see such things, God knows I blame you not.

QUEEN. What shall be said? You know most well that I am sorrowful. But you should chide me. Sweet, you have seen fair wars, Have seen men slain and ridden red in them; Why will you die a chamberer's death like this? What, shall no praise be written of my knight, For my fame's sake?

CHASTELARD. Nay, no great praise, I think; I will no more; what should I do with death, Though I died goodly out of sight of you? I have gone once: here am I set now, sweet, Till the end come. That is your husband, hark, He knocks at the outer door. Kiss me just once. You know now all you have to say. Nay, love, Let him come quickly.

[Enter DARNLEY, and afterwards the MARIES.]

DARNLEY. Yea, what thing is here? Ay, this was what the doors shut fast upon- Ay, trust you to be fast at prayer, my sweet? By God I have a mind-

CHASTELARD. What mind then, sir? A liar's lewd mind, to coin sins for jest, Because you take me in such wise as this? Look you, I have to die soon, and I swear, That am no liar but a free knight and lord, I shall die clear of any sin to you, Save that I came for no good will of mine; I am no carle, I play fair games with faith, And by mine honor for my sake I swear I say but truth; for no man's sake save mine, Lest I die shamed. Madam, I pray you say I am no liar; you know me what I am, A sinful man and shortly to be slain, That in a simple insolence of love Have stained with a fool's eyes your holy hours And with a fool's words put your pity out; Nathless you know if I be liar or no, Wherefore for God's sake give me grace to swear (Yea, for mine too) how past all praise you are And stainless of all shame; and how all men Lie, saying you are not most good and innocent, Yea, the one thing good as God.

DARNLEY. O sir, we know You can swear well, being taken; you fair French Dare swallow God's name for a lewd love-sake As it were water. Nay, we know, we know; Save your sweet breath now lest you lack it soon: We are simple, we; we have not heard of you. Madam, by God you are well shamed in him: Ay, trust you to be fingering in one's face, Play with one's neck-chain? ah, your maiden's man, A relic of your people's!

CHASTELARD. Hold your peace, Or I will set an edge on your own lie Shall scar yourself. Madam, have out your guard; 'T is time I were got hence.

QUEEN. Sweet Hamilton, Hold you my hand and help me to sit down. O Henry, I am beaten from my wits- Let me have time and live; call out my people- Bring forth some armed guard to lay hold on him: But see no man be slain. Sirs, hide your swords; I will not have men slain.

DARNLEY. What, is this true? Call the queen's people-help the queen there, you- Ho, sirs, come in.

[Enter some with the Guard.]

QUEEN. Lay hold upon that man; Bear him away, but see he have no hurt.

CHASTELARD. Into your hands I render up myself With a free heart; deal with me how you list, But courteously, I pray you. Take my sword. Farewell, great queen; the sweetness in your look Makes life look bitter on me. Farewell, sirs.

[He is taken out.]

DARNLEY. Yea, pluck him forth, and have him hanged by dawn; He shall find bed enow to sleep. God's love! That such a knave should be a knight like this!

QUEEN. Sir, peace awhile; this shall be as I please; Take patience to you. Lords, I pray you see All be done goodly; look they wrong him not. Carmichael, you shall sleep with me to-night; I am sorely shaken, even to the heart. Fair lords, I thank you for your care. Sweet, stay by me.

END OF THE THIRD ACT.