Chapter IV: Act II: Scene I

_Enter Queen-Mother, Abbot_ DELBENE, _and_ POLIN.

_Qu. M._ Pray, mark the form of the conspiracy: Guise gives it out, he journeys to Champaigne, But lurks indeed at Lagny, hard by Paris, Where every hour he hears and gives instructions. Mean time the Council of Sixteen assure him, They have twenty thousand citizens in arms. Is it not so, Polin?

_Pol._ True, on my life; And, if the king doubts the discovery, Send me to the Bastile till all be proved.

_Qu. M._ Call colonel Grillon; the king would speak with him.

_Ab._ Was ever age like this? [_Exit_ POLIN.

_Qu. M._ Polin is honest; Beside, the whole proceeding is so like The hair-brained rout, I guessed as much before. Know then, it is resolved to seize the king, When next he goes in penitential weeds Among the friars, without his usual guards; Then, under shew of popular sedition, For safety, shut him in a monastery, And sacrifice his favourites to their rage.

_Ab._ When is this council to be held again?

_Qu. M._ Immediately upon the duke's departure.

_Ab._ Why sends not then the king sufficient guards, To seize the fiends, and hew them into pieces?

_Qu. M._ 'Tis in appearance easy, but the effect Most hazardous; for straight, upon the alarm, The city would be sure to be in arms; Therefore, to undertake, and not to compass, Were to come off with ruin and dishonour. You know the Italian proverb--_Bisogna copriersi_[6],-- He, that will venture on a hornet's nest, Should arm his head, and buckler well his breast.

_Ab._ But wherefore seems the king so unresolved?

_Qu. M._ I brought Polin, and made the demonstration; Told him--necessity cried out, to take A resolution to preserve his life, And look on Guise as a reclaimless rebel: But, through the natural sweetness of his temper, And dangerous mercy, coldly he replied,-- Madam I will consider what you say.

_Ab._ Yet after all, could we but fix him--

_Qu. M._ Right,-- The business were more firm for this delay; For noblest natures, though they suffer long, When once provoked, they turn the face to danger. But see, he comes, Alphonso Corso with him; Let us withdraw, and when 'tis fit rejoin him. [_Exeunt._

_Enter King, and_ ALPHONSO CORSO.

_King._ Alphonso Corso.

_Alph._ Sir.

_King._ I think thou lovest me.

_Alph._ More than my life.

_King._ That's much; yet I believe thee. My mother has the judgment of the world, And all things move by that; but, my Alphonso, She has a cruel wit.

_Alph._ The provocation, sir.

_King._ I know it well; But,--if thou'dst have my heart within thy hand,-- All conjurations blot the name of kings. What honours, interest, were the world to buy him, Shall make a brave man smile, and do a murder? Therefore I hate the memory of Brutus, I mean the latter, so cried up in story. Cæsar did ill, but did it in the sun, And foremost in the field; but sneaking Brutus, Whom none but cowards and white-livered knaves Would dare commend, lagging behind his fellows, His dagger in his bosom, stabbed his father. This is a blot, which Tully's eloquence Could ne'er wipe off, though the mistaken man Makes bold to call those traitors,--men divine.

_Alph._ Tully was wise, but wanted constancy.

_Enter Queen Mother, and Abbot_ DELBENE.

_Qu. M._ Good-even, sir; 'tis just the time you ordered To wait on your decrees.

_King._ Oh, madam!

_Qu. M._ Sir?

_King._ Oh mother,--but I cannot make it way;-- Chaos and shades,--'tis huddled up in night.

_Qu. M._ Speak then, for speech is morning to the mind; It spreads the beauteous images abroad, Which else lie furled and clouded in the soul.

_King._ You would embark me in a sea of blood.

_Qu. M._ You see the plot directly on your person; But give it o'er, I did but state the case. Take Guise into your heart, and drive your friends; Let knaves in shops prescribe you how to sway, And, when they read your acts with their vile breath, Proclaim aloud, they like not this or that; Then in a drove come lowing to the Louvre, And cry,--they'll have it mended, that they will, Or you shall be no king.

_King._ 'Tis true, the people Ne'er know a mean, when once they get the power; But O, if the design we lay should fail, Better the traitors never should be touched, If execution cries not out--'Tis done.

_Qu. M._ No, sir, you cannot fear the sure design: But I have lived too long, since my own blood Dares not confide in her that gave him being.

_King._ Stay, madam, stay; come back, forgive my fears, Where all our thoughts should creep like deepest streams: Know, then, I hate aspiring Guise to death; Whored Margarita,--plots upon my life,-- And shall I not revenge?[7]

_Qu. M._ Why, this is Harry; Harry at Moncontour, when in his bloom He saw the admiral Coligny's back.[8]

_King._ O this whale Guise, with all the Lorrain fry! Might I but view him, after his plots and plunges, Struck on those cowring shallows that await him,-- This were a Florence master-piece indeed.

_Qu. M._ He comes to take his leave.

_King._ Then for Champaigne; But lies in wait till Paris is in arms. Call Grillon in. All that I beg you now, Is to be hushed upon the consultation, As urns, that never blab.

_Qu. M._ Doubt not your friends; Love them, and then you need not fear your foes.

_Enter_ GRILLON.

_King._ Welcome, my honest man, my old tried friend. Why dost thou fly me, Grillon, and retire?

_Gril._ Rather let me demand your majesty, Why fly you from yourself? I've heard you say, You'd arm against the League; why do you not? The thoughts of such as you, are starts divine; And when you mould with second cast the spirit, The air, the life, the golden vapour's gone.

_King._ Soft, my old friend; Guise plots upon my life; Polin shall tell thee more. Hast thou not heard The insufferable affronts he daily offers,-- War without treasure on the Huguenots; While I am forced against my bent of soul, Against all laws, all custom, right, succession, To cast Navarre from the Imperial line?

_Gril._ Why do you, sir? Death, let me tell the traitor--

_King._ Peace, Guise is going to his government; You are his foe of old; go to him, Grillon; Visit him as from me, to be employed In this great war against the Huguenots; And, pr'ythee, tell him roundly of his faults, No farther, honest Grillon.

_Gril._ Shall I fight him?

_King._ I charge thee, not.

_Gril._ If he provokes me, strike him; You'll grant me that?

_King._ Not so, my honest soldier; Yet speak to him.

_Gril._ I will, by heaven, to the purpose; And, if he force a beating, who can help it? [_Exit._

_King._ Follow, Alphonso; when the storm is up, Call me to part them.

_Qu. M._ Grillon, to ask him pardon, Will let Guise know we are not in the dark.

_King._ You hit the judgment; yet, O yet, there's more; Something upon my heart, after these counsels, So soft, and so unworthy to be named!--

_Qu. M._ They say, that Grillon's niece is come to court, And means to kiss your hand. [_Exit._

_King._ Could I but hope it! O my dear father, pardon me in this, And then enjoin me all that man can suffer; But sure the powers above will take our tears For such a fault--love is so like themselves. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.--_The Louvre._

_Enter_ GUISE, _attended with his Family;_ MARMOUTIERE _meeting him
new drest, attended, &c._

_Gui._ Furies! she keeps her word, and I am lost; Yet let not my ambition shew it to her; For, after all, she does it but to try me, And foil my vowed design.--Madam, I see You're come to court; the robes you wear become you; Your air, your mien, your charms, your every grace, Will kill at least your thousand in a day.

_Mar._ What, a whole day, and kill but one poor thousand! An hour you mean, and in that hour ten thousand. Yes, I would make with every glance a murder.-- Mend me this curl.

_Gui._ Woman! [_Aside._

_Mar._ You see, my lord, I have my followers, like you. I swear, The court's a heavenly place; but--O, my heart! I know not why that sigh should come uncalled; Perhaps, 'twas for your going; yet I swear, I never was so moved, O Guise, as now, Just as you entered, when from yonder window I saw the king.

_Gui._ Woman, all over woman! [_Aside._ The world confesses, madam, Henry's form Is noble and majestic.

_Mar._ O you grudge The extorted praise, and speak him but by halves.

_Gui._ Priest, Corso, devils! how she carries it!

_Mar._ I see, my lord, you're come to take your leave; And were it not to give the court suspicion, I would oblige you, sir, before you go, To lead me to the king.

_Gui._ Death and the devil!

_Mar._ But since that cannot be, I'll take my leave Of you, my lord; heaven grant your journey safe! Farewell, once more. [_Offers her hand._] Not stir! does this become you,-- Does your ambition swell into your eyes?-- Jealousy by this light; nay then, proud Guise, I tell you, you're not worthy of the grace; But I will carry't, sir, to those that are, And leave you to the curse of bosom-war. [_Exit._

_May._ Is this the heavenly--

_Gui._ Devil, devil, as they are all. 'Tis true, at first she caught the heavenly form, But now ambition sets her on her head, By hell, I see the cloven mark upon her. Ha! Grillon here! some new court-trick upon me.

_Enter_ GRILLON.

_Gril._ Sir, I have business for your ear.

_Gui._ Retire. [_Exeunt his Followers._

_Gril._ The king, my lord, commanded me to wait you, And bid you welcome to the court.

_Gui._ The king Still loads me with new honours; but none greater Than this, the last.

_Gril._ There is one greater yet, Your high commission 'gainst the Huguenots; I and my family shall shortly wait you, And 'twill be glorious work.

_Gui._ If you are there, There must be action.

_Gril._ O, your pardon, sir; I'm but a stripling in the trade of war: But you, whose life is one continued broil, What will not your triumphant arms accomplish! You, that were formed for mastery in war. That, with a start, cried to your brother Mayenne,-- "To horse!" and slaughtered forty thousand Germans[9].

_Gui._ Let me beseech you, colonel, no more.

_Gril._ But, sir, since I must make at least a figure In this great business, let me understand What 'tis you mean, and why you force the king Upon so dangerous an expedition.

_Gui._ Sir, I intend the greatness of the king; The greatness of all France, whom it imports To make their arms their business, aim, and glory; And where so proper as upon those rebels, That covered all the state with blood and death?

_Gril._ Stored arsenals and armouries, fields of horse, Ordnance, munition, and the nerve of war, Sound infantry, not harassed and diseased, To meet the fierce Navarre, should first be thought on.

_Gui._ I find, my lord, the argument grows warm, Therefore, thus much, and I have done: I go To join the Holy League in this great war, In which no place of office, or command, Not of the greatest, shall be bought or sold; Whereas too often honours are conferred On soldiers, and no soldiers: This man knighted, Because he charged a troop before his dinner, And sculked behind a hedge i'the afternoon: I will have strict examination made Betwixt the meritorious and the base.

_Gril._ You have mouthed it bravely, and there is no doubt Your deeds would answer well your haughty words; Yet let me tell you, sir, there is a man, (Curse on the hearts that hate him!) that would better, Better than you, or all your puffy race, That better would become the great battalion; That when he shines in arms, and suns the field, Moves, speaks, and fights, and is himself a war.

_Gui._ Your idol, sir; you mean the great Navarre: But yet--

_Gril._ No _yet_, my lord of Guise, no _yet_; By arms, I bar you that; I swear, no _yet_; For never was his like, nor shall again. Though voted from his right by your cursed League.

_Gui._ Judge not too rashly of the Holy League, But look at home.

_Gril._ Ha! darest thou justify Those villains?

_Gui._ I'll not justify a villain, More than yourself; but if you thus proceed, If every heated breath can puff away, On each surmise, the lives of free-born people, What need that awful general convocation, The assembly of the states?--nay, let me urge,-- If thus they vilify the Holy League, What may their heads expect?

_Gril._ What, if I could, They should be certain of,--whole piles of fire.

_Gui._ Colonel, 'tis very well I know your mind, Which, without fear, or flattery to your person, I'll tell the king; and then, with his permission, Proclaim it for a warning to our people.

_Gril._ Come, you're a murderer yourself within, A traitor.

_Gui._ Thou a ---- hot old hair-brained fool.

_Gril._ You were complotter with the cursed League, The black abettor of our Harry's death.

_Gui._ 'Tis false.

_Gril._ 'Tis true, as thou art double-hearted: Thou double traitor, to conspire so basely; And when found out, more basely to deny't.

_Gui._ O gracious Harry, let me sound thy name, Lest this old rust of war, this knotty trifler, Should raise me to extremes.

_Gril._ If thou'rt a man, That didst refuse the challenge of Navarre, Come forth[10].

_Gui._ Go on; since thou'rt resolved on death, I'll follow thee, and rid thy shaking soul.

_Enter King, Queen-Mother,_ ALPHONSO, _Abbot, &c._

But see, the king: I scorn to ruin thee, Therefore go tell him, tell him thy own story.

_King._ Ha, colonel, is this your friendly visit? Tell me the truth, how happened this disorder? Those ruffled hands, red looks, and port of fury?

_Gril._ I told him, sir, since you will have it so, He was the author of the rebel-league; Therefore, a traitor and a murderer.

_King._ Is't possible?

_Gui._ No matter, sir, no matter; A few hot words, no more, upon my life; The old man roused, and shook himself a little: So, if your majesty will do me honour, I do beseech you, let the business die.

_King._ Grillon, submit yourself, and ask his pardon.

_Gril._ Pardon me, I cannot do't.

_King._ Where are the guards!

_Gui._ Hold, sir;--come, colonel, I'll ask pardon for you; This soldierly embrace makes up the breach; We will be sorry, sir, for one another.

_Gril._ My lord, I know not what to answer you; I'm friends,--and I am not,--and so farewell. [_Exit._

_King._ You have your orders; yet before you go, Take this embrace: I court you for my friend, Though Grillon would not.

_Gui._ I thank you on my knees; And still, while life shall last, will take strict care To justify my loyalty to your person. [_Exit._

_Qu. M._ Excellent loyalty, to lock you up!

_King._ I see even to the bottom of his soul; And, madam, I must say the Guise has beauties, But they are set in night, and foul design: He was my friend when young, and might be still.

_Ab._ Marked you his hollow accents at the parting?

_Qu. M._ Graves in his smiles.

_King._ Death in his bloodless hands.-- O Marmoutiere! now I will haste to meet thee: The face of beauty, on this rising horror, Looks like the midnight moon upon a murder; It gilds the dark design that stays for fate, And drives the shades, that thicken, from the state. [_Exuent._