University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

An apartment in the Palace. An oratory, with crucifix at back.
Marie, engaged on embroidery, Anne, Sir Lucien. Sir Lucien sings, playing an accompaniment on his lute, the last notes of which are heard as the scene opens.
Marie.
Thanks, thanks, good Lucien; break off to-day,
To-morrow thou shalt end the poet's tale.
In truth, a moving lay! What think'st thou, Anne?

[Smiling.
Anne.
I may not contradict your grace.

Marie.
Dissembler,
Thou may'st, and oft thou dost. Come, come, your judgment!

Anne.
These love-tales tire me. I like not minstrels.

Marie.
Thou art most thankless, then; is she not, Lucien?

Sir L.
Truly, I think so, madam; for the minstrel
Makes woman's beauty known, and sings the deeds
Her love inspires.

Anne.
A woman knows her beauty well enough
Without a minstrel, and would have deeds,
Not songs, to celebrate it.

Sir L.
[Aside.]
Does she taunt me?

[Bows, and turns away.
Marie.
[Apart to Anne.]
Your jests offend him.

Anne.
[Apart to Marie.]
Would that they could strike
One spark of spirit from him!

Marie.
He is brave
No less than gentle, trust me; do not gamble
With love, for thou dost love, nor slight the chance
Of joy like mine!

Anne.
Art thou so happy?

Marie.
Am I Philip's wife?

Anne.
Yet thou hast cares.

Marie.
True; for my sake the king
Braves vengeful Denmark and imperious Rome,
And oft I fear his love conceals from me
Impending danger; yet this selfish heart
Too oft forgets his danger in his love!
[Tumult is heard without, and cries from crowd of “Long live Queen Ingerburge!” “Away with Marie!”
What mean those angry shouts?

Sir L.
[Going to window and looking forth.]
A clamorous mob,
Frantic and desperate, has forced its way
Even through the palace gates!

Marie.
Methought I caught
My name! [Renewed cries from crowd of “Away with Marie!” “Dismissal!” “Banishment!”]
It is so.

Sir L.
Heed not, royal lady,
The fickle crowd.

Marie.
Sir, I must heed the crowd;
For I am Queen of France, and they her children!

Sir L.
[From window.]
The king's guard drives them back, and now the king
Himself approaches.

[Tumult and cries renewed without, but more distant.
Marie.
And they greet him thus!
Come!—Till I clasp him once more in these arms,
I shall not know him safe. Follow me! Follow!

[She goes out, followed by Sir Lucien and Anne. Cries from the crowd, “Long live Queen Ingerburge!” Counter cries from guard, “In the king's name!” “Fall back, fall back!” As the guard drive back the crowd, the cries become fainter, and subside.
Enter, on side opposite to that by which Marie left, Philip and Guérin.
Guér.
Still ran the cry—Long live Queen Ingerburge!

Phil.
[Throwing himself into a chair.]
Queen!—dar'st thou with that title yoke her name!
Speak! was she not divorced?

Guér.
The bishops own
They did exceed their province to declare
Your marriage void without assent of Rome.

Phil.
Let them own what they will—exhaust the breath
In their confessions, they may after need
To absolve less reverend sinners! They shall not
Include me in their penitence. They've erred,
They say. Sir, grant it. Shall they, then,
Retrieve their errors at my cost? Go to!
What they have done—is done; and if remorse
Will goad them—let it goad!

Guér.
Alas! my lord,
The Pope's authority o'errules their voice.
Your banished wife commands he you restore.
Obey, you're saved; refuse, the interdict.

Phil.
[To himself, walking apart.]
Forsake thee, Marie! No, whate'er betide,
To thee I cleave! My love—if prodigal,
Unreasoning, wild—is sworn to thy defence.
As I'm a knight, I'll shield thee, though I cope
Alone with ruin! When this priestly wrath
Has scathed me, when my knightly robes are doff'd
For leper's sackcloth, and the potentate
Dwarfs to the outcast, own that I was true!—
[After a pause.]
You wed a prince;—or, say, a princely heart,
Not less thy portion, though thy rival shared
My pomp and title. Is it heart for heart?
Oh, couldst thou love the man, if lost the king,
What blest deliverance.—Saints! I were no man,
But recreant, to shame thee! Misery,
To what perdition dost thou tempt the soul!
She's here, and the fiend flies her;
Enter Marie. Guérin withdraws to back.
Wife!

Marie.
My Philip!
At last thy Marie knows at what dear cost
She bears that name of wife. The people rise,
And bid thee cast her from thee.

Phil.
Do they so?
Modest to ask no more!

Marie.
Methinks I'd bid
Farewell to life this moment for thy sake;
Too happy were my tomb a hidden stone
In thy joy's fabric.

Phil.
Hear me, Marie! Witness
All that confirms an oath—

Marie.
Thou shalt not swear.
Love that needs oaths to bind it—is forsworn
Before it takes them.

Enter Usher.
Usher.
Good my lord, the Council
Even now assemble.

Phil.
Wait without, and bid
My train attend me. [Officer goes out.]
Sweet, our conference
Will be but brief; trust me, it bodes no evil.
Nor priest nor the leagued crowns of Christendom
Shall wrest thee from thy Philip. [Embracing her.]
Fear not, Marie.

Guér.
[Aside.]
Then all is lost!

Phil.
[Turning to Guérin.]
Now, Guérin!

Guér.
Sire, I'll follow.
[The King goes out.
[Aside.]
Fate's on the moment; there's one desperate hope.
She, and she only, can save king and people!
[Advancing to Marie.]
Your grace!

Marie.
Why wait you, sir?

Guér.
I am not welcome,
It seems; you hold me not your friend.

Marie.
My lord,
The king's friend must be mine.

Guér.
'Tis as the king's friend
I dare to speak.

Marie.
[Sitting.]
Speak on.

Guér.
'Tis right you know
What peril threats the king.

Marie.
I know already.

Guér.
Ay, but you know it vaguely, deem it distant;
You think the cloud far off; 'tis black above you,
And charged with ruin.

Marie.
Hold! had the king wished
I should know more, he had told me more.

Guér.
The king
Cannot to you speak of this peril.

Marie.
Why not?

Guér.
Because you cause it. Deign to hear a man
Whose task is harder than his bent; your lord
For you defies the Pope, neglects his summons,
And braves his edict. Wherefore Rome at last
Rises to punish. Ere 'tis night, her curse,
Her awful curse, may sound, and France and Philip
Be outcasts from heaven's grace and earth's communion.

Marie.
Oh, terrible! Yet thou art cruel, priest,
To taunt me thus. Can I avert this doom?

Guér.
You can avert it. You can rescue France
And him who rules France. You can save your lord—
His power, his fame, his perilled soul.

Marie.
You mock me.
How can I do this?

Guér.
'Tis for you he madly
Contends with Rome. Your fatal beauty absent,
Your claim resigned, he were no longer tempted.

Marie.
What do you ask?

Guér.
Things hard but possible.
Give place to Ingerburge, your lawful rival;
Fly from the king; resign your name of wife.

Marie.
[Starting up.]
Resign my name of wife! Lord Hospitaller,
Turn to me. Dar'st thou—thou, a holy priest,
Counsel a godless act? That name of wife
I at the altar took; shall I forswear it?
It made my lord's fate mine; shall I desert him
In this dark hour? Of his free choice he gave it;
Shall I fling back his gift? By law he gave it;
And shall I brand the deed that made him mine
As lawless shame? Good night.

Guér.
The name you bear
The Church denies you. Yield it, and the king
Is saved; refuse, you drag him to perdition. Choose!

Marie.
I—I—

Guér.
No other choice. [Kneeling.]
Now, lady, pardon
The king's friend, if your foe.

Marie.
Up, up, thy tongue
Has sheathed its poison here! Thy very look
Is deadly to me.—Stay, 'twas for my lord
Thou wast so cruel. [She extends her hand to him.]
I forgive thee. Go!

[Guérin kisses her hand, and with a profound reverence goes out.
Marie.
Philip on ruin's brink, in peril both
Of life and life to come, and I can save him!
How? Wrench from him myself, the engrafted branch
That springs from him, lives by him! And if I do,
Will he not bleed? Yet if my noxious graft
Infect his goodly stem, 'twere better severed
And withered at his foot! O strife! when love
Must stifle love's wild yearnings for love's sake.
Heaven, through this blinding grief I grope my way,
And call on thee for light! Save, save my Philip!

[She totters to the crucifix in oratory and sinks on her knees in supplication. The scene closes.