Brecht Collected Plays: 1: Baal; Drums in the Night; In the Jungle of Cities; Life of Edward II of England; & 5 One Act Plays: "Baal", "Drums in the Night", "In the Jungle of Ci (World Classics) (34 page)

Do you expect someone?

SPENCER:

No. No one.

MONK:

The ship puts to.

BALDOCK:

Tell me, King Edward, why, when you

Had Roger Mortimer in your grasp, did you

Spare him on the day of Killingworth?

Edward is silent
.

BALDOCK:

Today you’d have a wind for Ireland.

Were you in Ireland you’d be saved.

SPENCER:

It left us in the lurch and all but sank us.

EDWARD:

Mortimer! Who talks of Mortimer?

A bloody man. Lord Abbot, on thy lap

Lay I this head, laden with care and violence.

O might I never ope these eyes again!

BALDOCK:

What is that noise?

SPENCER:

‘Tis nothing. ’Tis a gust of snow.

BALDOCK:

I thought it was a cock-crow.

The noise deceived.

SPENCER:

Look up, my lord. Baldock, this drowsiness

Betides no good. We are betrayed already.

Enter Rice ap Howell and troops
.

SOLDIER:

I’ll wager Wales, these be the men.

BALDOCK
to himself
:

See him sitting there, hoping, unseen

As though flies covered him, to escape

From murdering hands.

RICE AP HOWELL:

In England’s name which among you is the king?

SPENCER:

There is no king here.

BALDOCK
goes up to King Edward
:

Take this napkin, I pray you, good my lord.

You have sweat upon your brow.

RICE AP HOWELL:

Take him. This is he.

Edward as he goes between armed men, stares at Baldock
.

BALDOCK
weeps
:

My mother in Ireland would eat some bread.

Sire, pardon me.

KING EDWARD, A PRISONER IN SHREWSBURY CASTLE, REFUSES TO RENOUNCE THE CROWN.

The Lord Abbot, now Archbishop of Winchester, Rice ap Howell
.

ABBOT:

When he succeeded to his father Edward

He sported happy hours with a man

Named Gaveston

Who christened me with channel water

In a dark alley by Westminster Abbey.

Then through an error he embroiled himself

In a desperate oath and turned a tiger.

Some time after, the Queen, she who clung

To him so long, left him, with many others.

After many years it fell to me to see him

When he was a shipwreck, spattered

With much blood and vices, under my protection

At Neath Abbey.

Today am I Archbishop of Winchester

Successor to a man whose head he

Struck off, and I am charged

To ask him for his crown.

RICE AP HOWELL:

Now he is in chains he refuses

Food and drink. Go carefully, touch

Not his head but touch his heart.

ABBOT:

When you hear these words upon my lips:

‘Allow me to begin with the set form’

Then draw nearer with some others

Witnesses that Edward the Second abdicated.

Unnoticed then and painlessly will I

This concession, like a bad tooth

Draw from him.

Enter Edward
.

RICE AP HOWELL:

He still speaks. Hear him and say naught.

Better speak than think. See, he warms himself

With his words. Remember he is cold.

Will you not eat, my lord? Why do you refuse

To eat?

Edward is silent
.

Exit Rice ap Howell
.

EDWARD:

The forest deer, being struck

Runs to an herb that closeth up the wounds;

But when the tiger’s flesh is gored, he rends

And tears it with his wrathful paw.

Often I think that all is ever change.

But when I call to mind I am a king

Methinks I should revenge me of the wrongs

That Mortimer and Anne have done to me.

And yet we kings when regiment is gone

Are perfect shadows in a sunshine day.

Truly I think most things are vain.

The nobles rule, I bear the name of king

And my unconstant queen

Once hateful to me for her bitch-like clinging

(And so debased that her love’s not

Part of her like her own hair but a mere

Thing, changing with every change)

Now spots my nuptial bed

While sorrow at my elbow still attends

And grief still clasps me to his breast and I

Must bleed my heart out at this strange exchange.

ABBOT:

God paints with grief and pallor those he loves.

Would it please your majesty to ease

Your bosom in my ear?

EDWARD:

The starving fishermen of Yarmouth

I pressed for rent.

ABBOT:

What else weighs on thy heart?

EDWARD:

I kept my wife Anne in the city in fifteen.

In the August heat. A whim.

ABBOT:

What else weighs on thy heart?

EDWARD:

I spared Roger Mortimer for malicious pleasure.

ABBOT:

What else weighs upon thy heart?

EDWARD:

I whipped my dog Truly till he bled. Vanity.

ABBOT:

And what else weighs upon thy heart?

EDWARD:

Nothing.

ABBOT:

No bloodshed, no offences against nature?

EDWARD:

Nothing.

O wild despair of man’s estate!

Say, father, must I now resign my crown

To make usurping Mortimer a king?

ABBOT:

Your grace mistakes, with all respect we crave

The crown for the child Edward’s right.

EDWARD:

No it is for Mortimer, not Edward’s head.

For he’s a lamb encompassed by two wolves

That in a moment will rip out his throat.

ABBOT:

That child in London is in God’s hands.

And many say your abdication

Were good both for your son and you.

EDWARD:

Why do they tell lies to one who

Scarce can ope his lids for weariness?

Say’t, fear not my weariness: You do it

So that England’s vine may perish

And Edward’s name ne’er come within the Chronicles.

ABBOT:

My Lord, these last times must have been

Most cruel to make you hold such stark belief

In human wickedness. My son, since thou

Hast opened up thy heart to me, lay

Thy head once more upon my lap and hear me.

EDWARD
takes off his crown, then
:

Let me but wear it for today! Thou shouldst

Stay by me till evening and I

Will fast and cry: Continue ever, sun!

Let not the dark moon possess this clime!

Stand still you watches of the element

You moon and seasons, rest you at a stay

That Edward may be still fair England’s king.

But day’s bright beam doth quickly pass away.

He puts on his crown again
.

Inhuman creatures nursed with tiger’s milk

Lusting for your sovereign’s overthrow.

See, you monsters, from Westminster Abbey, see!

I cannot take it off, my hair goes with it

It is quite grown with it. Oh it

Has at all times been an easy burden to me

No heavier than the maple’s crown of twigs

So light and pleasing at all times to wear

And for all time now a little blood

A scrap of skin, black blood will stick to it

From Edward the Powerless, the Poor, the tiger’s prey.

ABBOT:

Be patient. This is but the green discharge

Of a chastised body, a fantasy, a whistling wind

On a rainy night. Strip the linen from your breast.

I lay my hand straightway upon your heart

That it may lighter beat, for it is real.

EDWARD:

Were it reality and reality all this

The earth would open up and swallow us

Yet since it does not open and thus

‘Tis as a dream, fantasy, and has naught to do

With the world’s common reality nor with an

Ordinary day, I lay down this crown —

ABBOT:

Aye! Take it off! It is not thy flesh!

EDWARD:

Sure this is not real and I

Must wake in Westminster

After thirteen happily concluded years of war —

In London.

I, in the recorded births at Caernarvon

Edward, King of England, Edward Longshanks’ son

Thus in the church register.

ABBOT:

You are in a sweat? You must eat!

I’ll take it from your sight. Make haste!

EDWARD:

So quick? Here take it, seize it. But

If it please you with a cloth, ’tis wet.

Quick quick! ’Tis almost evening! Go! Tell them

At Shrewsbury Edward had no wish

To eat the icy wind with wolves

And gave it for a roof against the winter

That stands before the door.

ABBOT:

Permit me then

To begin with the set form: I, Thomas

Archbishop of Winchester, ask you

Edward of England, Second of that name

Son to Edward Longshanks: ‘Art thou willing

To resign the crown and to renounce

Therewith all rights and claims.’

Rice ap Howell and his men have entered
.

EDWARD:

No no no, you liars! Slaves! Measure you

The ocean with your little cups? Have I

Been tricked then? Have I babbled?

Have you come this time without a storm, man?

Have you another habit on, Lord Abbot?

Once before already, Winchester, I had

Your face struck off. Faces like yours

Do multiply ever in a most harmful way.

In such a case one named Mortimer

Was wont to say: like flies! Or did you

When I washed you in the gutter, lose

Your face there so I saw it not

When I laid my head upon your lap?

Aye, Lord Abbot, the things of this world are

Not constant.

ABBOT:

Make no mistake. Even if your hand’s too good

To touch my face, be sure of this:

My face is real.

EDWARD:

Go quick! ’Tis evening. Tell the Peers: Edward

Dies soon. Less haste were courtesy.

Say too: he gave you leave not to

Mourn him greatly when you toll the knell

For him, but prayed you to go down

Upon your knees and say: Now

Is he the easier. Say: He bade us not to

Credit when, distractedly, he spoke

What seemed renunciation of the crown.

Thrice said he: No.

ABBOT:

My lord as you have said so be it done.

But as for us we are only moved by care

For Mother England. Two days

In London one was sought who

Was not your enemy and none was found

But me. And so we take our leave.

Exeunt Abbot and the others save Rice ap Howell
.

EDWARD:

And now Rice ap Howell, give me to eat.

For Edward eats now.

He sits and eats
.

Since I did not resign I know the next

News that they bring will be my death.

Enter Berkeley with a letter
.

RICE AP HOWELL:

What bring you, Berkeley?

EDWARD:

What we know.

Pardon us, Berkeley, that we are at meat.

Come Berkeley

Tell thy message to my naked breast.

BERKELEY:

Think you, my lord, Berkeley

Would stain his hands?

RICE AP HOWELL:

An order from Westminster commands

That I resign my charge.

EDWARD:

And who must keep me now? You, Berkeley?

BERKELEY:

So ’tis decreed.

EDWARD
takes the letter
:

By Mortimer whose name is written here.

He tears the letter
.

So may his limbs be torn as is this paper.

BERKELEY:

Your grace must straight to horse for Berkeley.

EDWARD:

Whither you will; all places are alike

And every earth is fit for burial.

BERKELEY:

And thinks your grace that Berkeley will be cruel?

EDWARD:

I know not.

IN THE YEARS
1324-6
THE PRISONER EDWARD PASSES FROM HAND TO HAND
.

RICE AP HOWELL
alone
:

His state moved me to pity. That is

The ground why Berkeley had

To take him hence.

Enter Kent
.

KENT:

In London it is said the king’s resigned.

RICE AP HOWELL:

Lies.

KENT:

Mortimer says so.

RICE AP HOWELL:

He lies. In my hearing thrice the king

Said no.

KENT:

Where is my brother?

RICE AP HOWELL:

These thirteen days Berkeley sent for him

To come.

KENT: