University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

An apartment in the Palace.
Enter Philip, Ingerburge, Guérin.
Guér.
Your royal consort, sire, has cause for speech.
Forgive me if, as priest still more than knight,
I here uphold her claims.

Ing.
Sir! if in aught
I have displeased you, name my sin. If not,
Use me as innocent, and as your wife.

Phil.
What lacks your grace? A larger retinue?
More liberal pomps or pleasures? They are yours,
Though our exchequer fail.

Ing.
These are my due:
Yet, more—your countenance, society,
Public respect. Why do you shun my sight,
And make my lofty station void of honour?
Courts quickly learn to slight whom kings despise.

Phil.
Whate'er was mine to give is yours already.
We cannot take hearts in our hands and give them.

Ing.
Yours is not mine then?

Phil.
Did you give me yours?

Ing.
I claim at least the decent shows of honour.
Nor is King Canute's sister so unfriended
That she should brook contempt of just demands.
Sir! see my ladies wait.

[To Guérin. She makes a profound reverence, and quits the apartment.
Phil.
Claim, said she? Claim!
For this cold prudence whose ambition, even,
Voyages by map, not starlight—have I thee
For ever lost, my Marie? To this ruin
Thou didst persuade me, Guérin!

Guér.
By your marriage,
Austria and Flanders, who, with English John,
Stand leagued against your peace, are held in awe;
So, too, your disaffected nobles here.

Phil.
Ay, true. The crafty Canute saw my strait,
And that crown'd usurer proffer'd Denmark's aid
Provided Philip made his sister queen!

Guér.
The Lady Ingerburge is now your wife.
Brood on the past no more; improve the present!

Phil.
Cold-hearted priest! That past enfolds a Marie.
She was my chosen: we were wed in heart.
[Aside.]
Marie, thou know'st not yet thy wrong; thou know'st not
Thy Philip perjured; but confiding still,
Still loving, dost await him.

Guér.
Sire, bethink you,
Monarchs are born for thousands, not for one;
For duties, not affections.

Phil.
Ay, wise craft!
With kings 'tis war with Nature from their birth.
Cold form sits by their cradles; childhood's trust
And impulse curbed, a boy-prince rarely knows
Boy-fellowship, nor princely youth a friend.
And when, surviving still, the sense he drew
From heaven of beauty doth expand to love
Of some bright form of goodness; when he yearns
In honour of the worshipped one to rear
That stateliest column, a great life! when most
He feels his Nature's grandeur, strength, and joy,
A courtly custom intercepts his path
To the bright goal—love was not made for kings!

Guér.
Great ones must crush their hearts to pave their power.

Phil.
'Tis false; the crushed heart's powerless. Stifling that,
We stifle ardour, hope, and enterprise;
And what God means for man dwarfs to a form,
A feeble puppet with a golden rim,
That doses life away, and dies unmissed!
Enter Fontaine.
How, sir! We're private!

Fon.
Pardon, sire! methought
I had your gracious privilege—if not,
My tidings might atone me.

Phil.
Leave us, Guérin,
Bear with thy master, Stephen.
[Apart to him, and taking his hand. Guérin goes out.
Well, speak on!

Fon.
The insurgent nobles in the south submit
Unto your grace's arms, which news to crown,
From Otho—late your foe—have envoys sped
To hail you on your nuptials.

Phil.
[Bitterly.]
To the queen!
The might of Denmark quells these foes, extorts
These novel courtesies. Think'st thou not so?

Fon.
From your own seed hath sprung this harvest, sire!
The glorious issue of his acts whose fame
Unwearied echo sounds, and to whose robe
Cling widowed majesty and orphan right;
Whose very wards are monarchs!

Phil.
Bid them fling
A cushion for me to the foot of the throne!
Is't meet that I should sit with her who gave it?
Well, friend? That glance has meaning; speak your thought.

Fon.
Ah, my liege, pardon me, and bear with her!
I grieve 'tis noted that division lives
Between your princely hearts;—but I presume.

Phil.
Of all men have we singled thee for love.
Fear not.

Fon.
Then till you chide I speak. Your consort holds
A double claim on duty; first, as queen,
Then as your kinswoman. O sir, 'twere well
Those slanderous tongues were checked which dare impeach
Her title to that name you deigned confer.

Phil.
Ah! what name?

Fon.
Wife, my liege.

Phil.
Wife! say you, wife?
They question that?

Fon.
Pretending, sir, that bonds
Of such close kinship knit you, ere you wed,
That marriage did invade their sanctity.

Phil.
Is't said so! Dare they.

Enter Tournet and La Roche.
Fon.
Here come two, my lord,
Whose swords, incensed by men's audacious jests,
Have blushed to keep their sheaths.

Phil.
Can I believe
Licence has grown so bold?

Fon.
As though a king
Were bound within the limits priests prescribe
The commonalty.

Phil.
What! you have heard this marriage
Laughed at, discussed, reproved?

[To Tournet and La Roche.
Tour.
[Apart to La Roche.]
What shall we say?

La Roche.
Oh, travel by the light of Fontaine's eye.

Fon.
Forgive them, sire, if awe restrain their tongues.
Friends, witness for me that my words are true!

Phil.
Speak frankly all.

La Roche.
In every point, my lord,
Must I confirm the words of brave Fontaine.

Tour.
So humbly I repeat, can I with grief
That reverence for your grace forbade my hand
To smite the scoffers.

Phil.
[Sternly.]
Well, you did refrain!
Judge not in the king's quarrel, nor revile
Those whom you count his foes, more kin perchance
Than meddlers, to his pleasure. Sirs, retire!
[Tournet and La Roche go out.
Fontaine, we need thee still. We'll breathe the air.
Walk by our side. We rate thee highly, friend;
And honour thee with fullest trust.

[Extends his hand to him.
Fon.
[Kneeling.]
Your grace
Is rich in bounty and in confidence
To your poor vassal; [Aside.]
tendering him this hand
Red with a brother's blood!

[Fontaine rises; Philip motions him to follow.
Fon.
[Bowing deeply.]
Sire, I attend you.

[The King goes out, followed by Fontaine.