University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

—THE LISTS.
Enter Lautrec and Laval, meeting.
LAUTREC.
Well met, by this glad light, Laval! Will not
The Queen attend this tournament to day?

LAVAL.
No, sir, she's closeted with that grim holiness!

LAUTREC.
That Spanish monk!

LAVAL.
That walking mystery!
That man, to my mind, hath a villainous look.
I never met his eyes but they were glaring
Like some hyæna's, or the devil's own;
And when I've spoken to him, I have seen
His lip, which as you know is e'er purs'd up
Into an humble simper of devotion,
Grow pale as death, and quiver, and instead
Of that same sneaking smile, it wore a sneer
That look'd like ghastly and convulsive agony.
Once, I remember me, the Queen had sent
By me some mission to this confessor;—
By chance, the Princess Margaret, by whose side
He stood, let fall a jewel from her finger;
Both stoop'd, and as we did, our hands encountered—
He started back as though a serpent stung him;—
By'r Lady, but I would not be the man
To wrong that surly monk: it is not strange,
That when I gaze on him it seems as though
I knew him, and had seen him oft before.

LAUTREC.
Nay, in thy dreams it must have been, Laval;
But leave this theme, and tell me what it is
Thou wouldst with me?

LAVAL.
This is no fitting place
To speak what I would say at greater length;
But love prompts me, once more, to urge my suit—
My unanswer'd suit.

LAUTREC.
Once more I tell thee, then,
My sister shall be thine, I have said it—
Alençon!

Enter Alençon.
LAVAL.
Thou'st tarried long at tennis.

ALENÇON.
Why, the King
Still loiter'd on with racket in his hand;
And Bonnivet vaunting their mutual prowess.

LAUTREC.
'Tis much past noon.

ALENÇON.
He will be here anon.
For as I rode, I pass'd him with his train,
The gath'ring crowd thronging and clamouring
Around him, stunning him with benedictions,
And stifling him with love and fumes of garlick!
He, with the air he knows so well to don,
With cap in hand, and his thick chestnut hair
Fann'd from his forehead, bowing to his saddle,
Smiling and nodding, cursing at them too
For hindering his progress—while his eye,
His eagle eye, well vers'd in such discernment,
Rov'd through the crowd; and ever lighted, where
Some pretty ancle, clad in woollen hose,
Peep'd from beneath a short round petticoat,
Or where some wealthy burgher's buxom dame,
Deck'd out in all her high-day splendour, stood
Shewing her gossips the gold chain, which lay
Cradled upon a bosom, whiter far
Than the pure lawn that kerchieft it.
But how is not the joust begun?—his Majesty—

LAUTREC.
Nay, it began when first his order reach'd us;
Already hath one combat been decided
'Twixt Jouy and de Varennes; and the latter,
Proving the conqueror, in yonder tent
Now rests him for awhile: he will come forth
When next the trumpets sound. Wilt thou, Laval,
Try fortune in the lists?

LAVAL.
Oh, not to-day,—
Not before her, beneath whose eyes defeat
Were worse than death,—no, not to-day.

LAUTREC.
Nay, then, De Varennes shall not loiter there
Longer in proud expectance of a rival,—
I will encounter him. Herald! what ho!
There is my gauntlet—bear to Count de Varennes
A fair defiance! Bid my page lead round
My charger, let your trumpets sound a blast,
And raise the escutcheon of our ancient house
Before the tent.

[Exit into the Lists. Shouts and acclamations without, and trumpets.
Enter Francis, Chabannes, Vendôme, Bonnivet, Clement Marôt, Triboulet, and Courtiers.
OMNES.
Long live the King! Long live great Francis!

FRANCIS.
Now are we heartily ashamed to think
That we have robb'd our excellent good people
Of any portion of the day's rejoicing!—
We fear we're somewhat past th'appointed time.

TRIBOULET.
An hour or so, not more.

FRANCIS.
Curse on that ceaseless clock—thy tongue!

TRIBOULET.
It goes right, though, for once.

FRANCIS.
If we have caus'd the joust to be retarded,
Which we sent word should not be so, we trust
Our faithful subjects will forgive th'offence
In favour of the cause—their own dear interests
Having withheld us in deep council from
Their well-beloved presence, which to us
Is like the sunshine of a summer's day;—
We were detained by weighty matters.

TRIBOULET.
Ay,
A tennis-ball, was't not? There, never frown,
I'll spare thee—I'll be silent.

FRANCIS.
On with the combats!
Chabannes, 'tis long since such a joust has been
Honour'd by your good presence.

CHABANNES.
True, my liege;
Since I left France, though, many a time and oft
We've run a charge against Colonna's knights,
Had not disgrac'd the fair eyes that look down
Upon this bloodless mimicry of war.
[Shouts.
But, see! the gates unclose—Lautrec is conqueror!

[Shouts and trumpets. Françoise de Foix rises, and leans forward with every mark of intense interest.
FRANCIS.
De Bonnivet, who is yon lady? look—
In front of the Princess's balcony?
Is she not passing fair?

BONNIVET.
Indeed, my liege,
She's very fair. I do not know her, though.
(To Laval.)
Who is yon lady, leaning forth, Laval?

LAVAL.
Count Lautrec's sister.

FRANCIS.
Had a limner's hand
Traced such a heavenly brow, and such a lip,
I would have sworn the knave had dreamt it all
In some fair vision of some fairer world.
See how she stands, all shrined in loveliness;
Her white hands clasped; her clust'ring locks thrown back
From her high forehead; and in those bright eyes
Tears! radiant emanations! drops of light!
That fall from those surpassing orbs as though
The starry eyes of heav'n wept silver dew.
(To Laval.)
Is yonder lady married, sir?

LAVAL.
My liege,
Not yet; but still her hand is bound in promise—
She is affianced.

FRANCIS.
And to whom?

LAVAL.
To me, sire.

FRANCIS.
Indeed!
(Aside to Bonnivet.)
Methinks I was too passionate in my praise,
Eh? Bonnivet—and yet how fair she is!

(Trumpets and shouts.)
Enter Lautrec and De Varennes from the Lists.
BONNIVET.
The time is well nigh spent,
And yet no stir of arms in token yet
Of any other knight, whose envious prowess
Disputes the prize which Lautrec else may claim.

FRANCIS.
Let him not claim it, though, for 'tis not his;
And, by this light, shall not be his, while I
Can strike one blow for it. Behold, Count Lautrec,
Another combatant awaits thee, here!—
Another bids thee halt on triumph's threshold,
And strive once more for victory. What, ho!
Unfurl our royal standard to the wind,
And let our fleur-de-lys, that oft have shadow'd
The bloody battle-field, bloom o'er the tournay.

LAUTREC.
The King! I yield!

FRANCIS.
Not so, sir, if you please;
We'd shew that we can run a lance as well
As any other gentleman: come on!

[Exeunt Lautrec and the King.
FRANÇOISE.
How bravely does war's plumed majesty
Become him, as he vaults upon his steed!
His crimson crest waving upon the air
Like Victory's ruddy favours! on they go—
Now quakes the earth beneath their chargers' hoofs,
That whirl around, taking their vantage space;
Now each fierce steed bends on his haunches down,
Ready to rush his headlong course; each knight
Springs from his seat, and rising in the stirrups,
Directs his rested lance; on, on, they go,
Flashing and thund'ring! Ah! the King's unhorsed.

(Shouts within the Lists—‘Long live the King!’)
BONNIVET.
Madam, your loyal fears outran your eyes,
Count Lautrec fell, but he received no hurt:
The King is conqueror!

TRIBOULET.
Ay, so I thought:
Fortune's a true courtier.

CLEMENT.
Now out on thee, unmannerly—

TRIBOULET.
I meant to say courtiers are—

LAVAL.
How now, jackanapes?

TRIBOULET.

Well, well, what I meant to say is, that I never yet
saw the King worsted in a fight.

BONNIVET.

Surely not because—

TRIBOULET.

Umph! because broken pates are better than broken
fortunes, and ye know it full well!

(Shouts and trumpets.)
[Enter Francis, followed by Lautrec, Heralds, Pages, and Esquires: Margaret, Françoise, and Ladies, descend and advance; the King kneels to Margaret, who throws a gold chain round his neck.