University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Soissons. Ante-room leading to the chamber of the Ecclesiastical Council.
Enter, at opposite sides, Fontaine, with La Roche, and two Ushers of the Council.
Fon.
Sirs, are their reverences yet prepared
To hear his majesty?

1st Usher.
Indeed, I know not;
I've no commission.

Fon.
Two hours hath the king
Attended on their summons.

2d Usher.
Very like.
The Court knows its own season; by your favour.

[Ushers withdraw into the chamber.
Fon.
Delay and insult still from these proud priests,
Elate to see a monarch at their bar!
Day after day to his impatient suit
They pledged decision which, still day by day,
They have withheld: while he impatient frets,
And the rage boils which dares not overflow.

La Roche.
The wonder was the king abased himself
To plead at their tribunal.

Fon.
Therein lay
His only hope still to preserve his wife,
And from the Papal curse deliver France.

La Roche.
A fruitless hope; they will annul his marriage
And Ingerburge replace in Marie's seat.

Fon.
No; this indignity shall turn to grace
If meekly borne. Rome sought to sit in judgment
On Philip's cause, and thus maintain her sway
O'er Europe's crowns. By secret means I know
The king's submission has assuaged her wrath;
Awhile she'll scourge him to assert her power,
Then take him to her bosom. All is plain.
Denmark's to be appeased; Marie pronounced
The queen of Philip; Flanders, England—all
With whom our rights and vengeance to secure
We've secret league—must harm no single hair
Of the good boy hid in the Pontiff's mantle!

La Roche.
That's sorry comfort: Philip reconciled
To Rome, were proof against our enmity.

Fon.
But they must not be reconciled. Already
He writhes beneath her yoke, and deems, like thee,
The Council will decide against his suit.

La Roche.
What profit springs from this?

Fon.
Mark! I have moved him
To do himself the deed he fears from them—
Restore his Danish queen; which act dissolves
The interdict, and sets at nought their power.
Their arbitration thus disdained, will breed
A bitterer hate than sprang from past defiance.
A head has schemed to thwart your holiness,
Your child may prove refractory. See, he comes!

Enter Philip, followed by Tournet and Attendants.
Phil.
[To Tournet.]
Again, sir, to the Council; say we wait.
[Exit Tournet. Attendants retire to back.
Yes; what is love that will not prove its truth
By needful sacrifice?—Names, empty pomp,
Weigh with devotion nought. The faith I pledged
Their loss impairs not, and their transfer rends
These festering links of shame, gives my soul play,
And wipes the abject stain from my renown.
In form a little do I wrong thee, Marie,
For my essential good. Thou'dst have it so.
Why then, when reason offers cordials,
Shuns my sick heart her chalice?—Oh, 'tis conscience
That doth rebuke my treachery! I have gazed
So long on guilty thoughts, they lose their horror.
Hither, Fontaine! Did they not say at noon?
For weeks we've paced their ante-room to feast
The eyes of curious lackeys with our fall.

Fon.
I may not censure whom your grace endures;
Yet, when we last spoke—

Phil.
Thou didst strike a chord
Of evil that now sleeps. Tempt me no more!

Fon.
I grieve to find my loyalty offence.
How have I sinned? I did but say that Rome,
By these delays was bent to humble you,
And, through you, all the wondering crowns of Europe,
Who seeing—pardon me my honest boldness—
Who, seeing your subjection, dread their own!

Phil.
I know it.

Fon.
Which presumptuous end you crush,
And from the Papal curse your realm set free,
If of your own inclining you take back
The Lady Ingerburge.

Phil.
My own inclining!

Fon.
The deed is then your own, not Rome's enforcement.
'Tis Philip's sovereign act, not the Pope's mandate,
That restores Ingerburge to throne and wedlock.
You thus defeat his power and yours uphold.

Phil.
[Aside.]
It were sweet, most sweet vengeance! Yet my Marie!
Man, thou hast looked into my heart, and seen
Whose image it enshrines. Shall I rend from her
The sacred name of wife, yet bid her share
A lawless bed? Like a saint's faith in heaven
Is hers in me. In smiling innocence,
With love-stirred lips her faith sleeps on my breast;
Shall I, her providence, look on and stab?

Fon.
What path is open then? Reflect—no less
You yield her by submission to the Council;
You cannot doubt they purpose your divorce.

Phil.
It may be so; but, if her peace must perish,
I need not deal the blow.

Fon.
If so you deem,
Submit; crave peace of Rome—

Phil.
And kiss the rod!
I was not born for this. I lived to make
My people great, my reign august,—to pile
My monument on triumph till it towered
To beacon Time with glory!—Now to shrink
Into the thrall of monks, and to infect
With my abasement the proud blood of kings;
Who, when they crouch beneath the priestly yoke,
Shall plead—So first did Philip!

Fon.
Trust me, sir.
You wrong your queen! How poor were pomp to her,
If wrung from your disgrace!

Phil.
Ay; if she saw
My struggle with thine eyes!

Fon.
And so she would.
Man cannot master fate. You strive in vain
To save her hope from shipwreck, but preserve
Your honour in the storm. She'd have it so.

Phil.
By heaven,
I think thou reasonest well; she would!

Re-enter Tournet.
Tour.
My liege!
To-day the Council do refuse you hearing.
They will forthwith adjourn, and still suspend
The hour for sentence.

Phil.
[With bitter laughter.]
Sentence, sentence! What,
Yet more delay! My patience has stood bare
In their fierce noon of pride until the blood
Leaps to my brain like fire!
Re-enter Ushers.
Sirs, in good time!
Fling wide the doors.

1st Usher.
My liege, the Court breaks up.

Phil.
[Imperiously.]
Lead on! I bid them stay. Fling wide the doors!

[He goes out, preceded by Ushers and followed by Attendants. Fontaine, Tournet, and La Roche remain.
Tour.
[To Fontaine.]
Brave, brave! With skilful breath hast thou revived
The ashes of this feud. I see his power
Melt in the conflagration.

La Roche.
Sage, or wizard—
Whate'er thou art—our cause owes all to thee.

Fon.
We have not speared the lion in the woods,
But strewed the pit with rushes, and entrapped him.
Well, well, the hour may come.

Tour.
What mood is this?

Fon.
Even let it go. The time for action's ripe.
We yet may meet him front to front as men.

Enter Guérin, followed by Retainers.
Guér.
Recruit your strength. See that your steeds be fleet,
And on the instant ready. [Retainers go out.]
To the king.

[To Fontaine.
Fon.
Most urgent matter holds him with the Court.

Guér.
[Drawing Fontaine apart.]
More urgent matter claims his ear through me.
The blast of war rings out; and, swift from England,
John—leagued with Otho and the Flemish count—
Has landed at Rochelle. I know thee frank
And unsuspecting; keep a wary eye,
For disaffection lurks in many a breast
That wears a loyal front.

Fon.
You'll find me watchful.
[Guérin goes out.
Now with our vassals to enforce the foe!
His unjust arm shall work our just revenge.

[They go out on the opposite side.