University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—An Apartment in the Château St. Antoine furnished with a brazen head fixed on a skeleton, crystal globes, magic mirrors, and celestial squares.— Father Buvulan and Father Betizac.
Father Buvulan.
For a brief moment I was high in hope
They both would burn. Truly he singed his beard
In saving of his barber.

Father Betizac.
Well, it shakes us.
Unstable is the commonalty ever;
The Duke had but to tickle them with tropes,
And Passac was their chuck, their duck, their darling,
Their Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego,
That in our heathen fire had walk'd unhurt.
Oh 'tis a fickle and a foolish people!
Their faith is with success; who faileth falleth.
When we lost hold of Passac, we lost hold
Of credit and repute. De Montenay
Sends me his greeting, and he has no need
Of the enchanted armour. There's a loss
Of some five hundred crowns. De Graville's page
Comes with his cozening master's countermand,
Who cares not that his horoscope be cast
Till better times—God grant his best be bad!
Since Tuesday there has been nor maid nor youth
To spy their spousals in the magic mirror.
All day the knocker sleeps upon the door
As it were dead. What! now it stirs. Come in.

Enter the Bastard of Montargis.
Montargis.
So! Reverend Fathers! winters such as these
Make fuel dear; 'tis cruel to the poor
To waste the store; when next ye light your fire
Look that there's something on the spit to roast.

Father Buvulan.
His Grace of Orleans in his brotherly love
May, if it please him, set all traitors free
To do their devilish work upon the King.
Our part right loyally have we fulfill'd,
And stand acquitted.

Montargis.
In your consciences,—
Yes doubtless in your tender consciences
Ye stand acquitted; but elsewhere how stand ye?
The Duke, who snatch'd away his friend the Barber,—
So seasonably, just as his wig was frizzled,—
Think ye with him ye stand acquitted? No,
Beware his wrath. And let me tell you, friends,
This frizzling of a barber doth but clinch
A foregone condemnation. Have ye heard
How ye were handled at the Council-board?
Your very eyes and noses could not 'scape,
But seeing that they did not please the Duke,
Plain documents were they of your damnation
Confirm'd in Satan's signature and seal.
To my poor thinking, Sirs, His Grace's speech
Savour'd of pitch and resin. Ye best know
(For through affection and a burning zeal
Ye are well seen in fagots and the stake)
If it be pleasant to ascend the skies
In manner of an incense; but if not,
I counsel you to find some present shift
For dwelling in the flesh.

Father Betizac.
Oh Lord! Oh Lord!
Oh God be merciful! What mean you, Sir?
Know you of aught devised and put in hand
Against our lives?

Montargis.
Of what I know, my friends,
I tell you what I may.

Father Betizac.
Oh, Sir, sweet Sir,
What may be done? Befriend us in our need.
Will gold redeem us? We have here laid by,
Out of our honest earnings, a round sum
In crown and ducats; will it please you take
And use it at your pleasure?

Montargis.
No, Sirs, no;
Gold will do nothing; ye must find a friend
To match a foe so mighty; who is he?
One only Lord there is, one only Prince,
Of such sufficiency as to ward the blows
Of the King's brother. Give yourselves to him
Bravely and wholly. Danger is a dog
That follows if ye fly, flies if ye face him.

Father Buvulan.
Surely his Highness knows us for his own.
Oh, excellent Sir, commend us to his Grace;
We wait upon his every wish and word.

Montargis.
Commend yourselves by service. Well ye know,
If aught your art avails you, who it is
That by his damnable practice hath let loose
These troops of demons that torment the King,—
A sin by so much worse than fratricide
As hell is worse than death; ye know it well;
It is the Duke his brother. What ye know
That daringly declare, and ye are safe.

Father Buvulan.
Oh, Sir, it was but reverence and respect
For the Blood-Royal muzzled us till now;
But at his Grace's honourable bidding
The truth must be declared.

Montargis.
His Grace's bidding?
The servant who doth only what is bidden
Shall earn but scant reward. He that divines
His master's need and feeds it, serves him twice;
Serves him with head and hand and heart and will;
This is the saving service.

Father Buvulan.
Sir, 'tis well;
This service we will render, and the truth
Unflinchingly avouch.

Montargis.
Truth is a gem
Of countless price; and life too is worth something.
Once more the Council in its wisdom meets
To vex the question of the King's disease;
Ye shall attend it. Come meantime with me;
A little of my teaching will ye want
Ere ye proceed adepts in speaking truth.