Chapter IX: Act III

SCENE 1. _A small altar room, adjoining the king's apartment.
Henry bowed and kneeling. Enter Winchester and attendant._

_Att._ Since morning he has knelt, and sees no one.
You are the first admitted.

_Win._ Dear my lord----

_Hen._ [_Rising and turning to Winchester_]
Will you, too, tell me she is dead?

_Win._ Alas----

_Hen._ O, not that word--the pretty mask of woe.
That never hid a tear. If she is dead,
Weep and be dumb, or find some word that rends
The heart in uttering it.

_Win._ My lord----

_Hen._ My lord!
You're too polite a mourner, by my faith!
O, Glaia, Glaia, Glaia, art thou dead?
Canst thou then sleep, O, God?

_Win._ That he does sleep
This deed is proof.

_Hen._ What deed? 'Tis false! She lives.
'Twas blessed yester morn I held her here,
And heard her laugh and say my kisses were
Like Maythorn blossoms dropping on her hair.
And can her voice be still? Nay, fiends themselves
Love music, and would spare to put so much
To silence. O, in her tongue the nightingale
Was dead, having no sweeter cause to live.
She could not die. A thousand thousand angels
Would rush to save her and with silvery wings
Beat back the assaulting devil.

_Win._ Would I could say
She lives! You drain my heart with every tear
You drop upon this woe. Loved majesty,
Look up and weep no more.

_Hen._ Stop not my tears.
They shall pour sea-like till my body lies
An isle o'erwhelmed. My eyes could lend the skies
Another flood yet lack not moisture.... Glaia!
It was my kiss that slew thee. But for me
Thou hadst been living still. So Winter springs
To clasp his blushing Autumn love, then spends
His weary season burying her dead leaves.

_Win._ Rouse you, my lord. The creature is alive
That slew her.

_Hen._ He is found?--and lives--and you
Stand here to tell me?

_Win._ Hear my story, sire.
When we arrested Kent----

_Hen._ Arrested Kent?
You could not wait? Well, we shall see, my lord,
My Glaia loved him and he shall not die.

_Win._ The moment he was taken he confessed
That he had slain the maid----

_Hen._ What is 't you say?
Now, by my life, I thought you said that Kent--
I'll not repeat it--'twas so strange a thing--
I'm numb since this dark news, and what I hear
By insurrection of my wits becomes
What I hear not.

_Win._ Recall yourself, my lord.
Your wits are loyal, and inform you rightly.
I said 'twas Kent----

_Hen._ Ha! Now the devil speaks
In his own person. You've thrust the cloven foot
Too far from 'neath the bishop's gown.

_Win._ My lord----

_Hen._ Now I read back and take the hellish measure
Of all your lies!

_Win._ Your majesty----

_Hen._ Sir, I have loved this man, and when I felt
Too weak for England's throne, I laid my head
Upon his breast and there grew strong as he.
And you dare say----

_Win._ I do not say, my liege,
The crime is his, but he confessed it so.
Here are the words in which he damns himself.
[_Gives the king a paper_]

_Hen._ Drop from the world, O sun! Make all the air
Dark as my heart, that from this hour shall know
No re-ascending star! Leave me, my lord.
All's as you please. Do what you will. The world
No more shall draw me forth to look upon it.
Yet I am young, and had but learned to smile.

[_Enter attendant_]

_Att._ The earl of Pembroke begs to see my lord
Of Winchester.

_Hen._ Admit him here. I'll pray.
[_Turns to altar. Enter Pembroke_]

_Win._ What news, your grace?

_Pem._ 'Tis strange enough, my lord.
Kent's wife, the princess Margaret, now swears
'Twas she who took the maiden's life, and speaks
With so much care and proof of circumstance
I scarce can doubt her.

_Win._ Margaret!

_Pem._ No other.
She says 'twas she alone, and not her husband.

_Win._ This fortune wears our colors. Give it welcome.
I feared she'd rouse all England,--Scotland, too,--
In Kent's defence. You know her blood of old.
But now her hands are bound.

_Pem._ Then you've no doubt
'Twas she?

_Win._ I wish to have none, that's enough
To shape my looks by.
[_Henry rises and comes toward them_]
Ah, my liege, we hear
That Margaret is author of the crime
We now bewail, not Kent.

_Hen._ That it was either
I can not whip my senses to believe.

_Win._ She has confessed.

_Hen._ Why, so did Kent. This shows
A gap in proof.

_Win._ Kent thought to shield his wife.

_Hen._ Then he must love her well, and yet your tongue
Struck hard another way. Nay, it is she
Who thinks to save her lord. Poor Margaret,
Thou hadst done better to have wed the king.

_Win._ My lord, we can not doubt Kent loved this maid.
'Twas as apparent as the light to eyes;
And he would pause ere put her from his arms
To bed with worms; but this same love would be
Poor Margaret's bitter cause to wish her dead;
And Jealousy, we know, is page to Murder,
Holding the candle for the hellish stroke.

_Hen._ But why should Kent confess?

_Win._ With all his sins,
He has the grace of chivalry, and thought
By his confession to save Margaret,
Not caring for his fate since he was doomed
For other crime.

_Hen._ I'll hear no more, my lord.
A woman ... and that woman--Margaret.

_Win._ My liege----

_Hen._ No more. Here is my seal. 'Tis yours.
And now I beg you go. Nothing is dear
But grief, sole link 'tween me and love. Leave me,
I pray. [_Turns to altar_]

_Win._ [_Aside, gloating_] Weep, fool, my star is in my hand!

_Pem._ God send you comfort, sire.

[_Exeunt Winchester and Pembroke_]

_Hen._ [_To attendant_] Let none approach me.

[_Exit attendant._]

_Henry sings_]

I laid a rose upon my heart,
Ay me!
Soon 'gan its beauty to depart,
Ay, ay me!
I nursed it with desire,
Still did its beauty go.
For O, my heart was fire,
Cruel fire!
Ay me, I did not know,
I did not know.

[_Enter a friar through panel door behind altar_]

Art thou a shadow come to say
All men are shadows and naught living is?

_Friar._ I come to give God's help and ask for thine,
My son and king.

_Hen._ 'Tis death, sir, thus to steal
Into my presence.

_Friar._ So I prove my love
For thee, your highness, venturing life to reach
Thine ear's seclusion.

_Hen._ What wouldst tell me, father?
I've heard your voice before and found it honest.
By that, mayhap, we'll prove old friends. Come in.

[_Exeunt_]

SCENE 2. _A prison corridor. Kent alone._

_Kent._ Is this the end of Kent? The block and axe
His porters to throw ope the sealed gate?
I thought a good wife's prayers had ushered me,
And weeping peers had held my garments back
Until the soul disdained to hide therein.
... What value's in this world that men will buy 't
With so much groaning? This strange human chaos
Where vice is often merit, merit vice,
Or if they be themselves so change deserts
That wisdom is clapped to gallows, folly to thrones.
And innocence lifts up thin, fettered hands
While guilt walks angel free. Where palsy shakes
The pen from the seer's hand, and crowing health
Bids fools to write; where Fame forgets to blush
At Flattery's board, and Honor, pendulous
'Twixt bribe and faith, dwindles inert and like
A withered finger shames the hand of state.
... Where Margarets can stripe their souls' pure white
With guileless blood. She, she that was a dove
To falcon turn and rend a fledgling's breast!
It casts a doubt on Heaven, makes of faith
A leper scourged from man's hale faculties,
And love a monster of diseased minds!
Come, dearest Death, and mis-shaped world away!
[_Margaret is admitted, left, by a turnkey_]

_Turnkey._ You're honest? All your jewels, ma'am?

_Mar._ Ay, all!
They have been praised, but had no worth till now
When each one buys a minute with my lord.

[_Exeunt turnkey, locking door_]

[_Margaret comes down corridor toward Kent,
her hands behind her_]

_Kent._ [_Looking up_] What devil drove you here?

_Mar._ Did Hubert speak?

_Kent._ What do you want? Why hold away your hands?
Fear not that I'll embrace thee!

_Mar._ What art thou?

_Kent._ Nothing to thee, whatever else I am.
Away! For Death and I have just locked hands.
One moment more and I had cozened him
Of all his pain. But you, dear, damned foe,
Take up his weapons and re-gash my wounds.

_Mar._ Is this my lord?

_Kent._ Go. I command you. Go!
Eternity drops on me, and lightfoot Time
Hies like a ghost to nothing. What dost here?

_Mar._ I die.

_Kent._ You die? No fear of that. You are
Too great a lover of this life that vaunts
A bloated bubble 'twixt immortal shores.

_Mar._ If once 'twere true--if once I loved this world--
Thy bitter words have sucked desire to live
From all my senses. As a god I held thee,
Now mocking gods bid me look on whilst thou
Deport'st thyself 'neath mortal. Sir, what plague
Hast met? What conjuration of the skies
Disfigures thee?

_Kent._ The same that made thyself
A woman. Back unto your world!

_Mar._ O, true
I loved this life, and held a heart not dead
To music, beauty, sweet and warm delights,
An interest in the season-robing earth,
An entertained eye for fortune's chance,
And too pretentiously I sighed to leave
The unfollowed steps of fair and flying Truth,
And last, poor woman, shrank to change thine arms
For the cold circlet of Elysian clouds;
But you, pervert and monstrous, work my peace,
Unto my eyes deforming all the world
And making the unknown more dear than dream.

_Kent._ I monstrous? O, thou shame! To've died for you
Were scarcely more than's done each day for love;
But I for you have heaped my name with crime,
Crime that will damn my reputation's snow
While lasts the world and men recount old tales!

_Mar._ 'Twas for my sake you did it! Ah, I know.
You loved me well. Would you had known me better,
Or loved me less! O, how couldst think my life
Would flower with happiness when sacrifice
Of one as dear to Heaven as myself
Lay burning at its root? Nay, I must wither
Unto this world, but as I fall thy name
Grows fairer, for I have confessed 'twas I.
For love of me you sinned. The punishment
Is mine.

_Kent._ Confessed? You have confessed? No, no!

_Mar._ I shall be soon forgot, but your great name
Will live, and since it must, or dark or bright,
I would remove as much of foulness from it
As blood of mine will cleanse.

_Kent._ You have confessed!
O, God of truth, let man trust to thy mercy,
Not hope to cheat thy justice! You confessed?
Already I was doomed, but you--you might
Have lived. Ay, and you shall!

[_Comes near her and sees that her hands are fettered_]

In fetters? You?
By holy Heaven, though giants forged these on
I'd strip them off! [_Breaks her fetters_]

_Mar._ O, let me wear them, sir!
My bond of blessedness--for I am blest
In dying for your sin!

_Kent._ That word again?
My sin?

_Mar._ Forgive me, Hubert. 'Twas no sin.
Indeed, 'twas none. For you were not yourself.
'Twas madness. Heaven must forgive it thee.

_Kent._ God help thee, Margaret! Wouldst say I did it?

_Mar._ Not you, but heavy, secret woe that bred
A demon in your blood to strike poor Glaia,--
And too-dear love of me which vainly hoped
To give me peace where never peace could be.
O, look not so! At God's own throne 'twill be
Forgiven thee, for surely thou wert tried
As Heaven tries its own.

_Kent._ Art mad at last?
Thy crime confessed to all the world, and yet
Denied to me, the only heart that knows?
[_She gazes at him, bewildered_]
Poor soul, her madness has been slow enough.
Come, bruised darling, with thy blood-stained hands!
Thou 'rt mine, my only love!
[_Embracing her. She moves from him_]

_Mar._ 'Tis you that speak
Wild words. My blood-stained hands? They're free of blood
As the pure angel's who writes golden down
The saintliest deeds of men!

_Kent._ Whate'er thy words,
Thine eyes are true, and there's no madness in them.
But, Margaret, I found thee by her side----

_Mar._ 'Twas there I swooned----

_Kent._ The dagger in thy hand----

_Mar._ Yes, in my hand, but, Hubert--hear me, Hubert!
I saw you come from Glaia's curtained bed,
Slow and despairing, murmuring "She sleeps,"
As though you said she slept to wake no more.
I entered, saw her pale, drew back the coverlet--
There ran the stream that drained her beauty's rose--
There lay your dagger--yours. And then I thought
By dying there to save your life and name,
But fainted, O, too soon----

_Kent._ My heart, my heart!
O, had I done such deed would I have left
My dagger to confess it? Glaia called--
Not so--I dreamed she called--and going there,
Found her in deepest sleep--or thought I found
Her so--and touched her not lest she should stir
And know her woes again.

_Mar._ It was not you?

_Kent._ That question makes your tongue a dagger's point,
And yet my doubt of you was deeper wrong,
Measuring all the difference between
Man's grosser soul and woman's altar-lit.
O, Margaret, some serpent heart planned well
To do this deed and leave the guilt with me.

_Mar._ Who--who, my Hubert? Nay, it matters not,
Since 'twas not you--not you! In two small words
My heaven is built again!

_Kent._ We ne'er shall know.
I've foes enough, and one of them perhaps
So sought to cast me deeper by this crime,
And we shall wear his foul and scarlet mark
Even unto our graves,--for we must die.

_Mar._ Enough that we die sinless.

_Kent._ O, my love,
Who would have died for me!

_Mar._ And you, dear lord,
Who took such shame upon you for my sake!

_Kent._ Death was already on me, and 'twas naught
To make addition to my guilt. But you,
Your heart not pausing, leapt from safety's shore
Into the flood. O, might I live for thee!
A blessed bondman to thy merest wish,
From hour to hour to watch thy graces bloom
As various as Flora when she loves,
And in each furrow of thy brow that writ
Thee mortal set a new April mocking Time!
Then when no more I could dispute his doom,
Enter with thee a star-lit, sweet old age,
The fane of rest, and sanctuary where
All sorrows take their ease.

_Mar._ Think thou of Heaven.

_Kent._ But O, how dear this life! The immortal world
Is shrunk to shadow of a single thought,
And this contemned earth is sudden grown
Past circumscription of the mind's fond eye.
No-no--we must not die!

_Mar._ Wouldst tremble now?
When thou hast love beside thee? Nay, my lord,
Be yet the man of men, whose virtue drew
My wild resisting heart into its sun.

_Kent._ O, must we leave it all?--the gracious earth
Where we have loved, and heard the robins sing,
And built our nest that song might never cease?
Ah, I am weak, my sweet, and shine but in
The doting tear that dims a true wife's eye.

_Mar._ 'Tis not my love that paints thee radiant,
But thy own light illumes my eyes to love,
O, lord of mine, the kings of earth in vain
May hope to be thy shadowy parallel,
And where we go, in any court of air
Or cloud or heaven, still must thou be the one
Excelling star.

_Kent._ [_Clasping her_] Heart of the sun, beat here!
O, thy immortal fire will make Death warm
Ere he can make thee cold.
[_The turnkey opens door at end of corridor_]

_Mar._ My life, my soul!

_Kent._ O, God! Celestial marshaller of chance
To some far end of good, let me believe
Thy hand is here, and even on our heads.

[_The turnkey comes down_]

Ah, kiss me, kiss me, Heaven's Margaret.
Could I my life concentrate in one beat
I'd dwarf it so and give it in this kiss.

[_Curtain_]

SCENE 3. _A room in the earl of Albemarle's palace. A friar, and
the king in friar's dress, but uncowled, waiting._

_Hen._ This is a fitting room for Death's cold jest;
So proudly hung, and filled with comfort's chattels,
As though its owner hoped long respite from
A clayey bed. Where is the tenant, father?

_Friar._ She'll enter presently,--ah, even now.

[_Henry puts on cowl. Enter lady Albemarle, bearing a small box
which she holds to her bosom_]

_La. Alb._ Father, hast brought the holy man? The saint
Whose prayer may save the soul already damned.

_Fr._ Good daughter----

_La. Alb._ Ha! Good devil! That were better!
He's here? Well, send him back. I've changed my mind.
I will not see him,--no, nor you!

_Fr._ Farewell.

_La. Alb._ Nay, do not go! Wouldst leave a soul in hell
For humor of the tongue?
[_Friar returns to her_] My soul? Pah, sir!
You think a priest can save it? I want not
Your prayers, but your good service to set right
A wrong. Don't mumble over me! I speak
Because I'm dying. Had I hope to live,
Then right might shift for itself. And you call this
Repentance! Pah! Who can keep mum when death
Turns the last screw? You know the earl of Kent?
My brother?

_Fr._ Yes, my daughter.

_La. Alb._ I know that
Will make his peace with Henry--foolish king!
I must go back to tell you--years and years.
[_Turns away as if musing_]

_Fr._ Speak, lady, in God's name.

_La. Alb._ I'll tell you all.
But I'll not kneel. I've lived too much on knees.
... See? Albemarle! He has as many bodies
As he has wishes to keep spy on me.
... He's gone, and did not speak. He never speaks,
But there's a sort of beast sits in his heart
That growls and I do hear it.

_Fr._ Peace, good lady.

_La. Alb._ Ah, good again. Foul, foul and villainous!
Come here, thou holy man. To you I'll speak.
Dost think that ever I was beautiful,
And these long locks once bound a king to me?

_Hen._ A king?

_La. Alb._ Ay, royal John. A king indeed!
Angel to me though devil to the world.
None loved him but his Eleanor,--none, none!
The rest were mistresses unto his throne.
I gave my heart, he took me up to his.
Ah, father, do you think that is my sin?
That is my joy, my glory, my one pride.
I'll ne'er repent it until I repent
That e'er I smiled or felt myself alive.
Repent? Nay, father, not till I believe
That marble women are more dear to God
Than we whose hearts are warm with the same love
That beat in His when worlds leapt from His joy.
Come back, O golden summer, when there dwelt
Two happy beings in a magic wood,
Treading not earth but soft enchantment's air,
Until the beast came! There, do you not see him?
Away, black Albemarle! O, mercy, Heaven!
... Then there was Glaia, bud of our true love----

_Hen._ Glaia!

_La. Alb._ O, happy I, when he my king
Bent over me and said, "Sweet, she is ours!"

_Hen._ My sister!

_La. Alb._ What dost say? Thy sister? Ha!
Base monk, I tell thee that her blood was royal
As Henry's own! Ay, nobler! Who shall say
My spirit leapt not o'er pale Isabel's?

[_Retreats to couch by which is a small table. Puts box on table
and lays her head upon it, weeping_]

_Hen._ Then Glaia was my sister. Did you hear?

_Fr._ I heard what I well knew before
By my heart's guess, but had no proof of it.

_La. Alb._ [_Starting up_] Hear, father! You've heard
nothing yet. Last night
I killed her. Do you hear? I killed her.

_Hen._ O!

_La. Alb._ You hear? Ay, for you gasp and mutter prayers.
I thought to go and watch her while she slept,
And walked a devil with me who held close
A dagger--Hubert's--that's my brother, monk.
Still, still, ye swirling fiends that in my brain
Keep your hot dance! Be still!... She lay asleep,
Pain in her heart and beauty on her brow;
Her curls--her father's curls--around her face.
One fell upon my wrist--and see, a burn,
As though its gold were fire. She turned to me,
And murmured as her father did in sleep;
Then, in my hand the knife arose, and fell,
And as my brain rocked sick I heard him say,
My lover, bending o'er me, "She is ours." [_Pauses_]

_Hen._ And then?

_La. Alb._ What next I know not, but I think
Some cunning led me to conceal the deed
And make escape. I left the dagger there.
'Twas Hubert's. You had best be quick, or harm
Will come to him. The world is such a fool!
But wait--O, wait till I am dead! I am
A coward born, and life has bred me such.
Hark! Albemarle is coming! Lock the door!
[_Runs to the table and takes up the box_]
Look--in this box--my lover's letters--see!
I have the key. I'll give it to the devil,
And Albemarle may look for it in hell.
O, I am dying! Hide them for me, priest.
My letters from my king. I'll burn them all.
Nay, nay, sweet, pretty words, lie down with me.
Together we'll grow cold. Ye'd fire enough,
God wot! [_Lies on couch_]
Glaia is dead. Be quiet now.
Hast heard I was her mother? There's a secret--
No--no--I must not speak it--but 'twill out
By doomsgate, so they say. You are a priest;
Canst tell how far 'tis from the grave to hell?
You think they'll let me lie a little first
And see how 'tis to sleep? 'Tis a long walk,
I'll lie quite still, and give no trouble--none.
[_Dies_]

_Hen._ Help! Something to revive her.

_Fr._ It were vain.
Earth has not such restorative.

_Hen._ Not dead?

_Fr._ The heavenly amaranth alone can dew
Her brow with life.

_Hen._ O, Hubert! What am I?
Let me crawl to thy feet, cast off my crown
As I cast off this cowl, and lie in dust
Before thee! O, too late! [_To friar_]
'Tis as you guessed.
And each confessed in sacrificial love
Hoping to save the other. Tell me now
Who plays the angel here?

_Fr._ My liege, one who
Would not be here but that he fears no death.
[_Removes his cowl_]

_Hen._ Roland!

_Wynne._ My king!

_Hen._ Not king, but friend,
And equal in this woe. Rise! 'Tis no time
To kneel. What must we do? Now Margaret
Is safe--but Hubert? Even now they doom him.
Barons and church are leagued to prove him guilty,
Nor have I power against their proof to pardon
And keep my throne.

_Wynne._ Take courage. Thou art king.

_Hen._ To th' tower then. If majesty is yet
A word of might, we'll dare them all.

_Wynne._ Now speaks
Yourself.

_Hen._ I'll be the king!

_Wynne._ You fill my heart
With singing prophecies.

_Hen._ But first we'll give
An order for the noble burial
Of this poor woman. Glaia's mother, Roland.
She called me brother, and would have it so.
Ah, little sister, did the angels tell you?
You lived so much with them.... 'Twas I who killed her.
My very hand, and not this poor mad woman's.
I slew them both. Oh, oh, oh!

_Wynne._ Dear my lord,
Leave grief unto the grave, that it best decks;
The living call us now.

_Hen._ You talk so, sir,
Who did not love her.

_Wynne._ O, my lord!

_Hen._ You did.
Forgive me, friend, that I forgot your heart.

_Wynne._ If constancy past sacrifice of hope
Is love, I loved her, sire. If to be true
To every wish that rises from her grave
Is love, I love her still. But you, my liege,
Cloud your fidelity, wasting in tears
The moments now devoted by the stars
To rescue one she loved.

_Hen._ Shame me no more.
We'll give an order here, then to the tower!

[_Exeunt_]