University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—A Street.—A Religious Procession crosses the Stage, chanting a “Gratias agimus” and carrying a Shrine with the true and entire head of St. Denys, accompanied by a throng of citizens.
1st Citizen.
Well, for this mercy of mercies God be praised!
And if his gracious Highness would but please
To walk abroad, should not his eyes behold
The loving'st truly and the joyfullest city
That earth can show.

2nd Citizen.
I never saw the like;
'Tis as a town for many a month besieged
When now the siege is raised and food and wine
Come in by cart-loads. Seem'd we not before
Half starved, and now half tipsy?

3rd Citizen.
Starved we were
And starved we are; but foul befall the wretch,
If such there be, who would not feed for life
On husks and draff if so it might please God
To keep the King in health.

Woman.
Bless him for ever
When he was well, not one so mean among us
But he could spare a smile to make her happy.
Bless his sweet gracious kingly face! I saw him
Kneeling at mass so comely and so holy!
But Lord, Sirs, he was ghostly pale.

Priest.
Poor soul!
What hath he suffer'd! Never king but David
Was so tormented; yea, the sorrows of Hell
Gat hold of him.

2nd Citizen.
Alas, and may again!

3rd Citizen.
Mercy forbid!

Priest.

3rd Citizen.
Yes, father, yes;
And ever 'tis my prayer that God would please
To point a finger at those sorcerers
That work the King this ill. Give us to know
What men they be, we'd slice them into gobbets
And fling their flesh to the dogs.

2nd Citizen.
Look, who comes here;
Surely the wise and worthy monks from Eu
Who come to search it out, and with them one
That's sore suspected, Passac, the King's barber.

Enter from the side at which the procession had passed out Father Buvulan and Father Betizac, followed by two Marshalsmen with Passac in custody and a throng of Citizens shouting.
Passac.
Oh hear me! Sirs, alas, ye will not hear me!

Citizens.
Where is the cart? the cart has fallen behind:
Stop for the cart; no faggots here, no pitch!

Passac.
Oh hear me, Sirs: I ever loved the King,
Yea, was his very worshipper; I hurt him!
I that would die to give his gracious soul
One moment's peace.

Father Buvulan.
My friends, ye are not fools,
Ye are not senseless blocks; ye have your wits;
Ye can discern the truth. Behold this barber;
Look at this bag and ring. What shall be said?
Here's one that, being barber to the King,
Puts me this ring into a corpse's mouth,
(A Jew's that had been hung was Tuesday week
For strangling Chrisom babies ere the Priest
Sweating with haste could reach to christen them),
Sticks me this ring into this corpse's mouth,
Leaves it three days, then puts it in this bag
Sewn with the dead man's skin and fill'd to the neck
With his accursed ashes, and the bag
Wears next his heart. What shall be said, I ask?

Citizens.
Away to the stake—hale him along—away!
And prod him with your lances as ye go.

Passac.
Oh, Sirs, 'tis false; I never did such things.
Kind, noble Sirs, believe me, for the ring
I had it of my wife when I was courting;
The bag, Sirs, holds the ashes of St. Maud;
'Twas given me by the Abbot of Beaumanoir
By reason I had shaven him fifteen years,
When, times being hard, he could not pay in cash
And gave me this.

Father Betizac.
Truly the Father of Lies
Sits like a weaver at his loom and weaves.
You'll find him, Sirs, as hardy to deny
The Eve of Pentecost, when he was seen
At midnight in the Rue des Ursulines
Ranging and whirling round and round the gibbet,
Whiles the dead bodies, swinging in the wind,
Sang “Ave Sathanas!” That too he'll deny.

Passac.
As I'm a Christian man, Sirs, it is false.

Father Betizac.
I told you so; I knew he would deny it.

Passac.
At midnight on the Eve of Pentecost
I was at nocturns in the Chapel Royal.

2nd Citizen.
Oh monstrous liar! I saw thee with mine eyes
Ranging and scouring round and about the gibbet
At midnight chimes; yea, with mine eyes I saw thee;
Thou hadst put on the body of a cur,
A cock-tail'd cur.

Father Betizac.
And did ye mark, my friends,
Now as we pass'd the true head of St. Denys,
And playing on our easy credulous minds
He knelt and cross'd himself,—mark'd ye, I say,
How the head frown'd?

3rd Citizen.
It did; I saw it frown;
An angry frown; I trembled like a leaf.

Passac.
'Twas at these monks it frown'd and not at me.
'Tis they that are magicians, as I can prove;
'Tis they.

Father Buvulan.
Oh mercy on my sinful soul!
I ne'er knew Satan so enraged before.
Here comes the cart; bring him along, false hound!
Mark when he burns if the flames be not blue.

Citizens.
Bring him along—a faggot each—come on.

Passac.
Dolts! Idiots! Will ye have my life? Then take it;
And may the curse of God and all good men
And all the blessed Company of Heaven
Swallow you quick, ye blood-bespatter'd knaves,
And send you seething to the bottomless pit?

Father Betizac.
Hoo! grace defend us! What! blue flames already!
Look to him, serjeants, he is dangerous;
So—knot his hands behind him. Up with a psalm:
Sing as ye go the “Deus ultionum.”

[Exeunt—the Monks last. Then enter the Bastard of Montargis and Raiz de Vezelay.
Montargis.
Ay, a good wench I grant you, free and merry
Before the wind; but luff her up and lo!
Crack goes the topmast, rudder fells the pilot,
Split flies the foresail.... Ha! is yonder monk ....
Yes, by St. George it is.... Ho, Betizac!
I think he hears me.... Yes, a lively wench,
And, as they all are, winning—till she's won;
Then comes a change.

De Vezelay.
What! is it even so!
Has Flos then fallen from her high estate
To pass for flat?

Montargis.
Save when she's furious. Ha!
Re-enter Father Betizac.
The man I sought—a serviceable man;
Wilt do me a good turn?

Father Betizac.
Your worship's slave,
Obedient ever. In my way, my Lord?
Aught in my way?

Montargis.
In one, friend, of thy ways;
For thou hast two; with roses strewn is this;
That in like manner red—but not with roses.
'Tis in the first I need thee; thou hast spells,
Potions and powders, shells and herbs and seeds
Gather'd or mixed when Dian in eclipse
Made Venus doubly bright.

Father Betizac.
My Lord, I have;
How come by 'twere not good for me to say
Nor you to hear. But thus much I may tell;
When Ashtaroth and Asmodai were flung
From heaven to earth, they harbour'd in a cave
In Normandy, when spitting on the ground,
There where they spat upgrew a wondrous plant,
Whereof the leaves, powder'd and mixed in wine,
Are of that virtue they shall change the hearts
Of twice-vow'd Vestals.

Montargis.
Such a one is she
Whom I would subjugate; the Northern Lights
Shine with no softer radiance, nor frequent
A frostier region. Lo! a mineral spell,
Less named than known in necromantic lore,
I give thee in acquittance.
[Gives him a gold piece.
Send that drug.

Betizac.
'Tis yours, my Lord.

Montargis.
Ere night?

Betizac.
My Lord, ere night
I'll send it you.

Montargis.
A Cupid of mine own
I'll send to fetch it, rather. Fare thee well.

[Exit Betizac.
De Vezelay.
How's this, Montargis? Flos then fell not flat
Till rose another o'er her?

Montargis.
Well, 'tis true.

De Vezelay.
Why, here's a change! like Carnival to Lent,
Done in a day.

Montargis.
Truly a Lenten change
Fits not my festive spirit; nor do I look
For forty days to fast, or four or one.
If not befriended by the friar's philter,
I know by what; for I am of the mind
Of Jean de Malestroit, that scrupulous Count
Who beat his chaplain till the good man bent
To grant him dispensation.

De Vezelay.
Ay, but Flos;
Is she to dance along the slippery path
She thinks shall bring her to the house of joy
And find herself confronted by contempt
Even at the gates? for was it not this night
You were to fly together?

Montargis.
'Twas to-night.
There is a midnight service in the chapel.
Flos and her fast friend Iolande St. Remy
Attend it. So do I. The Rue St. Mark
Is twenty paces distant. There should wait
Two saddles empty and some five well fill'd.
Pity it were such goodly preparation
Should run to waste. Now Iolande St. Remy
Sits on the throne of this unvalued Flos
And so shall fill her saddle.

De Vezelay.
By consent?

Montargis.
The horse consents and that's enough. Ere dawn
We shall have reach'd Montlhery. On the road
Her strength shall fail and she shall lack support;
Then comes the cunning Friar's well-mixed wine
And all is as it should be.

De Vezelay.
For myself,
I hold it less than loyal by a spell
To work upon a woman.

Montargis.
Tut! Reprisals.
She cannot by what conjuring you will
Be more bewizarded than I'm bewitched.
But hark you! we must take some thought for Flos;
No midnight freaks for her. My Lady Abbess
Must learn that she is mischievously minded
And lock her up. Raiz, look to this for me
And I will hold thee my true friend for life.
I needs must to the council; for at three
They meet to wrangle of the King's disease,
And cloudy John expects me.

De Vezelay.
Be content;
Flos shall be cared for—you shall know to-night
With what success.

Montargis.
Be diligent. Adieu.

[Exit.
De Vezelay.
Here is a zigzag! I am wicked too
In some sort, and with women; but thus to woo
And thus to win and thus to strike and stab,
Exceeds my tether. Poor forsaken Flos!
Not all her brightness, sportfulness, and bloom,
Her sweetness and her wildness and her wit,
Could save her from desertion. No, their loves
Were off the poise. Her boundless flood of love
Swept out his petty rill. Love competent
Makes better bargains than love affluent;
He needs had loved her had she less loved him,
And had I less loved her—she might—in time—
But no, she never could have stoop'd to me.
I'll do his errand—not for his sake, but hers.
No better can befall her than this night
To ponder in retreat. Some doubtful tale
I'll tell to waken up my Lady Abbess,
Which, its end answer'd, shall belie itself
And leave the damsel stainless. For her friend,
Poor Iolande, if I can save her, so;
Not through the Abbess—he would smell me there—
Some other way—and now that I bethink me,
I know the stroke shall strike his lance askew.
My Lord of Orleans is no friend to him
And loves a chance adventure. He shall hear,
And if Sir Bastard come not by a check
I'll yield some credit to his conjurors.
He's cruel over much. I've heard it said,
When Blanche de Honcourt lost her hold, ere long
A body in a sack was seen afloat
Betwixt the bridges. Such things should not be.