University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Time—sun-set. On the foreground an old Chateau; beyond, Vineyards and Woods, which present, through their openings, Views of a River, reflecting the sun-set. At a distance, the turrets of the Convent of the Carmelites.
Madame and Mademoiselle de la Vallière.
MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
'Tis our last eve, my mother!

MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Thou regrett'st it,
My own Louise! albeit the court invites thee—
A court beside whose glories, dull and dim
The pomp of eastern kings, by poets told;
A court—

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
In which I shall not see my mother!
Nor these old walls, in which, from every stone,
Childhood speaks eloquent of happy years;
Nor vines and woods, which bade me love the earth,
Nor yonder spires, which raised that love to God!—
(The vesper bell tolls.)
The vesper bell!—my mother, when, once more,
I hear from those grey towers that holy chime,
May thy child's heart be still as full of Heaven,
And callous to all thoughts of earth, save those
Which mirror Eden in the face of Home!

MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Do I not know thy soul?—through every snare
My gentle dove shall 'scape with spotless plumes.
Alone in courts, I have no fear for thee;—
Some natures take from Innocence the lore
Experience teaches; and their delicate leaves,
Like the soft plant, shut out all wrong, and shrink
From vice by instinct, as the wise by knowledge:
And such is thine! My voice thou wilt not hear,
But Thought shall whisper where my voice would warn,
And Conscience be thy mother and thy guide!

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Oh, may I merit all thy care, and most
Thy present trust!—Thou'lt write to me, my mother,
And tell me of thyself: amidst the court
My childhood's images shall rise. Be kind
To the poor cotters in the wood;—alas,
They'll miss me in the winter!—and my birds?—
Thy hand will feed them?—

MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
And that noble heart
That loves thee as my daughter should be loved—
The gallant Bragelone? —should I hear
Some tidings Fame forgets—if in the din
Of camps I learn thy image makes his solace,
Shall I not write of him?—

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE
(with indifference.)
His name will breathe
Of home and friendship;—yes!—

MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Of nought beside?

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Nay, why so pressing?—let me change the theme.
The King!—you have seen him;—is he, as they say,
So fair—so stately?

MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Ay, in truth, my daughter,
A king that wins the awe he might command.
Splendid in peace, and terrible in war;
Wise in the council—gentle in the bower.

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Strange, that so often through mine early dreams
A royal vision flitted;—a proud form,
Upon whose brow nature had written ‘empire;’
While, on the lip,—love, smiling, wrapt in sunshine
The charmed world that was its worshipper—
A form like that which clothed the gods of old,
Lured from Olympus by some mortal maid,—
Youthful it seemed—but with ambrosial youth;
And beautiful—but half as beauty were
A garb too earthly for a thing divine:—
Was it not strange, my mother?

MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
A child's fancy,
Breathed into life by thy brave father's soul.
He taught thee, in thy cradle yet, to lisp
Thy sovereign's name in prayer—and still together,
In thy first infant creed, were linked the lessons
‘To honour God, and love the king;’ it was
A part of that old knightly faith of France
Which made it half religion to be loyal.

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
It might be so. I have preserved the lesson,
Ev'n with too weak a reverence.—Yet, 'tis strange!
A dream so oft renewed!—

MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Here comes thy lover!
Thou wilt not blame him if his lips repeat
The question mine have asked? Alphonso, welcome!

SCENE II.

Bragelone, Madame and Mademoiselle de la Vallière.
BRAGELONE.
My own Louise!—ah! dare I call thee so?
War never seemed so welcome! since we part,
Since the soft sunshine of thy smiles must fade
From these dear scenes, it soothes, at least, to think
I shall not linger on the haunted spot,
And feel, forlorn amidst the gloom of absence,
How dark is all once lighted by thine eyes.

[Madame de la Vallière retires into the chateau.
MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Can friendship flatter thus?—or wouldst thou train
My ear betimes to learn the courtier's speech?

BRAGELONE.
Louise! Louise! this is our parting hour:
Me war demands—and thee the court allures.
In such an hour, the old romance allowed
The maid to soften from her coy reserve,
And her true knight, from some kind words, to take
Hope's talisman to battle!—Dear Louise!
Say, canst thou love me?—

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Sir!—I!—love!—methinks
It is a word that—

BRAGELONE.
Sounds upon thy lips
Like ‘land’ upon the mariner's, and speaks
Of home and rest after a stormy sea.
Sweet girl, my youth has passed in camps; and war
Hath somewhat scathed my manhood ere my time.
Our years are scarce well-mated: the soft spring
Is thine, and o'er my summer's waning noon
Grave autumn creeps. Thou say'st ‘I flatter!’—well,
Love taught me first the golden words in which
The honest heart still coins its massive ore.
But fairer words, from falser lips, will soon
Make my plain courtship rude.—Louise! thy sire
Betrothed us in thy childhood: I have watched thee
Bud into virgin May, and in thy youth
Have seemed to hoard my own!—I think of thee,
And I am youthful still! The passionate prayer—
The wild idolatry—the purple light
Bathing the cold earth from a Hebe's urn;—
Yea, all the soul's divine excess which youth
Claims as its own, came back when first I loved thee!
And yet so well I love, that if thy heart
Recoil from mine,—if but one single wish,
A shade more timid than the fear which ever
Blends trembling twilight with the starry hope
Of maiden dreams—would start thee from our union,
Speak, and my suit is tongueless!—

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
O, my lord!
If to believe all France's chivalry
Boasts not a nobler champion,—if to feel
Proud in your friendship, honoured in your trust,—
If this be love, and I have known no other,
Why then—

BRAGELONE.
Why then, thou lov'st me!

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE
(aside.)
Shall I say it?
I feel 'twere to deceive him! Is it love?
Love!—no, it is not love!— (Aloud.)
My noble lord,
As yet I know not all mine own weak heart;
I would not pain thee, yet would not betray.
Legend and song have often painted love,
And my heart whispers not the love which should be
The answer to thine own:—thou hadst best forget me!

BRAGELONE.
Forget!

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
I am not worthy of thee!

BRAGELONE.
Hold!—
My soul is less heroic than I deemed it.
Perchance my passion asks too much from thine,
And would forestal the fruit ere yet the blossom
Blushes from out the coy and maiden leaves.
No! let me love; and say, perchance the time
May come when thou wilt bid me not forget thee.
Absence may plead my cause; it hath some magic;
I fear not contrast with the courtier-herd;
And thou art not Louise if thou art won
By a smooth outside and a honeyed tongue.
No! when thou seest these hunters after power,
These shadows, minioned to the royal sun,—
Proud to the humble, servile to the great,—
Perchance thou'lt learn how much one honest heart,
That never wronged a friend or shunn'd a foe,—
How much the old hereditary knighthood,
Faithful to God, to glory, and to love,
Outweighs an universe of cringing courtiers!
Louise, I ask no more!—I bide my time!

Re-enter Madame de la Vallière from the chateau.
MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
The twilight darkens. Art thou now, Alphonso,
Convinced her heart is such as thou wouldst have it?

BRAGELONE.
It is a heavenly tablet—but my name
Good angels have not writ there!

MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Nay, as yet,
Love wears the mask of friendship: she must love thee.

BRAGELONE
(half incredulously.)
Think'st thou so?

MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Ay, be sure!

BRAGELONE.
I'll think so too.
(Turns to Mademoiselle de la Vallière.)
Bright lady of my heart!— (Aside.)
By Heaven! 'tis true!
The rose grows richer on her cheek, like hues
That, in the silence of the virgin dawn,
Predict, in blushes, light that glads the earth.
Her mother spoke aright;—ah, yes, she loves me!
Bright lady of my heart, farewell! and yet
Again—farewell!

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Honour and health be with you!

MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Nay, my Louise, when warriors wend to battle,
The maid they serve grows half a warrior too;
And does not blush to bind on mailed bosoms
The banner of her colours.

BRAGELONE.
Dare I ask it?

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
A soldier's child could never blush, my Lord,
To belt so brave a breast;—and yet,—well, wear it.

(Placing her scarf round Bragelone's hauberk.)
BRAGELONE.
Ah! add for thy sake.

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
For the sake of one
Who honours worth, and ne'er since Bayard fell,
Have banners flaunted o'er a knight more true
To France and Fame;—

BRAGELONE.
And love?

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Nay, hush, my Lord;
I said not that.

BRAGELONE.
But France and Fame shall say it!
Yes, if thou hear'st men speak of Bragelone,
If proudest chiefs confess he bore him bravely,
Come life, come death, his glory shall be thine,
And all the light it borrowed from thine eyes,
Shall gild thy name. Ah! scorn not then to say,
‘He loved me well!’ How well! God shield and bless thee?
[Exit Bragelone.

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE
(aside.)
Most worthy love! why can I love him not?

MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Peace to his gallant heart! when next we meet,
May I have gained a son—and thou—

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE
(quickly.)
My mother,
This night let every thought be given to thee!
Beautiful scene, farewell!—farewell, my home!
And thou, grey convent, whose inspiring chime
Measures the hours with prayer, that morn and eve
Life may ascend the ladder of the angels,
And climb to heaven! serene retreats, farewell!
And now, my mother!—no! some hours must yet
Pass ere our parting.

MADAME DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Cheer thee, my Louise!
And let us now within; the dews are falling—

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
And I forgot how ill thy frame may bear them.
Pardon!—within, within!—
(Stopping short, and gazing fondly on Madame de la Vallière)
Your hand, dear mother!

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

An old Armoury, of the heavy French Architecture preceding the time of Francis the First, in the Castle of Bragelone.
Bertrand, the armourer, employed in polishing a sword.
BERTRAND.
There now! I think this blade will scarcely shame
My gallant master's hand; it was the weapon,
So legends say, with which the old Lord Rodolph
Slew, by the postern gate, his lady's leman!
Oh, we're a haughty race—we old French lords;
Our honour is unrusted as our steel,
And, when provoked, as ruthless!

Enter Bragelone.
BRAGELONE.
Ah, old Bertrand!
Why, your brave spirit, 'mid these coats of mail,
Grows young again. So! this, then, is the sword
You'd have me wear. God wot! a tranchant blade,
Not of the modern fashion.

BERTRAND.
My good lord,
Yourself are scarcely of the modern fashion.
They tell me, that to serve one's king for nothing,
To deem one's country worthier than one's self,
To hold one's honour not a phrase to swear by,—
They tell me, now, all this is out of fashion.
Come, take the sword, my lord!—you have your father's
Stout arm and lordly heart: they're out of fashion,
And yet you keep the one—come, take the other.

BRAGELONE.
Why you turn satirist!

BERTRAND.
Satirist! what is that?

BRAGELONE.
Satirists, my friend, are men who speak the truth
That courts may say—they do not know the fashion!
Satire on Vice is Wit's revenge on fools
That slander Virtue!—How now! look ye, Bertrand!
Methinks there is a notch here.

BERTRAND.
Ay, my lord;
I would not grind it out;—'twas here the blade
Clove through the helmet, ev'n unto the chin,
Of that irreverent and most scoundrel Dutchman
Who stabbed you, through your hauberk-joints—what time
You placed your breast before the king.

BRAGELONE.
Hence, ever
Be it believed, that, in his hour of need,
A king's sole safeguard are his subject's hearts!
Ha, ha! good sword! that was a famous stroke!
Thou didst brave deeds that day, thou quaint old servant,
Though now—thou'rt not the fashion!

BERTRAND.
Bless that look,
And that glad laugh! they bring me back the day
When first old Bertrand armed you for the wars,—
A fair-faced stripling; yet, beshrew my heart,
You spurred that field before the bearded chins,
And saved the gallant Lord La Vallière's standard,
And yet you were a stripling then.

BRAGELONE.
La Vallière!
The very name goes dancing through my veins.
Bertrand, look round the armoury! Is there nought
I wore that first campaign? Nay, nay! no matter!
I wear the name within me. Harkye, Bertrand!
We're not so young as then we were: when next
We meet, old friend, we both will end our labours,
And find some nook, amidst yon antique trophies,
Wherein to hang this idle mail.

BERTRAND.
Huzza!
The village dames speak truth—my Lord will marry!
And I shall nurse, in these old withered arms,
Another boy—for France another hero.
Ha, ha! I am so happy.

BRAGELONE.
Good old man!
Why this is like my father's hall—since thus
My father's servants love me!

BERTRAND.
All must love you!

BRAGELONE.
All!—let me think so!
(Bugle sounds.)
Hark, the impatient bugle!
I hear the neigh of my exultant charger,
Breathing from far the glorious air of war.
Give me the sword!
(Enter Servant, with a letter.)
Her mother's hand!—‘Louise,
Arrived at court, writes sadly, and amidst
The splendour pines for home,’—I knew she would!
My own Louise!—‘Speaks much of the King's goodness;’—
Goodness to her!—that thought shall give the King
A tenfold better soldier!—‘From thy friend,
Who trusts ere long to hail thee as her son.’
Her son!—a blessed name! These lines shall be
My heart's true shield, and ward away each weapon.
He who shall wed Louise has conquered Fate,
And smiles at earthly foes!—Again the bugle!
Give me your hand, old man! My fiery youth
Went not to battle with so blithe a soul
As now burns in me.—So! she pines for home—
I knew she would—I knew it! Farewell, Bertrand!
[Exit Bragelone.

BERTRAND.
Oh! there'll be merry doings in the hall
When my dear lord returns! A merry wedding,
And then—and then—oh, such a merry christening!
How well I fancy his grave manly face
Brightening upon his first-born.

(As he is going)
Re-enter Bragelone.
BRAGELONE.
Ho, there! Bertrand!
One charge I had forgot:—Be sure they train
The woodbine richly round the western wing—
My mother's old apartment. Well, man! well!
Do you not hear me?

BERTRAND.
You, my lord! the woodbine?

BRAGELONE.
Yes; see it duly done. I know she loves it;
It clambers round her lattice. I would not
Have one thing absent she could miss.
Remember!
[Exit Bragelone.

BERTRAND.
And this is he whom Warriors call ‘the Stern!’
The dove's heart beats beneath that lion breast.
Pray Heaven his lady may deserve him! Oh,
What news for my good dame!—i'faith, I'm glad
I was the first to learn the secret. So!
This year a wife—next a year a boy! I'll teach
The young rogue how his father clove the Dutchman
Down to the chin! Ha, ha! old Bertrand now
Will be of use again on winter nights,—
I know he'll be the picture of his father!
[Exit Bertrand.

SCENE IV.

An Ante-chamber in the Palace of Fontainebleau.
Enter Lauzun and Grammont, at opposite doors.
LAUZUN.
Ah, Count, good day!—Were you at court last night?

GRAMMONT.
Yes; and the court is grown the richer by
A young new beauty.

LAUZUN.
So!—her name?

GRAMMONT.
La Vallière!

LAUZUN.
Ay, I have heard;—a maid of honour?

GRAMMONT.
Yes.
The women say she's plain.

LAUZUN.
The women! oh,
The case it is that's plain—she must be lovely!

GRAMMONT.
The dear, kind, gossips of the court, declare
The pretty novice hath conceived a fancy—
A wild, romantic, innocent, strange fancy—
For our young King; a girlish love, like that
Told of in fairy tales: she saw his picture,
Sighed to the canvas, murmured to the colours,
And—fell in love with carmine and gambouge.

LAUZUN.
The simple dreamer! Well, she saw the king?

GRAMMONT.
And while she saw him, like a rose, when May
Breathes o'er its bending bloom, she seemed to shrink
Into her modest self, and a low sigh
Shook blushes (sweetest rose-leaves!) from her beauty.

LAUZUN.
You paint it well.

GRAMMONT.
And ever since that hour
She bears the smiling malice of her comrades
With an unconscious and an easy sweetness;
As if alike her virtue and his greatness
Made love impossible:—so, down the stream
Of purest thought, her heart glides on to danger.

LAUZUN.
Did Louis note her?—Has he heard the gossip?

GRAMMONT.
Neither, methinks: his Majesty is cold.
The art of pomp, and not the art of love,
Tutors his skill—Augustus more than Ovid.

LAUZUN.
The time will come! The King as yet is young,
Flush'd with the novelty of sway, and fired
With the great dream of cutting Dutchmen's throats:
A tiresome dream—the poets call it ‘Glory.’

GRAMMONT.
So much the better,—'tis one rival less;
The handsome King would prove a dangerous suitor.

LAUZUN.
Oh, hang the danger!—He must have a mistress;
'Tis an essential to a court: how many
Favours, one scarcely likes to ask a King,
One flatters from a King's inamorata!
We courtiers fatten on the royal vices;
And, while the King lives chaste, he cheats, he robs me
Of ninety-nine per cent!

GRAMMONT.
Ha, ha!—Well, Duke,
We meet again to-night. You join the revels?
Till then, adieu!

LAUZUN.
Adieu, dear Count!
[Exit Grammont.
The King
Must have a mistress: I must lead that mistress.
The times are changed!—'twas by the sword and spear
Our fathers bought ambition—vulgar butchers!
But now our wit's our spear—intrigue our armour;
The ante-chamber is our field of battle;
And the best hero is—the cleverest rogue!
[Exit Lauzun.

SCENE V.

Night—the Gardens of the Fontainebleau, brilliantly illuminated with coloured lamps—Fountains, vases, and statues in perspective —A pavilion in the background—to the right, the Palace of the Fontainebleau, illuminated.
Enter Courtiers, Ladies, &c.
A Dance.
Then enter Grammont and Lauzun.
LAUZUN.
A brilliant scene!

GRAMMONT.
And see! to make it brighter,
That most divine, diverting, pompous Marquis—

LAUZUN.
Who has but one idea, and two phrases!

GRAMMONT.
The one idea—that he is a marquis!
And the two phrases?

LAUZUN.
Let himself inform you.

Enter the Marquis de Montespan, ridiculously over-dressed.
MONTESPAN.
My Lords, I'm charmed to see you!—How's your health,
Dear Count?

GRAMMONT.
But poorly, Sir.

MONTESPAN.
I'm in despair!
And yours?

LAUZUN.
Most flourishing!

MONTESPAN.
I'm charmed—enraptured!

LAUZUN.
Why don't you bring your wife to court, dear Marquis?

MONTESPAN.
My wife!—(what's that to him?)—she hates the pomp,
And stays at home to think of me—and bless
The fate that made her—

LAUZUN.
Married to a Marquis!

MONTESPAN.
Precisely so!

LAUZUN.
And such a Marquis!

MONTESPAN.
Oh!
You are too bad!—have done!

LAUZUN.
The very words
Your lovely lady said when last I saw her!

MONTESPAN.
She copies me—'tis natural!—

GRAMMONT.
Hist!—the King!

Enter Louis, followed by Courtiers, &c.
LOUIS.
Fair eve and pleasant revels to you all!
Ah, Duke!—a word with you!
(Courtiers give way.)
Thou hast seen, my Lauzun,
The new and fairest floweret of our court,
This youngest of the graces—sweet La Vallière,
Blushing beneath the world's admiring eyes?

LAUZUN
(aside.)
(So, so!—he's caught!) Your Majesty speaks warmly;
Your praise is just—and grateful—

LOUIS.
Grateful?

LAUZUN.
Ay.
Know you not, Sire, it is the jest, among
The pretty prattlers of the royal chamber,
That this young Dian of the woods has found
Endymion in a king,—a summer dream,
Bright, but with vestal fancies!—scarcely love,
But that wild interval of hopes and fears
Through which the child glides, trembling, to the woman?

LOUIS.
Blest thought! Oh what a picture of delight
Your words have painted!—

LAUZUN.
While we speak, behold,
Through yonder alleys, with her sister planets,
Your moonlight beauty gleams.

LOUIS.
Tis she!—this shade
Shall hide us!—quick—

[Enters one of the bosquets.
LAUZUN
(following him.)
I trust my creditors
Will grow the merrier from this night's adventure!

Enter Mademoiselle de la Vallière, and Maids of Honour.
FIRST MAID.
How handsome looks the Duke de Guiche tonight!

SECOND MAID.
Well! to my taste, the graceful Grammont bears
The bell from all!—

THIRD MAID.
But, then, that charming Lauzun
Has so much wit!

FIRST MAID.
And which, of all these gallants,
May please the fair La Vallière most?

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
In truth
I scarcely marked them; when the King is by,
Who can have eye, or ear, or thought for others?

FIRST MAID.
You raise your fancies high!

SECOND MAID.
And raise them vainly!
The King disdains all love!

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Who spoke of love?
The sunflower, gazing on the Lord of heaven,
Asks but its sun to shine!—Who spoke of love?
And who would wish the bright and lofty Louis
To stoop from glory? Love should not confound
So great a spirit with the herd of men.
Who spoke of love?—

FIRST MAID.
My country friend, you talk
Extremely well; but some young lord will teach you
To think of Louis less, and more of love.

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Nay, ev'n the very presence of his greatness
Exalts the heart from each more low temptation.
He seems to walk the earth as if to raise
And purify our wandering thoughts, by fixing
Thought on himself;—and she who thinks on Louis
Shuts out the world, and scorns the name of love!

FIRST MAID.
Wait till you're tried—
(Music.)
But, hark! the music chides us
For wasting this most heavenly night so idly.
Come! let us join the dancers.

[Exeunt Maids.
(As La Vallière follows, the King steals from the bosquet, and takes her hand, while Lauzun retires in the opposite direction.)
LOUIS.
Sweet La Vallière!

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Ah!—

LOUIS.
Nay, fair lady, fly not, ere we welcome
Her who gives night its beauty!

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Sire, permit me!
My comrades wait me.

LOUIS.
What! my loveliest subject
So soon a rebel? Silent!—Well, be mute,
And teach the world the eloquence of blushes.

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
I may not listen—

LOUIS.
What if I had set
Thyself the example? What if I had listened,
Veiled by yon friendly boughs, and dared to dream
That one blest word which spoke of Louis absent
Might charm his presence, and make Nature music?

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
You did not, Sire! you could not!

LOUIS.
Could not hear thee,
Nor pine for these divine, unwitnessed moments,
To pray thee, dearest lady, to divorce
No more the thought of love from him who loves thee,
And—faithful still to glory—swears thy heart
Unfolds the fairest world a king can conquer!
Hear me, Louise!

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
No, Sire; forget those words!
I am not what their foolish meaning spoke me,
But a poor simple girl, who loves her King,
And honour more! Forget, and do not scorn me!
[Exit Mademoiselle de la Vallière.

LOUIS.
Her modest coyness fires me more than all
Her half-unconscious and most virgin love.
(Enter Queen, Courtiers, Ladies, Guests, &c.; Lauzun, Grammont, and Montespan.)
Well, would the dancers pause awhile?

QUEEN.
Ev'n pleasure
Wearies at last.

LOUIS.
We've but to change its aspect,
And it resumes its freshness.—Ere the banquet
Calls us, my friends, we have prepared a game
To shame the lottery of this life, wherein
Each prize is neighboured by a thousand blanks.
Methinks it is the duty of a monarch
To set the balance right, and bid the wheel
Shower nought but prizes on the hearts he loves.
What ho, there! with a merry music, raise
Fortune, to shew how Merit conquers Honours!

Music.
(The pavilion at the back of the stage opens, and discovers the Temple of Fortune, superbly illuminated. Fortune; at her feet, a wheel of light; at either hand, a golden vase, over each of which presides a figure—the one representing Merit, the other Honour.)
LOUIS.
Approach, fair dames and gallants! Aye, as now,
May Fortune smile upon the friends of Louis.

(The Courtiers and ladies groupe around the vases. From the one over which Merit presides they draw lots, and receive in return from Honour various gifts of jewels, &c.)
(Enter Mademoiselle de la Vallière at the back of the stage. The King joins and converses with her in dumb show.)
MONTESPAN.
Now then for me!—
(Draws and receives a necklace.)
A very lovely trinket!

LAUZUN
(followed by an old Lady of the Court.)
Out on my stars!—there is a dear old woman
Who takes my notes to Montespan's fair wife,
And wants a present; if I give the ring
I drew, the haridan will play town-crier,
And all the Court will laugh at Lauzun's taste,
And take the wrinkled Mercury for my Venus.
Oho! the Marquis! 'faith I'll make him pay
My messenger to Madame.

MONTESPAN.
How it glitters!
Ten thousand crowns at least! it sha'n't go under!

LAUZUN
(taking the necklace.)
Prithee, indulge me, Marquis; tell me, now,
What would you do with this poor bauble?

MONTESPAN.
What?
Why, (let it be between us!—not a word
To my dear wife!) I'll turn it into monies.

LAUZUN.
Fie on you, Marquis, you disgrace our order;
It ought to make your fortune as a man
Of taste and gallantry.
(Turns to Old Lady.)
Ah, Madame, see
What luck our Marquis has!

OLD LADY.
Superb! the first
Water!

MONTESPAN.
She has the water in her mouth;
Liquorish old jade!

LAUZUN.
What, you admire the toy?

OLD LADY.
Nay, who would not?

LAUZUN.
The Marquis begs you'll give it
The worth such trifles take when worn by beauty!

MONTESPAN.
I—I—I'm in despair! Don't be so silly.

OLD LADY.
Sweet Marquis, you're too gallant.

LAUZUN.
Yes, he says,
He shall be in despair if you disdain it.
(Old Lady puts on the necklace, curtsies profoundly to Montespan, and retires.)
There, Marquis; there, I've done it.

MONTESPAN.
Done it! yes!
Nice doings!

LAUZUN.
Hush! her great grand niece's cousin
Is aunt to the third cousin of a maid
Of honour to the Queen—you understand me?

MONTESPAN.
And what of that? I drew a necklace, Sir,
Not that old woman's pedigree from Adam.

LAUZUN.
Your wit is dense to-night, my dearest Marquis;
If you reflect, you'll see the Queen must hear of it.

MONTESPAN
(softened.)
Aha! I see,—the Queen will hear of it!

LAUZUN.
And cry to Louis, ‘What a generous man
Is that sweet Marquis!’

MONTESPAN.
Well now, I'm enraptured!

LOUIS.
(To Mademoiselle de la Vallière.)
Nay, if you smile not on me, then the scene
Hath lost its charm.

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
O Sire, all eyes are on us!

LOUIS.
All eyes should learn where homage should be rendered.

MADEMOISELLE DE LA VALLIÈRE.
I pray you, Sire—

THE QUEEN.
Will't please your Majesty
To try your fortune?

(Looks scornfully at Mademoiselle de la Vallière.)
LOUIS.
Fortune! Sweet La Vallière,
I only seek my fortune in thine eyes.

(Music. Louis draws, and receives a diamond bracelet. Ladies crowd round.)
FIRST LADY.
How beautiful!

SECOND LADY.
Each gem were worth a duchy!

THIRD LADY.
Oh, happy she upon whose arm the King
Will bind the priceless band!

LOUIS.
(Approaching Mademoiselle de la Vallière.)
Permit me, Lady.

(Clasps the bracelet.)
LAUZUN.
Well done—well play'd! In that droll game call'd Woman,
Diamonds are always trumps for hearts.

FIRST LADY.
Her hair's
Too light!

SECOND LADY.
Her walk is so provincial!

THIRD LADY.
D'ye think she paints?

LAUZUN.
Ha! ha! What envious eyes,
What fawning smiles, await the King's new Mistress!