University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Closet in the Chateau of Thancmar. Enter Thancmar and Hebert.
THANCMAR.
You think then I must fight this hot-brain'd boy?

HEBERT.
Or that, or bear about a spotted honour,
Tarnish'd with his defiance flung upon it—
I see no middle course.

THANCMAR.
Indeed? Good Hebert,
I marvel much that one of ready parts,
As I confess you are not wanting in them—
And one, who of the varied book of life
Has turn'd o'er many pages, should be still
So dull of vision, he can only see
The broad and trodden highway paths of action;
And would rush headlong on to his intent,
Like the infuriate bull, blinded with rage;
And like him, if his foe but step aside,
Go blundering past the mark!

HEBERT.
Thancmar, your words
Have so much wisdom—my more sluggish sense
Is honour'd by their teaching;—yet speak plainly—
You will not fight Bouchard?

THANCMAR.
Not willingly.

HEBERT.
Yet why? You cannot fear him?

THANCMAR.
If I could,
That were an unwise speech!—I do not fear him;
But mark me, Hebert—how for years I have striven
Against the ascendancy of the proud Provost,
You have not now to learn—nor how his honours
Still overtopping mine, have galled my spirit.
But let that pass—his star is on the wane;
The unsuspicious Earl gives me his ear,
And I have used it so to my advantage,
Backing my reasons with the Provost's pride,
And opposition to these wholesome laws
Against the Serfs, which I myself urge on,
That even now Bertulphe's great power totters;—
The links of Love that bound the two together,
Each day are by some new estrangement weaken'd:—
Were it then wise, just as my hopes are ripening,
To risk them all against some trick of fence
Of this young whipster's sword?

HEBERT.
'Tis true, that were
But a boy's folly, not a statesman's wisdom.—
But how to 'scape with honour? Will you move
The Earl, that he shall not allow this duel?

THANCMAR.
Such was my purpose, but there now has risen
A brighter hope!
Hast thou not seen an old man named Philippe?—
A parched and haggard wretch, infirm and bent
Beneath a pile of years that none can count;
His feeble foot just balanced on the brink
That severs life from death—yet shrewd and cunning—
Greedy of gold, and of a spleenful malice,
That loves to wound, as 'twould compensate thus
The body's impotence, by the tongue's sharpness—
He dwells beside the Church of Nôtre Dame!

HEBERT.
I think I have seen him, but it is long since.

THANCMAR.
I knew him in my youth, and even the
I thought him old. And yet the crabbed churl
Had a strange fondness for me, and would talk
In his sour fashion with me by the hour.—
I lost him then, to find him here in Bruges,
Where he arrived, when first Bertulphe grew great.—
He has lived in much seclusion, and the boors
Dread him, as one with more than mortal dealings—
And he has dealings I would fain unriddle;
For I have had him watch'd, and been assured
The Provost's Secretary visits there
At cautious hours, and gold is heard to chink
When he arrives!

HEBERT.
Indeed!—that's strange.

THANCMAR.
I know Bertulphe profuse,—
Generous, as fools would call it, but I know
He scatters not his gold without a motive—
He cannot love this man—then he must fear him,
And, it may be, is even in his power!
Bertulphe is proud, and such discordant natures
At length must jar—in this has been my hope.
I have waited patiently for my occasion,
And it has come.—Philippe this morning watch'd
The Provost's path, and would have spoken with him;
But he dash'd proudly by: I mark'd the old man,
And saw his sunken eye gleam with such malice
As told he hated him—he turned to me;—
I thought he would have spoken, but he checked
His struggling passion, and went slowly home,
The better there to brood on it.

HEBERT.
'Twas well!

THANCMAR.
'Twas well, good Hebert—for Philippe is here.

HEBERT.
Here!

THANCMAR.
Ay, has sought me out, forestall'd my wishes,
And craves to speak with me.

HEBERT.
Shall I admit him?

THANCMAR.
Yes, but be cautious—he is shrewd and jealous;—
Leave me to mould him [exit Hebert].
He must have some power
To bind Bertulphe thus to him, and that power
Transferr'd to me, I would not spare to use it.

Enter Philippe.
PHILIPPE.
I have waited long; you show small courtesy
To one who comes to serve you.

THANCMAR.
Good Philippe,
I'm glad to see you well.

PHILIPPE.
Why, that's a pleasure,
You might have earn'd on any day these ten years
By a three minutes' journey.

THANCMAR.
Yet I'd serve you.
You have been wrong'd; Bertulphe has slighted you;
I will befriend you.

PHILIPPE.
That is very kind!
But should Bouchard o'ermatch you, brave Sir Thancmar,
The promise were worth little. He would fight you.

THANCMAR.
How know you that?

PHILIPPE.
The stars! You smile;—why, then
'Twas from some other source. I am old; but still—
But still I know a little of what stirs in Bruges.
You would escape this combat—

THANCMAR.
Who says so?

PHILIPPE.
Good policy!—Hi! Hi! Bouchard is young—
Brave, very brave—Sir Thancmar is a statesman.
The Chatelain of Bourbourg has too much
To stake upon a sword. Though I am old—
A very old, poor man, yet, I thank Heaven,
My wits are spared. You shall not fight Bouchard.

THANCMAR.
Indeed!

PHILIPPE.
I have said it.
The great Bertulphe, the mighty, noble Provost—
I pray you frown not so—hi! hi! though I
Am but a dog before him,—is so good
He will not do the thing I warn him from.

THANCMAR.
Philippe, you have a power o'er this Provost—

PHILIPPE.
I pray you interrupt me not. Your safety
Must be provided first; the rest, at leisure
We'll talk upon. You shall not fight Bouchard.

THANCMAR.
You have some motive thus to watch my safety.

PHILIPPE.
Motive!—Why, ay! all men must have their motives,
And most have many;—I have mine, no doubt.
Perhaps I wish to use you; and, if so,
'Tis clear you serve my purpose better living
Than you would dead; or, it may be, I love you.

THANCMAR.
Indeed!

PHILIPPE.
'Tis strange, I know; yet I do love you—
I always loved you, even from a child.
There was malice in you that I loved,
'Twas like myself:—envy of others' good—
Impatience of another's greatness—spleen,
That gave back hatred in return for favors;—
'Twas all so like myself: I loved you for it.
Hi! hi! Go to—you shall not fight Bouchard.

THANCMAR.
Philippe, let us speak plainly. You possess
Something that gives you power on Bertulphe;
Make but that secret mine, and whatsoever
The price you ask, I'll double it.

PHILIPPE.
Sir Thancmar,
Men call you wise; you must have read of one
Who had a bird that laid him golden eggs
Each day it lived. I'm not the fabled fool
To kill my bird to get them all at once!

THANCMAR.
But I will give thee gold at thy desire.

PHILIPPE.
When my security is gone? Sir Thancmar,
Men trade not so in Bruges.

THANCMAR.
You shall have
Most full security—bonds,—what you will!
And take this purse in earnest of my faith.

PHILIPPE.
'Tis a fair offer—an exceeding fair:
I'll think upon it. Troth, the purse is heavy:
Sir Thancmar, men report you rich,—I'll think on't.
Bertulphe has scorn'd me;—he is grown too proud—
But say no farther now. Thou shalt be safe—
Thou shalt not fight Bouchard; and for the rest,
Beshrew me,—but I'll think on't. Fare you well.
[Exit Philippe.

THANCMAR.
What, Hebert!

Enter Hebert.
Hebert.
Your success?

THANCMAR.
Full to my hope—
The train is laid,—my net is closing round him!
Now haste thou to the Earl; tell him this quarrel;
Against whose issue thou canst urge more reasons
Than would in me be seemly: thou mayst make it
Appear Bouchard set on me in revenge
For the delay of those long-promised lands
The Provost claims, and knows I covet. This,
Well urged, as thou canst do it, will, 'tis likely,
Make a new breach between them. Go, good Hebert,
And I will read thy love in thy success.
[Exit Hebert.
The patient hound, that never leaves the track,
Runs down his game before the day is spent.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Terrace before the Chateau of Bertulphe.
Enter Constance and Ursula.
Constance.
Nay, my good Ursula, I pray thee chide not;
There is a sadness of no kin to sorrow,
And such alone is mine. Is it not sad,
And yet how sweet, to sit in some close nook,
And hear the big rain patter on the trees?
Or, listlessly, in some cool dell's recess,
To mark the babbling of the tiny brook?
Or, from the casement, watch the fading day
Tinge, with its changeful pencil, the gray clouds?
When, if by chance we sigh, 'tis but to ease
The heart o'erburthen'd with its sweet sensations!

URSULA.
Nonsense for school-girls! if you had told me this
A year ago, I could have understood it;—but now, pish!

CONSTANCE.
Prithee, good Ursula, rack not thy wits to find a
Cause for that which is not.

URSULA.

Nay, but I say it is; and for the cause—I know that too.
It is thy good knight's absence that has chafed thee, and
he shall hear it; for, at last, he is coming. What is the
Earl, that he should leave his wife to dangle in his Court?
—I'll speak my mind on't.

CONSTANCE.

Ursula! Peace!

Enter Bouchard.
URSULA.

Well, Sir Bouchard, you have come in a good hour!
Marry, sir, 'tis well done with a three months' bride to leave
her moping thus:—were I your wife, I'd teach you better
manners. There, go and make your peace. [To Constance]

You will not need me now.

[Exit.
CONSTANCE.
Love, heed her not;
She speaks at random, but she means it kindly.

BOUCHARD.
Has Constance then been sad?

CONSTANCE.
To say I have not
Would scarce be truth; and yet, to say I have,
Would make me blush to seem so weak a child.

BOUCHARD.
Nay then, thou hast been sad; which, being confess'd,
I claim to know the cause.

CONSTANCE.
You will but mock me:
'Twas but the offspring of a sickly fancy,—
A silly fear, not worth another thought.

BOUCHARD.
It was a fear then?

CONSTANCE.
Yes—a heavy sadness
That sat upon my heart, converting all things
On which I look'd, to evil auguries.
Last night, when o'er the thickly studded sky
The fleecy clouds would ever and anon
Eclipse the gems of Heaven, I mark'd one star
That twinkled in its sphere so joyously,
The pitying vapours, as in tenderness,
Forebore that part of Heaven—and pass'd along
On either side, leaving an open path
Where that star lay: and, as I look'd on it,
And thought upon my own unclouded life,
I call'd that star myself; when, on the instant,
A heavy streak, that had in ambush lain,
Crept over it, and made a blot of darkness
Where it had been. I saw my star no more!
You do not smile, Bouchard?

BOUCHARD.
I cannot smile
At that which makes thee sad: yet 'twas a folly.

CONSTANCE.
There was a flower too in my father's garden,
So weak and helpless, that some gentle hand
Had doubly propp'd its stem; and oft I said
That plant was Constance, and its strong supporters
You and my father. With this morning's dawn
I sought it out; but both its props were broken,
And the poor flower, that still clung closely to them,
Lay with them in the dust.

BOUCHARD.
This is mere weakness:
Give it no further thought. To-night, I warrant,
Thy star shall shine again as bright as ever;
And, for the other,—go now to thy flower
And see how soon thine own hand can restore
Its fallen glories. So, thyself, unread
Thine evil auguries. I will join thee soon—
Then will we find diversion: we will read,
Or idly wander through the forest-glade,
Or watch the eagle sailing in the clouds,
Reduced by distance to so small a speck,
The flower that decks thy hair can shut it out;
And we will say that so each thought of care,
Cast to a distance, is become a speck
The little flower of the passing moment
Can quite shut from our view.
[Constance going.
I will expect you:—
But do not tarry.

[Exit.
BOUCHARD.
This at least is strange!
She knows not of my quarrel with the Chatelain:
She has no ground of fear, yet fear comes o'er her
As though some viewless agent whisper'd it.
I have no leaning to these superstitions;
But it may be that to Heaven's favourites
Some ministering intelligence is sent
To warn of coming dangers, or avert them.
Well! Heaven guides all things—its high will be done!

Enter Bertulphe hastily.
BERTULPHE.
You are well met, sir. What report is this
I hear of brawlings in the street? Men's tongues
Make feast of your contentions. This is ill, sir—
I like it not. This is no time for strivings,
When we most need to treasure all our strength:
We must make friends, not foes. I pray you, let
Your foolish quarrel, whatsoe'er it be,
Be reconciled—atoned for.

BOUCHARD.
'Tis impossible!
The affront was palpable, and public too.

BERTULPHE.
No matter, sir.

BOUCHARD.
But Thancmar—

BERTULPHE
[suddenly.]
What of him?
Was it with Thancmar you had question?

BOUCHARD.
Ay!

BERTULPHE.
I knew not that; why was it kept from me?
A public insult? He must answer it.

BOUCHARD.
He shall!

BERTULPHE.
You'll fight with him?

BOUCHARD.
I'm pledged to it.

BERTULPHE
[eagerly.]
To the death?

BOUCHARD.
If need be—

BERTULPHE
[grasping his hand.]
Good!—that's well—that's very well.
Your honour must be kept an unflaw'd gem,
Else are you not the husband of my child!
Bouchard! I hold you are the Chatelain's match.
You have practised much of late, I know you have.
Look he escape you not—His life, Bouchard!

BOUCHARD.
I do not understand—

BERTULPHE.
No matter, boy!
We'll fix the day;—you shall have all support
Myself and what I can call mine can give you.
Come, we will to the Earl, and gain his licence
To bring this quarrel to an issue. Ha!
Proud Chatelain of Bourbourg, I have trapp'd thee,
And thou shalt not escape with unclipt wings!
So, to the Earl, my son—to the just Earl.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Earl's Chamber of Audience.—Gautier, Hackel, Albert, St. Prieux, Hebert, and others discovered in groups.
Gautier
[to Hebert.]
Your friend, Sir Thancmar, remains long within.

HEBERT.
The Earl receives much counsel from him, sir,
On matters not yet ripe for public question.

ST. PRIEUX.
Indeed! [Aside to the others.]
Now would I wager my best horse
His present argument to escape
This combat with Bouchard; for if they meet,
My life upon it, sirs, but it will rid
The Provost of Sir Thancmar.

HACKEL.
'Tis as ever!
Bertulphe's good star serves him on all occasions,
And, on the moment opposition rises,
Gives him the means to crush it.

GAUTIER.
Hush! 'Tis the Earl.

Enter Charles attended, accompanied by Thancmar.
EARL.
Good morrow, gentlemen! but I miss one,
Whom most I wished to see.
Enter Bertulphe and Bouchard attended.
My trusty friend,
You are right welcome. I desired your aid,
And, with your customary promptness, you
Anticipate my wish.

BERTULPHE.
My gracious Prince,
I pray you overrate not my poor service.

EARL.
There is a foolish quarrel 'twixt Sir Thancmar
And your brave son; we wish their reconcilement,
And pray your mediation with Bouchard.

BERTULPHE.
I would your Highness had demanded of me
Something wherein my duty to myself
Permitted me to side with you. In this
Our judgments stand opposed: it cannot be.

EARL.
Methinks, for one, whose calm and temper'd wisdom
Should rule the fiery current of young bloods,
You are somewhat sudden. Let them speak their own.
Knowing thus far, we wish their reconcilement.

BERTULPHE.
Your pardon, sir: I have been bred a soldier,
And, it may be, am somewhat over-nice
On points of honour; and Bouchard's my son,
Or stands to me in place of one. But still,
Since 'tis your pleasure, let themselves determine.

EARL.
How say you, sirs?

THANCMAR.
My will, my gracious Sovereign,
Waits ever on your own, which still shall rule me.

BOUCHARD.
And so would mine no less, did I not hear
A higher call than even my Prince's favour,
That bids me forward;—'tis the voice of honour,
With whom, not me, this quarrel has been set.
I dare not disobey that high command,
And crave your Highness, for my honour's sake,
We may have licence to proceed.

BERTULPHE.
Your Highness
Perceives 'tis vain to patch this quarrel up;
Such rotten love would yield a wider rent
On the next touch.

EARL.
True, sir, I see 'tis vain:—
When hoary age, that should apply the curb
To youth's hot passions, plies the spur instead,
The steed will run his course.
Well, what's your will, sir?

BERTULPHE.
Your Highness' licence to decide this quarrel.

EARL.
And how if I refuse it?

BERTULPHE.
I will urge,
As oft your Highness does, our fathers' customs—
The usage of an age; and in the strength
Of your own argument, will so demand
The ancient right of battle.

EARL
[unwillingly.]
Be it so—
But I am little bounden to your love.
Sir Thancmar, 'tis with you to name the day.

THANCMAR.
I care not, sir;—to-morrow if they will.

BERTULPHE
[eagerly.]
To-morrow be it then.

EARL.
This is too sudden.

BERTULPHE.
Not so, my Lord; the longer such things rankle
The sharper grows the sore. If we would cure,
We must cure quickly. Let it be to-morrow.

EARL.
How say you, Thancmar?

THANCMAR.
As they will, my liege—
They shall not find me backward.

EARL.
Then 'tis fix'd.
And now, Sir Provost, since the business
On which we sought you is so well concluded,
We shall not need your further aid to-day.

BERTULPHE.
My Lord, a moment yet: there is a suit
(I blush to think how often I have urged it)
To which I came to press you to reply.

EARL.
The lands you claim—it shall be well consider'd.

BERTULPHE.
It shall be still.

EARL.
I have no further answer.
Nobles, farewell. Sir Thancmar, come with me,—
I wish your private counsel.

[All bow and retire, except Bouchard, and Bertulphe, who remains with his eyes fixed on the Earl as he goes out with Thancmar.
BERTULPHE
[bitterly.]
Do you so?
And thus you'd think to frown me from my purpose—
That will be difficult. Your private counsel—
I pray you do not scant it, gentle sirs,
'Twill be your last.—Bouchard, prepare thee now;
I know thy skill, but let thy heart go with it.
Say, thou art matched against thy fiercest foe,
Yet be not rash—he is an adversary
Worthy thy sword:—be patient, calm, and watchful,
But deadly in thy purpose.

BOUCHARD.
Yet I pray you,
Wherefore this bitterness against Sir Thancmar?
He is a noble knight, and well reputed,
Although I love him not.

BERTULPHE.
Boy! there are creatures
From which with natural antipathy
The eye turns loathing, and when these unite
A poisonous power to injure us, we crush them:—
Such Thancmar is to me—now ask no farther,
But go;—thou know'st thy duty—fit thee for it.

BOUCHARD.
You shall not find me wanting.

[Exit.
BERTULPHE.
'Tis gained—Thancmar at length is in my grasp!—
The fool—I had thought him wiser! Yet success
Has been most dearly purchased. Charles resents
The froward course my fate imposes on me,
And thrusts me from his heart,—yes, that is bitter:
'Tis cruel, when the loves that we had cherish'd,
And hoped should twine their last around our graves,
Wither within our living grasp, and leave
But ashes in their stead— (with deep melancholy)

Charles, Charles, thou lov'st me not.
Enter Constance.
Why, how now, girl!—is this a place for thee?
What dost thou here?

CONSTANCE.
To seek my dear father, now my only hope.
Oh! I have learn'd it all—this threaten'd combat—
But you have power to bid them yet be friends:
For your child's sake!—Bouchard will yield to you,
Though I implore in vain. We were so happy—
The wars all ended,—and I called him mine,
Without a fear:—father, preserve him to me:—
Say but this shall not be—and he is safe.

BERTULPHE.
Thou silly child, is this thy mighty grief?
For a mere pass of arms—a common joust
Upon a point of honour—thou hast seen
A hundred such. They meet and break a lance—
Bouchard unseats him, and the quarrel's ended.

CONSTANCE.
But who can say 'twill be such easy conquest.
Oh! should mischance befall him—father, father,
I shall die too.

BERTULPHE.
Art thou a soldier's wife!
What means this whining? I had deemed of thee,
Thou shouldst be mother to a race of heroes!
But I was wrong—go, spin among your maids,—
Go, go, you trouble me.

CONSTANCE.
Oh, you are angry,
And that is more than all;—turn to me, father—
Turn, smile upon me, I am but a woman,—
You should remember that, but I will be
All you would have me, that my sex permits.
I cannot aid my Lord but with my prayers;—
They are a woman's weapons; be they mine,—
And if some tears should mingle with them, think
They are a woman's too, and so forgive them.
Nay, now you smile again, and I am happy.

Enter Page.
My Lord, a letter from the Earl.

[Exit.
BERTULPHE
[opens the letter—reading it, starts, then pacing the stage with great irritation.]
'Tis to insult me.

CONSTANCE.
Is aught ill?

BERTULPHE.
Ill! no!
A most rare jest, no more,—nought but a jest!—
I asked this grateful Earl for certain lands,
In bare requital of my services;
Which lands he promised me, but still delay'd
To give his word effect; and now he writes
They shall be mine, provided I perform
The customary homage.

CONSTANCE.
What is that?

BERTULPHE.
Oh, nought!—a jest, a very merry jest!—
Crawl on my knees into his gracious presence,
And pray him use me for his vilest service.
Is it not rare! I like that rising flush!—
That look! 'tis good! thou art my daughter!—come!
What shall we answer?

CONSTANCE.
Fling his offers back!

BERTULPHE.
Good! but still not enough. It is Bouchard
Must answer him;—nay, now thou art pale again!
'Tis Thancmar that has set Charles on to this
For his own profit—for, on my refusal,
He will accept the lands and do the homage:—
Trust me he will,—he shall live to do it.

CONSTANCE.
Oh! my father!

BERTULPHE.
Now by my soul, if thus you rave and sigh,
You shall not see Bouchard—he must be strong!—
Well! thou shalt take a parting kiss,—no more!
But we will have no tears; look well to that.
Why, there they stand, even now!—What, was I harsh?
Nay, I meant nothing,—only these things turn
The blood to gall;—come, smile, my love,—come, come.

[Leads her off.