The Two Noble Kinsmen Act Five – “That we should things desire which do cost us the loss of our desire!”

The Two Noble Kinsmen Act Five – “That we should things desire which do cost us the loss of our desire!”

The final act of ‘The Two Noble Kinsmen’ starts before the Temples of Mars, Venus and Diana. Three altars dominate the stage as Theseus enters so that proper offerings can be made before the duel for Emilia’s hand between Arcite and Palamon. Theseus directs the proceedings:

(Before the Temples of Mars, Venus, and Diana)

“Now let ’em enter, and before the gods

Tender their holy prayers. Let the temples

Burn bright with sacred fires, and the altars

In hallowed clouds commend their swelling incense

To those above us. Let no due be wanting;

They have a noble work in hand will honor

The very powers that love ’em…

You valiant and strong-hearted enemies,

You royal germane foes, that this day come

To blow that nearness out that flames between ye,

Lay by your anger for an hour, and dove-like,

Before the holy altars of your helpers,

The all-fear’d gods, bow down your stubborn bodies.

Your ire is more than mortal; so your help be;

And as the gods regard ye, fight with justice.

I’ll leave you to your prayers, and betwixt ye

I part my wishes.”

Theseus exits and Arcite and Palamon embrace. Arcite and his knights go before the altar of Mars. Arcite asks Mars to honour him in his quest as thunder and clamor of armour is heard:

“Knights, kinsmen, lovers, yea, my sacrifices,

True worshippers of Mars, whose spirit in you

Expels the seeds of fear, and th’ apprehension

Which still is farther off it, go with me

Before the god of our profession. There

Require of him the hearts of lions and

The breath of tigers, yea, the fierceness too,

Yea, the speed also—to go on, I mean,

Else wish we to be snails. You know my prize

Must be dragg’d out of blood; force and great feat

Must put my garland on, where she sticks

The queen of flowers. Our intercession then

Must be to him that makes the camp a cestron

Brimm’d with the blood of men. Give me your aid

And bend your spirits towards him...

O great corrector of enormous times,

Shaker of o’er-rank states, thou grand decider

Of dusty and old titles, that heal’st with blood

The earth when it is sick, and cur’st the world

O’ th’ plurisy of people! I do take

Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name

To my design march boldly…”

Then the audience sees Palamon and his knights enter and Palamon prays to Venus for success as music is heard and doves flutter:

“Hail, sovereign queen of secrets, who hast power

To call the fiercest tyrant from his rage,

And weep unto a girl; that hast the might,

Even with an eye-glance, to choke Mars’s drum

And turn th’ alarm to whispers; that canst make

A cripple flourish with his crutch, and cure him

Before Apollo; that mayst force the king

To be his subject’s vassal, and induce

Stale gravity to dance; the poll’d bachelor,

Whose youth, like wanton boys through bonfires,

Have skipp’d thy flame, at seventy thou canst catch,

And make him, to the scorn of his hoarse throat,

Abuse young lays of love. What godlike power

Hast thou not power upon? To Phoebus thou

Add’st flames, hotter than his; the heavenly fires

Did scorch his mortal son, thine him…

O then, most soft sweet goddess,

Give me the victory of this question, which

Is true love’s merit, and bless me with a sign

Of thy great pleasure…

O thou that from eleven to ninety reign’st

In mortal bosoms, whose chase is this world,

And we in herds thy game, I give thee thanks

For this fair token, which being laid unto

Mine innocent true heart, arms in assurance

My body to this business…”

Then Emilia, dressed in white with flowers in her hair and carrying incense and with ambient music playing approaches the Altar of Diana, sets fire to it and kneels:

“O sacred, shadowy, cold, and constant queen,

Abandoner of revels, mute, contemplative,

Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure

As wind-fann’d snow, who to thy female knights

Allow’st no more blood than will make a blush,

Which is their order’s robe: I here, thy priest,

Am humbled ’fore thine altar. O, vouchsafe,

With that thy rare green eye—which never yet

Beheld thing maculate—look on thy virgin,

And, sacred silver mistress, lend thine ear

(Which nev’r heard scurril term, into whose port

Ne’er ent’red wanton sound) to my petition,

Season’d with holy fear. This is my last

Of vestal office; I am bride-habited,

But maiden-hearted. A husband I have ’pointed,

But do not know him. Out of two I should

Choose one, and pray for his success, but I

Am guiltless of election. Of mine eyes

Were I to lose one, they are equal precious,

I could doom neither; that which perish’d should

Go to’t unsentenc’d. Therefore, most modest queen,

He of the two pretenders that best loves me

And has the truest title in’t, let him

Take off my wheaten garland, or else grant

The file and quality I hold I may

Continue in thy band.

(A rose tree ascends with a rose on it)

See what our general of ebbs and flows

Out from the bowels of her holy altar

With sacred act advances: but one rose!

If well inspir’d, this battle shall confound

Both these brave knights, and I, a virgin flow’r,

Must grow alone, unpluck’d.

(Sudden twang of instruments, and the rose falls from the tree, which vanishes under the altar.)

The flow’r is fall’n, the tree descends. O mistress,

Thou here dischargest me. I shall be gather’d,

I think so, but I know not thine own will:

Unclasp thy mystery.—I hope she’s pleas’d,

Her signs were gracious.”

The action of the play crosses back to a darkened room in the prison, where the Doctor hears from the Wooer of the success of plan to treat the Jailor’s Daughter’s madness through having the Wooer pretend to be Palamon. The Wooer relates:

“…the maids that kept her company

Have half persuaded her that I am Palamon.

Within this half hour she came smiling to me,

And ask’d me what I would eat, and when I would kiss her.

I told her, presently, and kiss’d her twice.”

The Jailor enters and the Doctor says that all is going well. The Jailor has his doubts and leaves to get his daughter. The Doctor says to the Wooer that if the Jailor’s Daughter makes advances towards him he should succumb. The Jailor enters with his daughter and the Wooer retires. The Jailor’s Daughter waxes lyrical about the virtues of her love. The Wooer reappears. They talk and the Wooer proposes that they get married. The Jailor’s Daughter agrees and they kiss. Still a little deluded and thinking that the Doctor is Arcite while still believing that the Wooer is her Palamon, the Jailor’s Daughter expresses her contentment and plans for the future:

“We shall have many children.—Lord, how y’ are grown!

My Palamon I hope will grow too, finely,

Now he’s at liberty. Alas, poor chicken,

He was kept down with hard meat and ill lodging,

But I’ll kiss him up again.”

In the next scene, Theseus and his party go off to see the contest between Arcite and Palamon. Emilia pleads to not see this event since it will distress her. Theseus eventually allows Emilia to stay and avoid seeing the contest. Emilia weighs up the merits of both men who are her suitors:

“Arcite is gently visag’d; yet his eye

Is like an engine bent, or a sharp weapon

In a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage

Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon

Has a most menacing aspect, his brow

Is grav’d, and seems to bury what it frowns on,

Yet sometime ’tis not so, but alters to

The quality of his thoughts; long time his eye

Will dwell upon his object; melancholy

Becomes him nobly. So does Arcite’s mirth,

But Palamon’s sadness is a kind of mirth,

So mingled as if mirth did make him sad,

And sadness merry; those darker humors that

Stick misbecomingly on others, on him

Live in fair dwelling.

Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a charge.

Hark how yon spurs to spirit do incite

The princes to their proof! Arcite may win me,

And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to

The spoiling of his figure. O, what pity

Enough for such a chance? If I were by,

I might do hurt, for they would glance their eyes

Toward my seat, and in that motion might

Omit a ward, or forfeit an offense,

Which crav’d that very time. It is much better

I am not there. O, better never born

Than minister to such harm!”

The battle happens off stage and at first the cries indicate Palamon is winning and then the final cries declare that Arcite has won. Theseus enters with Arcite and tells Emilia that the Gods have given her Arcite as her knight and victor:

“…Fairest Emily,

The gods by their divine arbitrement

Have given you this knight: he is a good one

As ever strook at head. Give me your hands.

Receive you her, you him, be plighted with

A love that grows as you decay…

O loved sister,

He speaks now of as brave a knight as e’er

Did spur a noble steed. Surely the gods

Would have him die a bachelor, lest his race

Should show i’ th’ world too godlike. His behavior

So charm’d me that methought Alcides was

To him a sow of lead. If I could praise

Each part of him to th’ all I have spoke, your Arcite

Did not lose by’t; for he that was thus good

Encount’red yet his better. I have heard

Two emulous Philomels beat the ear o’ th’ night

With their contentious throats, now one the higher,

Anon the other, then again the first,

And by and by out-breasted, that the sense

Could not be judge between ’em. So it far’d

Good space between these kinsmen; till heavens did

Make hardly one the winner.—Wear the girlond

With joy that you have won.—For the subdu’d,

Give them our present justice, since I know

Their lives but pinch ’em. Let it here be done.

The scene’s not for our seeing, go we hence,

Right joyful, with some sorrow.—Arm your prize,

I know you will not loose her.—Hippolyta,

I see one eye of yours conceives a tear,

The which it will deliver.”

However, Emilia expresses her distress that Fate has given her a Arcite who she suspects does not love her as much as Palamon does. Emilia accepts her fate although is clearly distressed.

We cross to a place near the lists for the contest. Palamon and three of his knights are pinion’d and a block is made ready for their execution. Palamon prepares himself and his men for death:

“There’s many a man alive that hath outliv’d

The love o’ th’ people, yea, i’ th’ self-same state

Stands many a father with his child. Some comfort

We have by so considering: we expire,

And not without men’s pity; to live still,

Have their good wishes; we prevent

The loathsome misery of age, beguile

The gout and rheum, that in lag hours attend

For grey approachers; we come towards the gods

Young and unwapper’d, not halting under crimes

Many and stale. That sure shall please the gods

Sooner than such, to give us nectar with ’em,

For we are more clear spirits. My dear kinsmen,

Whose lives (for this poor comfort) are laid down,

You have sold ’em too too cheap.”

The Jailor enters and Palamon asks about his daughter who helped him escape. The Jailor says his daughter is restored to health and is to be married soon. Palamon gives his purse to the Jailor for his daughter. His knights do the same. It seems that the end is near for Palamon and his knights. Then a cry of “Hold” is heard and a Messenger, Pirithous and others enter in haste. Pirithous then reveals how fate has twisted its course and intervened once more and he relates how Arcite has been injured and is on the verge of death from a horse riding accident. He relates the story:

“Mounted upon a steed that Emily

Did first bestow on him—a black one, owing

Not a hair-worth of white, which some will say

Weakens his price, and many will not buy

His goodness with this note; which superstition

Here finds allowance—on this horse is Arcite

Trotting the stones of Athens, which the calkins

Did rather tell than trample; for the horse

Would make his length a mile, if’t pleas’d his rider

To put pride in him. As he thus went counting

The flinty pavement, dancing as ’twere to th’ music

His own hoofs made (for as they say from iron

Came music’s origin), what envious flint,

Cold as old Saturn, and like him possess’d

With fire malevolent, darted a spark,

Or what fierce sulphur else, to this end made,

I comment not—the hot horse, hot as fire,

Took toy at this, and fell to what disorder

His power could give his will, bounds, comes on end,

Forgets school-doing, being therein train’d,

And of kind manage; pig-like he whines

At the sharp rowel, which he frets at rather

Than any jot obeys; seeks all foul means

Of boist’rous and rough jad’ry, to disseat

His lord that kept it bravely. When nought serv’d,

When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor diff’ring plunges

Disroot his rider whence he grew, but that

He kept him ’tween his legs, on his hind hoofs

On end he stands,

That Arcite’s legs, being higher than his head,

Seem’d with strange art to hang. His victor’s wreath

Even then fell off his head; and presently

Backward the jade comes o’er, and his full poise

Becomes the rider’s load. Yet is he living,

But such a vessel ’tis that floats but for

The surge that next approaches. He much desires

To have some speech with you. Lo he appears.”

Theseus and his train enters with Arcite on a chair, close to death. Before he dies, Arcite gives Emilia's hand to Palamon. Arcite dies. Theseus ends the play by telling everyone that we cannot know what fortune and the Gods want since they often play with us and we should be thankful for what hand Fortune deals us:

“Never fortune

Did play a subtler game. The conquer’d triumphs,

The victor has the loss; yet in the passage

The gods have been most equal. Palamon,

Your kinsman hath confess’d the right o’ th’ lady

Did lie in you, for you first saw her, and

Even then proclaim’d your fancy. He restor’d her

As your stol’n jewel, and desir’d your spirit

To send him hence forgiven. The gods my justice

Take from my hand, and they themselves become

The executioners. Lead your lady off;

And call your lovers from the stage of death,

Whom I adopt my friends. A day or two

Let us look sadly, and give grace unto

The funeral of Arcite, in whose end

The visages of bridegrooms we’ll put on

And smile with Palamon; for whom an hour,

But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry

As glad of Arcite; and am now as glad

As for him sorry. O you heavenly charmers,

What things you make of us! For what we lack

We laugh, for what we have are sorry, still

Are children in some kind. Let us be thankful

For that which is, and with you leave dispute

That are above our question. Let’s go off,

And bear us like the time.”