Mante.--The_ MARQUIS _pacing to and fro, apparently suffering from recent wounds._--MAIGNAN _at a table, with writing materials, waiting for the_ MARQUIS _to dictate_.

_Marq._ Where was I, Maignan? Why do you not remind me?

_Maig._ I beg pardon, my lord--I repeated that last sentence so often that, to say the truth, it made me a little drowsy.

_Marq._ I would I could impress thee with a due sense of thy distinction! Dost thou remember from what I promoted thee?

_Maig._ Aye, sir--I was a busy nondescript, something between your lackey and your squire, and ought now to be enjoying a comfortable sinecure, for you have scarce a whole bone, or a half shirt, to need me in either capacity.

_Marq._ The wars have been hard upon us, I grant; but I wish I could elevate thee above the use of such undignified expressions as whole bones and half shirts! What signifies a wardrobe when we are clad in glory? Remember thou art now my secretary! The amanuensis of Maximilian de Bethune, Marquis de Rosny, and prime minister to his majesty, King Henry of France and Navarre--I tell thee, Maignan, posterity will consider thee a great man.

_Maig._ It is hard to consider _ourselves_ so, when we have nothing but our title to greatness. It is only for such as you and our noble King Henry to entertain a true value for the sublimity of naked glory, and I confess that--though we have a hundred times beaten our enemies--our exploits are written upon our backs in characters which make one ashamed to walk the streets.

_Marq._ Would’st thou lose thy patience just where our trials end? This last battle--the glorious day of Ivri, has removed the last obstacle to our success, and for once, I regret my wounds. The king will win his capital without me.

_Maig._ He’ll never reach it, sir.

_Marq._ Never reach Paris?

_Maig._ No, my lord, I think not.

_Marq._ Thou hast a rare conceit! And now thy reason?

_Maig._ There is one terrible foe that stares him in the face still.

_Marq._ And that foe?

_Maig._ Is famine!--

_Marq._ Has famine played the traitor with us? At Ivri, it fought on our side. It whispered to our soldiers that victory would feed them, and they rushed to blood like famished wolves in winter. Poor tatterdemalions of a hundred battles! They would have gained against a well fed world! Aye, and devoured it afterwards.

_Maig._ They gained, sir--’tis not a month ago--and now behold the conqueror’s despatch, dated last week [_takes a letter from the table and reads_]. “I am close to my enemies, and have scarce a charger to mount, or a suit of armour to my back--I have neither clothing nor food, and for the last two days have existed at the cost of others.” If this is the plight of the king, the army, instead of marching through their foes to Paris, will scarce make head against the carrion crows.

_Marq._ By my conscience, thou art a politician! And the victory at Ivri then is something worse than nothing?

_Maig._ Not quite, my lord. It gained us questionable refuge in this more false than faithful town of Mante, and provided consolation for your wounds in the sympathy of madam--

_Marq._ Tush, man, tush! Dost thou suppose the soldier in such a cause, and the confidential minister of the great King Henry, can find leisure to dream of such vanities? Come, take thy pen and write--

_Maig._ An answer, sir, to the note of enquiry from Madam Chateaupers?

_Marq._ No, sir, a continuation of the memoirs of the Marquis de Rosny, who, when the king obtains his rights, shall be the Duc de Sully.

_Maig._ I hope, sir, I may live to congratulate you!

_Marq._ To business! Where did we leave off?

_Maig._ In the midst of this hopeful battle of Ivri, and the last sentence is a fair sample of our fortunes--past and to come--your horse has been wounded three times; besides which, you have received a shot in your hand, and lost the calf of your leg--[_reads_]. “A pistol ball entered my hip, and at the next charge I received another in my thigh and a cut in the head.”--Don’t you think, my lord, you have had almost enough of Ivri?

_Marq._ Attend, attend! [_dictates_]. “I should infallibly have perished if my squire had not hastened to my assistance and brought me another horse, which fidelity drew down many shots upon the brave Maignan, and had like to cost him his life.” There’s an end of that paragraph--what think’st thou of it?

_Maig._ Indeed, sir, your memoirs are becoming very interesting.

[_A loud knocking is heard_--MAIGNAN _rises_.

_Marq._ What knocking is this? [_knocking continued_]. How! so impatient! ’Tis surely some express from the king! My new dukedom to my old doublet, he has entered Paris!

_Maig._ And my new place in history to my old one in the kitchen, not so!

[_The doors at the back of the scene are thrown open and the_ KING _enters, in haste and disorder, as if from a long and rapid journey_.

_Marq._ The king!

_Maig._ The king!

_Hen._ How dost thou, Rosny?

_Marq._ Sire!

_Hen._ Art thou afraid of me? ’Tis flesh and blood. Give us thine hand--what, stricken into stone?

_Marq._ Our lives are somewhat used to strange surprises, But never was I stone indeed till now. Your majesty has surely conquered Paris, And graciously is pleased to bring the news In person? Maignan, see that no one enters.

_Maig._ [_aside_]. I thought as much. [_Exit._

_Marq._ Good heaven, my royal master! What new misfortune?

_Hen._ Would it _were_ a new one! ’Tis one I’m too much used to--well, but first How dost thou, man? I saw thee t’other day With such a world of cracks upon thy crown I feared I ne’er should hear thee scold again! How dost thou, hey?

_Marq._ Sire, have you entered Paris?

_Hen._ No, sire, I’ve not.

_Marq._ Not after Ivri? not? Not when your march was unopposed? Not when Your enemy, the plethoric Maienne, Who spent more time in feasts than you in bed, Was scared till he found fleetness to outrun you? I see, I see it all! No new disaster? Worst luck for France, your majesty says true!

_Hen._ Why there now, Rosny, thou art off again In thy tirades before thou’st heard me speak!

_Marq._ I care not, sire, what you may do with me-- It is my duty to speak truth--I would Your ears were more familiar to’t! There is No good pretext why you are not in Paris. Fate gifted you beyond your royalty With qualities to govern men and heroes, And in the fairest epochs of your life, You give your fortunes to the rule of women! I know full well that nothing could arrest Your march of victory but the fell dream Of fascinations left behind in Mante.

_Hen._ Now, old acquaintance, what a pother’s this! Be pacified, and bridle, if thou can’st, Thy passion for that lengthy tongue of thine! Be pacified, I say! Whate’er she _was_ At other times, woman is blameless _now_, I swear to thee!

_Marq._ You’ve sworn it oft before.

_Hen._ And lied, I grant. But, for this once, believe me. Did’st get my letters, man, wherein I spoke Of my distress for money?

_Marq._ Sire, I did.

_Hen._ And why not stir thy battered stumps to send it?

_Marq._ You charged with your finance the Lord de Fresne-- All I could do I did. I hewed my woods At Rosny; sold my cattle, and wrought gold From everything I had that could procure it.

_Hen._ I know it, Rosny--’twas not that I meant-- Thou’st given thy blood too oft to grudge thy goods. The fault is that thou did’st not squeeze de Fresne Till he disgorged my pilfered revenues-- Not claim them with a rope about his neck!

_Marq._ He was your majesty’s own ’special choice-- I spoke my thoughts, and, for amends, you made him The governor of Paris--when you take it-- How could I dare to hang a personage Of such rare merit?

_Hen._ ’Sdeath I know him now! No sooner are my prospects promising Than he withholds the breeze that’s wafting me; Stops my supplies; laments our bare exchequer; And drives our troops from famine to rebellion. Our mercenary Swiss, upon the moment Our fates depended on despatch, refused To march another step without their pay. The discontent flew like a pestilence; And there they stand--grim, gaunt, and ominous, Choosing their time to join our enemies! Now. Rosny, see--thou hast reproached me falsely.

_Marq._ [_in consternation_]. Is’t come to this? [_then observing the King’s feeble state, and speaking with great feeling_].

You are o’er laboured, sire, And faint with hunger!

_Hen._ No--I hunger not. I am past hunger--weary, Rosny, weary! Come, help me to thine old camp bed--Thine arm-- Thine arm--no, not on that side--there’s a gash I got in coming to thy help at Ivri-- ’Sdeath, I am aching, that’s the truth of it, And so art thou--thou move’st like thy grandam, Stalking a minuet! Ha! ha! so! gently!

_Marq._ Sleep, sire, I pray you sleep; and I meanwhile Will counsel with myself.

_Hen._ I say ’tis useless. When nothing’s left, there’s nought to think about-- They who have done their duty honestly Need ne’er repine. For _my_ part, having paid My country some few drops of blood, I’m happy Altho’ a loser.

_Marq._ [_aside_]. Is he light of heart Or head? Fatigue hath fevered him!

_Hen._ Thou too! Thy spirit should not sink. Thou should’st be proud In thy torn doublet as a moulting peacock! And feel all thou _could’st_ do thou hast done-- The smiles and frowns of fortune are like those Of other mistresses, ne’er gained or softened By lamentation.

_Marq._ [_aside_]. He doth wring my heart! Sleep, sire,--I’ll hear no more--I will despatch A messenger forthwith to my estate And bid my agent raise me the last crown. [_Exit._

_Hen._ Had ever man two friends like honest Rosny?

_Re-enter_ MAIGNAN.

_Maig._ Sire, here’s a lady, closely veiled and cloaked, Craves leave to see your majesty.

_Hen._ A lady? [_rises_]. An old or a young one?

_Maig._ By her voice And step, I should believe a young one.

_Hen._ Aye! I ne’er deny an audience to my subjects-- Admit her instantly. [_Exit_ MAIG. Methinks I’m not So drowsy as I was. I wonder where Friend Rosny is?

_Re-enter_ MAIGNAN, _who introduces_ KATHERINE _in disguise, and Exit_.

Fair maiden--for I guess That thou art young and fair--will’t please thee cast Thy veil aside, and let me see to whom I owe thus much?

_Kath._ My liege, I had disguised Both name and person, but that I believe They will bespeak attention to my words-- My name is Katherine de Villequier.

_Hen._ De Villequier? That surely was the name Of the unfortunate who gave her hand To rogue de Fresne--my villain superintendent.

_Kath._ I am her niece, and being so, worst fortune! Am also his. [_she unveils_].

_Hen._ His niece! She’s so unlike The workmanship of earth, I could believe ’Tis not the earth I tread upon! His niece!

_Kath._ And therefore greatly peril’d by this errand, With which, my liege, I could entrust no other. Is any one beyond this house, informed Your Majesty has entered Mante?

_Hen._ Not one. Why dost thou ask me, beauteous Katherine?

_Kath._ Sire, you must fly!

_Hen._ And wherefore should I fly That have no place to fly to? If my course Must end, I’ll end it with a glimpse of Heaven, And where a voice like thine may say, “God bless thee!”

_Kath._ It must not be. To prove I talk not lightly, I can repeat whate’er of late hath chanced you. Your hardships, your despair, your troops’ desertion-- All evil tidings have been richly paid for, And treasured by your faithless superintendent. The profligate has wronged you till he feels His interest unites him with your foes-- He hath bought o’er the citizens of Mante With your own gold, and laid a deadly plot (Anticipating your compulsion hither, As a last home), to close the gates on you, And send you fettered to your enemies!

_Hen._ Aye! even so?

_Kath._ He knows not you are come; But hourly hath expected you.

_Hen._ He knows not? Then how did’st thou, fair Katherine?

_Kath._ My liege, I have a chamber that o’erlooks the gate T’ward Paris; there have I maintained my watch Unceasingly, to scrutinize each stranger-- Believing that the form my fancy drew Might teach me to distinguish you--’twas true! Reward me, sire, by flying hence, this hour-- This hour, or you are lost!

_Hen._ Thou dost surprise me! Not that such things should be, but that thy years, Thy sex, and most, thy beauty, gave them heed.

_Kath._ There’s matter for your thoughts more pressing, sire, I come to warn you--must I come in vain?

_Hen._ How could’st thou learn what thou hast warned me of?

_Kath._ The secrets, sire, of vaunting cowardice, And drunken folly, have no mystery. I’ve dwelt amongst them, and am neither deaf Nor blind.

_Hen._ Blind I’ll be sworn thou’rt not--heaven send Thou art not deaf. Thou sayest the time is pressing-- ’Tis my excuse for pressing of the time-- Thou see’st me here a lone, abandoned, soldier-- My crown a shadow--all my powers usurped-- How hath thy loyalty survived my claim to’t?

_Kath._ What I may think or feel is little worth-- I ne’er examined if my heart were loyal, And never thought upon your crown or state. Take but my warning, sire--my prayer to fly-- And I will tell you they are breathed because--

_Hen._ Of what? Of what?

_Kath._ Because you are the hero, Henry de Bourbon!

[_Re-enter the_ MARQUIS, _who stands in astonishment_].

_Marq._ May I trust my sight! When I believed him fainting--almost dead! Woman again! Now grant me patience, Heaven! How came she here?

_Hen._ Rosny, have done--have done-- It is an angel dropped from paradise To warn me of a danger that escaped E’en thee--behold again--

_Marq._ Madam, forgive me! I know you for a model of all worth; And that you had not come without good cause.

_Kath._ I came, my lord, to warn the king away, Ere it be known that he hath ventured here-- Aid me, enforce it--save him! Sire farewell-- My errand’s done--heaven guard your majesty. [_Exit._

_Marq._ No, my liege, no! You shall not follow her! Incorrigible! Would you have them seek her?

_Hen._ I care not--let them seek!

_Marq._ [_he detains the king_]. ’Tis madness! madness!

_Hen._ Ha, that curs’d cut! Thou art the better man, Good grandam! Fye, to let mine enemies Give thee a vantage! Thou, or else those eyes-- Something has pierced me--all my strength is gone; And if thou’rt bent on scolding, I must e’en Lie down and listen. [_falls on the bed._]

_Marq._ Sire, I thank the chance, However sent, that gives your ear to reason; And will make bold to lay before you all The follies that have caused your mis-adventures.

_Hen._ Nay, nay, in pity!

_Marq._ Pray you, sire, lie still, We ne’er shall find a moment more convenient--

_Hen._ ’Sdeath!

_Marq._ Do you listen, sire? I speak of woman--

_Hen._ Well, well,--go on--

_Marq._ Of woman, sire--of woman! I would recal to your majesty how many times this fatal devotion to her smile has lost you the crown of France. The sums which you have been pleased to squander upon it, would not only have sufficed to feed your army, but to buy over those of your enemies. Nay, the noble character which you have tarnished by this weakness would in itself have been enough to intimidate, if not to win them. The time, sire, which I hoped never to see, is come at last, when I must either obtain your royal promise of amendment or tender my respectful resignation. Sire, will your majesty be pleased to take horse and quit this town before you are discovered in it? I see my eloquence is lost--Eh? How! as I am a mortal man, he is fast asleep! Dreaming of his new beauty! This is past endurance! [_calls_]. Maignan! Where art thou? I am angry with myself--yes, angry, that my heart is weak enough to forgive him still--I cannot help it. I think I can perceive the means of putting him once more on fortune’s track--I am a fool--no matter, we have grown up from boys together--encountered chances that have been strange as the friendship of two such opposites--and gone too long together to separate upon our journey--

_Re-enter_ MAIGNAN.

Do thou keep watch on him--I will return ere long.

_Maig._ Where shall I find you, sir, if you be wanted?

_Marq._ Hark, in thine ear--at Madam Chateaupers’! [_Exit._

_Hen._ [raising his head].

At madam who’s? Rosny gone courting!

_Maig._ Sire, I’ll tell my lord your majesty has wakened--

_Hen._ No, no, not so! Not for thine ears! Dost think I slept, or ever shall find sleep again, Till thou hast brought me to that sorceress That stole’t away from me? Hark ye--would’st thrive? Hast thou ambition for the spur and banner? Soul for a cavalier? Watch Rosny forth-- Bear me three words of fire to Katherine-- I’ll make thee knight of the burning billet! Fly!

[_Exit_ MAIGNAN--_the_ KING _sits down to write_.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.