 | The Duchess de la Vallière |  |
SCENE II.
The Scene opens and discovers the King and the Duchess de la Vallière at chess.LOUIS.
But one move more!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Not so! I check the king!
LOUIS.
A vain attempt!—the king is too well guarded!
There,—check again! Your game is lost!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
As usual,
Ev'n from this mimic stage of war you rise
Ever the victor.
(They leave the table and advance.)
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'Twere a fairer fortune,
My own Louise, to reconcile the vanquished!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE
(sadly.)
My best-loved Louis!
LOUIS.
Why so sad a tone?
Nay, smile, Louise!—love thinks himself aggrieved
If care cast shadows o'er the heart it seeks
To fill with cloudless sunshine! Smile, Louise!
Ev'n unkind words were kinder than sad looks.
There—now thou glad'st me!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Yet ev'n thou, methought,
Did'st wear, this morn, a brow on which the light
Shone less serenely than its wont!
LOUIS.
This morn!
Ay, it is true!—this morn I heard that France
Hath lost a subject monarchs well might mourn!
Oh! little know the world how much a king,
Whose life is past in purchasing devotion,
Loses in one who merited all favour
And scorned to ask the least! A king, Louise,
Sees but the lackeys of mankind. The true
Lords of our race—the high chivalric hearts—
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And stand aloof, lest slaves should say they flatter!
Of such a mould was he whom France deplores.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Tell me his name, that I, with thee, may mourn him.
LOUIS.
A noble name, but a more noble bearer;
Not to be made by, but to make, a lineage.
Once, too, at Dunkirk, 'twixt me and the foe,
He thrust his gallant breast, already seared
With warrior-wounds, and his blood flowed for mine.
Dead!—his just merits all unrecompensed!—
Obscured, like sun-light, by the suppliant clouds!
He should have died a marshal! Death did wrong
To strike so soon! Alas, brave Bragelone!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Ha!—did I hear aright, my Liege—my Louis?
That name—that name!—thou saidst not ‘Bragelone?’
LOUIS.
Such was his name, not often heard at court.
Thou didst not know him? What! thou art pale! thou weepest!—
Thou art ill! Louise, look up!
[He leads her to a seat.
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Be still, O Conscience!
I did not slay him!—Died too soon! Alas!
He should have died with all his hopes unblighted,
Ere I was—what I am!
LOUIS.
What mean these words?
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
How did death strike him?—what disease?
LOUIS.
I know not.
He had retired from service; and in peace
Breathed out his soul to some remoter sky!
France only guards his fame! What was he to thee
That thou shouldst weep for him?
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Hast thou ne'er heard
We were betrothed in youth?
LOUIS
(agitated and aside.)
Lauzun speaks truth!
I'd not her virgin heart—she lov'd another!
(Aloud.)
Betrothed! You mourn him deeply!
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Sire, I do!
That broken heart!—I was its dream—its idol!
And with regret is mingled—what repentance!
LOUIS
(coldly.)
Repentance, Madam! Well, the word is gracious!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Pardon! oh, pardon! But the blow was sudden;
How can the heart play courtier with remorse?
LOUIS.
Remorse!—again. Why be at once all honest,
And say you love me not!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Not love you, Louis?
LOUIS.
Not if you feel repentance to have loved!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
What! think'st thou, Louis, I should love thee more
Did I love virtue less, or less regret it?
LOUIS.
I pray you truce with these heroic speeches;
They please us in romance—in life they weary.
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Louis, do I deserve this?
LOUIS.
Rather, Lady,
Do I deserve the mute reproach of sorrow?
Still less these constant, never-soothed complaints—
This waiting-woman jargon of ‘lost virtue.’
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Sire, this from you?
LOUIS.
Why, oft—could others hear thee—
Well might they deem thee some poor village Phœbe,
Whom her false Lubin had deceived, and left,
Robb'd of her only dower! and not the great
Duchess la Vallière, in our realm of France
Second to none but our anointed race;
The envy of the beauty and the birth
Of Europe's court—our city of the world!
Is it so great disgrace, Louise la Vallière,
To wear, unrivalled, in thy breast, the heart
Of Bourbon's latest, nor her least, of Kings.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Sire, when you deigned to love me, I had hoped
You knew the sunshine of your royal favour
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Deem that the splendor consecrates the sin!
I'd loved thee with as pure and proud a love,
If thou hadst been the poorest cavalier
That ever served a King—thou know'st it, Louis!
LOUIS.
I would not have it so! my fame, my glory,
The purple and the orb, are part of me;
And thou shouldst love them for my sake, and feel
I were not Louis were I less the King.
Still weeping! Fie! I tell thee tears freeze back
The very love I still would bear to thee!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Would ‘still!’—didst thou say ‘still?’
LOUIS.
Come, lady!
Woman, to keep her empire o'er the heart,
Must learn its nature—mould unto its bias—
And rule, by never differing from our humours.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
I'll school my features, teach my lips to smile,
Be all thou wilt; but say not ‘still,’ dear Louis!
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Well, well! no further words; let peace be with us.
(Aside.)
By Heaven, she weeps with yet intenser passion!
It must be that she loved this Bragelone,
And mourns the loftier fate that made her mine!
(Aloud.)
This gallant soldier, Madam, your betrothed,
Hath some share in your tears?
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Oh, name him not;
My tears are all unworthy dews to fall
Upon a tomb so honoured!
LOUIS.
Grant me patience!
These scenes are very tedious, fair La Vallière.
In truth, we kings have, in the council chamber,
Enough to make us tearful;—in the bower
We would have livelier subjects to divert us.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Again forgive me! I am sick at heart;
I pray you pardon;—these sad news have marred
The music of your presence, and have made me
Fit but for solitude. I pray you, Sire,
Let me retire; and when again I greet you,
I'll wear the mien you'd have me!
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Be it so!
Let me no more disturb you from your thoughts;
They must be sad. So brave—and your betrothed!
Your grief becomes you.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
You forgive me, Louis?
We do not part unkindly?
LOUIS.
Fair one, no!
[Exit La Vallière.
LOUIS.
She was my first love, and my fondest.—Was!
Alas, the word must come!—I love her yet,
But love wanes glimmering to that twilight—friendship!
Grant that she never loved this Bragelone;
Still, tears and sighs make up dull interludes
In passion's short-lived drama! She is good,
Gentle, and meek,—and I do think she loves me,
(A truth no King is sure of!)—But, in fine,
I have begun to feel the hours are long
Pass'd in her presence; what I hotly sought
Coldly I weary of. I'll seek De Lauzun:
I like his wit—I almost like his knavery;
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Thirst, hunger, rest—these are the wants of peasants:
A courtier's wants are titles, place, and gold;
But a poor king, who has these wants so sated,
Has only one want left—to be amused!
[Exit Louis.
| The Duchess de la Vallière | |