l^ 'jpnk^ BU\^^ \§J/ 1 1 1 tUFm r^t 1 V>w 1 yjv>^^ ». '**■ miPEi r^K^^iMiiiK^ .^; BtKM n / ^ ^ c -r^e£ .^ HISTORICAL DRAMAS LONDON : PRINTED BY > SPOTTISWOODE AND CO, NEW-STREET SQUARE AND PARLIAMENT STREET HISTORICAL DRAMAS BY TOM TAYLOR, M.A. LATE FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGK CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1877 ^^All rights re served \ TO MV TRUEST FRIEND AND BEST ADVISER MY WIFE 8S5186 PREFACE. All the Plays included in this volume have been acted ; and all but one may fairly be said to form part of the ' stock ' or acting plays of the time. 'Anne Boleyn ' is the only play in the volume which has not, as yet, been performed in any other theatre than that in which it was produced. I have no wish to screen myself from literary criticism behind the plea that my plays were meant to be acted. It seems to me that every drama sub- mitted to the judgment of audiences should be pre- pared to encounter that of readers. I have in all cases acknowledged in notes attached to the plays the sources to which I have been indebted for the sugges- tion of my subjects ; not that I think Moliere's rule, ^Je prends vio7i bien oil je le trouve,' less pleadable by the dramatic author now than it was when he said it. But, as I have sometimes been spoken of by critics more confident than well-informed as one whose work has always been that of adapter rather than inventor, it may be worth while to say here, in the first edition of any of my plays likely to viii PREFACE. reach other than professional readers, that of more than one hundred pieces which I have <;iven to the Stage less than one-tenth have been adaptations from foreign plays or stories. Should this volume find readers, I may follow it up by one of Romantic Dramas, ami another of Comedies and Comediettas. TOM TAYLOR. Lavender Sweep, April, 1S77. CONTENTS. PAGE THE FOOLS REVENGE ..... 7 JEANNE D.ARC 6:; TWIXT AXi: AND CROWN . .137 LADY CLANCARTV . . . 217 ARKVVRIGHTS WIFE . . , 291 ANNE BOLEYN . ... PLOT AND PASSION • 410 THE FOOL'S REVENGE IN THREE ACTS PREFACE '^ TO THE FIRST EDITION. This Drama is in no sense a translation, and ought not, I think, in fairness to be called even an adaptation, of Victor Hugo's fine play ' Le Roi s' Amuse.' It originated in a request made to me by one of our most popular actors, to turn the libretto of Rigoletto into a play, as he wished to act the part of the jester. On looking at Victor Hugo's drama, with this object, I found so much in it that seemed to me inadmissible on our stage — so much, besides, that was wanting in dramatic motive and cohesion, and — I say it in all humility — so much that was defective in that central secret of stage effect, climax — that I deter- mined to take the situation of the jester and his daughter, and to recast in my own way the incidents in which their story was invested. The death of Galeotto Manfredi at the hands of his wife Francesca Bentivoglio is historical. It seemed to me that the atmosphere of a petty Italian Court of the Fifteenth Century was well suited as a medium for presenting the jester's wrongs, his rooted purpose of revenge, and the mis- carriage of that purpose. I should not have thought it necessary to say thus much, had not some of the newspaper critics talked of my work as a simple translation of Victor Hugo's drama, while others described it, more contemptuously, as a mere rifacciai7iento of Verdi's libretto, B 2 iv PREFACE. Those who will take the trouble to compare my work with either of its alleged originals, will see that my play is neither translation nor rifacciamento. The motives of Bertuccio, the machinery by which his revenge is diverted from its intended channel, and the action in the court subsequent to the carrying off of his daughter, are my own ; and I conceive that these features give me the fullest right to call the * Fool's Revenge ' a vmi play, even if the use of Victor Hugo's Triboulet and Blanche disentitle it to the epithet ^original' — which is matter of opinion. For the admirable manner in which the drama is mounted and represented at Sadler's Wells, and for the peculiarly powerful impersonation of Bertuccio, I owe all gratitude to Mr. Phelps. I must extend that feeling also to Miss Heath, Miss Atkinson, and the rest of the Sadler's Wells Company engaged in the representation of the * Fool's Revenge.' THE FOOLS REVENGE. First Performed at Sadler'' s Wells Theatre, on Tuesday, October i8t/i, 1859. CHARACTERS. GALEOTTOMANFREDI(Ztf;v/r//v7.v/3a) Mr. H. Marston. GUIDO MALATESTA(fl« old Condottierc) Mr. Meagreson. BERTUCCIO {a Jester) Mr. Phelps. SERAFINO DELL'AQUILA {Pod and Im- proz'isatorc) Mr. F. RoBlNSON. BALDASSARE TORELLI \,,r,, , f Mr. Belford. GIAN MARIAORDELAFFIJ ^^"''^''•''•••X Mr. T. C. Harris. BERNARDO x^.SCOLTI(,7/7t';v«//w.£'«wj) Mr. C. Seyton. ASCANIO {a Page) Miss C. Hill. GINEVRA ( Wife of Malatesta) MiSS C. Parkes, FRANCESCA BENTIVOGLIO {Wife of Manfredi) Miss Atkinson. FIORDELLSA {Daughter of Bertuccio) Miss Heath. BRIGITTA {Bertuccio's Servant) Mrs. H. Marston. Time— 1488. Place— FAENZ.\. COSTUAfES. At Sadlci's Wells the costume and scener)- of this play were appropriate to the period of Francis the First, which is some years later than the actual date of Manfredi's murder. This departure from strict chronolog}' is unobjectionahie, when, as at Sixdlcrs Wdls, strict consistency is maintained in the dresses, architecture, and decoration of the piece. In strict propriety, the costume of the Duke and nobles should consist of short, brightly-coloured jerkins, reaching just ])clow the waist, with rather full sleeves, slashed, and confined at the wrists, embroidered belts round the waist, coloured tight hose, often worn of a difl'erent colour in the two legs, and velvet shoes. Short mantles may be worn by the young nobles. Ascolti, Malatcsta, and the elder guests, may, with propriety, wear long velvet or silk gowns, of purple, crimson, or other rich colours, with Ixirders of fur. The hair should be worn full and long, in the style familiar to us from Raphael's earlier pictures. The head-dress of the younger men is a small coloured velvet cap, with a raised edge, often scalloped and ornamented with a chain, and medal. The Fool, of course, wears a motley suit, with a hood like that worn by Shakespeare's fools. His second dress should be a long gown, of sober colour. Fiorddisa's dress should be white, or dove-coloured, with scalloped sleeves and tight body. The Duchess's costume, of the same cut, should be of velvet, slashed, and embroidered with gold. She may wear a gold net ; a silk or chenille net would also be appropriate to Fiordelisa. THE FOOL'S REVENGE, ACT I. Scene I. The Stage represents a Loggia opening on the Gardens of Maiifredi's Palace; a low terrace at the back, and beyond, a vieiu of the city and country adjacent. Moonlight. The gardens and loggia illwninated for afesta. Nobles ^«^ Ladies discovered r. and c, and moving through the gardens and loggia. Music at a distance. Torelli and Ordelaffi discovered. — Enter Ascolti, l. Torelli. Messer Bernardo, you shall judge between us — Is Ordelaffi's here, a feasting face ? I say, 'tis fitter for a funeral. Ascolti. An Ordelaffi scarce can love the feast That greets Octavian Riario Lord of Forli and Imola. Ordel. Because our line were masters there of old, Till they were fools enough to get pulled down ? I was born to no lordship but my sword. Thanks to my stout black bands, I look to win New titles, and so grieve not over lost ones. My glove upon't ! I'll prove a lighter dancer, A lustier wooer, and a deeper drinker, Than e'er a landed lordling of you all. Is it a wager ? Ginevra passes with Manfredi from l. to r., Malatesta appears L. watching the77i. Torelli. My hand to that ! There's Malatesta's wife, The fair Ginevra. Let's try lucks with her? Ascolti Ware hawk ! Grey Guido's an old-fashioned husband ; 8 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. [act I. Look how he glares upon the Lord Manfredi. Each of his soft words to the fair Ginevra's A dagger in the old fool's heart. OrdcL Sublime ! ripe sixty wedded to sixteen, And thinks to shut the foxes from his grapes ! Tonili. The Duke, too, for his rival ! Poor old man ! Ascolti. Let the Duke look to it. GinevTa's smiles May breed him worse foes than Count Malatesta, ( Whispering) The Duchess ! Torelli. Faith— 'tis ill rousing Bentivoglio blood. Ordel. And she's as jealous as her own pet greyhound. Torelli. And sharper in the teeth. I wonder much She leaves Faenza, knowing her ^Lanf^edi So general a lover. Ascolti. She leaves Faenza ? Torelli. So they say : to-morrow Rides to Bologna to her grim old father, Giovanni Bentivoglio. Ascolti. To complain Of her hot-blooded husband ? Torelli. N'ay, I l^now not- Enough, she goes, and — fair dame as she is — A murrain go with her, say I. There never Was good time in Faenza, since she came To spoil sport with her jealousy. ^Lanfredi Will be himself again, when she is hence. Ascolti. Hush ! here she comes Ordel. With that misshapen imp Bertuccio. Gibing devil ! I shall thrust My dagger down his throat one of these days ! Torelli Call him a jester ; he laughs vitriol ! Ascolti. Spares nothing : cracks his random scurril quips Upon ray master — great Lorenzo's self. Ordel. Do the knave justice, he's a king of tongue-fence ; Not a weak joint in all our armours round. But he knows, and can hit. Confound the rogue ! I'm blistered still from a word-basting he Gave me but yesterday. Would we were quits ! Torelli. Wait ! I've a rod in pickle that shall flay The tough hide off his hump. A rare revenge ! Ascolti. They're here — avoid ! Ascolti, Ordelaffi, and Torelli reiit-e iip^ c. and mingle with the Guests. SCENE I.] THE FOOnS REVENGE. 9 ' Entei' Francesca and Bertuccio, ^.^ followed by her two Women. Fran, {looking off, as if watchvig, and to herself) Still with her ! changing hot palms and long looks ! Hers for the dance— hers at the feast— all hers ! Nothing for me but shallow courtesies, And hollow coin of compUment that leaves The craving heart as empty as a beggar Bemocked with counters ! Bert, {coiuitin^^ on his fingers, and looking at the moon) Moon — Manfredi — moon ! Fran. Ha, knave ! Bert. By your leave, Monna Cecca, I am ciphering. Fran. Some fool's sum ? Bert. Yes ; running your husband's changes Against the moon's. Manfredi has it liollow. It comes out ten new loves 'gainst five new moons ! Fran. Where do I stand ? Bert. First of the ten ; your moon was a whole honey one ; Excluding that, it's nine loves to four moons. Fran. You pity me, Bertuccio ? Bert. Not a whit ; I pity sparrows, but not S]wrrow-hawks. Fran. I read your riddle. I am strong enough To right my own wrongs ! So I am, while here. Bert. Then stay ! Fran. My father at Bologna looks for me. Bert. Then go ! Fran. And leave him here — with her — both free, And not a friend that I can trust to watch And give me due report how things go 'twixt them. Had I one friend Bert. You have Bertuccio. Fran. Men call you foithless, bitter, loving wrong For wrong's sake, Duke Manfredi's worst councillor, Still prompting him to evil. Bert. How folks flatter ! Fran. How, then, am I to trust you ? Bert. Monna Cecca, You know the wild beasts that your husband keeps Down in the casde fosse ? There's a she-leopard lo THE FOOL'S REVENGE. [act i. 1 lie and gaze at by the hour together ; So sleek, so graceful, and so dangerous ! I long to see her let loose on a man. Trust me to draw the bolt, and loose viy leopard. Fran. I'll trust your love of mischief, not of me. Bert. That's safest ! Fran. I must know how fares this fancy Of Duke Manfredi for yon pale Gincvra — Mark him and her— their meetings— communings ; I know you're private with my lord. Bert, {with a dry chuckle) He tnists me ! F)-an. Here! take my ring: your letters sealed with this, My page Ascanio will bring me straight ; 'Tis but three hours' hard riding — and in six I'm here again. Mark ! write not on suspicion, Let evil thought ripen to evil act. That in the full flush of their guilty joys I may strike sudden, and strike home. No Bentivoglio pardons. Bert. Have a care ! Faenza is Manfredi's ! These court-flies, [Pointing to the Guests. Who flutter in the sunshine of his favour. Have stings : the pudding-headed citizens Love his free ways : he leaves their wives alone — You play your own head, touching his. Fran. Give me my vengeance. Then come what come may. Enough — I am resolved. Now for the dance ! They shall not see a cloud ui)on my brow. Though my heart ache and bum. I can smile too, On him and her — Bertuccio, remember ! [Exit ¥ RAHCESCA, /o/Arioeet ^y her Women, r. Bert, {looking at the ring) A blood-stone — apt reminder ! Does she think That none but she have wrongs? That none but she Mean to revenge them ? What ? ' No Bentivoglio Pardons.' There is a certain vile Bertuccio, A twisted, withered, hunch-backed, court bufibon — A thing to make mirth, and to be made mirth of — A something betwixt ape and man, that claims To run in couples with your ladyship. You hunt Manfredi — I hunt Malatesta — Let's try which of the two has sharper fangs 1 SCENE 1. 1 THE FOOnS REVENGE. il Manfredi and Ginevra appear in the background^ R. The Duke and Malatesta's wife ! {He retires Jip.) Manfredi and Ginevra come forivard, Malatesta watching them, l. Man. Not yet ! — but one more round ! The feast is blank For me when you are gone. The flowers lack perfume, AJissing your fragrant breath. The music sounds Harsh and untunable, when your sweet voice Makes no more under-melody. Oh stay ! Ginei.). I am summoned, sir — my husband waits for me. Man. What spoil-sports are these husbands {aside) and these wives ! Per Bacco ! I could wish Count Malatesta Would lend my duchess escort to Bologna, So were we both well rid. [Malatesta beckons to Ginevra. Ginev. Your pardon, sir. My husband beckons. It is I, not you, Must bear his moods to night — I dare not stay. Man. I would not bring a cloud to your fair brow For all Faenza. Fare you well, sweet lady ! \He leads her to Malatesta. I render up your jewel, Malatesta; See that you guard it as befits its price. Mala. Trust me for that, my lord. Ma7i. {to Ginevra) Sweet dreams wait on you. Mala, {aside) This night sees her safe past Faenza's walls ; She's too fair for this liquorish court of ours. [^Exeunt Malatesta flr;/^ Ginevra, l. Man. A peerless lady ! Bert, {coming foj-7aard) And a churlish spouse ! Man. Bertuccio ! Ba-t. ' At your elbow, sir,' quoth Satanus. Man. Come, fool, let's rail at husbands. Bert. Shall I call Your wife to help us ? Man. Out on thee, screech-owl ! Just when I felt my chains about to fall, Thou mind'st me of my gaoler. Thank the saints, I shall be free to-morrow for a while — I'm thirsty to employ my liberty. Come, my familiar, help me to some mischief — Some pleasant devilry, with just the spice Of sin to make the enjoyment exquisite ! 12 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. [act i. Bert. Let's see ! —throat-cutting's pleasant — l)ut that's stale ; Plotting has savour in it— but 'tis tedious ; Say, a campaign with Ordelaffi's band, So you may feed all the seven sins at once ! Man. Out, barren hound ! thy wits are growing dull. Bert. A man can't always be finding out new sins ; Think, they're as hard to hit on as new pleasures. My head on't, Alexander had not run So wide a round of pleasures, as you of sins ; And yet he offered kingdoms for a new one. You must invoke Asmodeus, not Beelzebub. Man. What's he ? Bert. The devil specially charged with love ; He has more work than all the infernal legion. There's Malatesta's wife— she's young, and fair, And good, they say ; — rare matter for sin there, Though 'tis the oldest of them all. Man. But show me How to win her! She's cold as she is fair ; I have spent enough sweet speech to have softened stone, And all in vain. Bert. The monks say Hannibal Melted the rocks with vinegar — not sugar. Man. But she is adamant ! Bert. AVhen all else fails You've still force to fall back on. — Carry her off From under Guidos grizzled beard. Man. By Bacchus, There's mettle in thy counsel, knave ! Til think on'L Bert. It needs no brains neither — only strong hands And hard hearts. Here come both. Enter Torelli, Ascolti, and Ordelafu, c Man. What say you, gentlemen ; may I trust your arms ? Torelli. They're yours in any quarrel. Ascolti. ' So are mine ! Ordel. And mine ! Bert. One at a time. You said ' arms ! ' — Of Torelli You should ask legs ! His did such famous service In carrying him out of danger at Sarzana, I think they may be trusted. \All laugh except Torelli. SCENE!.] THE FOOnS REVENGE. 13 ToreJli. Scurril knave ! But I'll be even with thee. Bert. That were pity. A hump would be a sore disfigurement Upon a back that you're so fond of showing ! Ascolti. This rogue needs gagging. ' Bert, {to Ascolti) What ! for speaking truth ? I cry you mercy — I forgot how ugly It must sound to a Florentine Ambassador Man. Well thrust, Bertuccio? Ordii. {angrily) My lord, — my lord ! The slave is paid to find us icit Bert. {interrupting) Hold there ! No man is bound to impossibilities — 'Tis a known maxim of the Roman law ; How then can I find wit for Ordelaffi ? [A/i laugh but Ordelaffi. But look — there's Serafino — big with a sonnet : I must help him to reason for his rhymes Man. Stay ! Bert. Not I ! You're for finding out new sins ; With three such councillors, I am superfluous. {Aside) The evil seed is sown — 'twill grow — 'twill grow. [Exit Bertuccio. Torelli. Toad! Ascolti. Foul-mouthed scoffer ! Ordel. Warped in wit and limb ! Ascolti. My lord, you give your monkey too much rope ; He'll soon forget all tricks in the scurvy one Of making his grinders meet in our soft parts. Man. Nay, give the devil his due ; if he hits hard, He hits impartially. — I take my share Of buffets with the rest. Best cure the smart By laughing at your neighbour that smarts worse ; But for this business, where your amis may help me. Ascolti. Is it an enemy to be silenced ? Ordel. A castle To be surprised ? A merchant to be squeezed ? Ascolti. Or aught in which ducats, or brains, of Florence Can help ? Man. No. — Who was queen of the feast to-night ? In your skilled judgment, Messer Gian Maria ? Ordel. I ought to say, your duchess, fair Francesca; 14 THE FOOLS REVENGE. [ACT I. But, if another tongue had asked the question Man. Speak out thy honest judgment ! Ordd. Not a lady In all Faenza's worthy to compare With proud Ginevra Malatesta : TorcUi. I think I know a fairer,— but no matter ! Man. I hold with Ordelaffi. — I have mounted Ginevra's colours in my cnj), and heart ; But she's too proud, or fearful of old (iuido, To smile upon my suit — Tis the first time I've found so coy a dame. Ascolti. Trust one who knows them — The coyest are not always chastest. Man. How say you, if I spared her shame of yielding By a night escalade ? Or del. {shaking; /it's /icad) Carry her off? A Malatesta ? Were it an enemy's town Man. Hear him ! — how modestly he talks ! — Why, man, Since when shrank'st thou from climbing balconies. And forcing doors without an invitation ? Ordcl. Oh, citizens', I grant you — but a noble's, — One of ourselves Ascolti. Remember, Malatesta Is cousin to the old Lord of Cese'na ; — The affair might breed a feud, and so let in The sly Venetian. Torelli. Be advised, my lord ; If you must breathe your new-fledged liberty, Try safer game ! Old Malatesta's horns Might prove too sharp for pastime ! Man. Out, you faint hearts ! Do you fall off? Then, by St. Francis' bones, I and Bertuccio will adventure it. Torelli. Bertuccio ! My jewel to his hump ; 'Twas he put this mad frolic in your head. Maji. And if it were ? At least he'll stand by me : Perchance his wits may be worth all your brawn. Ascolti. Here comes one who may claim to be consulted Upon this business. Enter Malatesta, l. Man. (^disconcerted) Guido Malatesta ! Why, how now. Count? You left our feast so soon, I thought you warm i' the sheets this good half-hour. SCENE I.] THE FOOnS REVENGE. 15 Mala. I had forgot my duty to your lordship ; So now repair my lack of courtesy — To-morrow I purpose riding to Cessna, And would not go without due leave-taking. Man. {aside) This jumps well with my project. What, to-morrow ! you ride alone ? Mala. No, mth my wife. Man. {aside) The devil ! Why, this is sudden — she spoke no word of this To-night ! Mala. Tush ! w^omen know not their own minds, How should they know their husbands' ? Man. But your reason ? Mala. Your air here in Faenza is too warm, And scarce so pure as fits my wife's complexion ; She's better in my castle at Cese'na ; The walls are five feet thick, and from the platform There's a rare view. She'll need no exercise. Man. {aside) The gaoler! {Aloud). But what says the lady's will? Mala. I never ask that ; and so 'scape all risk Of finding it run counter to my own. Man. Faenza will have great miss of you both. Mala. Oh, fear not — I'll return; your wine's too good To be left lightly. I'll be back to-morrow, Before the gates are shut. Meanwhile accept This leave-taking by proxy from my wife. Man. Not so ; I must exchange farewells with her To-morrow. Mala. We shall start an hour ere dawn ; — You'll scarce be stirring. Man. {aside) Plague upon the churl ! He meets me at all points. At least, I hope, This absence of your wife will not be long ; My duchess cannot spare her. {Aside) Saints forgive me ! Mala. When your fair lady wants her, she can send : I'll answer for her coming on tliat summons. Good night, sweet lords. {Aside) How crestfall'n he looks ! Mass ! — 'tis ill cozening an old condottiere ! Did he think I had forgot to guard my baggage ? [Exit Malatesta. ,6 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. [act i. Man. A murrain go with him ! May the horse stumble That carries him, and break his old bull-neck ! Oh, this is cruel— with my hand stretched out To have to draw't back empty !— I could curse ! TorelU. What if I helped you to a substitute For coy Ginevra ? passing her in beauty,— One, too, whose conquest puts no crown to risk, And helps withal a notable requital That we all owe Bertuccio, you included. Man. What mean you ? TorelH. Guess what's happened to IJertuccio ! Ordcl. He's grown good-natured ? Ascolti. Or has drojij^'d his hump ? Man. He has found a monkey uglier than himself? TorcUi. No — something stranger than all these would be, If they had happened ;— he has found a mistress ! \AU burst out /aug/iing. Man. My lady's pet baboon ? Bertuccio Graced with a mistress ! (//<• /ani^/is.) Ascv/ti. She is blind, of course ? Or(M. And has a hump, I hope, to match his own. What a rare breed 'twill be— of t»vo-humped babes, Like Bactrian camels ! Man. Bertuccio with a mistress ! — why the rogue Ne'er yet made joke so monstrous, or so pleasant ! [77/0' lat/g/i again. Torelli. Laugh as you please, sirs — on my knightly faith, He has a mistress — and a rare one too ! Nay, if you doubt my word Here comes Dell'Aquila — He knows as well as I. Man. We'll question him. Enter SEk.\FiNO Deli.'.AijUILa, c. Man. Good even to my poet — you walk late ! Aquila {pointingto the moon). I tend my mistress : poets and lunatics, You know, are her liege subjects. Man. They are happy ! Aquila. \\Tiy? Ma7i. They^have a new mistress ever}- month, And each month's mistress no two nights alike. But jesters can find mistresses, it seems, As well as poets. There's Torelli swears Bertuccio has one, and that vou know it SCENE I.] THE FOODS REVENGE. 17 Aquila. I know he has a rare maid close mewed up, But whether wife or daughter Man. Tell not me ! A mistress for a thousand ! But what of her? How did you find her out ? Agiiila. 'Twas some weeks since, Attending vespers in your house's chapel ! At San Costanza, I beheld a maiden Kneehng before that picture of our lady, By Fra Filippo — oh, so fair ! — so rapt ! In her pure passionate prayers ! — I tell you, sirs, I was nigh going on my knees beside her. And asking for an interest in her orisons: Such eyes of softest blue, crowned with such wreaths Of glossy chesnut hair — a cheek of snow Flushed tenderly, as when the sunlight strikes Upon an evening Alp, and over all A grace of maiden modesty that lay More still and snowy round her than the folds Of her white veil. And when she rose I rose, And followed her like one drawn by a charm To a mean house, where entering, she was lost. Man. She was alone ? Aquila. Only a shrewish servant That saw her to the church, and saw her home. Man. A most weak wolf-dog for so choice a lamb ! Aquila. Methought, my lord, she needed no more guard Than the innocence that sat, dove-like, in her eyes, That shaped the folding of her delicate hands, And timed the movement of her gentle feet. Man. You spoke to her ? Aquila. I dared not ; some strange shame Put weights upon my tongue. I only watched her, And sometimes heard her sing. That was enough. Alan. You poets are soon satisfied. Well — you watched ? Aquila. And then I found that I was not alone Upon my nightly post : there were two more ; One stayed outside, like me, and one Avent in. lorelli. True to the letter ! I was the outsider The third, and luckiest, was Bertuccio ! Man. The hump-backed hypocrite ! Ordel. The owl that screeched Still loudest against women ! ,8 THE FOOnS REVENGE. [act i. Ascolti. But, is't certain That 'twas Bertuccio ? Torelli. I can swear to tliat ! Aquila. And I ! Ascolti. How do you know him ? Torelli. By his hump— His gait — who could mistake that crab-Hke walk ? I could have knocked my head against the wall, To think I had been fool enough to trust A woman's looks for once : — Dell'Aquila, I know, holds other faith about the sex. Aquila. I would stake life upon her purity; Yet, 'tis past doubt Bertuccio is the man, The ugly gaoler of this prisoned bird. Mart. AVliy, that's enough to make it a mere duty To break her prison-house, and shift her keeping To fitter hands — say mine. I'm lord of the town ; None else has right of ])rison here but I. Aquila. ^^'hat would you do ? Man. First see if she bears out Your picture, Serafino— if she do, Be sure I will not wait outside to mark Her shadow. Shadows may suit poets — I Want substance. Torelli. She's meat for Bertuccio's master, Not for Bertuccio. When shall it be ? Man. To-morrow. I'm a free man ! Meet me at midnight, here. Aquila. You would not harm her ? Only see her face, You will not have the heart to do her wrong. Man. What call you 'wrong'? To save so choice a creature From such a guardian as Bertuccio ? He would have prompted me to play the robber Of Malatesta's pearl ; — let him guard his own ! Ordel. If he resist, we'll knock him o'er the sconce: Let me have that part of the business. Man. Nay, I'll not have the rascal harmed; — he's bitter, But shrewdly witty, and he makes me laugh — No, spare me my buftbon : who does him harm Shall answer it to me. Torelli. 'Twere a rare plot to make the knave believe Our scheme still held against old Malatesta — SCENE I.] THE FOOnS REVENGE. 19 That his Ginevra was the game we followed. Ordd. So give him rendezvous a mile away, And, while he waits our coming, to break open The mew where he keeps close his tercel gentle. Ascolti {aside to Manfredi). Ne'er trust a poet. What if he betrayed us ? Alan. He's truth itself; and where he gives his faith, 'Tis better than a bond of your Lorenzo's. Ascolti. Swear him to secrecy. Man. (/"^ Dell' Aquila) Your hand upon it. You'll not spoil sport, by breaking to Bertuccio What we intend ? Aquila. But think, oh, think, my lord ! What if this were no mistress— as— if looks Have privilege to reveal the soul — she is none ? Alan. Mistress or maid, man, I will not be baulked ; 'Tis for her good ; I know the sex — she pines In her captivity ; — I'll find a cage More fitting such a bird as you've described — Your hand on't — not a whisper to Sertuccio ! Aquila. You force me ! There's my hand ! I will not speak A word to him ! , ATaji. (taking his hand) That's like a trusty liegeman Of blind Lord Cupid ! Hark — a word with you ! [Manfredi and Lords ta/k apart, c. Aquila. I'll save her from this wrong, or lose myself. What tie there is betwixt these two I know not. How one so fair and seeming gentle 's linked With one so foul and bitter — a buffoon, Who makes even his vile office viler still. By prompting to the evil that he mocks ! But I will 'gage my life that she is pure, And still shall be so, if my aid avail ! [Manfredi a>id Lords separate. Once more, my lord — you'll not be stayed from this That you propose ? Afan. Unconscionable bard ! What — when you've set my mouth a-watering You'd have me put the dainty morsel from me? Go, feed on sighs and shadows — such thin stuff Is the best diet for you singing-birds ; We eagles must have flesh ! Aquila {to All). Good night, my lords c 2 20 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. [Acr i. (Aside) Keen to your carrion, kites ! She's not for you. ^ ^ [^a7/Aquila. Man. But how to get sight of Bertuccio's jewel ?— I'd see before I snatch ! Torelli. Trust me for that ! /am no poet : When I found the damsel Admitted such a gallant as Bertuccio, I thought it time to press my suit — and so Accosted her on her way from San Costanza Miw. She listened ? Torelli. Long enough — the little fool — To learn my meaning— then siie flushed, and fled ; I followed— when, as the foul fiend would have it, Ginevra Malatesta coming by From vespers with her train sheltered the pigeon, And spoiled my chase. Man. Vou did not give it up ? Torelli. I changed my plan : the mistress being coy, I spread my net to catch the maid — oh, lord — The veriest Gorgon ! You might swear none e'er Had given her chase before — no coyness there ; A small expense of oaths and coin sufficed To make her think herself a misprized Venus, And me the most discriminating wooer In all Faenza. 'Twill not need much art For me to win an entrance to the house ; And when I'm in, it shall go hard, my lord, But I find means to get you access too. Man. About it straight ; at dusk to-morrow night Be here, armed, masked, and cloaked. Ordel. \\'hile poor Bertuccio Awaits our coming near San Stefano, A stone's throw from the casa Malatesta. Ascolti. He's here ! Enter Bertuccio, l. Bert. Not yet a-bed ! Since when were the fiend's eggs so hard to hatch ? I left a pleasant little germ of sin Some half-an-hour since : it should be full-grown By this time. — Is it ? Man. Winged, and hoofed, and tailed. If proud Ginevra ISIalatesta sleep SCENE I.] THE FOODS REVENGE. 2i To-morrow night beneath old Guido's roof, Then call me a snow-water-blooded shaveling. Bert. Ha ! 'Tis resolved then ? Toi-elli. We have pledged our faith To carry ofiF the fairest in Faenza Ascolti. Before the stroke of midnight. Ordcl. 'Twas my plan To gather one by one to the place of action ; Lest, going in a troop, we might awake Suspicion, and put Guido on his guard. Bert. A wise precaution, although it ivas yours. I wronged you, gentlemen ; I thought you shrunk Even from sin, when there was danger in't. It seems there are deeds black enough to make Even Torelli brave, Ascolti prompt, And Ordelaffi witty. But the place ? Man. Beside San Stefano. Bert. The hour of meeting ? Man. Half an hour after vespers. — There await us. And now, good rest, my lords ; the night wanes fast. My duchess will be weary. All {going). Sir, good night ! Bert. Sleep well, Torelli. Dream of charging home In the van of some fierce fight. Torelli. My common dream. Bert. 'Tis natural — dreams go by contraries ! And you, Ascolti, dream of telling truth : And, Ordelaffi, that you have grown wise. Torelli. And you, that )'Our back's straight, your legs a match. Ascolti. And your tongue tipped with honey. Ordel. Come, my lords, Leave him to spit his venom at the moon, As they say toads do ! [Exetmt, R. Bert. Take my curse among }-ou — Fair, false, big, brainless, outside shows of men ; For once your gibes and jeers fall pointless from me ! My great revenge is nigh, and drowns all sense. I ani straight, and fair, and well-shaped as yourselves ; Vengeance swells out my veins, and lifts my head. And makes me terrible 1 — Come, sweet to-morrow, And put my enemy's heart into my hand That I may gnaw it ! 22 THE FOOnS REVENGE. [ACT II. ACT II. Scene I. A Room in the House of Bertueeio, hung with tapestry; a coloured statue of the Madonna in a recess, with a small lamp burning before it; cari'ed and coloured furniture ; a carved cabinet and large can-ed coffer ; in the centre a laindozc opening on the street, with a balcony ; behind the tapestry, a secret door communicating with the street^ L. 2 E ; w/rwork With as good will as I do mine. The countess Sleei)S in the chamber of the balcony, Which rounds the angle of the southern front : I came but now by the palace — all was (]uiet. Man. Set on then, cautiously — use not your swords, Unless on strong compulsion : blood tells tales — And I want no more feuds upon my hands. \_Exatnt, r. SCEJfF. III. Exterior of the Palace of Malatesta, li'ith Street. The flat exhibits the comer of two streets. The Palace of Malatesta is on a set piece, L. u. E. — A 70 indole on the first floor., with a balcony, practicable. — Night. Enter Fiordelisa and Dell'Aquilla, followed by Torelli at a distance. Through the scene between Fiordelisa, Dell'Aquilla, and Malatesta, Torelli watches and listens behind a projecting piece of masonry. Aquila. Ee of good cheer — this is the house — I'll knock And summon forth the count. {Knocks.) Fioj-d. Oh, sir ! what thanks Can e'er repay this kindness ? Aqnila. But remember Who 'twas that did it : I am thanked enough. Fiord. I'll pray for you, after my father— hark ! Aquila. They come ! Enter a Servaxt from house. SeriK Two strangers who crave instant speech Of the Count Malatesta. \Exit Servant. Aquila. And should I see your father ? Fiord. Then >'ou know him ! SCENE in.] THE FOOnS REVENGE. 37 Aquila, Yes. Fiord. And his business — occupations ? {He bows. ) {Sadly) 'Tis more than I do, sir, that am his child. I do not even know his name. Aquila. ^Vhat he Keeps secret from you 'tis not mine to tell; 'Twere well you should not question him too closely: He shall learn you are safe. Fiord. And tell him, too, That 'twas you saved me, sir. Promise me that. Enter Malatesta, l. Mala. Who is it would have speech of Malatesta ? Aquila. You know me, count? Mala. Dell'Aquila, well met ! But your companion ? {Aside.) Ha ! a petticoat ! So ho, my poet ! Aquila. Pardon, if I pray This lady's name may rest a secret, count ; She is in grievous danger — one from which Your house can shelter her. She owes already Your countess much, for good help given at need, So craves to increase the debt. Mala, My house is hers ; But she should know my countess is not here. Fiord. Not here ! Mala. But if she dare trust my grey hairs She shall have shelter. Aquila. . Nay, she cannot choose. Mala, ril give her my wife's chamber, if she will ; Her women to attend her. Aquila. All she needs Is your roof's shelter for the night; to-morrow Must see her otherwise bestowed. Mala. Go in. Fair lady; my poor house, with all that's in it, Is at your service ; — had my wife been here. You had had gentler 'tendance ; as it is I'll lead you to her chamber, and there leave you. Torelli {aside). Now to the hunters : I've marked down the deer. [^Exit Torelli, l. u. e. Mala, {to Aquila) You will not stay and crush a cup with me ? 38 THE FOOLS REVENGE. [act II. Aqjiila. No— not to-night. {To Fiordelisa.) Did you well to tnist me ? Farewell ; think of me in your jjrayers ! Fiord. ' I cannot Choose but do that, sir. {Aside). Oh, the thought of him Will come, henceforth, betAvixt my prayers and heaven ! [E.xit Malatesta, l., ieading in f iordelisa. Aquila. His child 1 — Since when did grapes grow upon thistles ? And yet I'm glad to know the tie that binds The two together such a holy one ! Sweet angel ! — sister angels guard thy sleep ! Now, to seek out Bertuccio, and tell him The danger she has 'scaped and thank the saints That made vie her preser\er. \Exit Dell'Aquila, e. Enter cautiously, L. u. e., Bertuccio, Manfredi, Ascolti, Ordei.affi, and Torelli, with Servants cany- ing ladders. Man. Softly, you knaves 1 with velvet tread, like tigers — Bert. Say rather, ' cats.' \A light appear!; from the uniidotii, L. 2 E. Torelli. AN'hich is the balcony? Bert, {pointing) That ! I have noted in this summer weather The window's left unbarred. Ascolti. Ha, there's a light ! If she were stirring ? Bert. ^^^^at, an' if she were ? A sudden spring — a cloak flung o'er her head : If she have time to spring, you are but bunglers. Man. My cloak will ser\-e. {Takes it off.) Ascolti. If she alarm the house ^It might go hard with us. Bert. Oh, cats that long For fish, yet fear to wet your feet ! I'll shame you. Let me mount first. Give me your cloak, Galeotto ! Man. By your leave, fool, 111 net my own bird. Back I Hold thou the ladder — that is lacquey's work. And fits thee best. Ascolti and Torelli, Guard the approaches ! I and Ordelaffi Will be enough to mount, and snare the game. SCENE III.] THE FOOLS REVENGE. 39 \Thc light is extinguished ; the Servants set a ladder to the balcony. Bert, {holds it) All's dark now — Up ! Man. Why, rogue, how thy hand shakes ! Is't fear ? Bert. 'Tis inward laughter, Galeotto, To think how blank Guido will look to-morrow To find the nest cold, and his mate borne off. [jManfredi mounts the ladder, follozoed by Orde- LAFFi — they enter the balcony. Bert, {eagerly listening) Ha ! they are in by this time ! Cautious fools ! I had done't myself in half the space ! So, Guido, You love your young wife well, they say : that's brave. [Manfredi and Ordelaffi appear on the balcony, bearing Fiordelisa m their arms, muffled in Manfredi's cloait — she struggles but cannot scream — Ordelaffi descends fiist — Manfredi hands Fiordelisa to him — they come doum the ladder. Bert. 'Tis done ! Man. Away all — to my garden house, There to bestow our prize ! Exeunt Manfredi and Ordelaffi, l. u. e. The Servants carry off the ladder. Bert. Now, Malatesta {shaking his fist at the house), Learn Avhat it is to wake, and find her gone. That was the joy and pride of your dim eyes — The comfort of your age ! I welcome you To the blank hearth, the hunger of the soul. The long dark days, and miserable nights ! These you gave me — I give them back to you ! I, the despised, deformed, dishonoured jester, Have reached up to your crown, and pulled it down. And flung it in the mire, as you flung mine ! Now, murdered innocent, thoic art avenged ! But I have private wrongs, too, to repay : This proud Manfredi — he you spat upon. He you spurned such a day, set in the stocks, Whipped — he is even with your mightiness ! Here is Francesca's ring ; and here the letter, To tell her that her vengeance, too, is ripe. The blow shall come from her ; but mine's the hand 40 THE FOOL'S REVENGE. [act hi. That guides the dagger's point straight to his heart ! I cannot sleep ! I'll walk the night away : It is no night for me — my day has come ! \Exit, R. ACT III. Scene I. A Room in the Garden-house of Gcileotto Manfredi, decorated with arabesques in the style of the earlier Renaissance. Folding doors at the back, communicating with an inner cJiambcr; side entrances, R. and L., covered by curtains; table, and chairs of the curuleform. Enter FioRDELiSA/r(7w R. Fiord, impressing her hands to her temples) Where am I? What has hapjjoncd? Let me think : Those men ! — That blinding veil ! — The fresh night air, That struck upon my face. Then a wild struggle, In strong and mastering arms ! Then a long blank — I must have fainted — when I woke, I lay On a rich couch in that room. Has he brought me Into the very danger that he said He came to take me from ? Oh, cruel ! No, Falsehood could ne'er have found such words, such looks. Father 1 Oh, when he comes and tinds me gone ! — I must go hence ! {Looking round.) That door! — {She runs to side entrance, l.) 'Tis locked! {Shaking door.) Help! help! How dare they draw their bolts on me? My father Shall punish them for this! I will go forth! [^Shakes door again — the door opens from without. At last !— Vrhoe'er you are, sir, help me hence ! Tt/zAv Manfredi, l. Take me back to my father ! He will bless you ! Reward you ! Man. Nay, your owti lips must do that. Fiord. Oh, they shall bless you too, sir — Man. To be blessed With that sweet mouth were well — yet, scarce enough. SCENE I.] THE FOOnS REVENGE. 41 Fiord. Oh, sir, we waste time. Set what price you will On the great service, I am sure my father Will pay you. [Manfredi re-locks the door. Man. If we're to discuss your ransom 'Twere fairest we should do it with closed doors — The terms can scarce be settled till you know Your prison, gaoler, in what risk you stand. First, for your prison — Know you where you are? Fiord. No — Man. In the Duke Manfredi's palace. Next — Know you your gaoler ? Fiord. Who ? Man. Manfredi's self. Fiord. {w}'ingi?ig her hands) Woe's me ! Man. What ? Is the news so terrible ? Fiord. I've heard Brigitta and my father too Speak of the Duke Manfredi. Alan, (aside) Here's a chance To hear a genuine judgment of myself ! {To her) They said Fiord. That he was cruel, bold, unsated In thirst for evil pleasures :— it was odds Whether more feared, or hated, in Faenza. Man. {aside) Trust the crowd's garlic cheers and greasy caps ! The knaves shall know me worse ere they have done. I thank you, pretty one — I am the duke ! Fiord. Then heaven have mercy on me ! 3fan. If report Speak truth, your prayer were idle ! — but report Is a sad liar. Do 1 look the ogre They painted to you ? Nay, my fluttered dove. Smooth but those ruffled feathers — look about you ! Is this so grim a dungeon ? — Was your couch Last night so hard — your 'tendance so ungentle ? I am yoitr prisoner, fairest — not you mine. Fiord. Then let me go. Ma7i. Not till you know, at least, What you will lose by going. All Faenza Is mine — and she I favour may command Whate'er Faenza holds of wealth or pleasure — I'll pour them at her feet — and after fling Myself there too, to woo a gracious word 42 THE FOOLS REVENGE. [act hi. What 's life, ungraced by love ? — a dismal sky Without sun, moon, or starlight I — 'Tis a cup Drained of the wine that reddened in its gold! — A lute shorn of its strings — a table stripped Of all its festal meats ! — mere life in death ! A jewel like thy beauty is not meet To be shut in a chest ; — it should be set To shine in princely robes — to grace a crown. I would set thee in mine ! {Approaching her.) Fioi-d. Stand back, my lord. Man. Why, little fool, I would not harm a hair On thy fair head. Think what thy life has been ! How dull, and dark, and dreary ! — It shall be As bright, and glad, and sunny as the prime Of summer flowers ! — Only repel not joy Because it comes borne in the hand of Love ! Fiord. Oh, you profane that name ! Is Love the friend Of night, and violence, and robbery? Let me go hence, I say. — I have a father Who'll make you terribly abye this wrong, Lord as you are ! Man. Your father ! By the mass, She makes me laugh ! Your father, girl ! Bertuccio ! Fiord. That I should learn my father's name from him ! Yes, duke, my father ! Ma?i. Why, he is my slave — A thing that crouches to me like a hound, To beg for food or deprecate the lash — My butt — my whipping-block — my fool in motley. Fiord. It is not true. This is a lie, like all That you have said. Let me go forth, I say. Man. You're in my palace. Here are none but those To whom my will is law ; your calls for help Will only bring more force — if I could stoop To use force with a lady Fio?-d. Then you have Some manhood in you. Look, sir, at us two — You are a duke, you say — your power but bounded By your own will. I am a poor weak girl, E'en weaker than I knew, if what you say Touching my father be the truth. "\Miat honour Is to be won on me ? Yet won it may be, By yielding to my prayers to be set free — To be sent home. Oh, let me go but hence, SCENE I.] THE FOOUS REVENGE. 43 As I came hither ; I will speak to none Of this night's outrage — even to my father. Man. Ask anything but this. Fiord. Nothing but this ! You have a wife, my lord,— what if she knew? Mati. The more need to take care you tell her not ! ••Come, little one, give up these swelling looks, Though they become you mightily. {^Approaching her.) Fiord. Stand off ! {He pursues her; she flies.) Help ! help ! {Running to the c.door.) A door ! ha ! {She forces it open, rushes in, and closes it violently). Man. (locking it outside) Deeper in the toils ! {Laughs) The lamb seeks shelter in the wolfs own den 1 Torelli {at l. door, outside). My lord 1 Man. {unlocks the door) Torelli's voice ! How now, Torelli ? Enter Torelli, l. Torelli. My lord, the duchess is returned. Man. Why, man, Thy news is stale ; the duchess hath been here These five hours ; she arrived, post-haste, ere sunrise. She must have ridden in the dark. 'Twas that Prevented me from making earlier matins Before my little saint here. Torelli. Do you know What brought the duchess back so suddenly ? Ma?i. Some jealous fancy pricked her, as I judge From her accost when we encountered first ; And, as I gathered, she suspects contrivance Betwixt me and the Countess Malatesta. 'Twas a relief, for once, that I could twit her With groundless fears. I told her Malatesta Rode yesterday with his lady to Cesena, And, for more proof, repeated what he said. That on my wife's least summons she'd return ; So she has summoned her, in hopes, no doubt, To catch me in a lie. Her messenger Rode to Cesena, just at daybreak. Soon We may look for him back, bringing, I hope, Ginevra Malatesta. Torelli. This is rare. So falls she off the scent, and leaves you here To follow up your game with Fiordelisa. 44 THE FOOLS REVENGE. [act hi. Man. Even so : I excused me from her presence By work of state, for which to this paviHon I had summoned you and the Envoy of Florence — Said work of state being no less a one Than to lend me your presence at the banquet I mean to offer our fair prisoner. Bid Ordelafili and Ascolti hither, And send my grooms with fruits, and wine, and sweetmeats, — All that is likeliest to tempt the sense Of this scared bird. TorcUi. How did you find her, sir? Man. Beating her pretty wings against the bars ; Still calling for her father. Shrewdly minded To peck, instead of kissing, silly fledgling ! But I will tame her yet, till she shall come To perch u])on my finger. Torelli. ^\'here is she ? Man. In the inner room, whither she fled but now. Fear not — I turned the key on her : she 's safe. TorcUi. I'll send what you command, and warn the rest That you attend them. Good speed to your wooing ! l^Exit ToRKi.Li, by entrance, L. Man. Now for my prisoner ! By gentle means To gain her ear. Asmodeus, tip my tongue With love's persuasion ! \Exit Maxfredi into inner room, c. Eiitcr the Duchess Francesc.\, masked, and Bertuccio, ic'/io has resumed his fool's dress, r. Fran, {unmasking) Was't not Torelli went hence, even now? Bert. By the great walk? I think it was. Be sure He saw us not in the pleached laurel alley. Fra7i. Then you still bear me out, my husband lies ? That -Malatesta's wife has fiot gone hence ? Berf. Trust a fool's eyes before a husband's tongue ! I say again, I was at hand last night When your lord bore from Malatesta's house Said Malatesta's wife. I saw the deed. I heard the order gi\-en to bring her hither. Fran. Then 'twas by force, not by the lady's will, She came ? Bert. Force, — Quotha ? — force ! How many ladies Have had to bless the ' force ' that saved their tongues SCENE I.] THE FOOnS REVENGE. 45 An awkward ' yes.' See you not what an answer ' Force ' finds for all ? It stops a husband's mouth ; Crams its fist down the town's throat ; nay, at a pinch Perks its sufficient self in a wife's face ; — Commend me still to ' force.' It saves more credits Then e'er it ruined virtues. After folly, I hold force the best mask that Avit has found To mock the world with ! Fran. There's weight in that. This violence would stand her in good stead, Were she e'er called in question ! Then what matter, [Bertuccio, who has been moving round Iheroom, stops opposite the centre door.^ So I be wronged, if 'tis by force, or will ? Would I had certain proof! jBert. Ha ! You want proof? Come here — (the Duchess approaches Mm). Stand where I stand. Now listen — close. Fran, {listening at door) My husband's voice in passion- ate entreaty ! Bert. Only his voice ? F7-an. {starting) An answering voice ! — a woman's ! These are your state affairs, my gracious duke ! Bert. If you would have more proof, I'll bring you where You shall hear his humble tools in last night's business Discuss the deed — all noble gentlemen Who'd pluck my hood about my ears if I Durst hint a doubt of their veracity. Fran. Do so — and if they bear thy story out I know my part. Bert. Wliat, tears ? Fran. Tears ! Death to both. Bert. Take care. His guards are faithful. Can you trust A hand to do the deed ? Fran. I trust my own. Bert. Women turn pale at blood. Your heart may fail you, When the time comes to strike. F^-an. Daggers for men. I know a surer weapon. Bert, {creeping up to her and whispering) Poison ? Fi-an. {putting her finger on her tip) Hush ! The Borgia's physician gave it me ! It may be tmsted ! 46 THE FOODS REVENGE. [act hi. Bert, {ivtlhdrawmg aside) My she-leopard's loosed ! [Exit Bertuccio, l. Fran, {stiil at the door., c, listening.) Past doubt a woman's tongue ! And now my hus- band's ! How well I know the soft, smooth, pleading voice — The voice that drew my young heart to my lips When, at my father's court, I plighted troth To him — and he to me ! Oh, bitterness ! Now spurned for each new leman of the hour ! Oh, he shall learn how terrible is hate That grows of love abused ! {Taking a phial froju her bosom.) Come, bosom friend. That hast lain cold, of late, against my heart — As if to whisper to it — ' Be thou stone, When the time comes for vie' {Looking at the phial.) Each drop's a death ! What matter who she be ? Enough for me That she usurps the place which should be mine In Galeotto's love ! Hark ! some one comes. [She conceals the phial and resumes her mask. Enter two Chamkerlains with ^ohite wa?ids, l., followed by Attendants bearing a banquet, and pass into the inner room. — After them a Page 7i, • ^' bailiwick ? This is that rascal Bisset ! He has surprised The Castle of Joinville, some four leagues to the west. SCENE I.] JEANNE DARC. 75 La Hire. By Marne — a strong place. I held it to ran- som With jolly old Barbizan ; it brought us each, I think, twelve thousand livres, besides the plunder Of the merchants using the March-fairs. Nice picking To be got out of Joinville. Thousand devils ! 'No hostel ! and I'm as thirsty as a monk After a marriage. jFeaunc {coming f 01 wa7-d). Our wine is at your service. My father's gone to draw some. La Hire. Cap de Diou ! A lusty lass ! I'd rather thou drew for me, My bonny belle, than thy father any day. I like the spice of bright eyes with my liquor : It improves good wine, and makes bad drink better. Come, till I taste thy tap, let 's taste thy hps. \He approaches Jeanne to kiss her. She gives him a a took that checks him. yeaime {appealing to De Baudricourt). Captain, as you are gentlemen and soldiers ! De Ban. Sure I have heard that voice and seen that face ! Why ! 'tis the mad wench that made such a coil At Vaucouleurs ! How now ! did thy uncle whip thee And send thee home, as I bade ? La Hire. The foul fiend do Such bidding ! Whip a lass like this ! she's liker To whip herwhippers ! What must she be whipped for? De Ban. Ha ! ha! I laugh still, when I think of her asking. Thrice, faith — last year twice, and again last week — A horse, and arms, and men, to ride to Chinon, To the King. La Hij'e. Mordioux ! a cat may look at a king. They say — but a country wench ! De Ban. Oh, cry your mercy ! This is a cat, as well as country wench : With claws to scratch the English out of France, And draw the King to his crowning. — So she swears. And vouches St. Katherine, St. Margaret, and St. Michael,. And the Lord knows what saints besides. La Hire. Peste de ma vie ! {to Jeanne) but we're of the same trade, wench : I hate the Rosbifs too ; would do my best 76 JEANNE DARC. [act i. To drive them out of their free quarters here, Where they rob us poor native gentlemen Out of all livelihood ! Gascons are good At pillage; but, Lord! ivdre bunglers to your English! I have known a Scotchman steal after a Gascon ; But John Bull leaves the dish bare to the pewter ! yeanne. I would not plunder — I would fight. La Hire. Sang Diou ! Fighting's all very well — Im fond of fighting; But fighting without plunder is like fishing Without the fish ! And so, thou'rt bent to drive The English out of France? Suppose thou tried To clear Champagne of them and the Ikirgundians? — The w^ork the Captain here seeks me to help in, A\'hen I had other fish to fry — to gather Money and men for Orleans ? De Ban. Nay, fair Captain, Only aid me to drive these English hence, Pay Harry Bisset back in his own coin. And ril help thee and Orleans. La Hire. Done ! a bargain ! Thou'rt witness, bonny belle. {To Jeaxne) The witness puts Mer seal. {Approaches her to kiss her. She shrinks Imck.) Nay, then, if thou would'st rather not, In good faith, I'll not force thee — kisses are The one thing not worth stealing. You've a trick. You women, of saying '/w' when you mean 'jw.' A plain man ne'er knows when he has the wenches — 'Twi.xt looks that cry ' Come on,' and lips, ' Stand oft".' And so thou'dst see the King ? Jeanne. Indeed I would ! And must, and will — aye, before middle Lent: Even though I wore my feet unto my knees ! I am not mad, nor merry — Oh, believe it ! — \Enter Isambard from the chapel. When I say this. The Captain of Vaucouleurs Knows if my voices told me truth last week. { To De Bau.) Did I not tell you there was sore disaster Befalling the King's soldiers as J spoke ? De Bau. You did ; and, by mv halidom, so it was ! {To La HiRE)'Twas the day Falstaff beat the Count de Clermont. La Hire. The day of Herrings ! Cadedis ! I was there ! SCENE 1.] , JEANNE DARC. 77 A villainous business. Never were men thrashed More roundly or more rascally. Had but Clermont Followed my counsel, we had cut off the convoy, And drubbed stout Falstaff soundly as he drubbed us. But hang your feather-bed soldiers ! De Bail. Well, she told me '.'■How that day went— as it went Isanib. {comes forward.) And yet yotc mocked ! You did wrong then to mock this maiden's prayer ; You do wrong now to go back to your mocking. Good Captains both— I speak for her pure life, Good faith, and even blood, in all but this, Touching her mission : — He that guides the world May will to end the miseries of France, And shame us all— priests, soldiers, counsellors — By ending them with this weak woman's hand ; \Taking Jeanne's hand in his. But, if weak, without stain. Of what hand here Could that be said ? La Hire. Mordioux ! Sir Priest, well preached I I like a bit of truth : best, because rarest. Out of priest's lips ! And for this lusty lass— '[Enter Isabelle,/;w;/ the cottage, followed by Haum. and Man., ti'ith eartheniv are jugs of wine. Look, wench : if thou find'st means to get to Chinon, And I'm there, ask for Etienne de VignoUes — Known better as La Hire. It shall go hard But 1 will find thee convoy to the King, Now, where's this wine ? [Haum. and Man. bri7ig forward the jugs. La Hire takes one, De Baudricourt the other. Thanks, my brown beauty. {Kisses Y{.K\i^.) >S//^ makes no objection. \Gravely, to De Baudricourt stopping him as he is about to drink. By your leave, Captain — grace before good liquor ! \Takes off his cap, and says his grace reverently. Be7iedictus, bcnedicat! {Drinks.) That's neat tipple! {To Pierre) Hark ye, my lad ! can'st show the road these English Took from their morning's work ? Pierre. That can I, Captain. La Llirc. But lay us on their heels, and if we don't 78 JEANNE DARC. [act I. Plunder the plunderers, never trust La Hire ! [IsA.MB. and De Bau. have been ta/king apart. Isamb. Jeanne ! He will give thee arms, and horse, and convoy to the King ! yeanne. He will ! [Hau.m. and Man. exchange looks of surprise. De Bau. 'Tis more than eighty leagues 'Twixt there and here, and all Burgundian country, Or English — three great rivers to ride, spring-swollen — Enemies' towns to pass — their bands to avoid. La Hire. Rogues who rob the wrong side ! jl^ean?te. Fear not for these : My Lord will guide my guides. Are there not angels To guard us? La Hire. 'Tis no road for a woman's riding. y^eanne. I'll dress me like a boy. Here's Pierre, my brother: I'll take his clothes ! Pierre. Take Pierre's self, not Pierre's doublet ! If thou ridest, I will ride. I hate the foreigners As I love thee, and put my faith in thee. y^eanne. My own true brother! [Haum. and Mas. go off. Pierre. But our father, Jeanne, How will he brook this? y^eanne. Needs must that you tell him. [ Villagers assemble in the background. Pierre exits into the cottage. La Hire. Sound ' boot and saddle,' Aymery ! [Exit a Squire.) My hands itch To be about English ears — in English pouches. {Trumpet.) See my red roan girthed tight. (To De Bau.) By your leave. Captain, We'll but give Bisset and his rogues a drubbing, And join you straight. {Calls.) My helmet! (Page brings it; he puts it on.) 'Tis three days Since I've seen lances levelled ; a day more, And my joints had grown stiff. {Ordering off.) Advance my pennon ! Two men-at-arms a hundred yards a-head ! Then our main battle. Archers in the rear ! These English hornets, with their cloth-yard stings. Are ugly customers, until you close with them. {To Jeanne.) Farewell, my lass ! See thou look out for me SCENE I.] JEANNE DARC. 79 At Chinon. There's my hand ! It keeps its promise To friend or foe — for kindness or for cuffing. St. Denis for La Hire! To horse! to horse! \Exetmt La Hire and Mcn-at-Arms. De Ban. {70/10 has been co7iversing apart iifouiLLE draws). Bailiff of Orleans ! Z>e Goncourt {calls). Ho ! On guard without ! Belier. My lords and gentlemen ! In the King's castle ! La Hire. Nay, if it comes to knocks {Drawing.) Keep near me, Jeanne : I'll give thee thy first lesson ! Belier. Sirs, the Queen I Enter Marie of Anjou. Mane. What's this, my lords? Swords out — and thim- d'roLis looks ! La LI ire. It is my Lord De la Tremouille's breathing time : Hunting is too hard for him. He but asks me To tr}- a pass of weapons — to help appetite For supper, as I think. De la Trehi. Even so, madam. {Bowing, and sheathing his swoj-d.) La Hire. As queens are women, please your Majesty To help a woman. {Puts Jeanne forward.) She would see the King ! Belier. 'Tis the strange maid I spoke of to your highness I La Hire. This good priest here, and this good — no, not good Captain — Your poor knight, Etienne de Vignolles, vouch for her. 'Tis for his Majesty's good she see the King! Alaric. Methinks such voucher scarce were needed, sirs. All women can read faces — queens should read tliem SCENE II.] JEANNE DARC. 89 Better than other women — if occasion Should measure cunning. I read in this face Nothing but holy, humble maidenhood ; Yet, with that holiness and humbleness, There's a light in those eyes, and on that brow An awfulness {To Isambard) Father, keep close to me! {Awe-stricken.) Is she a holy thing? A thing of power I feel she is. Isamb. Fear not, sweet Queen : the power That crowns her humbleness is from the Highest ! Marie. Come with me ! (Jeanne is about to kneel.) Nay, 'tis I should kneel to thee ! (Horn sounded.) Hark! the King's horn ! He is soon back from hunting. My Lord De la Tremouille, he will look for you At his unbooting. Come! (/(? Lords.) (7(7 Jeanne.) Thou shalt see the King. (Jeanne kisses Queen's hand.) \Exit Marie of Anjou, leading ]-&Ai:i^¥., followed by Ladies, De la Tremouille, De Gon- court, Regnauld de Chartres, and Be- lier. La LLire {gaily, to Isambard). We've won the barriers; and neveE yet When barriers were well won did drawbridge hold. But, priest — that girl has stirred strange thoughts in me I Lsamb. Give them way. Captain. La Hire. Will they give me ^vay, If I give them ? Ours is an ugly life : Needs hard hands, and a heart not easy softened. Who knows if hand and heart will stand the siege Of thoughts like those she wakens in a man? I think she is a witch — but, by Mahound, She is a white one. {Passes his hand over his brozi<.) Shall we to the King ? [Exeunt La Hire and Isambard. Scene II. The King's Closet. Enter Charles VI T. and De la Tremouille. De la Trem. How went your sport, my liege? Charles. Ill, like my fortunes. How should my hawks and hounds pull down their game, When I, their master, so miss mine? A king! Am I a king? 90 JEANNE DARC. [act ii. De la Trem. Let any question it In hearing of De la Tremouille ! Charles {affectionately laying /lis hand on his shoulder). My George ! I have one friend, I know. 'Tis much for one So buffeted as I — so poor in means To reward friends. But I am ill at ease. By your leave, good Tremouille. {Motions him to retire.) (De La Tre.m. bows, and exit.) Am I a king? Is the blood in my veins the blood of Valois, That fed my father's? She I must call mother, Whom all but I call She- Wolf— Isabel- Was she e'en then false to the marriage-vows She made so light of after\vards with Orleans? They say Heaven's hand is still about true kings — Why is It against me, if I'm true King? Why must I see my fair France, town by town. Wrenched from my hold, upon my people's backs All scourges laid at once — plague, sword, fire, famine — And Burgundy and England in my seat. With sovereignty to take, and tax, and toll? Kind saints ! vouchsafe some sign to show to me If I indeed am the true King of France, Or but a bastard birth of shame and sin ! That, if I be true King, 'twill please thee lift Thy hand off me and France ; or, if the sins Of the fathers must be visited on the children, Thou wilt be merciful even in thine anger. And grant me, when vexed France shall cast me forth, In Spain or Scotland some poor resting-place From thy wrath and the malice of my foes ! {A knock.) Who's there? Marie {without). The Queen. Charles. My Marie! {Opening.) Sweet, come in. So sunshine should chase stonn. Marie. My gracious lord, You are stayed for in the hall ! But I've a boon To ask Charles. 'Tis granted. Marie. Nay, but hear it first. Wise wives prize no boons granted without asking. 'Tis that I may have leave to bring to audience A maid from Domremy : the same that Be'lier Brought word of SCENE III.] JEANNE DARC. 91 Charles. What ! The girl that hath heard voices? {Laughingly.) MerHn's maid — from the Marches of Lorraine? Marie. Even so. Charles. Let her come! She'll make us mirth, Perhaps ; and we have need enough of it here ! .,^ Marie. Nay, she ^vill make us something beyond mirth, Methinks. Oh, sir ! this is a holy maid, If ever holiness looked out of eyes Or hallowed brow. Charles. How now? St. Denis to aid ! She that so moves our gentle little Marie Must have rare mettle in her. Thou shalt have Thy boon — we'll see this marvellous maid of thine. [Exeunt Charles and Marie. Scene IIL The Great Hall of Chinon, with dais andchair of state. Duke d'Alen^on, De Vendome, De Boissy, Regnauld de Chartres, De la Tremouille, De Goncourt, La Hire, De Xaintrilles, Churchmen, Courtiers, Pages, and Attendants. De Belier {announcing). Their Majesties ! Enter Ushers and Pages preceding the King and Queen, the Qys'E.Y.'ii followed by her Ladies. De la Trent. Will't please you I bid sound the horn for supper? Charles. Forbear awhile. Where is our Treasurer ? (Belier advances and hows). 'Tis the Queen's will we give speech to the maid Whose coming three days since you told us of. R. de Chai'tres. Were it not well my liege were first ad- vised She comes not in the strength of spells or witchcraft? I have here clerks and doctors of the Church To put her to the proof Marie. But see her, sir — Methinks you will not doubt, whate'er she is. That she's no witch. Charles. Be it as the Queen wills. And then. Archbishop, for thy clerks and doctors De la Treni. Some juggleress, my liege, feed by Dunois, To back these Captains' mission. — 92 JEANNE DARC. [act ii. La Hire. That she's not — I crossed her first, in her red peasant's kirtle, At Domremy, a fortnight gone, nor since Saw her, or spoke with her, until to-day. Marie. She brings a sign, she says — a voice that guides her Straight to the King ! De la Trem. My jewel to a doit Her sign's your royal robe and cap of state. Charles. I'll change them with Vendome \ if she hunt false, {To De Chartres) Then let your clerks and doctors have their will of her. Come, Count {to Belier) and Treasurer — no word of the change. \The King «;2^Vend6.\ie retire, followed by two Pages. Exit Belier 077 the other side. Ma7-ie {to De la Tremouille). Methinks, my lord, it is scarce fair of you To set a trap. La Hire {aside). I have known hunters caught In traps of their own setting ! Re-enter Charles and Vendome, tJu latter tuearing the King's robe and cap of state; the King with Vendome's short mantle and cap. Charles {pointing to Vendome, who sits on the chair of state on the dais). Sirs — the King ! T<.Iay he find robe and circlet easier wearing Than I have ! Re-enter Belier, shozving in Jeanne and Isambard. De la Trcm. {pointing to Vendome.) The King ! Thy knee ! [Jeanne looks at Vendome — then ijirns, and goes straight to the King, who has mingled with the group of Cowtiers, and kneels to him. ycanne. Save you, my gentle Dauphin ! Chaj-les {pointing to the chair of state and VENodME). Not so — thy knee to the King. Jeanne. And so — to jou, Fair Dauphin — whom I may not yet call King — Because you have not yet been crowned at Rheims With the holy oil. Charles. I tell thee — there's the King. SCENE III.] JEANNE DARC. 93 "J^eannc. I know not who sits there — or why he sits — So bravely robed and crowned — I only know You are my Dauphin. Charles. And how know'st thou that ? Jeanne. My voices tell me. Charles. Do they tell thee naught But this ? Jeanne. They tell me you Avould have a sign. Pray you, fair lords, to stand apart awhile. De la Treni. {aside to Dil Chartres.) Is this the sheep- wench? Charles. There's a power about her Past our gainsaying. Do her bidding, sirs. ( The Courtiers fall back out of earshot, leaving Jeanne ajid the King alone.') Now for your sign ! Jeanne {looking at him earnestly). Doubt not, my gentle Dauphin, That you are King {very earnestly) by right of the blood ro3^al, As you have doubted. And next time you pray, _ Pray not to 'scape your foes, but conquer them. Charles. Who told thee of my doubt and prayer? Jeatine. My voices — That tell, too, how St. Louis and Charles the Great, About the white throne even now are urgent To have thee crown'd — the English swept from France. \The King beckons to the Queen and Courtiers. Dela Trem. {aside to De Chartres.) TheKing is moved ! Charles {to Marie of Anjou). I'm glad I spoke with her. {Aside.) Strange ! she should so have read my secret heart ! My lords, I hold it well we hear her further, And in yoiir hearing. 'Jeanne {to Isambard). Father, must I speak? How shall I, that know neither A nor B, Speak before all these lords and learned clerks? Isamb. Be of good cheer ! He that hath guided thee So far will guide thee noAv. Speak fearlessly. Jeanne. I am a poor maid, from the Lorraine March, Come, at my voices' urging, to the Dauphin, To bid him arm in aid of Orleans, And beat the English thence — and Orleans cleared, And all the King's towns on the Loire won back, To come with me to Rheims, there to be crowned j 94 JEANNE DARC. [act ii. And after drive the English out of France By hard blows, if they will not go for the asking. De la Trem. A modest mission ! R. de Chartres. Think'st thou to win faith Without a sign ? Jeanne. I am not come to Chinon To show you signs. But send me armed to Orleans, And I will show you thei-e a sign. But give me Soldiers, or few or many, and I promise To raise the siege. R. de Chartres. If it were God's good will To help France, he could do it without soldiers. y^canne. The men-at-amis must fight that God may give The victory. La Hire . Well answered ! Mort de Diou ! I will ride with thee, Jeanne, if I ride single. ycajine. Would I had fifty captains of thy mind And mettle. But I shall have, when they know All that my voices tell me— oh, so clear ! — How, when my Dauphin's crowned — but not till then — He shall win back his owti good town of Paris ; How the fair Duke of Orleans shall come home From English bonds ; and in this land of France, Seven years hence, shall be no invader left But those that hold six feet of her for graves. All this I shall but help — not see fulfilled — But that 'twill be fulfilled I know — I know ! R. de Chartres. My liege, 'tis dangerous to let her speak Till I have made close question of her faith. I have clerks here to ask and write her answers. y^eanne. Nay, I will give them work for their clerk's cunning Without your question. Take your pens and ^vrite : {She dictates.) 'You, King of England, and you, Duke of Bedford- Regent, so-called, of France — you, English captains, Do right to the King of Kings and to the Maid, Sent by his bidding — render up the keys Of the French towms held bv you wrongfully. The Maid, if you do this, will grant you peace. Knights, archers, and companions of war, Gentle and valiant, that hold Orleans' leaguer, Begone to your own land, or look for news Of the Maid, who will come soon, to your dismay, SCENE III.] JEANNE DARC. 95 To fall on you with such a hunting cry- As was not heard in France this thousand years ; And prove on you which has the better right, The King of Kings, or you, the King of England. Written at Chinon, on the part of the Maid.' La Hire {to the King). Take her for secretary, good my liege. She hath but framed the letter you've forgotten To write this six months past. Sign, seal, and send it. I'll be the bearer, if need be. De Goncourt. Enough, My liege, of these ape's tricks. La ILire. Ape's tricks ! Sang Diou ! She has spoke more manhood since she came to Chinon Than these old walls have heard while Court's been kept here. So say I — and will vouch it on my body Against all comers, at all arms — lance, sword, axe. Or dagger — the more the merrier ! 'yeanne. Nay, fair Captain, I must be mine own champion against him Or any man. Dc Goncourt. How, wench? With crook and distaff? yeanne. Not so- — with sword and lance, under my standard. {To Belier.) I sent your page to-day some four leagues hence To Fierbois, to the Church of my Saint Katherine, For a sword with five crosses on the blade. That I must use. 'Twas shown me where 'twas buried — Behind the altar. See if he have brought it. \_Exeunt Belier and La Hire. {To IsAMBARD.) And, Father, there's the standard I had painted. 'Twas left in the outer chamber. Bring it me. \Exit Isamb. Sweet Queen, and gentle Dauphin, wonder not. 'Tis not of my own will I do these things Or speak these words, but as my voices bid me. Re-enter Belier and La Hire with the sword. La Hire. The sword, with the five crosses on the blade I Found, as she said, behind Saint Katherine's altar. At Fierbois. Enter Isambard zvith the standard, while Jeanne takes swoj-d and kisses blade. Jsat?ib. And the standard, as in vision 96 JEANNE DARC. [act liK She saw it — white, as fits her purity. With lily-flowers for France, and maidenhood ; And Heaven's King, with the world beneath his feet, And angels with joined hands that pray for France. "yeamie {taking her standard). At that King's bidding— with those angels' aid — Who follows me to rescue Orleans And ransom P>ance? La Hire. Sang Uiou ! I do for one ! {The crowd draw their s7vords and press for^uard with a general shout). And I ! La Hire. Under the leading of the Maid ! yeanne. Under His leading that leads her to Orleans ! Act Drop. ACT III. The Maid Martial. Scene I. Room in the house of Jacques Boucher, the Treasurer of the city, cohere Jeanne is lodged. Windoiv, practicable, 071 one side. Door, practicable, on the other. Enter Isambard, meeting Pierre Darc. Lsanih. Now, welcome back from Domremy! How found you All there ? Pierre. Well, Father. Sure the news I brought Of Joan at Chinon was enougli to make Sick folks or sorry hale and happy again. How mother wept, and father swore and prayed. And cursed and crossed himself! How all the village Talked till it buzzed again ! While all remembered Wonderful things that pointed Joan to this ! Isamb. So runs the world — in hamlet or in city, Cabin or palace. While the climber climbs. Out on him ! scoff ! sneer ! pluck him by the legs ! But when he has climbed — off hats ! ' We told you so ! We said he'd win the height — and helped him to it ! ' Pierre. WhaX news of Joan Since they gave her commission To gather head at Blois? SCENE I.] JEANNE DARC. 97 Isamb. I ask myself Sometimes if what I've seen these two months past Be dream or waking truth. Where'er she moves Spirits of strength and sweetness move with her, Like angels, visible in their effects ! From all the Bourbonnais, Languedoc, Auvergne, '.Flowed to her at Blois knights, men-at-arms, and archers, Till, with a force some eight thousand strong Of the best lances in all France, she rode Like an avenging angel, armed in white, Her standard borne before ; while in the van We priests, Faith's soldiers, marched with holy chaunts. Rough soldiers left their oaths, and dice, and lewdness. And she, you would have said, to look at her. From her youth up she had borne arms herself And captained those that bore them. So she led us Safe hither, men and convoy, past the beards Of the 'mazed English — shrank in their bastilles, As if mere sight of her had palsied hearts. But to tell you of her entering Orleans, The town, that poured its life out on her path. Its blessings on her head, as thrice ten thousand Had lived, held, uttered one same life, heart, voice, Is more than I have time or tongue for now. Pierre. And when was this ? Isamb. Eight days ago. Pierre. And since, How goes it ? Isamb. Bravely — scarce a day but brings Its sunshine of success ; and she the sun ! You'd say that strength passed visibly from besiegers Unto besieged ! Ejiter Dame Boucher. Our worthy hostess here — Dame Boucher. Good dame — tis Pierre Dare, brother of the Maid. Dame Boucher. Has she a brother? Methought a thing like her Should be alone in the world. Her mother had Enow in her. Pierre. Nay, there are five of us. D. Boucher. Fair youth, you are blessed in a sister ! When my husband tells me of her feats of war H 98 JEANNE DARC, [act iii. I marvel— seeing her still so good dnd gentle ; As hum1)le and as helpful in the house As I'd have my own daughter. Pierre. " That's our Joan All over — such she was at home. ^Vhere is she ? D. Boitcha: At mass— at St. Pierre o' the Bridge, with my Karlotte. {To Isambard.) How the child loves her ! will walk, pray, sleep with her. Hark ! where they come ! yeanne {ivithout). Now, Karlotte, doff thy hood ; And then for the story of the four sons of Aymon. Enter Jeanne, leading Karlotte, a child of eight or nine. Karlotte. But I must have a kiss before I go. "jFeaniic {kisses her). There, little one ! [Karlotte runs off: Now, dame {Sees Pierre.) Ah, my o\\ti Pierre ! Returned at last ! And at home ? Pierre. All is well. Jeanne. We'll have Domremy news anon. Dear Father, You'll be as glad as I to talk it over. But first, good dame — have you no work for me ? — No spinning, sewing ? Ha ! those bandages, For the poor wounded souls in the hospital Bv the New Market, that were hurt yesterday, When we took Paris. Pierre. Paris ! y^eanne (laughing). How he stares ! One of the ten bastilles our English friends Have built to kee]) us safe. There's London, Rouen, Paris — no, there 7C'as Paris — and soon shall be No more of London, Rouen, and the rest Than Paris now. Look where its palisadoes Smoke still ! {Points Pierre out of the 7vi?idow.) {To Dame Boucher.) Go, get the linen for bandages — I've shown you I can use needle and scissors Deftly as lance and sword — {exit Dame Boucher) — and like them better. For all my steel coat — I can't put that off Until my work is done. But let it prosper As it has these six days ! Even now, brother, I await summons to the Captains' council, For the attack that I've planned for to-day, The lustiest and the last — my voices tell me ! SCENE I.] JEANNE DARC. Enter La Hire. Look, here's my Pierre come back ! La Hire {about to swear). Mort- 99 (Jeanne gives him a look. ) By my baton — - I'm glad to see him ! Cry you mercy, Joan — 'Twill slip out, now and then. yeannc. What ? La Hire. A round oath. But when I catch one 'tvvixt my teeth, I nip it Half off — an oath's no oath unless it's round. Nay, I have promised Jeanne to give up swearing ; And none can call La Hire a promise-breaker — Though once I little thought to have made such promise. And still less to have kept it after making. But I'm bewitched. 'yeaiine. Nay, but I let thee swear, So 'tis an innocent oath. La Hire. Ah ! there's no savour In innocent oaths. But think not I complain ; Though there's great comfort in a mouth-filling oath When a man's chafed or in a perilous pass. Maybe it brings the Devil to help his own. I was Jiis once — in the days I used to swear. How I did swear ! — Mort — that is— by my baton! Before I knew thee ! "yeanne. Now, a truce to the past — What of the present? When do the Captains meet In council ? La Hire. They have met. ycaiine. And I not there ? La Hire. Thou know'st thy council is enough or me. But all are not as full of faith as I. {To IsAMBARD, w/io laugJis.) What are you laughing at? I have a faith In Her — and all that she believes and bids. But 'tis no wonder, grey heads like De Goncourt's, Or godless rogues like Cernoy and Valperga, Or raw-boned, positive Scots, like old Hugh Kenned}', Should fret to follow a woman — though she be Such a one as the Maid. They've held their council Apart from thee. H 2 loo JEANNE DARC. [act hi. 'yeanne. Then, I say, twas ill held ! What have they planned ? La Hire. To try a feigned attack Upon the bastille west the town — and then. While English hands are full, loose our main battle Upon the bridge. How dost thou like the plan ? yraune. They have been in their council — I in mine ; And I believe my council will prevail — Theirs come to naught ! {To Isam.) Be ready to say mass Before the host — and still keep close to me Throughout the day — I know I shall be wounded And have blood on my breast. {Loud s/ioiit and noise.) What noise is that ? La Hire. The sound of battle. (La Hire goes to the windoio.) West the city too ! They've made their sally by the Renart gate Against the rampart of the wooden cross 'Twixt London and St Laurent. Ha! the English Swarm out like was])s, and beat them from the ditch! Now, by St. Denis, 'tis hot work ! j^eanne. And I Not there ! and no squire nigh — or page — or horse ! All will go ill ! Jean D'Aulon, ho ! my helmet — My sword, and standard ! Where's that Imerguet ? Ever at ]:)lay ! La Hire. Here he comes up the street. Leading thy horse ! Enter Karlotte. She seizes Jeanne's skirt. Karlotte. Going Anthout my stoiy ! Jeanne {kissing her). I'll tell it thee anon. {Kneeling to LsAMBARD.) Thy blessing, Father ! Lsanib. The God of battles hold his arm about thee ! yeajine. My horse — my horse ! Come, Pierre — La Hire ! My horse ! \Exii Jeanne impetuoiisly., followed by the others. Scene II. The Gate of Burgundy {practicable^. A wide gate, luith flanking toivers and 7'aulted door^vays and passages. Port- cullis down, inside the heaiy clamped oakoi doo7-s, which are closed. The chains of the drazvbridge visible inside the tower. Ln the flanking towers small portals. A crowd SCENE II.] JEANNE DARC. loi of armed men pressing towards the gate, ivith women and children anxiously watching and waiting, as if for news of their relatives eiigaged in the action without. The tocsin is tolling. The Guards of the gate are forcing the people back and remonstrating. ist Guard. Back ! 2nd Guard. No way by this gate. \st Guard. To the Porte Re'nart. \st Citizen. There's fighting at St. Loup. Two OtJiers. And St. Jean-le- Blanc ! \st Woman {ivith a basket). It's a shame ! There's my Morin on bridge-guard Since last night, and no victuals ! 2nd Woman. And my man, Hurt at the Belle-croix barriers ! _ \st Guard. Back, I say ! It is the Bailiff's orders. Enter from the vaulted 7vay, l., De Goncourt, all armed but his head. De Goncourt. - What's this coil ? Am I King's Bailiff here, or am I not ? Are we besieged inside, as well as out ? Yon bell sounds for the muster at Porte Renart, Not here — the attack's o' the west side. \st Citizen. The Maid bade us Follow her from this gate. De Goncourt. The Maid, quotha! 'Tis no maid, but a man, and the King's Bailiff Bids you begone to the Porte Re'nart, and help The attack, as settled in council of the Captains, Upon St. Laurent. {Cries heard without.) The Maid ! the Maid ! De Goncourt (aside). Poor fools ! She turns your heads, if / can't ! {A wounded man is boj'ne in by two others at the side portal through vault in tower, r.) Now — who's this ? Jean le Tonneur ! What, hurt ? How goes the day ? Wounded Man {speaking 7uith difficulty). Badly for us. They've won the palisadoes 102 JEANNE DARC. [act in. O' the bridge and ta'en our culverin, and killed The cannoneer — and given me my quietus. De Goncourt. Call a leech. See to his wound. {Cries luithout, louder). The Maid ! the Maid ! Enter Jeanne, ar}?ied, the people croivding rotmd her, and kissing her robe, hands, ^^c. yeanne. Now, where's my page and horse ? Pray you, good people, Stay me not. Form quick, all you that have arms. \_She comes on the tvounded man, and shrinks back. De Gon. Dost shudder, Jeanne? So women will — at blood. If thou'dst keep up their faith, best hide thy fear. J^eanne. Fear ! Nay. 'Tis true I ne'er see French blood flow That my hair rises not. But 'tis not fear — 'Tis wrath and pity ! Wounded Man. Let her touch my wound, And I'll not feel it. y^eanne. Be of good heart, good friend. Now time goes. Frenchmen bleed, and yet they come not ! £>e Gon. Who? "yeanne. La Hire, with his lances, and Don Cernay; And Kennedy, with his Scots. They have command To meet me here while my brother and D'Aulon gather The crossbows of the Butchers' Guild, and bring Maitre Jean, with his culverin. De Goii. For what ? Jeanne. To storm the Tourelles front and rear at once, From the qua}^ and the bridge. De Gon. Nay. But thou knowest The Captains have devised another plan Of battle for to-day. yeamie. Let them devise ; / have to do — and that is this day's deed ! De Gon. They hold 'tsvere best you stayed at home to-day To rest, after the headache of yesterday. From that big stone off St. Pouair rampart. yeanne. When I want rest, I'll tell them. De Gon. This day's work Needs men to guide it. Jeanne. Needs 7ne to guide men ! SCENE III.] JEANNE DARC, 103 Keep breath for battle, man, and fret me not. Look, where my horse comes, and the men-at-arms, Crossbows, and cannoneers. Ho, there ! my horse ! [^Hcr horse is broitglit on. De Gon. What ! shall she ride down captains and King's bailiffs Like cabbage-stalks! {Shouts tciit/ioiit.) Again! {Shouts toithout) (Jeanne mounts). France! and the Maid! De Gon. Look to the gate, men. Let no soul pass forth. What ! she shall learn the King and the King's Bailiff Have still some say in Orleans ! Keep the gate ! Enter Jeanne on her horse, surrounded by a crowd of Citi- zens, Soldiers, and Wonie7i, the first files of the armed men showing behind her, with La Hire, Bertrand de PouLANGY, Jean de Metz, Jean D'Aulon, a7id Pierre and Isambard near him. Jeanne. Give me my standard, you within the house ! [They hand her the standard from the upper windozo. Now, up portcullis ! Down with bar and bridge ! I)e Gon. I hold this gate, as the King's officer. And, by his captains' orders, I say none Goes forth. "jcanne. As captain of a greater King Than thine, old man, I say I will go forth — And these that follow. {To Guards.) Heed him not — heed me ! La Hire. Clear the way there for France and for the Maid ! \They raise the portcullis, fling open the great gates, lower the draiubridge, rt-//^ Jeanne dashes 07it, followed by the Sol- diers, with loud cries, while the Women, Citizens, Cs^x., form groups. Scene HI. Scene changes to Fortress of the Tourelles. In flat, seen in per- spective, a view of the bridge and totvn of Orleans across the river. Before them {practicable) the Tourelles, two large towers, with an archway, gate, and drawlnidge be- tween them, belo7V 7uhich the river is supposed to ru?i. Across the stage a palisade, with its gate, L. c, about which, as the scene opens, the flght is fiercest. Cannon on clumsy wheeled carriages are run on from the icings and fired. Others reply to them from the palisadoes and gate. Cross- I04 JEANNE DARC. [act hi. ho7V-men wheel on their large pavesses, or 7C. BOiselleiir. Anything for dear life. La Hire. But tell me truth ! I'll keep thee prisoner till I test thy tale. If a point's false — thou swing'st — faith of La Hire ! [^Jt:// La Hire, ^?/fl:;7////^ ^L'OiSELLEUR. Scene II. The interior of the Cathedral of Rheims, ci-owded with Eccle- siastics, Nobles, Soldiers, Populace; Jacques Darc, Isa- EELLE , and hath been from that hour. She ne'er forgot that kiss of Edward Courtenay, Nor will forget. See you not she has given him More than his father forfeited, lands, honours. The earldom of his house ? Sussex. A Queen's amends For his long suffering, and a woman's pity ! Gard. Pity ! Past doubt ! Most soft and tender pity. Maybe the Lady Elizabeth, too, feels pity For Courtenay ! Warn her, good my lord — there's danger {Enter YiAZK^Ynw, followed by four Ladies, from r 4th E.) In subject's pity that dares cross a Queen's ! \All the Courtiers how and come down on each side. The ttvo Yeomen of the Guard present their partisans as Elizabeth passes them. Elizabeth I40 'TIV/XT AXE AND CROIVN. [act i. is plainly but tastefully dressed in white satin and pearls. All Iwui, including Sussex and Gardiner. Eliza. Kind lords, fair ladies, my good Lord of Sussex ! (SUSSKX, R.) You see, my lord, how true I keep the hour — One of your lessons in the happy time When I had you for schoolmaster at Chelsea. Why do you look so grave ? Is it this dress, Too plain and poor for my kind sister's court? {To Gard. l.) But in this, my Lord Bishop, I make bold To disobey her. I would still go thus, For love of our dead brother, good King I'^dward. He used to call me Sister Temperance, And I still wear the white and pearls he chose me One day, when he and I and the Queen, my sister. Dressed for a baby mascjue at Hampton Court. Then let me go as I pleased him, and look not So stern on your old pupil. [Gard. passes to back and conva-ses ii>ith Sussex. Sussex. Now beshrew him, That could be stern, when thy bright eye said nay ! Enter Isabel Markham and the Duchess of Norfolk D. R. Eliza, {perceiving them). Ikr Grace of Norfolk and my Isabel ! How's this ? A month at Court, and never yet A day for me ? Isabel {crossing to R. c). I dared not ! Eliza. Dared not, quotha ! Here'smuchtodare! (Tc'Duchess.) Shewasnotwonttofear me Or Master Grindal either, when at Hanworth She hid his statil'and pinned his gown to his chair, For plaguing her with Greek. How fares it, Isabel, ^\ith thy Greek now? Isabel. Methinks, at a pinch, your Highness, I could make shift to read the alphabet ; But I must sweat for it ! Eliza. I warrant me : Nature had cut the scholar's root in thee, So Grindal said {to Duchess), but in a saraband We were all lame to her. Dost thou remember SCENE I.] 'TJVIXT AXE AND CROWN. 141 When I and Mildred Cook and sweet Jane Grey \Thc Duchess frowns; Elizabeth pauses, with a passing emotion, but diecizs herself. I prattle idly. We'll talk o'er old times {to Duchess) When your Grace gives her leave to come to me. (l. group go up to leave room for Elizabeth to take her seat L. of the th?'one.) Meantime to con my virginal book. Sit, ladies ! [Ladies sit r. Sir J. Harrington approaches Elizabeth and gives her her virginal book. Sussex sho7C's signs of disquiet. Gardiner ivJiispers to him. Isabel {r.c). You hear {to Duchess) she bids you, madam ; you must bring me. Duchess (r.). Peace, fool ! You would be maid of honour here. The road to the Queen's grace lies not by her door {glancing at Elizabeth). Isabel, (r.c). They are sisters, aunt. Duch. Sisters ? Ay, marry are they ! Sisters by one side, and not o' the heart ! Harr. (c. advancing to Isabel). Fair Mistress Isabel ! Isabel {affecting surprise). Sir John Harrington ! Now cry you mercy, I marked you not. (Sussex co7iverses with Gardiner, r.) Sir J^. I marked you. You at St. James's ! Isabel. And you not at Ashridge ? Sir J. You note my absence ? Isabel. Gratefully — some folk's room Is so much better than their company ! Sir y. Still so sweet and so bitter ! Must we ever Be trying wits ? Isabel. Methinks with one of us That were lost labour ! I but pass at you As the pages do at the Turk's head in the tilt-yard. Weapons and wits are best tried on a block. Sir y. And the block has the best of it. He feels nothing, And often blunts a sword or foils a wit ! Farewell, sweet mistress Malapert. Isabel {with inock courtesy). Fare you well, Doughty Sir Saracen's Head. ^ir y^. [aside). A murrain on her ! 142 'TIV/XT AXE .-LVD CROllW. [act i. Must I still stick my finger in the beak Of my lady's parakeet ? It serves me right. \_Cocs up c. and talks to Parry. Sussex comes down uneasily, c, as Simon Renard enters from l. u. e. and joins Gardiner at back, r. Eliza, {observing Sussex). ^V'hat is it frets my good Lord Chamberlain ? Sussex. That chair ! I have her Majesty's commands To keep it for her cousin, the Lady Margaret, Countess of Lennox. {Aside.) There, the ill word's out ! Pardon my tongue, your Highness, for my heart. Eliza {still sitting). One of the truest beats this day in England ! My lord, you have done your duty — I know mine. {Rises.) The Queen's command is law to me — as you. I am her subject ; but sit where I /nay, Next to the throne or with the humblest here, I am what I was born — King Henry's daughter ! [^She 7L'alks across to R. and sits. Afovement of Courtiers. Gard. {advancing in front of her). Not so, your Highness. You mistake my lord, Or he mistakes her Majesty. Your place Is with the blood-royal, but not next the throne. Eliza. iSly kind Lord Bishop, if with the blood-royal I am to sit, I must sit next the throne. Thence banished, I am banished utterly, And so it pleases me to take this place, So tell my Queen and sister, kind Lord Bishop. Gard. (r.) Here comes her Majesty. Sussex. The Queen ! \By this time the curtains are 7ip. The Courtiers fall doivn each side. Enter two Ushers and four Pages from c. arch. The Lord Treasurer, the Queen, Lords Arundel, Howard, Paget, and other Courtiers croivd o?i and down each side. Anne of Cleves a;/^ Countess of Dorset immediately behind the Queen, being of the blood- royal. JVIary is a dark, stern 7uoman of thirty-six, in a close-fitting scarlet dress, trimmed with ermine and closed to the neck ; on her head the cap seen in her portraits. From her girdle hangs a rosary of peai'l, with a large cross. Her look is shy and distrustjul SCENE I.] 'TIVIXT AXE AND CROWN. 143 As she advances to c. all botu. She surveys the group as if seeking for some one whom she misses, and her face darkens. Mary (c.). Greeting and thanks to all. {ToYaaz.) Ha' our fair sister ! Jhey said you would prove rebel to command ; You shame them by obeying. (Renard^i?^- l. ^Mary.) Eliza. Good my liege, As first among your subjects, it becomes me To be first in obedience, whatsoe'er It cost me to obey. Queen. It should cost little, I think, to do what all say you do well. {The Queen ob- serves the Spanish Envoy.) Ha ! Master Renard ! We are glad to see you. You have good news from Spain ? Ren. That's as it pleases Your Majesty to give me news for Spain. Queen. How ? Ren. 'Tis your royal smile or frown that makes Sunshine or storm in the Escurial. Queen. A truce to Spanish compliment. Ren. So please you I'm a plain Fleming. Were kings common men, I should say that King Philip's sad and sick. Queen. I grieve to hear it. Ren. Yet a word of yours Would make him well, and you forbear to speak it. Queen. Queens are not free to give hands as they will, Ren. I pray your majesty to remember that, If e'er your Council ask you to bestow Yours on my royal master. \Group L. move up at indication of Lord Chamberlain to make room for Queen to pass to throne. Queen. 'Twill be time When they shall ask, that we should con our answer. [ Turns away from him and takes place on the throne. Anne OF Cleves and Countess of Dorset take seats l. of the throne, leaving the one immediately next to it empty. Queen. Methinks our whole Court is not yet assembled. Gard. (c). My liege, her Grace of Lennox's seat is empty. I4t TIVIXT AXE A.VD CROWN. [act i. Queen. 'Tis well — she's sick. Enter Courtenav, d. r. Sussex (announcing). The Earl of Devonshire ! Queen. Ha ! Is he late ? I noted not his absence (CouRTENAY k7ieels at foot of throne.) Late, but yet welcome, Earl of Devonshire. I pray you rise, my lord. Court. Let me still kneel. Most gracious Queen, till I discharge in speech What of my heavy load of gratitude Can be so lightened. {Rises) Was it not enough To give me Heaven's free breath to breathe again, After my fifteen years of close Tower air, But you must crown my liberty with honour ; Giving me back, not the broad lands alone, That were my noble father's — that were little. But for the gift that goes with them — the name My father bore ? I cannot speak my heart ; Let me have leave, my liege, to show it in act. Queen. Sir Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devonshire, Restoring you to freedom, lands, and title, So long denied you, I am yet your debtor. There is a long arrear still to be paid ; "\\'e shall think how to pay it as befits A Queen, near you in blood, nor far removed In love. Court. Your Majesty's poor servant ever. \^He looks around as tf for Elizabeth, and by his looks sho7C's surprise to see the seat on the right of the throne empty. Mary watches him. Queen. You are come in merry time. Now, gentle sister. The virginals ! In our withdrawing-room There's place for all. The music waits. Set on. ( Courtiers begin to leave gradually, c. ) Your arm, Lord Bishop. \She leaves the throne, laying her hand on Gardiner's arm, who offers it submissively for her support. Renard watches Courtenay. Court, (r. c, approaching Elizabeth). Lady Elizabeth, May I crave cousin's leave to take your hand ? Eliz. {gently declinitig ; aside) We're watched. {Crossing him.) Nay, cousin, iox your good, not mine, SCENE I.] 'TlVIXr AXE AND CROWN', 145 I pray you seek a fairer or more favoured. An older arm is safer stay for me. \She ofers Sussex her hand, who is by c, and moves gently up with him to go off, c.,folloiued by Sir J. Harrington. Isabel, Anne of Cleves, atid Countess of Dorset rise w/ien tlie Queen rises, get toe, and goes off after Y,h\z\BKYn. Queen //«j- been whispering to Gardiner l., 7vhiie tlie dialogue passes between Elizabeth and Courtenay. Qiieen (c. L.). You know my heart, as my confessor should. He dreams not of his fortune. See he know it. Here, and within this hour, and from your lips. \She moves off, c, follozved by Lords, Pages Yeomen of the Guard, ^'c. Gard. (c, aside to Courtenay). A word with you anon, here, and alone. [Courtenay bows, r. Ren. (r., at back, plucking Gardiner by sleeve). Is't friends, my lord, or enemies ? Gard. ril tell you, When I have sounded this young popinjay. An English King for me. Ren. In hopes 'twill prove An English puppet. Better back my master. If stiff to a bis/iop, he'll bend to the Church. And I've five thousand crowns in a curious casket I would fain show your reverence. You are curious, I think, in such toys. Gaj'd. Aye, sir, by and bye. [Exit Gardiner, c. Exit Renard, r. Harp is lieard, piano, E. L. Court, (solus) Put my hand from her ? For your good, not mine. Those were her words ! She look'd not hate nor scorn. Her calm clear eye must needs have read my heart. Oh, would I could read hers ! Fair, close-sealed book. So writ with wisdom, has it room for love ? Pardon, my sweet, that I misdoubt thee so. Deeming thee poor in what is best of woman. Thrust from her rightful place, how proud she took Her lower room, for all the double crown Of nature, as of blood, on her white brow, L 146 'TIVIXT AXE AND CROIVX. [act i. And youth and beauty's crown, that crowneth these. •( Walks up and down }\ How's this ? Doth Edward Courtenay know himself? The Tower hath been my bitter schoolmaster, Tempering my manhood, as Spain tempers blades I' the ice-brook of affliction. Fifteen years I've learned to wait, and crush with iron will The thirst for liberty, hunger for revenge. Youth's dream of heights to climb and fame to win ! And now that Heaven's sun has chased prison darkness, When my worst chains are these of gems and gold — ( Toiu/iin'^ /lis jcioellcd collar. Music stops. ) With a Queen's favour beckoning on and up, My iron will turns lead — my tempered purpose Softens like wax (Gardiner cnte?-s, c. ) under a woman's smile, And all my past in love's sufficing present Is drunk and drowned ! \^Takes stage, L. Card. (r. c.) jMy Lord of Devonshire, I'm sent to bid your Grace where bright eyes miss you. Court, (l. c.) So bright, they dazzle one scarce used to them. Gard. The more need of such user, wherein you, Of all lords here, should chiefly school yourself. Ruling, like serving, may be easy taught. You've mastered one — needs now to learn the other. Methinks 'twere soon learnt, were a crown the payment. Court. Crowns have brought small joy to the House of York. Gard. Power is a mighty spell to conjure with. Court. True, my Lord Bishop, it can call up scaffolds For men too bold, women too nigh in blood ; Build prisons — lifelong graves for innocence. None better knows than I what power can do — I learned the lesson off by heart i' the Tower. Gard. {s^lancing uneasily around). Would you be back in your Tower school again. That you so let your thoughts out at your lips ? The Queen knows all your sufferings. Court. And hath amply Made me amends. Gard. Yet feels she owes you still So much, she can but pay you with herself Court. INIy lord ! 1 SCENE I.] 'TIVIXT AXE AND CROWN. 147 Gard. 'Tis not enough that she has given you freedom, Your houses, lands, and titles ; unto these She offers you, tiirough me, a crown. Court. What crown ? Gard. The crown of England — as her princely consort. Are you struck dumb, my lord ? Nay, be a man. Court. I hold myself a man. But where's the man Whom such a weight of fortune, so tiung on him, Would not strike into stone ? I, Edward Courtenay, But now, of the forlornest most forlorn. Attainted, beggared, a State prisoner, And now bid take my place right hand the throne ! This head, set all these years 'twixt axe and block, Offered the consort's all but royal crown ! This hand I looked should be severed by the headsman, And stuck to rot over a London gate. Called to lie in the Queen's ! My good Lord Bishop, Say this is not a dream of mine or yours. The Queen choose me ? Gard. And what choice worthier ? Your blood, my lord, is royal, is right English. The people's voice, the will of Parliament Point to you even now, will hail you gladly : And these are voices the Queen's glad to follow. Above all, when her own heart echoes them. I see no marvel here. Court. You will not see it. Ga7-d. What if the choice were mine, ere 'twas the Queen's ? Court. Then be advised, my lord ; I am not the man You think me, if you think to find in me A willing tool, to fit his hand who made it. I was a free man even in the Tower, And ill can brook to be Queen's slave, or Church's. Gard. Methinks the w/V-choice is of bride, not bride- groom ; Had Lady ElizabctJis hand proffered the crown, The stiff back might have bent. Court. Beware, Lord Bishop ! Gard. Be you 'ware. Earl of Devonshire, and weigh Your walking — ^it is perilous. The Tower Has mouths that swallow easier than disgorge : From Traitor's Gate 'tis short road to Tower Green. L 2 148 'TWIXT AXE AND CROWN. [act i. Court. Fancy, like thought, is free. I know no law ISIakes liking or misliking treasonable. I'm the Queen's loyal liegeman, bound to her Beyond mere fealty, by the mighty debt Of liberty restored, broad lands and honours. I'll pay that debt with service, pains, or blood ; But I'll no crown that makes me twice a slave — The Queen's first, then the Priest's that rules the Queen. {Crosses to r.) No. If I must wear chains, give me plain iron — Sooner a prisoner in the Tower than here ! So tell her Majesty, in what phrase best fits My fealty and her favour, I have chosen ! \_Exit COURTEN.W, D. R. Gard. The choice is yojirs to make. I like his pride. Re7iard {entering cautiously, D. R.). You've made your offer? Gard. (i.. c.) And been answered roundly. Refuse a crown ! 7iV/;. Coupled with such a wearer, I marvel not. But this works well for ns. Gard. For 7is ? Ren. Me, Spain — your lordship, Holy Church. A woman's favour scorned is hate— a Queen's, JDestriictio?!. Gard. Let him look to his head ! JRen. Amen. This clears my master's way ; better a Spanish Than English prince, where Church must pilot State. Gard. So falls the favourite of the day ! JRen. And with him Brings down a higher head — Elizabeth's ! While she lives, loved as she is of your gross English, My master's way to the succession's barred, And you, and Holy Church, both held at bay. (Mary appears at curtains, c.) 'Tis but two lives to brush aside. Gard. The Queen ! Queen, (c.) V\Q. would be private. (Renard bows, and exit, D. R.) (Inipatiefitly.) Now, Lord Bishop. Courtenay — I looked to find him. Ga?-d. He went hence e'en now. SCENE I.] 'TWIXT AXE AND CROWISr. I49 Queen. But not before you saw and spoke with him? Gard. I saw and spoke with him. Queen (^feverishly). Well, well ? Gard. Told him the grace Your Majesty deigned proffer. Queen. To the point ! You told him ; and he ? Speak ! what said he, man ? Gard. Would that my tongue were cut out by the roots, Sooner than utter Queen. Oh ! thou torturest me ! Strike^ and strike home. The Earl of Devonshire ? Gard. Hath spurned your hand and crown. Queen. It cannot be 1 He could not, would not, dared not ! Priest ! thou liest ! Gard. {drawing himself up). I am the Church's, and the Church is truth. Saying /lie, you give the lie to Heaven; A deadly sin, that calls for bitter penance. \Takes stage, L. Queen. Forgive me, holy father ! Culpa mea ! {Striking her breast.) Maxima culpa mea ! Set me penance ! I'll fast, say aves, scourge myself to blood. Have pity on your Queen — your penitent ! Spurned me — the crown ! No, no ; it cannot be ! Gard. It is — so spurned your love and crown, as tho' 'Twere odds which were the heavier load to bear. Queen. Oh, woe is me ! The first 1 ever loved. A curse is on our blood ! My mother died Heart-broken and alone ! I passed a youth Sad as old age, uncheer'd by hope or love, Knowmg a mother's tears, no father's smiles. Even on the throne, I sate with empty heart Hungering for love ; and when I would enrich My life from his, looked to find m his arms All my lost youth, my long arrears of joy, My summer, the more sweet the more delayed, He scorns my proftered heart and flings it back ! He spurns me ! {Sinks on seat, r.) All is blank ! What's left? Gard. Revenge ! Queen. I thank thee, Gardiner ; I will avenge me. {Fiercely) Avenge me as becomes my father's daughter, That never let his vengeance halt or hold, I50 '77F/A'7^ AXE AND ClWliW. [act i. Till it was fed to the full ! I may not have His Iiea/f ; Til have his /lead. He shall not live To say he scorned me ! Gard. So turns your revenge Back on yourself. To scorn you was no treason. vStrain but the law against him, and you rouse The people's wrath, unchain their evil tongues. Queai. But how, how ? Teach me, Gardmer ; you were wont To be quick at devising vengeances That keep the right side of the law. Gard. I'll tell you. He loves the Lady Elizabeth. [IIarJ> is heard. Queen. Ah ! my heart 1 It told me — Yes, I noted how their eyes Changed lights, their voices softened as they spoke Unto each other. Fool, blind fool that I was Not to take order sooner ! Look you, now ; Her mother stole my father's love from mine ; The daughter steals my love away from me. {Bitterly.) She shall abye the theft as her mother did I'pon the scaffold, and he die the death, Like Henry Norris ! By the saints, he shall ! Gard. So be it ; but restrain the heady temper Your father left you for inheritance. Grasp not too much, ^\'ho aims at two hits none. Both are beloved of the coarse multitude, That, childlike, holds to its playthings, and will scratch Ere it will give them up. First chain tliat fear. Close hands with Spain, that offers you a husband "With her alliance. Philip seeks your love ; Accept it. Let the new fire kill the old. 'Tis odds the traitors who oppose the match Seek tools in Lady Elizabeth and Courtenay. Once let them 7innk at treason. There's the law Serves your revenge, and offers you their heads. Mary. So be it ; you say well. Forgive my heat And the sin it engendered. Look, I kneel {kneeling) To pray for absolution, and a blessing Upon my purpose. Gard. {blessing her). That perforce must be To Heaven's more honour, and the Church's good. SCENE I.] 'TU'IXT AXE AND CROWN. iS^ Mary. That music maddens me ! Lord Chamberlain, {Curia i/is are dratcm as Sussex appears). Silence those lutes ! Sussex. 'Tis the last spring, your Majesty ; The music's o'er. {Ilarp stops.) Here comes the Lady Elizabeth. Gard. Compose your face and voice. I'll leave you with her. [Queen ascends throne. Elizabeth, followed by ; Isabel, Duchess of Norfolk, Anne of Cleves, Countess of Dorset, Sir J. Harrington, Paget, Parry, Arundel, Howard, Lord Treasurer, and four pages, enter, c. All of these go down, R. Pages stand across fro? it c. arch to keep the re- mainder of Court from advancing too far, so as to leave space behind Princess. Eliza. Most gracious Queen and sister, Grant me an audience ; I would crave a boon. Mary. So graciously you did our 'best to-day, What is there you could ask we can refuse ? Eliza. You know \vhat, until now, my life has been — How private and retired ; for this month past. Since your accession, you have kept me with you. Therein a sister's kindness working in you That craves and has my gratitude. But now My spirit and my body both are sick For wonted food of sweet air, quiet study. My books, my birds, my 'broidery, my lute. All woo me to them ; and I crave your leave I may return to my poor house at Ashridge. Queen. A boon I little looked you should have asked me Gard. (aside to Queen). Let her go. Mary. Have your will. Return to Ashridge. But we'll send with you one of our tried servants, Sir Thomas Pope, to help you to control Your household. Eliza. Please you, I have mine own people. Mary. 'Twere well you had mine besides. \(Jour tiers at back begiji to move down, r., others crowd in at back, and the twelve Yeomen of the Guard stand at each side of the curtains. Eliza. Your Majesty 152 'TWIXT AXE AND CROWN. [act ii. Would put me under guard ! The Queen suspects Her faithful subject— sister mistrusts sister ? Queen. I mistrust youth, ill counsel, and wild thoughts. As Queen and sister both behoves me guard Your fame and honour. Eliza, {proudly). These I guard myself ! But be it so ; a fair life dreads no spies : Elizabeth's lies open to the day ; It braves Heaven's eye, and need not fear the Queen's 1 So I commend me to your Majesty. To all friends here — and methinks all are friends — A kind and loving leave till next we meet ! \Shc borvs graciously to t/tc Court; they return tt. Isabel i-uns up to her, kneels, and kisses her hand. END OF ACT I. ACT II. Scene I. The Queen's Oratory, St. James's. A trypiydi or vicrahle altarpiece ; prie dicu, ivith Bible on it and cushion atjoot under it. Doors R. and I., ist entrances, with devotional pictures. Small table, with ivrititig materials and high- backed chair, k. c. Queen (rising). I cannot pray ! Such black and bitter thoughts Rise betwixt me and Heaven ! Even the saints jSIethinks look dark and frowningly upon me. Within, my people's hard opinion — treason Even in my Council — my own sister wishing, Aye, compassing my death. The Church that fain I would build up again I dare not, save AVith faint and faltering hand — so I miss Heaven, And find no fruit of earth but bitterness. (^Y/->-, R. c.) This Spanish lord 1 Heaven put some love in him To counterpoise the hate they say his coming AVill quicken in the people. Oh, my subjects. If you but knew how sore all's with me here, {Lays her hand on her heart.) SCENE I.] 'TU'lXr AXE AND CROWN. I53 You would be gentler with your Queen. {Knock, d. l.) Who's there ? Euler Duchess ^/Norfolk, d. c. Btich. Pardon, your Majesty— but my silly niece, Whom you had named, by your most gracious favour, To take Kate Ashley's service down at Ashridge, Swears she'll not go — will crave release of you, The puling fool ! 'Twere well you lessoned her. Queen. Not go when we had chosen her ? By St. Luke ! But she shall go — so tell her. Dticli. It were well She heard so much from you. She waits without. Queen. Bid her come in. {Exit Duchess.) My smooth Elizabeth, We must have eyes about you we can trust, And ears too. {Enter Duchess and Isabel, l.) So, fair Mistress Isabel, What's this we hear ? You'll none of Ashridge service ? You craved it once. Isabel {crossing to c). While I expected 'twould be loving service To one I love like a sister — you are one, And know how warm that is. Queen. iNIethinks I do. Isabel. But now my aunt says I must play the spy On my sweet friend — must dog her, note her words, Mark whom she sees and speaks withal — i'faith, Set in my note-book what she has for dinner. And with what appetite she falls to it ! I pray your majesty to find another For such unworthy service. Isabel Markham Would scorn espial of the veriest jade E'er sate i' the stocks — how should she spy on Jier, The sweetest maid, the gentlest gentlewoman. Your liegest subject, and my dearest friend? Duch. Peace, malapert I Mary {sadly). Nay, chide her not, good Norfolk My sister can have love like that at will, Even in danger's and disfavour's spite ! I could not buy it — no, not for my crown. I 154 'TWIXT AXE AiVD CROWN. [act ir. Even there she crosses me ! Go, wench ; I'll find thee Jj Another service. ~ Jsabel. Thank your Majesty. I told my aunt, for all they said of you, You had a gentle nature. Duch. Peace ; you'd best ! She is the veriest prate-apace. Queen. Let be : She shows her heart. She is but young at Court. There ! {Kisses her.) Get thy aunt, not me, to lesson thee. DiuJiess {aside to Is.vbel). Fool ! thou shalt smart for this. {Ready for hiock.) Isabel. And what care I ? {Comes baek.) Eeshrew me but I could find in my heart To love your Majesty — almost as well As my Elizabeth. DueJi. Out, out, you fool ! Pardon her, madam ; she knows naught of state — How Queens should be accosted. Queen. No, poor child. She brings her country gifts, plain truth and love. Go teach her, madam, what_)w/ bring a Queen ! {Exeunt Duchess and Is.\bel, l.) Still all the love for her — the hate for me, That could so pay the love I {Sits. Knock l.) Again? Come in. E7iter G.\RDiNER and Renard, l. Gard. (c.) Pardon our urgency, your Majesty, That breaks in on your private hour — but news Of weighty import — ■ — Queen. Good or bad, sirs, which ? Ga?'d. (c.) As you may use them. Good, if wisely handled ; Evil, if weakly. First, here's jNIonsieur Renard Brings you the articles of Spain^ in answer To our conditions. Ken. {crosses to c.) Granting all you ask; And adding — should male issue bless this wedlock. As Heaven will surely favour it therein — Burgundy and the fat and fair Low Countries, As annexations to the English crown. My master, madam, gives with a large hand. SCENE I.] 'TWIXT AXE AND CROWN. 155 Queen. 'Tis bravely offered ! Here's good news indeed ! Card. So is what follows — black as it may look. The gainsayers of Spain, knowing how hot His Majesty the Emp'ror and yourself Are for this match, grow mad and shape their spleen In plots and treasons 'gainst the Spanish Envoys ! Nay — if need be — to seize your Majesty And give you to safe keeping in the Tower. Queen. Now, let them come ! By God's grace, they shall find That Henry's daughter hath a man's heart in her ; A man's hand, too, to guard her head and crown ! Garci. That's not all. Een. Nor the worst. Qneen. Is there a worse Than to lay hands upon the Lord's anointed ? Gard. Even so ; lay hands on the Lord's own ark, His holy Church. Ren. The traitors aim at that, Striking at you ; they would bring back the order Your heretic brother Edward — Heaven forgive him ! — Made for the Church in England. Gard. Would put down The sacrifice of the mass ! Ren. Have priests take wives. Queen. Now Heaven forbid ! Qneen. Not while we live. Gard. While you live all is well. Ren. But Tower air's mortal To lives of Queens. Queen. Are they so bold ? Gard. Aye, marry ; And strong as they are bold. 'Tis coward's folly To underrate the foe : they count on P^ngland, To rise behind them Ren. And they count with cause. Queen. And this you call good news ? Gard. (c.) What news so good, As that the foe has drawn his battle out, When you hold in your hand the match that blows His hosts in air ? 156 'riVIXr AXE AND CROW.Y. [act ii. Queen. And that match ? Do we hold it ? Gard. So Monsieur Renard, here, will show your Majesty. Queen. What is't ? Ren. The lives of Courtenay and Elizabeth ! They are the poles whereon this treason turns. Theirs are the names to conjure with — the heads To wear the crown, when it is pluck'd from yours. Mary {rising). My sister and the man I raised from the dust ! Now, by God's patience, they shall rue the day They first smiled on each other ! But the proof? You have the proof? Ren. That I leave to my Lord Of Winchester. {Crosses behind table to R. ^Marv.) Gard. (c. ) 'Tis making even now. I've laid my lyme dogs on the track of Courtenay. Ren. Trust my lord to find proof! Gard. I hold the Council's voice for the consigning Of Courtenay and Elizabeth to safe keeping. Here are the warrants. {Produces them.) Ren. They but wait your hand. [Queen takes the pen, is about to sign, but pauses. Mary. Think I — 'tis a sister's life hangs on my pen ! Ren. Two — yours first, and the Lady Elizabeth's after. Which head would you prefer to grace the block ? Mary. I pray you give me time ! Ren. Each hour that goes. And finds her free, strikes a prop from your throne. Mary. But let me ply her first with gentler summons. Invite her hither. In our very palace She cannot plot. Ren. {chuik/cs). Ha ! ha ! Your Majesty Has yet to learn the alphabet of plotting. Not plot in the Queen's palace ! 'Tis the place She would ask for such pastime- — if I know The lady, whose best plot is to win hearts, As she won Courtenay 's. Alary. Out ! thou madden'st me ! Gard. But be it as you will. Invite her hither. Ren. If she refuse, but not till then, the warrant. [He places it before her; she signs it. SCENE I.] 'TU'IXT AXE AND CROWK. 157 Gard. Now this — the Council's warrant to arrest The Earl of Devonshire. {^Produces it : she takes it.) Mary {eagerly). Aye, give me that ! {Grasping at it.) {Pauses.) It is his death, perhaps. {Pushes it from her.) I cannot sign. Ken. The crown he spurned when your hand reached it him, He risks his head to win for Boleyn's bastard ! Mary. The ingrate ! He shall learn in Little Ease, ' If we can make, we can unmake again. {Signs.) Prove but his treason, he shall die the death. Oh ! I am sick at heart. Call in my women. (Gardiner si^na/s ojf\ L.) \Entcr tivo Ladies. Mary crosses to them. Be gentle with him, Gardiner. Now, good Clarence ! Attend me, Renard ; I would talk with thee About my Philip. Pe?i. A most proper man ! And bears a heart, your Majesty, none knows How kind and fond ! He wears it not, 'tis true. Upon his sleeve. 'But she that finds it finds A miracle. Mary. Thy words are balm, good Renard. \Exeunt ^SIarv, leaning on her women, and Renard, after exchanging a look of significance ivith Gardiner. Gard. We hold their heads. For this high- stomached boy. Too stiff, forsooth, to bend to a priest's purpose, I'll show him priests break those who will not bend. For Lady Elizabeth — Renard counsels well — Her fair head must come down, for all its craft. I'll compass it's conveyance to Tower Green ; Anne Boleyn's block will fit Anne Boleyn's daughter. \_Exit L. Furniture cleared by two Yeomen of the Gunrd. Lights lowered. Change. Scene II. A Hall in the Lady Elizabeth's Manor House of Ashridge Style of the 16th Century. Large foldi?ig doors, backed hy staircase, L. F. Large c. opening in r. p., backed by illu- 158 'TIVIXT AXE AND CROWN. [act ii. iiiinakd ivindow of stained ^t^/ass. Large Fireplace R., with logs burning. Large 7cnndou> from \th to 2nd E, L., 7inth boughs of trees covered ivith snoiu pressing against it. Door 2nd E. L. Secret panel 4th E, L. aboire window. Several la7'^e portraits of the period about the walls. A Venus by Titian over recess, r. Table, with candelabra, book, etc., on it. Small table by door, l., 7oith lute, em- broidering frame, etc. Wind howling^. Enter Sir J. Harrington, with a lantern, shoicingin CoUR- te:s AY from d. l., booted, cloaked, and splashed. ILarr. {lighting candles from lantern). Get to the fire, my lord, and thaw your boots. While I find lights. Burr ! {Shivering.) I am an icicle. It is a cruel night. Court, {at fire). The very weather For those who'd not be fiallowed — yet methinks I heard horse-hoofs behind us, from Hemel Hempstead. Lfarr. So did I; but I trow we gave them slip At Gadsden Moor. Lord help the unhappy horseman Dares to ride that sweet spot on a winter night, Unless he knows the country like his hand ! We're housed — and so's our follower, I warrant me, A'bottom of Gadsden ditch. There rcijuicscat Jn pace ! ( Takes off cloak. ) Court, (r., looking about). And 'tis here she takes her pastime. There are her books {crosses to l. table), her lute, her 'broidery frame — A fair cage for my bird — and yet a cage. I come to set thee free ! Now, Harrington, Show me where she is wont to sit. How uses she The time ? Harr. {by fire). Why, marry, at meal times she eats — A good rule, and to be followed by her servants : I'm hungry as a hawk — your lordship should be. Remember, we are here hedged round with spies. I've risked my life to bring you to the house. If you're o'erseen 'twere pity of us both. Coui't. Where am I to bestow myself ? Harr. {lifts arras, L.) In here — A secret cabinet — entered through this panel — Unknown to all the household, save the cofterer And me. f SCENE II.] 'TWIXT AXE AND CROWN. 159 Court, (c.) Bat will the Lady Elizabeth Certain come hither? Harr. Past a doubt. 'Tis here She holds her lonely vigils with her books. But in ; and if she storms, as sure she will — And she storms royally, for all her sweetness — "f o find your lordship here, I trust your honour To keep my name close. Court. By my faith I will. But let me linger o'er these traces of her. {At table, L.) Harr. Footsteps ! This way ! now in, i' the fiend's name ! \PHts Jiiiii through panel, l. u. Enter Isabel Markham //-(?;// d. l., /;/ riding skirt, splashed, and masked. Just saved it ! Who's this ? As I live a woman ! {She takes off hat and mask.) Isabel Markham, muddy to the waist ! On such a night ! Isab. {by table, r. c.) Good Sir John, keep thy wonder, And help me with my skirt. There ; now to thaw me My hands and feet and tongue ! {Gets to fire.) Harr.{^- c.) Let that stay frozen. 'Tis an unruly member, and needs bonds. , But say what madcap wind has blown you hither ? Isabel {luith mock tenderness). Think you that I could long endure St. James's, With thee at Ashridge ? {Gives him her hand.) I must have my block, To keep my hand in. But, in sober sooth, I came to attend my lady — as a friend, Being freed from turn of service as a spy. My aunt had stayed me, so I asked no leave ; But took a horse and a knave who does my bidding. Harr. I know — e'en like a dog — and for dog's thanks. {Wind.) Isab. Nay, — I'm very kind to ////;/ / and so rode hither. His beast gave in wrong side of Hemel Hempstead, And I was left on the moor, bogged and belated. When you rode by, and for once served some purpose As a guide-post. I made bold to ride behind you, And here I am ! And now, where's my lady ? i6d 'TWrXT axe and CROW.V. [act II. }>ut where's my sui)per, first ? Harr. Mine is prepared. Suppose you eat it, and let we wait on you ? Isab. Agreed ! Harr. And all the wages I will ask Will be a smile, 'twixt two sips of canary, A kind word, 'twixt two bites of venison pasty, And I'll sup upon them. Isab. Faith, I've a mind To take thee at thy word — But not for kindness, Only for joy of eating up thy supper. Enter V.KV.vs from r. f. Parry (r). Harrington come back ! And who have we here ? How ! IMistress Isabel Markham ! Isab. \c.) Come for service Of my lady, when I've shifted me and supp'd. [Parry i^ocs up R. and claps /lis hands.) Parry. My lady's women shall show you to a chamber, {Enter a Woman, r. f.) My lady will be marvellously glad to see you. Isab. Hush ! not a word to her that 1 am here. I love surprises. Harr. Do you ? I'll tell you one. Smile upon vw, and give me one good word. Isab. There's the smile — and good bye. That's two good words — • {Exit. Isabel, r, f.) Parry. A wild wench, but a faithfiil. Harr. A curst tongue In the sweetest pair of lips^well, let them scold, Till they learn kissing — so she lets me teach her. Parry. None knows of thy return ? Harr. (l. c.) No: I came in By the sallyport, and up the turnpike stair, I care not that the gossips in the lodge ( JVind.) And buttery hatch and hall should note my goings And comings on my lady's errands. Burr ! {Shivers.) Beshrew my lady, that sends men to ride for her In weather that would freeze a Muscovite Inside his furs ! {Shivers.) Party. There's ill report of thee. Harr. Of me ? I SCENE ir.] 'TIVIXT AXE AND CROWN. i6i Par}'}-. 'Tis told me Thou dost receive strange messengers — hast been seen At the Bell in Hemel Hampstead, with a gentleman Booted and belted, splashed with signs of travel. Han: {laughs). Squire King of Wormenhall, to whom I promised A greyhound pup ! Lord, Lord, how folks will talk ! They'd make a plotter of poor Jasper King. Parry. Needs must her Highness's household should be careful To give no hold to ill tongues these ill times. England's a hive of plots. Harr. The Queen-bee here ! England will none of these saucy Jack Spaniards ; All hopes and loves are centred in our lady. Needs but a stout stroke, Master Cofferer. Parry. Hush, man ! Who knows but we have listening ears Ev'n here ? {Going to arras over secret door.) Hai-r. {to prevent him gives a loud exdamatiori). Oh, Lord ! Parry. What is't ? Harr. I could have sworn I saw a face looking in at the window. Parry {goes to ivindo'cu and looks out). Now — as I live — ■ I see the glint of steel Out in the pleasance ! Look — more to the right. Harr. Horsemen — four — five — -a troop in jack and morion ! What should this mean ? Parry. Go, learn their errand — quick ! {As Harrington goes off i.. Parry looks off v.. f.) The Lady Elizabeth — paler, wearier, And weaklier — day by day ! it grieves my heart. Enter Elizabeth, c. r. She is dressed more plainly than in the ist Act, and looks pale and siffering. Parry sets her chair by table, r. c. , and supports her to it. Eliza. Good even to my worthy Cofferer ! 'Tis a wild night without. Ah, happy we, With warmth and books and peace indoors ! {Sits, and leans her head on her hand. ) Parry. Peace, m.adam ? They leave us little here, with their controllers, M l62 'TIVIXT AXE AND CROWN. [act II. Their yeomen, women, varlets from the Court — An idle pack of spies. They'd prove you traitress Out of your innocence. Eliza. Tet them do their worst. I have a witness here {puts her hand o?t he?- heart) that bears me up 'Gainst their false speaking. Parry. Nay, your heart is bold, I know ; but bodies will not answer hearts. Look how you pine, lose spirits, appetite, How your fresh cheek turns white and thin. Eliza. Peace prithee. At Court 'twas ill will plagued me — here, 'tis kindness. Methinks the ill will is the best to bear. (P.vrry retires a little.) Enter Harrington, l. f. Harr. A messenger from the Court, strangely attended. He brings this letter from her INIajesty. Eliza. Is't the first letter that the Queen hath writ me ? Give it me — hare-heart. {Holds her hand for letter. He gives it.) Harr. For the letter, madam, It may be harmless, but I like not him That brought it. Eliza. Who? Harr. Sir John Brydges, the Lieutenant Of the Tower, with an armed troop. Eliza. 'Tis too much grace. Read, Parry. Parry. {Reads c.) ' Eaithjul and 7i.