University of Virginia Library

I.

The Court of Love.
Scene—The Town Hall at Bourges, fitted up for “the Court of Love.”
Alain Chartier and the Sieur de Giac.
Giac.
This hall is furnished for the Court of Love.

Chartier.
'Tis fairly furnished.

Giac.
O mon Dieu!—and note,
That there king Réne's sister will preside;
Thence speak the sentence, in the suit between
King Charles and our rich merchant.

Chartier.
But in the way
Of gallantry, you guess—for both are married,
Cæsar and Crœsus.

Giac.
Whose shall be the fair
Agnes Sorel. Mon Dieu! King Réne's sister,
Our Charles's queen, shall judge between the rivals!
The merchant's spouse (beshrew her!) likes it not.
Think you, king Réne would esteem this sport
A fitting pastime?

Chartier.
Tush! tush! A merry suit—
A very merry suit, and well designed
To make the languid hours the king here spends,
In forced seclusion, move with livelier speed.
King Réne, royal troubadour, who sings
Of love and love and love, his constant theme,
Knows every mood of the platonic heart,
Will, when he hears it, feel but one regret—
That he was absent from the dainty show,
And envy me, his rival in sweet song.
Besides, to tell the truth, our Charles, from boyhood,
Zealous and valiant, needs awakening, yet,
By some device or other—for his spirit
Affects a learned ease, and would forget
He has a throne to win—that the town of Bourges
Is not the city of Paris, nor this castle
The palace of his fathers.
To this end,
The queen herself with the aforesaid Agnes,
And rich Jacques Cœur, contrived this merry suit.

Giac.
O ciel! Who bears the cost?

Chartier.
Who but Jacques Cœur.

Giac.
What, he?

Chartier.
He, the king's king—whom wanting, were no king.
Has the king gold, it was from the merchant's chest;
Does the king feast, it is from the merchant's larder.
In truth, our Charles were pauper but for Cœur,
Here suffering disinherison in Bourges,
While there in Paris, and the rest of France,
The English and Burgundian sway the realm.
But, soft! who comes in haste?—What storm's ahead?

Le Camus de Beaulieu enters.
Beaulieu.
The king's insulted, and, for once, incensed.

Chartier.
By whom?

Beaulieu.
La Trémouille.

Chartier.
How?—when?

Beaulieu.
He met the king,
This instant, coming hither; walked up to him,
Looking defiance, then, with scoffing lip,
Hailed him with, “King of Bourges! how goes the day?”
As Bourges were all his sovereignty.

Chartier.
In sooth,
A bitter jest! O crownéd poverty!
For all thy crown, thou art not reverenced more
Than the bare head, but, therefore rather scorned,
And pitied less.

Giac.
The king resented it?

Beaulieu.
How, you may see; there come they.

King Charles and suite with George De La Trémouille enter.
Charles.
Set him free.
Now, by my chivalry, this is a knight,
Affects the clown; that, when he doffs his smock,
Surprise may quicken mirth.

Trémouille.
You say right well;
A knight am I, one born of noble line;
No man of the people, like your favourite Cœur,
But courtly of the court, and loathing riches
That grow on mean descent.

Charles.
Well, one like you
Should know good manners. Why did you forget them?

Trémouille.
Because my king forgot that he was king,
And let the ignoble sway him, to the wrong
Of such as were his peers.

Charles.
Now, by the cross!
Whom have I wronged?

Trémouille.
(smiting his breast).
George de la Trémouille!

Charles.
I know thee now; thou hast pronounced thy name,
And in that name thy condemnation, too.
Now, hear me speak. Man, thou wouldst purchase lands,
Broad lands, for twenty thousand golden crowns.
The golden crowns thou hadst not, so the owner
Sold them, instead, to him who had.

Trémouille.
Yes, to Jacques Cœur,
Who now is lord of Toucy and Fargeau.
Their ancient castles to plebeian rule
Have thus been forced to bow. I plead my rights,
My order's rights, against a merchant's coins.

Charles.
You have done so. Your suit was urged and heard,
And the stern law has judged the lands are his.

Trémouille.
By undue means decision was obtained.

Charles.
On a king's honour, you mistake yourself,
Your cause, the trial, and its righteous issue.
No more!—begone!—you are pardoned!

Trémouille.
Maybe! Well—
But never pardon I the wealthy upstart—
Let him be lord of Toucy, or king of France;
My vengeance, on the daïs or the throne,
Spreads o'er him ruinous wings, and, vulture-like,
With sudden swoop, shall fall.

[Goes out.
Charles.
Alas, for state!
When birth and merit strive for precedence.
No choice for me. My gratitude, my love,
This Cœur has nobly earned; he has them both,
Is worth them—the magnanimous of soul
Takes rank with monarchs. Go thy sordid way,
Proud Trémouille; thou canst not match with Cœur.
Now, to our queen. The hall is well prepared,
Though o'er its morn, this churl has thrown a cloud,
Our joyance shall, unchecked, shine out at noon.

[Goes out, followed by his suite and the rest.
Enter Macée de Léodepart and Jeanne De Vendôme, followed by La Trémouille.
Trémouille.
Your pardon, madam. Do I not address
The wife of merchant Cœur.

Macée
(with dignity).
You do. Your name?

Trémouille.
'Tis one as proud.

Macée.
So, sir! my speech was civil.

Trémouille.
Yes; coldly civil; such as well befits
The highborn to the mean. We must change places.

Macée.
Strange! but I have scanned him well. It must be he.
None other were so rudely arrogant.
La Trémouille, I guess?

Trémouille.
Right, madam!

Macée.
To
My lord, then, bear thy plaints, strive thou with him.
Shame to thy malice, that so low can stoop!
Taunt unoffending woman—shame! shame! shame!

Trémouille.
True; the new gallantry might have taught me better;
I knew not you were teacher in that school.
You suffer wrong, I grant, yet not from me;
True words are spoke in jest. This merry suit
Has a pre-argument. Loves not your Cœur,
In earnest sort, fair Agnes? Chance gives oft
Proof vainly sought on purpose. In the question,
Was late between us, when I met him once;
Who sat within his chamber, cheek to cheek,
Alone with him—familiar as twin doves?
Agnes Sorel is charming—very charming.
Another time—

Macée.
No other time. Nor that—
Nor this! You know not Cœur. Be silent, sir!
Here comes my lord—he'll better answer you.

Jacques Cœur enters with a retinue.
Trémouille.
No! let him answer you; I have done with him.
You are the daughter of a generous house;
Much you forgot in yielding to his wooing;
May, haply, all forget. The man is wealthy,
And gold buys license. Heed you not?

Macée.
Cœur! husband!
This man would to the mind of thy Macée,
Suggest the yellow plague of jealousy;
Of thee and thy high motives ignorant—
This Trémouille.

Cœur.
Scorn him. Let him be sure,
Before he judges us, he hath the skill.
I've not yet heard the muses ever taught him,
Song, legend, masque, love-lore, or any lore;
So let him canker in his ignorance.
What! moody?

Macée.
But a thought. Some other time.

Cœur.
Beloved Macée! I may not brook a doubt—
I have a task that needs expediences,
And least from you may meet impediment.
Look up more clearly.

Macée.
Base suggestion, hence!
I have no dread of thee, no doubt of thee;
But much for thee I do both doubt and dread,
Knowing that Mammon is a treacherous god,
Expediency a quicksand. But, no more—
I will perform my errand; then return.
Come, Jeanne Vendôme.

[Exeunt Macée and Vendôme.
Cœur.
La Trémouille! beware!
You will do well in future to be guarded
In uttering your shrewd guesses.

Trémouille.
Have a care
More of your deeds than of my words.

Cœur.
My deeds?
They're honour's! All my aims are acts—they're prudent,
And in their wisdom prosper.
Macée re-enters.
Have you sped?

Macée.
Not well. But here comes he I sought.

Trémouille.
What Charles,
Or Chartier? O, madam! keep you clear
Of kings and minstrels, or your peace is wrecked.

Macée.
You're troublesome.
Hail to your Majesty!

Charles, Chartier, Beaulieu, and Giac re-enter.
Charles.
Madame Macée! you're well encountered where
Our queen instructed our dull sense to find you.
I come to plead with you in her behalf,
And that of the fair Agnes. I myself
To plead, in her majestic name, the cause
Of gallantry—such innocence of sport,
Has its one source in generous sentiment
And sympathy of mind, alike commended
By grave philosophy and pleasant song.
Her great example should with thee prevail,
To me conditioned, as thou art to him
Thy wise and prudent lord.

Macée.
I do obey—
And will take part in the day's show, convinced,
By such authority, of a subject's duty.

Charles.
Then all here stay—anon, the court will form,
Our queen will enter in her state; myself
And my friend Cœur are suitors. Here stay we.
You, Chartier, with song amuse the time.

Song
(By Alain Chartier).

Queen Marie d'Anjou, with a numerous train of Ladies and Knights, here enters and assumes the throne.
Queen.
Ladies and knights! 'tis with unwonted pride,
That, in your Court of Love, your queen accepts
The honoured judgment-seat. Ill were the blood
That was my sire's, transmitted to these veins,
If I acknowledged not the noble impulse,
Of men makes heroes and of women angels.
What is the amorous suit?

Charles.
It touches one,
Agnes Sorel, a maid belonging late
To princess Isabella of Lorraine,
Now to your majesty—therefore to me.
Your's her good sense, fine wit and finer grace;
And therefore mine! 'Twere waste for me to praise
The fascination and the loveliness
Of all acknowledged. Early seen by me,
This heart platonic influence soon avowed,
By you permitted.

Queen.
Is there nought else?

Charles.
This—
A man we call and know to be our friend,
With head more cool, but heart as warm as ours,
Of fortune favoured more—no king in name,
Yet king in means—consorts fair Agnes too,
Is smiled upon by her, and holds her ear
With soft persuasion, corresponds with her,
Has daily, hourly intercourse—until,
With fear our Agnes may prove infidel,
Our jealous soul is troubled.

Queen.
Would ye, we
Impose restraint on her, or him? You are not
To learn, love will not be restrained. You're heard.
What answers the defendant?

Cœur.
Queen of beauty,
Fair arbitress of love! your majesty,
Suffice it that I plead, the plaintiff is
Disqualified—his love forepledged and wed.

Queen.
He has confessed as much. And is not yours?

Cœur.
Confession is not proof. Did I confess,
There yet were needed witness.

Queen.
'Tis at hand.
Macée de Léodepart! come into court.

Macée.
Must I play such a part? Well! I submit.
Here, royal mistress.

Queen.
You've heard the argument. Proceed.

Macée.
Belovèd queen! that I am wed to Cœur,
Is known to all, and therewith satisfied
I would conclude; but that most high example
Might justify conjecture, I were fain
To be content with a divided heart;
Which is not so. Fidelity in mine,
Would mirrored find itself in that deep sea;
Even his, where all my treasures buried lie;
Whereof bereavèd, abject poor were I!

Cœur.
A wife unparalleled—a priceless jewel!
Talk you of treasures, girl? Why, all my wealth
Were not of worth to buy such! Voyaged far
Have I; seen heaps of gold and diamonds,
And gorgeous works in colour and in stone,
In Italy, and in the Oriënt—
But never gem so whole, so pure, so stainless,
As that true heart of thine!

Queen.
Such ecstacies
Throw doubt upon the trial; cause the need
Of Agnes' beauteous presence to be felt,
To prove the merchant rival to the king.

Cœur.
Let her, I pray, be sent for.

Queen.
Be it so.
Meanwhile, this lady may have proof to render.

Macée.
I would not, of my voluntary act,
Abate the pleasure of the time and place;
Yet not, for its promotion, would I wanton
With my best feelings, and grow fabulous.
Jacques Cœur has been to me a faithful lord,
Honest and true, of the old-fashioned sort.
—What, if on lady Agnes he has looked
With a delightful eye; . . I know to him
Fair things are pleasing:—What, though he have listened
To the rich music of her speech; . . I know
That hers floats wisdom on its melodies;—
What, though he frequents her society;
There are state reasons for it. The true wife
Would not abridge her husband's liberty—
Sure of his heart, he free may roam the world!

Chartier.
The lady Agnes comes.

Agnes Sorel enters, attended.
Queen.
My royal lord!
Madam Macée, methinks, hath read us both
A lesson we should heed.

Charles.
Next, list to Agnes!
Doubtless, we both shall ready quittance have.
What saith the fair Sorel? What passages
Of love 'twixt wealth and beauty have there been?

Sorel.
A pretty allegory you suggest,
My sovereign liege—but one, methinks, so old,
It well were obsolete; yet will not perish,
While Jupiters descend in golden showers,
The Danäes will prove mothers.

Charles.
Then, poor Charles
To richer Cœur must yield.

Queen.
“Must”? “Must”—in love!
Love's queen in me resists compulsion's law.
The richer Cœur is barred by his chaste wife,
Who here, in court, objects her prior claim:
And we that prior claim now ratify.
—But he, the royal plaintiff in love's suit,
Hath now no wife, who can, before love's throne,
Hold him in bar. Free privilege is his,
To woo and win fair Agnes, if he may.
But much I doubt her heart is turned away.

Charles.
Thanks for thy sentence, love's best arbitress!
Left in the sole possession of the field,
I were indeed weak warrior, should I yield.

Queen
(descending from the throne).
Break up the court! Close our diversion here!
Let us to graver duties. There is need!

Macée.
My royal mistress, and my loving lord!
At your command, I have unbended me.
—I trust, no slander touching on my husband
May grow on my submission.

Queen.
Be of cheer!

Macée.
A merchant's credit is more capital,
Than all the wealth he perils in adventure.
Thus, for my happiness, his honour's pawned.
But for his sake, even more than for my own,
I hold it sacred.

Queen.
Nor shall it suffer.

Sorel.
It shall not!
In proof, now heed my speech. Great king of France!
I have a tale will witch you.

Charles.
Tell it, then.

Sorel.
The cunning man, without—(how name you him?)
The astrologer, even now foretold my fortune.
What think you 'tis?

Charles.
Make me not guess—but say.

Sorel.
This, then the sentence from the stars he brings:—
I shall be nothing less than “the adored
Of the most mighty monarch of the age!”

Charles.
Then, thou art mine!

Sorel.
What, thine? Nay, now thou dreamest.
Henry of England, I am told, prepares
To add thy crown to his. This granted, he
Must be the greater, sure! Wherefore, I pray,
Permit me passage to King Henry's court,
That I may thus fulfil my destiny.

Charles.
Agnes! you mock me! Would you scorn me, Agnes?
By heaven! my soul is fired! What! take my crown,
Henry of England? First, thou takest my life!
For, not without, will I surrender that
Which makes its having other than a baseness!

Cœur.
Hail, king of France! there spake the monarch!—these,
Thy words have made me jocund as with wine!
Anon, shalt thou drive out from Normandy
The intruding English! Nor despair of means,
Leave them to me. Now, Charles is king of France.

[All go out, except Sieur Giac, Beaulieu, and La Trémouille.
Giac.
Spare me a minute, good Beaulieu.

Beaulieu.
Ah! wherefore?

Giac.
No words. What you shall note will answer you.

[Going over to La Trémouille.
Giac.
Now, are you edified?

Trémouille.
With what?

Giac.
With what? Mon Dieu!

Trémouille.
Go to! you are a fop;—and worse, an old one!
An ancient ass, that thinks his braying music.

Giac
(with provoking coolness).
Mon Dieu! I see you've not been edified.
You know not, Charles of France has won the day,
Has driven the English out, resumed his throne,
Where Victory plumed sits with him, on the right!

Trémouille.
What do you mean?

Giac.
Why, that if I be fop,
And at my years should ape a graver manner,
You doubtless are the ass—and those long ears,
Know not when they hear music.

Beaulieu.
Dear Giac!
Nay, this is scarcely generous. Trémouille!
He is but merry.

Trémouille.
Let me go! Hence with you!
'Tis you encourage Charles in wantonness,
And trust to songs what should be done with swords;
'Tis you who flatter him, and aid their arts,
Agnes Sorel and Cœur.

Giac.
Add, too, the queen;
Whose influence is legitimate, I hope!
They who, by this day's seeming simple sport,
Have waked the soul of France in Charles's bosom,
And roused her genius from the sleep of death!
Now, know me better, sir! No fop am I—
'Tis but the slough the tailor makes for me.
I doff my coat, and prove a warrior!
Mistake me not again. And, for your carping,
Learn rather from the manners you observe,
Than act the censor on them. Ere long, you'll know,
What now you've witnessed, and not understood,
Was charged with glorious issues, wisely planned,
In minds that by your own may not be scanned.

Beaulieu.
You have been too rash.

Giac.
Bah! He is too splenetic.

[Goes out with Beaulieu.
Trémouille
(alone).
Taunted—by him—the facile favourite:—
Duped with a pageant; chid for ignorance;—
Cheated of privilege;—deprived of lands;—
And made the gibe—the sport of parvenus!
Why! what new power is this, that vaunts such sway,
By time unsanctioned, o'er time-sanctioned things?
Let who will yield—I'll hold me yet erect!
Adieu! fond Charles! I'll seek thy enemies!
Agnes Sorel? The Dauphin struck the minx;
Wherefore his angry father banished him
To Dauphiné, to brood on his revenge.
Where with intriguers he doth plot against
The demoiselle of beauty. I'll to him!
Not Charles, but Louis my allegiance claims.