No. XVII. of the _Foreign Quarterly Review_, contains a paper of
much interest to the playgoer as well as to the lover of dramatic
literature--on two French dramas of great celebrity--_La Maréchale
d'Ancre_, by de Vigny; and _Marion Delorme_, by Victor Hugo. We quote
a scene from the former. Concini, the principal character, is a
favourite of Louis XIII.; the Maréchale, his wife, has a first love,
Borgia, a Corsican, who, disappointed in his early suit by the
stratagems of Concini, has married the beautiful but uncultivated
Isabella Monti. On the conflicting feelings of this strange personage,
his hatred to the husband, and his relenting towards the wife; and the
licentious plans of Concini for the seduction of Isabella, whom he
has seen without knowing her to be the wife of his deadly enemy, the
interest of the piece is made to turn. The jealous Isabella is at last
persuaded that the Maréchale has robbed her of the attachment of her
husband, and appears as a witness against her on the pretended charge
of witchcraft and sorcery.
While the Maréchal, even in the dungeon of the Bastile, is awing
her oppressors into silence, bands of murderers are seeking Concini
through the streets of Paris. As he issues from the house of the
Jew which contains Isabella, he hears through the obscurity of the
tempestuous night the cries of the populace, but he thinks they are
but the indications of some passing tumult. He rests for a moment
against a pillar on the pavement, but recoils again, as from a
serpent, for he perceives it is the stone on which Ravaillac had
planted his foot when he assassinated Henry, and in that murder it is
darkly insinuated he had a share. Through the darkness of the Rue de
la Ferronnerie, Michael Borgia is seen advancing, conducting the two
children of his rival. He has promised to the Maréchale to save them
from the dangers of the night, and has brought them in safety to his
own threshold. But his promise of safety extended not to Concini. The
wild ferocity of the following scene has many parallels in the actual
duels of the time, as delineated in Froissart and Brantome.
_Borgia (with the children.)_--Poor children! come in; you will be
safer here than in the houses to which they have pursued us.
_The Boy_.--Ah! there is a man standing up.
_Borgia (turning the lantern which the child holds towards
Concini.)_--Concini!
_Concini_.--Borgia! (_Each raises his dagger, and seizes with the left
arm the right of his enemy. They remain motionless, and gazing at each
other. The children escape into the street and disappear_.)
_Concini_.--Let go my arm, and I will liberate yours.
_Borgia_.--What shall be my security?
_Concini_.--Those children whom you have with you.
_Borgia_.--I am labouring to save them. Your palace is on fire--your
wife is arrested--your fortune is wrecked--base, senseless adventurer!
_Concini_.--Have done--let go--let us fight!
_Borgia_ (_pushing him from him_.)--Back, then, and draw your sword.
_Concini_ (_draws_.)--Begin.
_Borgia_.--Remove those children--they would be in our way.
_Concini_.--They are gone.
_Borgia_.--Take these letters, assassin! I had promised to restore
them to you. (_He hands to Concini a black portfolio_.)
_Concini_.--I would have taken them from your body.
_Borgia_.--I have performed my promise--and now, ravisher! look to
yourself.
_Concini_.--Base seducer, defend _thyself_.
_Borgia_.--The night is dark, but I shall feel you by my hate: Plant
your foot against the wall, that you may not retreat.
_Concini_.--Would I could chain yours to the pavement, that I might be
sure of my mark!
_Borgia_.--Agree that the first who is wounded shall inform the other.
_Concini_.--Yes, for we should not see the blood. I swear it by the
thirst I feel for yours.--But not that the affair should end there.
_Borgia_.--No, only to begin again with more spirit.
_Concini_--To continue till we can lift the sword no longer.
_Borgia_.--Till the death of one or other of us.
_Concini_--I see you not. Are you in front of me?
_Borgia_.--Yes, wretch! Parry that thrust. Has it sped?
_Concini_.--No; take that in return.
_Borgia_.--I am untouched.
_Concini_.--What, still? Oh! would I could but see thy hateful visage.
(_They continue to fight desperately, but without touching each other.
Both rest for a little_.)
_Borgia_.--Have you a cuirass on, Concini?
_Concini_.--I had, but I left it with your wife in her chamber.
_Borgia_.--Liar! (_He rushes on him with his sword. Their blades are
locked for a moment, and both are wounded_.)
_Concini_.--I feel no sword opposed to mine. Have I wounded you?
_Borgia_, (_leaning on his sword, and staunching the wound in his
breast with, his handkerchief_.) No, let us begin again. There!
_Concini_ (_binding his scarf round his thigh_.)--One moment and I am
with you. (_He staggers against the pillar_.)
_Borgia_, (_sinking on his knees_.)--Are you not wounded yourself?
_Concini_.--No, no! I am resting. Advance, and you shall see.
_Borgia_ (_endeavouring to rise, but unable_.)--I have struck my foot
against a stone--wait an instant.
_Concini_ (_with delight_.)--Ah! you are wounded!
_Borgia_.--No, I tell you--'tis you who are so. Your voice is changed.
_Concini_, (_feeling his sword_.)--My blade smells of blood.
_Borgia_.--Mine is dabbled in it.
_Concini_.--Come then, if you are not--come and finish me.
_Borgia_, (_with triumph_.)--Finish! then you are wounded.
_Concini_, (_with a voice of despair_.)--Were I not, would I not
have already stabbed you twenty times over? But you are at least as
severely handled.
_Borgia_--It maybe so, or I should not be grovelling here.
_Concini_.--Shall we now have done?
_Borgia_, (_enraged_.)--Both wounded--yet both living!
_Concini_.--What avails the blood I have drawn, while a drop remains.
_Borgia_.--O! were I but beside thee! _Enter_ Vitry, _followed by the
Guards walking slowly. He holds the young_ Count de la Pene _by the
hand; the boy leads his sister_.
_Vitry_, (_a pistol in his hand_.)--Well, my child, which is your
father?
_Count de la Pene_.--Oh! protect him, sir,--that is he leaning against
the pillar.
_Vitry_, (_aloud_.)--Draw tip--remain at that gate--Guards! (_The
Guards advance with lanterns and flambeaux_.) Sir, I arrest you--your
sword.
_Concini_, (_thrusting at him_.)--Take it. (Vitry _fires his
pistol_--Du Hallier, D'Ornano, _and_ Person _fire at the same
time_--Concini _falls dead_.)
The malice of Du Luynes, the inveterate enemy of the D'Ancres, and
afterwards the minion of Louis, contrives that the Maréchale, in her
way to execution, shall be conducted to this scene, where her husband
lies dead, on the spot which had been stained with the blood of Henry,
like Caesar at the foot of Pompey's statue; and the play concludes
with her indignant and animated denunciation of this wretch, who
stands calm and triumphant, while the Maréchale exacts from her son,
over the body of Concini, an oath of vengeance against the destroyer
of her house."
* * * * *