University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Council Chamber.
Philip on the throne. Guérin; Archbishop of Rheims; Bishop of Paris and other Bishops; Tournet, La Roche, Fontaine; other Nobles, Officers, &c. &c.
Guér.
My gracious lord!
As counsellor, priest, soldier, friend, and man,
Do I abjure this deed. 'Twill shake your throne,
Stain your religion, blot your knighthood. What!
On this unheard-of cause ere scarce the sounds
Of marriage-bells have ceased—divorce your queen!
Sire, hear your servant!

Phil.
Guérin! Not with us
These issues rest. The king is passive here,
Waits sentence, doth not give it; but obeys
In all the synod's voice.

Fon.
[Aside.]
Apt policy!
On others lights the odium whom his will
Governs unseen. Great king!

Guér.
I turn to you
Whose mitred heads pledge justice. Sanction you
The queen's dismissal from his grace's arms?
Will you confirm a deed whose startling shame
Grows ranker if you gloss it; a vile deed
In all its aspects, unredeemed by pleas
Of precedent, necessity, or gain;
A deed whose nature but one question bears—
Whether its madness or its sin exceed?

B. of Paris.
I think with you. Yet must our private wills
Yield to the force of numbers.

Guér.
Not when numbers
Would counsel majesty to fraud and wrong.

A. of Rheims.
My lord, this vehemence denies respect
Unto the general voice o'erruling yours.

Phil.
Kind father! deem not harshly of his zeal;
None hold we dearer.

Fon.
[Aside.]
A sagacious prince!

Arch.
Reason is oftener the will's instrument
Than ruler. It doth gloss the act we wish,
But ne'er persuade to undesired conclusions.
Therefore, from argument I little hope.
I hold the marriage void, and shall record
My oath so in due time.

B. of Paris.
[Coldly.]
I yield submission
To your more reverend wisdom.

Arch.
Then why tarry?
We with our holy brethren have conferred
And are as one agreed.

Enter Officer.
Officer.
In Denmark's name,
Ambassadors crave audience.

Phil.
Shoals so near port!
[Aside.
In very season! Straight conduct them hither.
Enter Briorn, the Danish envoy, and others, preceded by a Herald.
Speak; your lord's errand, Briorn!

[Herald sounds his trumpet.
Bri.
Denmark's king
Greets thee, King Philip, with accustomed love,
No credence deigning to the fame that tells
Thou wouldst divorce and shame his royal sister.

Phil.
How if this fame speak truth?

Bri.
Then princely Canute
Recalls his succours, and disowns his pact,
Holds thee, till death, worse foe than Death himself,
And bids thee know he hath appealed to Rome,
Whose mandate, disallowing thy intent,
I but some hours outspeed.

Guér.
Thank Heaven! the Pope
From this black deed shall save us!

B. of Paris.
[To the Bishops.]
Rome! methinks,
'Twere best deliberate. Her supremacy
We peril by this act.

Phil.
Wavering! [Aside. To Briorn.]
Return!
Tell Canute, who would play upon our fear
With Rome's dread wrath, our cause already seeks
Judgment from Rome's sworn ministers—our bishops;
Who, though we may augment, reduce, or wrest
From them entire rank, profit, and revenue,
As vagrant friars would rather beg than sell
Their conscience for reward.

Fon.
Sagacious prince!
Most aptly put; their all depends on him.

[Aside.
Arch.
[To Bishop of Paris.]
We do but ill to dread the morrow's storm
When the fire-gendering cloud o'erhangs our heads,
The king's displeasure!

[Other Bishops signify assent.
B. of Paris.
Even as you will.
Lay not this servile weakness to my charge.

Arch.
This embassy, that threats the Pontiff's wrath,
Bears no credentials from him. We maintain
Our purpose here.

[To Briorn.
Guér.
Oh madness—infamy!
Defy the Pope? Our buckler cast away—
The Dane's alliance? while on every side
Foes draw their arrows headward! Rome, insulted,
Applauds each shaft, and lends her arm to crush!
O valiant nobles! save us from this doom.—
I see you heed.

Tour.
[Apart to Fontaine.]
By heaven, they quail! Our stake
Is one with Philip's. We shall lose.

Fon.
[Apart to Tournet and La Roche.]
Mark, mark!
His brows contract and ope: his hands unite,
And straight unclench; the torrent bursts. I said it.

Phil.
No word to sway your sentence; but, brave lords,
Let not the menaced loss of foreign aid
Weigh on your thought unduly! I was wrong
To trust this land's defence to alien hands.
'Tis in itself a State is strong. No foe
Can sap such strength; no friend its want repair.
O grey-haired warriors, who fight again
Your battles, in the young your memories fire,
And ye, of their renown the heirs, who burn
Their great bequest—undimmed to leave your sons,
Witness how legions fled your lonely brands;
Conquest is child of hearts that trust themselves!
So with a State. 'Tis that life-blood called faith—
Faith in itself—that floods its frame with might!
No hireling arm for us! Our own we raise
In our own war. [Rises.]
Wake, France, thy crutches fall;
Thou towerest singly in thine inborn health,
Match for the banded world's dependencies!
Whose bosom echoes mine?

Fon.
Long live the king!

Nobles.
Long live the king! Long live the king!

Phil.
Pronounce
Sentence!

Arch.
The queen's divorce.

[Chorus of Nobles and Bishops.
Phil.
Break up the council.
This sentence, Briorn, to thy lord report.
On, sirs!

[The King goes out, followed by Bishops and Nobles.
Guér.
[Aside.]
The seeds are madness—death the fruit!

Fon.
[To La Roche and Tournet.]
Brave, brave! how zealously he fought for ruin!
His brain an engine turned against himself.
Our swords may rest. We need not strike to win.

[All go out.