 | Louis XI |  |
ACT II.
The Throne Room in the castle. Marie discovered. Enter the Dauphin.Dauphin.
Marie!
Marie.
Your highness! [Rises]
Pardon; I saw you not.
Dauphin.
And now you see me, does the sight repel
And drive you from me?
Marie.
Ah, your highness,
My service is commanded by the King.
Dauphin.
Stay!
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'Tis late. Indeed I must—
Dauphin.
Remain,
Marie, I pray you. I—command.
Marie.
Your highness,
I obey.
Dauphin.
No, no, forgive me, Marie,
You have my leave to go—yet do not go.
Do as thou wilt—ay, leave me.
Marie.
In disgrace?
Dauphin.
There is a saying, “Happy as a king.”
There might be one, “As wretched as a prince.”
Marie.
You wretched!
Dauphin.
Ay. My father hates me.
Marie.
Hush!
Dauphin.
Far from his thought or care, my childhood passed
Within the gloomy walls of Amboise. There
I grew as the wild flowers grew—unheeded,
My only lesson was to fear the King,
And tremble at his name.
Marie.
All his love and care
Lie in his kingdom.
Dauphin.
Oh, that my kingdom were
Some little, unregarded isle, and thou
My only subject.
Marie.
'Tis time I should begone.
Dauphin.
Stay! Goes the King forth today?
Marie.
He does.
Dauphin.
To hunt? Well, I will ride beside thee.
Marie.
No.
Dauphin.
What then?
Marie.
A pilgrimage.
Dauphin.
A pilgrimage? What for?
Marie.
My lord—
Dauphin.
I mean, to whom? Whither?
Marie.
The King
Today will seek the village shrine hard by,
The Chapel of St. Martin in the Woods, and there
Will pass the vesper hour in prayer.
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I wish
Thou wert a saint, then I would be devout.
My father wears his saints about his cap,
But I would wear thee in my heart.
Marie.
I must
Begone.
Dauphin.
Stay yet—come hither—see what I have here.
Marie.
A book!
Dauphin.
And full of pictures. Look!
Knights, combats, and great feats of arms!
Marie.
I tremble did the King suspect. How came
You by it?
Dauphin.
I stole it from my uncle, Orleans.
Come, let us read it.
Marie.
No!
Dauphin.
Why not?
Marie.
I fear.
You know the King forbids that you shall read
From any book but that which he himself
Has writ for your instruction.
Dauphin.
Yes, I know,
But his book is so stupid.
Marie.
Hush! A king
Is never stupid. What is your book about?
Dauphin.
That you shall teach me. Come, sit here, and so
Now if I mistake, correct me.
[Reads]
“The Chronicles of France, written in the year
Of Grace—” There come figures. I will
Skip the figures.
Marie.
For certain reasons.
Dauphin.
“Wherein there is recited all the feats of
Arms of those most noble knights, Dunois, Lahire,
And—and—
Lahire, and—and—Du—du—Du—guess—”
Marie.
Dugueschin!
Dauphin.
Oh, what a hard word.
Marie.
Ay, but a great name.
Dauphin.
“And how the Realm of France,
Being oppressed, was saved by
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Joan of Arc.”
Marie.
The Maid of Orleans!
Dauphin.
I know of her,
And of another whom the late King loved,
Agnes Sorrel. I have often thought
That thou, Marie, shouldst resemble her.
Marie.
The mistress of a king.
Dauphin.
She might have been
His Queen.
Marie.
I am too lowly born for that;
Too nobly, to be the toy of any man.
Dauphin.
Then, when I am King
I can, alas, in nothing shew my love
For thee. Yet, take this ring.
Marie.
My lord—
Dauphin.
Take it,
And come the day I may a service grant,
Claim it by token of this ring; and here
I pledge my knightly faith and royal word,
What title, lands, or grace soe'er.
Marie.
Even should I pray you to recall
An exile, and to grant him pardon?
Dauphin.
Him!
Whom?
Marie.
One who pines, afar from home and kin.
Dauphin.
Ha! You love him.
Marie.
Ay.
Dauphin.
You love him. Marie!
Give me back the ring.
Marie.
'Tis here, my lord.
Dauphin.
No, retain it, it is thine. I did but jest.
You love this exile—it is well. You hold
His pardon, come what may. The Dauphin's word
Shall by the King be faithfully redeemed. [Exit]
Marie.
The pardon of Nemours. [Enter Commine]
Com.
How now, Marie,
That name upon your lips.
Marie.
You bade me check
The Dauphin's suit.
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What have you done?
Marie.
I have confessed my love and cast myself
Upon a prince's generosity.
Com.
Imprudent girl! The rashness of your heart
Will prove your lover's ruin.
Marie.
Father, list.
Go sit beside the King, and deal out law
To cure those ills that ail the commonweal,
For thou'rt a very crafty councillor.
But if thou wouldst preserve that high repute,
Leave love alone! Or should the question start,
Seek counsel of a fool and shut your eyes.
Com.
Away, and take thy folly with thee. Go! [Exit Marie]
The Count of Rethel scarce arrived, demands
An instant audience. I am bid to sound
This proud Burgundian ere the council meet.
He must be bought—but how? That rests with me
What coin to offer—titles, gold, or laurels. [Enter Officer]
Officer.
The Count de Rethel. [Enter Nemours]
Com.
Nemours! Thou here, Nemours?
Nem.
Here then he lives; here in this naked tomb.
Com.
Hast thou forecast thy peril? Knowest
Thou the very echoes here are spies; the stones
Are traitors?
Nem.
Fitting palace for a king!
As I approached the walls, I saw the track
Of Tristan's gory footsteps. The very river
Blushed for its human burthen; each tree bent,
Shame bowed, with its unnatural quiet. The air
Is clogged with death.
Com.
And yet you came.
Nem.
Confiding in your faith, your love.
The secret of my name is known to you, Marie,
And Coitier. Which of ye will betray me?
Com.
None, none!
Nem.
Think you the King will recognize in me
The child, who only once stood in his presence,
When I and my two brothers were thrust forth
Beneath the scaffold where our father fell?
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Why seek him now whose hand
Has crushed thy race?
The Duke did ill to send thee here, Nemours;
Another would have served his end as well.
Nem.
Louis had bribed another; but in me,
Charles in his wrongs, in hate, in person—all
Is represented. Like me, alone survivor
Of his house—like me too, by a murder left
An orphan without home or kin.
Com.
Nemours, who knows thy wrongs so well as I.
But is there no soft word that can disarm
Thy wrath? Marie—
Nem.
Marie!
Com.
Listen, my son,
France is thy home, thy country; for her sake
Forget thy wrongs. Louis and Charles are foes,
But thou canst make them friends, and thus at once
Canst salve the country's wounds, and heal thine own.
Thy titles, lands and home will be restored;
The King will pardon and forget.
Nem.
Forget!
He will forget! What do I hear? Forget
That night of crime—the victim of the block—
Three children made to kneel beneath the scaffold,
Clothed all in white as if beneath a shrine,
Assisting at a joyous ceremony. Sudden,
The sound of footsteps came, and then a voice.
'Twas his, my father's; he was murmuring
A prayer he taught me. Then he spoke my name,
And those of my two brothers. “My poor children!
Heaven shield my helpless children.” Then he prayed
Again; and then, silence—no more. No more!
Stretching my arms towards him in the gloom,
As I would kiss him for his prayer, I felt
What seemed to be his tears, that drop by drop
Fell on my face. His tears! No, no! Those eyes
Could shed no more. They were no tears that fell.
Com.
Nemours!
Nem.
'Twas blood! 'Twas blood! My father's blood!
Forget! He may, that king who watched the deed,
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My father's life. He may forget; I never!
Com.
Nemours, be calm; they come.
Nem.
Oh, fear me not. In presence of my foe thou'lt see
Who best can play the master. [Exit]
Com.
Perdition seize the Duke. Why hath he sent
This frenzied youth to raise the foul fiend here?
How finely has my mission been achieved!
When Louis asks me what report I bring,
What shall I say? [Enter an Officer]
Officer.
His majesty the King! [Enter Louis, Oliver, Coitier, Tristan, Count de Dreux, Courtiers and Citizens]
Louis.
Look to't, Sir Count, look to't. Let me but hear
A murmur from people, and my hand
Is on ye. My doubts confirmed, I send you straight
To Heaven for mercy. Therefore make you up
Betimes, the budget of your soul, d'ye hear?
As for your body, that I'll see to.
Count.
Sire, might I—
Louis.
Ay, ay! My people you'll depress,
Exacting more from them than I, their King.
My people and myself are one; the least of them
Is part of me; touch 'em, and you raise your hand
Against my royal person. This you have done.
Count.
Dread sire—
Louis.
You have! I beg you beg from these,
My friends, good honest citizens of Tours,
Five hundred crowns for me—raised two thousand;
Robbing them and me—me most especially.
Why, look on me; upon this king you count at nought.
Am I dead? Ha! Or quick? Look, man, look up!
I'm not so near the grave as some may think.
You're paler, Count, than I. Why, by my faith,
You die first now. Have you an heir?
Count.
[To Coitier]
Save me—interpose—in mercy!
Coit.
Ho, sire, come! Enough of this. You must not yield to anger;
'Tis hurtful.
Louis.
True! But I am well today;
I may indulge. The sight of that good Saint
François de Paule has quite refreshed my life.
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Dismiss me then, and trust to him. But still
This useless rage and vengeful eye, methinks,
As little do become the Christian sire
As the invalid.
Louis.
Coitier!
Coit.
Oh, do not waste
Big words on me. You're wrong.
Louis.
Coitier!
Coit.
Yes, wrong, and I am right.
See now, why look
The mischief's done; your
Face is changed already.
Louis.
Eh, what! Is't changed, indeed?
Coit.
Ay, is't.
Louis.
Well, then, I'll be more calm.
Coit.
Oh, not on my account, go on. Suffer
And die. 'Tis your affair.
Louis.
There, there, now, Coitier.
Coit.
You're the King.
Louis.
Come, come.
Coit.
Why, do then as you list,
But afterwards, don't come to me complaining.
Louis.
There, good Coitier, there, forgive me. So,
Look now, Sir Count, hark ye! What you have ta'en
From these good folk restore within three days,
For that's the price I put upon your head.
Which, if it suit you, well. If not, I'll take it;
But without anger—to which I am forbade
As being hurtful.
Count.
Sire, I submit.
Louis.
You hear?
How say ye, am I my people's champion? Ha!
Oliver, thou'lt see these fifteen hundred crowns
Repaid. 'Twas he denounced yon traitor from the start.
You'll freely give my faithful Oliver
Five hundred crowns—that is, if he accept.
Oliver.
Sire!
Louis.
He refuses.
Oliver.
No; I say your word is law.
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A thousand crowns remain. But there's
My faithful Coitier.
Coit.
No! I'll none of it.
Louis.
He will. Press him. So, that's settled.
Now let's on to State affairs.
Speak, Oliver.
Oliver.
My liege, the deputation of the Swiss await.
Louis.
Let 'em begone!
Oliver.
Unheard?
Com.
Your majesty
Has recognized their rights, their liberties.
Louis.
Their liberties! I hate the word, freedom. What next
Will they demand, these chamois hunters? Ha!
What is their country worth?
Com.
The Duke of Burgundy
Can tell. They make good head against his grace.
Louis.
Let them begone. The Count de Rethel else
Would charge us with their entertainment. No!
You bear me witness, all, I bid them go
Unheard. [Aside to Oliver]
Treat with them.
Oliver.
How?
Louis.
You know—you know!
Give the least they'll take, and promise all
They ask.
Oliver.
Enough!
Louis.
[Aloud]
Shall I take part with them
Against my cousin, Burgundy? Foster rebellion?
No! Let them have hospitality, no more,
And their good speed.
[To Oliver]
Ply 'em with wine, d'ye hear?
The Swiss drink hard;
You'll catch them in their cups.
Oliver.
Ne'er fear me, sire.
Louis.
How now, my good Commine!
Say, have you seen that envoy, ha?
Com.
Ay, sire.
Louis.
Well—well—eh?
Com.
I find him incorruptible.
Louis.
Bah!
Com.
My liege—
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I tell you, no.
Com.
He's honest.
Louis.
Then you confess
That you have bid too little. I must see to't.
Go—bring him here. We will receive him now.
Com.
If I may venture to advise your majesty,
Avoid this audience.
Louis.
Tut, man, go do my bidding. [Exit Commine. Enter Marie]
Come hither, truant, let me sun myself
Beneath thy smiles.
How fares our saintly guest?
Marie.
I scarce have left him, sire.
Louis.
The odor of his sanctity still clings to thee.
Tell me, what miracle has he performed already?
Marie.
Not one, sire.
Louis.
No! He garners up his power
To let the fullness of it fall on me.
But hark! the Dauphin greets the envoy of the Duke.
They come. Leave us, sweet gossip, leave us.
Marie.
My liege, I would entreat your leave to stay.
Louis.
Know you this Count de Rethel?
Marie.
No.
Louis.
Indeed! You must
Have seen him at the court of Burgundy?
Look where he comes.
Marie.
Ah!
Louis.
Ha! How now?
Marie.
'Tis he.
I leave you, sire. [Aside]
It is Nemours!
Louis.
What's this?
She's troubled. Ha! I'll fathom this. Begone! [Exit Marie. King ascends the throne]
Mont.
The envoy of
The most high and mighty Prince Charles, Duke of Burgundy and Flanders,
Heralded by Toison d'Or, humbly entreats your majesty
To grant him audience.
Louis.
Admit the Count. Tristan, be on your guard.
Close round me, gentlemen. [Enter the Dauphin and Commine. Flourish]
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Largesse to Toison d'Or. How now, Sir Count,
Our presence troubles you; you tremble and look pale.
Nem.
If so, it is with anger, sire. The wrongs
That bear me here are ocean wide, and though
I fain would curb them, still you see they burst
And foam upon my face.
Louis.
Out with them, then.
Let us hear them.
Nem.
Right speedily you shall.
Know then, that my most puissant lord, Duke Charles
Of Burgundy, first peer of France and sovereign prince—
Louis.
Enough, I know the states and vassals of my crown.
Pass to the facts.
Nem.
To you, then, King of France,
His brother and ally, he sends me in his name
To charge thee with foul breach of faith and treaty.
Louis.
Ha!
Nem.
You have consorted with his foes, the Swiss,
Sending them secret aid; and even now
You entertain their chiefs within these walls.
Louis.
I have not seen 'em; bear me witness, all.
They are dismissed unheard. Now, sir, what more?
Nem.
This much! Lords of Brancas and Chabannes
Have crossed our frontiers, and by treachery
Surprised and seized upon our citadels.
Louis.
If this be so, these lords must bear the blame;
'Twas done against my will.
Nem.
Give me a proof.
Louis.
Agreed!
Nem.
Ay, sire, but prompt, and on the spot.
Louis.
Well—well?
Nem.
Their punishment!
Louis.
Sir Count, you ask too much.
Would this be fair? Should I condemn these lords
Unheard?
Nem.
Oh, sire, your ever-ready axe
Ere now has fall'n for less than this
On nobler heads than theirs.
Louis.
Ay? Whose head?
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Heaven knows,
And when your hour of judgment comes,
He who condemns will shew it ye.
Louis.
Your head is in my power.
Nem.
Why, take it, then, but first
Attend, for you shall hear my message out.
Louis.
Ha! Charles the Bold is represented well.
He never merited that name till now!
How say ye, gentlemen?
Pursue, Sir Count, pursue.
Nem.
Hear me then, Louis of Valois, and you,
Most noble knights and lords of high estate.
Duke Charles, whose wrongs this paper doth set forth,
Demands and will have justice; or by me declares
The Lion Banner of great Burgundy, unloosed
For every duchy, barony and fief
He holds in vassalage from thee; he now
Casts off his fealty—Avenger of the past!
He doth invoke in aid that ghostly train
Of murdered peers whose blood anoints his cause.
Their champion, Charles the Bold of Burgundy,
As knight thine equal, and as prince thy foe,
In single combat will this quarrel try
With thee or thine. In proof, there lies his gage.
Lift it who dare.
Dauphin.
That do I
For Valois and for France.
All.
I—I—sire!
Louis.
Ha!
Well done, brave sirs, and he my son, the first
Amongst them all—so young—so brave. 'Tis well
He is a child of France.
Dauphin.
My father—
Louis.
So—so—enough!
Here, Toison d'Or, take back
This glove. [To Nemours]
And thou, to whom in mercy
I restore it, thank my clemency
Which doth exceed thy madness.
But I esteem thy boldness as fidelity.
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And, as Heaven guide us, we'll do right and justice.
Today, after our pious pilgrimage,
And in the presence of our saintly guest, François de Paule,
This treaty shall be canonized.
Till then I must resign my heart to prayer,
And in my own misdeeds ease thought off thine. [Exit Nemours with escort]
Louis.
Commine! Tristan!
Com.
You would not be advised.
Louis.
I like these angry folk, one sees them all
At once. This treaty must be signed.
Com.
How, sire!
Louis.
That seems a grave mistake, eh, gossip, eh?
Com.
Most grave, sire.
Louis.
When with pen and ink you make
An error, have I not seen you scratch it out?
Com.
Ay, sire.
Louis.
Ay, with a knife—go to, then, gossip—
If I make a blot, I'll use the knife,
But not till then. Marked you the Dauphin?
Com.
Ay, I did, my liege.
Louis.
His royal blood o'erflowed.
Com.
What princely valor!
Louis.
Ay, he might prove dangerous
If he rebelled.
Com.
Oh, sire!
Louis.
Ay, ay, I know. I know
How much a royal son can do against a king. I was
A dauphin once.
Tell me—ha! This Count de Rethel knows Marie?
Com.
My daughter, sire?
Louis.
Reply!
Com.
I know not, sire.
When she resided at the Court of Charles,
Amongst the noble youths who sought her, she—
Louis.
Distinguished him.
Speak man!
Com.
Sire, I did hear,
To Marie's beauty—
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Ay, ay, ay!
Com.
He was not insensible.
Louis.
He loves. You know it, and you said
That he was incorruptible. Go, go, my good Commine,
Go! I'll know the truth from her. [Exit Commine]
Tristan!
Trist.
Ay.
Louis.
Come hither.
Trist.
I am here.
Louis.
Nearer.
Trist.
So.
Louis.
Nearer.
Trist.
Speak low; I'll listen with my eyes.
Louis.
Well, gossip, ha! You heard this haughty vassal?
Trist.
Ay.
Louis.
I pardoned him.
Trist.
You said so—umph!
Louis.
And I did right.
Trist.
The King can do no wrong.
Louis.
I sign this treaty, yet if Heaven decree
Some dire reverse to Charles—perhaps defeat—
Trist.
And Heaven send it soon, that same decree.
Louis.
That's an unchristian wish—a wicked wish.
Trist.
It is an honest one.
Louis.
Still, if mishap
Befall the Duke, were it so well, d'ye think
This treaty should arrive in Burgundy?
Trist.
The Count is in your power.
Louis.
How! Violate
His sacred office? No, let us respect
The laws of nations.
Trist.
Oh!
Louis.
I can allow
Nothing to happen—here.
Trist.
How then regain
The treaty if you let him go?
Louis.
Can't I
Provide him with a trusty escort?
Trist.
Ay, you must.
To do him honor, protect him to the frontier.
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Ay, gossip, as you say,
To do him honor.
Trist.
Who will command the troop?
Louis.
I thought of thee, eh?
Trist.
Oh—of me! And how
Shall I compose it?
Louis.
As thou wilt.
Trist.
I see. Fellows I can trust.
Louis.
Ay! So!
Trist.
And numerous.
Louis.
Double his band—to do him honor.
Trist.
Good! It shall be done.
Louis.
And then, d'ye hear, who knows
When in some lonely wood—
Ha! What's that? The Angelus? [Bell rings]
Trist.
Ay, sire.
Louis.
Who knows, when in some lonely wood,
A cause of quarrel may arise?
Trist.
It shall.
Louis.
Your people, by his guards insulted.
Trist.
Ay. I'll see it done.
Louis.
You will defend yourselves.
Trist.
We will.
Louis.
And so, you may regain the treaty.
Trist.
Ay, but then, the Count—
Louis.
The Count? How dull you are.
Trist.
Heh! Must I—
Louis.
Ah! you smile, old friend.
You understand me, then.
Trist.
I comprehend.
| Louis XI | |