 | Francis the First |  |
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ACT I.
SCENE I.
—A COURT OF THE LOUVRE.Enter Vendôme and Chabannes, meeting the Duke of Alençon.
VENDÔME.
Good morrow to my lord of Alençon!
ALENÇON.
Good morrow, noble sir. My lord Chabannes,
You are right welcome back to court again:
I pray you, Vendôme, is the King return'd
From tennis yet?
VENDÔME.
My lord, as I pass'd through
The gallery, I saw the royal train
Dismount, and now the King holds private converse
With the Queen's confessor: a moment since,
I saw them both enter the Queen's apartment,
In very earnest and impassion'd talk;
And, as I think, the duke de Bourbon's name
Full many a time escaped their anxious lips.
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The Queen's confessor!—what! old Father Jerôme?
ALENÇON.
Oh no! old Father Jerôme, rest his soul,
Is dead. This man (between ourselves I speak it),
To me, seems rather a mysterious minister,
And secret instrument, than a confessor.
VENDÔME.
Strange to say, he is a Spaniard,
And, stranger yet, he hath not been at court
But a brief space, which renders his estate
(Being so trusted by the Queen) a riddle,
Whereat we guess in vain. She is not wont
To doff her wariness on slight acquaintance;
Yet is this monk for ever with her; holding
In full possession her most secret counsels.
CHABANNES.
To me, my lords, who newly am returned
To court, all this seems passing strange indeed:
With greater wonder though, Vendôme, I learn
De Bourbon is recall'd from Italy.
ALENÇON.
'Tis not the absent only are amazed,
You do but share the wonder of the town;
All note the strange event, none know the cause;
And we have yet to learn what fault or folly—
VENDÔME.
Your pardon, sir, but 'tis not very like
That the young hero, who at Marignan
Did deeds of war and wisdom so combine,
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His merit, now should fail in either point.
ALENÇON.
This problem, sir,
Surpasses my poor wit; and all I know
Is, that the duke is coming home again;
And that an eager expectation runs
Before his path, to see how he will bear
This sudden mandate, and how be received
At court.
CHABANNES.
Look, here comes one in haste, methinks,
That should be my old friend and comrade
Triboulet.
Enter Triboulet.
TRIBOULET.
Gentles, beseech ye leave me passing room;
Most worshipful sir, I am right glad to see you!
CHABANNES.
That is a joy reciprocal.
Good fool, how hast thou fared, since last we parted?
TRIBOULET.
Indifferent well, my lord; I thank ye, though very
indifferent; but still as well as may be considering tides
and times, and things as they were, and things as they
are, and sundry other things—heigh ho!
CHABANNES.
What! melancholy, eh! poor fellow?
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Oh! sir, very melancholy. I should think I was
dying in right earnest, an it were not—
ALENÇON.
That he eats like a pig, and sleeps like a dormouse.
TRIBOULET.
Sir, your comparisons are very beastly, and that's the
best that can be said of them.
ALENÇON.
The best is bad, and far from civil, then.
TRIBOULET.
The farther from civil, the nearer to your speech.
CHABANNES.
There, never anger thee at truth, good fool:—
But tell me where that foul fiend Melancholy
Hath driven the damask of thy rosy cheeks?
VENDÔME.
Marry, it needs no search into his nose:
Which juts from out the main land of his face,
Like some peak'd promontory, on whose verge
The beacon light its warning blaze advances.
ALENÇON.
Well, but what makes thee sad?
TRIBOULET.
E'en that which makes you glad.
ALENÇON.
And what is that, sir Fool?
TRIBOULET.
The Lord High Constable's return, sir Duke.
[D'Alençon turns on his heel, and walks up the stage with Vendôme.
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My lord of Alençon, you have your answer—
And why doth that affect thee?
TRIBOULET.
Why, sir, thus:
The Duke de Bourbon is a worthy gentleman,
Fine fighter, wise statesman, and great fool—
CHABANNES.
How now, sir Triboulet, a fool!—a man who gives
His blood—
TRIBOULET.
To the earth.
CHABANNES.
And his counsel—
TRIBOULET.
To the air.
CHABANNES.
For his country—
TRIBOULET.
No, for that
(snaps his fingers)
; why how ye stare, is
it not so?—And doth not the event prove that he was a
fool?
CHABANNES
(aside).
O wisdom! thou hast kissed the lips of idiots,
And gemm'd the motley with thy precious pearls!
[Alençon and Vendôme appear to be observing some one in the distance—they come forward.
ALENÇON.
Oh yes, 'tis he! now, by this living light,
There is no nauseous reptile crawls the earth
That I so loathe as this same Bonnivet!
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Is that De Bonnivet, that plumed thing!
So sparkling and so brave in his attire,
Who treads disdainfully the upholding earth?
TRIBOULET.
Oh, that he hath done long on all his upholders.
CHABANNES.
Is that the brother of King Francis' tutor,
Whom I remember well a page at court?
ALENÇON.
Sir, he is now the King's prime minister.
CHABANNES.
Sir!—tut—impossible!
TRIBOULET.
He means the Queen's prime minister.
VENDÔME.
Why, aye, that's something nearer to the mark.
Enter De Bonnivet—he bows haughtily to them—they return his salute in the same manner.
TRIBOULET
(staring in his face).
He hath a very bright eye, and a very high brow, and
very handsome teeth—
(While he says this, De Bonnivet
threateningly obliges him to retreat step by step, until he
gets behind Vendôme, when he adds)
—By reason of all
which, no woman need miscarry that looks at him.
DE BONNIVET.
(Aiming a blow at Triboulet with his glove).
Hold thy fool's tongue!
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(Showing himself from behind Alençon.)
That we may listen to thine? Now, for aught I
know, thou mayst be the most learned of the two, seeing
thy brother was a pedagogue.
[De Bonnivet draws his sword, and rushes upon Triboulet; Vendôme and Chabannes hold him back. D'Alençon places himself before Triboulet.
VENDÔME.
For manhood, sir, put up your sword: he knows not
what he says.
CHABANNES.
He is a fool! an idiot!
TRIBOULET.
The King's fool, sir, the King's fool, and no idiot!
BONNIVET.
King's fool or not, he shall not fool 't with me,
Or, by the Lord! I'll make him find his brains.—
TRIBOULET.
Sir, if you knock them out, I bequeath them to you;
you're poor in such commodities.
BONNIVET.
Unhand me, lords!—
Enter Margaret de Valois, followed by Clement.
MARGARET.
How now, what coil is here! My lords, I thought not
To meet foul discord in such company.
Gentlemen, if a lady's voice hath power
To win your hands from their ungentle purpose,
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And now, what, may I ask, in this assembly
Was cause of such affray?
TRIBOULET.
My wit, sweet mistress.
CLEMENT.
Then drew thy wit more points than e'er it utter'd.
MARGARET.
Truly such origin doth honour to your quarrel.
And if whole nations fought for ten long years
For no more cause than a light woman's love,
We well may pardon, nay approve, four heroes
Who fall to fighting on a jester's words.
ALENÇON.
Madam, your words are sharp, and came they not
From lips, where soft sweet smiles have made their home,
They would, indeed, be terrible: but now,
We even bless reproachful oracles
That breathe from such a shrine.
TRIBOULET
(aside to him).
Oh, excellent!
Where didst thou con that dainty speech, I pray thee?
[Alençon pushes him angrily away, Margaret bows to Vendôme, and extends her hand to Chabannes.
MARGARET.
Most worthy sir, you're welcome back again
To our fair court.
CHABANNES.
Lady, can you rejoice
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Doth spring cry welcome to the hoary winter?
MARGARET.
Oh, sir, your winter so hath crown'd itself
With bays and laurels—glorious evergreens,
Still smiling in the sunshine of fair fame,
That 'tis but like a second, longer spring,
Born of the growth of years destin'd to flourish
As bright and fresh for ever.—Who is that,
Standing behind my Lord of Alençon?
I pray you, sir, come forth into the light,
Unless the shame of your encounter—
BONNIVET
(kneeling to kiss her hand).
It was not shame, but the broad dazzling sun,
That shone so fully in my sight, fair lady,
That I was fain to shade my eyes.
MARGARET.
Indeed!
You said the same last night, if you remember,
After the sun had set.
BONNIVET.
Oh, when
Do those bright orbs, his rivals, cease to shed
Such floods of light?—when will those beaming eyes
Grant respite, which the sunset gives us not?
CLEMENT
(aside to Triboulet).
He understands the business, doth he not?
MARGARET.
These eyes, I trust, are far less powerful—
Their sphere is bounded, happily for you;
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It hath a narrow compass, you may find
Relief from such a radiance easily.
TRIBOULET
(aside to Clement).
I'faith, and she understands it, too,—see how she waves him off.
MARGARET.
Chabannes,
Will not the tournay that my brother holds
To-day, in honour of the Duke's return,
Be favour'd by your presence?
CHABANNES.
Gracious Madam,
We all intend, as I believe, to be there:
I to look on, and criticise as age
Ever will do, drawing comparisons,
'Twixt that which is, and that which hath been once.
MARGARET.
Envious comparisons! say, are they not?
Surely the world alters not every day,
That those, who play'd their parts but some score years
Gone by, should cry out, ‘How the times are alter'd!’—
I do appeal to thy philosophy;
Say, is it so, Chabannes?
CHABANNES.
In sober truth, then, in philosophy,
Since thus your Grace commands, I do believe
That at our feet the tide of time flows on
In strong and rapid course; nor is one current
Or rippling eddy liker to the rest,
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Men still are men, the stream is still a stream,
Through every change of changeful tide and time;
And 'tis, I fear, only our partial eye
That lends a brighter sunbeam to the wave
On which we launch'd our own advent'rous bark.
MARGARET.
Oh fair confession! thou'rt but half a soldier—
CHABANNES.
But half a soldier, and no more, fair madam.
TRIBOULET.
Listen: one quarter of a good soldier is valour, the
second quarter prudence, and the remaining half (the
biggest half by far) wrong-headedness:—now, lacking the
latter half, thou art, as the princess saith, but half a
soldier.
MARGARET.
Why so; I am content my meaning thus
Should be interpreted, although 'twas not
My thought. Come thou with me, sir Fool,
I've business for thee in the Banquet-hall:
You, gentlemen, farewell, until the tournay;
'Till then, all good attend you, and I pray
Keep the king's peace, an it be possible.
[Exeunt Margaret, Clement, and Triboulet on one side; the rest on the other.
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SCENE II.
—THE QUEEN MOTHER'S APARTMENT.(The Queen enters precipitately.)
QUEEN.
So—I am glad Gonzalès is not here;
I would not even he should see me thus.—
Now out upon this beating heart, these temples,
That throb and burn so; and this crimson glow
That rushes o'er my brow: now, by this light,
I had not dream'd so much weak womanhood
Still slumber'd in my breast!—I must remember me.—
Mother of France, and well nigh Queen of it,
I'll even bear my love as royally,
As I have borne my pow'r:—the time is near,
Oh very near, when he will kneel again
Before my feet;—the conqueror to the conquer'd!—
I am asham'd of this ill timed relapse,—
This soft unnerving pow'r which thus enthrals me.
(Enter Gonzales.)
Thou art right welcome, by my word, Gonzalès!
Where be those parchments?
GONZALES.
Noble madam, here.
QUEEN.
Hast thou drawn out the plan of the possessions?
GONZALES.
So please your grace, I have:—Pardon me, madam,
I fear you are not well; your cheek is pale,
And your lip quivers—is your highness ill?
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Hush! 'twas a trumpet, was it not?—and now—
Surely it is the tramp of horses' hoofs
That beat the ground thus hurriedly and loud;—
I pray thee, father, throw the casement wide—
The air is stifling.
GONZALES.
I do entreat your highness to be seated;
I never saw you thus o'ercome before:
You tremble, madam.
QUEEN.
(rising).
Do I so, indeed?
I thank thee for that word—it hath reviv'd me:
I'm very well—I do not tremble now;—
By heav'n I never heard that word before:
It hath a wondrous virtue! Pray thee, father,
What think the people of Bourbon's return?
GONZALES.
Madam, the summer clouds
That flit across the heav'ns are not more various,
More strange, and different in shape and colour,
Than are th'opinions born from his recall.
QUEEN.
But thou—but thou—
Accustom'd as thou art to thread the mazes
Of dark intriguing policy—how think'st thou?
GONZALES.
Accustom'd, as your highness should have said,
To read the will and wisdom of your eyes,
And watch, for your commands, each meaning look,
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That much indeed lay in this mystery;
For your eye speaks strange things.
QUEEN.
How sayest thou—
This hand is passing fair, is't not, Gonzalès?
GONZALES.
Madam!—'tis not for me to estimate
The hand that kings have priz'd above their kingdom.
QUEEN.
Psha! fool! Oh, rather say the hand that held
The sovereign rule over their kingdoms. Now,
Mark me attentively. This woman's hand,
That but this moment trembled with alarm,—
This fair, frail hand, hath firmly held the reins
Of this vast empire for full many a year:
This hand hath given peace and war to Europe,—
This hand hath plac'd my son upon his throne,—
This hand hath held him there,—this hand it was
That sign'd the warrant for Bourbon's recall.
GONZALES.
Amazement!
QUEEN.
Ay! this woman's hand, led by a woman's heart.
Now hear me, thou; for to thy secrecy
I will confide what none, save only thou,
Have known—must know. Note well the latter word!
It is because I love the duke de Bourbon
With the strong love of such a soul as mine,
That I have called him from his government,
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This hand can grant, or kingdom can confer.
GONZALES.
(aside).
Perdition on her! this will ruin all!
(Aloud)
—And will you tell him of your love?
QUEEN.
I will.
Nay, answer not,—I have resolved on it,—
Thou wouldst but waste thy words, and anger me.
I never yet knew friend or minister,
But they were ever readier to advise
Than act.
GONZALES.
Now, madam, by the holy mass,
You shall not find it so. I've not forgot
My fame and honours were bestowed by you;
And rather take them back,—nay, life itself,—
Than taunt me with unwillingness to serve you.
QUEEN.
Why, so! I did but jest. In sooth, Gonzalès,
I know thou art as good, in a bad way,
As any faithful son of the Holy Church
Need be.
GONZALES.
But does the King—
QUEEN.
Out, bungler! out!
The King was very dutiful, and well
Believ'd what I so strenuously assur'd.
I told him that the duke de Bourbon's power
Was growing strongly in the Milanese;
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The high ambition of the Bourbon's mind
Was far less check'd than here, beneath the shadow
Of the throne, and so he was recalled—
(Trumpets without—shouts of “De Bourbon!”)
And now he is arriv'd—hark how the trumpets
Bray themselves hoarse with sounding welcome to him!
Oh, could I join my voice to yonder cry,
By heav'ns I think its tones would rend the welkin
With repetition of the hero's name,
Who's dearer far to me than life or fame.
[Exit.
GONZALES.
In love with Bourbon! by this living light,
My mission here is well nigh bootless, then.
Now might I back to Spain, since Charles' objects
Are all defeated by this woman's passion,
Were there not yet another task, the dearest,
The labour that is life—mine own revenge!
Till I have reached that goal, my foot shall never
Tread its own soil; or, freed from its disguise,—
This noiseless sandal of slow-gaited priesthood,—
Resume its manly garb. Oh, very long
Is the accomplishment; but it is sure,—
Sure as the night that curtains up each day,—
Sure as that death which is the end of life.
Lie still, thou thirsty spirit, that within
Call'st for the blood that shall allay thy craving!
Down, down with thee, until the hour be come
When I can fling this monkish treachery by,
Rush on my prey, and let my soul's hot flame
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Time, and the all-enduring soul that never
Shrinks from the trial, be my speed! and nought
My hope, my spur, my instrument, my end,
Save hate—eternal hate—immeasurable hate!
[Exit.
SCENE III.
—THE PRINCESS MARGARET'S CHAMBER.(Enter Margaret and Triboulet.)
MARGARET.
It is the hour of tournay. Triboulet,
Go thou unto the Queen, and tell her grace,
That, if it please her, I'll attend her thither.
[Exit Triboulet.
He is returned! he will be there! and yet
Though meeting, after long eventful absence,—
We shall not in our meeting be half blest:
A dizzy, whirling throng will be around us,
'Mid whose loud jar the still small voice of love,
Whose accents breathe their soft enchantment best
In whisper'd sighs, or but half-whisper'd words,
Will die unheard. Oh that we thus should meet!
But, then, there is love's eye to flash his thought
Into a language, whose rich eloquence
Beggars all voice; our eyes at least may meet,
And change, like messengers, the loving freight
That either heart sends forth.
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CLEMENT.
So please you, madam,
The Queen hath bid me say that she will not
Grace with her sight the tournament to-day;
And as I came from her apartment hither,
I met the King, who bade me bear you word
He cannot yet unto the lists, but you,
And your fair train, had best ride quickly there,
And let the tilt commence; he will not tarry,
But join ye ere the first three blows be struck.
[Exit Clement.
MARGARET.
'Tis well, I will obey—'Tis very strange
How much I fear my mother should perceive
De Bourbon's love for me—I know not why—
I dare not tell it her;—she is a fearful spirit,
And stands so proudly over all her sex,
She surely ne'er hath known what 'tis to love.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.
—THE LISTS.Enter Lautrec and Laval, meeting.
LAUTREC.
Well met, by this glad light, Laval! Will not
The Queen attend this tournament to day?
LAVAL.
No, sir, she's closeted with that grim holiness!
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That Spanish monk!
LAVAL.
That walking mystery!
That man, to my mind, hath a villainous look.
I never met his eyes but they were glaring
Like some hyæna's, or the devil's own;
And when I've spoken to him, I have seen
His lip, which as you know is e'er purs'd up
Into an humble simper of devotion,
Grow pale as death, and quiver, and instead
Of that same sneaking smile, it wore a sneer
That look'd like ghastly and convulsive agony.
Once, I remember me, the Queen had sent
By me some mission to this confessor;—
By chance, the Princess Margaret, by whose side
He stood, let fall a jewel from her finger;
Both stoop'd, and as we did, our hands encountered—
He started back as though a serpent stung him;—
By'r Lady, but I would not be the man
To wrong that surly monk: it is not strange,
That when I gaze on him it seems as though
I knew him, and had seen him oft before.
LAUTREC.
Nay, in thy dreams it must have been, Laval;
But leave this theme, and tell me what it is
Thou wouldst with me?
LAVAL.
This is no fitting place
To speak what I would say at greater length;
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My unanswer'd suit.
LAUTREC.
Once more I tell thee, then,
My sister shall be thine, I have said it—
Alençon!
Enter Alençon.
LAVAL.
Thou'st tarried long at tennis.
ALENÇON.
Why, the King
Still loiter'd on with racket in his hand;
And Bonnivet vaunting their mutual prowess.
LAUTREC.
'Tis much past noon.
ALENÇON.
He will be here anon.
For as I rode, I pass'd him with his train,
The gath'ring crowd thronging and clamouring
Around him, stunning him with benedictions,
And stifling him with love and fumes of garlick!
He, with the air he knows so well to don,
With cap in hand, and his thick chestnut hair
Fann'd from his forehead, bowing to his saddle,
Smiling and nodding, cursing at them too
For hindering his progress—while his eye,
His eagle eye, well vers'd in such discernment,
Rov'd through the crowd; and ever lighted, where
Some pretty ancle, clad in woollen hose,
Peep'd from beneath a short round petticoat,
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Deck'd out in all her high-day splendour, stood
Shewing her gossips the gold chain, which lay
Cradled upon a bosom, whiter far
Than the pure lawn that kerchieft it.
But how is not the joust begun?—his Majesty—
LAUTREC.
Nay, it began when first his order reach'd us;
Already hath one combat been decided
'Twixt Jouy and de Varennes; and the latter,
Proving the conqueror, in yonder tent
Now rests him for awhile: he will come forth
When next the trumpets sound. Wilt thou, Laval,
Try fortune in the lists?
LAVAL.
Oh, not to-day,—
Not before her, beneath whose eyes defeat
Were worse than death,—no, not to-day.
LAUTREC.
Nay, then, De Varennes shall not loiter there
Longer in proud expectance of a rival,—
I will encounter him. Herald! what ho!
There is my gauntlet—bear to Count de Varennes
A fair defiance! Bid my page lead round
My charger, let your trumpets sound a blast,
And raise the escutcheon of our ancient house
Before the tent.
[Exit into the Lists. Shouts and acclamations without, and trumpets.
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OMNES.
Long live the King! Long live great Francis!
FRANCIS.
Now are we heartily ashamed to think
That we have robb'd our excellent good people
Of any portion of the day's rejoicing!—
We fear we're somewhat past th'appointed time.
TRIBOULET.
An hour or so, not more.
FRANCIS.
Curse on that ceaseless clock—thy tongue!
TRIBOULET.
It goes right, though, for once.
FRANCIS.
If we have caus'd the joust to be retarded,
Which we sent word should not be so, we trust
Our faithful subjects will forgive th'offence
In favour of the cause—their own dear interests
Having withheld us in deep council from
Their well-beloved presence, which to us
Is like the sunshine of a summer's day;—
We were detained by weighty matters.
TRIBOULET.
Ay,
A tennis-ball, was't not? There, never frown,
I'll spare thee—I'll be silent.
FRANCIS.
On with the combats!
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Honour'd by your good presence.
CHABANNES.
True, my liege;
Since I left France, though, many a time and oft
We've run a charge against Colonna's knights,
Had not disgrac'd the fair eyes that look down
Upon this bloodless mimicry of war.
[Shouts.
But, see! the gates unclose—Lautrec is conqueror!
[Shouts and trumpets. Françoise de Foix rises, and leans forward with every mark of intense interest.
FRANCIS.
De Bonnivet, who is yon lady? look—
In front of the Princess's balcony?
Is she not passing fair?
BONNIVET.
Indeed, my liege,
She's very fair. I do not know her, though.
(To Laval.)
Who is yon lady, leaning forth, Laval?
LAVAL.
Count Lautrec's sister.
FRANCIS.
Had a limner's hand
Traced such a heavenly brow, and such a lip,
I would have sworn the knave had dreamt it all
In some fair vision of some fairer world.
See how she stands, all shrined in loveliness;
Her white hands clasped; her clust'ring locks thrown back
From her high forehead; and in those bright eyes
Tears! radiant emanations! drops of light!
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The starry eyes of heav'n wept silver dew.
(To Laval.)
Is yonder lady married, sir?
LAVAL.
My liege,
Not yet; but still her hand is bound in promise—
She is affianced.
FRANCIS.
And to whom?
LAVAL.
To me, sire.
FRANCIS.
Indeed!
(Aside to Bonnivet.)
Methinks I was too passionate in my praise,
Eh? Bonnivet—and yet how fair she is!
(Trumpets and shouts.)
Enter Lautrec and De Varennes from the Lists.
BONNIVET.
The time is well nigh spent,
And yet no stir of arms in token yet
Of any other knight, whose envious prowess
Disputes the prize which Lautrec else may claim.
FRANCIS.
Let him not claim it, though, for 'tis not his;
And, by this light, shall not be his, while I
Can strike one blow for it. Behold, Count Lautrec,
Another combatant awaits thee, here!—
Another bids thee halt on triumph's threshold,
And strive once more for victory. What, ho!
Unfurl our royal standard to the wind,
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The bloody battle-field, bloom o'er the tournay.
LAUTREC.
The King! I yield!
FRANCIS.
Not so, sir, if you please;
We'd shew that we can run a lance as well
As any other gentleman: come on!
[Exeunt Lautrec and the King.
FRANÇOISE.
How bravely does war's plumed majesty
Become him, as he vaults upon his steed!
His crimson crest waving upon the air
Like Victory's ruddy favours! on they go—
Now quakes the earth beneath their chargers' hoofs,
That whirl around, taking their vantage space;
Now each fierce steed bends on his haunches down,
Ready to rush his headlong course; each knight
Springs from his seat, and rising in the stirrups,
Directs his rested lance; on, on, they go,
Flashing and thund'ring! Ah! the King's unhorsed.
(Shouts within the Lists—‘Long live the King!’)
BONNIVET.
Madam, your loyal fears outran your eyes,
Count Lautrec fell, but he received no hurt:
The King is conqueror!
TRIBOULET.
Ay, so I thought:
Fortune's a true courtier.
CLEMENT.
Now out on thee, unmannerly—
26
I meant to say courtiers are—
LAVAL.
How now, jackanapes?
TRIBOULET.
Well, well, what I meant to say is, that I never yet
saw the King worsted in a fight.
BONNIVET.
Surely not because—
TRIBOULET.
Umph! because broken pates are better than broken
fortunes, and ye know it full well!
(Shouts and trumpets.)
[Enter Francis, followed by Lautrec, Heralds, Pages, and Esquires: Margaret, Françoise, and Ladies, descend and advance; the King kneels to Margaret, who throws a gold chain round his neck.
END OF ACT I.
| Francis the First | |