University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

The French tent near Bouvines. Soldiers stationed at the entrance. Intermitted and distant alarms.
Enter Guérin and Sir Lucien, the latter attired as from a journey.
Sir L.
Is it indeed so? has this mighty league,
Whose frown eclipsed the light of France, dissolved,
And left no sign in air? What, Otho fled!

Guér.
He scarce escaped with life. The Count of Flanders
Lies captive, with a hundred meaner names,
Yet all renowned.

Sir L.
Then was the rout complete?

Guér.
Long as his steed upbore him, chased the king
The flying remnant, vengeance still his cry.
His foes will rue this day.

Sir L.
And I have lost
The fame of it, though but an hour too late.

Guér.
Thou art misfortune's herald, and he comes
Always too soon. Thou bear'st a woe so vast
'Twould weigh down empire in the opposing scale.

Sir L.
Nay, had my foot been heavy as my heart,
I ne'er had borne these news of my dear lady;
Nor had I, save at her express command,
Ever resigned her service for the king's.

Guér.
Sweet patience keep him! Is there then no hope?

Sir L.
None; or a hope so sickly that it smiles
In mockery of itself. Those who have seen her
Report by slow advance her fate draws near;
Most like the shades that deepen over day
So softly that we start to find it gone.

Guér.
Awhile retire.
[Sir Lucien joins the soldiers at the entrance of the tent.
King, had thine ends been true
Either unto thy people or thy love,
This grief had never been! Oh, better ne'er
To know the good, than knowing—violate!
High thoughts, which touch but do not rule the soul,
Shall turn their light to fire.
[Martial music heard without.
Ah! 'tis the king.

Enter Philip, preceded by soldiers, with banners, Nobles, &c. Martial music from the troops without.
Phil.
[At the entrance of the tent.]
Again!
[Triumphant music and acclamations.
And yet again! [The same sounds renewed.]
This swelling strain
Salutes ye, Flanders, Austria, England. Dumb!
Oh, this is victory, Guérin!

[Advancing to the front.
Guér.
He who rules
The fate of kings hath bless'd you.

Phil.
The brave heart
Makes its own fate! What, wouldst thou grudge this arm
The glory of this day? Like autumn leaves
Whirled by the eddying blast; like spars of wrecks
Tossed shorewards by the seas, they fled before me!
My lifted arm was doom, my steps were graves!
I chased them still! With every stroke I mowed
A separate host for death! My steps were graves!
Kings are my captives, home revolters quelled;
Fontaine, the traitor, measures the red plain
Whereon I stretched him. Well, prate on, prate on!

Guér.
And sleeps that restless brain? Is Fontaine dead?

Phil.
Ay; and his issue, friends, abettors, all
The baneful offshoots of this traitorous stem
Will we uproot, even to the infant germ
That knows not yet the poisonous life it folds.

Guér.
I cast a shield over a vanquished foe
When I recall the Lady Marie's name.

Phil.
I've won her by the sword, and so will guard her.
Report again these glorious news from Rome;
The war's dread thunder clamoured in mine ear
And shut out half thy tidings.

Guér.
Ingerburge,
Your queen, thereto persuaded by the Pope,
Has to the shelter of religious walls
From worldly strife retired, to thee resigned
Her royal throne and bed, and sought divorce:
Rome thus would win back thine offended power
Whose aid she needs to curb rebellious John.

Phil.
What! Rome hath learned to need, then?

Guér.
Meekly say it;
Your patron saint has blessed you.

Phil.
[Raising his sword.]
Patron Saint!
I thank thee. Marie, Marie, where dost hide
Thyself from bliss? Not seen in Méranie!
Fled weeks since, and not sought her father's arms!
Was it not yesterday that we despatched
Our envoys in her quest?

Guér.
It was, my liege.
Your messenger already is returned.

Phil.
Returned?—his errand unfulfilled?

Guér.
Not so;
But some leagues from the field, this very spot,
An ancient castle stands. Willing, perchance,
To shun familiar scenes and questioning tongues—
Yea, aught that might recall her bitter past—
Your wife has fixed her rest there!

Phil.
He has seen her!
Summon him hither.

Guér.
Sire, he waits; Sir Lucien,
Stand forth!

[Sir Lucien advances
Phil.
Thy stars, young sir, did yestermorn
Rain fortune on thee as thou gott'st to horse.
Thou hast found the Lady Marie?

Sir L.
Sire, I found
Her place of sojourn.

Phil.
Well, say on!

Sir L.
My king!

[Hesitating.
Phil.
Say on! By Heaven, that clouded brow affronts
The favour we design thee! Thou hast seen her,
Spoken with her, bear'st her answer? Quick, unfold!

Sir L.
Pardon, I saw her not.

Phil.
What! at her gates,
And yet not seen her. Hadst thou not credentials
From us unto her presence?

Sir L.
Sire, most true.

Phil.
And she denied thee audience?

Sir L.
Nay, she knows not
Even that I sought it.

Phil.
Thou art fond of danger
To dally with impatient majesty!

Sir L.
My lord!

[He again hesitates, and turns to Guérin.
Phil.
My lord! What means this juggling? Why
Bend thy regards on him, and with thine eyes
People the air with terrors? Set before me
Some actual mischief which, being known, my soul
May fix and grapple with, lest, mad with doubt,
To snatch the truth I plunge into thy life!

Sir L.
You need all patience, sir, the queen is found;
But in such case I rather would report
My mission fruitless. If as yet she live,
'Tis nigh the verge of death, her flame of life
So flickering, that a breath might quench it. Hence
Did they refuse me audience, and withhold
My errand, nay, my presence, from herself.

Phil.
I would have slain thee to compel these words
Which, being uttered, slay my peace for ever!

[Sir Lucien retires.
Guér.
My gracious master!

Phil.
Had the heavens no bolt
In all their armoury but this?

Guér.
Bethink you—

Phil.
Perdition on all counsel!

Guér.
Hear me, sire!

Phil.
Hear thee! When thou canst say to sceptred Death,
“Fall back,” and he obeys, I'll hear thee then.
For her I bore, schemed, fought; yea, singly breasted
The raging tide of war, and dashed to land!
I've staked with fate, and lost!

Guér.
Are you a king?

Phil.
A king! Ay, that's the name
For which I bartered love, and ruthless stabbed
The trusting heart that drew its life from mine.
Yes, by this glory shining on the tomb,
This banquet of renown that palls the taste,
This wealth upon the desert where I famish,
I am that empty sound—I am a king!

Guér.
Find medicine for the sorrows of this day
In thinking of its triumph.

Phil.
Hence! Ye heavens!
Abase me if ye will; pluck from me pomp,
Scorch my green laurels with your jealous fires,
Drain on my abject and discrownèd head
Your vials of derision, want, oblivion!
But spare her, spare her; she is like yourselves!

Guér.
My sovereign, Providence is merciful
To contrite hearts. Say that the queen declines
From grief that you resigned her: what if now,
Freed from all other bonds, your union
Allowed by Rome, you hasten to her side,
Bearing these news for cordial? Perchance,
For love is strong and joy miraculous,
You yet may save her.

Phil.
[Grasping his hand.]
Ah! to horse, to horse!
I hold thee as a brother for these words.
Summon our host; awake the trumpet's breath
To speed our flight, for we must outride Death!

[All go out with flourish.