 | The Duchess de la Vallière |  |
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ACT IV.
SCENE I.
The Gardens at Versailles.Enter Lauzun.
LAUZUN.
So far, so prosperous! From the breast of Louis,
The blooming love it bore so long a summer,
Falls like a fruit o'er-ripe; and, in the court,
And o'er the King, this glittering Montespan
Queens it without a rival,—awes all foes,
And therefore makes all friends. State, office, honours,
Reflect her smile, or fade before her frown.
So far, so well! Enough for Montespan.
For Lauzun now!—I love this fair La Vallière,
As well, at least, as woman's worth the loving;
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The gold 'tis set in will redeem the blemish.
The King's no niggard lover; and her wealth
Is vast. I have the total in my tablets—
(Besides estates in Picardy and Provence.)
I'm very poor—my debtors very pressing.
I've robbed the Duchess of a faithless lover,
To give myself a wife, and her a husband.
Wedlock's a holy thing,—and wealth a good one!
Enter Marquis de Montespan.
MONTESPAN.
O Duke, behold a miserable man!
LAUZUN.
What! in despair?
MONTESPAN.
Despair, sir!—that's a thing
That happens every hour! But this—
LAUZUN.
Take breath.
What is the matter?
MONTESPAN.
Banished from the court!
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Banished? For what offence?
MONTESPAN.
Because the King
Complains my wife's an angel! and declares
Her health will be affected by my temper.
My temper!—I'm a lamb!
LAUZUN.
Perhaps the King
Is jealous of you?
MONTESPAN.
On my life, you've hit it!
And yet, I never gave him any cause!
Enter Louis.
LOUIS
(to Marquis de Montespan.)
You, my Lord, in the precincts of our palace!—
This is too daring.
MONTESPAN.
Oh, your Majesty,
I do beseech your grace. I am most sorry
To have a wife so good. 'Tis not my fault, Sire.
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Silence, my Lord! Your strange and countless follies—
The scenes you make—your loud domestic broils—
Bring scandal on our court. Decorum needs
Your banishment; or, since you cannot live
With your fair lady in harmonious concord,
Leave her in peace, and live alone!
MONTESPAN.
Alas!
There is no broil.
LAUZUN
(aside.)
What, contradict the King!
MONTESPAN.
My wife and I are doves!
LOUIS.
You must perceive
That it were best for both to break a chain
You both abhor.
MONTESPAN.
I swear—
LOUIS.
Peace, Marquis! Go!
And for your separate household, which entails
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A hundred thousand crowns.
MONTESPAN.
O generous Monarch!
LOUIS.
Mind, your poor lady, from this hour, is free.
No more. Your exile is revoked. Good day, sir!
MONTESPAN.
A hundred thousand crowns!
LAUZUN.
Begone!
MONTESPAN.
With rapture!
[Exit Marquis de Montespan.
LOUIS.
A fool, well rid of. Strange that such a dolt
Should e'er be mated with the bright Athenè.
Pleasure is never stagnant in her presence;
But every breeze of woman's changeful skies
Ripples the stream, and freshens e'en the sunshine.
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'Tis said, your Majesty, ‘that contrast's sweet,’
And she you speak of well contrasts another,
Whom once—
LOUIS.
I loved; and still devoutly honour.
This poor La Vallière!—could we will affection,
I would have never changed. And even now
I feel Athenè has but charmed my senses,
And my void heart still murmurs for Louise!
I would we could be friends, since now not lovers,
Nor dare be happy while I know her wretched.
LAUZUN.
Wearies she still your Majesty with prayers,
Tender laments, and passionate reproaches?
LOUIS.
Her love outlives its hopes.
LAUZUN.
An irksome task
To witness tears we cannot kiss away,
And with cold friendship freeze the ears of love!
LOUIS.
Most irksome and most bootless!
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Haply, Sire,
In one so pure, the charm of wedded life
Might lull keen griefs to rest, and curb the love
Thou fli'st from to the friendship that thou seekest?
LOUIS.
I've thought of this. The Duke de Longueville loves her,
And hath besought before her feet to lay
His princely fortunes.
LAUZUN
(quickly.)
Ha!—and she—
LOUIS.
Rejects him.
LAUZUN.
Sire, if love's sun, once set, bequeaths a twilight,
'Twould only hover o'er some form whom chance
Had linked with Louis—some one (though unworthy)
Whose presence took a charm from brighter thoughts
That knit it with the past.
LOUIS.
Why, how now, Duke!—
Thou speak'st not of thyself?
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I dare not, Sire!
LOUIS.
Ha! ha!—poor Lauzun!—what! the soft La Vallière
Transfer her sorrowing heart to thee! Ha! ha!
LAUZUN.
My name is not less noble than De Longueville's;
My glory greater, since the world has said
Louis esteems me more.
LOUIS.
Esteems! No!—favours!
And thou dost think that she, who shrunk from love,
Lest love were vice, would wed the wildest Lord
That ever laughed at virtue?
LAUZUN.
Sire, you wrong me,
Or else you (pardon me) condemn yourself.
Is it too much for one the King calls friend
To aspire to one the King has call'd—
LOUIS.
Sir, hold!
I never so malign'd that hapless Lady
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To such as Montespan, who glories in it—
The last my mistress; but the first my victim:
A nice distinction, taught not in your logic,
Which, but just now, confused esteem and favour.
Go to! we kings are not the dupes you deem us.
LAUZUN
(aside.)
So high! I'll win La Vallière to avenge me,
And humble this imperial vanity.
(Aloud.)
Sire, I offend! Permit me to retire,
And mourn your anger; nor presume to guess
Whence came the cause. And, since it seems your favour
Made me aspire too high, in that I loved
Where you, Sire, made love noble, and half-dreamed
Might be—nay, am not—wholly there disdained—
LOUIS.
How, Duke!
LAUZUN.
I do renounce at once
The haughty vision. Sire, permit my absence.
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Lauzun, thou hintest that, were suit allowed thee,
La Vallière might not scorn it;—is it so?
LAUZUN.
I crave your pardon, Sire.
LOUIS.
Must I ask twice?
LAUZUN.
I do believe, then, Sire, with time and patience,
The Duchess might be won to—not reject me!
LOUIS.
Go, then, and prove thy fortune. We permit thee.
And, if thou prosperest, why then love's a riddle,
And woman is—no matter! Go, my Lord;
We did not mean to wound thee. So, forget it!
Woo when thou wilt—and wear what thou canst win.
LAUZUN.
My gracious Liege, Lauzun commends him to thee;
And if one word, he merit not, may wound him,
He'll think of favours words can never cancel.
Memory shall med'cine to his present pain.
God save you, Sire!— (Aside)
to be the dupe I deem you!
[Exit Lauzun.
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I love her not; and yet, methinks, am jealous!
Lauzun is wise and witty—knows the sex;
What if she do?—No! I will not believe it.
And what is she to me?—a friend—a friend!
And I would have her wed. 'Twere best for both—
A balm for conscience—an excuse for change!
'Twere best:—I marvel much if she'll accept him!
[Exit Louis.
SCENE II.
A private Apartment in the Palace of the Duchess de la Vallière.Enter the Duchess de la Vallière.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
He loves me, then, no longer! All the words
Earth knows shape but one thought—‘He loves no longer!’
Where shall I turn? My mother—my poor mother!
Sleeps the long sleep! Tis better so! Her life
Ran to its lees. I will not mourn for her.
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This love, for which I gave so much, is dead,
Save in my heart; and love, surviving love,
Changes its nature, and becomes despair!
Ah, me!—ah, me! how hateful is this world!
Enter Gentleman of the Chamber.
GENTLEMAN.
The Duke de Lauzun!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
News, sweet news, of Louis!
Enter Lauzun.
LAUZUN.
Dare I disturb your thoughts?
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
My Lord, you're welcome!
Came you from court to-day?
LAUZUN.
I left the King
But just now, in the gardens.
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(eagerly.)
Well!
LAUZUN.
He bore him
With his accustomed health!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Proceed.
LAUZUN.
Dear Lady,
I have no more to tell.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE
(aside.)
Alas! No message!
LAUZUN.
We did converse, 'tis true, upon a subject
Most dear to one of us. Your Grace divines it?
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE
(joyfully.)
Was it of me he spoke?
LAUZUN.
Of you
I spoke, and he replied. I praised your beauty—
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You praised!
LAUZUN.
Your form, your face—that wealth of mind
Which, play'd you not the miser, and concealed it,
Would buy up all the coins that pass for wit.
The King, assenting, wished he might behold you
As happy—as your virtues should have made you.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
'Twas said in mockery!
LAUZUN.
Lady, no!—in kindness.
Nay, more, (he added,) would you yet your will
Mould to his wish—
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
His wish!—the lightest!
LAUZUN.
Ah!
You know not how my heart throbs while you speak!
Be not so rash to promise; or, at least,
Be faithful to perform!
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You speak in riddles.
LAUZUN.
Of your lone state and beautiful affections,
Formed to make Home an Eden, our good King,
Tenderly mindful, fain would see you link
Your lot to one whose love might be your shelter.
He spake, and all my long-concealed emotions
Gush'd into words, and I confess'd—O Lady,
Hear me confess once more—how well I love thee!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
You dare?—and he—the King—
LAUZUN.
Upon me smiled,
And bade me prosper.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Ah!
(Sinks down, and covers her face with her hands.)
LAUZUN.
Nay, nay, look up!
The heart that could forsake a love like thine
Doth not deserve regret. Look up, dear Lady!
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He bade thee prosper!
LAUZUN.
Pardon! My wild hope
Outran discretion.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Louis bade thee prosper!
LAUZUN.
Ah, if this thankless—this remorseless love
Thou couldst forget! Oh, give me but thy friendship,
And take respect, faith, worship, all, in Lauzun!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Consign me to another! Well, 'tis well!
Earth's latest tie is broke!—earth's hopes are over!
LAUZUN.
Speak to me, sweet Louise!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
So, thou art he
To whom this shattered heart should be surrendered?—
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Wouldst take the cast-off leman of a King,
Nor think thyself disgraced! Fie!—fie! thou'rt shameless!
LAUZUN.
You were betray'd by love, and not by sin,
Nor low ambition. Your disgrace is honour
By the false side of dames the world calls spotless.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Go, sir, nor make me scorn you. If I've erred,
I know, at least, the majesty of virtue,
And feel—what you forget.
LAUZUN.
Yet hear me, Madam!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Go, go! You are the King's friend—you were mine;
I would not have you thus debased: refused
By one, at once the fallen and forsaken!
His friend shall not be shamed so!
[Exit the Duchess de la Vallière.
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(passing his hand over his eyes.)
I do swear
These eyes are moist! And he who owned this gem
Casts it away, and cries ‘divine’ to tinsel!
So falls my hope. My fortunes call me back
To surer schemes. Before that ray of goodness
How many plots shrunk, blinded, into shadow!
Lauzun forgot himself, and dreamt of virtue!
[Exit Lauzun.
SCENE III.
Gentleman of the Chamber, and Bragelone, as a Franciscan friar.GENTLEMAN.
The Duchess gone! I fear me that, to-day,
You are too late for audience, reverend father.
BRAGELONE.
Audience!—a royal phrase!—it suits the Duchess.
Go, son; announce me.
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By what name, my father?
BRAGELONE.
I've done with names. Announce a nameless monk,
Whose prayers have risen o'er some graves she honours.
GENTLEMAN
(aside.)
My lady is too lavish of her bounty
To these proud shavelings: yet, methinks, this friar
Hath less of priest than warrior in his bearing.
He awes me with his stern and thrilling voice,
His stately gesture, and imperious eye.
And yet, I swear, he comes for alms!—the varlet!
Why should I heed him?
BRAGELONE.
Didst thou hear? Begone!
[Exit Gentleman.
Yes, she will know me not. My lealest soldier,
One who had march'd, bare-breasted, on the steel,
If I had bid him cast away the treasure
Of the o'er-valued life; the nurse that reared me,
Or mine own mother, in these shroudlike robes,
And in the immature and rapid age
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Unto my features, now might gaze upon me,
And pass the stranger by. Why should she know me,
If they who lov'd me know not? Hark! I hear her:
That silver footfall!—still it hath to me
Its own peculiar and most spiritual music,
Trembling along the pulses of the air,
And dying on the heart that makes its echo!
'Tis she! How lovely yet!
Enter the Duchess de la Vallière.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Your blessing, father.
BRAGELONE.
Let courts and courtiers bless the favoured Duchess:
Courts bless the proud; God's ministers, the humble.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
He taunts me, this poor friar! Well, my father,
I have obeyed your summons. Do you seek
Masses for souls departed?—or the debt
The wealthy owe the poor?—say on!
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(aside.)
Her heart
Is not yet hardened! Daughter, such a mission
Were sweeter than the task which urged me hither:
You had a lover once—a plain, bold soldier;
He loved you well!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Ah, Heaven!
BRAGELONE.
And you forsook him.
Your choice was natural—some might call it noble!
And this blunt soldier pardoned the desertion,
But sunk at what his folly termed dishonour.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
O, Father, spare me!—if dishonour were,
It rested but with me.
BRAGELONE.
So deemed the world,
But not that foolish soldier!—he had learned
To blend his thoughts, his fame, himself, with thee;
Thou wert a purer, a diviner self;
He loved thee as a warrior worships glory;
He loved thee as a Roman honoured virtue;
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And when Pollution breathed upon his idol,
It blasted glory, virtue, and ambition,
Fill'd up each crevice in the world of thought,
And poisoned earth with thy contagious shame!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Spare me! in mercy, spare me!
BRAGELONE.
This poor fool,
This shadow, living only on thy light,
When thou wert darkened, could but choose to die.
He left the wars;—no fame, since thine was dim:
He left his land;—what home without Louise?
It broke—that stubborn, stern, unbending heart—
It broke! and, breaking, its last sigh—forgave thee!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
And I live on!
BRAGELONE.
One eve, methinks, he told me,
Thy hand around his hauberk wound a scarf;
And thy voice bade him ‘Wear it for the sake
Of one who honoured worth!’ Were those the words?
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They were. Alas! alas!
BRAGELONE.
He wore it, Lady,
Till memory ceased. It was to him the token
Of a sweet dream; and, from his quiet grave,
He sends it now to thee.—Its hues are faded.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Give it me!—let me bathe it with my tears!
Memorial of my guilt—
BRAGELONE
(in a soft and tender accent.)
And his forgiveness!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
That tone!—ha! while thou speakest, in thy voice,
And in thy presence, there is something kindred
To him we jointly mourn: thou art—
BRAGELONE.
His brother;
Of whom, perchance, in ancient years he told thee;
Who, early wearied of this garish world,
Fled to the convent-shade, and found repose.
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(approaching.)
Ay, is it so?—thou'rt Bragelone's brother?
Why, then, thou art what he would be, if living—
A friend to one most friendless!
BRAGELONE.
Friendless!—Ay,
Thou hast learnt, betimes, the truth, that man's wild passion
Makes but its sport of virtue, peace, affection;
And breaks the plaything when the game is done!
Friendless!—I pity thee!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Oh! holy Father,
Stay with me!—succour me!—reprove, but guide me:
Teach me to wean my thoughts from earth to heaven,
And be what God ordained his chosen priests—
Foes to our sin, but friends to our despair.
BRAGELONE.
Daughter, a heavenly and a welcome duty,
But one most rigid and austere: there is
No composition with our debts of sin.
God claims thy soul; and, lo! his creature there!
Thy choice must be between them—God or man,
Virtue or guilt; a Louis or—
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A Louis!
Not mine the poor atonement of the choice;
I am, myself, the Abandoned One!
BRAGELONE.
I know it;
Therefore my mission and my ministry.
When he who loved thee died; he bade me wait
The season when the sicklied blight of change
Creeps o'er the bloom of Passion, when the way
Is half prepared by Sorrow to Repentance,
And seek you then,—he trusted not in vain:
Perchance an idle hope, but it consoled him.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
No, no!—not idle!—in my happiest hours,
When the world smiled, a void was in this heart
The world could never fill: thy brother knew me!
BRAGELONE.
I do believe thee, daughter. Hear me yet;
My mission is not ended. When thy mother
Lay on the bed of death, (she went before
The sterner heart the same blow broke more slowly,)
As thus she lay, around the swimming walls
Her dim eyes wandered, searching, through the shadows,
As if the spirit, half-redeemed from clay,
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Body a daughter's image—(nay, be still!)
Thou wert not there;—alas! thy shame had murdered
Even the blessed sadness of that duty!
But o'er that pillow watched a sleepless eye,
And by that couch moved one untiring step,
And o'er that suffering rose a ceaseless prayer;
And still thy mother's voice, whene'er it called
Upon a daughter—found a son!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
O God!
Have mercy on me!
BRAGELONE.
Coldly, through the lattice,
Gleamed the slow dawn, and, from their latest sleep,
Woke the sad eyes it was not thine to close!
And, as they fell upon the haggard brow,
And the thin hairs—grown grey, but not by Time—
Of that lone watcher—while upon her heart
Gushed all the memories of the mighty wrecks
Thy guilt had made of what were once the shrines
For Honour, Peace, and God!—that aged woman
(She was a hero's wife) upraised her voice
To curse her child!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Go on!—be kind, and kill me!
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Then he, whom thoughts of what he was to thee
Had made her son, arrested on her lips
The awful doom, and, from the earlier past,
Invoked a tenderer spell—a holier image;
Painted thy gentle, soft, obedient childhood—
Thy guileless youth, lone state, and strong temptation;
Thy very sin the overflow of thoughts
From wells whose source was innocence; and thus
Sought, with the sunshine of thy maiden spring,
To melt the ice that lay upon her heart,
Till all the mother flowed again!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
And she?—
BRAGELONE.
Spoke only once again! She died—and blest thee!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE
(rushing out.)
No more!—I can no more!—my heart is breaking!
BRAGELONE.
The angel hath not left her!—if the plumes
Have lost the whiteness of their younger glory,
The wings have still the instinct of the skies,
And yet shall bear her up!
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(without.)
We need you not, Sir;
Ourself will seek the Duchess.
BRAGELONE.
The King's voice!
How my flesh creeps!—my foe, and her destroyer!
The ruthless, heartless—
(His hand seeks, rapidly and mechanically, for his sword-hilt.)
Why, why!—where's my sword?
O Lord! I do forget myself to dotage:
The soldier, now, is a poor helpless monk,
That hath not even curses! Satan, hence!
Get thee behind me, Tempter!—There, I'm calm.
SCENE IV.
Louis—Bragelone.LOUIS.
I can no more hold parley with impatience,
But long to learn how Lauzun's courtship prospers.
She is not here. At prayers, perhaps. The Duchess
Hath grown devout. A friar!—Save you, father!
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I thank thee, son.
LOUIS.
He knows me not. Well, Monk,
Are you her Grace's almoner?
BRAGELONE.
Sire, no!
LOUIS.
So short, yet know us?
BRAGELONE.
Sire, I do. You are
The man—
LOUIS.
How, priest!—the man!
BRAGELONE.
The word offends you?
The King, who raised a maiden to a Duchess.
That maiden's father was a gallant subject:
Kingly reward!—you made his daughter Duchess.
That maiden's mother was a stainless matron:
Her heart you broke, though mother to a Duchess!
That maiden was affianced from her youth
To one who served you well—nay, saved your life:
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And yet—you made his fair betrothed a Duchess!
You are that King. The world proclaims you ‘Great;’
A million warriors bled to buy your laurels;
A million peasants starved to build Versailles:
Your people famish; but your court is splendid!
Priests from their pulpits bless your glorious reign;
Poets have sung the greater than Augustus;
And painters placed you on immortal canvass,
Limn'd as the Jove whose thunders awe the world:
But to the humble minister of God,
You are the King who has betrayed his trust—
Beggared a nation but to bloat a court,
Seen in men's lives the pastime to ambition,
Looked but on virtue as the toy for vice;
And, for the first time, from a subject's lips,
Now learns the name he leaves to Time and God!
LOUIS.
Add to the bead-roll of that King's offences
That, when a foul-mouthed Monk assumed the rebel,
The Monster-King forgave him. Hast thou done?
BRAGELONE.
Your changing hues belie your royal mien;
Ill the high monarch veils the trembling man!
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Well, you are privileged! It ne'er was said
The Fourteenth Louis, in his proudest hour,
Bow'd not his sceptre to the Church's crozier.
BRAGELONE.
Alas! the Church! 'Tis true, this garb of serge
Dares speech that daunts the ermine, and walks free
Where stout hearts tremble in the triple mail.
But wherefore?—Lies the virtue in the robe,
Which the moth eats? or in these senseless beads?
Or in the name of Priest? The Pharisees
Had priests that gave their Saviour to the cross!
No! we have high immunity and sanction,
That Truth may teach humanity to Power,
Glide through the dungeon, pierce the armed throng,
Awaken Luxury on her Sybarite couch,
And, startling souls that slumber on a throne,
Bow kings before that priest of priests—the Conscience!
LOUIS
(aside.)
An awful man!—unlike the reverend crew
Who praise my royal virtues in the pulpit,
And—ask for bishoprics when church is over!
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This makes us sacred. The profane are they
Honouring the herald while they scorn the mission.
The king who serves the church, yet clings to mammon,
Who fears the pastor, but forgets the flock,
Who bows before the monitor, and yet
Will ne'er forego the sin, may sink, when age
Palsies the lust and deadens the temptation,
To the priest-ridden, not repentant, dotard,—
For pious hopes hail superstitious terrors,
And seek some sleek Iscariot of the church,
To sell salvation for the thirty pieces!
LOUIS
(aside.)
He speaks as one inspired!
BRAGELONE.
Awake!—awake!
Great though thou art, awake thee from the dream
That earth was made for kings—mankind for slaughter—
Woman for lust—the People for the Palace!
Dark warnings have gone forth; along the air
Lingers the crash of the first Charles's throne!
Behold the young, the fair, the haughty king!
The kneeling courtiers, and the flattering priests;
Lo! where the palace rose, behold the scaffold—
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Lord of the silver lilies, canst thou tell
If the same fate await not thy descendant!
If some meek son of thine imperial line
May make no brother to yon headless spectre!
And when the sage who saddens o'er the end
Tracks back the causes, tremble, lest he find
The seeds, thy wars, thy pomp, and thy profusion
Sowed in a heartless court and breadless people,
Grew to the tree from which men shaped the scaffold,—
And the long glare of thy funereal glories
Light unborn monarchs to a ghastly grave!
Beware, proud King! the Present cries aloud,
A prophet to the Future! Wake!—beware!
[Exit Bragelone.
LOUIS.
Gone! Most ill-omened voice and fearful shape!
Scarce seemed it of the earth; a thing that breathed
But to fulfil some dark and dire behest;
To appal us, and to vanish.—The quick blood
Halts in my veins. Oh! never till this hour
Heard I the voice that awed the soul of Louis,
Or met one brow that did not quail before
My kingly gaze! And this unmitred monk!
I'm glad that none were by.—It was a dream;
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I am no tyrant—nay, I love my people.
My wars were made but for the fame of France!
My pomp! why, tush!—what king can play the hermit?
My conscience smites me not; and but last eve
I did confess, and was absolved!—A bigot;
And half, methinks, a heretic! I wish
The Jesuits had the probing of his doctrines.
Well, well, 'tis o'er!—What ho, there!
Enter Gentleman of the Chamber.
LOUIS.
Wine! Apprise
Once more the Duchess of our presence.—Stay!
Yon monk, what doth he here?
GENTLEMAN.
I know not, Sire,
Nor saw him till this day.
LOUIS.
Strange!—Wine!
[Exit Gentleman.
144
SCENE V.
Duchess de la Vallière—Louis.LOUIS.
Well, Madam,
We've tarried long your coming, and meanwhile
Have found your proxy in a madman monk,
Whom, for the future, we would pray you spare us.
(Re-enter Gentleman with wine.)
So, so! the draught restores us. Fair La Vallière,
Make not yon holy man your confessor;
You'll find small comfort in his lectures.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Sire,
His meaning is more kindly than his manner.
I pray you, pardon him.
LOUIS.
Ay, ay! No more;
Let's think of him no more. You had, this morn,
A courtlier visitant, methinks—De Lauzun?
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Yes, Sire.
LOUIS.
A smooth and gallant gentleman.
You're silent. Silence is assent;—'tis well!
145
(aside.)
Down, my full heart! the Duke declares your wish
Is that—that I should bind this broken heart
And—no! I cannot speak—
(With great and sudden energy.)
You wish me wed, Sire?
LOUIS.
'Twere best that you should wed; and yet, De Lauzun
Is scarce the happiest choice.—But as thou wilt.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
‘'Twere best that I should wed!’—thou saidst it, Louis;
Say it once more!
LOUIS.
In honesty, I think so.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
My choice is made, then—I obey the fiat,
And will become a bride!
LOUIS.
The Duke has sped!
I trust he loves thyself, and not thy dower.
146
The Duke! what, hast thou read so ill this soul
That thou couldst deem thus meanly of that book
Whose every page was bared to thee? A bitter
Lot has been mine—and this sums up the measure.
Go, Louis! go!—All glorious as thou art—
Earth's Agamemnon—the great king of men—
Thou wert not worthy of this woman's heart!
LOUIS.
Her passion moves me!—Then your choice has fallen
Upon a nobler bridegroom?
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Sire, it hath!
LOUIS.
May I demand that choice?
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Too soon thou'lt learn it.
Not yet! Ah me!
LOUIS.
Nay, sigh not, my sweet Duchess.
Speak not so sadly. What, though love hath past,
Friendship remains; and still my fondest hope
Is to behold thee happy. Come!—thy hand;
Let us be friends! We are so!
147
Friends!—No more!
So, it hath come to this! I am contented!
Yes—we are friends!
LOUIS.
And when your choice is made,
You will permit your friend to hail your bridals?
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Ay, when my choice is made!
LOUIS.
This poor De Lauzun
Hath then no chance? I'm glad of it, and thus
Seal our new bond of friendship on your hand.
Adieu!—and Heaven protect you!
[Exit Louis.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE
(gazing after him.)
Heaven hath heard thee,
And in this last most cruel, but most gracious,
Proof of thy coldness, breaks the lingering chain
That bound my soul to earth.
(Enter Bragelone.)
O holy father!
Brother to him whose grave my guilt prepared,
148
And guide me back to Virtue through Repentance!
BRAGELONE.
Pause, ere thou dost decide.
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
I've paused too long,
And now, impatient of this weary load,
Sigh for repose.
BRAGELONE.
Oh, Heaven, receive her back!
Through the wide earth, the sorrowing dove hath flown,
And found no haven; weary though her wing
And sullied with the dust of lengthened travail,
Now let her flee away and be at rest!
The peace that man has broken—THOU restore
Whose holiest name is Father!
DUCHESS DE LA VALLIÈRE.
Hear us, Heaven!
END OF ACT IV.
| The Duchess de la Vallière | |