Chapter IV: Act THE THIRD: Scene I

_An Apartment in the House of JOHN de VIENNE._

_Enter JULIA, in Man's Apparel, and O'CARROL._

_Julia._ Come on; bestir thee, good fellow! Thou must be my guide, and conduct me.

_O'Carrol._ 'Faith, and I'll conduct you, with all my heart and soul; and some good creature, I warrant, will be kind enough to show me the way.

_Julia._ But art thou well assured, O'Carrol, of what thou hast informed me?

_O'Carrol._ To be sure I am well assured; for I informed myself, and I never yet catched myself out in telling a lie. There was six of them, as tall fellows as any in France, with ugly ropes about their good-looking necks, going to the town-gates; and Count Ribaumont marched second in the handsome half dozen. The whole town followed them with their eyes, till they were as full of water as if they had been peeping into so many mustard pots. And so, madam, knowing he loves you better than dear life,(which, to be sure, he seems to hold cheap enough at present), and thinking you would be glad to hear the terrible news, why, I made all the haste I could to come and tell it to you.

_Julia._ And thus, in haste, have I equipped myself. Come, good O'Carrol;--dost think I shall 'scape discovery in these accoutrements?

_O'Carrol._ Escape!--By my soul, lady, one would think you had been a young man, from the very first day you were born. Och! what a piece of work a little trimming and drapery makes in a good fellow's fancy! A foot is a foot, all the world over;--but take the foot of the sweetest little creature that ever tripped over green sward, and if it doesn't play at bo-peep under a petticoat--'faith, I don't know the reason of it; but it gives a clean contrary turn to a man's imagination. But what is it you would be after now, Lady Julia?

_Julia._ Something I will do; and it must be speedy: at all hazards, we will to the English camp, O'Carrol:--opportunity must shape the rest.

_O'Carrol._ The camp?--O, 'faith, that's my element; and Heaven send us success in it! If an Irishman's prayers, lady, could make you happy, your little heart should soon be as light as a feather-bed.

_Julia._ I thank thee, my honest fellow: thy care for me shall not long go unrewarded.

_O'Carrol._ Now the devil fetch rewarding, say I! If a man does his best friends a piece of service, he must be an unconscionable sort of an honest fellow, to look for more reward than the pleasure he gets in assisting them.

_Julia._ Well, well! each moment now is precious! Haste thee, O'Carrol; Time has wings.

_O'Carrol._ Och! be asey, madam; we'll take the ould fellow by the forelock, I warrant him. When honest gentlemen's business calls them on a small walk to the gallows, a man may set out a quarter of an hour behind them, and be certain of meeting them upon the road:--and, now I bethink me, madam, if we go out at the draw-bridge, from the citadel, hard by the house here, we may be at the camp, ere the poor souls have marched their body round the battlements.

_Julia._ Thou say'st well; and we will forth that way:
'Twill be most private too. Thou'lt follow me, O'Carrol?

_O'Carrol._ Ay, that I would, to the end of the wide world, and a thousand miles beyond it.

_Julia._ Yet, tarry here a while, till I prepare the means of our going forth. Join me a few minutes hence in the hall, O'Carrol.

And, Fortune, frown not on a poor weak woman!
Who, if she fail in this, her last, sad struggle,
Is so surrounded by a sea of grief
That she must sink for ever!
[_Exit._

_O'Carrol._ And, sink or swim, I'll to the bottom along with you.--Och! what a sad thing it is to see sorrow wet the sweet cheeks of a woman! Faith, now, I can't make out that same crying, for the life of me. My sorrow is always of a dry sort; that gives me a sore throat, without ever-troubling my eyes about the business. The camp! Well, with all my heart: it won't be the first time I have been present at a bit of a bustle.

SONG.--O'CARROL.

_When I was at home, I was merry and frisky;_
_My dad kept a pig, and my mother sold whisky:_
_My uncle was rich, but would never be asy,_
_Till I was enlisted by Corporal Casey._
_Oh! rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey!_
_My dear little Sheelah I thought would run crazy,_
_When I trudged away with tough Corporal Casey._

_I march'd from Kilkenny, and as I was thinking_
_On Sheelah, my heart in my bosom was sinking;_
_But soon I was forced to look fresh as a daisy,_
_For fear of a drubbing from Corporal Casey._
_Och! rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey!_
_The devil go with him, I ne'er could be lazy,_
_He stuck in my skirts so, ould Corporal Casey._

_We went into battle; I took the blows fairly,_
_That fell on my pate, but they bother'd me rarely:_
_And who should the first be that dropp'd? why, an plase ye,_
_It was my good friend, honest Corporal Casey._
_Och! rub a dub, row de dow, Corporal Casey!_
_Thinks I, you are quiet, and I shall be asy;_
_So eight years I fought, without Corporal Casey._
[Exit.

SCENE II.

_The English Camp._

_A Scaffold in the Back of the Scene: TWO WORKMEN descend from it._

_1 Work._ There 'tis;--and finished: as pleasing a piece of work, as man could wish to turn out of hand. If King Edward, (Heaven bless him!) give me not a pension for this, let'n make the next scaffold himself. Mass! I would (with reverence be it spoken), build a scaffold, and fix a gallows, with any king in Christendom.

_2 Work._ Yea, marry, if he had not served his time to the trade.

_1 Work._ Yea, or if he had. I have been prime gallows maker, and principal hangman, now, nine-and-twenty years.--Thank Heaven! neighbour, I have long been notorious.

_2 Work._ Thou say'st true, indeed. Thy enemies cannot deny thee that.

_1 Work._ And why, I pray you? why have I been so?

_2 Work._ Mass, I know not! I think 'tis thy good luck.

_1 Work._ Tut, I will tell thee. My parents, I thank them, bred me to the gallows: marry, then, how was it?--why, look you, I took delight in my business.--An you would be a good workman, ever, while you live, take a delight in your business. I have been an honest, pains-taking man, neighbour. No one is notorious, without taking pains for it.

_2 Work._ Truly, then, I fear my character is naught. I never can bring myself to take pains for it.

_1 Work._ Thou art the more to be pitied. I never made but one small mistake, since I entered on business.

_2 Work._ I pr'ythee, now, tell me that.

_1 Work._ 'Twas on execution day; we were much thronged, and the signal was given full soon; when, a pize on it! I whips me, in haste, the halter over the neck of an honest stander-by:--and I jerks me him up to the top of a twenty foot gibbet. Marry, the true rogue escaped by't; for 'twas a full hour ere the error was noted. But, hast heard who the six be, that will be here anon?

_2 Work._ Only that they be citizens. They are e'en now coming hitherward. Some of our men have seen them: they march, as 'tis reported, wondrous doleful.

_1 Work._ No matter; tarry till they see my work;--that's all. An that do not content them, mark them for sour knaves. An a man be not satisfied when a sets foot on my scaffold, say he is hard to please. Rot them, your condemned men, now-a-days, have no discernment. I would I had the hanging of all my fellow craft! I should then have some judges of my skill; and merit would not go praiseless.--[_A Flourish._]--So!--the king is coming--stand clear, now, neighbour:--an the king like not my scaffold, I am no true man.

[_They go on the Scaffold._

_Enter KING EDWARD, QUEEN, HARCOURT, SIR WALTER MANNY, ARUNDEL, WARWICK, TRAIN-BEARERS, Standards, &c._

_King._ Yes, good Philippa, 'tis our firm decree,
And a full wise one too;--'tis but just recompense,
For near twelve weary months, their stubbornness
Has caused us linger out before their city.
Should we not now resent, in future story
Our English would be chronicled as dullards;--
These French would mock us for the snails of war,
Who bring our houses on our sluggish backs,
To winter it before their mould'ring walls;
Nay, every village, circled by a ditch,
Would think itself a town impregnable;
Check the full vigour of our march, and worry
Our armies with resistance.

_Queen._ And yet, my liege, I cannot chuse but pity
The wretched men, who now must suffer for it.

_King._ Justice, madam,
Minute in her stern exercise of office,
Is comprehensive in effect; and when
She points her sword to the particular,
She aims at general good.--
[_Solemn Music, at a Distance._
But, hark! they come.
Are they within our lines?

_Sir W._ They are, my liege.

_King._ Deliver up Sir John de Vienne.

[_KING EDWARD and QUEEN seat themselves on a Throne, erected
in the Camp, on the occasion of the Execution._

_Enter EUSTACHE de ST. PIERRE, with the Keys; RIBAUMONT, LA GLOIRE, JOHN D'AIRE, J. WISSANT, and P. WISSANT, with Halters round their Necks; a Multitude of French following._

_King._ Are these the six must suffer?

_Eust._ Suffer!--no:----
We do embrace our fate: we glory in't.
They who stand forward, sir, to yield their lives,
A willing forfeit, for their country's safety,
When they meet death, meet honour, and rejoice
In the encounter. Suffer, is a term
The upright, and undaunted spirit, blots
From death's vocabulary.

_King._ Now, beshrew thee, knave!
Thou dost speak bluntly.

_Eust._ Ay, and cheerily.
But to our purpose.--I am bidden, sir,
I and my noble comrades, here, of Calais,
Thus lowly, at your feet, to tender to you
Our city's keys;--[_Kneels and lays the Keys at the Foot of the
Throne._]--and they do guard a treasure
Well worth a king's acceptance; for they yield
A golden opportunity to mightiness
Of comforting the wretched. Take but these,
And turn our ponderous portals on the hinge,
And you will find, in every street, a document,
A lesson, at each step, for iron power
To feel for fellow men:--Our wasted soldiers
Dropping upon their watch; the dying mother
Wailing her famish'd child; the meagre son
Grasping his father's hand in agony,
Till their sunk eyes exchange a feeble gleam
Of love and blessing, and they both expire.

_King._ Your citizens may thank themselves for't; wilfulness
Does ever thus recoil upon itself.

_Eust._ Sworn liegemen to their master, and their monarch,
They have perform'd their duty, sir. I trust
You, who yourself are king, can scarcely blame
Poor fellows for their loyalty. 'Tis plain
You do not, sir; for now, your royal nature
O'erflows in clemency; and setting by
All thought of crushing those beneath your feet,
Which, in the heat and giddiness of conquest,
The victor sometimes is seen guilty of;
Our town finds grace and pity at your hands.
Your noble bounty, sir, is pleas'd consider
Some certain trifles we have suffer'd; such
As a bare twelvemonth's siege--a lack of food;
Some foolish grey-beards dead by't; some few heaps
Of perish'd soldiers; and, humanely weighing
These nothings as misfortunes, spare our people:
Simply exacting, that six useless citizens,
Mere logs in the community, and prized
For nothing but their honesty, come forth,
Like malefactors, and be gibbetted!

_King._ Villain and slave! for this thy daring taunt,
(Howe'er before we might incline to listen),
We henceforth shut the ear to supplication.

_Eust._ Mighty sir!
We march'd not forth to supplicate, but die.
Trust me, king,
We could not covet aught, in your disposal,
Would swell our future name with half the glory
As this same sentence, which, we thank you for't,
You have bestow'd, unask'd.

_King._ Conduct them straight to execution!

_La Gloire._ [_Advancing to the left of EUSTACHE._] Father!

_Eust._ How now? thou shakest!

_La Gloire._ 'Tisn't for myself, then.--For my own part, I am a man: but I cannot look on our relations, and my captain, and on you, father, without feeling a something, that makes a woman of me.--But I----

_Eust._ Briefly, boy; what is't?

_La Gloire._ Give me thy hand, father! So--[_Kisses it._]--And now, if I part with it, while a puff of breath remains in my body, I shall lose one of the most sorrowful comforts, that ever poor fellow in jeopardy fixed his heart upon. Were I but well assured poor Madelon would recover the news, I could go off as tough as the stoutest.

_Rib._ [_Advances to the right of EUSTACHE._]
Farewell, old heart! thy body doth incase
The noblest spirit soldier e'er could boast,
To face grim death withal. Inform our fellows,
At the last moment given, on the scaffold,
We will embrace, and----
[_A Muffled Drum beats._
----Hark! the signal beats.

_Eust._ Lead on.
[_They march up to the Scaffold._

_Soldier._ [_Without._] You cannot pass.

_Julia._ [_Without._] Nay, give me way!

_Enter JULIA and O'CARROL._

_Julia._ Stay, stay your hands! desist, or----

_King._ How now!
Wherefore this boldness?

_Julia._ Great and mighty King!
Behold a youth much wrong'd. Men do esteem
The Monarch's throne as the pure fount and spring
Whence justice flows: and here I cry for it.

_King._ What is the suit thus urges?

_Julia._ Please you, sir,
Suspend a while this fatal ceremony,--
For therein lies my grief,--and I will on.

_King._ Pause ye a while.--Young man, proceed.

_Julia._ Now, Heaven!
Make firm my woman's heart! [_Aside._]--Most royal sir!
Although the cause of this my suit doth wound
My private bosom, yet it doth involve,
And couple with me, a right noble sharer.--
'Tis you, great sir, you are yourself abused;
My countrymen do palter with thee, King:----
You did require
Six of our citizens, first in repute,
And best consider'd of our town, as victims
Of your high-throned anger. Here is one
[_Pointing to RIBAUMONT._
I single out, and challenge to the proof;--
Let him stand forth;--and here I do avouch
He is no member of our city:
He does usurp another's right; defeats
Your mighty purpose: and your rage, which thirsted
For a rich draught of vengeance, must be served
With the mere dregs of our community.

_Ribau._ [_Advances._] Shame! I shall burst!--the dregs!----

_King._ Thou self-will'd fool,
Who would run headlong into death, what art thou?

_Ribau._ A man:--let that content you, sir!--'Tis blood
You crave,--and with an appetite so keen,
'Tis strange to find you nice about its quality.
But for this slave,
Who thus has dared belie me, did not circumstance
Rein in my wish--(O grant me patience, Heaven!
The dregs!)--now, by my soul! I'd crush the reptile
Beneath my feet; now, while his poisonous tongue
Is darting forth its venom'd slander on me.

_King._ I will be satisfied in this. Speak, fellow?
Say, what is thy condition?

_Ribau._ Truly, sir,
'Tis waste of royal breath to make this stir,
For one, whom some few minutes hence your sentence
Must sink to nothing. Henceforth I am dumb
To all interrogation.

_King._ Now, by our diadem!--but answer you.
What is his state?--Say, of whose wreched place
Is he the bold usurper?

_Julia._ Sir, of mine.
He does despoil me of my title; comes
Bedeck'd in my just dues; which, as a citizen,
(A young one though I be,) I here lay claim to.
I am your victim, sir; dismiss this man,
Who, haply, comes, in pity to my youth,
And plucks the glory from me, which this ceremony
Would grace my name withal, and let me die.

_O'Carrol._ Die!--Och, the devil! did I come to the camp for this?--Madam, dear, dear madam!-- [_Aside._

_King._ The glory!--Why, by Heaven! these headstrong French
Toy with our punishments!
For thee, rash stripling! who dost brave our vengeance,
Prepare to meet it. Yoke thee with this knave,
Whose insolence hath roused our spleen, and, straight,
You both shall suffer for't together.

_Julia._ [_Kneeling._] Sir!
Ere I do meet my fate, upon my knees
I make one poor request. This man, great sir!
(Tho' now, there's reason why he knows me not,)
I own doth touch me nearly.--I do owe him
A debt of gratitude;--'twould shock me sore
To see him in his agony;--so please you,
Command, that, in the order of our deaths,
I may precede him.

_King._ Well;--so be it, then.--
Guards! lead them forth.

_Julia._ And might he--oh, dread sir!
Might he but live, I then should be at peace.

_King._ Conduct them to their fate.

_Julia._ [_Rises._] Then, ere we go, a word at parting;--
For here your spleen o'erleaps the bound of prudence.
The blood you now would spill, is pure and noble;
Nor will the shedding of it lack avengers.
Shame on disguise! off with't, my lord! [_To RIBAUMONT._]--Behold
Our France's foremost champion: and remember,
In many a hardy fight, the gallant deeds
(For fame has blown them loudly King!) of Ribaumont.
Oft has he put you to't:--nay, late, at Cressy,
Ask of your Black Prince Edward, there, how long
Count Ribaumont and he were point to point.
He has attack'd our foe; reliev'd our people;
Succour'd our town, till cruel disappointment,
Where he had fix'd his gallant heart, did turn him
Wild with despairing love. Old John de Vienne
Denied his daughter to him;--drove him hither,
To meet your cruelty;--and now, that daughter,
Grown desperate as he, doth brave it, King!
And we will die together.
[_Runs and embraces RIBAUMONT._

_Ribau._ Heaven!--my Julia!
Art thou then true?--O give me utterance!
Now, fortune, do thy worst!--
[_Throws off his Disguise._
You cannot, King!
You dare not, for your life, lay savage hands
On female innocence!--and, for myself,
E'en use your will.

[_KING descends from the Throne; HARCOURT kneels and
offers his Arm; and the QUEEN descends, and goes
opposite to the KING._

_King._ Lady, you are free:----
Our British Knights are famed for courtesy;
And it will ne'er, I trust, be said an Englishman
Denied protection to a woman. You
Must, under guard, my lord! abide our pleasure:--
For the remainder, they have heard our will,
And they must suffer: 'tis but fit we prove,
Spite of their obstinate and close defence,
Our English excellence.

_Queen._ [_Kneels._] Oh! then, my liege,
Prove it in mercy.
War, noble sir! when too far push'd, is butchery:
When manly victory o'erleaps its limits,
The tyrant blasts the laurels of the conqueror.
Let it not dwell within your thoughts, my liege,
Thus to oppress these men. And, royal sir!
Since you were free to promise
Whatever boon I begg'd,--now, on my knee,
I beg it, sir. Release these wretched men:
Make me the means of cheering the unhappy:
And, though my claim were tenfold what it is
Upon your bounty, 'twould reward me nobly.

_King._ Rise, madam. Tho' it was our fix'd intent
To awe these French, by terrible example,
Our promise still is sacred, good Philippa.
Your suit is won; and we relax our rigour.----
Let them pass free; while we do here pronounce
A general pardon.

_La Gloire._ A pardon! no!--Oh diable!--My father! and my commander too!--Huzza!--[_Takes the Rope from his Father's Neck, then from his own, and runs down with the Three Kinsmen._]---Oh! that I should live to unrope my poor old father, and master!

[_Runs to RIBAUMONT, and takes the Rope off his Neck._

_Enter MADELON._

[_She and LA GLOIRE rush into each other's Arms._

_Madelon._ Oh! my poor La Gloire!--My tears--

_La Gloire._ That's right! Cry, Madelon!--cry for joy, wench!--Old Eustache is safe!--my Captain and relations free!--Here's a whole bundle of honest necks recovered: mine's tossed in, in the lump; and we'll be married, Madelon, to-morrow.

_King._ Now, my lord! for you:--
We have, I trust, some influence here;
Nor will we quit your town, until we see
Your marriage solemnized--
[_To RIBAUMONT._

_O'Carrol._ Well, if I didn't know what crying was before, I have found it out at last.--'Faith it has a mighty pleasant relieving sort of a feel with it.

_King._ Prepare we, then, to enter Calais; straight
Give order for our march--
Breathe forth, our instruments of war; and, as
We do approach the rugged walls, sound high
The strains of victory.

GRAND CHORUS.

_Rear, rear our English banner high_ _In token proud of victory!_ _Where'er our god of battle strides,_ _Loud sound the trump of fame!_ _Where'er the English warrior rides,_ _May laurel'd conquest grace his name._

[_Exeunt omnes._

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Surrender of Calais, by George Colman

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