A kindly friend, who balances my good

And bad together, as in truth he should,

If haply my good qualities prevail,

Inclines indulgent to the sinking scale:

For like indulgence let his friendship plead,

His merits be with equal measure weighed;

For he who hopes his wen shall not offend

Should overlook the pimples of his friend.

ON LOYALTY TO ABSENT FRIENDS

He who, malignant, tears an absent friend,

Or fails, when others blame him, to defend,

Who trivial bursts of laughter strives to raise

And courts for witty cynicism praise,

Who can, what he has never seen, reveal,

And friendship's secrets knows not to conceal--

Romans beware--that man is black of soul.

HORACE'S DEBT TO HIS FATHER

If some few trivial faults deform my soul

(Like a fair face, when spotted with a mole),

If none with avarice justly brand my fame,

With sordidness, or deeds too vile to name;

If pure and innocent; if dear (forgive

These little praises) to my friends I live,

My father was the cause, who, though maintained

By a lean farm but poorly, yet disdained

The country schoolmaster, to whose low care

The mighty captain sent his high-born heir,

With satchel, copy-book, and pelf to pay

The wretched teacher on the appointed day.

To Rome by this bold father was I brought,

To learn those arts which well-born youths are taught,

So dressed, and so attended, you would swear

I was some wealthy lord's expensive heir.

Himself my guardian, of unblemished truth,

Among my tutors would attend my youth,

And thus preserved my chastity of mind--

That prime of virtue in its highest kind.

HORACE'S HABITS IN THE CITY

Alone I saunter, as by fancy led,

I cheapen herbs, or ask the price of bread,

I watch while fortune-tellers fate reveal,

Then homeward hasten to my frugal meal,

Herbs, pulse, and pancakes (each a separate plate),

While three domestics at my supper wait.

A bowl on a white marble table stands,

Two goblets, and a ewer to wash my hands,

And hallowed cup of true Campanian clay

My pure libation to the gods to pay.

I then retire to rest, nor anxious fear

Before dread Marsyas early to appear.

I lie till ten; then take a walk, or choose

A book, perhaps, or trifle with the muse.

For cheerful exercise and manly toil

Anoint my body with the pliant oil--

Yet not with such as Natta's, when he vamps

His filthy limbs and robs the public lamps.

But when the sun pours down his fiercer fire,

And bids me from the toilsome sport retire,

I haste to bathe, and in a temperate mood

Regale my craving appetite with food

(Enough to nourish nature for a day);

Then trifle my domestic hours away.

Such is the life from bad ambition free;

Such comfort has one humble born like me:

With which I feel myself more truly blest,

Than if my sires the quæstor's power possessed.

FOOTNOTES:

[H] Horace (Q. Horatius Flaccus), who was born near Venusia,

in Apulia, in 65 B.C., and died in 8 B.C., was a southern Italian.

When twenty, Horace was a student of philosophy at Athens. A period

of poverty-stricken Bohemianism followed his return to Rome, till

acquaintance with Virgil opened a path into the circle of Mæcenas and

of the emperor. His literary career falls into three divisions--that

of his "Epodes" and "Satires," down to 30 B.C.; that of his lyrics,

down to 23 B.C., when the first three books of the "Odes" appeared;

and that of the reflective and literary "Epistles," which include

the famous "Art of Poetry," and, with sundry official odes, belong

to his later years. Horatian "satire," it should be observed, does

not imply ferocious personal onslaughts, but a miscellany containing

good-humoured ridicule of types, and lively sketches of character and

incident. So varied a performance as satirist, lyrist, moralist and

critic, coupled with his vivid interest in mankind, help to account for

the appeal which Horace has made to all epochs, countries, and ranks.

Of the translations of Horace here given, some are by Prof. Wight Duff,

and have been specially made for this selection, whilst a few are by

Milton, Dryden, Cowper, and Francis.

_Horace and the Bore_

SCENE.--_Rome, on the Sacred Way. The poet is walking down the street,

composing some trifle, in a brown study, when a person, known

to him only by name, rushes up and seises his hand_.

BORE (_effusively_): How d'ye do, my dear fellow?

HORACE (_politely_): Nicely at present. I'm at your service, sir.

(HORACE _walks on, and as the_ BORE _keeps following, tries to choke

him off_.) You don't want anything, do you?

BORE: You must make my acquaintance, I'm a savant.

HORACE: Then I'll think the more of you. (HORACE, _anxious to get

away, walks fast one minute, halts the next, whispers something to his

attendant slave, and is bathed in perspiration all over. Then, quietly

to himself_) Lucky Bolanus, with your hot temper!

BORE (_whose chatter on things in general, and about the streets of

Rome in particular, has been received with dead silence_): You're

frightfully keen to be off. I've noticed it all along. But it's no

good. I'm going to stick to you right through. I'll escort you from

here to your destination.

HORACE (_deprecatingly_): No need for you to make such a detour.

(_Inventing fibs as he goes along_) There's someone I want to look

up--a person you don't know, on the other side of the river--yes, far

away--he's confined to bed--near Cæsar's Park.

BORE: Oh, I've nothing to do, and I don't dislike exercise. I'll

follow you right there. (HORACE _is as crestfallen as a sulky donkey

when an extra heavy load is dumped upon its back. The_ BORE

_continues_) If I know myself, you'll not value Viscus more highly

as a friend, or Varius either; for who can write verses faster, and

more of them, than I can? Who's a greater master of deportment? As

for my singing, it's enough to make even Hermogenes jealous!

HORACE (_seizing the chance of interrupting_): Have you a mother--any

relatives to whom your health is of moment?

BORE: Not one left. I've laid them all to rest.

HORACE: Lucky people! Now I'm the sole survivor. Do for _me_! The

melancholy fate draws near which a fortune-telling Sabellian crone once

prophesied in my boyhood: "This lad neither dread poison nor hostile

sword shall take off, nor pleurisy, nor cough, nor crippling gout. A

chatterbox will one day be his death!"

BORE (_realising that, as it is the hour for opening the law course,

he must answer to his recognisances, or lose a suit to which he is a

party_): Oblige me with your assistance in court for a little.

HORACE: Deuce take me if I've strength to hang about so long, or know

any law. Besides, I'm hurrying, you know where.

BORE: I'm in a fix what to do--whether to give you up or my case.

HORACE: Me, please.

BORE: Shan't! (_Starts ahead of_ HORACE, _who, beaten at every point,

has to follow. The other opens conversation again_.) On what footing do

you and Mæcenas stand?

HORACE (_haughtily_): He has a select circle, and thoroughly sound

judgment.

BORE (_unimpressed_): Ah! No one ever made a smarter use of his

chances. You'd have a powerful supporter, a capable understudy, if

you'd agree to introduce your humble servant. Deuce take me if you

wouldn't clear everybody out of your way.

HORACE (_disgusted_): We don't live on the terms _you_ fancy. No

establishment is more honest than his, or more foreign to such

intrigues. It does me no harm, I tell you, because this one has more

money or learning than I. Everybody has his own place.

BORE: A tall story--hardly believable.

HORACE: A fact, nevertheless.

BORE: You fire my anxiety all the more to be one of his intimate

friends.

HORACE (_sarcastically_): You've only got to wish. Such are _your_

qualities, you'll carry him by storm.

BORE (_on whom the irony is lost_): I'll not fail myself. I'll bribe

his slaves. If I find the door shut in my face I'll not give up. I'll

watch for lucky moments. I'll meet him at street corners. I'll see him

home. Life grants man nothing without hard work.

[_Enter_ FUSCUS, _a friend of_ HORACE. _Knowing the_

BORE'S _ways, he reads the situation_. HORACE

_furtively tugs at_ FUSCUS'S _gown, pinches him,

nods and winks to_ FUSCUS _to rescue him_. FUSCUS

_smiles, and with a mischievous fondness for a joke,

pretends he does not understand_.

HORACE (_angry with_ Fuscus): Of course, you _did_ say you wanted to

talk over something with me in private.

FUSCUS: Ah, yes, I remember; but I'll tell you at a more convenient

season. (_Inventing an excuse with mock solemnity_.) To-day is the

"Thirtieth Sabbath." You wouldn't affront the circumcised Jews, would

you?

HORACE: I have no scruples.

FUSCUS: But _I_ have. I'm a slightly weaker brother--one, of many.

Pardon, I'll talk about it another time.

[_Exit, leaving_ HORACE _like a victim under the knife_.

HORACE (_to himself_): To think this day should have dawned so

black for me!

[_Suddenly enter the_ PLAINTIFF _in the suit against the_

BORE.

PLAINTIFF (_loudly to the_ BORE): Where are you off to, you

scoundrel? (_To_ HORACE) May I call you as a witness to his contempt

of court?

[HORACE _lets his ear be touched, according to legal form.

The_ BORE _is hauled away to court, he and the_ PLAINTIFF

_bawling at each other. The arrest attracts a large

crowd_.

HORACE (_quietly disappearing_): What an escape! Thank Apollo!

_The Art of Poetry_

UNITY AND SIMPLICITY ARE REQUISITE

Suppose a painter to a human head

Should join a horse's neck, and wildly spread

The various plumage of the feather'd kind

O'er limbs of different beasts, absurdly joined.

Or if he gave to view of beauteous maid

Above the waist with every charm arrayed,

But ending, fish-like, in a mermaid tail,

Could you to laugh at such a picture fail?

Such is the book that, like a sick man's dreams,

Varies all shapes, and mixes all extremes.

"Painters and poets our indulgence claim,

Their daring equal, and their art the same."

I own the indulgence, such I give and take;

But not through nature's sacred rules to break.

Your opening promises some grand design,

And purple patches with broad lustre shine

Sewed on the poem; here in laboured strain

A sacred grove, or fair Diana's fane

Rises to view; there through delightful meads

A murmuring stream its winding water leads.

Why will you thus a mighty vase intend,

If in a worthless bowl your labours end?

Then learn this wandering humour to control,

And keep one equal tenour through the whole.

THE FALSEHOOD OF EXTREMES IN STYLE

But oft our greatest errors take their rise

From our best views. I strive to be concise,

And prove obscure. My strength, or passion, flees,

When I would write with elegance and ease.

Aiming at greatness, some to fustian soar:

Some, bent on safety, creep along the shore.

Thus injudicious, while one fault we shun,

Into its opposite extreme we run.

CHOICE OF THEME

Examine well, ye writers, weigh with care,

What suits your genius, what your strength can bear;

For when a well-proportioned theme you choose,

Nor words, nor method shall their aid refuse.

WORDS OLD AND NEW

The author of a promised work must be

Subtle and careful in word-harmony.

To choose and to reject. You merit praise

If by deft linking of known words a phrase

Strikes one as new. Should unfamiliar theme

Need fresh-invented terms, proper will seem

Diction unknown of old. This licence used

With fair discretion never is refused.

As when the forest, with the bending year,

First sheds the leaves, which earliest appear,

So an old race of words maturely dies,

And some, new born, in youth and vigour rise.

Many shall rise which now forgotten lie;

Others, in present credit, soon shall die,

If custom will, whose arbitrary sway

Words and the forms of language must obey.

WORDS MUST SUIT CHARACTER

'Tis not enough, ye writers, that ye charm

With pretty elegance; a play should warm

With soft concernment--should possess the soul,

And, as it wills, the listeners control.

With those who laugh, our social joy appears;

With those who mourn, we sympathise in tears;

If you would have me weep, begin the strain,

Then I shall feel your sorrow, feel your pain;

But if your heroes act not what they say,

I sleep or laugh the lifeless scene away.

ON LITERARY BORROWING

If you would make a common theme your own,

Dwell not on incidents already known;

Nor word for word translate with painful care,

Nor be confined in such a narrow sphere.

ON BEGINNING A HEROIC POEM

Begin your work with modest grace and plain,

Not in the cyclic bard's bombastic strain:

"I chant the glorious war and Priam's fate----"

How will the boaster keep this ranting rate?

The mountains laboured with prodigious throes,

And lo! a mouse ridiculous arose.

Far better Homer, who tries naught in vain,

Opens his poem in a humbler strain:

"Muse, tell the many who after Troy subdued,

Manners and towns of various nations viewed."

Right to the great event he speeds his course,

And bears his readers, with impetuous force,

Into the midst of things, while every line

Opens by just degrees his whole design.

ACTION AND NARRATION IN PLAYS

The business of the drama must appear

In action or description. What we hear,

With slower passion to the heart proceeds

Than when an audience views the very deeds.

But let not such upon the stage be brought

Which better should behind the scenes be wrought;

Nor force the unwilling audience to behold

What may with vivid elegance be told.

Let not Medea with unnatural rage

Murder her little children on the stage.

GOOD SENSE A WELL-SPRING OF POETRY

Good sense, the fountain of the muse's art,

Let the strong page of Socrates impart;

For if the mind with clear conceptions glow,

The willing words in just expressions flow.

The poet who with nice discernment knows

What to his country and his friends he owes;

How various nature warms the human breast,

To love the parent, brother, friend, or guest;

What the high duties of our judges are,

Of senator or general sent to war;

He surely knows, with nice self-judging art,

The strokes peculiar to each different part.

Keep nature's great original in view,

And thence the living images pursue.

For when the sentiments and manners please,

And all the characters are wrought with ease,

Your play, though weak in beauty, force, and art,

More strongly shall delight, and warm the heart,

Than where a lifeless pomp of verse appears,

And with sonorous trifles charms our ears.

PERFECTION CANNOT BE EXPECTED

Where beauties in a poem faults outshine,

I am not angry if a casual line

(That with some trivial blot unequal flows)

A careless hand or human frailty shows.

Then shall I angrily see no excuse

If honest Homer slumber o'er his muse?

Yet surely sometimes an indulgent sleep

O'er works of length allowably may creep!

A HIGH STANDARD MUST BE EXACTED

In certain subjects, Piso, be assured,

Tame mediocrity may be endured.

But god, and man, and booksellers deny

A poet's right to mediocrity!

ARE POETS BORN OR MADE?

'Tis long disputed whether poems claim

From art or nature their best right to fame;

But art, if un-enriched by nature's vein,

And a rude genius of uncultured strain,

Are useless both: they must be fast combined

And mutual succour in each other find.

_Odes_

A DEDICATION

Mæcenas, sprung from regal line,

Bulwark and dearest glory mine!

Some love to stir Olympic dust

With glowing chariot-wheels which just

Avoid the goal, and win a prize

Fit for the rulers of the skies.

One joys in triple civic fame

Conferred by fickle Rome's acclaim;

Another likes from Libya's plain

To store his private barns with grain;

A third who, with unceasing toil,

Hoes cheerful the paternal soil,

No promised wealth of Attalus

Shall tempt to venture timorous

Sailing in Cyprian bark to brave

The terrors of Myrtoan wave.

Others in tented fields rejoice,

Trumpets and answering clarion-voice.

Be mine the ivy, fair reward,

Which blissful crowns the immortal bard;

Be mine amid the breezy grove,

In sacred solitude to rove--

To see the nymphs and satyrs bound,

Light dancing in the mazy round,

While all the tuneful muses join

Their various harmony divine.

Count me but in the lyric choir--

My crest shall to the stars aspire.

TO PYRRHA

What slender youth bedewed with liquid odours

Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,

Pyrrha? For whom bind'st thou

In wreaths thy golden hair,

Plain in thy neatness? Oh, how oft shall he

On faith and changed gods complain, and seas

Rough with black winds, and storms

Unwonted shall admire!

Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold,

Who always vacant, always amiable

Hopes thee, of flattering gales

Unmindful. Hapless they

To whom thou untried seem'st fair. Me, in my vowed

Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung

My dank and dropping weeds

To the stern god of sea.

WINTER CHEER

Seest thou yon mountain laden with deep snow

The groves beneath their fleecy burthen bow,

The streams congealed, forget to flow?

Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile

Of fuel on the hearth;

Broach the best cask and make old winter smile

With seasonable mirth.

This be our part--let Heaven dispose the rest;

If Jove commands, the winds shall sleep

That now wage war upon the foamy deep,

And gentle gales spring from the balmy west.

E'en let us shift to-morrow as we may:

When to-morrow's passed away,

We at least shall have to say,

We have lived another day;

Your auburn locks will soon be silvered o'er,

Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no more.

"GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY"

Secure those golden early joys,

That youth unsoured with sorrow bears,

Ere withering time the taste destroys

With sickness and unwieldy years.

For active sports, for pleasing rest,

This is the time to be possessed;

The best is but in season best.

The appointed tryst of promised bliss,

The pleasing whisper in the dark,

The half-unwilling willing kiss,

The laugh that guides thee to the mark,

When the kind nymph would coyness feign,

And hides but to be found again--

These, these are joys the gods for youth ordain.

GOD AND EMPEROR

Saturnian Jove, parent and guardian god

Of human kind, to thee the Fates award

The care of Cæsar's reign; to thine alone

Inferior, let his empire rise.

Whether the Parthian's formidable power

Or Indians or the Seres of the East,

With humbled pride beneath his triumph fall,

Wide o'er a willing world shall he

Contented rule, and to thy throne shall bend

Submissive. Thou in thy tremendous car

Shalt shake Olympus' head, and at our groves

Polluted hurl thy dreadful bolts.

THE STRENGTH OF INNOCENCE

The man of life, unstained and free from craft,

Ne'er needs, my Fuscus, Moorish darts to throw;

He needs no quiver filled with venomed shaft,

Nor e'er a bow.

Whether he fare thro' Afric's boiling shoals,

Or o'er the Caucasus inhospitable,

Or where the great Hydaspes river rolls,

Renowned in fable.

Once in a Sabine forest as I strayed

Beyond my boundary, by fancy charmed,

Singing my Lalage, a wolf, afraid,

Shunned me unarmed.

The broad oak-woods of hardy Daunia,

Rear no such monster mid their fiercest scions,

Nor Juba's arid Mauretania,

The nurse of lions.

Set me where, in the heart of frozen plains,

No tree is freshened by a summer wind,

A quarter of the globe enthralled by rains,

And Jove unkind;

Or set me 'neath the chariot of the Sun,

Where, overnear his fires, no homes may be;

I'll love, for her sweet smile and voice, but one--

My Lalage.

TRANQUILLITY

Should fortune frown, live thou serene;

Nor let thy spirit rise too high,

Though kinder grown she change the scene;

Bethink thee, Delius, thou must die.

Whether thy slow days mournful pass,

Or swiftly joyous fleet away,

While thou reclining on the grass

Dost bless with wine the festal day.

Where poplar white and giant pine

Ward off the inhospitable beam;

Where their luxuriant branches twine,

Where bickers down its course the stream,

Here bid them perfumes bring, and wine,

And the fair rose's short-lived flower,

While youth and fortune and the twine

Spun by the Sisters, grant an hour.

We all must tread the path of Fate,

And ever shakes the fateful urn,

Whose lot embarks us, soon or late,

On Charon's boat--beyond return.

TO A FAIR DECEIVER

Did any punishment attend

Thy former perjuries,

I should believe a second time,

Thy charming flatteries:

Did but one wrinkle mark thy face

Or hadst thou lost one single grace.

No sooner hast thou, with false vows,

Provoked the powers above,

But thou art fairer than before,

And we are more in love.

Thus Heaven and Earth seem to declare

They pardon falsehood in the fair.

The nymphs, and cruel Cupid too,

Sharpening his pointed dart

On an old home besmeared with blood,

Forbear thy perjured heart.

Fresh youth grows up to wear thy chains,

And the old slave no freedom gains.

THE GOLDEN MEAN

The man who follows Wisdom's voice,

And makes the Golden Mean his choice,

Nor plunged in squalid gloomy cells

Midst hoary desolation dwells;

Nor to allure the envious eye

Rears a proud palace to the sky;

The man whose steadfast soul can bear

Fortune indulgent or severe,

Hopes when she frowns, and when she smiles

With cautious fear eludes her wiles.

TO THE FOUNTAIN OF BANDUSIA

Bandusia's Well, that crystal dost outshine,

Worthy art thou of festal wine and wreath!

An offered kid to-morrow shall be thine,

Whose swelling brows his earliest horns unsheath.

And mark him for the feats of love and strife.

In vain: for this same youngling from the fold

Of playful goats shall with his crimson life

Incarnadine thy waters fresh and cold.

The blazing Dog-star's unrelenting hour

Can touch thee not: to roaming herd or bulls

O'erwrought by plough, thou giv'st a shady bower,

Thou shalt be one of Earth's renowned pools!

For I shall sing thy grotto ilex-crowned,

Whence fall thy waters of the babbling sound.

TO THE GOD FAUNUS

O Faun-god, wooer of each nymph that flees,

Come, cross my land! Across those sunny leas,

Tread thou benign, and all my flock's increase

Bless ere thou go.

In each full year a tender kid be slain,

If Venus' mate, the bowl, be charged amain

With wine, and incense thick the altar stain

Of long ago.

The herds disport upon the grassy ground,

When in thy name December's Nones come round;

Idling on meads the thorpe, with steers unbound,

Its joys doth show.

Amid emboldened lambs the wolf roams free;

The forest sheds its leafage wild for thee;

And thrice the delver stamps his foot in glee

On earth, his foe.

AN ENVOI

Now have I reared memorial to last

More durable than brass, and to o'ertop

The pile of royal pyramids. No waste

Of rain or ravening Boreas hath power

To ruin it, nor lapse of time to come

In the innumerable round of years.

I shall not wholly die; great part of me

Shall 'scape the Funeral Goddess. Evermore

Fresh shall my honours grow, while pontiffs still

Do climb the Capitol with silent maid.

It shall be told where brawls the Aufidus

In fury, and where Daunus poor in streams

Once reigned o'er rural tribes, it shall be told

That Horace rose from lowliness to fame

And first adapted to Italian strains

The Æolian lay. Assume the eminence,

My own Melpomene, which merit won,

And deign to wreath my hair in Delphic bays.

VICTOR HUGO[I]

Hernani

_Persons in the Drama_

HERNANI A MOUNTAINEER

CHARLES V. OF SPAIN A PAGE

DON RICARDO SOLDIERS

DON RUY GOMEZ CONSPIRATORS

DOÑA SOL RETAINERS

Date of action, 1519.

ACT I

SCENE--KING CHARLES _and some of his noblemen are creeping into the

courtyard of the palace of_ DON RUY GOMEZ DE SILVA _at Saragossa.

It is midnight, and the palace is dark, save for a dim light

coming from a balcony window_.

THE KING: Here will I wait till Doña Sol comes down.

Guard every entrance. And if Hernani

Attempts to fight you need not kill the man.

Brigand although he is, he shall go free,

If I can win his lady.

DON RICARDO: Shoot the hawk

If you would keep the dove. The mountaineer

Is a most desperate outlaw.

THE KING: Let him live.

If I were not so passionately in love

With Doña Sol I would help Hernani

To rescue her from her old guardian.

To think that Don Ruy Gomez should have kept

So beautiful a girl a prisoner,

And tried to marry her! Had Hernani

Eloped with her before I fell in love

I would have praised his courage.

[_The balcony window opens, and as the noblemen retire_,

DOÑA SOL _comes down_.

DOÑA SOL: Hernani!

THE KING (_holding her_): Sweet Doña Sol.

DOÑA SOL: Oh, where is Hernani?

THE KING: I am the king, King Charles. I worship you,

And I will make you happy.

DOÑA SOL: Hernani!

Help! Help me, Hernani! [_She tries to escape_.

THE KING: I am your king!

I love you, Doña Sol. Come, you shall be

A duchess.

DOÑA SOL: No.

THE KING: Princess.

DOÑA SOL: No.

THE KING: Queen of Spain!

Yes; I will marry you if you will come.

DOÑA SOL: I cannot; I love Hernani.

THE KING: That brigand is not worthy of you. A throne

Is waiting. If you will not come with me,

My men must carry you away by force.

[_While he is talking_ HERNANI _appears_.

HERNANI: King Charles, you are a coward and a cur!

DOÑA SOL (_clasping him_): Save me!

HERNANI: I will, my love.

THE KING: Where are my men?

HERNANI: In my hands. I have sixty followers

Waiting out there. And now a word with you.

Your father killed my father; you have stolen

My lands and titles from me; and I vowed

To kill you.

THE KING: Titles? Lands? Who are you, then?

HERNANI: But meeting Doña Sol, I lost all thought

Of vengeance. Now I come to rescue her,

And find you in my path again--a wretch

Using his strength against a helpless girl.

Quick! Draw your sword, and prove you are a man!

THE KING: I am your king. I shall not fight with you.

Strike if you want to murder me.

HERNANI: You think

I hold with the divinity of kings?

Now, will you fight?

[_Striking him with the flat of his sword_.

THE KING: I will not. Murder me,

You bandit, as you murder every man

That you desire to rob! Cross swords with you?

A common thief? No; get to your trade.

Creep round; assassinate me from behind!

[KING CHARLES _fixes his fierce, hawk-like eyes on the

young brigand._ HERNANI _recoils, lowers his sword;

then, moved beyond himself by the strength of character

displayed by_ THE KING, _he breaks his blade on the

pavement._

HERNANI: Be off, then.

THE KING: Very well, sir. I shall set

A price upon your head, and hound you down.

HERNANI: I cannot kill you now, with Doña Sol

Looking at us. But I will keep my vow

When next we meet.

THE KING: Never shall you obtain

Mercy, respite, or pardon at my hands.

[_He departs._

DOÑA SOL: Now let us fly.

HERNANI: No; I must go alone.

It means death! Did you see King Charles's face?

It means death. Oh, my love, my sweet, true love!

You would have shared with me the wild, rough life

I lead up in the mountains: the green couch

Beneath the trees, the water from the brook.

But now I shall be hunted down and killed.

You must not come. Good-bye.

DOÑA SOL: Oh, Hernani!

Will you leave me like this?

HERNANI: No, I will stay!

Fold your arms closely round me, love, and rest

Your dear head on my shoulder. Let us talk

In whispers, as we used to, when I came

At night beneath your window. Do you still

Remember our first meeting?

[_There is a clash of bells._

DOÑA SOL: Hernani,

It is the tocsin!

HERNANI: No; our wedding-bells.

[_Shouts are heard. Lights appear in all the windows.

The noise of the bells grows louder. A mountaineer

runs in, with his sword drawn._

THE MOUNTAINEER: The streets are filled with soldiers.

DOÑA SOL: Save yourself!

Here is a side gate.

THE CROWD (_out in the street_): Bring the brigand out!

HERNANI: One kiss, then, and farewell.

DOÑA SOL (_embracing him_): It is our first.

HERNANI: And it may be our last. Farewell, my love!

ACT II

SCENE--DON RUY GOMEZ, _an old, grey-haired, but superb-looking man, is

standing in the hall of his castle in the Aragon mountains._

DON RUY GOMEZ: Only an hour, and then she is my wife!

I have been jealous and unjust, and used

Some violence. But now she is my bride

She shall know how a man can love.

[_A_ PAGE _enters._

PAGE: My lord,

There is a pilgrim at the gate, who craves

For shelter.

DON RUY GOMEZ: Let him in. On this glad day

Give friend or stranger welcome. Is there news

Of Hernani?

PAGE: King Charles has routed him

And killed him, so they say.

DON RUY GOMEZ: Thank Heaven for that!

My cup of happiness is full. Run, boy!

Bid Doña Sol put on her wedding-gown,

And as you go admit my pilgrim guest.

[_The_ PAGE _retires._

Would I could let the whole world see my joy!

[HERNANI _enters, disguised as a pilgrim._

HERNANI: To you, my lord, all peace and happiness!

DON RUY GOMEZ: And peace and happiness to you, my guest!

Where are you bound for?

HERNANI: For Our Lady's shrine.

[DOÑA SOL _enters, arrayed in a wedding-dress._

DON RUY GOMEZ: Here is the lady at whose shrine I pray.

My dearest bride! Where is your coronet?

You have forgotten it, and all the gems

I gave you as a wedding gift.

HERNANI (_in a wild, loud voice_): What man

Wishes to gain ten thousand golden crowns?

This is the price set upon Hernani.

[_Everyone is amazed. Tearing off his pilgrim robe, he

shows himself in the dress of a mountaineer._

I am Hernani.

DOÑA SOL: Ah! he is not dead!

HERNANI: Ten thousand crowns for me!

DON RUY GOMEZ: The sum is great.

I am not sure of all my men.

HERNANI: Which one

Will sell me to King Charles? Will you? Will you?

[_The retainers move away from him._ DOÑA SOL _makes

an imploring gesture; she is speechless with fear._

DON RUY GOMEZ: My friend, you are my guest, and I will slay

The man that dare lay hands on you. I come

Of noble race. And were you Hernani

Or Satan, I would keep the sacred law

Of hospitality. My honour is

A thing I prize above all else on earth,

And King Charles shall not stain it while I live!

Come, men, and arm, and close the castle gate.

[_He goes out, followed by all his retainers._ DOÑA SOL

_remains, her face white with anguish._ HERNANI

_glares at her_.

HERNANI: So he has bought you, this old wealthy man!

Bought you outright!

Oh, God, how false and vain

All women are!

DOÑA SOL: When I refused the throne

Offered me by King Charles, was I then false?

Is this an ornament vain women wear

Upon their wedding day?

[_She takes a dagger from her bosom._

Oh, Hernani,

They told me you were killed! I have been dressed

For marriage, but against the bridal night

I kept this dagger.

HERNANI: Slay me with it, love!

I am unworthy of you! Blind and mad

Was I to doubt the sweetest, bravest soul

That ever walked in beauty on this earth.

DOÑA SOL (_clasping him in her arms_): My hero and my lover,

and my lord,

Love me, and love me always!

HERNANI: Unto death.

[_As he embraces her,_ DON RUY GOMEZ _enters._

DON RUY GOMEZ: Judas!

HERNANI: Yes. Draw your sword and take my life.

But spare your bride, for she is innocent.

I came to carry her away, but she

Refused to follow me.

DOÑA SOL: It is not true.

I love him. Slay us both, or pardon us!

DON RUY GOMEZ: You love him, Doña Sol? Then he must die.

[_There is a sound of trumpets outside. A_ PAGE _enters._

THE PAGE: His Majesty King Charles is at the gate,

With all his army.

DON RUY GOMEZ: Open to the king!

DOÑA SOL: Nothing can save him now!

[DON RUY GOMEZ _presses a spring in the wall, and a

door opens into a hiding-place._

DON RUY GOMEZ (_to_ HERNANI): Here you are safe.

HERNANI: Surrender me! I am a prisoner now,

And not a guest.

[_He enters the hiding-place._ DON RUY GOMEZ _closes it._

THE PAGE: His Majesty, the King!

[KING CHARLES _enters, followed by his soldiers._ DOÑA

SOL _covers herself hastily in her bridal veil._

THE KING (_to the soldiers_): Seize all the keys, and guard the gates!

(_To_ DON RUY GOMEZ) My lord,

I hear that you are sheltering my foe,

The brigand Hernani.

DON RUY GOMEZ: Sire, that is true.

THE KING: I want his head--or yours.

DON RUY GOMEZ: He is my guest.

I come of men who are not used to sell

The head of any guest, even to their king.

THE KING: Why, man, he is your rival! You resolved

To help me hunt him down. You gave your word.

DON RUY GOMEZ: But now he is my guest.

THE KING: He shall be found,

Though every stone in all your castle walls

Fall ere I find him.

DON RUY GOMEZ: Raze my castle, then;

I cannot play the traitor.

THE KING: Well, two heads

Are better, some men say, than one. My lord,

I must have yours as well as Hernani's.

Arrest this man!

[_As the soldiers come forward_, DOÑA SOL _throws up her

veil and strides up hastily to_ KING CHARLES.

DOÑA SOL: You are a wicked and cruel king!

THE KING: What? Doña Sol? (_In a whisper_)

It is my love for you

That stirs in me this passion. You alone

Can calm it. (To DON RUY GOMEZ)

Until you deliver up

Hernani, I shall keep your lovely ward

As hostage.

DOÑA SOL (_taking the dagger, and hiding it again in

her bosom_): It will save him! I must go!

[_She goes up to_ KING CHARLES _and he leads her out._

DON RUY GOMEZ _runs to the wall to press the

spring._ DOÑA SOL _turns as she passes through the

door, and stops him by a wild glance. He waits,

with heaving breast, till the hall is empty, and then

lets_ HERNANI _out._

DON RUY GOMEZ: The king is gone. Here are two swords. Now fight.

HERNANI: No! You have saved me! No. I cannot fight.

My life belongs to you. But ere I die

Let me see Doña Sol.

DON RUY GOMEZ: Did you not hear

What happened? Till I give you up, King Charles

Holds her as hostage.

HERNANI: Fool! He loves her.

DON RUY GOMEZ: Quick!

Call up my men! To horse! Pursue the king!

HERNANI: Leave it to me. I will avenge us both.

My way is best--a dagger in the dark.

Let us go forth on foot and track him down.

DON RUY GOMEZ: And when your rival dies?

HERNANI (_taking a horn from his belt_): Then claim your debt!

My life belongs to you. At any time

You wish to take it, sound upon this horn,

And I will kill myself.

DON RUY GOMEZ: Your hand on it!

ACT III

SCENE--CHARLES OF SPAIN, _who has just been elected Emperor of the

Holy Roman Empire, is kneeling by the tomb of Charlemagne in the

underground vault at Aix-la-Chapelle._

CHARLES: O mighty architect of Christendom,

Inspire me now to carry on thy work!

Ah, let me with the lightning of thy sword

Smite the rebellious people down, and make

Their kings my footstool! Warrior of God!

Give me the power to subjugate and weld

The warring races in a hierarchy

Of Christian government throughout the world!

[_The tramp of many feet is heard._

Here my assassins come! Oh, let me creep,

Thou mighty spirit, into thy great tomb!

Counsel me from thy ashes; speak to me;

Instruct me how to rule with a strong hand,

And punish these wild men as they deserve!

[_He hides in the tomb: the_ CONSPIRATORS _enter._

THEIR LEADER: Since Charles of Spain aims at a tyranny,

We, whom he threatens with his power, must use

The only weapon of defence still left--

Assassination! Here, before the tomb

Of Charlemagne, let us decide by lot

On whom the noble task shall fall to strike

The tyrant down.

[_The_ CONSPIRATORS _write their names on pieces of

parchment, and throw them into an urn. They kneel

down in silent prayer. Then their leader draws one

of the names._

THE CONSPIRATORS: Who is it?

THEIR LEADER: Hernani.

HERNANI: I have won! I hold thee now at last!

DON RUY GOMEZ: No, I must strike the blow! Take back your life,

Take Doña Sol, but let me strike the blow!

[_He offers_ HERNANI _the horn._

HERNANI: No! I have more than you have to avenge.

THEIR LEADER: Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, you shall strike

The second blow if the first fail. And now

Let us all swear to strike and die in turn,

Until Charles falls.

THE CONSPIRATORS: We swear!

CHARLES (_coming out of the tomb_): You are dead men.

[_The great vault is lighted up by torches, and a band of

soldiers who have been hiding behind the pillars

surround the_ CONSPIRATORS.

CHARLES (_to a soldier_): Bring in the lady. (_To_ HERNANI)

What is your true name?

HERNANI: I will reveal it now that I must die.

Don Juan of Aragon, Duke of Segorbe,

Duke of Cardona, Marquis of Monroy,

Count Albatera, and Viscount of Gor,

And lord of scores of towns and villages

Whose names I have forgotten. You, no doubt,

Remember all of them, Charles of Castile,

For they belong to you now.

[_The soldier returns with_ DOÑA SOL. _She throws herself

at the emperor's feet_.

DOÑA SOL: Pardon him!

CHARLES: Rise, Duchess of Segorbe and Cardona.

Marquise of Monroy--and your other names, Don Juan?

HERNANI: Who is speaking thus--the king?

CHARLES: No. It is the emperor. He is a man

Different from the king (_turning to the astonished_ CONSPIRATORS);

and he will win

Your loyalty, my friends, and your good aid,

If God in His great mercy will but guide

His erring feet along the pathway trod

By Charlemagne. Don Juan of Aragon,

Forgive me, and receive now from my hands

A wife full worthy of you, Doña Sol.

[_The two lovers kneel at his feet. Taking from his neck

the Golden Fleece, he puts it on_ HERNANI.

THE SPECTATORS: Long live the emperor.

DON RUY GOMEZ: I have the horn.

ACT IV

SCENE--_A terrace by the palace of Aragon. It is midnight, and the

guests are departing from the marriage feast of_ HERNANI

_and_ DOÑA SOL.

DOÑA SOL: At last, my husband, we are left alone.

How glad I am the feast and noise is done--

Are over.

HERNANI: I, too, am weary of the loud, wild joy.

Happiness is a deep and quiet thing,

As deep and grave and quiet as true love.

DOÑA SOL: Yes, happiness and love are like a strain

Of calm and lovely music. Hernani,

Listen! (_The sound of a mountain horn floats on the air._)

It is some mountaineer that plays

Upon your silver horn. [HERNANI _staggers back._

HERNANI: The tiger comes!

The old, grey tiger! Look! In the shadows there!

DOÑA SOL: What is it frightens you?

[_The horn sounds again._

HERNANI: He wants my blood! I cannot!

[DON RUY GOMEZ _enters, playing on the horn like a madman._

DON RUY GOMEZ: So you have not kept your word.

"My life belongs to you. At any time

You wish to take it, sound upon this horn

And I will kill myself." You are forsworn!

HERNANI: I have no weapon on me.

DON RUY GOMEZ (_offering a dagger and a phial_):

Which of these

Do you prefer?

HERNANI: The poison.

DOÑA SOL: Are you mad?

HERNANI: He saved my life at Aragon. I gave

My word of honour I would kill myself

When he desired.

[_He raises the phial to his lips, but his wife wrests it

from him._

DOÑA SOL (_to her guardian_): Why do you desire

To kill my husband?

DON RUY GOMEZ: I have sworn no man

Shall marry you but me. I keep my oath!

[_With a wild gesture_ DOÑA SOL _drinks half of the

poison, and hands_ HERNANI _the rest._

DOÑA SOL: You are two cruel men. Drink, Hernani,

And let us go to sleep!

HERNANI (_emptying the phial_): Kiss me, my sweet.

It is our bridal night.

DOÑA SOL (_falling beside him on the ground_): Fold me, my love,

Close in your arms. [_They die._

DON RUY GOMEZ: Oh, I am a lost soul!

[_He kills himself._

FOOTNOTES:

[I] Victor Hugo (see Vol. V, p. 122) occupies an anomalous

position among the great dramatists of the world. He is really a poet

with a splendid lyrical inspiration; but he combines this in his plays

with an acquired but effective talent for stage-craft. "Hernani" is the

most famous play in the European literature of the nineteenth century.

This is partly due to the fact that it was the first great romantic

drama given on the French stage. When it was produced, on February 25,

1830, there was a fierce battle in the theatre between the followers

of the new movement and the adherents of the classic school of French

playwriting. Little of the play itself was heard on the first night.

The voices of the players were drowned in a storm of denunciations

from the classicists, and counter-cheers from the romanticists. The

admirers of Victor Hugo won. "Hernani" is certainly the most romantic

of romantic dramas. The plot is striking, and full of swift and

astonishing changes, but the characters are not always true to life.

Nevertheless, "Hernani" is a fine, interesting, poetic melodrama, with

a rather weak last act. The gloomy scene with which it closes lacks

the inevitability of true tragedy. Had the play ended happily it would

undoubtedly have retained its popularity.

Marion de Lorme[J]

_Persons in the Drama_

MARION DE LORME

DIDIER

LOUIS XIII.

THE MARQUIS DE SAVERNY

THE MARQUIS DE NANGIS

THE COMTE DE GASSE

BRICHANTEAU

L'ANGELY, _the King's Jester_

ROCHEBARON LAFFEMAS

TOWN CRIER HEADSMAN TWO WORKMEN

SOLDIERS, OFFICIALS, _and a crowd of people_

ACT I

SCENE--_A street in Blois in 1638. Some officers are sitting in the

twilight outside a tavern, chatting, smoking, and drinking. They

rise up to welcome the_ COMTE DE GASSE.

BRICHANTEAU: You come to Blois to join the regiment?

We all condole with you. What is the news

From Paris?

GASSE: The duel has come in again. Richelieu

Is furious.

ROCHEBARON: That's no news. We duel here,

To pass the time away.

GASSE: But have you heard

Of the incredible, mysterious flight

Of Marion de Lorme?

BRICHANTEAU: We have some news,

Gasse, for you. Marion is here.

GASSE: At Blois? You jest! The Queen of Beauty? Marion

In a place like this?

BRICHANTEAU: Saverny was attacked

Last night by footpads. They were killing him,

When a man beat them off, and took our friend

Into a house.

GASSE: But Marion de Lorme?

BRICHANTEAU: It was her house. Saverny's rescuer

Was the young man with whom she is in love.

ROCHEBARON: What is the man like?

BRICHANTEAU: Ask Saverny that.

THE TOWN CRIER (_arriving with a crowd_):

"Ordinance. Louis, by the grace of God,

King of France and Navarre, unto all men,

To whom these presents come, greeting! We will,

Ordain, and rule, henceforward, that all men,

Nobles or commoners, who break the law

By duelling, whether one survive or two,

Shall be hanged by the neck till they are dead.

Such is our good pleasure."

GASSE: Hang us like thieves.

[_Two officers of the town fix the edict to the wall, and

the_ CRIER _and the crowd depart._ SAVERNY _enters.

The street grows dark._

SAVERNY: Fair Marion de Lorme has left her house.

I cannot find her.

GASSE: What was the man like?

SAVERNY: I do not know. On entering the house

I recognised sweet Marion, and began

To speak to her. Before I could turn round

And thank the man to whom I owed my life,

He knocked the candle over. I withdrew,

Seeing I was not wanted. All I know

Is that his name is Didier.

ROCHEBARON: It smacks

Of vulgar origin. To think a man

With such a name should carry Marion off--

Marion, the queen of beauty and of love!

SAVERNY: There may be men with greater names, but none

With greater hearts. To leap from Marion's arms,

And fight with footpads for a stranger's life!

The thing's heroic! I owe Didier

A debt that I would pay, if need there was,

With all my blood. I wish he were my friend!

[L'ANGELY, _the King's jester--a mournful-looking

creature--comes and sits with the officers. He is

followed by a tall, pale, handsome young man. It

is_ DIDIER.

DIDIER: The Marquis of Saverny! So the fop

Called himself. Oh, the easy, impudent air

With which he spoke to Marie! And I saved

The creature's life. If I meet him again----

GASSE: Saverny!

DIDIER: Here's my man.

GASSE: Have you observed

The edict against duelling, on pain

Of hanging?

SAVERNY: Hanging? Hang a gentleman?

You jest! That is a punishment for serfs.

BRICHANTEAU: Well, read the edict underneath the lamp.

SAVERNY (_annoyed at_ DIDIER _for staring at him_):

Go, read it for me, pale face!

DIDIER: I?

SAVERNY: Yes, you.

DIDIER (_rising_): It is an ordinance that punishes

By gibbeting all squabbling noblemen.

Having done all you wanted, may I claim

A slight reward? Will you now fight with me?

SAVERNY: Certainly. Where?

DIDIER: Here. Who will lend a sword?

L'ANGELY: For this wild folly, take a fool's sword, friend,

And in exchange, bequeath to me, for luck,

The bit of rope that hangs you.

DIDIER (_taking his sword_): Now, marquis!

SAVERNY: Sir, at your service.

DIDIER: Guard!

[_As their swords clash,_ MARION DE LORME _appears._

MARION (_seeing_ DIDIER _fighting_): Stop! Help! Help! Help!

[_In answer to her cries the town guard arrive._

THE CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD: Down with your swords! What! Duelling beneath

The edict of the king! You are dead men.

[DIDIER _and_ SAVERNY _are disarmed and led away._

MARION: What has he done?

[L'ANGELY _points to the edict: she reads it._

Oh, when I called for help

Death came! Is there no way to rescue him?

The king is kind at heart, he will forgive----

L'ANGELY: But Richelieu will not! He loves red blood,

The scarlet cardinal, he loves red blood!

MARION: You frighten me! Who are you?

L'ANGELY: The king's fool.

MARION: Ah, Didier! If a woman's feeble hand

Can save you, mine shall do it! [_She departs_.

L'ANGELY (_picking up the sword he lent to_ Didier):

Ha! Ha! Ha!

It was not I that played the fool to-night!

ACT II

SCENE--_A hall in the castle of Chambord._ KING LOUIS XIII.,

_a grey-haired, weak-minded man, is sitting, pale and

sorrowful, in a chair of state._ L'ANGELY _stands beside him._

THE KING: Oh, it is miserable to be a king

That lives but does not govern. Richelieu

Is killing all my friends. I sometimes think

He wants their blood to dye his scarlet robes.

L'ANGELY: He works for France, sire----

THE KING: Yes, and for himself.

I hate him. Never did a king of France

Govern with so tyrannical a hand

As he now does. A single word from me

And all his pomp and splendour, all his power,

Would vanish. But I cannot say the word;

He will not let me. Come, amuse me, fool!

L'ANGELY: Is not life, sire, a thing of bitterness?

THE KING: It is. Man is a shadow.

L'ANGELY: And a king

The miserablest creature on this earth.

THE KING: It gives me pleasure when you speak like that.

I wish that I were dead. In all the world

You are the only man I ever found

Worth listening to. I often wonder why

You care to live. What are you? A poor fool--

A puppet that I jerk to make me laugh.

L'ANGELY: I live on out of curiosity.

The puppet of the king, I sit and watch

The antics of the puppet of the priest!

THE KING: Yes, that is what I am. You speak the truth.

Could Satan not become a cardinal,

And take possession of my very soul?

L'ANGELY: I think that's what has happened.

THE KING: He loves blood,

The cardinal! It was the Huguenots

Yesterday that he wanted to behead,

And now it is the duellists. Blood! Blood!

He cannot live unless he lives in blood.

[L'ANGELY _makes a sign._ MARION DE LORME _and the_

MARQUIS DE NANGIS _enter._

MARION: Pardon!

THE KING: For whom?

MARION: Didier.

NANGIS: And the Marquis of Saverny.

They are two boys of twenty years of age--

Two children--they were quarrelling, when some spies

Posted by Richelieu ...

MARION: Pardon them, my king!

You will have pity on them. Two young boys,

Caught in a boyish quarrel! No blood shed.

You will not kill my Didier for that!

You will not! Oh, you will not!

THE KING (_wiping the tears from his eyes_): Richelieu

Has ordered that all duellists be hanged.

You make my head ache. Go. Leave me!

It must be so, for he has ordered it.

[L'ANGELY _signs to_ MARION _to hide herself in the dark

hall. She does so._ NANGIS _goes out._

THE KING (_yawning_): I wish they would not come and worry me.

Amuse me, L'Angely, for I am sad.

Can you not talk to me of death again?

That is a pleasant subject. Your gay talk

Alone enables me to bear with life.

L'ANGELY: Sire, I have come to say farewell to you.

THE KING: Farewell? You cannot leave me! Only death

Can end your service to a king.

L'ANGELY: 'Tis death

That ends it. You condemn me to be hanged,

Since you refuse to pardon those two boys.

For it was I who made them fight. I lent

My sword to Didier.

THE KING (_sadly_): Oh, my poor fool!

So they will break your neck as well! Farewell!

Life will be dull without you. When you die,

L'Angely, come and tell me how it feels,

If you can, as some dead men do return

In ghostly form to earth.

L'ANGELY (_to himself_): A pleasant task!

THE KING: No! It would frighten me if you came back.

You must not die. L'Angely, do you think

That I could master Richelieu, if I wished?

L'ANGELY: Try!

THE KING: Some paper!

[L'ANGELY _gives him some; he hurriedly scrawls a few

words, and hands the writing to the fool._

I have pardoned all of you.

L'ANGELY (_running to_ MARION): Here is the pardon.

Thank the king for it.

THE KING (_as_ MARION _throws herself at his feet_):

I must not! Give the paper back to me!

Richelieu will be angry.

MARION (_thrusting the pardon in her bosom_): You must tear

My heart out ere you take it from me, sire!

THE KING (_lowering his eyes, dazzled by her beauty_):

Are you a sorceress? You frighten me!

Keep it and go!

MARION (_as she departs_): My Didier is saved!

THE KING: At last I have shown Cardinal Richelieu

That I am King of France--

L'ANGELY: Who in a fright

Made a mistake, and once did what was right!

ACT III

SCENE--_A field by the castle of Beaugenoy. A great gap has been made

in the outer wall, through which looms the castle-keep. Two

workmen are covering the gap with a vast black cloth._

A WORKMAN: If they would hang the two young gentlemen

Outside the wall, the cardinal could see

The execution without breaking down

The ramparts in this way.

HIS MATE: Could he not come

Through the great gate?

A WORKMAN: What! In a litter borne

By four-and twenty men? No! Richelieu

Travels in greater state than any king.

He enters, like a conqueror, through the breach

Made in the castles of our noblemen.

He means to kill them all, they say.

HIS MATE: And now

He comes in his great litter through this wall,

To see these poor boys hanged? What cruelty!

A WORKMAN: Now come and see the gallows we have built.

[_As they depart,_ MARION _arrives at the castle gate. She

knocks, but before the door opens,_ LAFFEMAS,

RICHELIEU'S _agent, gallops up._

MARION: An order from the king.

THE GATEKEEPER: You cannot pass.

LAFFEMAS: An order from the cardinal.

THE GATEKEEPER: Pass in.

MARION: I have a pardon for two prisoners!

LAFFEMAS: And I the document revoking it!

The cardinal is coming here to-night

To see the execution. It is fixed

For nine o'clock.

MARION: Then there is no more hope!

Oh, God! Oh, God! My Didier must die!

Nothing can save him!

LAFFEMAS: You can, Marion.

Yes, you can still! I will let Didier escape

If, Marion, you will----

MARION: No!

LAFFEMAS: Then he dies!

MARION: And if he lives, I lose him. (_A long silence._)

He shall live.

[_She goes into the castle with_ LAFFEMAS. DIDIER _and_

SAVERNY _appear, guarded by the jailer and his men.

It is now night._

THE JAILER (_in a whisper to_ SAVERNY): You can

escape. The Marquis of Nangis

Has made all preparations for the flight.

SAVERNY: For both of us?

THE JAILER: No; only you. And that

May cost me my own life.

SAVERNY: Well, save my friend.

THE JAILER: I cannot.

SAVERNY: Then I must remain with him.

(_To_ DIDIER) They will hang us, friend, to-night.

* * * * *

DIDIER: Are you sure,

Saverny, she is Marion de Lorme?

On your honour, are you sure?

SAVERNY: Yes, I am.

I cannot understand you, Didier.

Are you not proud to think that you have made

So great a conquest?

DIDIER: And I thought she was

As innocent as she was beautiful!

SAVERNY: She loves you. You should be content with that.

You will not die while Marion de Lorme

Lives. And I hope that she will not forget

I am your friend, but come and save me, too.

[_It grows darker_ SAVERNY _falls asleep._ MARION

_comes out of the gate carrying a bundle, and

accompanied by_ DIDIER.

MARION: Put on these clothes. Richelieu has arrived;

Can you not hear the guns announcing him?

DIDIER: Raise your eyes! Raise your eyes, and look at me!

What sort of man, think you, am I? A fool,

Or libertine?

MARION (_trembling, as she fixes her eyes passionately

on his_): I love you Didier,

More than my life. Your eyes are terrible.

What have I done? Am I not your Marie?

DIDIER: Marie? Or Marion de Lorme?

MARION: Didier,

Forgive me! I--I--meant to tell you all.

I feared to lose you if you learnt my name.

You had redeemed me by your love. I longed

To raise all memories of my former self,

And live a new life with you, Didier.

For, oh, I love you, and I love you still,

Deeply and truly! Didier, be kind,

Or you will kill me!

DIDIER: How have you obtained

This favour for me? Why is Laffemas

Risking his neck by letting me escape?

MARION: Not now! I cannot tell you now!

Fly! Fly!

Hark, they are coming! Do not stop to speak.

Save yourself!

DIDIER: No; I have no wish to live!

Thank God, here is the headsman!

[_A_ HEADSMAN, _carrying his axe, appears with a crowd

of soldiers, officials, and_ SAVERNY.

MARION (_falling to the earth_): Didier!

SAVERNY: What a shame

To rob me of my sleep!

THE HEADSMAN (_grimly_): The time has come

To put you both to bed.

SAVERNY (_gaily_): A headsman! Good!

I like the axe much better than the rope.

DIDIER (_embracing him_): Good-bye, my friend!

MARION (_clinging to him_): And me! Didier, me!

Will you not say good-bye to me?

DIDIER (_wildly, as the soldiers drag him off_): No! No!

My heart is breaking! Oh, Marie, Marie!

I love you. I was wrong!

MARION: You pardon me?

DIDIER: I ask your pardon. Think of me sometimes.

Good-bye, my darling. [_He is dragged behind the wall._

AN OFFICIAL (_catching_ MARION _in his arms as she falls_):

All hope is not lost.

Look, here is Richelieu! Go and plead with him.

[_The castle guns are fired. The cloth, hiding the great

breach in the wall, drops. The_ CARDINAL _comes

in his gigantic scarlet litter, borne by twenty-four

footguards. Scarlet curtains conceal him from the

shouting mob._

MARION (_dragging herself on her knees to the litter_):

In the name of God, oh, my Lord Cardinal,

Pardon these two poor boys!

A VOICE (_from the litter_): No pardon!

[_The litter passes on, and the crowd surges through the

wall after it_. MARION _is left alone._

FOOTNOTES:

[J] Victor Hugo wrote "Marion de Lorme" in 1829, three months

before he composed "Hernani." King Charles X., however, refused to

license the play, because of the terrible way in which his ancestor,

Louis XIII., was portrayed in it. But after the Revolution of 1830,

and the success of "Hernani," the forbidden drama was produced on the

stage. Its original title was "A Duel Under Richelieu." The whole play

is built around the frustrated duel in which two young men engage

against the edict of the great cardinal. This economy of stage-craft

makes "Marion de Lorme" a superior work, in point of construction, to

"Hernani." And though it may be less picturesque than that more famous

example of the romantic drama, it is on the whole a finer effort of

genius.

Ruy Blas[K]

_Persons in the Drama_

DON SALLUST DE BAZAN, _President of the Magistrates_

RUY BLAS, _Lackey to Don Sallust_

DON CESAR DE BAZAN, _Cousin to Don Sallust_

DON MANUEL ARIAS }_Counsellors_

THE COUNT OF CAMPOREAL }

DOOÑA MARIA, Queen of Spain

_A crowd of_ Spanish Grandees, Counsellors, _and_

Alguazils

ACT I

SCENE--_A room in the palace of King Charles II., at Madrid, about

1695._

DON SALLUST: So, after twenty years of constant toil,

And twenty years of honour and high power,

The weak hand of a woman strikes me down

Into the dust. Dishonoured and exiled!

And by the queen, a foolish, foreign girl

Ignorant of our ways, who has no fear

Because she has no knowledge. Had she guessed

I had so many weapons of revenge

That I am now perplexed which one to use,

She would have been more careful. Poisoning,

Of course, is easy; and when she was dead

I could retrieve the power that I have lost.

But I would rather crush and conquer her

Some other way; make her a very slave

Obedient to my slightest wish, and rule

The country in her name. The king is mad,

And she will soon be regent. (_Calling_) Ruy Blas!

RUY BLAS (_appearing at the door_): Sir?

DON SALLUST: Order my men to gather up and pack

My papers, books and documents! I leave

The palace at the break of day. But you

Must wait here till the queen comes through this room

At morning, on her way to mass. Who's that?

[DON CESAR _enters, and he and_ RUY BLAS _look at

each other in surprise. Then, seeing he is not

wanted, the lackey departs._

DON CESAR: Well, here I am, dear cousin! Have you found,

After a search of twenty years, a post

Worthy of me? Upon the principle

Of setting thieves to capture thieves, I'd make

A splendid captain of your alguazils!

DON SALLUST: I know all your remarkable exploits,

My cousin. Were I not chief magistrate,

Your murders, thefts, and acts of brigandage

Would long since have been punished, and Don Cesar,

Count of Garofa--

DON CESAR: He died years ago.

I now am Zafari.

DON SALLUST: Zafari can die,

And Cesar, Count of Garofa, revive,

And dazzle all the ladies of the court

With his fine presence, and the wealth I'll give,

If he will serve me, as a cousin should,

Boldly and faithfully.

DON CESAR: Ah, this sounds well.

Give me a hundred ducats to begin,

And I am your man! What do you want of me?

Some rival quietly despatched?

DON SALLUST: I need

A daring, gallant and ambitious man

To help me to avenge myself.

DON CESAR: On whom?

DON SALLUST: A woman.

DON CESAR: I have fallen very low,

Don Sallust, but I have not come to that.

Murder may be my trade, but to bring down

A woman by a dastardly intrigue

Is something I would never stoop to do!

I am a wolf, maybe, but not a snake!

DON SALLUST: Give me your hand, my cousin! You have come

Out of the ordeal I prepared for you

Better than I expected.

DON CESAR: Then this plot

Against a woman----

DON SALLUST: Merely was a test.

I'll give you now the money you require.

A hundred ducats, was it? I will fetch them.

[_He departs, and signs to_ RUY BLAS _to enter._

DON CESAR: I knew you in your strange disguise, Ruy Blas.

What are you doing here?

RUY BLAS: Ah, Zafari!

Hunger has now compelled me to adopt

The livery of a lackey. Don Sallust

To-night engaged me as his servitor,

And brought me here. And I came, Zafari,

Because---- (_He hesitates._)

DON CESAR: You wanted food!

RUY BLAS: No. It was love

I hungered for.

DON CESAR: There are some pretty maids

In this great palace.

RUY BLAS: I am mad, mad, mad!

I am in love, Zafari, with the queen--

I, a lackey. Night after night I creep

Into the royal park, and leave some flowers

Upon her favourite seat. This evening

I put a letter with them.

DON CESAR: My poor friend,

You certainly are mad!

DON SALLUST (_opening the door slightly and pointing

out_ DON CESAR _to three armed alguazils as he

whispers_): That is the man. Arrest him when he leaves.

And kill him quickly. [_He then enters the room, and

gives a purse to_ DON CESAR, _saying:_ Here is what

you want.

Call on me to-morrow.

DON CESAR (_giving_ RUY BLAS _half the ducats_):

Come with me.

Be a free man again.

DON SALLUST (_in an aside_): The devil!

RUY BLAS (_refusing the money_): No;

I never shall be a free man again.

My heart is captive; I must stay on here.

DON CESAR: Well, each man to his fate. Your hand, old friend!

[_After shaking hands, he goes out--to his doom._

DON SALLUST: No one has seen you yet, I think, Ruy Blas,

Clad in this livery?

RUY BLAS: No one, my lord.

DON SALLUST: Good! Shut the doors, and put on this attire.

[_Bringing out the costume of a nobleman of high

rank, he helps his lackey to dress in it._

Splendid! You have a very gallant air,

And you will make a perfect nobleman.

Now listen. I've your interests at heart,

And if you will obey me faithfully,

You shall succeed in all that you desire.

But stay. There is a letter I must send

Before I leave Madrid. Write it for me.

[RUY BLAS _sits down at the table, and_ DON SALLUST

_dictates to him:_

"My life is in great danger. You alone

Can save me. Come this evening to my house.

No one will recognise you if you use

The side-door by the corner." Now sign it

"Cesar," the name I commonly employ

In love affairs.

RUY BLAS: Shall I address the note?

DON SALLUST: Ah, no! I must deliver it myself.

Hark! There is someone coming. 'Tis the Queen!

[_Dragging_ RUY BLAS _with him, he opens the door,

and says to the noblemen surrounding the_ QUEEN:

Allow me to present to you, my friends,

Don Cesar, Count of Garofa, my cousin.

ACT II

SCENE.--_The Hall of Government in the palace at Madrid, six months

after. The Privy Counsellors are sitting,--among them_

DON MANUEL ARIAS _and the_ COUNT OF CAMPOREAL.

DON MANUEL: How quickly he has climbed to supreme power!

General Secretary, Minister,

And now Duke of Olmedo!

CAMPOREAL: It is strange,

A cousin of that fallen president,

Don Sallust, could have won to such a height

Within six months!

DON MANUEL: The queen reigns over us

And he reigns, over her.

CAMPOREAL: That is not so.

Don Cesar never sees the queen alone.

I know it. I have had them watched by spies.

They shun each other. Do you know, he lives

By Tormez mansion, in a shuttered house,

With two black mutes to wait on him?

DON MANUEL: Two mutes!

He is, indeed, a terrible, strange man.

And now to business! We must re-arrange

Some of the taxes and monopolies.

We want a fair division.

[_All the_ COUNSELLORS _seat themselves._

A COUNSELLOR: I must have

The salt monopoly.

CAMPOREAL: No; that is mine!

You have the tax upon the trade in slaves.

I'll change that for the arsenic, if you like.

[RUY BLAS _has entered at the beginning of the dispute:

after listening some time he comes forward_.

RUY BLAS: You vile, rapacious gang of quarrelling thieves!

What! Can you rob the dead? Here by the grave

Of the great empire that was Spain, you sit,

Like greedy vultures, preying on her corpse!

We were the conquerors of the world, but now

Our army dwindled to four thousand men

That never get their arms, their food, their pay,

Is but a mob of brigands, and they live

By pillaging their wretched countrymen.

Our hardy peasantry is crushed beneath

A load of taxes and monopolies,

But not a ducat of the revenue

Is spent on Spain. Bankrupt in wealth and power,

Dead to all sense of honour, justice, right,

She lies, while you, you foul hyenas, snarl

Over her stricken body.

[_Turning to the_ COUNT OF CAMPOREAL, _and the_ COUNSELLOR

_who was quarrelling with him, he says sternly:_

Let me not see

Either of you again at court.

[_As they depart_, RUY BLAS _speaks to the other consternated_

COUNSELLORS:

Every man

Who will not serve Spain honestly must go.

If there are any who will work with me

In building up our country's power and fame,

On equal laws for rich and poor alike,

I shall be pleased to meet them in this room

In two hours' time.

[_All the_ COUNSELLORS _go out, bowing low to_ RUY

BLAS _as they pass by him. When he is alone, the_

QUEEN _comes from behind the tapestry; her face

is radiant with joy._

THE QUEEN: You spoke to them as I would like to speak

Were I a man. Oh, let me take, dear Duke,

This loyal hand, so strong, and so sincere.

RUY BLAS: How did you hear me, madam?

THE QUEEN (_showing a secret door_): In this place

That Philip made to watch his counsellors.

How often have I seen poor Carlos here,

Listening to the villains robbing him,

And ruining the state!

RUY BLAS: What did he say?

THE QUEEN: Nothing, but it drove him mad at last.

But you! How masterful you were! The voice

With which you thundered still rings in my ears.

I raised the tapestry to look at you.

You towered above them terrible and great,

A king of men! What was it that inspired

Such fury in you?

RUY BLAS: Love for you, my queen!

If Spain falls, you will fall with it. But I

Will save it for your sake. Oh, I am mad!

I love you! Love you with a love that eats

The life out of me! God! What shall I do?

Die? Shall I die? Pardon me! Pardon me!

THE QUEEN: No, live! Live for your country, and your queen!

Both of us need you. For the last six months

I have been watching from my hiding-place

Your struggle with my treacherous counsellors,

And seeing in you the master-mind of Spain, have, without

consulting you, advanced

Your interests. And now your strong, pure hands

Grasp all the reins of government and power,

Perform the work entrusted unto you!

Rescue our people from their misery.

Raise Spain up from her grave; restore to her

The strength that made her empress of the world;

And love me as I love you--

RUY BLAS: Oh, my queen!

THE QUEEN: With a pure, steady, honourable love,

Working and waiting with a patient heart

Till I am free to marry you. Farewell!

[_She kisses him on the brow, and departs by the secret

door._

ACT III

SCENE.--_A small, dark room in the house lent by_ DON SALLUST _to_ RUY

BLAS. _It is late at night, and_ RUY BLAS _is pacing up and

down in a state of wild agitation._

RUY BLAS: I only am a pawn with which he plays

Against the queen. He seeks to ruin her

By means of me. No! I will save her yet.

Save her and lose her! Cunning though you are,

Don Sallust, you have overlooked one thing;

Even a lackey will lay down his life

To save a noble woman whom he loves

From ruin and dishonour.

[_Going to the table, he pours something into glass._

Oh, my queen!

Never more shall we meet upon this earth.

[_As he raises the glass to his lips,_ THE QUEEN _enters._

THE QUEEN: Don Cesar!

RUY BLAS: Oh, my God, my God!

THE QUEEN: Fear not.

I shall protect you.

RUY BLAS: What has brought you here?

THE QUEEN: Your letter, Cesar.

RUY BLAS: Letter? I have sent

No letter.

THE QUEEN: What is this, then? Look and read.

[_She gives him the note he wrote for_ DON SALLUST _as

his lackey._

RUY BLAS (_reading it_): "My life is in great danger.

You alone can save me."

THE QUEEN (_continuing_): "Come this evening to my house.

No one will recognise you if you use

The side door by the corner." Here's your name, "Cesar."

RUY BLAS: Go! Go! It is a plot against you.

I cannot now explain. Fly for your life!

THE QUEEN: But you are in great danger. No! I'll stay,

And help you, Cesar.

RUY BLAS: Go, I tell you! Go!

The letter is not mine. Who let you in?

DON SALLUST (_striding into the room_): I did.

RUY BLAS: Go, madam, while the way is clear.

DON SALLUST: It is too late. Doña Maria is

No longer Queen of Spain.

THE QUEEN (_in terror_): What, then, am I?

DON SALLUST: A lady who has sold her throne for love.

RUY BLAS: No!

DON SALLUST (_whispering to_ RUY BLAS): I am working in your

interests.

(_Aloud to_ THE QUEEN) Now listen, madam. I have found you here,

Alone with Cesar, in his room, at night.

This conduct--in a queen--would lead the Pope--

Were the fact published--to annul your marriage.

Why not avoid the scandal?

[_Taking a parchment from his pocket, he presents it to_

THE QUEEN.

Sign this deed

Admitting everything, and we can keep

All the proceedings secret. I have put

Plenty of money in the coach that waits

Outside the door. Ride off in it and take

Cesar with you, to France or Portugal.

No one will stop you. But if you refuse

Everything shall be published. Here's a pen.

[_He leads the terrified_ QUEEN _to a writing-table, and

puts a pen in her hand._ RUY BLAS _stands in a corner,

motionless and bewildered._

THE QUEEN: Oh, I am lost! Lost, and yet innocent!

DON SALLUST: You lose a crown; but think of what you gain--

A life of love and peace and happiness.

Don Cesar loves you, and is worthy of you.

A man of noble race; almost a prince.

[THE QUEEN _is about to sign, but_ RUY BLAS _snatches

the pen from her hand, and tears up the parchment._

RUY BLAS: You must not sign it! This man lies to you.

I am Ruy Blas, a common serving-man.

[_Turning fiercely on_ DON SALLUST.

No more of it, I say! I'll have no more!

You mean, contemptible scoundrel! Tell the truth!

DON SALLUST: This creature is, in fact, my serving-man,

Only he has blabbed too soon.

THE QUEEN: Great Heavens!

DON SALLUST: No matter. My revenge is good enough.

What do you think of it? Madrid will laugh!

You exiled me, my lady; brought me down

Into the dust. I'll drag you from the throne

And hold you up--the laughing-stock of Spain!

[_While he is speaking_ RUY BLAS _silently bolts the door;

then, creeping behind_ DON SALLUST, _he snatches his

sword from the scabbard._

RUY BLAS: Insult the queen again, you wretch, and I

Will kill you where you stand. You foul, black snake,

Crawl in the further room and say your prayers.

[DON SALLUST _rushes towards the outer door;_ RUY

BLAS _pushes him back at the sword's point._

THE QUEEN: You are not going to slay him?

RUY BLAS: This affair

Must be now settled once for all. Go in!

[_This to_ DON SALLUST, _whom he has now almost

driven into the further room._

DON SALLUST: Give me a sword, and let us fight it out.

RUY BLAS: Surely a nobleman would never stoop

To fight a duel with his serving-man?

No! I am going to kill you like a dog!

THE QUEEN: Spare him!

DON SALLUST: Help! Murder! Help!

RUY BLAS: Have you done?

[DON SALLUST _leaps at_ RUY BLAS, _and the two men reel

into the further room, and the door closes behind

them._ THE QUEEN _covers her face._

THE QUEEN: Oh, God!

[_There is a silence._ RUY BLAS _returns without the

sword._

RUY BLAS (_falling on his knees_): Pardon me, madam, pardon me!

I am less guilty than I seem. At heart,

I am an honest man. My love for you

Led me into the trap that villain laid.

Will you not pardon me?

THE QUEEN: No!

RUY BLAS: Never?

THE QUEEN: No!

[_Staggering to the table, he seizes the glass and

drains it._

RUY BLAS: Well, that is over, then.

THE QUEEN (_running up to him_): What have you _done_?

RUY BLAS: Nothing. But, oh, to think you loved me once!

THE QUEEN: What was there in that glass? I love you still!

What was it? Poison? Tell me.

RUY BLAS (_as she clasps him_): Yes, my queen.

THE QUEEN: Then I have killed you! But I love you now!

More than before. Had I but pardoned you--

RUY BLAS: I should have drunk the poison all the same.

I could not bear to live. Good-bye!

[_He falls down, and_ THE QUEEN _holds him up in her

arms._

Fly! Fly!

No one will know. That door.

[_He tries to point to it, but sinks back in the agony

of death._

THE QUEEN (_throwing herself on him_): Ruy Blas!

RUY BLAS (_reviving at the sound of his name_):

Thanks! Thanks! [_He dies._

FOOTNOTES:

[K] In appearance, "Ruy Blas" is a pendant to "Hernani."

In the earlier play, Victor Hugo gives a striking picture of the

Spanish nobility in the days of its power and splendour. In the

later drama, which he composed in 1838, he depicts in lurid light

the corruption into which that nobility afterwards fell. But, as a

matter of fact, "Ruy Blas" is a violent party pamphlet with a direct

bearing on the French politics of the thirties. It is the decadent

French nobility--vanquished in the revolution of 1830--that Hugo really

attacks; and Ruy Blas himself is a representative Frenchman of the era

of romanticism. Stendhal (Vol. VIII) was the first writer to study

this new type of character--the young man of the lower middle classes,

full of grandiose dreams and wild ambitions and strange weaknesses,

who thought to arrive by intrigue at the high position which the great

soldiers of the preceding generation had won on the battlefield. Balzac

(Vol. I) elaborated the character in his "Human Comedy"; and Hugo, by

ennobling and enlarging it, created the sombre, magnificent figure of

Ruy Blas.

The King Amuses Himself[L]

_Persons in the Drama_

FRANÇOIS I., _King of France_

TRIBOULET, _his jester_

BLANCHE, _Triboulet's daughter_

SALTABADIL, _an assassin_

MAGUELONNE, _his sister_

DAME BERARDE

_A woman; a man; a crowd of people_

ACT I

SCENE.--TRIBOULET, _the ugly little hunchback jester to_ KING FRANÇOIS,

_has stolen from the Louvre to a secluded house in a remote

part of Paris. He takes out the key to open the door, then

stops and glances round uneasily._

TRIBOULET: I thought I heard a footstep.

Blanche must go

Back to the country. In this wild, rough town

My little lonely girl may come to harm.

I was a fool to bring her here. A fool!

Ah, if she learns what a vile part I play

In this vile city--sees her father dressed

In patchwork, using his deformities

To make sport for a proud, vain, wicked king.

Oh, how I hate the man who laughs at me!

When I am sick and miserable, and creep

Into some corner to bewail my lot,

He kicks me out into the light, and cries,

"Amuse me, fool!" Some day I shall go mad,

And kill----

[SALTABADIL, _who has been following him, comes forward

and bows._

SALTABADIL: Your servant, sir!

TRIBOULET (_startled_): What! Who are you?

SALTABADIL: Excuse me. I have watched you for a week

Come to this house at evening. Every time

You seem afraid some foe is following you.

TRIBOULET (_still more startled_): What do you want?

Who are you? Go away!

SALTABADIL: I want to help you. Do you need a sword?

I am an honest man, and at a price

I'll rid you of your enemy.

TRIBOULET (_relieved by the bravo's air_): What price?

SALTABADIL: According to the job. If he is armed

'Tis best to get my sister, Maguelonne,

To help me. She will lure him to our house--

TRIBOULET: I understand.

SALTABADIL (_confidentially_): No noise, you see; no risk.

Give me your custom, sir, and you will find

I do the work better than any man

In Paris.

TRIBOULET: But at present I've no need--

SALTABADIL: Well, think about it. I am Saltabadil.

I wait for clients every day at noon

By the Hôtel du Maine.

TRIBOULET: Good-night to you.

SALTABADIL: Believe me, I am honest. Times are bad;

I have four children, and at least my trade

Is better than mere beggary.

TRIBOULET: Of course.

One must bring up one's children.

SALTABADIL: Thanks. Good-night.

[_He departs._ TRIBOULET _then opens the door leading

into a courtyard, and knocks at an inner entrance.

This is opened by a charming young girl, who

throws herself into the jester's arms._

TRIBOULET: My daughter! When I see your sweet, bright face

My grief and trouble vanish. Kiss me, Blanche;

I am in need of love. Have you been out?

BLANCHE: Only to church. It is so dull in town

That, were it not for you, dear, I should like

To go back to Chinon.

TRIBOULET: It would be best;

put now I could not live in solitude.

My darling, I have no one in the world

But you to love me!

[_Hiding his face in his hands, he weeps._

BLANCHE: Father, trust in me.

Tell me your name and calling. Every night

You come by stealth to see me; every day

You disappear. Oh, how it troubles me

To see you weep!

TRIBOULET: You would be troubled more

If you could see me laugh! No, no, my child!

Know me but as your father; let me be

Something that you can venerate and love.

BLANCHE: My father!

TRIBOULET: But I cannot stay to-night;

I only came to see if you were safe.

Good-bye, my darling! Do not leave the house.

[_While he is speaking,_ KING FRANÇOIS _glides into the

courtyard, and hides behind a tree there. He is

dressed like a student._

BLANCHE: Good-bye, my father!

THE KING: Father! Triboulet

Her father! What a joke!

TRIBOULET: May God guard you!

[_He kisses her again and departs._ BLANCHE _stands at

the door watching him, and_ DAME BERARDE, _her

housekeeper, joins her._

BLANCHE: I have not told him.

DAME BERARDE: What?

BLANCHE: That a young man

Follows me when I come from church.

DAME BERARDE (_laughing_): You wish

To chase this handsome man away?

BLANCHE: Ah, no!

1 think he loves me. Oh, when Sunday comes

I shall be happy!

DAME BERARDE: I should think he was

Some noble lord.

BLANCHE: No! Lords, my father says,

Are men of little faith or honesty.

I hope he is a poor young scholar, filled

With noble thoughts rather than noble blood.

How long it is to Sunday! Would he were

Kneeling before me here. I then would say

Be happy, for I----

[_The_ KING _comes from behind the tree, and kneels

before her._

THE KING: Love you! Say it sweet:

I love you!

BLANCHE: If my father comes! Ah, go!

THE KING: Go? When my life is bound to yours? Sweet Blanche,

There is one heavenly thing alone on earth,

And that is love. Glory and wealth and power

Are base and worthless when compared with it.

Blanche, it is happiness your lover brings,

Happiness, shyly waiting on your wish.

Life is a flower, and love the honey of life.

Come, let us taste it, mouth to mouth, my sweet.

[_Taking her in his arms, he kisses her._

BLANCHE: I do not know your name. Are you a lord?

My father does not like them.

THE KING (_confused_): Yes.... My name--

Gaucher Mahiet, a poor young scholar.

DAME BERARDE: Look!

Someone is coming.

[_It is_ TRIBOULET. _Seeing his daughter in the arms of

a man, he rushes forward with a terrible cry._ KING

FRANÇOIS _leaves_ BLANCHE, _and, brushing past the

jester, who staggers as he catches a glimpse of his

face, hastens away._

TRIBOULET: The King! Oh, God, the King!

[_Then, in a sort of madness, he mutters to himself._

That man that spoke to me ... Hôtel du Maine;

At noon ... yes; in his house ... no noise, no risk ...

Oh, King François, the grave is dug for you!

ACT II

SCENE.--_A tumble-down inn on the outskirts of Paris by the edge of

the Seine. The scene is represented on the stage in a sort of

section, so that the spectator sees everything that goes on in

the interior of the inn, as well as on the road outside.

Besides this, the building is so cracked and ruined that any

passer-by can see into the room through the holes in the wall.

It is night._ TRIBOULET _and his daughter appear in the road._

SALTABADIL _is sitting in the inn._

TRIBOULET: I will avenge you, Blanche.

BLANCHE: He cannot be

False and untrue.

TRIBOULET (_whispering, as he leads her to a hole in the wall_):

Come. See with your own eyes,

What kind of man our great King François is.

BLANCHE (_whispering, as she sees only_ SALTABADIL):

I only see a stranger.

TRIBOULET: Wait awhile.

[_As he whispers,_ KING FRANÇOIS _enters the room by a

little door leading from an inner chamber._

BLANCHE: Father!

[_She trembles, and follows with angry eyes the movements

of_ THE KING.

TRIBOULET: This is the man you wish to save.

THE KING (_slapping_ SALTABADIL _on the back_):

Tell Maguelonne to bring me in some wine.

TRIBOULET: King by the grace of God he is, with all

The wealth and splendour of the land of France

At his command; but to amuse himself

He drinks himself asleep in thieves' kitchens.

THE KING (_singing while_ TRIBOULET _talks outside_):

Oh, woman is fickle, and man is a fool

To trust in her word!

She changes without any reason or rule,

As her fancies are stirred.

A weather-cock veering to every wind

Is constant and true when compared to her mind.

[_While he sings_ MAGUELONNE _enters with a skin of

wine._ SALTABADIL _goes out, and seeing_ TRIBOULET,

_approaches him with an air of mystery._ BLANCHE

_continues to watch_ THE KING.

SALTABADIL: We've caught our man! And now it rests with you

To let him live or die.

TRIBOULET (_looking at_ BLANCHE): Wait for a while.

THE KING (_to_ MAGUELONNE): Life is a flower and love the honey

of life;

Come, let us taste it, mouth to mouth, my sweet.

[_He tries to kiss her, but she escapes._

MAGUELONNE: You got that from a book.

THE KING: Your dark, sweet eyes

Inspired me! It was only yesterday

We met at the Hôtel du Maine, and yet

I love you with as passionate a love

As if we had been sweethearts all our lives.

Come, let me kiss you!

MAGUELONNE (_sitting herself gaily on the table where

he is drinking_): When you have drunk your wine.

[THE KING _empties the flagon of drugged liquor, and

with a mocking laugh the girl jumps down and sits

on his knee._

THE KING: Oh, you delicious, fascinating thing.

What a wild dance you've led me! Feel my heart

Seating with love for you!

MAGUELONNE: And for a score

Of other women!

THE KING: No, for you alone!

[BLANCHE _cannot bear to look at them any longer. Pale

and trembling, she turns away, and falls into her

father's arms._

BLANCHE: Oh, God, how he deceived me! My heart breaks.

All that he said to me he now repeats

To this low, shameless slut. He is a man

Without a soul.

TRIBOULET (_in a whisper_): Hush, hush! or he will hear!

You leave him in my hands then?

BLANCHE: What is it

You mean to do?

TRIBOULET: Avenge you and myself!

Run home and dress yourself in the boy's clothes

Prepared for you. Take all the gold you find,

And ride to Evreux, and there wait for me.

BLANCHE (_entreatingly_): Come with me, father!

TRIBOULET (_sternly_): I have work to do,

Terrible work! Do not return for me,

But ride your horse as fast as it will go.

BLANCHE: I am afraid.

TRIBOULET:: Obey me, Blanche! Good-bye!

[_He kisses her, and she staggers away._ TRIBOULET _then

signs to_ SALTABADIL, _who comes running up, and

gives him ten crowns in gold._

TRIBOULET: Here is half of the sum. I'll bring the rest

When you hand me the body in a sack.

SALTABADIL: It shall be done to-night.

TRIBOULET: At midnight, then.

[_He goes in. During this scene outside, the drowsy_

KING _has been flirting with_ MAGUELONNE. _She

jumps off his knee as_ SALTABADIL _enters._ TRIBOULET

_departs._

SALTABADIL: What a wild night! The rain is pouring down

In torrents.

THE KING (_sleepily_): You must find me a bed.

MAGUELONNE (_in a fierce whisper_): Go! Go!

THE KING: What? And be drowned? You are unkind, my sweet.

SALTABADIL (_Whispering to his sister_):

Keep him here. We have twenty golden crowns

To earn to-night. (_To_ KING FRANÇOIS) Sir, you can have my room.

THE KING: Ah, you are kinder than your sister is!

Show me the bed.

[SALTABADIL _takes the lamp and leads him upstairs._

SALTABADIL: This way.

MAGUELONNE (_in the darkness_): Poor, poor young man!

[SALTABADIL _returns with the lamp. He sits at the table

in silence; his sister watches him._

MAGUELONNE (_fiercely_): You must not kill him!

SALTABADIL: Twenty golden crowns!

Look, here are ten of them! The rest I get

At midnight. Pest! There is no time to lose.

Quick, sew this sack! My client will return

In a few minutes.

[_Terrified by his look, she takes up the sack and begins

to mend it. There is again a silence, and in the

sinister and momentary radiance of the lightning

the figure of_ BLANCHE _is seen approaching the inn.

She is dressed in a man's clothes, and booted and

spurred._

BLANCHE: Terrible work to do! I cannot go.

Father, I cannot! Oh, this horrible dream!

Let me awake from it ere I go mad.

This dream, this horrible dream!

[_Seeing the light from the window, she totters up to the

hole in the wall and looks in again._

God! it is true!

There they are! There!--the man with murderous looks,

The girl with shameless eyes! Where is the king?

[_Her cries are drowned in the thunder._

MAGUELONNE: Brother!

SALTABADIL: Yes.

MAGUELONNE: Do not kill him.

SALTABADIL: Ten more crowns!

MAGUELONNE: He is worth more than that. Handsome and young,

And noble too, I'll take my oath on it.

Besides, he loves me.

SALTABADIL: Get on with the sack.

MAGUELONNE: You only want the money. Take and kill

The little hunchback when he comes with it.

BLANCHE: My father!

SALTABADIL (_angrily_): What! Am I a common thief?

Kill my own client? I will have you know,

My sister, that I am an honest man.

I do the work I'm paid for.

[_Drawing his dagger, he goes towards the stairs._

MAGUELONNE (_barring the way_): Stop, I say!

Or I will go and rouse him.

BLANCHE: Good, brave girl!

SALTABADIL: Well, let us make a bargain, Maguelonne.

If anyone comes knocking at our inn

By midnight, he shall go into the sack.

My client only wants to fling some corpse

Into the river, and on this wild night

He will not see what he is throwing in.

MAGUELONNE: It is just on the hour. No one will come.

Cannot you ram this faggot in the sack?

SALTABADIL: Who would take that for a limp body? No!

Either a traveller or the man upstairs.

That is all! Will you take the chance?

MAGUELONNE (_weeping_): I must.

BLANCHE: Oh, God, I cannot! No! I am too young.

He does not love me.

[_A church-bell begins to chime the hour._

SALTABADIL: Midnight!

MAGUELONNE: Hark, a knock!

BLANCHE (_stumbling to the door_):

My father hates him.... Perhaps it will not hurt,

If they strike hard and kill me at a blow.

Oh, if he only loved me!

MAGUELONNE (_opening the door_): Who is there?

BLANCHE: Give me a shelter for the night.

MAGUELONNE: Come in.

[_She enters. As she crosses the threshold_, SALTABADIL

_raises his dagger, and the curtain falls._

ACT III

SCENE.--_The same; but when the curtain rises, only the outside of the

inn is now seen. It is unlighted; everything is in darkness._

TRIBOULET (_knocking at the door_): Make haste!

SALTABADIL (_bringing out a sack_): Here is your man.

TRIBOULET (_helping him carry it_): Give me a light.

I want to see him--is he really dead?

SALTABADIL: We must not use a light. We might be seen.

Where is the money?

TRIBOULET (_giving him a bag_): Here. (_Looking at

the sack_) I have you at last!

Long have I waited for this happy hour!

SALTABADIL: Come, throw it in the Seine!

TRIBOULET: I want no help.

Your part is done. Leave me alone.

SALTABADIL: Quick, then!

Somebody may come by. Is the man mad?

[TRIBOULET _has knelt down in the mud by the sack.

The rain streams on him, and his face, convulsed

with hideous joy, is illumined by the lightning._

SALTABADIL _enters the inn and shuts the door._

TRIBOULET (_feeling the sack_): Yes! I can feel his

spurs. It is the King!

Now let the heavens break above my head,

And the earth rock and open at my feet!

The vengeance of a clown shakes the whole world!

François, the pivot on which Europe turns,

Is broken. German, Spaniard, and Turk

Can make a slaughterhouse of Christendom.

The King of France is dead!

[_Leaping up in a fury, he kicks the sack._

François the First,

Do you remember how you treated me?

Who is the dog now, eh?--the dog to kick

And tumble about to make the courtiers laugh?

You liked my daughter, did you? A clown's brat

Found favour with a king! You stooped too low.

This is the road that you must take.

[_He drags the sack to the parapet. While he is doing

so,_ MAGUELONNE _opens the door of the inn and lets

out_ THE KING, _who goes off singing gaily in the

opposite direction._

TRIBOULET (_lifting the sack on the parapet, to push

it over_): Go down!

THE KING:

Oh, woman is fickle, and man is a fool

To trust in her word!

TRIBOULET: Oh, God! Whose voice is that?

[_He pulls back the sack._

THE KING (_now unseen in the darkness_):

She changes without any reason or rule,

As her fancies are stirred.

TRIBOULET: He has escaped! (_Running up to the

inn_) Accursed villains, you have cheated me! (_He

pulls at the door, but it will not open_.)

Who have they put in the sack?

[_He returns to it._

Some innocent wayfarer? I must see.

[_He tears open the sack, and peers into it._

It is too dark (_wildly_). Has no one got a light?

[_As he is dragging the body out of the sack the lightning

irradiates it._

My daughter! God! My daughter! No, Blanche, no!

I sent you to Evreux. It is not her.

[_The lightning again flashes out, and clearly shows the

pale face and closed eyes of the girl._

Speak, for the love of God! Speak! Oh, the blood!

Blanche, are you hurt? Speak to me! Blanche!

BLANCHE (_opening her eyes_): Where am I? Father!

[_She tries to rise, but falls back groaning._ TRIBOULET

_takes her in his arms._

TRIBOULET: Blanche, have they struck you?

It is too dark to see.