 | St. Clement's Eve |  |
Scene I.
—The Banqueting Room in the Palace of the Duke of Orleans. Tables spread. A company are assembled, amongst whom are Henri de Vierzon, René D'Aicelin, Enguerrand de Chevreuse, Loré de Cassinel, Alain Thibaut, Eustace D'Estivet (the Duke's Minstrel), and Griz-Nez (the Duke's Fool). To whom enters the Duke's Seneschal.Seneschal.
His Highness bids you to sit down and sup;
He will be with you later.
De Vierzon.
As he will.
What round white arms withhold him?
Seneschal.
Out, De Vierzon;
No damsel is it, but a devotee.
De Vierzon.
That pretty Theologue De Ricarville
Is both in one. I drink her health and his.
Stay them with flagons, comfort them with apples!
Seneschal.
Robert the Hermit 'tis, I tell thee.
De Vierzon.
So!
Then Cupid's case is desperate for a day.
What think ye of this pact betwixt the Dukes?
Shall it endure?
D'Aicelin.
Till death. But how soon death,
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May enter to dissolve it, who can tell?
To-day they rode together on one horse,
Each in the other's livery. To-morrow
They are to sleep together in one bed.
The People stare and deem the day is nigh
When lamb and lion shall lie down together.
De Chevreuse.
Rode on one horse!
D'Aicelin.
Yea, Orleans before,
And Burgundy behind.
Gris-Nez.
'Twas so they rode:
Two witches on one broomstick rode beside them;
But riding past an image of Our Lady
The hindmost snorted and the broomstick brake.
De Cassinel.
Would I were sure my gout would be as brief
As their good fellowship.
De Vierzon.
To see grim John
Do his endeavour at a gracious smile
Was worth a ducat; with his trenchant teeth
Clinch'd like a rat-trap.
De Cassinel.
Ever and anon
They open'd to let forth a troop of words
Scented and gilt, a company of masques
Stiff with brocade, and each a pot in hand
Fill'd with wasp's honey.
D'Aicelin.
Nay, no more of him;
The wine turns sour. Come, Eustace, wake thee up!
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And Florence d'Ivry with her deep-mouth'd eyes
And Merry Marriette,—where are they gone,
The score of maids that made thee musical
In days of old? or if their date be out,
Have none succeeded?
D'Estivet.
Ah! my youth! my youth!
Gone like a dream, and now at twenty-eight
I live on recollections. No, my songs
Have had their day; the charms I sang are fled;
The ears I charm'd are deafen'd in the dust.
What would ye with my ditties? But there's one
His Highness made, which, if I mar it not,
Should find its way.
D'Aicelen.
Be still, De Vierzon; hush!
Eustace d'Estivet
sings to a lute.
At peep of day, at peep of day,
Day peep'd to spy what night had done,
And there she lay, and there she lay,
Blushing in the morning grey
And hiding from the Sun
Day peep'd to spy what night had done,
And there she lay, and there she lay,
Blushing in the morning grey
And hiding from the Sun
Arise, arise, Aurora cries,
My dainty sister sweet, and throws
With frolic grace and looks that speak
Of love and gladness, at her cheek
A dew-besprinkled rose.
My dainty sister sweet, and throws
With frolic grace and looks that speak
Of love and gladness, at her cheek
A dew-besprinkled rose.
D'Aicelin.
Minstrel, well sung, and well conceited, Duke;
What is this whispering, Loré?
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Shall I tell?
De Vierzon's by an envious Abbess charged
That through the convent-grate he kiss'd a Nun;
Whereon the Court Ecclesiastical
Puts forth a process; this that he may answer
To-morrow noon, he fain would have me swear
I saw him in St. Michael's on his knees
That very hour the Abbess of St. Loo
Swears to the kiss.
D' Aicelin.
And didst thou kiss the Nun?
De Vierzon.
I may have kiss'd a linnet in a cage,
But as to Nuns, oh no.
D' Aicelen.
Come, I'll bestead thee;
As for myself, I have an errand then
At Château-Menil; but I'll send my page
With orders to swear what you will.
De Vierzon.
Much thanks;
He shall not be the loser.
Gris-Nez.
Ah, sweet Sir,
Had you been pleased to come to me for council
Before you kiss'd that Nun!
De Vierzon.
What then, Sir Fool?
Gris-Nez.
Knowest thou not, Sir Fool, my brother,
One dirty hand can wash another;
Ofttimes offences that are twins
Shall suffer less than single sins;
Stern forfeits tread upon his kibe
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To distance justice in the course
Who steals a purse should steal a horse;
Not hardly the offender fares
When Accusation hath gone shares:
Receive thou then, dear brother Fool,
Monition wise from Folly's School,
To kiss a Nun nor fear the worst
Thou should'st have kiss'd the Abbess first.
De Cassinel.
By Peter's keys! to moralize a kiss
No preaching have I heard more pertinent.
Here comes the Duke—no, 'tis but little Geoffrey.
Enter Geoffrey de Laval.
Geoffrey.
His Grace desires you'll none of you depart
Till he shall join you.
De Vierzon.
With such wine as this
To wet our wings, no thoughts have we of flight.
Is the lean Hermit with his Highness still?
Geoffrey.
No, he is gone; 'tis Vezelay that's with him.
De Vierzon.
Thou dost not say so! Well, the times are strange;
To the backbone Burgundian is he
And private with the Duke! What next?
De Chevreuse.
Why next—
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Orleans.
Kind Sirs, I pray you pardon this neglect;
Scant courtesy it was not, but strict need.
I drink your healths. No, Seneschal, gramercy:
I'll neither eat nor sit. My trusty friends,
I have a work in hand will ask your aid.
The Bastard of Montargis, as I hear,
Designs this night to seize and spirit away
A pupil of the Celestines; which rape
I would not such a rotten-hearted rogue
As he is, should accomplish; wherefore, Sirs,
Of five of you I crave attendance here
An hour ere midnight arm'd.
De Vierzon.
Your Grace has named
A service I shall clasp and strain to heart
Even as my best friend's wife.
De Chevreuse.
And so shall I.
De Cassinel.
And all.
Orleans.
I thank you heartily; but no;
Montargis is attended but by five,
Whom we must not outnumber. Hie ye home,
De Vierzon and De Cassinel, and you,
René d' Aicelin, Enguerrand De Chevreuse,
And Alain Thibaut; hie ye home and arm,
And hither hasten back at your best speed.
The rest, good-night. And be ye sure, my friends,
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[Exeunt all but the Duke and Geoffrey de Laval.
Geoffrey.
A boon, my gracious Lord.
Orleans.
What is it, boy?
Geoffrey.
Let me be one.
Orleans.
No, no; too young, too young.
They'd blow thy head off like the froth of their ale
And I should lose a monkey that I love.
Geoffrey.
My gracious Master, at your side to die
Is all I live for.
Orleans.
Be content, young friend.
The time may come. Thy horoscope and mine
Point to one hour, 'tis said. Enough of this.
Go to the vestiary, wherein thou'lt find
Provision of all garbs for the masqued ball.
Thence to the hall bring thou six pilgrims' weeds.
| St. Clement's Eve | |