oil- CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY GIFT OF Howard Taubman CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 924 058 559 257 All books are subject to recall after two weeks Olln/Kroch Library DATE DUE JAM / -^^ B>M'w»*g PRJNTED IN U.S.A. The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924058559257 BOHN'S STANDARD LIBRARY. DRAMATIC WORKS OF VICTOR HUGO. DRAMATIC WORKS OF VICTOR HUGO TRANSLATED BY FREDERICK L. SLOUS, AND MRS. NEWTON CROSLAND, AUTHOR OF *'THE DIAMOND WEDDING, AND OTHER POEMS ; " " HUBERT FREETH*a PHOSPERITY : " " STORtES OF THE CITY OF LONDON," ETC. HERNANI. THE KING'S DIVERSION. KUY BLAS. LONDON: GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK ST., COVENT GARDEN. AND NEW YORK. 1894. XBSlfir CHISVVICK press: C. WHITTINGHAM and CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. CONTENTS. Heenani, translated by Mrs. Newton Crosland . . 1 The King's Diysrsion, translated byFredk. L. Slous 149 Enr Blas, translated by Mrs. Newton Crosland . . 269 EDITOE'S PREFACE. As the Translator of " Hernani " and " Ruy Bias," I may- be permitted to offer a few remarks on the three great dramas which are now presented in an English form to the English-speaking public. Each of these works is preceded by the Author's Preface, which perhaps exhausts all that had to be said of the play which follows — from his own original point of view. It is curious to contrast the confident egotism, the frequent self-assertion, and the indignation at repression which mark the prefaces to "Hernani" and "Le Roi s' Amuse " with the calm dignity of the very fine dramatic criticism which introduces the reader to " Buy Bias.'' But when the last-named tragedy was produced, Victor Hugo's fame was established and his literary position secure ; he no longer had need to assert himself, for if a few enemies still remained, their voices were but as the buzzing of flies about a giant. Trusting that the Author's Prefaces will be carefully read, I will endeavour only to supplement what is said in them. "Hernani" belongs emphatically to the romantic school, and to the period in European literature when the bonds of olden custom in all the arts were being broken — often for good results, though not always. Hernani is a rebel, and called a bandit throughout the play — but he is a rebel noble, sworn to avenge his father's wrongs, and his band viii editoe's pbeface. may fairly be supposed to have been r-ecruited from a dis- affected army. He is a young lover as ardent as Romeo, witb less trust and more jealousy, and Dona Sol corre- sponds in some respects to Juliet. Yet it is well to mark the difference between the man's love and the woman's, as the great poet has faithfully shown it. With Dona Sol her love is her " sole existence." It is because Hernani refuses when urg*ed to subdue his master passion, vengeance, and thus be released from his pledge, that the play becomes a tragedy. Not until too late for life and happiness is his vengeance overcome by the magnanimity of Charles. One of the admirable characteristics of this work is that all the personages portrayed are such distinct individuals that any one knowing the play tolerably well would, there is little doubt, identify any line that might be quoted, apportioning it to the right speaker. But this power of distinctly and forcibly delineating his characters is one of Hugo's never-failing attributes, and is shown hardly less in the subordinate courtiers who play their part in the drama, than in the leading personages. Don Carlos may not be quite the Charles the Fifth of history, but he is something greater — a poet's fine creation. It seems to me that the old man, Ruy Gomez, is one of the most subtle conceptions which a great poet ever vivified. He is a man who has reached sixty years of age in the enjoyment of unsullied fame and the noblest repute — a man to whom the preservation of what was called Castilian honour was beyond all other duties, all other happiness. The scene of the Portraits must warm every noble nature to pathetic sympathy; and yet when we have finished the play we discover of how little worth editor's peefacb. ix was that chivalry of Spain which " Cervantes laughed away " — how completely was it a mere form — a code of set rules — not what chivalry surely ought to be, an influ- ence springing from Christianity and capable of being adapted to all circumstances. Such was not the chivalry of Don Ruy Gomez de Silva, Duke de Pastrana, when crossed and thwarted in his heart's desire. Tempted then by furious passions he fell. There was no chivalry in his Shylock-like holding of Hernani to his bond. I think there are two or three brief sentences in the Fifth Act, which are like flashes of lurid lightning by which we see the depths of the malignity which rages in the heart of the old Duke — depths which it would have taken an inferior writer half a page to' describe. Perhaps, however, the finest portion of this work is the Fourth Act, which includes the magnificent mono- logue of Charles the Fifth before the tomb of Charlemagne. A translator must be very incompetent if his rendering of this speech does not stir the pulse of the reader who remembers that it embodies the ideas of a noble despot in the days when despotism was the only form of govern- ment. And this brings one to the point of what has often been said about Victor Hugo being untranslatable. It cannot be denied that in a certain sense all poetry of the first order must be untranslatable. It is scarcely possible that any phrase of another language can be quite so happy as that into which the molten thought of genius first flowed. Neither is it likely, if possible, that the melody of the first inspiration can find a complete equi- valent in a strange tongue. But surely the language of Shakespeare and Milton, of Pope and of Byron, and of our living Victorian poets is not so poor that it cannot express X E0ITOE S PREFACE. subtle thoughts precisely, eloquent pleadings with fervour, and poetical imagery with force and grace ! Shakespeare must be as untranslatable — ^in the sense to which I have alluded — as undoubtedly is Victor Hugo. Tet the French know something of our greatest poet even through translations. Byron also is tolerably familiar to them, not to mention lesser lights. It may seem a paradox, but I think it is only a teuth, to say that the greater a poet is, the more capable are his works of translation ; and for this reason. They contain the larger store of deep thought, which, like pure gold, may be put into the crucible and melted into a new shape. Smaller poets do not supply this precious substance, and so what -little charm they have evaporates in the necessary treat- ment. It has, I believe, been said by one or two detracting critics that Victor Hugo is, for a great writer, deficient in humour. He is generally too terribly in earnest to be turned aside to make fun on slight provocation ; but the manner in which Don Carlos, in the First Act of "Hernani," mystifies the proud Duke surely belongs to the richest vein of comedy ; and of sarcasm there is abundance throughout the play. It would occupy too much space to relate half the amusing stories associated with the first production of "Hernani." The great actress, Mdlle. Mars — though more than fifty years of age — personated the heroine to perfection ; but she did not in the first instance like her part, nor did she appreciate the play until success enabled her to do so. Certainly she could not have comprehended the work in its entireness, or she would not have raised the objectioA she did to a certain line in the Third Act editor's peeface. xi Scene the Fourtli. In her egotism she probably looked on Hernani as a common bandit, instead erf a rebel Lord defying a King. It is a powerful scene in which Hernani had been lamenting that he had only a dole of misery to offer to his love, and Doiia Sol exclaims : " Vous 6tes mon lion superbe et gen&eux ! " (" You are my lion generous and superb ! ") And time after time, at rehearsal, Mdlle. Mars halted at this passage, shaded her eyes with her hand, and pre- tended to look round for the author — though she knew perfectly well where he was seated in the orchestra — and then would inquire if M, Hugo were present. " I am here, Madam," Hugo would reply — and then would ensue a dialogue but slightly varied on each occasion. It is Dumas, who attended many of these rehearsals, that tells the story : " Do you really like that line ? " the actress would say. " Madam, I so wrote it." " So you stick to your lion ? " " Find me something better, and I will alter it." " That is not for me to do," retorted the actress. " I am not the author." " Well, then. Madam, as that is the case, let us leave it as it is." A little more argument, but next day all had to be gone over again. And when Mdlle. Mars declared that it was a dangerous line, which would certainly be hissed, the author replied that this would only be the case if she did not deliver it with her usual power. At last she ventured to suggest that instead of " mon lion " Dona Sol should say " Monseigneur," and wondered what objection there could be to the substitution. xii editok's preface. "Only," replied Hugo, "that mon lion elevates the verse, and Monseigneur lowers it," — adding, " I would rather be hissed for a good verse than applauded for a fcad one." In fact these vexatious interruptions were so irritating to the poet, that towards the close of one of the rehearsals, he asked to speak to Mdlle. Mars, and told her that he wished her to give back the part. The actress turned pale ; she was accustomed to ba urgently solicited to undertake characters, but never before had she been required to give one up. She apologized, and the little quarrel was in a measure made up ; though she pre- served a cold, discontented manner which chilled the other actors ; happily, however, she did exert all her powers when the hour for their display arrived. On the first night that " Hernani " was performed, a fiignificant incident showed the effect that it produced. The monologue of Charles the Fifth, in the Fourth Act, was received with thunders of applause ; and while the tumult was unabated, it was intimated to Victor Hugo that he was wanted. It was a little man with eager eyes who wished to speak to him. " My name is Mame," said the stranger, " I am the partner of M. Baudoin the publisher — but we cannot talk here — can you apare me a minute outside the theatre ? " They passed into the street, when the little man continued : — "M. Baudoin and I have witnessed the performance — we should like to publish ' Hernani,' will you sell it ? " " What will you give? " said the author. " Six thousand francs." Victor Hugo suggested that he should wait till the editor's premcb. xiii performance was over, but M, Mame desired to conclude the business at once, notwithstanding Hugo's generous reminder tliat the success at the close might be less com- plete than it appeared at present. " That is true," said the publisher, " but it may be greater. At the second act I meant to offer you two thousand francs ; at the third I advanced to four thou- sand ; and now at the fourth I offer you six. If I wait till the fifth act is over I fear I should offer you ten thousand." Victor Hugo was so amused that he could not help laughing, and promised that the matter should be arranged the next morning. But this little delay did not suit the impatient publisher who had the money in his pocket, and wished to settle the affair at once. So the pair entered a tobacconist's shop, where stamped paper and pen and ink were procured, and the bargain duly made ; one exceed- ingly acceptable to the poet, who was then very poor, and had but fifty francs in his possession. In the author's preface to " Le Roi s' Amuse " he elo- quently defends himself from the charge of having pro- duced an immoral play. Certainly in this work vice is neither really triumphant nor made for one moment attractive, and yet, as the translator forcibly observes, there can be little wonder that after one representation its performance was prohibited. It was intimated to the Author that " Le Roi s'Amuse " was suppressed because it contained a verse that was looked upon as an insult to the Citizen King Louis Philippe. Victor Hugo denied emphatically any such intention, and as for long years afterwards the Orleans family remained on the most familiar and friendly terms with him, it is XIV BDIIOE S PEEFAOE. difficult to suppose that they believed in the accusation. And just as Hugo had refused from Charles the Tenth an addition to his pension in consideration of the suppression of " Marion de Lorme " — so now, after the performance of "Le Roi s' Amuse " had been prohibited, on being taunted by the Ministerial journals with receiving his original pension of two thousand francs, he threw it up, declining to take another sou. It is true also that in his pre- face he speaks contemptuously of the government — ^but the fact remains — testified anew in the recently published volume, "Choses Vues" — that Hugo continued the inti- mate associate of the King and the Orleans princes. Few readers will blame the censor for prohibiting the play, though they may differ concerning the verity of his alleged motives — and for pastime may sharpen their wits in seeking to find the clue to the puzzle. I look upon it as a curious coincidence that the " Lady of Lyons " in London, and " Euy Bias " in Paris, should have been produced in the same year. Both dramas turn on the incident of a man of humble station loving a woman greatly his superior in social rank, and winning her affections in an assumed character ; and quite possibly both plays were suggested by the true story of Angelica Kauffman, who was entrapped into a marriage with a valet, believing him to be a foreign nobleman. But save in the one circumstance no two works can be more dissimilar than these are. The English like plays to end happily, or at any rate, for only the repulsive villains to suffer, and the cleverly constructed yet highly melodramatic " Lady of Lyons " hit the taste of the town exactly. Two great artists, Macready and Helen Faucit, embodied Lord Lytton's creations in so poetical a manner, that they EDITOES PREFACE. XV assumed a dignity which inferior actors must fail to give them. The love was pure, and there was repentance with atonement before the happy climax. Besides, the differ- ence between the gardener's son and the merchant's daughter was not so outrageously great, as to shut out the hope of its being spanned. The audience was deeply, pathetically touched — the play was effective in the highest degree — and the acting supremely fine — but every one felt that things would come right at last. Not so with " Euy Bias." Near the close of the first act, at scene the third, we know perfectly well that it is a tragedy before us. The fatal words of the hero overheard by the remorseless Don Salluste unloose the stream which is to carry him to perdition : — " Oh ! mon ^me au demon ! Je la vendrais, pour fitre XJn des jeunes seigneurs que, de cette fenetre, Je vois en ce moment." " My soul Is given over, I would sell it might I thus become like one of those young lords That from this window I behold." It IS a realization of the mediaeval legend. He has his wish and his heart's desire, but in consequence wave after wave arises to bear him on to his doom. To those who will read between the lines, Ruy Bias is surely full of the noblest and most Christian teaching. We pity, it is true, the sorely tried and tempted, but we know as a fact in ethics — and therefore a truth to be upheld in Art — that retribution must follow wrong-doing. And as Victor Hugo may be considered the greatest dramatist since Shake- speare, he knew well that his work must be a tragedy. But it is so supreme and perfectly moulded a work of art xvi editoe's preface. because he has, in its proper place, brightened the drama •with rich comedy. In this he resembles our own great poet. The wonderful manner in which the character of Don Caesar is sustained and revealed through dialogues flashing with wit, and incidents only to have been con- ceived by a real humourist — proclaims the master. Surely there is consummate art in separating the third from the fifth act by a series of scenes, which, though keeping the motive of the play well in view, gives the spectator rest from the culminating excitement of the one, before witnessing the struggle and pathos of the other, Never let the moralist forget that in the end Ruy Bias is the conqueror — conquering even himself, and saving the poor outraged Queen. But the death penalty is inevitable, for Nemesis is never absent from the " personages " of Hugo's dramas. And now I beg leave to say a very few words of myself. If these translations of mine should prove the last work of a pen that for nearly fifty years has been busy in many departments of literature, I hope I shall be justified in the estimation of thoughtful readers. There is such a glow of eternal youth about Hugo's works, that I rather rejoice at finding myself capable of being fascinated by them. The world is always young ! Somewhere always noble natures are aspiring, and young hearts beating with their first awakening to a master passion. To faithfully portray the struggles of the heart is one of the poet's missions, and surely in depicting in "Hernani" and " Ruy Bias," love and revenge, ambition and loyalty, remorse and despair, the noblest teaching is embodied — teaching that appeals to many natures more forcibly in the manner in which it is here presented than in a more solemn and didactic EDITOES PBEFACB. XVli form. I do not deny that here and there a daring thought may displease timid readers — but let them rather turn to those eternal truths which are the basis, the life and spirit of all religious creeds, and which shine luminously in the poetry of Victor Hugo. Let us thank him for the jewels he gives us, and not bring a lens through which to search for the flaws ! Ever is Victor Hugo the defender of the weak and oppressed, the scorner of selfishness and vice, the teacher of self-sacrifice in the cause of duty, and the upholder of the dignity of woman. It may be that in these matter-of- fact days we require such teaching quite as much as did mankind in the ages which were called darker, and there is little doubt that the greatest of French poets reaches many hearts that have proved insensible to weaker influences. Camilla Ckosland. October, 1887. HERNANI : A TEAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS. AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF HERNANI, 1830. Only a few weeks since, the Author of this drama wrote, con- cerning a poet who died before maturity, as follows : — " * * * At this moment of literary turmoil and contention, whom should we the more pity, those who die, or those who wrestle ? Truly it is sad to see a poet of twenty years old pass away, to behold a broken lyre, and a future that vanishes ; but, is not repose also some advantage ? Are there not those around whom calumnies, injuries, hatreds, jealousies, secret wrongs, base treasons incessantly gather ; true men, against whom disloyal war is waged ; devoted men, who only seek to bestow on their country one sort of freedom the more, that of art and inteUigeuce ; laborious men, who peaceably pursue their conscientious work, a prey on one side to the vile stratagems of official censure, and on the other exposed too often to the ingratitude of even those for whom they toil ; may not such be permitted sometimes to turn their eyes with envy towards those who have fallen behind them, and who rest in the tomb ? Invideo, said Luther, in the ceme- tary of Worms, invideo quia quiescunt. " What does it signify ? Young people, take heart. If the present be made rough for us, the future will be smooth. Romanticism, so often ill-defined, is only — and this is its true definition if we look at it from its combative side — liberalism in literature. This truth is already understood by nearly all the best minds, and the number is great ; and soon, for the work is well advanced, liberalism in literature will not be less popular i authoe's preface to the fiest than in politics. Liberty in Art, liberty in Society, behold the double end towards which consistent and logical minds should tend ; behold the double banner that rallies the intelligence — with but few exceptions, which will become more enlightened — of all the young who are now so strong and patient ; then, with the young, and at their head the choice spirits of the generation which has preceded us, all those sagacious veterans, who, after the first moment of hesitation and examination, discovered that what their sons are doing to-day is the consequence of what they them- selves have achieved, and that liberty in literature is the offspring of political liberty. This principle is that of the age, and wiU prevail. The Ultras of all sorts, classical and monarchical, will in vain help each other to restore the old system, broken to pieces, literary and social; all progress of the country, every intellectual development, every stride of liberty will have caused their scaf- folding to give way. And, indeed, their efforts at reaction will have been useful. In revolution every movement is an advance. Truth and liberty have this excellence, that all one does for and against them serves them equally well. Now, after all the great things that our fathers have done, and that we have beheld, now that we have come out of the old social form, why should there not proceed a new out of the old poetic form ? For a new people, new art. In admiring the literature of Louis the Fourteenth's age, so well adapted to his monarchy, France will know well how to have its own and national literature of the nineteenth century, to which Mirabeau gave its liberty, and Napoleon its power." — Letter to the Publishers of the Poems of M. Dovalle. Let the author of this drama be pardoned for thus quoting him- self. His words have so little the power of impressing, that he often needs to repeat them. Besides, at present it is perhaps not out of place to put before readers the two pages just tran- scribed. It is not this drama which can in any respect deserve the great name of new art or new poetry. Far from that ; but it is that the principle of freedom in literature has advanced a step; it is that some progress has been made, not in art, this drama is too small a thing for that, but in the public ; it is that in this re- spect at least one part of the predictions hazarded above has just been realized. There is, indeed, some danger in making changes thus sud- denly, and risking on the stage those tentative efforts hitherto EDITION OP HEENANI, 1830. 5 confided to paper, which endures everything ; the reading public is yery different from the theatrical public, and one might dread seeing the latter reject what the former had accepted. This has not been the case. The principle of literary freedom already comprehended by the world of readers and thinkers, has not been less fully accepted by that immense crowd, eager for the pure en- joyment of art, which every night fills the theatres of Paris. This loud and powerful voice of the people, likened to the voice of God, declares that henceforth poetry shall bear the same device as politics : Toleration and Libektt. Now let the poet come ! He has a public. And whatever may be this freedom, the public wills that in the State it shall be reconciled with order, and in literature with art. Liberty has a wisdom of its own, without which it is not com- plete. That the old rules of D'Aubignac should die with the old customs of Cajas is well ; that to a literature of the court should succeed a literature of the people is better still ; but, above all, it is best that an inner voice should be heard from the depths of all these novelties. Let the principle of liberty work, but let it work well. In letters, as in society, not etiquette, not anarchy, but laws. Neither red heels ' nor red caps. This is what the public wants, and it wishes rightly^ As for us, in deference to that public which has accepted with so much indulgence an attempt which merits so little, we give this drama now as it has been represented. Perhaps the day will come when the author will publish it as he conceived it,* indicating and discussing the modifications to which he had to submit. These critical details may be neither uninstructive nor uninteresting, though they seem trifling at present — freedom in art is admitted, the principal question is settled ; why pause to dwell on secondary questions ? We shall return to them some day, and also speak of them in detail, demolishing by evidence and reason this system of dramatic censure — ^which is the only obstacle to the freedom of the theatre now that it no longer exists in the public mind. We shall strive at aU risks and perils, and by devotion to art, to ^ Eed heels, typical of the aristocracy; red caps, of hberty— or anarchy. — Tkans. ^ This day has long since come, and the translation of Hernani, which is now offered to English readers, is from the unmutilated edition of 1 836. — Trans. 6 AUTHOb'S PKEFACE to the nEST expose the thousand abuses of this petty inquisition of the intel- lect, which has, like the other holy office, its secret judges, its masked executioners, its tortures, its mutilations, and its penalty of death. We wiU tear away, if we can, those swaddling clothes of the police, in which it is shamefiil that the theatre should be wrapped up in the nineteenth century. At present there is only place for gratitude and thanks. To the public it is that the author addresses his own acknowledgments, and he does so from the depths of his heart. This work, not from its talent, but for conscience' and freedom's sake, has been generously protected from enmities by the public, because the public is also itself always conscientious and free. Thanks, then, be rendered to it, as well as to that mighty youthful band which has brought help and favour to the work of a young man as sincere and independent as itself. It was for youth above all that he laboured, because it would be a great and real glory to be ap- plauded by the leading young men, who are intelligent, logical, consistent, truly liberal in literature as well as politics — a noble generation, that opens wide its eyes to look at the truth, and to receive light from all sides. As for his work, he will not speak of it. He accepts the criticisms which it has drawn forth, the most severe as well as the most kindly, because he may profit by all. He dares not flatter himself that everyone can at once have understood this drama, of which the Romancero General is the true key. He would willingly ask persons whom this work has shocked, to read again Le Cid, Don Sanche, Nicomede, or rather all Comeille and all Moli&re, those great and admirable poets. Such reading, however much it might show the immense infei-iority of the author of Hernani, would perhaps render them more indulgent to certain things which have offended them in the form, or the motive, of this drama. In fact, the moment is perhaps nqt yet come to judge it. Hernani is but the first stone of an edifice which exists ftdly constructed in the author's mind, the whole of which can alone give value to this drama. Perhaps one day it wiU not be thought iU that his fancy, like that of the architect of Bourges, puts a door almost Moorish to his Gothic Cathedi-al. Meanwhile, what he has done is but little, and he knows it. May time and power to proceed with his work not fail him ! It will but have worth when it is completed. He is not one of those EDITION OP HESNANI, 1830. 7 privileged poets who can die or break off before tliey have finished without peril to their memory ; he is not of those who remain great even without having completed their work — ^happy men, of whom one may say what Virgil said of Carthage traced out : — Pendent opera interrupta minaeque Murorum ingentes. March 9tk, 1830. PERSONAGES OF THE DRAMA. Hebnani. Don Carlos. Don Enr Gomez de Silva. DoSfA Sol db Silva. The Kino of Bohemia. The Duke of Bavakia. The Duke of Gotha. The Baron of Hohenboueg, The Ddkb of Lutzeleoueo. Don Sancho. Don Matias. Don Eicakdo. Don Gabcib Suabez. Don Francisco. Don J0AN DE Hard. Don Pedro Gusman de Lara. Don Gil Tellez Gieon. Dona Josefa Dparte. Jaquez. A Mountaineer. A Lady. First Conspirator. Second Conspirator, Third Conspirator. Conspirators of the Holy League, Germans and Spaniards, Mountaineers, Nobles, Soldiers, Pages, Attendants, &c. Spain, a.d. 1519. HERNANI. ACT FIRST: THE KING. Scene 1. — Saeagossa. A Ohamber. Night: a lamp on the table. DoifA JosEFA DuAETE, cwi old womcm dressed in block, with body of her dress worked in jet in the fashion of Isabella the Catholic. Don Oaelos. Dona Josefa, alone. She draws the crimson curtains of the window, and puts some armchairs in order. A knock at a little secret door on the right. She listens. A second knock. Dona Josefa. Can it be lie already ? [Another knock. 'T is, indeed, At th' hidden stairway. [A fourth knock. I must open quick. [_She opens the concealed door. Don Carlos enters, his face muffled in his cloak, and Ms hat drawn over his brows. Good evening to you, sir ! l_She ushers him in. Me drops his cloak and reveals a rich dress of silk and velvet in the Ga$tilia/n style of 1519. She looks at him closely, and recoils astonished. What now ? — not you, Signor Hernani ! Tire ! fire ! Help, oh help ! 10 DEAMAS OP TICTOE HUGO. [ACT I. Don Carlos (seizing her by the arm). But two words more, Duenna, and you die ! [He holes at her intently. She is frightened into silence. Is this the room of Dona Sol, betrothed To her old nncle, Duke de Pastrana ? A very worthy lord he is — senile, White-hair'd and jealous. Tell me, is it true The beauteous Dona loves a smooth-faced youth, All whiskerlesa as yet, and sees him here Each night, in spite of envious care ? Tell me. Am I informed aright ? \_She is silent, Se shakes her hy the arm. Will you not speak ? Dona Josefa. You did forbid me, sir, to speak two words. Don Carlos. One wUl suffice. I want a yes, or no. Say, is thy mistress Dona Sol de Silva ? Dona Josefa. Yes, why ? Don Carlos. No matter why. Just at this hour The venerable lover is away ? Dona Josefa. He is. Don Caelos. And she expects the young one now ? DoSa Josefa. Yes. Don Caelos. Oh, that I could die ! Dona Josefa. Yes. so. I.] HEENANI. 11 Is this the place Don Caelos. Say, Duenna, 1 -where they will surely meet ? Tes. Hide me DoSa Josbfa. Don Caelos. somewhere here. DoSa Josefa. roup Don Caelos. Tes, me. No matter why. Dona Josefa. Don Caelos. DoSa Josefa. I hide yon here ! Why? Don Caelos. Tes, here. No, never ! DoSa Josefa. Don Caelos (drawing from Ms girdle a purse and a dagger.) Madam, condescend to choose Between a purse and dagger. DoSa Josefa {taking the purse). Are you then The devil ? Don Caelos. Tes, Duenna. Dona Josefa (opening a narrow owpboard in the wall). Go — go in. 12 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HOGO. [ACT I. Don Carlos (examining the cwpboard). THs box ! DoSa JosErA (shutting v,p the mpboa/rd). If you don't like it, go away. Don Carlos (re-opening cupbocvrd^. And yet ! Y Again examining it. Is this the stable where you keep The broom-stick that you ride on ? [He crouches down in the cwpboard with difficulty. Oh ! oh ! oh ! DoSa Josefa (joining her hands and loohing aslumied). A man here ! Don Carlos (from the cwphoard, still open'). And was it a woman then Tour mistress here expected ? DoSa Josefa. Heavens ! I hear The step of Dona Sol ! Sir, shut the door ! "Quick — quick ! [She pushes the cwpboard door, which closes. Don Carlos (from the closed cwpbowrd). Remember, if you breathe a word Tou die ! DoSa Josefa (alone). Who is this man ? If I cry out, 'Gracious ! there's none to hear. All are asleep Within the palace walls — Madam and I Excepted, Pshaw ! the other'il come. He wears A sword ; 'tis his affair. And Heav'n keep us I'rom powers of hell. [ Weighing the pwrse in her hand. At least no thief he is. Unter Dona Sol in white. (Dona Josefa hides the purse.) so. II.] HEENANI. 13 Scene 2. — DoSa Josefa ; Don Carlos, Udd&n ; DoSa Sol ;. afterwwrds Heenani. Josefa ! Madam ? DoSa Sol. DoSa Josefa. DoSa Sol. I some mischief dread, For 'tis full time Hernani shonld be here. [Noise of steps at the secret door. He's coming up ; go — quick ! at once, undo Ere lie has time to knock. [Josefa opens the little door. Enter Hebnani in large cloak and large hat; underneath, costume of mountaineer of Aragon — grey, with a cuirass of leather ; a sword, a dagger, and a horn at his girdle. Dona Sol (^going to him). Hernani ! Oh ! Heenani. Ah, Dona Sol ! it is yourself at last I see — your voice it is I hear. Oh, why Does cruel fate keep you so far from me ? I have such need of you to help my heart Forget all else ! DoSa Sol (touching his clothes'). Oh ! Heav'ns ! your cloak is drench'd I The rain must pour ! Heenani. I know not. » DoSa Sol. And the cold — You must be cold ! 14 deamas op tictoe hugo. [act i. Heenani. I feel it not. Dona Sol. Take off This cloak then, pray. Heenani. Dona, beloved, tell me. When night brings happy sleep to you, so pure And innocent — sleep that half opes your month, Closing your eyes with its light finger-touch — Does not some angel show how dear you are To an unhappy man, by all the world Abandoned and repulsed ? DoSa Sol. Sir, you are late ; But tell me, are you cold ? Heenane. Not near to you. Ah ! when the raging fire of jealous love Burns in the veins, and the true heart is riven By its own tempest, we feel not the clouds O'erhead, though storm and lightning they fling forth ! Dona Sol. Oome, give me now the cloak, and your sword too, . Heenani (his hand on his sword). No. 'Tis my other love, faithful and pure. The old Duke, Dona Sol — your promised spouse, Your uncle — is he absent now ? Dona Sol. » Oh, yes ; This hour to us belongs. Heenani. And that is all ! so. II,] HBENANI. 15 Only this hour ! and then comes afterwards ! — What matter ! For I must forget or die ! Angel ! one hour with thee — with whom I woald Spend life, and afterwards eternity ! DoSa Sol. Hernani ! Heenani. It is happiness to know The Duke is absent. I am like a thief Who forces doors. I enter — see yon — rob An old man of an hour of your sweet voice And looks. And I am happy, though, no doubt He would deny me e'en one hour, although He steals my very life. Dona Sol. Be calm. [_Giving the cloak to the Duenna. Josefa ! This wet cloak take and dry it. [Exit Josefa. [_8h6 seats herself, and makes a sign for Hbenani to draw near. Now come here. Heenani (without appearing to hear her). The Duke, then, is not in the mansion now ? Dona Sol. How grand you look ! Heenani. He is away ? Dona Sol. Dear one, , Let us not think about the Duke. Heenani. Madam, 16 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT I. But let US think of him, the grave old man Who loves yon — ^who will marry you ! How now ? He took a kiss from you the other day. Not think of him ! DoSa Sot. Is't that which grieves you thus ? A kiss upon my brow — an uncle's kiss — Almost a father's. Hbenani. No, not so ; it was A lover's, husband's, jealous kiss. To him — To him it is that you will soon belong. Think'st thou not of it ! Oh, the foolish dotard. With head drooped down to finish out his days ! Wanting a wife, he takes a girl ; himself Most like a frozen spectre. Sees he not, The senseless one ! that while with one hand he Espouses you, the other mates with Death ! Yet without shudder comes he 'twixt our hearts ! Seek out the grave-digger, old man, and give Thy measure. Who is it that makes for you This marriage ? You are forced to it, I hope ? Dona Sol. They say the King desires it. Heenani. King ! this king ! My father on the scaffold died condemned By his ; ^ and, though one may have aged since then — ' It is questionable if the author really meant the father of Charles the Fifth, Philip the Handsome, son of the Emperor of Germany, though Philip was for a short time Regent, in consequence of the mental incapacity of his wife Joanna. Possibly, taking a poetical licence, Victor Hugo wished to indicate the grandfather, King Ferdinand. They were equally capable of exercising tyranny and oppression, and SC. II.] HEENANI. 17 For e'en the shadow of that king, his son, His •widow, and for all to him allied, My hate continues fresh. Him dead, no more We count with ; but while still a child I swore That I'd avenge my father on his son. I sought him in all places — Charles the King Of the Oastiles. For hate is rife between Our families. The fathers wrestled long And without pity, and without remorse, For thirty years ! Oh, 'tis ia rain that they Are dead ; their hatred lives. For them no peace Has come ; their sons keep up the duel still. Ah ! then I find 'tis thou who hast made up This execrable marriage ! Thee I sought — Thou comest in my way ! Dona Sol. Ton frighten me ! Heenani. Charged with the mandate of anathema, I frighten e'en myself ; but listen now : This old, old man, for whom they destine you. This Kuy de SUva, Duke de Pastrana, Count and grandee, rich man of Aragon, In place of youth can give thee, oh ! young girl, Such store of gold and jewels that your brow Will shine 'mong royalty's own diadems ; And for your rank and wealth, and pride and state. Queens many will perhaps envy yon. See, then. Just what he is. And now consider me. My poverty is absolute, I say. Only the forest, where I ran barefoot In childhood, did I know. Although perchaince I too can claim illustrious blazonry, Philip was powerful in Spain long before lie became Regent ; he, how- ever, died too young for the animosity to have raged so many years as the text implies, — Teans. 18 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT I. That's dimm'd just now by rusting stain of blood. Perchance I've rights, though they are shrouded still, And hid 'neath ebon folds of scaffold cloth, Yet which, if my attempt one day succeeds, May, with my sword from out their sheath leap forth. Meanwhile, from jealous Heaven I've received But air, and light, and water — gifts bestowed On all. Now, wish you from the Duke, or me, To be delivered ? Tou must choose 'twixt us, Whether you marry him, or follow me. Dona Sol. Tou, I will follow ! Heenani. 'Mong companions rude, Men all proscribed, of whom the headsman knows The names already. Men whom neither steel Nor touch of pity softens ; each one urged By some blood feud that's personal. WUt thou Then come ? They'd call thee mistress of my band, For know you not that I a bandit am ? When I was hunted throughout Spain, alone In thickest forests, and on mountains steep, 'Mong rocks which but the soaring eagle spied, Old Catalonia like a mother proved. Among her hills — ^free, poor, and stern — I grew ; And now, to-morrow if this horn should sound, Three thousand men would rally at the call. Tou shudder, and should pause to ponder well. Think what 'twill prove to follow me through woods And over mountain paths, with comrades like The fiends that come in dreams ! To live in fear, Suspicious of a sound, of voices, eyes : To sleep upon the earth, drink at the stream. And hear at night, while nourishing perchance Some wakeful babe, the whistling musket balls. To be a wanderer with me proscribed. so. II.J HEENANI. 19 And when my father I shall follow — then, E'en to the scaffold, you to follow me ! Dona Sol. I'll follow yon. Heknani. The Duke is wealthy, great And prosperous, without a stain upon His ancient name. He offers you his hand, And can give all things — treasures, dignities, And pleasure DoSa Sol. We'll set out to-morrow. Oh ! Hernani, censure not th' audacity Of this decision. Are you angel mine Or demon ? Only one thing do I know. That I'm your slave. Now, listen : wheresoe'er You go, I go — pause you or move I'm yours. Why act I thus ? Ah ! that I cannot tell ; Only I want to see you evermore. When sound of your receding footstep dies I feel my heart stops beating ; without you Myself seems absent, but when I detect Again the step I love, my soul comes back, I breathe — I live once more. Heenani (embracing her}. Oh ! angel mine ! Dona Sol. At midnight, then, to-morrow, clap your hands Three times beneath my window, bringing there Your escort. Go ! I shall be strong and brave. Heenani. Now know you who I am ? Dona Sol. Only my lord. Enough — what matters else ? — I follow you. 20 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [aCT I. Hebnani. Not so. Since yon, a woman -weak, decide To come with me, 'tis right that yon shonld know What name, what rank, what sonl, perchance what fate There hides beneath the low Hemani here. Tes, yon have willed to link yonrself for aye With brigand — wonld yon still with ontlaw mate ? Don Carlos (opening ilie ov/pboa/rd'). When will you finish all this history ? Think you 'tis pleasant in this cupboard hole ? [Heekani recoils, astonished. Dona Sol screams and takes refuge m Heenani's arms, looJcing at Don Oaelos with frightened gaze. Heenani (his hand on the hilt of Ms sword). Who is this man ? DoSa Sol. Oh, heavens, help ! Heenani. Be still, My Dona Sol ! you'll wake up dangerous eyes. Never — whatever be — while I am near, Seek other help than mine. (To Don Oaelos.) What do you here ? Don Caelos. I ? — Well, I am not riding through the wood, That you should ask. Heenani. He who affronts, then jeers. May cause his heir to laugh. Don Caelos. Bach, Sir, in turn. Let us speak frankly. Ton the lady love. And come each night to mirror in her eyes so. II.] HERNANI. 21 Tour own. I love her too, and want to know Who 'tis I have so often seen come in The window way, while I stand at the door. Hernani. Upon my word, I'll send you out the way I enter, Don Caelos. As to that we'll see. My love I offer unto Madam. Shall we then Agree to share it ? In her beauteous soul I've seen so much of tenderness, and love, And sentiment, that she, I'm very sure, Has quite enough for ardent lovers twain. Therefore to-night, wishing to end suspense On your account, I forced an entrance, hid, And — to confess it all — I listened too. But I heard badly, and was nearly choked ; And then I crumpled my French vest — and so. By Jove ! come out I must ! Hbenani. Likewise my blade Is not at ease, and hurries to leap out. Don Caelos (bowing). Sir, as you please. Heenani (drawing his sword). Defend yourself ! [Don Caelos draws Ms sii'ord. Dona Sol, Oh, Heaven ! Don Caelos. Be calm, Senora. Heenani (to Don Caelos). Tell me, Sir, your name. 22 deamas op victoe hugo. [act i. Don Caelos. Tell me yours ! Heenani. It is a fatal secret, Kept for my breathing in another's ear, Some day when I am conqaeror, with my knee Upon his breast, and dagger in his heart. Don Caelos. Then tell to me this other's name. Hbenani. To thee What matters it ? On guard ! Defend thyself ! [They cross swords. Dona Sol falls tremhling into a chair. They hear Tcnodks at the door. DoSa Sol (rising in alcwm). Oh Heavens ! there's some one knocking at the door ! [The champions pause. Enter Josepa, at the little door, in a frightened state, Hebnani (to Josepa). Who knocks in this way ? Dona Josepa (to Dona Sol). Madam, a surprise ! An unexpected blow. It is the Duke Come home. Dona Sol (clasping her hands'). The Duke ! Then every hope is lost I Dona Josepa (looMng round). Gracious ! the stranger out ! and swords, and fighting I Here's a fine business ! [The two comhatants sheathe their swords, Don Cael03 d/raws his cloak round him, and pulls his hat down on his forehead. More TtnocMng. so. II.] HEKNANI. 23 Hernani. What is to be done ? \_More hioching. A Voice (without). Dona Sol, open to me. [Dona Josefa is going to the door, ivhen Hbenani stops her. Heenani. Do not open. DoSa Josefa (pulling out her rosary). Holy St, James ! now draw ns throngh this broil ! [More JcnocMng. Heenani (pointing to the cupboard). Let's hide ! Don Caelos. What ! in the cupboard ? Heenani. Tea, go in ; I will take care that it shall hold ns both. Don Caelos. Thanks. No ; it is too good a joke. Heenani (pointing to secret door). Let's fly That way. Don Caelos. Good night ! But as for me I stay Here. Heenani. Fire and fury, Sir, we will be quits For this. (To Dona Sol.) What if I firmly barr'd the door ? Don Caelos (to Josefa). Open the door. Heenani. What is it that he says ? 24 DRAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [aCT I. Don Caelos (to Josbfa, who hesitates heioildered). Open the door, I say, £More hnockmg. Josbfa opens the door, treniblmg. Dona Sol. Oh, I shall die ! Scene 3. — The same, with Don Eut Gomez db Silta, in black ; white hair and beard. Servants with lights. Don Rut Gomez. My niece with two men at this hour of night ! Come all ! The thing is worth exposing here. {To Dona Sol.) Now by St. John of Avila, I vow That we three with you, madam, are by two Too many. (To the two young men.) My young Sirs, what do you here ? When we'd the Cid and Bernard — giants both Of Spain and of the world — they travelled through Castile protecting women, honouring Old men. For them steel armour had less weight Than your fine velvets have for you. These men Respected whitened beards, and when they loved, Their love was consecrated by the Church. Never did such men cozen or betray, For reason that they had to keep unflawed The honour of their house. Wished they to wed. They took a stainless wife in open day, Before the world, with sword, or axe, or lance In hand. But as for villains such as you, Who come at eve, peeping behind them oft. To steal away the honour of men's wives In absence of their husbands, I declare. The Cid, our ancestor, had he but known Such men, he would have plucked away from them Nobility usurped, have made them kneel. While he with flat of sword their blazon dashed. SC. III.] HEKNANI. 25 Behold what were the men of former times Whom I, with anguish, now compare with these I see to-day ! What do you here ? Is it To say, a white-haired man's but fit for youth To point at when he passes in the street. And jeer at there ? Shall they so laugh at me, Tried soldier of Zamora ? At the least Not yours will be that laugh. Heenani. But Duke Don- Rut Gomez. Be still ! What ! Ton have sword and lance, falcons, the chase. And songs to sing 'neath balconies at night, Festivals, pleasures, feathers in your hats, Raiment of silk — balls, youth, and joy of life ; But wearied of them all, at any price You want a toy, and take an old man for it. Ah, though you've broke the toy, God wills that it In bursting should be flung back in your face ! Now follow me ! Heenani. Most noble Duke Don Eut Gomez. Follow — Follow me, sirs. Is this alone a jest ? What ! I've a treasure, mine to guard with care, A young girl's character, a family's fame. This girl I love — by kinship to me bound. Pledged soon to change her ring for one from me. I know her spotless, chaste, and pure. Tet when I leave my honie one hour, I — Ruy Gomez De Silva — find a thief who steals from me My honour, glides unto my house. Back, back. Make clean your hands, oh base and soulless men, Whose presence, brushing by, must serve to taint 26 DKAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [aCT I. Oiir women's fame ! But no, 'tis well. Proceed. Have I not something more ? [Snatches off Ms coUar. Take, tread it now Beneath your feet. Degrade my Golden Fleece. {^Throws off Ms hat. Pluck at my hair, insult me every way. And then, to-morrow through the town make boast That lowest scoundrels in their vilest sport Have never shamed a nobler brow, nor soiled More whitened hair. Dona Sol. My lord Don Rut Gomez (to Ms servants). A rescue ! grooms ! Bring me my dagger of Toledo, axe, And dirk. [^To the young men. Now follow — follow me — ye two. Don Caelos (striping forward a little). Duke, tMs is not the pressing thing just now ; First we've to think of Maximilian dead, The Emperor of Germany. [Opens Ms doah, and shows his jaae, previously hidden hy Ms hat. Don Rut Gomez, Jest you I Heavens, the King ! Dona Sol. The King ! Heenani. The King of Spain ! Don Cablos (gravely). Yes, Charles, my noble Duke, are thy wits gone ? The Emperor, my grandsire, is no more. I knew it not until this eve, and came At once to tell it you and counsel ask, so. III.] HEBNANI. 27 Incognito, at night, knowing you well A loyal subject that I much regard. The thing is very simple that has caused This hubbub. QDoN Rut Gomez sends away servants iy a sign, and approaolies Don Carlos. Dona Sol looJcs at The .King with fear and surprise. Heenani from a corner regards him with flashing eyes. Don E0T Gomez. But oh, why was it the door "Was not more quickly opened ? Don Caelos. Reason good. Remember all your escort. When it is A weighty secret of the state I bear That brings me to your palace, it is not To tell it to thy servants. Don Rity Gomez. Highness, oh ! Forgive me, some appearances Don Caelos. Good father, Thee Governor of the Castle of Figuere I've made. But whom thy governor shall I make ? Don Rdt Gomez. Oh, pardon Don Caelos. 'Tis enough. We'll say no more Of this. The Emperor is dead. Don Rtjt Gcmez. Tour Highness's Grandfather dead ! 28 DEAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [aCT I. In deep affliction. Don Caelos. Ay ! Duke, you see me here Don Rut Gomez. Who'll succeed to him ? Don Caelos. A Duke of Saxony is named. The throne Francia the First of France aspires to mount. Don Rut Gomez. Where do the Electors of the Empire meet ? Don Caelos. They say at ALx-la-Chapelle, or at Spire, Or Frankfort, Don Rut Gomez. But our King, whom God preserve ! Has he not thought of Empire ? Don Caelos. Constantly. Don Rut Gomez. To you it should revert. Don Caelos. I know it, Duke. Don Rut Gomez. Tour father was Archduke of Austria. I hope 'twill be remembered that you are Grandson to him, who but just now has changed Th' imperial purple for a winding-sheet. Don Caelos. I am, besides, a citizen of Ghent. Don Rut Gomez. In my own youth your grandfather I saw. Alas ! I am the sole survivor now so. III.] HEENANI. 29 Of all that generation past. All dead ! He was an Emperor magnificent And mighty. Don Caelos. Rome is for me. Don Rdt Gomez. Valiant, firm. And not tyrannical, this head might well Become th' old German body. [ffe lends over The King's hcmds cmd hisses them. Tet so young. I pity yon indeed, thus plunged in snch A sorrow. Don Caelos. Ah ! the Pope is anxious now To get back Sicily — the isle that's mine ; 'Tis ruled that Sicily cannot belong Unto an Emperor ; therefore it is That he desires me Emperor to be made ; And then, to follow that, as docile son I give up Naples too. Let us but have The Eagle, and we'll see if I allow Its wings to be thus clipp'd ! Don Euy Gomez. What joy 'twould be For this great veteran of the throne to see Tour brow, so fit, encircled by his crown ! Ah, Highness, we together weep for him, The Christian Emperor, so good, so great ! Don Caelos. The Holy Father's clever. He will say — This isle unto my States should come ; 'tis but A tatter'd rag that scarce belongs to Spain. What will you do with this ill-shapen isle That's sewn upon the Empire by a thread ? 30 DEAMAS OF TICTOE HUGO. [aCT I. Your Empire is ill-made ; but quick, come here, The scissors bring; and let us cut away ! — Thanks, Holy Father, but if I have luck I think that many pieces such as this Upon the Holy Empire will be sewn ! And if some rags from me are ta'en, I mean With isles and duchies to replace them all. Don Eut Gomez. Console yourself, for we shall see again The dead more holy and more great. There is An Empire of the Just, Don Caelos. Francis the First Is all ambition. The old Emperor dead, Quick he'll turn wooing. Has he not fair France Most Christian ? 'Tis a place worth holding fast. Once to King Louis did my grandsire say — If I were God, and had two sons, I'd make The elder God, the second. King of France. [to Don Rut Gomez. Think you that Francis has a chance to win ? Don Rut Gomez. He is a victor. Don Caelos. There'd be all to change — The golden bull doth foreigners exclude. Don Rut Gomez. In a like manner, Highness, you would be Accounted King of Spain. Don Caelos. But I was born A citizen of Ghent. Don Rut Gomez. His last campaign Exalted Francis mightily. so. III.] HERNANI. S] Doj!f Carlos. The Eagle Ttat soon perchance npon my helm will gleam Knows also how to open out its wings. Don Rut Gomez. And knows your Highness Latin ? Don Carlos. Ah, not much. Don Rdt Gomez. A pity that. The German nobles like The best those who in Latin speak to them. Don Carlos. With haughty Spanish they will be content, For trust King Charles, 'twill be of small account, When masterful the voice, what tongue it speaks. To Flanders I must go. Tour King, dear Duke, Must Emperor return. The King of France Will stir all means. I must be quick to win. I shall set out at once. Don Rut Gomez. Do you then go. Oh Highness, without clearing Aragon Of those fresh bandits who, among the hills, Their daring insolence show everywhere ? Don Carlos. To the Duke d'Arcos I have orders given That he should quite exterminate the band. Don Rut Gomez. But is the order given to its Chief To let the thing be done ? Don Carlos. Who is this Chief— His name ? 32 dramas of victor h0go. [act i. Don Rut Gomez. I know not. But the people say- That he's an awkward customer. Don Carlos. Pshaw ! I know That now he somewhere in Galicia hides ; With a few soldiers, soon we'll capture him. Don Rdt Gomez. Then it was false, the rumour which declared That he was hereabouts ? Don Carlos. Quite false. Thou canst Accommodate me here to-night. Don Eut Gomez (bowing to the ground). Thanks ! Thanks ! Highness ! (Se calls his servants,') You'll do all honour to the King, My guest. [The serv'amts re-enter with lights. Tlie Doke arrcmges them in two rows to the door at the hack. Mean- while DoSa Sol apjproaches Hernani softly. The King observes them. , Dona Sol {to Hernani). To-morrow, midnight, without fail Beneath my window clap your hands three times. Hernani {softly). To-morrow night. Don Carlos {aside). To-morrow ! i [Aloud to DoSa Sol, whom he a^pproaohes with politeness. Let me now Escort you hence, I pray. [He leads her to the door. She goes out. SC. III.] HEENANI. 33 Heenani (Jiis hand in his hreast on dagger hilt). My dagger true ! Don Oaelos (coming hack, aside). Our man here has the look of being trapp'd. [3e takes Hernani aside. I've crossed my sword with yours ; that honour, sir, I've granted you. For many reasons I Suspect you much, but to betray you now Would shame the King ; go therefore freely. E'en I deign to aid your flight. Don Eut Gomez (coming bach, and pointing to Heenani). This lord — who's he ? ^ Don Oaelos. One of my followers, who'll soon depart. ^^Theij go out with servants and lights, the Ddee preceding with waxlight in his hand. Scene 4. — Heenani cdone. Heenani, One of thy followers ! I am, oh King ! Well said. For night and day and step by step I follow thee, with eye upon thy path And dagger in raj hand. My race in me Pursues thy race in thee. And now behold Thou art my rival ! For an instant I 'Twixt love and hate was balanced in the scale. Not large enough my heart for her and thee ; In loving her oblivious I became Of all my hate of thee. But since 'tis thou That comes to will I should remember it, I recollect. My love it is that tilts Th' uncertain balance, while it falls entire Upon the side of hate. Thy follower ! 34 DEAMAS OP TICTOE HUGO. [aOT I. 'Tis thou hast said it. Never courtier yet Of thy accursed court, or noble, fain To kiss thy shadow — not a seneschal With human heart abjured in serving thee ; No dog within the palace, trained the King To follow, will thy steps more closely haunt And certainly than I. What they would have. These famed grandees, is hollow title, or Some toy that shines — some golden sheep to hang About the neck. Not such a fool am I. What I would have is not some favour vain, But 'tis thy blood, won by my conquering steel — Thy soul from out thy body forced — with all That at the bottom of thy heart was reached After deep delving. Go — ^you are in front — I follow thee. My watchful vengeance walks With me, and whispers in mine ear. Go where Thou wilt I'm there to listen and to spy, And noiselessly my step will press on thine. No day, shouldst thou but turn thy head, oh King, But thou wilt find me, motionless and grave, At festivals ; at night, should'st thou look back, Still wilt thou seo my flaming eyes behind. [Exit by the little door. SECOND ACT: THE BANDIT. Saeagossa. Scene 1. — A square before the Palace of Silta. On the left the high walls of the Palace, ivith a window and a halcony. Below the window a little door. To the right, at the hach, lumses of the street. Night. Here and there are a feiw windows still lit vjp, shining in the front of the houses. Don Caelos, Don Sancho Sanchez db Zuniga Comte de Monterey, Don Matias Centueion Maequis d'Al- MtJNAN, Don Ricaedo de Roxas Loed op Oasapalma. All four arrive, Don Caelos at the head, hats pulled down, and wrapped in long cloahs, which their swords inside raise up. Don Caelos (looMng wp at the halcony). Behold ! We're at the balcony — the door. My heart is bounding. [^Pointing to the window, which is darJc. Ah, no light as yet. [_He looTis at the windows where light shines. Although it shines just where I'd have it not, While where I wish for light is dark. Don Sancho. Your Highness, Now let us of this traitor speak again. And you permitted him to go ! 36 DEAMAS or TICTOE HUGO. [aCT II. Don Caelos. 'Tis true. Don Matias. And he, perchance, was Major of the band. Don Caeloj. Were he the Major or the Captain e'en. No crown'd king ever had a haughtier air. Don Sancho. Highness, his name ? Don CaeIiOS (his eyes fixed on the window). Mnnoz Fernan (With gesture of a man suddenly recollecting^ A name Don Sancho. Perchance Hernani ? Don Caelos. Yes. Don Sancho. 'Twas he. Don Matias. In i. The chief, Hernani ! His speech ? Don Sancho. Cannot you recall Don Caelos. Oh, I heard nothing in the vile And wretched cupboard. Don Sancho. Wherefore let him slip When there you had him ? Don Caelos (turmrng round grmely and looTcing him in th» face.) Count de Monterey^ SC. I.] HEENANI. 87 You question me ! [The two nobles step hack, and are silent. Besides, it was not he Was in my mind. It was his mistress, not His head, I wanted. Madly I'm in love With two dark eyes, the loveliest in the world, My friends ! Two mirrors, and two rays ! two flames ! I heard but of their history these words : " To-morrow come at midnight." 'Twas enough. The joke is excellent ! For while that he, The bandit lover, by some murd'rous deed Some grave to dig, is hindered and delayed, I softly take his dove from out its nest. Don Eicaedo. ^ Highness, 'twould make the thing far more complete If we, the dove in gaining, killed the kite. Don Caelos. Count, 'tis most capital advice. Tour hand Is prompt. Don Eicaedo (lowing low). And by what title will it please The King that I be Count ? Don Sancho. 'Twas a mistake. Don Eicaedo (to Don Sabcho). The King has called me Count. Don Caelos. Enough — enough ! (to Don Eicaedo.) I let the title fall ; but pick it up. Don Eicaedo (bowing again). Thanks, Highness, 38 deamas op yictoe hugo. [act ii. Don Sanoho. A fine Connt — Count by mistake ! [The King walks to the hach of the stage, watching eagerly the lighted windows. The two lords talk together at the front. Don Matias (to Don Sanoho). What think you that the King will do, when once The beauty's taken ? Don Sanoho (loohing sideways at Don Eicaedo). Countess she'll be made ; Lady of honour afterwards, and then, If there's a son, he will he King. Don Maxias. How so ? — My Lord ! a bastard ! Let him be a Count. Were one His Highness, would one choose as king A Countess' son ? Don Sanoho. He'd make her Marchioness Ere then, dear Marquis. Don Matias, Bastards — they are kept For conquer'd countries. They for viceroys serve. [Don Caelos comes forward. Don Caelos (loohing with vexation at the lighted windows). Might one not say they're jealous eyes that watch ? Ah ! there are two which darken ; we shall do. Weary the time of expectation seems — Sirs, who can make it go more quickly ? Don Sancho. That Is what we often ask ourselves within The palace. 60. i.] heenani. 39 Don Cablos. 'Tis the thing my people say Again with you. [T/ie last loindow light is extingtdslied. The last light now is gone. {Tmming towards the balcony o/Dona Sol, still darJc.) Oh, hateful window ! "When wilt thou light up? The night is dark ; come, Dona Sol, and shine Like to a star ! (To Don Ricardo.) Is 't midnight yet ? Don Ricaedo. Almost. Don Carlos. Ah ! we must finish, for the other one At any moment may appear. [A light a^^ea/rs in Dona Sol's chamber. Her shadoio is seen through the glass. My friends ! A lamp ! and she herself seen through the pane ! Never did daybreak charm me as this sight. Let's hasten with the signal she expects. We must clap hands three times. An instant more And you will see her. But our number, perhaps. Will frighten her. Go, all three out of sight Beyond there, watching for the man we want. 'Twixt us, my friends, we'll share the loving pair, For me the girl — the brigand is for you. Don Ricaedo. Best thanks. Don Caelos. If he appear from ambuscade, Rush quickly, knock him down, and, while the dupe Recovers from the blow, it is for me To carry safely off the darling prize. We'll laugh anon. But kill him not outright. He's brave, I own ; — killing 's a grave affair. 40 DRAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [aCT II. [The lords bow and go. Don Carlos wcdis till they are quite gone, then cla/ps his hands twice. At the second time the window opens, and DoSa Sol appears on the balcony. Scene 2. — ^Don Carlos. Dona Sol. Dona Sol (from the balcony), Hernani, is that you ? Don Carlos (aside). The devil ! We must Not parley ! [He claps his hands again. Dona Sol. I am coming down. [She closes the window, and the light disappea/rs^ The next minute the little door opens, and she comes out, the lamp in her hand, and a mantle over her shoulders. DoSa Sol. Hernani ! [Don Carlos pulls his hat down on his face, and hv/rries towards her. DoSa Sol (letting her lamp fall). Heavens ! 'Tis not his footstep ! [She attempts to go bach, but Don Carlos runs to her and seizes her by the arm, Don Carlos. Doiia Sol ! DoSa Sol. 'Tis not his voice ! Oh, misery ! Don Carlos. What voice Is there that thou could'st hear that would be more so. II.] HEENANI. 41 A lover's ? It is still a lover here, And King for one. DoSa Sol. The King ! Don Carlos. Ah ! wish, command, A kingdom waits thy will ; for he whom thou Hast vanquish'd is the King, thy lord — 'tis Charles, Thy slave ! DoSa Sol (trying to escape from Mni). To the rescue ! Help, Hernani ! Help ! Don Carlos. Thy fear is maidenly, and worthy thee. 'Tis not thy bandit--'tis thy King that holds Thee now ! DotA Sol. Ah, no. The bandit's you. Are yon Not 'shamed ? The blush unto my own cheek mounts For you. Are these the exploits to be noised Abroad ? A woman thus at night to seize ! My bandit's worth a hundred of such kings ! I do declare, if man were born at level Of his soul, and God made rank proportional To his heart, he would be king and prince, and you The robber be ! Don Carlos (trying to entice her). Madam ! Dona Sol. Do you forget My father was a Count ? Don Carlos. And you I'll make A Duchess. 42 DEAMAS OP VICTOB HUGO. . [ACT II. Doha Sol (repulsing Mm), Cease ! All this is shameful ; — go ! [She retreats a few steps. Nothing, Don Carlos, can there 'twixt us be. My father for you freely shed his blood. I am of noble birth, and heedful ever Of my name's purity. I am too high To be your concubine — too low to be Tour wife. Don Carlos. Princess ! Dona Sol. Carry to worthless girls, King Charles, your vile addresses. Or, if me Tou treat insultingly, I'll show you well That I'm a woman, and a noble dame. Don Caedos. Well, then but come, and you shall share my throne, My name — you shall be Queen and Empress Dona Sol. No. It is a snare. Besides, I frankly speak, Since, Highness, it concerns you. I avow I'd rather with my king, Hernani, roam, An outcast from the world and from the law — Know thirst and hunger, wandering all the year, Sharing the hardships of his destiny — Exile and warfare, mourning hours of terror, Than be an Empress with an Emperor ! Don Caelos. Oh, happy man is he ! Dona Sol. What ! poor, proscribed ! Don Caelos. 'Tis well with him, though poor, proscribed he be, so. II.] HBENANI. 43 For he's beloved ! — an angel watches him ! I'm desolate. You hate me, then ? Dona Sol. I love Tou not. Don Caelos (seimig her molenfhj). Well, then, it matters not to me Whether you love me, or you love me not ! You shall come with me — yes, for that my hand's The stronger, and I will it ! And we'll see If I for nothing am the King of Spain And of the Indies ! Dona Sol {struggling'). Highness ! Pity me ! You're King, you only have to choose among The Countesses, the Duchesses, the great Court ladies, all have love prepared to meet And answer yours ; but what has my proscribed Received from niggard fortune ? You possess Castile and Aragon — Murcia and Leon, Navarre, and still ten kingdoms more. Flanders, And India with the mines of gold you own. An empire without peer, and all so vast That ne'er the sun sets on it. And when you, The King, have all, would you take me, poor girl. From him ■jrho has but me alone. \_She throws herself on her hnees. lie tries to draiv her up. Don Caelos. Come — come ! I cannot listen. Come with me. I'll give Of Spain a fourth part unto thee. Say, now, What wilt thou ? Choose. DoSa Sol (struggling in his arms). For mine own honour's sake I'll only from your Highness take this dirk. -44 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT II. \_She snatches the poigna/rd from his girdle. Approach me now but by a step ! Don Caelos. The beauty ! I wonder not she loves a rebel now. [He mahes a step towards her. She raises the dirTc. Dona Sol. Another step, I kill you — and myself. [He retreats again. She twms and cries loudly. Hemani ! Oh, Hernani ! Don Oaedos. Peace ! Dona Sol. One step, And all is finished. Don Caelos. Madam, to extremes I'm driven. Yonder there I have three men To force you — followers of mine. Heenani (coming suddenly behind him). But one You have forgotten. [The King turns, and sees Heenani motionless behind him in the shade, his a/rms crossed under the long cloak which is wrapped round him, and the brim of his hat raised up. DoifA Sol makes an exclamation and runs to him. so. III.J HEBNANI. 4.5' Scene 3. — Don Cablos, Dona Sol, Heenani. Heenani (motionless, Ms arms still crossed, and his fiery eyes fixed on the King). Heaven, my witness is, That far from here it was I wished to seek him. Dona Sol. Hernani ! save me from him. Heenani. My dear love, Fear not. Don Caelos. Now what could all my friends in town Be doing, thus to let pass by the chief Of the Bohemians ? Ho ! Monterey ! Heenani. Tour friends are in the hands of mine just now. So call not on their powerless swords ; for three That you might claim, sixty to me would come Each one worth four of yours. So let us now Our quarrel terminate. What ! you have dared To lay a hand upon this girl ! It was An act of folly, great Castilian King, And one of cowardice ! Don Caelos. Sir Bandit, hold ! There must be no reproach from you to me ! Heenani. He jeers ! Oh, I am not a king ; but when A king insults me, and above all jeers. My anger swells and surges up, and lifts 46 DEAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [ACT II. Me to his height. Take care ! When I'm offended, Men fear far more the reddening of ray brow Than helm of king. Foolhardy, therefore, you If still you're lured by hope. [^Seizes Ms arm. Know you what hand Now grasps you ? Listen. 'Twas your father who Was death of mine. I hate you for it. Ton My title and my wealth have taken. You I hate. And the same woman now we love. I hate — hate — from my soul's depths you I hate. Don Carlos. That's well. Heenani. And yet this night my hate was lull'd. Only one thought, one wish, one want I had — 'Twas Dona Sol ! And I, absorbed in love, Came here to find you daring against her To strive, with infamous design ! You — you. The man forgot — thus in my pathway placed ! I tell you, King, you are demented ! Ah ! King Charles, now see you're taken in the snare Laid by yourself; and neither flight nor help For thee is possible. I hold thee fast, Besieged, alone, surrounded by thy foes, Bloodthirsty ones, what wilt thou do ? Don Caelos (proudly.) Dare you To question me ! Heenani. Pish ! pish ! I would not wish An arm obscure should strike thee. 'Tis not so My vengeance should have play. 'Tis I alone Must deal with thee. Therefore defend thyself. \1I6 drains Ms sioord, Don Caelos. I am your lord, the King. Strike ! but no duel bo, iii.] heenani. 47 Heenani. Higlmess, thou may'st remember yesterday Thy sword encountered mine. Don Cablos. I yesterday Could do it. I your name knew not, and you Were ignorant of my rank. Not so to-day. You know who I am, I who you are now. Perchance. Heenani. Don Carlos. No duel. Ton can murder. Do. Heenani. Think you that kings to me are sacred P Come, Defend thyself. Don Caelos. You will assassinate Me then ? [^Heenani falls hack. The King loolcs at him with eagle eyes. Ah ! bandits, so you dare to think That your most vile brigades may safely spread Through towns — ^ye blood-stained, murderous, miscreant crew — But that you'll play at magnanimity ! As if we'd deign th' ennobling of your dirks By touch of our own swords — we victims duped. No, crime enthralls you — after you it trails. Duels with you ! Away ! and murder me, [Heenani, morose and thoughtful, plays for some instants with the hilt of his sword,, then turns sharply towards the King and snaps the Made on the pave- m&iit. 48 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACI II. Heenani. Go, then. \_The KiHa half twrns towards Mm and looks at liivi liaugTitily. We shall have fitter meetings. Go. Get thee away. Don Caelos. 'Tis well. I go, Sir, soon Unto the Ducal Palace. I, your King, Will then employ the magistrate. Is there Tet put a price upon your head ? Hebnani. Oh, yes. Don Caelos. My master, from this day I reckon you A rebel, trait'rous subject ; you I warn. I will pursue you everywhere, and make You outlaw from my kingdom. Heenani. That I am Already. Don Caelos. That is well. Heenani. But France is near To Spain. There's refuge there. Don Caelos. But I shall be The Emperor of Germany, and you Under the empire's ban shall be. Heenani. Ah, well ! I still shall have the remnant of the world, so. III.J HERXANI. 49 From whicli to brave you — and with havens safe O'er which you'll have no power. Don Carlos. But when I've gain'd The world ? Heejtani. Then I shall have the grave. Don Caelos. Tour plots So insolent I shall know how to thwart. Heenani. Vengeance is lame, and comes with lagging steps, But still it comes. Don Caelos (with a half la/ugh of disdain). For touch of lady whom The bandit loves ! Heenani (with flashing eyes). Dost thou remember. King, I hold thee still ? Make me not recollect Oh, future Roman C»sar, that despised I have thee in my all too loyal hand, And that I only need to close it now To crush the egg of thy Imperial Eagle ! Don Caelos. Then do it. Heenani. Get away. [lie takes off his chak, and throws it on the shoulders of the King. Go, fly, and take This cloak to shield thee from some knife I fear Among our ranks. [The King wraps himself in the cloak. At present safely go, 60 DRAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [ACT II. My thwarted vengeance for myself I keep. It makes 'gainst every other hand thy life Secure. Don Carlos. And you who've spoken thus to me Ask not for mercy on some future day. [Exit Don Carlos. Scene 4. — Hernani. DoSa Sol. Dona Sol (seizing Hernani's Jiomd). Now let us fly — be quick. Heenani. It well becomes You, loved one, in the trial hour to prove Thus strong, unchangeable, and willing e'en To th' end and depth of all to cling to me ; A noble wish, worthy a faithful soul ! But Thou, oh God, dost see that to accept The joy that to my cavern she would bring — The treasure of a beauty that a king Now covets — and that Dona Sol to me Should all belong — that she with me should 'bide, And all our lives be joined — that this should be Without regret, remorse — ^it is too late. The scaffold is too near. Dona Sol. What is't you say ? Hernani. This King, whom to his face just now I braved. Will punish me for having dared to show Him mercy. He already, perhaps, has reached His palace, and is calling round him guards And servants, his great lords, his headsmen sc. iv.] heenani. 61 DoSa Sol. Heavens ! Hemani ! Oh, I shudder. Never mind, Let us be quick and fly together then. Hebnani. Together ! No ; the hour has passed for that. Alas ! When to my eyes thou didst reveal Thyself, so good and generous, deigning e'en To love me with a helpful love, I could But offer you — I, wretched one ! — the hills. The woods, the torrents, bread of the proscribed, The bed of turf, all that the forest gives ; Thy pity then emboldened me— but now To ask of thee to share the scaffold ! No, No, Doria Sol. That is for me alone. DoSa Sol. And yet you promised even that J Heenani {^falling on his hnees). Angel ! At this same moment, when perchance from out The shadow Death approaches, to wind up All mournfully a life of moumfulness. I do declare that here a man proscribed, Enduring trouble great, profound — and rook'd In blood-stained cradle — black as is the gloom Which spreads o'er all my life, I still declare I am a happy, to-be-envied man. For you have loved me, and your love have owned ! For you have whispered blessings on my brow Accursed ! DoSa Sol (leaning over his head). Hemani ! Heknani. Praised be the fate 62 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT II. Sweet and propitious that for me now sets This flower upon the precipice's brink ! (liaising 'himself.') 'Tis not to you that I am speaking thus ; It is to Heaven that hears, and unto God, Dona Sol. Let me go with you. Heenani. Ah, 'twould be a crime To pluck the flower while falling in the abyss. Go : I have breathed the perfume — ^tis enough. Remould your life, by me so sadly marred. This old man wed ; 'tis I release you now. To darkness I return. Be happy thou — Be happy and forget. Dona Sol. No, I will have My portion of thy shroud. I follow thee. I hang upon thy steps. Hebnani (pressing her in Ms a/rms). Oh, let me go Alone ! Exiled — proscribed — a fearful man Ami. [JHe quits her with a convulsive movement, and is going. Dona Sol (mournfully, and clasping her hands'). Hernani, do you fly from me ! Heenani (returning). Well, then, no, no. Ton will it, and I stay. Behold me ! Come iato my arms. I'll wait As long as thou wilt have me. Let us rest. Forgetting them. [He seats her on a hench. Be seated on this stone. Qffe places himself at her feet. The liquid light of your eyes inundates Mine own. Sing me some song, such as sometimes so. ly.] HEENANI. 53 You -used at eve to warble, with the tears In those dark orbs. Let us be happy now, And drink ; the cup is full. This hour is ours, The rest is only folly. Speak and say, Enrapture me. Is it not sweet to love, And know that he who kneels before you loves ? To be bat two alone ? Is it not sweet To speak of love in stillness of the night When nature rests ? Oh, let me slumber now, And on thy bosom dream. Oh, Dona Sol, My love, my darling ! \_Noise of hells in the distance. Dona Sol (starting wp frightened). Tocsin ! — dost thou hear ? The tocsin ! Heenani {still kneeling at her feet). Eh ! No, 'tis our bridal bell They're ringing. ^The noise increases. Confused cries. Lights at all the windows, on the roofs, and in the streets. Dona Sol. Rise — oh, fly — great God ! the town LigTits up ! Heenani (lialf rising), A torchlight wedding for us 'tis ! DoSa Sol. The nuptials these of Death, and of the tombs ! [Noise of swords and cries, Heenani (lying down on the stone bench). Let us to sleep again. A MouNTAiNEEE (rushing in, sword in hand). The runners, sir. The alcades rush out in cavalcades With mighty force. Be quick — my Captain, — quick. [^Heenani rises. 54 DRAMAS OP VICTOB , HUGO. [ACT II. Dona Sol (pale). Ah, thou wert right ! The Mountaineek. Oh, help ns ! Heenani (to Mountaineer). It is well — I'm ready. (Confused cries outside.) Death to the bandit ! Hernani (to Mountaineer). Quick, thy sword (To Dona Sol.) Farewell ! Dona Sol. 'Tis I have been thy ruin ! Oh, Where can'st thou go ? (Pointing to the little door.) The door is free. Let us Escape that way. Hernani. Heavens ! Desert my friends ! What dost thou say ? Dona Sol. These clamours terrify. Remember, if thou diest I must die. Hernani (holding her in his a/rms), A kiss ! Dona Sol. Hernani ! Husband ! Master mine ! Heenani (hissing her forehead) » Alas ! it is the first ! DoSa Sol. Perchance the last ! ^Heenani exit. She falls on the bench. THIRD ACT: THE OLD MAN. The Castle of Suva. In the midst of the Mountains of Aragon. Scene 1. — The gallery of family portraits of Silvaj a great hall of which these 'portraits — surrounded with rich frames, and surmounted hy ducal coronets and gilt escutcheons — form the decoration. At the hacJc a lofty gothic door. Between the portraits complete panoplies of armour of different centuries. Dona Sol, pale, and standing near a table. Don Rhy Gomez de Silva, seated in his great carved oak chair. Don Eut Gomez. At last the day has come ! — and in an hour Thou'lt be my Duchess, and embrace me ! Not Thine Uncle then ! But hast thou pardoned me ? Tiat I was -wrong I own. I raised thy blush, I made thy cheek turn pale. I was too quick With my suspicions — should have stayed to hear Before condemning ; but appearances Should take the blame. Unjust we were. Certes The two young handsome men were there. But then — No matter — ^well I know that I should not Have credited my eyes. But, my poor child. What would'st thou with the old ? 56 DEAMAS OF TICTOE HUGO. [ACT III. DoSa Sol {seriously, and ivitJwut moving). You ever talk Of tMs. Who is there blames you ? Don Eut Gomez. I myself, I should have known that such a soul as yours Never has galants ; when 'tis Dona Sol, And when good Spanish blood is in her veins. DoSa Sol. Truly, my Lord, 'tis good and pure ; perchance 'Twill soon be seen. Don Buy Gomez (rising, and going towards her). Now list. One cannot be The master of himself, so much in love As I am now with thee. And I am old And jealous, and am cross — and why ? Because I'm old ; because the beauty, grace, or youth Of others frightens, threatens me. Because While jealous thus of others, of myself I am ashamed. What mockery ! that this love Which to the heart brings back such joy and warmth, Should halt, and but rejuvenate the soul. Forgetful of the body. When I see A youthful peasant, singing blithe and gay. In the green meadows, often then I muse — I, in my dismal paths, and murmur low : " Oh, I would give my battlemented towers. And ancient ducal donjon, and my fields Of corn, and all my forest lands, and flocks So vast which feed upon my hills, my name And all my ancient titles — ruins mine. And ancestors who must expect me soon. All — all I'd give for his new cot, and brow Unwrinkled. For his hair is raven black, And his eyes shine like yours. Beholding him so. I.] HEENANI. 57 Yon might exclaim : A young man this ! And then "Would think of me so old." I know it well. I am named Silva. Ah, but that is not Enough ; I say it, see it. Now behold To what excess I love thee. All I'd give Could I be like thee — young and handsome now ! Vain dream ! that I were young again, who must By long, long years precede thee to the tomb. Dona Sol. Who knows ? Don Ruy Gomez, And yet, I pray you, me believe, The frivolous swains have not so much of love Within their hearts as on their tongues. A girl May love and trust one ; if she dies for him, He laughs. The strong-winged and gay-painted birds That warble sweet, and in the thicket trill. Will change their loves as they their plumage moult. They are the old, with voice and colour gone, And beauty fled, who have the resting wings We love the best. Our steps are slow, and dim Our eyes. Our brows are furrowed, — but the heart Is never wrinkled. When an old man loves He should be spared. The heart is ever young, And always it can bleed. This love of mine Is not a plaything made of glass to shake And break. It is a love severe and sure, Solid, profound, paternal, — strong as is The oak which forms my ducal chair. See then How well I love thee — and in other ways I love thee — hundred other ways, e'en as We love the dawn, and flowers, and heaven's blue ! To see thee, mark thy graceful step each day, Thy forehead pure, thy brightly beaming eye, I'm joyous — feeling that my soul will have Perpetual festival ! 58 dramas of victor hugo. [act iii. DoSa Sol. Alas! Don Rut Gomez. And then, Know you how much the world admires, applauds, A woman, angel pure, and like a dove. When she an old man comforts and consoles As he is tott'ring to the marble tomb. Passing away by slow degrees as she Watches and shelters him, and condescends To bear with him, the useless one, that seems But fit to die ? It is a sacred work And worthy of all praise — effort supreme Of a devoted heart to comfort him Unto the end, and without loving perhaps, To act as if she loved. Ah, thou to me Wilt be this angel with a woman's heart Who will rejoice the old man's soul again And share his latter years, and by respect A daughter be, and by your pity like A sister prove, Dona Sol. Far from preceding me, 'Tis likely me you'll follow to the grave. My lord, because that we are young is not A reason we should live. Alas ! I know And tell you, often old men tarry long, And see the young go first, their eyes shut fast By sudden stroke, as on a sepulchre That still was open falls the closing stone. Don Rut Gomez. Oh cease, my child, such saddening discourse. Or I shall scold you. Such a day as this Sacred and joyous is. And, by-the-bye, Time summons us. Are you not ready yet so. I.] HEENANI. 59 For chapel -when we're called ? Be quick to don The bridal dress. Each moment do I count. Dona Sol. There is abundant time. What want you ? Don Rdt Gomez. Oh no, there's not. (Enter a Page). The Page. At the door, my lord, a man — A pilgrim — beggar — or I know not what, Is craving here a shelter. Don Eut Gomez. Let him in Whoever he may be. Good enters with The stranger that we welcome. What's the news Prom th' outside world ? What of the bandit chief That filled our forests with his rebel band ? The Page. Hernani, Lion of the mountains, now Is done for. DoSa Sol (aside). God! Don Rut Gomez (io the Page), How so ? The Page. The troop's destroyed. The King himself has led the soldiers on. Hernani's head a thousand crowns is worth Upon the spot ; but now he's dead, they say. Dona Sol (aside). What ! Without me, Hernani ! 60 deamas of victor hugo. [act iii, Don Eut Gomez. And thauk Heaven ! So he is dead, tlie rebel ! Now, dear love, We can rejoice ; go then and deck thyself, My pride, my darling. Day of double joy. DoSa Sol. Oh, mourning robes ! [_BMt DoSa Sol. Don Rut Gomez (to the Page). The casket quickly send That I'm to give her. [ffe seats himself in his chair. 'Tis my longing now To see her all adorned Madonna like. With her bright eyes, and aid of my rich gems, She will be beautiful enough to make A pilgrim kneel before her. As for him Who asks asylum, bid him enter here, Excuses from us offer ; run, be quick. [_The Page hows and exit. 'Tis ill to keep a guest long waiting thus. [The door at the hack opens, Heenani a^ea/rs dis- guised as a Pilgrim. The Duke rises. Scene 2 — Don Rot Gomez. Heenani. (Heenani pauses at the threshold of the door). Heenani. My lord, peace and all happiness be yours ! Don Rut Gomez (saluting him with his hand). To thee be peace and happiness, my guest ! [Heenani enters. The Duke reseats himself. Art thou a pilgrim ? Heenani (howing). Tes. so. II.J HEBNANI. Ql Don Rut Gomez. No doubt you come From Armillas ? Heenani, Not so. I hither came By other road, there was some fighting there. Don Eut Gomez. Among the troop of bandits, was it not ? Heenani. I know not. Don Eut Gomez. What's become of him — the chief They call Hernani ? Dost thou know ? Heenani. My lord. Who is this man ? Don Eut Gomez. Dost thou not know him then ? For thee so much the worse ! Thou wilt not gain The good round sum. See you a rebel he That has been long unpunished. To Madrid Should you be going, perhaps you'll see him hanged. Heenani. I go not there. Don Edt Gomez. A price is on his head For any man who takes him. Heenani (aside). Let one come ! Don Eut Gomez. Whither, good pilgrim, goest thou ? €2 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT III. Heknani. My lord, I'm bound for Saragossa. Don Rut Gomez. A vow made In honour of a Saint, or of Our Lady ? Heenani. Yes, of Our Lady, Duke. Don Rut Gomez. Of the Pillar ? Heenani. Of the Pillar. Don Rut Gomez. We must be soulless quite Not to acquit us of the vows we make Unto the Saints. But thine accomplished, then Hast thou not other purposes in view ? Or is to see the Pillar all you wish ? Heenani. Yes. I would see the lights and candles burn. And at the end of the dim corridor Our Lady in her glowing shrine, with cope All golden — then would satisfied return. Don Rut Gomez. Indeed, that's well. Brother, what is thy name ? Mine, Ruy de Silva is. Heenani (hesitating). My name Don Rut Gomez. You can Conceal it if you will. None here has right To know it. Cam'st thou to asylum ask ? \ X sc. ii.] heenani. 63 Heenani. Yes, duke. Don Rut Gomez. Remain, and know thou'rt welcome here. For nothing want ; and as for what thou'rt named, But call thyself my guest. It is enough Whoever thoa may'st be. Without demur I'd take in Satan if God sent him me. [The folding doors at the hack open. Enter Dona Sol in nuptial attire. Behind her Pages and Lacheys, and two women cojrrying on a velvet cushion a cashet of engraved silver, which they place wpon a table, and which contains a jewel case, with Duchess's coronet, necMaces, hracelets, pearls, and dia- monds in profusion. Heenani, hreathless and sea/red, loolcs at Dona Sol with flaming eyes with- out listening to the Duke. Scene 3. — The Saine: DoSa Sol, Pages, Lackeys, Women. Don Rut Gomez (continuing). Behold my blessed Lady — to have prayed To her will bring thee happiness. [He offers his hand to Dona Sol, still pale and grave. Come then, My bride. What ! not thy coronet, nor ring ! Heenani (in a voice of thunder). Who wishes now a thousand golden crowns To win ? [All turn to him astonished. He tears off his Pilgrim's role, and crushes it under his feet, revealing himself in the dress of a Mountaineer. I am Hernani. 64 DEAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [ACT IH Dona Sol (joijfully). Heavens ! Ob, He lives ! Heenani (to the Lackeys). See ! I'm the man they seek. {To the Duke.) Ton wished To know my name — Diego or Perez ? No, no ! I have a grander name — Hernani. Name of the banished, the proscribed. See you This head ? 'Tis worth enough of gold to pay For festival. {To the Lackeys.') I give it to you all. Take ; tie my hands, my feet. But there's no need, The chain that binds me 's one I shall not break. Oh misery ! A lunatic ! Dona Sol {aside). Don Rut Gomez. Folly ! This my guest is mad — Heenani. Your guest a bandit is. Dona Sol. Oh, do not heed him. Heenani. What I say is truth. Don Rut Gomez. A thousand golden crowns — the sum is large. And, sir, I will not answer now for all My people. Heenani. And so much the better, should BC. III.] UEKNAift. 65 A willing one be found. (To the Lackeys.) Now seize, and sell me ! Don Rut Gomez (trying to silence him). Be quiet, or they'll take you at your word. Hebnani. Friends, tliis your opportunity is good. I tell yon, I'm the rebel — the proscribed Hernani ! Don Rdt Gomez. Silence ! Heenani. I am he ! DoSa Sol (m a low voice to hirni). Be still ! Heenani (half turning to Dona Sol). There's marrying here ! My spouse awaits me too. (To the Ddke.) She is less beautiful, my Lord, than yours. But not less faithful. She is Death. (To the Lackeys.) Not one Of you has yet come forth ! Dona Sol (in a low voice). For pity's sake ! Heenani (to the Lackeys). A thousand golden crowns. Hernani here! Don Rut Gomez. This is the demon ! Hebnani (to a young Lackey). Come ! thou'lt earn this sum, Then rich, thou wilt from lackey change again To man. (To the other Lackeys, who do not stir.) And also you — you waver. Ah, Have I not misery enough ? F 66 DEAMAS OF TICTOE HUGO. [aCT III. Don Rut Gomez. My friend, To toucli tliy life they'd peril each his own. Wert thou Hernani, or a hundred times As bad, I must protect my guest, — were e'en An Empire offered for his life — against The King himself ; for thee I hold from God. If hair of thine be injured, may I die. (To Dona Sol.) My niece, who in an hour will be my wife, Go to your room. I am about to arm The Castle — shut the gates. \Ijxit, followed by seruants. HeenAni {Looking with desjoair at his empty girdle). Not e'en a knife ! [Dona Sol, after the deipwrt/wre of the Duke, tahes a few steps, as if to follow her women, then pauses, and when they are gone, comes baelc to Heenani with anxiety. Scene 4. — Heenani. Dona Sol. Heenani holes at the miptial jewel-case with a cold and appa- rently indifferent gaze ; then he tosses back his head, and. his eyes light up. Heenani. Accept my 'gratulations ! Words tell not How I'm enchanted by these ornaments. [fl"e approaches the casket. This ring is in fine taste, — the coronet I like, — the necklace shows surpassing skill. The bracelet's rare — but oh, a hundred times Less so than she, who 'neath a forehead pure Conceals a faithless heart. [Examining the casket again. What for all this Have you now given ? Of your love some share ? But that for nothing goes ! Great God ! to thus so. IV.] HEENANI. 67 Deceive, and still to live and have no shame ! [Looking at the jewels. But after all, perchance, this pearl is false, And copper stands for gold, and glass and lead Make out sham diamonds — pretended gems ! Are these false sapphires and false jewels all ? If so, thy heart is like them. Duchess false. Thyself but only gilded. \_He retwrns to the casket, Tet no, no ! They all are real, beautiful, and good, He dares not cheat, who stands so near the tomb. Nothing is wanting. [He takes ii/p one thing after another. Necklaces are here, And brilliant earrings, and the Duchess' crown And golden ring. Oh marvel ! Many thanks For love so certain, faithful and profound. The precious box ! Dona SoIi {She goes to the casket, feels in it, and draws forth a dagger). Tou have not reached its depths. This is the dagger which, by kindly aid Of patron saint, I snatched from Charles the King When he made offer to me of a throne. Which I refused for yon, who now insnlt me. Heenani (falling at her feet). Oh, let me on my knees arrest those tears. The tears that beautify thy sorrowing eyes. Then after thou canst freely take my life. Dona Sol. I pardon you, Hernani. In my heart There is but love for you. Heenahi. And she forgives — ■ And loves me still ! But who can also teach 68 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT III. Me to forgive myself, that I have used Such words ? Angel, for heaven reserved, say where Ton trod, that I may kiss the ground. Dona Sol. My love J Heenani. Oh no, I should to thee be odious. But listen. Say again — I love thee still ! Say it, and reassure a heart that doubts. Say it, for often with such little words A woman's tongue hath cured a world of woes. Dona Sol (^absorbed, and without hearing him). To think my love had such short memory ! That all these so ignoble men could shrink A heart, where his name was enthroned, to love By them thought worthier. HlENANI. Alas ! I have Blasphemed ! If I were in thy place I should Be weary of the furious madman, who Can only pity after he has struck. I'd bid him go. Drive me away, I say, And I will bless thee, for thou hast been good And sweet. Too long thou hast myself endured, For I am evil ; I should blacken still Thy days with my dark nights. At last it is Too much ; thy soul is lofty, beautiful, And pure ; if I am evil, is't thy fault ? Marry the old duke then, for he is good And noble. By the mother's side he has Olmedo, by his father's Alcala. With him be rich and happy by one act. Know you not what this generous hand of mine Can offer thee of splendour ? Ah, alone A dowry of misfortune, and the choice so. IV.] HEENANI. 69 Of blood or tears. Exile, captivity And death, and terrors that environ me. These are thy necklaces and jewelled crown. Never elated bridegroom to his bride Offered a casket filled more lavishly. But 'tis with misery and mournfnlness. Marry the old man — he deserves thee well ! Ah, who could ever think my head proscribed Pit mate for forehead pure ? What looker-on That saw thee calm and beautiful, me rash And violent — thee peaceful, like a flower Growing in shelter, me by tempests dash'd On rooks unnumber'd — who could dare to say That the same law should guide our destinies ? No, God, who ruleth all things well, did not Make thee for me. No right from Heav'n above Have I to thee ; and I'm resigned to fate. I have thy heart ; it is a theft ! I now Unto a worthier yield it. Never yet Upon our love has Heaven smiled ; 'tis false If I have said thy destiny it was. To vengeance and to love I bid adieu ! My life is ending ; useless I will go. And take away with me my double dream, Ashamed I could not punish, nor could charm. I have been made for hate, who only wished To love. Forgive and fly me, these my prayers Reject them not, since they will be my last. Thou livest — I am dead. I see not why Thou should'st immure thee in my tomb. Dona Sol. Heenani. Mountains of old Aragon I Galicia ! Estremadura ! Unto all who come Around me I bring misery ! Tour sons, Ingrate 70 DEAMAS OF VIOTOE HUGO. [ACT III, Tlie best, without remorse I've ta'en to fight, And now behold them dead ! The bravest brave Of all Spain's sons lie, soldier-like, npon The hUls, their backs to'earth, the living God Before; and if their eyes could ope they'd look On heaven's blue. See what I do to all Who join me ! Is it fortune any one Should covet ? Dona Sol, oh ! take the Duke, Take hell, or take the King- — all would be well, All must be better than myself, I say. No longer have I friend to think of me, And it is fully time that thy turn comes. For I must be alone. Fly from me then, From my contagion. Make not faithful love A duty of religion ! Fly from me, For pity's sake. Thou think'st me, perhaps, a man Like others, one with sense, who knows the end At which he aims, and acts accordingly. Oh, undeceive thyself. I am a force That cannot be resisted — agent blind And deaf of mournful mysteries ! A soul Of misery made of gloom. Where shall I go ? I cannot tell. But I am urged, compelled By an impetuous breath and wild decree ; I fall, and fall, and cannot stop descent. If sometimes breathless I dare turn my head, A voice cries out, " Go on ! " and the abyss Is deep, and to the depths I see it red With flame or blood ! Around my fearful course All things break up — all die. Woe be to them Who touch me. Fly, I say ! Turn thee away From my so fatal path, Alas ! without Intending I should do thee ill. Dona Sol. Great God 1 Heenani. My demon is a formidable one. SC. IT.J HEENANI. 71 But there's a thing impossible to it — My happiness. For thee is happiness. Therefore go seek another lord, for thou Art not for me. If Heaven, that my fate Abjures, should smile on me, believe it not : It would be irony. Marry the Duke ! Dona Sol. 'Twas not enough to tear my heart, but you Must break it now ! Ah me ! no longer then You love me ! Heenani. Oh ! my heart — its very life Thou art ! The glowing hearth whence all warmth comes Art thou ! Wilt thou then blame me that I fly From thee, adored one ? Dona Sol. No, I blame thee not, Only I know that I shall die of it. Heenani. Die ! And for what ? For me ? Can it then be That thou should'st die for cause so small ? Dona Sol (fiwsting into tears). Enough. \_She falls into a chair. Heenani (seating liimself near her) . And thou art weeping ; and 'tis still my fault ! And who will punish me ? for thou I know Wilt pardon still ! Who, who can tell thee half The anguish that I suffer when a tear Of thine obscures and drowns those radiant eyes Whose lustre is my joy. My friends are dead ! Oh, I am crazed — forgive me — I would love I know not how. Alas ! I love with love Profound. Weep not — the rather let us die ! 72 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [AOT III. Oh that I had a world to give to thee ! Oh, wretched, miserable man I am ! , DoiJA Sol (throwing Ji&rself on Ms necJc), You are my lion, generous and superb ! I love you. Heenani. Ah, this love would be a good Supreme, if we could die of too much love ! Dona Sol. Thou art my lord ! I love thee and belong To thee ! Heenani (letting Ms head fall on her shoulder). How sweet would be a poignard stroke From thee ! DoSa Sol (entreatimgly). Fear you not God will punish you For words like these ? Heenani {still leaning on her shoulder'). Well, then, let Him unite us ! I have resisted ; thou would'st have it thus. [_While they a/re in each other's arms, absorbed and gaz- ing with ecstasy at each other, Don Eut Gomez enters hy the door at the lacTc of the stage. He sees tJiem, and sto^s on the threshold as if petrified. 60. v.] HEENANI. 73 Scene 5. — Heenani. Dona Sol. Don Rut Gomez. Don Ruy Gomez (motionless on the thresJiald, with a/rma crossed). And this is the requital that I find Of hospitality Dona Sol. Oh Heavens — the Duke ! ][_Both turn as if awaltening with a start. Don Rut Gomez {still motionless). This then's the recompense from thee, my guest ? Good duke, go see if all thy walls be high, And if the door is closed, and archer placed Within his tower, and go the castle round Thyself for us ; seek in thine arsenal For armour that will fit — at sixty years Resume thy battle-harness — and then see The loyalty with which we will repay Such service ! Thou for us do thus, and we Do this for thee ! Oh, blessed saints of Heaven I Past sixty years I've lived, and met sometimes Unbridled souls ; and oft my dirk have drawn Prom out its scabbard, raising on vaj path The hangman's game birds : murd'rers I have seen And coiners, traitorous varlets poisoning Their masters ; and I've seen men die without A prayer, or sight of crucifix. I've seen Sforza and Borgia ; Luther still I see, But never have I known perversity So great that feared not thunder bolt, its host Betraying ! 'Twas not of my age — such foul Black treason, that at once could petrify An old man on the threshold of his door. 74 DRAMAS OF YICTOB HUGO. [ACT III, And make tlie master, waiting for his grave, Look like his statue ready for his tomb. Moors and Castilians ! Tell me, who's this man ? (He raises Ms eyes and holes rownd on the portraits on ihe wall!) Oh you, the Silvas who can hear me now, Forgive if, in your presence by my wrath Thus stirr'd, I say that hospitality Was ill advised. Hbeuani (rising), Duke Don Rut Gomez. Silence ! [He makes three steps into the hall loolcing at the portraits of the SiLVAS. Sacred dead ! My ancestors ! Ye men of steel, who know What springs from heav'n or hell, reveal, I say, Who is this man ? No, not Hernani he. But Judas is his name — oh, try to speak And tell me who he is ! (Crossing his a/rms,) In all your days Saw you aught like him ? No. Heenani. My lord Don E.DT Gomez (still addressing the portraits). See you The shameless miscreant ? He would speak to me. But better far than I you read his soul. Oh, heed him not ! he is a knave — he'd say That he foresaw that in the tempest wild Of my great wrath I brooded o'er some deed Of gory vengeance shameful to my roof. A sister deed to that they call the feast so. v.] HEENANI. 75 Of Seven Heads,' He'll tell you lie's proscribed, He'll tell you that of Silva they will talk E'en as of Lara. Afterwards he'll say He is my guest and yours. My lords, my sires, Is the fault mine ? Judge you between us now. Hbenani. Ruy Gomez de Silva, if ever 'neath The heavens clear a noble brow was raised, If ever heart was great and soul was high, Tours are, my lord ; and oh, my noble host, I, who now speak to you, alone have sinn'd. Guilty most damnably am I, without Extenuating word to say. I would Have carried off thy bride — dishonour'd thee. 'Twas infamous. I live ; but now my life I offer unto thee. Take it. Thy sword Then wipe, and think no more about the deed. Doti Sol. My lord, 'twas not his fault — strike only me. Heenani. Be silent, Doiia Sol. This hour supreme Belongs alone to me ; nothing I have But it. Let me explain things to the Duke. Oh, Duke, believe the last words from my mouth, I swear that I alone am guilty. But Be calm and rest assured that she is pure, ^ This allusion is to the seven brothers who were slain by the treachery of their uncle Kuy Velasquez. According to a note prefixed by Lockhart to the ballad on this subject, " After the seven Infants were slain, Almanzor, King of Cordova, invited his prisoner, Gonzalo Gustio, to feast with him in his palace ; but when the Baron of Lara came in obedience to the royal invitation, he found the heads of his sons set forth in chargers on the table. The old man reproached the Moorisli king bitterly for the cruelty and baseness of this proceeding, and sud- denly snatching a sword from the side of one of the royal attendants, sacrificed to his wrath, ere he could be disarmed and fettered, tliirtecn of the Moors who surrounded the person of Almanzor." — Trans. f 6 DRAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [ACT III. That's all. I guilty and she pure. Have faith In her. A sword or dagger thrust for me. Then throw my body out of doors, and have The flooring washed, if you should will it so. What matter ? DoSa Sol. Ah ! I only am the cause Of all ; because I love him. [Don Rut turns round trembling at these words, and fixes on Dona Sol a terrible look. She throws herself at his feet. Pardon ! Tes, My lord, I love him ! Don Rut Gomez. Love him — ^you love him ! (To Heenani.) Tremble ! \l!Toise of trumpets outside. Enter a Page, What is this noise ? The Page. It is the King, My lord, in person, with a band complete Of archers, and his herald, who now sounds. Dona Sol. Oh God ! This last fatality— the King ! The Page (to the Duke). He asks the reason why the door is closed. And order gives to open it. Don Rut Gomez. Admit The King, \^The Page hows amd exit. , DoSa Sol. He's lost ! so. V.J HEKNANI. 77 [Don Ruy Gomez goes to one of the portraits — that of himself and the last on the left; he presses a spring, and the portrait opens out like a door, and reveals a hiding-place in the wall. He twms to Heenani. Come hither, sir. Heenani. My life To thee is forfeit ; and to yield it up I'm ready. I thy prisoner am. [We enters the recess. Don Rut again presses the spring, and the portrait springs bade to its place looMng as before. Dona Sol. My lord, Have pity on him ! The Page (entering'). His Highness the King ! QDONA Sol hu/rriedly lowers her veil. The folding- doors open. Enter Don Oaelos in military attire, followed hy a croivd of gentlemen equally armed with halberds, arquebuses, and cross-bows. Scene 6. — Don Euy Gomez, Dona Sol veiled, Don Oaelos and Followers, Don Oaelos advances sloioly, his left hand on the hilt of his sivord, his right hand in his bosom, and loohing at the Duke with amger and defiance. The Duke goes before the King and bows low. Silence. Expectation and terror on all. At last the King, coming opposite the Duke, throivs bacTc his head haughtily. Don Oaelos. How comes it then, my cousin, that to-day 78 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [AOT III. Thy door is strongly barr'd ? By all the Saints I thought your dagger had more rusty grown, And know not why, when I'm your visitor, It should so haste to brightly shine again All ready to your hand. (Don Rut Gomez attempts to speak, but the King con- tinues with an imperious gesture.') Late in the day It is for you to play the young man's part ! Do we come turban'd ? Tell me, are we named Boabdil or Mahomet, and not Charles, That the portcullis 'gainst us you should lower And raise the drawbridge ? Don Rut Gomez (bowing). Highness Don Gaelos (to his gentlemen). Take the keys And guard the doors. \_Two officers exeunt. Several others arrange the soldiers in a triple line in the hall from the King to the principal door. Don Carlos turns again to the Duke. Ah ! you would wake to life Again these crushed rebellions. By my faith. If you, ye Dukes, assume such airs as these The King himself will play his kingly part, Traverse the mountains in a warlike mode. And in their battlemented nests will slay The lordlings ! Don Rut Gomez (drawing hitnselfup). Ever have the Silvas been. Your Highness, loyal. Don Caelos (mterrupting him). Without subterfuge Reply, or to the ground I'll raze thy towers SC. TI.] HERNANI. 79 Eleven ! Of extinguislied fire remains One spark — of brigands dead the chief survives, And who conceals him ? It is thou, I say ! Hernani, rebel-ringleader, is here, And in thy castle thou dost hide him now. Don R0T Gomez. Highness, it is quite true. Don Carlos. Well, then, his head I want — or if not, thine. Dost understand. My cousin ? Don Rut Gomez. Well, then, be it so. Tou shall Be satisfied. [DoSa Sol Tiides her face in her hamds and sinJcs into the arm-ehair. Don Oaelos (a little softened). Ah ! you repent. Go seek Tour prisoner, [r/ie Duke crosses his aimis, lowers his head, and re- mains some moments pondering. The KiNQ and Dona Sol, agitated by contrary emotions, observe him in silence. At last the Duke looJcs v/p, goes to the King, takes his hand, and leads him with slow steps towards the oldest of the portraits, which is where the gallery commences to the right of the spectator. Don Rut Gomez {pointing out the old portrait to the King). This is the eldest one. The great forefather of the Silva race, Don Silvius our ancestor, three times Was he made Roman consul. (Passing to the neat portrait.) This is he 80 DEAMAS OF VICTOK HUGO. [ACT III. Don Galceran de Silva — other Cid ! They keep his body still at Toro, near Valladolid ; a thousand candles burn Before his gilded shrine. 'Twas he who freed Leon from tribute o' the hundred virgins.^ (Passing to omother.) Don Bias — who, in contrition for the fault Of having ill-advised the king, exiled Himself of his own will. (To (mother.) This Christoval ! At fight of Escalonj when fled on foot The King Don Sancho, whose white plume was mark For general deadly aim, he cried aloud, Oh, Christoval ! And Christoval assumed The plume, and gave his horse. (To another.) This is Don Jorge, Who paid the ransom of Ramire, the King Of Aragon. Don Carlos (crossing Ms a/rms and looldng at Mm from head to foot). By Heavens now, Don Ruy, I marvel at you ! But go on. Don Eut Gomez. Next comes Don Buy Gomez Silva, he was made Grand Master of St. James, and Calatrava. His giant armour would not suit our heights. He took three hundred flags from foes, and won In thirty battles. For the King Motril He conquer'd Antequera, Suez, Nijar ; and died in poverty. Highness, Salute him. ^ A yearly tribute exacted by the Moors after one of their victories. One of the fine Spanish ballads translated by Lockhart is on this sub- ject. — Tkans. SC. YI.J HEBNANl. 81 [ffe hows, imcovers, and passes to another portrait. The King listens impatiently, and with increasing angev. Next him is his son, named Gil, Dear to all noble souls. His promise worth The oath of royal hands. (To another.') Don Gaspard this, The pride alike of Mendoce and Silva. Tour Highness, every noble family Has some alliance with the Silva race. Sandoval has both trembled at, and wed With us. Manrique is envious of us : Lara Is jealous. Alencastre hates us. We All dukes surpass, and mount to Kings. Don Oaelos. You're jesting. Tut! tufc! Don Ruy Gomez. Here behold Don Vasquez, called The Wise. Don Jayme surnamed the Strong. One day Alone he stopped Zamet and five score Moors. I pass them by, and some the greatest. [_At cm angry gestm/re of the King he passes by a great number of portrcdts, cmd speedily comes to the three last at the left of the cmdience. This, My grandfather, who lived to sixty years. Keeping his promised word even to Jews. (To the last portrait but one.) This venerable form my father is, A sacred head. Great was he, though he comes The last. The Moors had taken prisoner His friend Count Alvar Giron, But my sire Set out to seek him with six hundred men To war inured. A figure of the Count Cut out of stone by his decree was made a 82 DRAMAS or VICTOR HUGO. [ACT III. And dragged along behind th.e soldiers, he, By patron saint, declaring that until The Count of stone itself turned back and fled, He would not falter ; on he went and saved His friend. Don Oaelos. I want my prisoner, Don Rut Gomez. This was A Gomez de Silva. Imagine — judge What in this dwelling one must say who sees These heroes Don Oaelos. Instantly — my prisoner ! Don Rut Gomez. [ffe hows low before the King, takes Ms hand, and leads him to the last portrait, which serves for the door of Heenani's hiding-place. Dona Sol watches Mm with anxious eyes. Silence and expectation in all. This portrait is my own. Mercy ! King Charles ! For you require that those who see it here Should say, " This last, the worthy son of race Heroic, was a traitor found, that sold The life of one he sheltered as a guest ! " \yoy of Dona Sol. Movement of hewilderment in the crowd. The King disconcerted moves away in anger, and remairis some moments with lips irem- hling and eyes flashing. Don Caelos. Tour Castle, Duke, annoys me, I shall lay It low. Don Rut Gomez. Thus, Highness, you'd retaliate, Is it not so ? sc. ti.] heenani. 83 Don Caelos. For such audacity Tour towers I'll level with the ground, and have Upon the spot the hemp-seed sown. Don Rut Gomez. I'd see The hemp spring freely up where once my towers Stood high, rather than stain should eat into The ancient name of Silva. (To the portraits.) Is 't not true ? I ask it of you all, Don Oaelos. Now, Duke, this head, 'Tis ours, and thou hast promised it to me. Don Rut Gomez. I promised one or other. (To the 'portraits.) Was 't not so ? I ask you all ? (Pointing to his head.) This one I give. (To the King.) Take it. Don Oaelos. Duke, many thanks ; but 'twould not do. The head I want is young; when dead the headsman must Uplift it by the hair. But as for thine, In vain he'd seek, for thou hast not enough For him to clutch. Don Rut Gomez. Highness, insult me not. My head is noble still, and worth far more Than any rebel's poll. The head of Silva You thus despise ! Don Oaelos. Give up Hernani ! 84 dramas op victoe h0go. [act iii. Don Eut Gomez. I Have spoken, Highness. Don Oaelos. {To Ms followers,') Search you everywhere From roof to cellar, that he takes not wing • Don Rmr Gomez. My keep is faithful as myself ; alone It shares the secret which we both shall guard Eight well. Don Gaelos. I am the King ! Don E0T Gomez. Out of my house Demolished stone by stone, they'll only make My tomb, — and nothing gain. Don Caelos. Menace I find And prayer alike are vain. Deliver up The bandit, Duke, or head and castle both Will I beat down. Don Rut Gomez. I've said my word. Don Oaelos. Well, then, Instead of one head I'll have two. (To the Ddkb d'Alcala.) Tou, Jorge, Arrest the Duke. Dona Sol (she pluclcs off her veil and throws herself beiiueen the King, the Duke, and the Guards). King Charles, an evil king Are you ! SC. TI.] HERNANI. 85 I see? Don Caelos. Good heavens ! Is it Dona Sol Dona Sol. Highness ! Thon hast no Spaniard's heart ! Don Carlos (confused). Madam, yon are severe upon the King. Qffe approaches Tier, and speahs low. 'Tis you have caused the wrath that's in my heart. A man approaching you perforce becomes An angel or a monster. Ah, when we Are hated, swiftly we malignant grow ! Perchance, if you had willed it so, young girl, I'd noble been — the lion of Castile ; A tiger I am made by your disdain. Ton hear it roaring now. Madam, be still ! [Dona Sol looJcs at him. He hows. However, I'll obey. (Twmmg to the Duke.) Cousin, may be Thy scruples are excusable, and I Esteem thee. To thy guest be faithful still, And faithless to thy King. I pardon thee. 'Tis better that I only take thy niece Away as hostage. Don Eut Gomez. Only! Dona Sol. Highness ! Me \ Don Caelos. Yes, you. Don Kut Gomez. Alone ! Oh, wondrous clemency ! Oh, generous conqueror, that spares the head To torture thus the heart ! What mercy this ! 86 DEAMAS or VICTOR HUGO, [ACTJII. Don Oaelos. Choose 'twixt the traitor and the Dona Sol ; I must have one of them. Don Rut Gomez, The master you ! [Don Caelos approaches Dona Sol to had her amay. She flies towards the Duke. Dona Sol. Save me, my lord ! (She panises. — Aside.) Oh misery ! and yet It must be so. My Uncle's life, or else The other's ! — rather mine ! {To the King.) I follow you. Don Caelos (aside). By all the Saints ! the thought triumphant is ! Ah, in the end you'll soften, princess mine ! [DoSa Sol goes with a grave and steady step to ilie casJcet, opens it, and talces from it the. dagger, which she hides in her hosom. Don Caelos comes to her and offers his hand. Don Caelos, What is 't you're taking thence? DoSa Sol. Oh, nothing ! Don Caelos. Ts't Some precious jewel ? Dona Sol, Yes. Don Caelos (smiling). Show it to mo. DoSa Sol. Anon you'll see it. SC. VI.] HEENANI. 87 \_She gives Mm her hand cmd preparres to follow him. Don Rct Gomez, who has remained motionless and absorbed in thought, advances a few steps crying out. Don Roy Gomez. Heavens, Dona Sol ! Oh, Dona Sol ! Since he is merciless, Help ! walls and armour come down on ns now ! (He runs to the King.) Leave me my child ! I have but her, oh King ! Don Cablos (dropping DoSa Sol's hand). Then yield me up my prisoner. \_The Duke drops his head, and seems the prey of liorri- hle indecision. Then he looJcs up at the portraits with supplicating hands before them. Oh, now Have pity on me all of you ! [He makes a step towards the hiding-place, Dona Sol watching him anxiously. He turns again to the portraits. Oh hide Tour faces ! They d«ter me. [He advances with trembling steps towards his own por- trait, then tu/rns again to the King. Is't your will ? Don Oaelos. Yes. [The Duke raises a trembling hand towa/rds the spring Dona Sol. Oh God ! Don But Gomez. No! [He throws himself on his hnees before the King. In pity take my life ! 88 deamas op vicioe hugo. [act ih. Don Caelos. Thy niece ! Don Rut Gomez (rising). Take her, and leave me honour then. Don Carlos (seizing the hcmd of the trembling DoSa Sol). Adieu, Duke. Don Rut Gomez. Till we meet again ! [He watches the King, who retires slowly with DoSa Sol. Afterwmrds he puts his hcmd on his dagger. May God Shield you ! [ffe comes bach to the front of the stage panting, and stands motionless, with vacant stare, seeming neither to see nor hea/r anything, his arms crossed on his heaving chest. Meanwhile the King goes out with DoSa Sol, the suite following two by two accord- ing to their rank. They speak in a low voice among themselves. Don Rut Gomez (aside). Whilst thou go'st joyous from my house. Oh King, my ancient loyalty goes forth Prom out my bleeding heart. [^He raises his head, looTcs all round, and sees that he is alone. Then he takes two swords from a panoply by the wall, measures them, and places them on a table. This done, he goes to the portrait, touches the spring, and the hidden door opens. so. VII.] HEENANI. 89 Scene 7. — Don Kut Gomez. Heenani. Don Rut Gomez. Come out, [Heenani a/ppea/rs at the door of the hiding -place. Don EuT Gomez points to the two swords on the table. Now choose. Choose, for Don Carlos has departed now, And it remains to give me satisfaction. Choose, and be quick. What, then ! trembles thy hand ? Heenani. A duel ! Oh, it cannot be, old man, 'Twixt ns. Don Edt Gomez. Why not ? Is it thou art afraid ? Or that thou art not noble ? So or not, All men who injure me, by hell I count Noble enough to cross their swords with mine. Heenani. Old man Don Eut Gomez. Come forth, young man, to slay me, else To be the slain. Heenani. To die, ah yes ! Against My will thyself hast saved me, and my life Is yours. I bid you take it. Don Rut Gomez. This you wish ? (To the 'portraits.') You see he wills it. {To Heenani.) 90 DRAMAS OF VICTOB HUGO, [ACT III. This is well. Thy prayer Now make. Heenani. It is to thee, my lord, the last I make. Doif Rut Gomez. Pray to the other Lord. Heenani. No, no. To thee. Strike me, old man — dagger or sword- Each one for me is good- — but grant me first One joy supreme. Duke, let me see her ere I die. Don Rut Gomez. See her ! Heenani. Or at the least I beg That you will let me hear her voice once more — Only this one last time ! Don Rur Gomez. Hear her ! Heenani. Ah well, My lord, I understand thy jealousy, But death already seizes on my youth. Forgive me. Grant me — tell me that without Beholding her, if it must be, I yet May hear her speak, and I will die ta-night. I'll grateful be to hear her. But in peace I'd calmly die, if thou wouldst deign that ere My soul is freed, it sees once more the soul That shines so clearly in her eyes. To her I will not speak. Thou shalt be there to see, My father, and canst slay me afterwards. so. VII.] HEENANI. 91 Don Edy Gomez (pointing to the recess still open). Oh, Saints of Heaven ! can this recess then be So deep and strong that he has nothing heard ? Hbenani. No, I have nothing heard, DoK Rut Gomez. I was compelled To yield up Dona Sol or thee. Heenani. To vyhom ? Don Eut Gomez. The King. Heenani. Madman ! He loves her. Don Rut Gomez. Loves her ! He ! Heenani. He takes her from us ! He our rival is ! Don Rut Gomez. Curses be on him ! Vassals ! all to horse— To horse ! Let us pursue the ravisher ! Heenani. Listen ! The vengeance that is sure of foot Makes on its way less noise than this would do» To thee I do belong. Thou hast the right To slay me. Wilt thou not employ me first As the avenger of thy niece's wrongs ? Let me take part in this thy vengeance due j Grant me this boon, and I will kiss thy feet, If so must be. Let us together speed The King to follow. I will be thine arm. 92 DEAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [ACT in. I will avenge thee, Duke, and afterwards The life that's forfeit thou shalt take. Don Rut Gomez. And then, As now, thou'lt ready be to die ? Heenani. Yes, Duke. Don Rut Gomez. By what wilt thou swear this ? Heenani. My father's head. Don Eut Gomez. Of thine own self wilt thou -remember it ? Heenani {giving liim tJie Iwrn which he takes from his girdle). Listen ! Take you this horn, and whatsoe'er May happen — what the place, or what the hour — Whenever to thy mind it seems the time Has come for me to die, blow on this horn And take no other care ; all will be done. Don Rut Gomez (offering his hand). Tour hand ! [Tliey press hands, (To the portraits.) And all of you are witnesses. FOURTH ACT. The Tomb. Aix-la-Chapelle. Scene 1. — Tlie vcmlts wMch enclose the Tomb of Charle- magne at Aix-la-Ohapelle} Great arches of Lombard architecture, with semicircular columns, ha/ving capitals of birds and flowers. At the right a small bronze door, low and curved, A single laimp suspended from the crown of the vault shows the inscription : caeolvs magnvs. It is night. One cannot see to the end of the vaults, the eye loses itself in the intricaey of arches, steps, and columns which mingle in the shade. Don Caelos, Don Ricaedo de Roxas, Comte de Casa- PALMA, lanterns in hand, aiid weaving large cloaks and slouched hats, Don Ricaedo {hat in hand). This is the place, ' Charlemagne was buried, as Palgrave says, with circumstances ot " ghastly magnificence." The embalmed corpse was seated " erect in his curule chair, clad in his silken robes, ponderous with broidery, pearls, and orfrey, the imperial diadem on his head, his closed eyelids covered, his face swathed in the dead-clothes, girt with his baldi'ic, the ivory horn slung in his scarf, his good sword ' Joyeuse ' by his side, the gospel-book open on his lap, musk and amber, and sweet spices poured around, his golden shield and golden sceptre pendant before him." Charlemagne died a.d. 8 14. Twice or thrice, however, at long intervals, his tomb was opened; and three hundred years before the time of Charles the Fifth the remains were placed in a costly chest, which is still preserved in the Cathedral of Aix-la-Chapelle. — Teaks. ■94 deamas op victoe hugo. [act it. Don Oaelos. Yes, here it is the League Will meet ; they that together in my power So soon shall be. Oh, it was well, my lord Of Treves th' Elector — it was well of you To lend this place ; dark plots should prosper best In the dank air of catacombs, and good It is to sharpen daggers upon tombs. Tet the stake's heavy — heads are on the game, Te bold assassins, and the end we'll see. By heaven, 'twas well a sepulchre to choose For such a business, since the road will be Shorter for them to traverse. (To Don Ricaedo.) Tell me now How far the subterranean way extends ? Don Ricaedo. To the strong fortress. Don Oaelos. Farther than we need, Don Rioaedo. And on the other side it reaches quite The Monastery of Altenheim. Don Oaelos. Ah, where Lothaire was overcome by Eodolf. Once Again, Oount, tell me o'er their names and wrongs. Don Ricaedo. Gotha. Don Oaelos. Ah, very well I know why 'tis The brave Duke is conspirator : he wills For Germany, a German Emperor. Don Ricaedo. Hohenbourg. so. I.] HERNANI. Don Oaelo^. Hohenbourg would better like Witli Francis hell, than Heaven itself with mo. Don Ricaedo. Gil Tellez Giron. Don Caelos. Castile and our Lady ! The scoundrel ! — to be traitor to his king ! Don Ricaedo. One evening it is said that you were found With Madame Giron. You had just before Made him a baron ; he revenges now The honour of his dear companion. Don Caelos. This, then, the reason he revolts 'gainst Spain ? What name comes next ? Don Ricaedo. The Reverend Vasquez, Avila's Bishop. Don Caelos. Pray does he resent Dishonour of his wife ! Don Ricaedo. Then there is namec^ Guzman de Lara, who is discontent, Claiming the collar of your order. Don Caelos. Ah I Guzman de Lara ! If he only wants A collar he shall have one. Don Ricaedo. Next the Duke 96 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT IV. Of Lntzelbonrg. As for his plans, they say Don Carlos. Ah ! Lntzelbonrg is by the head too tall. Don Eicaedo. Jnan de Haro — who Astorga wants. Don Oaelos. These Haros ! Always they the headsman's pay Have doubled. Don Eicaedo, That is all. Don Oaelos. Not by my connt. These make bnt seven. Don Eicaedo. Oh, I did not name Some bandits, probably engaged by Treves Or France. ^ Don Oaelos. Men without prejudice of course. Whose ready daggers turn to heaviest pay, As truly as the needle to the pole. Don Eicaedo. However, I observed two sturdy ones Among them, both new comers — one was young, The other old. Don Oaelos. Their names ? [Don Eicaedo sivrugs Ms shoulders in sign of ignorcmce. Their age then say ? Don Eicaedo. The younger may be twenty. so. I.j HBENANl. 97 Don Caelos. Pity then. Don Ricaedo. The elder mnst be sisty, quite. Don Oaelos. One seems Too young — the other, over old ; so much For them the worse 'twill be. I will take care — Myself will help the headsman, be there need. My sword is sharpened for a traitor's block, I'll lend it him if blunt his axe should grow. And join my own imperial purple on To piece the scaffold cloth, if it must be Enlarged that way. But shall I Emperor prove ? Don Eicaedo. The College at this hour deliberates. Don Oaelos. Who knows ? Francis the First, perchance, they'll name. Or else their Saxon Frederick the Wise. Ah, Luther, thou art right to blame the times And scorn such makers-up of royalty. That own no other rights than gilded ones. A Saxon heretic ! Primate of Treves, A libertine ! Count Palatine, a fool ! As for Bohemia's king, for me he is. Princes of Hesse, all smaller than their states ! The young are idiots, and the old debauched. Of crowns a plenty — but for heads we search In vain ! Council of dwarfs ridiculous. That I in lion's skin could carry off Like Hercules ; and who of violet robes Bereft, would show but heads more shallow far Than Triboulet's. See'st thou I want three votes Or all is lost, Ricardo ? Oh ! I'd give Toledo, Ghent, and Salamanca too, H 98 DKAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [ACT IY, Three towns, my friend, I'd offer to their choice For their three voices — cities of Castile And Flanders. Safe I know to take them back A little later on. (Don Ricaedo hows low to the King, and puts on Ms hat.) Ton cover, Sir ! Don Ricaedo. Sire, yon. have called me thou (hawing again). And thus I'm made Grandee of Spain. Don Caelos (aside). Ah, how to piteous scorn you rouse me ! Interested brood devour'd By mean ambition. Thus across my plans Tours struggle. Base the Court where without shame The King is plied for honours, and he yields, Bestowing grandeur on the hungry crew, (itusinj.) Grod only, and the Emperor are great. Also the Holy Father ! for the rest. The kings and dukes, of what account are they ? Don Ricaedo. I trust that they your Highness will elect. Don Caelos. Highness — still Highness ! Oh, unlucky chance ! If only King I must remain. Don Ricaedo (aside). By Jove, Emperor or King, Grandee of Spain I am. Don Caelos. When they've decided who shall be the one They choose for Emperor of Germany, What sign is to announce his name ? Don RicAEro. The guns. A single firing will proclaim the Duke so. I.j HEENANI, Q9 Of Saxony is chosen Emperor ; Two if 'tis Francis ; for your Highness three, Don Caelos. And Dona Sol ! I'm crossed on every side. If, Count, by turn of luck, I'm Emperor made. Go seek her ; she by Ctesar might be won. Don Ricaedo (smiling). Tour Highness pleases. Don Caelos (Jiaughtihj). On that subject peace ! I have not yet inquired what's thought of me. But tell me when will it be truly known Who is elected ? Don Ricaedo. In an hour or so, At latest. Don Caelos. Ah, three votes ; and only three ! But first this trait'rous rabble we must crush, A.nd then we'll see to whom the Empire falls, [ff e coimts on Ms fingers and stamps his foot. Always by three too few ! Ah, they hold power. Yet did Cornelius know all long ago : In Heaven's ocean thirteen stars he saw Coming full sail towards mine, all from the north. Empire for me — let's on ! But it is said. On other hand, that Jean Tritheme Francis Predicted ! Clearer should I see my fate Had I some armament the prophecy To help. The Sorcerer's predictions come Most true when a good army — with its guns And lances, horse and foot, and martial strains, Ready to lead the way where Fate alone Might stumble — plays the midwife's part to bring 100 DEAMAS OF YICTOE HUGO. [ACT IV. Fulfilment of prediction. That's worth more Than our Cornelius Agrippa or Tritheme. He, who by force of arms expounds His system, and with sharpen'd point of lance Can edge his words, and uses soldiers' swords To level rugged fortune — shapes events At his own will to match the prophecy. Poor fools ! who with proud eyes and haughty mien Only look straight to Empire, and declare " It is my right ! " They need great guns in files Whose burning breath melts towns ; and soldiers, ships, And horsemen. These they need their ends to gain O'er trampled peoples. Pshaw ! at the cross roads Of human life, where one leads to a throne Another to perdition, they will pause In indecision, — scarce three steps will take Uncertain of themselves, and in their doubt Ply to the Necromancer for advice Which road to take. (To Don Eicaedo.) Go now, 'tis near the time The trait'rous crew will meet. Give me the key. Don Ricaedo {giving hey of tomV). Sire, 'twas the guardian of the tomb, the Count De Limbourg, who to me confided it, And has done everything to pleasure you. Don Caelos. Do all, quite all that I commanded you. Don Ricaedo (bowing). Highness, I go at once. Don Caelos. The signal then That I await is cannon firing thrice ? (Don Ricaedo lows and exit.) QDON Gaelos faUs into a deep reverie, Ms arms crossed, his head drooping j afterwwrds he raises it, and turns to the tomb. SC. II.] HEENANI. 101 Scene 2. Don Carlos (done). Forgive me, Charlemagne ! Oh, this lonely vault Should echo only unto solemn words. Thou must be angry at the babble vain Of our ambition at your monument. Here Charlemagne rests ! How can the sombre tomb Without a rifting spasm hold such dust ! And art thou truly here, colossal power, Creator of the world ? And canst thou now Crouch down from all thy majesty and might ? Ah, 'tis a spectacle to stir the soul What Europe was, and what by thee 'twas made. Mighty construction with two men supreme Elected chiefs to whom born kings submit. States, duchies, kingdoms, marqnisates and fiefs— By right hereditary most are ruled, But nations find a friend sometimes in Pope Or Csesar ; and one chance another chance Corrects ; thus even balance is maintained And order opens out. The cloth-of-gold Electors, and the scarlet cardinals. The double, sacred senate, unto which Earth bends, are but paraded outward show, God's fiat rules it all. One day He wills A thought, a want, should burst upon the world. Then grow and spread, and mix with every thing. Possess some man, win hearts, and delve a groove Though kings may trample on it, and may seek To gag ; — only that they some morn may see At diet, conclave, this the scorned idea. That they had spurned, all suddenly expand And soar above their heads, bearing the globe In hand, or on the brow tiara. Pope And Emperor, they on earth are all in all, 102 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT IV. A mystery supreme dwells in them both, And Heaven's might, which they still represent, Feasts them with kings and nations, holding them Beneath its thunder-cloud, the while they sit At table with the world served out for food. Alone they regulate all things on earth, Just as the mower manages his field. All rule and power are theirs. Kings at the door Inhale the odour of their savoury meats, Look through the window, watchful on tip-toe, But weary of the scene. The common world Below them groups itself on ladder-rungs. They make and all unmake. One can release, The other surely strike. The one is Truth, The other Might. Bach to himself is law. And is, because he is. When — equals they The one in purple, and the other swathed In white like winding-sheet — when they come out From Sanctuary, the dazzled multitude Look with wild terror on these halves of God, The Pope and Emperor. Emperor ! oh, to be Thus great ! Oh, anguish, not to be this Power When beats the heart with dauntless courage fiU'd ! Oh, happy he who sleeps within this tomb ! How great, and oh ! how fitted for his time ! The Pope and Emperor were more than men, In them two Romes in mystic Hymen joined Prolific were, giving new form and soul Unto the human race, refounding realms And nations, shaping thus a Europe new, And both remoulding with their hands the bronze Remaining of the great old Roman world. What destiny ! And yet 'tis here he lies ? Is all so little that we come to this ! What then ? To have been Prince and Emperor, And King — to have been sword, and also law ; Giant, with Germany for pedestal — SC. II.] HERNANI. 103 For title Ctesar — Charlemagne for name : A greater to have been than Hannibal Or Attila — as great as was the world. Yet all rests here ! For Empire strive and strain And see the dust that makes an Emperor ! Cover the earth with tumult, and with noise Know you that one day only will remain — Oh, madd'ning thought — a stone ! For sounding name Triumphant, but some letters 'graved to serve For little children to learn spelling by. How high so e'er ambition made thee soar. Behold the end of all ! Oh, Empire, power, What matters all to me ! I near it now And like it well. Some voice declares to me Thine — thine — it will be thine. Heavens, were it so ! To mount at once the spiral height supreme And be alone — the key-stone of the arch. With states beneath, one o'er the other ranged. And kings for mats to wipe one's sandall'd feet ! To see 'neath kings the feudal families. Margraves and Cardinals, and Doges — Dukes, Then Bishops, Abbes — Chiefs of ancient clans. Great Barons — then the soldier class and clerks, And know yet farther off — in the deep shade At bottom of th' abyss there is Mankind — That is to say a crowd, a sea of men, A tumult — cries, with tears, and bitter laugh Sometimes, The wail wakes up and scares the earth And reaches us with leaping echoes, and With trumpet tone. Oh, citizens, oh, men ! The swarm that from the high church towers seems now To sound the tocsin ! (Musi-iig.) Wondrous human base Of nations, bearing on your shoulders broad The mighty pyramid that has two poles, The living waves that ever straining hard Balance and shake it as they heave aad roll, 104 DBAMAS OP VICTOR HTJOO. [aCT IT. Make all change place, and on the highest heights Make stagger thrones, as if they were but stools. So sure is this, that ceasing vain debates Kings look to Heaven ! Kings look down below, Look at the people ! — Restless ocean, there Where nothing's cast that does not shake the whole ; The sea that rends a throne, and rocks a tomb — A glass in which kings rarely look but ill. Ah, if upon this gloomy sea they gazed Sometimes, what Empires in its depths they'd find ! Great vessels wrecked that by its ebb and flow Are stirr'd — that wearied it — known now no more ! To govern this — ^to mount so high if called, Tet know myself to be but mortal man ! To see the abyss — if not that moment struck With dizziness bewildering every sense. Oh, moving pyramid of states and kings With apex narrow, — woe to timid step ! What shall restrain me ? If I fail when there Feeling my feet upon the trembling world. Feeling alive the palpitating earth. Then when I have between my hands the globe Have I the strength alone to hold it fast, To be an Emperor ? Oh, God, 'twas hard And difficult to play the kingly part. Certes, no man is rarer than the one Who can enlarge his soul to duly meet Great Fortune's smiles, and still increasing gifts. But I ! Who is it that shall be my guide, My counsellor, and make me great ? [^Falls on his hnees before the tomb. 'Tis thou. Oh, Charlemagne ! And since 'tis God for whom All obstacles dissolve, who takes us now And puts us face to face — from this tomb's depths Endow me with sublimity and strength. Let me be great enough to see the truth SC. II.] HEENANI. 105 On every side. Show me how small the world I dare not measure — me this Babel show Where, from the hind to 0»sar mounting up, Bach one, complaisant with himself, regards The next with scorn that is but half restrained. Teach me the secret of thy conquests all, And how to rule. And show me certainly Whether to punish, or to pardon, be The worthier thing to do. Is it not fact That in his solitary bed sometimes A mighty shade is wakened from his sleep, Aroused by noise and turbulence on earth ; That suddenly his tomb expands itself. And bursts its doors — and in the night flings forth A flood of light ? If this be true indeed. Say, Emperor ! what can after Charlemagne Another do ! Speak, though thy sovereign breath Should cleave this brazen door. Or rather now Let me thy sanctuary enter lone ! Let me behold thy veritable face. And not repulse me with a freezing breath. Upon thy stony pillow elbows lean. And let us talk. Yes, with prophetic voice Tell me of things which make the forehead pale. And clear eyes mournful. Speak, and do not blind Thine awe-struck son, for doubtlessly thy tomb Is full of light. Or if thou wilt not speak. Let me make study in the solemn peace Of thee, as of a world, thy measure take. Oh giant, for there's nothing here below So great as thy poor ashes. Let them teach, Failing thy spirit, [He puts the Jc&y in the locJc. Let us enter now. ' [Re recoils. Oh, God, if he should really whisper me ! If he be there and walks with noiseless tread, And I come back with hair in moments bleached ! 1 06 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [aCT IV. I'll do it still. [Sownd of footsteps. Who comes? wlio dares disturb Besides myself tte dwelling of sucli dead ! l^The sound comes nearer. My murderers ! I forgot ! Now enter we. [He opens the door of the tomb, which shuts upon him. (Enter several men walking softly, disguised by large cloaks and hats.) Scene 3. — The Oonspieatoes. (They take each others' hands, going from one to another and speaking in a low tone.) FiEST CoNSPiEATOE (who olone carries a lighted torch). Ad augusta. Second Conspieatob. Per angusta. FlEST CONSPIEATOE. The Saints Shield ns. Thied Oonspieatoe. The dead assist us. FiEST Oonspieatoe. Guard us, God ! [Noise in the shade. FiEST Oonspieatoe. Who's there ? A Voice. Ad augusta. Second Oonspieatoe. Per angusta, [Enter fresh Oonspieatoes — noise of footsteps. FiEST Oonspieatoe to Thied. See ! there is some one still to come. so. III.] HEEKANI. 107 Thied Conspieatoe. Ad augusta. WIio'b there? (Voice in tlie da/rJcness,') Thied Conspieatoe. Per angusta. (Enter more Conspieatoes, wJio exchange signs with their hands with the others.) FlEST CONSPIEATOE. 'Tis well. All now are here. Gotha, to you it falls To state the case. Friends, darkness waits for light IThe Conspieatoes sit in a half circle on the tombs. The FiEST CONSPIEATOE posses before them, and from his torch each one lights a wax ta^er which he holds in his hand. Then the Fiest Oonspieatoe seats himself in silence on a tomb a little Mglier thorn, the others in the centre of the circle. Duke op Gotha {rising). My friends ! This Charles of Spain, by mother's side A foreigner, aspires to mount the throne Of Holy Empire. FlEST CONSPIEATOE. But for him the grave. DtJKB OF GoTHA (throwing down his light and cruslwng it with his foot). Let it be with his head as with this flame. All. So be it. FlEST CONSPIEATOB. Death unto him. 108 deamas op victoe hugo. [act iv. ■ Duke op Gotha. Let Mm die. All. Let him be slain. Don Jtjan de Haeo. German Ms father was. Duke de Lutzelbotjeg. His mother Spanish. Duke op Gotha. Thus yon see that he Is no more one than other. Let him die. A CONSPIEATOE. Suppose th' Electors at this very hour Declare him Emperor ! FlEST CONSPIBATOE. Him ! oh, never him ! Don Gil Tellez Gieon. What signifies ? Let us strike off the head, The Crown will fall. FlEST CONSPIEATOE. But if to him belongs The Holy Empire, he becomes so great And so august, that only God's own hand Can reach him. Duke op Gotha. All the better reason why^, He dies before such power august he gains. PlEST OONSPIEATOE. He shall not be elected. All. Not for him The Empire. FlEST CONSPIEATOE. Now, how many hands will't take To put him in his shroud ? 80. iii.] hbenani, 109^ All. One is enough. First Conspibatoe. How many strokes to reach his heart ? All. Bnt one. FlEST CONSPIRATOE. Who, then, will strike ? All. All ! All 1 FiEST Conspibatoe. The victim is A traitor proved. They would an Emperor choose, We've a high-priest to make. Let ns draw lots. [All the CoNSPiBATOES write their names on their tablets, tea/r out the leaf, roll it up, and one after another throw them into the urn on one of the tonibs. After- vjards the Fiest Compieatob says, Now let US pray. (All Imeel, the Fiest Oonspieatob rises and says,) Oh, may the chosen one Believe in God, and like a Roman strike, Die as a Hebrew would, and brave alike The wheel and burning pincers, laugh at rack, And fire, and wooden horse, and be resigned To kill and die. He might have all to do. [Se draws a parchment from the urn. All. What name ? Fiest Conspieatoe (in low voice). Hernani ! Heenani (coming out from the crowd of Conspieatoes). I have won, yes won ! 110 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT IT. I hold thee fast ! Thee I've so long pursued With vengeance. Don Ect Gomez (piercing tlvrough the crowd and talcing Heenani aside). Yield — oh yield this right to me. Heenani. Not for my life ! Oh, Signer, grudge me not This stroke of fortune — 'tis the first I've known. Don Eut Gomez. You nothing have ! I'll give you houses, lands, A hundred thousand vassals shall be yours In my three hundred villages, if you But yield the right to strike to me. Heenani. No — no. Duke of Gotha. Old man, thy arm would strike less sure a blow. Don Eut Gomez. Back ! I have strength of soul, if not of arm. Judge not the sword by the mere scabbard's rust. {To Heenani.) You do belong to me. Heenani. My life is yours. As his belongs to me. Don Eut Gomez (drawing the Jwrnfrom his girdle"). I yield her up. And will return the horn. Heenani (he trembles). What life ! my life And Dona Sol ! No, I my vengeance choose. I have my father to revenge — ^yet more. Perchance I am inspired by God in this. so. HI.] HEENANI. Ill Don Rut Gomez. 1 yield thee Her — and give thee back the horn ! Heenani. No! Don Rut Gomez. Boy, reflect. Heenani Oh, Duke, leave me my prey. Don Rut Gomez. My curses on you for depriving me Of this my joy. FlEST CONSPIEATOE. (To HeENANI.) Oh, brother, ere they can Elect him — 'twould be well this very night To watch for Charles. Heenani. Fear nought, I know the way To kill a man. FiEST Gonspieatoe. May every treason fall On traitor, and may God be with you now. We Counts and Barons, let ns take the oath That if he fall, yet slay not, we go on And strike by turn unflinching till Charles dies. All (drawing their swords). Let us all swear. Duke of Gotha (to Fiest Conspieatoe). My brother, let's decide On what we swear. Don Rut Gomez (taking his sword by the point and raising it above his head). By this same cross, All (raising their swords). And this 112 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT IV. That he mnst quickly die impenitent [_They hear a cannon fired, afair off. All pause and are silent. The door of the ioinb half opens, and Don Caelos appears at the threshold. A second gun is fired, then a third. He opens wide the door and stands erect and motionless without advancing. Scene 4. — The Conspiratoes and Don Carlos. Afterwards Don Ricardo ; Signoes, Guards, The King of Bohemia, The Duke op Bavaria, afterwards Dona Sol. Don Carlos. Pall back, ye gentlemen — the Emperor hears. \All the lights a/fe simultwneously extingwished. A profound silence. Don Carlos advances a step in the darJcness, so dense, that the silent, motionless CoNSPiBATOBS Can scarcely he distinguished. Silence and night ! Prom darkness sprung, the swarm Into the darkness plunges back again ! Think ye this scene is like a passing dream, And that I take you now your lights are quenched. For men's stone figures seated on their tombs ? Just now, my statues, you had voices loud, Raise, then, your drooping heads for Charles the Fifth Is here. Strike. Move a pace or two and show Tou dare. But no, 'tis not in you to dare. Tour flaming torches, blood-red 'neath these vaults. My breath extinguished ; but now turn your eyes Irresolute, and see that if I thus Put out the many, I can light still more. [He strikes the iron hey on the bronze door of the tomb. At the sovnd all ihe depths of the cavern a/re filled with soldiers hearing torches and halherts. At their head the Duke d'Alcala, the Maeqdis d'Almunan, ^e. Come on, my falcons ! I've the nest — the prey. so. lY.] HEKNANI. 113 {To CONSPIBATOES.) I can make blaze of ligbt, 'tis my turn now, Behold i! {To the Soldiers.) Advance — for flagrant is the crime. Heenani {loolcing at the Soldiers) . Ah, well ! At first I thought 'twas Charlemagne, Alone he seemed so great — bnt after all 'Tis only Charles the Fifth. Don Oaelos (to the Doke d'Alcala). Come, Constable Of Spain, (To Marquis d'Almunan.) And you Castilian Admiral, Disarm them all. \_The OoNSPiEATOES are surrounded and disarmed. Don Ricaedo {hurrying in and bowing almost to the ground). Tour Majesty ! Don Caelos. Alcade I make you of the Palace. Don RiCAEDO {again hawing). Two Electors, To represent the Golden Chamber, come To offer to your Sacred Majesty Congratulations now. Don Caeios. Let them come forth. {Aside to Don Ricaedo.) The Dona Sol. [Ricaedo hows and exit. Enter with flambeaux and flourish of trumpets the King op Bohemia and the Duke oe Bavaeia, both wearing cloth of gold, and loith crowns on their heads. , Numerous fol- loioers. German nobles carrying the banner of the Umpire, the double-headed Eagle, with the escutcheon I 114 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [aCT IV. of Spain in the middle of it. The Soldiers divide, forming lines between which the Electors pass to the Emperor, to ivhom they boiv low. He returns the salutation hy raising his hat. Duke of Bavaria. Most Sacred Majesty Charles, of tlie Romans King, and Emperor, The Empire of the world is in your hands — Tours is the throne to which each king aspires ! The Saxon Frederick was elected first. But he judged you more worthy, and declined. Now then receive the crown and globe, oh King — The Holy Empire doth invest you now. Arms with the sword, and you indeed are great. Don Carlos. The College I will thank on my return. But go, my brother of Bohemia, And you. Bavarian cousin. — Thanks ; but now I do dismiss you — I shall go myself. King of Bohemia. Oh ! Charles, our ancestors were friends. My Sire Loved yours, and their two fathers were two friends — So young ! exposed to varied fortunes ! say. Oh Charles, may I be ranked a very chief Among thy brothers ? I cannot forget I knew you as a little child. Don Carlos. Ah, well — King of Bohemia, you presume too much. [He gives him his ha/nd to hiss, also the Duke of Bavaria, both bow low. Depart. [Eieeunt the two Electors with their followers. The Crowd. Long live the Emperor ! SC. IV.] HEENANI. 115 Don Carlos (aside). So 'tis mine, All things have helped, and I am Emperor — By the refusal though of Frederick Surnamed the Wise ! {Enter Dona Sol led hj Ricaedo.) Dona Sol. What, Soldiers ! — Emperor ! Hernani ! Heaven, what an unlooked-for chance ! Hernani. Ah ! Dona Sol ! Don Rui Gomez (aside to Hernani). She has not seen me. [DoSa Sol runs to Hernani, who malces her recoil hy a looh of disdain. Hernani. Madam ! DoSa Sol (ckawing the dagger from heir iosom). I still his poignard have ! Hernani (taking her in his arms). My dearest one ! Don Carlos. Be silent all. (To the Conspirators.) Is't yon remorseless are ? I need to give the world a lesson now. The Lara of Castile, and Gotha, you Of Saxony — all — all — what were your plana Just now ? I bid you speak. Hernani. Quite simple. Sire, The thing, and we can briefly tell it you. We 'graved the sentence on Belshazzar's wall. [He takes out a poignard and hrandishes it. We render unto Csesar Cse^ar's due. 116 beamas of victoe hdgo. [act iv. Don Caelos. Silence ! (To Don Eor Gomez.) And yon ! Ton too are traitor, Silva ! Don Rut Gomez. Which of us two is traitor, Sire ? Heenani (turning towa/rds the Gonspieatoes) . Our heads And Empire — all that he desires he has. (To the Empeeob.) The mantle blue of kings encumbered you ; The purple better suits — it shows not blood. Don Caelos (to Don Euy Gomez). Cousin of Silva, this is felony, Attainting your baronial rank. Think well, Don Euy — high treason ! Don Euy Gomez. Kings like Roderick Count Julians make.^ Don Caelos (to the Ddkb d'Alcala). Seize only those who seem The nobles, — for the rest ! [Don iluY Gomez, the Duke de Lutzelboubg, i/ieDnicE op GoTHA, Don Juan de Haeo, Don Guzman de Laea, Don Tellez Gieon, the Baeon of Hohbnboueg separate themselves from the group of Conspieatoes, among whom is Heenani. The Duke d'Alcala surrounds them with guards. 1 Roderick, the last Gothic King, by craft and violence dishonoured Florinda, the daughter of Count Julian, who, in revenge, invited the Saracens into Spain, and assisted their invasion, A.u. 713. Their army was commanded by Tarik, who gave the name Gibel-al-Tarik, or mountain of Tarik, to the place where he landed — a name cori-upted to Gibraltar. So incensed were the Spaniards against the hapless Florinda, that they abolished the word as a woman's name, reserving it henceforth for dogs. — Tkaks. so. IV.] HEENANI. 117 DoSa Sol (aside). Ah, he is saved ! Heenani (coming from among the Conspirators). I claim to be included ! (To Don Carlos.) Since to this It comes, the question of the axe — that now Hernani, humble churl, beneath thy feet Unpunished goes, because his brow is not At level with thy sword — because one must Be great to die, I rise. God, who gives power, And gives to thee the sceptre, made me Duke Of Segorbe and Cardona, Marquis too Of TSIonroy, Albatera's Count, of Gor Viscount, and Lord of many places, more Than I can name. Juan of Aragon Am I, Grand Master of Avis — the son In exile bom, of murder'd father slain By king's decree, King Charles, which me proscribed, Thus death 'twixt us is family afiair ; You have the scafibld — we the poignard hold. Since heaven a Duke has made me, and exile A mountaineer, — since all in vain I've sharpen'd Upon the hills my sword, and in the torrents Have tempered it, [He^jwis on Ms hat. (To the Conspirators), Let us be covered now, Us the Grandees of Spain. (They cover.') (To Don Carlos.) Our heads, oh ! King, Have right to fall before thee covered thus. (To the Prisoners.) Silva, and Haro — Lara — men of rank And race make room for Juan of Aragon. Give me my place, ye Dukes and Counts — ^my place. (To the CouETiEES and Guards.) King, headsmen, varlets — Juan of Aragon 118 DBAMAS OF TICTOB HUGO. [ACT FV. Am I. If all your scaffolds are too small Make new ones. (He joins the group 0/ Nobles.) Dona Sol. Heavens ! Don Caelos. I had forgotten quite This history. Heenani. But they who bleed remember Far better. Th' evil that wrong-doer thus So senselessly forgets, for ever stirs Within the outraged heart. , Don Caelos. Therefore, enough For me to bear this title, that I'm son Of sires, whose power dealt death to ancestors Of yours ! Dona Sol (Jailing on her knees before the Empeeoe). Oh, pardon — pardon ! Mercy, Sire, Be pitiful, or strike us both, I pray, For he my lover is, my promised spouse, In him it is alone I live — I breathe ; Oh, Sire, in mercy us together slay. Trembling — oh Majesty ! — I trail myself Before your sacred knees. I love him, Sire, And he is mine — as Empire is your own. Have pity ! (Don Caelos looJcs at her without moving,') Oh what thought absorbs you ? Don Caelos. Cease. Rise — ^Duchess of Segorbe — Marchioness Of Monroy — Countess Albaterra — and (To Heenani.) Thine other names, Don Juan ? Heenani. Who speaks thus, so. IV.] HEBNANI. 119 Th.e King ? Don Caelos. No, 'tis the Emperor. DoSa Sol. Just Ileav'n ! Don Caelos (pointing to her). Duke Juan, take your wife. Hernaui (Ms eyes raised to heavm, DoSa Sol in his arms). Just God ! Don Caelos (to Don Rut Gomez). My cousin, I know the pride of your nobility, But Aragon with Silva well may mate, Don Enr Gomez (Utterly). 'Tis not a question of nobility. Heenani (looldng ivith love on Dona Sol atid still holding her in his arms). My deadly hate is vanishing away. [Throios aivmj his dagger. Don Rut Gomez (aside, and looTcing at them). Shall I betray myself ? Oh, no — my grief, My foolish love would make them pity cast Upon my venerable head. Old man And Spaniard ! Let the hidden fire consume, And suffer still in secret. Let heart break But cry not; — they would laugh at thee. Dona Sol (still in Heenani's arms). My Duke ! Heenani. Nothing my soul holds now but love ! Dona Sol. Oh, joy! 120 DRAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [ACT IV. Don Caelos {aside, his hand in his losom). Stifle thyself, young heart so full of flame, Let reign again the better thoughts which thou So long hast troubled. Henceforth let thy loves, Thy mistresses, alas ! — be Germany And Flanders — Spain (looJdng at the banner). The Emperor is like The Eagle his companion, in the place Of heart, there's but a 'scutcheon. Heenani. Csesar you ! Don Caelos. Don Juan, of your ancient name and race Your soul is worthy (pointing to DoNA Sol.) Worthy e'en of her. Kneel, Duke. [Heenani Tcneds. Don Caelos unfastens his own Oolden Fleece and puts it on Heenani's nech. Receive this collar. [Don Caelos draws his sword and strikes him three times on the shotdder. Faithful be, For by St. Stephen now I make thee Kjiight. [He raises and emlraces him. Thou hast a collar softer and more choice ; That which is wanting to my rank supreme, — The arms of loving woman, loved by thee. Thou wilt be happy — I am Emperor. (To Conspibatoes.) Sirs, I forget your names. Anger and hate I will forget. Go — go — I pardon you. This is the lesson that the world much needs. The Conspieatoes. Glory to Charles ! Don Rut Gomez (to Don Caelos). I only sufier then ! so. v.] HEENANI. 121 Don Carlos. And I! Don Rut Gomez. But I have not like Majesty Forgiven ! Hernani. Who is't has worked this wondrons change ? All. Nobles, Soldiers, Conspirators. Honour to Charles the Fifth, and Germany ! Don Carlos (turning to the tomb). Honour to Charlemagne ! Leave us now together. [Exeunt all. Scene 6, — Don Carlos {alone). [He bends towards the tomb. Art thou content with me, oh, Charlemagne ! Have I the kingship's littleness stripped off ? Become as Emperor another man ? Can I Rome's mitre add unto my helm ? Have I the right the fortunes of the world To sway ? Have I a steady foot that safe Can tread the path, by Vandal ruins strewed, Which thou hast beaten by thine armies vast ? Have I my candle lighted at thy flame ? Did I interpret right the voice that spake Within this tomb ? Ah, I was lost — alone Before an Empire — a wide howling world That threatened and conspired ! There were the Danes To punish, and the Holy Father's self To compensate — with Venice — Soliman, Francis, and Luther — and a thousand dirks Gleaming already in the shade — snares — rocks ; And countless foes ; a score of nations, each Of which might serve to awe a score of kings. Things ripe, all pressing to be done at once. I cried to thee — with what shall I begin ? And thou didst answer — Son, by clemency ! FIFTH ACT. The Nuptials. Scene 1. — Saeagossa. A terrace of the palace of Aragon. At the haclc a flight of steps leading to the garden. At the right and left, doors on to a terrace which shows at the iacTc of the stage a haliistrade swrmoimted by a double row of Moorish arches, above and through which are seen the palace gardens, fountains in the shade, shrubberies and moving lights, and the Gothic and Arabic arches of the palace illuminated. It is night. Trumpets afar off are heard. Maslcs and Dominoes, either singly or in groups, cross the teirace here and there. At the: front of the stage a group of young lords, their maslcs in their hands, laugh and chat noisily. Don Sancho Saschez de Zuniga, Comtb de Montebet, Don Matias Centueion, Maequis d'Almunan, Don Ricardo DE E,oxAS, Comtb de Casapalma, Don Fbancisco de SOTOMATOE, COMTE DE VaLALCAZAE, Don GaECIE SUAEEZ DE CaeBAJAL, ComTE DE PeNALVEE. Don Gaecie. Now to the bride long life — and joy — I say ! Don Matias {loolcing to the balcony), A.11 Saragossa at its windows shows. Don Gaecie. And they do well. A torch-light wedding ne'er Was seen more gay than this, nor lovelier night, Nor handsomer married pair. Don Matias. Kind Emp'ror ! sc. i.] hernani. 123 Don Sancho. When we went with him in the dark that night Seeking adventure, Marquis, who'd have thought How it would end ? Don Ricaedo (interrupting'), I, too, was there. (To the others.) Now list. Three gallants, one a bandit, his head due Unto the scaffold; then a Dake, a King, Adoring the same woman, all laid siege At the same time. The onset made — who won ? It was the handit. Don Feancisco. Nothing strange in that, For love and fortune, in all other lands As well as Spain, are sport of the cogg'd dice. It is the rogue who wins. Don Eicardo. My fortune grew In seeing the love-making. First a Count And then Grandee, and next an Alcade At court. My time was well spent, though without One knowing it. Don Sancho. Tour secret, sir, appears To be the keeping close upon the heels 0' the King. Don Ricaedo. And showing that my conduct's worth Reward, Don Gaecib. And by a chance you profited. Don Matias. What has become of the old Duke ? has he His coffin ordered ? 124 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HtTGO. [aC'X V. Don Sancho. Marquis, jest not thus At him ! Per he a haughty spirit has ; And this old man loved well the Dona Sol. His sixty years had turned his hair to grey, One day has bleached it. Don Gaecie. Not again, they say, Has he been seen in Saragossa. Don Sancho. Well? Wouldst thou that to the bridal he should bring His coffin ? Don Feancisco. What's the Emperor doing now ? Don Sancho. The Emperor is out of sorts just now, Luther annoys him. Don Ricaedo. Luther ! — subject fine For care and fear ! Soon would I finish him With but four men-at-arms ! Don Matias. And Soliman Makes him dejected. Don Gaecie. Luther — Soliman Neptune — the devil — Jupiter ! What are They all to me ? The women are most fair, The masquerade is splendid, and I've said A hundred foolish things ! Don Sancho. Behold you now The chief thing. so. I.] HEENANI. 125 Don Ricaedo. Garcie's not far wrong, I say. Not the same man am I on festal days. When I put on the mask in truth I think Another head it gives me. Don Sancho (apart to Don Matias). Pity 'tis That all days are not festivals ! Don Francisco. Are those Their rooms ? Don Gaecib (with a nod of his head). Arrive they will, no doubt, full soon. Don Feanoisco. Dost think so ? Don Gaecie. Most undoubtedly ! Don Feancisco. The bride is lovely ! 'Tis well. Don Ricaedo. What an Emperor ! The rebel chief, Hernani, to be pardoned — Wearing the Golden Fleece ! and married too ! Ah, if the Emperor had been by me Advised, the gallant should have had a bed Of stone, the lady one of down. Don Sancho (aside to Don Matias). - How well I'd like with my good sword this lord to smash, A lord made up of tinsel coarsely joined ; Pourpoint of Count filled out with bailifiTs soul ! 126 DEAMAS OF TICTOE HUGO. [aCT V. Don Eicaedo (drawing near). "What are you saying ? Don Matias {aside to Don Sancho). Count, no quarrel here ! (To Don Eicaudo.) He was reciting one of Petrarch's sonnets Unto his lady love. Don Gaecie. Have you not seen Among the flowers and women, and dresses gay Of many hues, a figure spectre-like. Whose domino all black, upright against A balustrade, seems like a spot upon The festival ? Don Eicaedo. Yes, by my faith ! Don Gaecie. Who is't ? Don Eicaedo. By height and mien I judge that it must be The Admiral — the Don Prancasio. Oh, no. Don Peancisco. Don Gaecie. He has not taken ofi' his mask. Don Peancisco. There is no need ; it is the Duke de Soma, Who likes to be observed. 'Tis nothing more. Don Eicaedo. No J the Duke spoke to me. Don Gaecie. Who then can be This Mask ? But see — he's here so. I.] HEENANI. ]27 [Enter a Black Domino, wlio slowly crosses the hack of the stage. All turn and watch him without his appearing to notice them. Don Sancho. If the dead walk, That is their step. Don Gaecie (approaching the Black Domino), Most noble Mask (The Black Domino stops and turns. Gaecie recoils.) I swear, Good Sirs, that I saw flame shine in his eyes. Don Sancho. If he's the devil he'll find one he can Address. \lle goes to the Black Domino, who is still motionless. Ho, Demon ! comest thou from hell ? The Mask. I come not thence — 'tis thither that I go. [ffe continues his walk and disappears at the balustrade of the staircase. All watch him with a look of horrified dismay. Don Matias. Sepulchral is his voice, as can be heard. Don Gaecie. Pshaw ! What would frighten elsewhere, at a ball We laugh at. Don Sancho. Silly jesting 'tis ! Don Gaecie. Indeed, If Lucifer is come to see us dance. Waiting for lower regions, let us dance \ Don Sancho. Of course it's some buffoonery. 128 PEAMAS OF YICTOE HDGO. [ACT V. To-morrow. I pray you ! Don Matias. We'll know Don Sancho {to Don Matias). Look now what becomes of him, Don Matias (at the balustrade of the terrace). Down the steps he's gone. That's all. Don Sancho. A pleasant jester he ! {Musing.) 'lis strange. Don Gaecie {to a lady ^passing). Marquise, Let us pray dance this time. [He hows and offers Ms liand. The Ladt. Tou know, dear sir, My husband will my dances with you all Count np. Don Gaecie. All the more reason. Pleased is he To count, it seems, and it amuses "him. He calculates — we dance. [The lady gives her hand and they exeunt. Don Sancho {thoughtfully). In truth, 'tis strange ! Don Matias. Behold the married pair ! Now silence all ! [Enter Heenani and DoSa Sol hand in hand. Dona Sol in magnificent hridal dress. Heenani in Made velvet and with the Golden Fleece hanging from his nech. Behind them a crowd of Mashs and of ladies and gentlemen who form their retinue. Two Halberdiers in rich liveries folloio them, and SC II.] HEENANI. 129 four pages ^precede them. Everyone malces tvay for them cmd bows as they approach. Flourish of trumpets, Scene 2. — The Same. Heenani, Dona Sol, and retinue. Heenani (saluting). Dear friends ! Don Ricaedo (advancing and lowing). Tour Excellency's happiness Makes ours. Don Feancisco (hohimg at DoSa Sol). Now, by St. James, 'tis Venus' self Tliat lie is leading. Don Matias, Happiness is his ! Don Sancho (to Don Matus). 'Tis late now, let us leave. [All salute the married pair and retire — some hy the door, others hy the stairway at the iack. Heenani (escorting them). Adieu ! Don Sanoho (who has remained to the last, and pressing his hand). Be happy ! [JExit Don Sancho, [Heenani amd DoSa Sol remain alone. The sound of 'voices grows fainter and fainter till it ceases alto- gether. During the early part of the following scene the sound of trumpets grows fainter, and the lights by degrees a/re extinguished — till night and silence prevail. 130 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [aCT V. Scene S.^^Heenani. DoSa Sol. DotA Sol. At last they all are gone. Heenani (seeTcing to draw her to his a/rms), Dear love ! DofiA Sol {drawing bach a little). Is't late ?— At least to me it seems so. Heenani. Angel dear, Time ever drags tUl we together are. Dona Sol. This noise has wearied me. Is it not true, Dear Lord, that all this mirth but stifling ia To happiness ? Heenani. Thou sayest truly, Love, For happiness is serious, and asks For hearts of bronze on which to 'grave itself. Pleasure alarms it, flinging to it flowers ; Its smile is nearer tears than mirth. DoSa Sol. Thy smile's Like daylight in thine eyes. [Heenani seeJcs to lead her to the door. Oh, presently, Heenani. I am thy slave ; yes, linger if thou wilt, Whate'er thou dost is well. I'll laugh and sing If thou desirest that it should be so. Bid the volcano stifle flame, and 'twill SC. III.] HEENANI. 131 Close up its gulfs, and on its sides grow flowers, And grasses green. DoSa Sol. How good you are to me, My heart's Hernani ! Heenani. Madam, what name's that ? I pray in pity speak it not again ! Thou call'st to mind forgotten things. I know That he existed formerly in dreams, Hernani, he whose eyes flashed like a sword, A man of night and of the hills, a man Proscribed, on whom was seen writ everywhere The one word vengeance. An unhappy man That drew down malediction ! I know not The man they called Hernani. As for me, I love the birds and flowers, and woods — and song Of nightingale. I'm Juan of Aragon, The spouse of Dona Sol — a happy man ! Dona Sol. Happy am I ! Hernani. What does it matter now, The rags I left behind me at the door ! Behold, I to my palace desolate Come back. Upon the threshold-sill there waits For me an Angel ; I come in and lift Upright the broken columns, kindle fire. And ope again the windows ; and the grass Upon the courtyard I have all pluck' d up ; For me there is but joy, enchantment, love. Let them give back my towers, and donjon-keep. My plume, and seat at the Oastilian board Of Council, comes my blushing Dona Sol, Let them leave us — the rest forgotten is. 132 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT V. Nothing I've seen, nor said, nor have I done. Anew my life begins, the past effacing. Wisdom or madness, you I have and love, And you are all my joy ! Dona Sol. How well upon The velvet black the golden collar shows ! Heenani. Tou saw it on the King ere now on me. Dona Sol. I did not notice. Others, what are they To me ? Besides, the velvet is it, or The satin ? No, my Duke, it is thy neck Which suits the golden collar. Thou art proud And noble, my own Lord. [ffe seeJcs to lead her indoors. Oh, presently, A moment ! See you not, I weep with joy ? Come look upon the lovely night. [She goes to the halvsirade. My Duke, Only a moment — but the time to breathe And gaze. All now is o'er, the torches out. The music done. Night only is with us. Felicity most perfect ! Think you not That now while all is still and slumbering. Nature, half waking, watches us with love ? No cloud is in the sky. All things like us Are now at rest. Come, breathe with me the air Perfumed by roses. Look, there is no light. Nor hear we any noise. Silence prevails. The m.oon just now from the horizon rose E'en while you spoke to me ; her trembling light And thy dear voice together reached my heart. Joyous and softly calm I felt, oh, thou SC. III.] HEENANI. 133 My lover ! And it seemed that I would then Most willingly have died. Heesani. Ah, who is there Would not all things forget when listening thus Unto this voice celestial ! Thy speech But seems a chaunt with nothing human mixed, And as with one, who gliding down a stream On summer eve, sees pass before his eyes A thousand flowery plains, my thoughts are drawn Into thy reveries ! DoSa Sol. This silence is Too deep, and too profound the calm. Say, now, Wouldst thou not like to see a star shine forth From out the depths — or hear a voice of night, Tender and sweet, raise suddenly its song ? Hebnani {smiling). Capricious one ! Just now you fled away From all the songs and lights. ,DoNA Sol. Ah yes, the ball ! But yet a bird that in the meadow sings, A nightingale in moss or shadow lost, Or flute far off. For music sweet can pour Into the soul a harmony divine, That like a heavenly choir wakes in the heart A thousand voices ! Charming would it be ! [They hear the sound of a horn from the shade. My prayer is heard. Heenani (aside, tremUiny). Oh, miserable man ! Dona Sol. An angel read my fchought — 'twas thy good angel Doublless ? 134 DEAMAS OF TICTOE HUGO. [ACT V. Heenani (hitterly). Tea, my good angel ! (Aside.) There, again ! Dona Sol (smiling). Don Juan, I recognize yonr horn. Heenani. Is't so ? Dona Sol. The half this serenade to you belongs ? Heenani. The half, thou hast declared it. Dona Sol. Ah, the ball Detestable ! Far better do I love The horn that sounds from out the woods ! And since It is your horn 'tis like your voice to me. [The hornjounds again. Heenani (aside). It is the tiger howling for his prey ! Dona Sol. Don Juan, this music fills my heart with joy. Heenani (drawing himself vp and looking terrible). Call me Hernani ! call me it again ! For with that fatal name I have not done. DoSa Sol (trembling). What ails yon ? Heenani. The old man ! Dona Sol. Oh God, what looks ! What is it ails you ? so. III.] HEENANI. 135 Heenani. That old man who in The darkness laughs. Can you not see him there ? DoSa Sol. Oh, you are wand'ring ! Who is this old man ? Heenani. The old man ! DoSa Sol. On my knees I do entreat Thee, say what is the secret that afflicts Thee thus ? Heenani. I swore i^ ! DoSa Sol. Swore ! [_Sh0 watches his movements with anxiety. He stops suddenly and passes his hand across his hroiv. Heenani (aside). What have I said ? Oh, let me spare her. (Aloud.) I — nought. What was it I said ? Dona Sol. You said Heenani. No, no, I was disturbed And somewhat suffering I am. Do not Be frightened. Dona Sol. Ton need something ? Order me. Thy servant. [The horn sounds again. Heenani (aside.) Ah, he claims ! he claims the pledge ! 136 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT V. He has my oath, (Feeling for his dagger). Not there. It must be done ! Ah! Dona Sol. Suff'rest thoa so much ? Heeuani. 'Tis an old wound That I thought healed — it has reopened now. {Aside.y She must be got away. (Alovd.) My best beloved, Now listen ; there's a little box that in Less happy days I carried with me Dona Sol. Ah, I know what 'tis you mean. Tell me your wish. Heenani. It holds a flask of an elixir which Will end my sufferings. — Go ! Dona Sol. I go, my Lord. [Exit hy the door to their apartments. Scene 4. Heenani (alone). This, then, is how my happiness must end ! Behold the fatal finger that doth shine Upon the wall ! My bitter destiny Still jests at me. [He falls into aprofownd yet convulsive reverie. After- wards he turns abruptly. Ah, well ! I hear no sound. Am I myself deceiving ? \_The Mask in hlaoTc domino a(ppea/rs at the balustrade of the steps. Heenani stops petrified. so. v.] HEKNANI. 137 Scene 5. — Heenani. The Mask. The Mask. " Whatsoe'er May happen, what the place, or what the hour. Whenever to thy mind it seems the time Has come for me to die — blow on this horn And take no other care. All will be done." This compact had the dead for witnesses. Is it all done ? Heenani (■''^ alow voice), 'Tishe! The Mask. Unto thy home I come, I tell thee that it is the time. It is my hour. I find thee hesitate. Heenani. Well then, thy pleasure say. What wouldest thou Of me? The Mask. I give thee choice 'iwixt poison draught And blade. I bear about me both. We shall Depart together. Heenani. Be it so. Pirst pray ? The Mask. Shall we HEE^ASI. What matter ? The Mask. Which of them wilt thou ? 138 dbamas of 7ict0e hugo. [act y, Heenani, The poison. The Mask. Then hold out your hand, [ffe gives a vial to Heenani, wlw pales at receiving it. Now drink, That I may finish. [Heenani lifts the vial to Ms Ivps, hut recoils. Heenani. Oh, for pity's sake Until to-morrow wait ! If thou hast heart Or soul, if thou art not a spectre just Escaped from flame, if thou art not a soul Accursed, for ever lost ; if on thy brow Not yet has God inscribed His " never." Oh, If thou hast ever known the bliss supreme Of loving, and at twenty years of age Of wedding the beloved ; if ever thou Hast clasped the one thou lovedst in thine arms, Wait till to-morrow. Then thou canst come back ! The Mask. Childish it is for you to jest this way ! To-morrow ! why, the bell this morning toll'd Thy funeral ! And I should die this night. And who would come and take thee after me ! I will not to the tomb descend alone. Young man, 'tis thou must go with me ! Heenani. Well, then, I say thee nay ; and, demon, I from thee Myself deliver. I will not obey. The Mask. As I expected. Very well. On what Then didst thou swear ? Ah, on a trifling thing, SC. Y.J HEENANI. 139' The mem'ry of thy father's head. With ease Such oath may be forgotten. Youthful oaths Are light affairs. Heenani. My father !— father ! Oh My senses I shall lose ! Thd Mask. Oh, no — 'tis but A perjury and treason. Heenani. Duke! The Mask. Since now The heirs of Spanish houses make a jest Of breaking promises, I'll say Adieu ! \He moves as if to leave^ Heeuani. Stay! Then- Thb Mask. Heenani. Oh cruel man ! [He raises the vial. Thus to return Upon my path at heaven's door ! [Be-enter Dona Sol without seeing the Mask, wlw i»- standing erect near the halustrade of the stairway at the bach of the stage. Scene 6. — The Same. Dona Sol. Dona Sol. I've failed To find that little box. 140 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT V. Heenani (aside). Oh God ! 'tis slie ! At sucli a moment here ! DoiJA Sol. What is't, that thus I frighten him, — e'en at my voice he shakes ! What hold'st thou in thy hand ? What fearful thought ! What hold'st thou in thy hand ?' Reply to me. [T/ie Domino unmaslts, she utters a cry in recognizing Don Eut. 'Tis poison ! Heenani. Oh, great Heaven ! Dona Sol (to Heenani). What is it That I have done to thee ? What mystery Of horror ? I'm deceived by thee, Don Juan ! Heenani. Ah, I had thought to hide it all from thee. My life I promised to the Duke that time He saved it. Aragon must pay this debt To Silva. DoiiA Sol. Unto me you do belong, Not him. What signify your other oaths ? (To Don Rut Gomez). My love it is which gives me strength, and, Duke, I will defend him against you and all The world. Don Rut Gomez (unmoved). Defend him if you can against An oath that's sworn. Dona Sol. What oath ? Heenani. Yes, I have sworn. SC. VI.] HEENANl. 141 DoSa Sol. No, no ; naught binds thee ; it would be a crime, A madness, an atrocity — no, no, It cannot be. Don Eut Gomez. Come, Duke. [Hernani makes a gestwre to obey. Dona Sol tries to stop him. Heenani. It must be done. Allow it, Dona Sol. My word was pledged To the Dnke, and to my father now in heaven ! Dona Sol {to Don Rut Gomez). Better that to a tigress you should go And snatch away her young, than take from me Him whom I love. Know you at all what is This Dona Sol ? Long time I pitied you, And, in compassion for your age, I seemed The gentle girl, timid and innocent. But now see eyes made moist by tears of rage. \8he draivs a dagger from her bosom. See you this dagger ? Old man imbecile ! Do you not fear the steel when eyes flash threat ? Take care, Don Ruy ! I'm of thy family. Listen, mine Uncle ! Had I been your child It had been ill for you, if you had laid A hand upon my husband ! [She throws away the dagger, and fails on her hnees before him. At thy feet I fall ! Mercy ! Have pity on us both. Alas ! my Lord, I am but woman weak. My strength dies out within my soul, I fail So easily ; 'tis at your knees I plead, I supplicate — have mercy on us both ! 142 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [aCT V. Don Rut Gomez. Dona Sol ! Dona Sol. Oh, pardon ! With us Spaniards Grief bursts forth in stormy words, you know it. Alas ! you used not to be harsh ! My uncle, Have pity, you are killing me indeed In touching him ! Mercy, have pity now, So well I love him ! Don Roy Gomez (gloomily). You love him too much ! Heenani. Thou weepest ! Dona Sol. No, my love, no, no, it must Not be. I will not have you die. (To Don Rut.) To-day Be merciful, and I will love you well, Tou also. Don Eut Gomez. After him ; the dregs you'd give The remnants of your love, and friendliness. Still less and less Oh, think you thus to quench The thirst that now devours me ? (Pointing to Heenani.) He alone Is everything. For me kind pityings ! With such affection, what, pray, could I do ? Fury ! 'tis he would have your heart, your love. And be enthroned, and grant a look from you As alms ; and if vouchsafed a kindly word 'Tis he would tell you — say so much, it is Enough, — cursing in heart the greedy one The beggar, unto whom he's forced to fling The drops remaining in the emptied glass. Oh, shame ! derision ! No, we'll finish. Drink ! sc. vi.] heenani. 143 Heenani. He has my promise, and it must be kept. Don Eut Gomez. Proceed. [Hernani raises the vial to his lips, DoiJA Sol throws herself on his arm, Doha Sol. Not yet. Deign both of you to hear me. Don Rut Gomez. The grave is open and I cannot wait. DoSa Sol. A moment only — Duke, and my Don Juan, Ah ! both are cruel ! What is it I ask ? An instant ! that is all I beg from you. Let a poor woman speak what's in her heart. Oh, let me speak Don Rut Gomez. I cannot wait. Dona Sol. My Lord, Tou make me tremble ! What then have I done ? Heenani. His crime is rending him. Dona Sol, (still holdimg his arm). Tou see full well I have a thousand things to say. Don Rut Gomez {to Heenani). Die — die Tou must. DoSa Sol (still hanging on Ms arm). Don Juan, when all's said indeed 144 DRAMAS OP VICTOR HUGQ. [aCT V. Thou shalt do wliat thou wilt. [S/ie snatches the vial. I have it now ! [She lifts the vial for Heenani amd the old man to see. Don Rut Gomez. Since with two women I have here to deal. It needs, Don Juan, that I elsewhere go In search of souls. Grave oaths you took to me, And by the race from which you sprang. I go Unto your father, and to speak among The dead. Adieu. [ffe moves as if to depart. Heenani holds him hack. Heenani. Stay, Duke. (To Dona Sol.) Alas ! I do Implore thee. Wouldst thou wish to see in me A perjured felon only, and e'erwhere I go " a traitor " written on mj brow ? In pity give the poison back to me. 'Tis by our love I ask it, and our souls Immortal Dona Sol (sadly). And thou wilt ? .(She drinhs.') Now take the rest Don Rut Gomez (aside). 'Twas then for her ! Dona Sol (returning the half-emptied vial to Heenani). I tell thee, take. Heenani. (To Don Rut.) Soe'st thou, Oh miserable man ! DoSa Sol. Grieve not for me, I've left thy share. SC. TI.] HEENANI. 145 Heenani (taking the vial). Ok God ! DoSa Sol. Not thus would'st thou Have left me mine. But thou ! not thine the heart Of Christian wife ! Thou tnowest not to love As SUvas do — but I've drunk first — made sure. Now drink it, if thou wilt ! Heenani. What hast thou done, Unhappy one ? Dona Sol. 'Twas thou who willed it so. Heenani. It is a frightful death ! Dona Sol, No — no — why so ? Heenani. This philtre leads unto the grave. Dona Sol. And ought We not this night to rest together ? Does It matter in what bed ? Heenani, My father, thou Thyself avengest upon me, who did Forget thee ! (He lifts the vial to his mouth.) Dona Sol (throwing herself on him). Heavens, what strange agony ! Ah, throw this philtre far from thee ! My reason Is wand'ring. Stop ! Alas ! oh, my Don Juan, This drug is potent, in the heart it wakes L 146 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT T. A hydra with a thousand tearing teeth Devouring it. I knew not that such pangs Could be ! What is the thing ? 'tis liquid fire. Drink not ! For much thou'dst suffer ! Heenani. (To Don Rut.) Ah, thy soul Is cruel ! Could'st thou not have found for her Another drug ? [ff« drinks and throws the vial away. DoSa Sol. What dost thou ? Hbenani. Hast done. What thyself Dona Sol. Come to my arms, young lover, now. {They sit down close to each other. Does one not suffer horribly ? Heenani. No, no. Dona Sol. These are our marriage rites ! But for a bride I'm very pale, say am I not ? Heenani. Ah me ! Don Eut Gomez. Fulfilled is now the fatal destiny ! Heenani. Oh misery and despair to know her pangs ! DoSa Sol. Be calm. I'm better. — Towards new brighter light We now together open out our wings. BO. VI.] HEENANL 147 Let us with even flight set out to reach A fairer world. Only a kiss — a kiss ! [They embrace. Don Rut Gomez. Oh, agony supreme ! Heenani (in a feeble voice). Oh bless'd be Heav'n That will'd for me a life by spectres followed, And by abysses yawning circled still, Yet grants, that weary of a road so rough, I fall asleep my lips upon thy hand. Don Eut Gomez. How happy are they ! Heenani (in voice growing weaker and iveaher). Come — come, Dona Sol, All's dark. Dost thou not suffer ? Dona Sol (in a voice equally fainf). Nothing now. Oh, nothing. Heenani. Seest thou not fires in the gloom ? ^ Dona Sol. Not yet. Heenani (with a sigh). Behold (He falls.) Don Rut Gomez (raising the head, which falls again). He's dead ! Dona Sol (dishevelled and half raising herself on the seat). Oh no, we sleep. He sleeps. It is my spouse that here you see. ' Certain poisons are said to produce among their dreadful effects, the appearance of fire when the sufferer is near death. — Teaks. 148 DKAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO, [ACT T. We love each other — we are sleeping thus. It is our bridal. {In a failing mice. ) I entreat you not To wake him, my Lord Duke of Meudooe, For he is weary. (She horns round the face of Heenani.) Turn to me, my love. More near — still closer [She falls bach. Don Eut Gomez. Dead ! Oh, I am damn'd ! [He Mils himself. THE KING'S DIVERSION. (LB EOI S' AMUSE !) A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. (1832.) TRANSLATED BY FREDERICK L. SLOUS. TRANSLATOE'S INTRODUCTION. " Lb Roi s' amuse " was produced for the first time at the Theatre Franqais on the 22nd of November, 1832, and sup- pressed next day by ministerial authority. This unusual interference drew from Victor Hugo an im- mediate publication of the work ; in the Preface to which he expresses not only considerable indignation at so illegal an act, but unbounded surprise that the French government should have interdicted the future progress of his drama, after a first and successful representation. In my opinion, his astonishment ought to have been greater that " Le Roi s' amuse " was allowed to appear before the public at all. It was not to be expected that so dangerous an attack on the rights and privileges of monarchy could be permitted to receive the nightly plaudits and awaken the republican sympathies of a Parisian audience. Under pretence of placing Francis the First, the sensualist and debauchee, in a well-merited pillory for public execration, a sly opportunity was both afibrded and taken, for a pretty plentiful dirt-flinging — not only at Francis in particular, but at royalty and aristocracy in general: and our ingenious author must have wofuUy deceived himself in imagining that he could so easily elude the jealous vigilance of a government, as yet too inseem^ely established to bid defiance to the sarcasms of a writer, at once brilliant and powerful. The political tendency of the tragedy was, I conceive, the sole cause of its suppression. There could be no objection to it on the score of immorality. The French public and the dramatic censor were too much accustomed to the style of the romantic school to be startled by " Lb Roi s' amuse." The weU-educated 162 teanslatob's inteodcction. Parisian gups on a dish of horrors — b, la Victor Hugo, or k la Alexander Dumas — with as much relish as on the most tempting selections from the carte of the Trois Freres ; he has no appre- hensions that nightmares may result from the one, or indigestion from the other ; he is accustomed to, and therefore requires excitement ; and if he has any complaint to urge against our talented author, it might be, that his play is too little distin- guished by the diableries of the modern school, — that its crimes are all served up au naturel, and that it lacks the rich seasoning and high infernal flavour of Lucrece Borgie or la Tour de Nesle. The English reader may perhaps object that in this, as in most of Victor Hugo's productions, there is not one really good or noble cha- racter — that in scanning the actions of the entire dramads personce, the eye of the reader, like that of poor Triboblet in the text, becomes a-weary with the sight of crime, and that the heart has no single spot of virtue or magnanimity where it may repose awhile from the shocks which the perpetual aspect of vice has inflicted. Alas, it is but too true ! Yet notwithstanding this defect, one powerful argument may be advanced in its favour. Unlike so many of the most favoured dramas of the French school, " Lb Koi s' amuse " contains no attempt to gloss over or inculcate the doctrines of immorality ; there is no insiduous endea- vour to seduce the imagination, or pervert the judgment by making sophistry eloquent, or vice attractive. On the contrary, as the Spartans intoxicated their Helots to make their children abhor drunkenness, so does Victor Hugo exhibit the hideousness of crime to the open detestation of the beholder ; and although I am inclined to believe that both Lycurgus and Victor Hugo would have evinced greater wisdom and feeling, had they presented examples of exceUeuce to be revered, rather than depravity to be avoided, still the reader will, I think, agree with me, that it is better that our feelings should be wounded by the thorns, from amidst which we are compelled to gather the roses of poetry and imagination, than that the innocence of youth should ba tempted to encounter the serpent, concealed in the basket of flowers. Of the characters but little need be said. Natural, but not pro- found, they are the creatures of circumstances, and require no acute critic to render their motive and feelings comprehensible. Of Blanche, the oifspring of sorrow, the victim of crime, little can be said in condemnation. The least criminal of the per- teanslatoe's inteoduction. 153 sonages in the drama, she is the most severely dealt with; — a little French Juliet, without the intensity of feeling of Shakespeare, she is a weak-headed, warm-hearted girl of sixteen, and acts accordingly. Francis the First, according to history, was a sensualist, a pi'ofligate, and a man sans foi ni hi, the hero of Marigan, the defeated of Pavia, who, when he lost everything "fors Vhonneur" lost all but that which he did not possess. History has given us the outlines of his character. Victor Hugo has filled up the sketch with so vigorous a pencil, and so dark a shadowing, that I trust, for the sake of human nature, he may be considered to have slightly exaggei-ated the foibles of le Roi des Oentilshommes. The poor King of the Casket in the Arabian Nights, living and breathing above, was from the waist downwards a mass of black marble. Francis, on the contrary, is gay and animated thi-ough- out ; with one little exception, his heart, which indeed is marble of the blackest hue. Triboulet — the deformed, the Hunchback, is a being of a different nature from Quasimodo ; ' and his character is drawn with a singular mixture of power and inconsistency. He is a cynic, and not a jester — rude, but not witty. His hatred malig- nant and undignified, and the retribution attendant upon it is more than commensurate with his guUt. St. VAiriiiBR is seen but little. His intention of sacrificing his daughter Diana to the embraces of a deformed old Seneschal, abates much of the sympathy that his sorrows would otherwise deserve ; and it is matter for regret that he is so soon consigned to oblivion and the Bastille. With regard to the interest of the piece itself, — which pre- sents a strange mixture of unity and inconsistency — of wonderful beauties, and glaring defects, it may be summed up in a few words. The plot is simple and unfettered by episode, — increasing in interest throughout, and at length rising in its catastrophe to a pitch of horrible sublimity, unequalled in any drama I have yet seen. The incidents also are arranged so as to produce the most striking dramatic effects ; but, occasionally, it must be confessed ' The Hunchback of Notre Dame. 154 teanslatob's introduction. that they depart even from the extreme license of probability, and that the characters are frequently made to do that which mature reflection would not acknowledge as naturally resulting from the situations in which they are placed. On the other hand, the language is so much the language of nature and feeling — of eloquence and sincerity, that the reason forgets for a moment the contradictions of cause and effect. By a sort of verbo-electro- type process, Victor Hugo has showered down a briUiant surface of the purest gold, which entirely conceals the inferiority of the substance beneath, and the mind of the reader, dazzled by the lustre of the thin, though genuine metal, is content to forgive the inconsistant materials, which so splendid a covering invests. F. L. S. Note. — It is perhaps necessary to observe that the !Prench drama, more rigid with regard to unity of place than ours, — seldom allows more than one faimted scene to each Act ; and the reader is requested to bear in mind that, according to the iFrench text, when Scene I., II., III., &c,, ai-e mentioned, nothing hut the entrance of another personage on the stage is understood. AUTHOR'S PRBFAOE.i The production of ttis drama on the stage has given rise tO' a Ministerial action unprecedented. The morning after its first representation the author received from M. Jonslin de la Salle, stage-manager of the Theatre Frangais, the following letter, the original of which he carefully preserves : — " It is half-past ten o'clock, and I have just received the order ' to suspend the representation of 'Le Eoi s' Amuse.' It is M, Taylor who communicates this command from the Minister. " November 23." The first emotion of the author was incredulity. The act was so arbitrary he could not believe in it. Indeed what is called the True Charter says : — " The French have the right to publish " Observe, the text does not say only the right to print, but clearly and forcibly the right to pub- lish. Now the theatre is only one manner of publication, as the press, or engraving, or lithography is. The liberty of the theatre is therefore implied in the Charter with all other freedom of thought. The fundamental law adds : — Censorship must never be re-established. Now the text does not say censorship of journals or of books, it says censorship iu general, all censorship, that of the theatre as of writing. The theatre, then, henceforth cannot recognize the legality of censorship. Besides, the ■ Charter says. Confiscation is abolished. Now the suppression of a theatrical piece after its representation is not only a monstrous act of arbitrary censorship, it is a veritable confiscation, a robbery of the theatre and of the author. Indeed, that aU should be clear and unmistakable, and that ' This preface was not translated by Mr. Slous, nor was it included in the original edition of his version, which appeared first in 1843, — Ee. ' This word is underlined in the letter. 166 atjthoe's peeface. the four or five great social principles which the French Revolu- tion has moulded in bronze may rest intact on their pedestals of granite, and that the rights of Frenchmen should not be stealthily ^attacked by the forty thousand notched weapons which in the arsenal of oiu- laws are destroyed by rust and disuse, the Charter in its last article expressly abolishes all which in our previous laws should prove contrary to its text and its spirit. This is certain. The Ministerial suppression of a theatrical piece, attacks liberty by censorship and property by confiscation. The sense of our public rights revolts against such a proceeding. The author not believing in so much insolence and foUy, has- tened to the theatre. There the fact was confirmed in every particular. The Minister had, indeed, on his own authority, by his divine right of Minister, issued the order in question. He gave no reason. The Minister had taken away the author's piece, had deprived him of his rights, and of his property. There only remained that he should send the poet to the Bastille. We repeat that at the time in which we live, when such an act comes to bar your way and roughly take you by the throat, the first emotion is one of profound astonishment. A thousand questions present themselves to the mind. What is the law ? Where is the authority ? Can such things happen? Is there, indeed, a something which is called the Revolution of July ? It is clear that we are no longer in Paris. In what Pashalic do we live? Stunned and astonished, the authorities of the Comedie Fran- 9aise took some measures to obtain fi'om the Minister a revocation of his strange decision; but the trouble was wasted. The divan, 1 should say the Council of Ministers, had assembled in the morning. On the 23rd it was only an order of the Minister, on the 24th it was an edict of the Ministry. On the 23rd the piece was suspended ; on the 24th its representation was definitely prohibited. It was even enjoined that fi.'omthe play-bills should he erased the formidable words, Le Boi s' Amuse. Besides all this the authorities were even forbidden to make any complaint, or breathe a word on the subject. Perhaps it would be grand, loyal, and noble to resist a despotism so Asiatic ; but managers of theatres dare not. Fear lest their privileges should be revoked makes them subjects and serfs, to be taxed and controlled at will as vassals, eunuchs, and miitee. author's peeface. 157 The author will remain and ought to remain aloof from these proceedings of the theatre. He, the poet, depends not on any Minister. Those prayers and solicitations which his interests, pitifully considered, may perhaps counsel, his duty as an untram- melled writer forbids. To ask permission of power is to acknow- ledge it. Liberty and property are not things of the ante-chamber. A right is not to be treated as a favour. For a favour sue from the Minister ; but claim a right from the country. It is, then, to the country that he addresses himself There are two methods of obtaining justice — by public opinion, or the tribunals of the law. He chooses them both. By public opinion the cause has already been judged and gained. And here the author ought to thank warmly those established and independent personages associated with litera- ture and art, who on this occasion have given so many proofs of sympathy and cordiality. He calculated beforehand on their support. He knows that when he enters on the struggle for freedom of thought he will not be unsupported in the battle. And let us here observe in passing that power, by a sufficiently contemptible calculation, flattered itself that it should on this occasion find auxiliaries even in the ranks of its opponents in the literary enmities so long aroused by the author. It believed that literary animosity was still more tenacious than political, because the first had its roots in self-love, the second only in interest. But the Government has deceived itself. Its brutal act has proved revolting to honest men in every camp. The author saw rally round him to show a bold front against an arbi- trary act of injustice even those who had attacked him the most violently only the day before. If by chance some inveterate enemies remained, they regret now that they gave a momentary support to power. All the loyal and honourable of his foes have stretched out their hands to the author, ready to recom- mence the literary battle as soon as the political should be finished. In France whoever is persecuted has no longer an enemy except the persecutor. If now, after having agreed that the Ministerial act is odious, unjustifiable, and impossible to be defended, we descend for a moment to discuss it as a material fact, and seek for some of the elements which may have composed it, the first question which 158 authoe's peeface. presents itself to everyone is ttis : — "What can be the motive of such a measure ? " We must say it because it is the truth, if the future some day is occupied with our little men and our little things, this will not be the least curious detail of this curious event. It appears that our censors pretend to be shocked at the immorality of Le Hot s' Amuse; this piece offends the modesty of the police; the brigade Lfeotaud considers it obscene ; the decider on morals has i-veiled his face ; it has made M. Vidocq blush. In short, the -censor's order to the police, and that for sorae days has been stammered round about us, is simply thai the piece is immoral. Ho, there, my masters ! Silence on that point. Let us explain ourselves, however, not to the police, to whom I, an honest man, forbear to speak on these matters, but to the ^mall number of respectable and conscientious persons who on hearsay, or after having seen the performance imperfectly, have been persuaded into an opinion of which, perhaps, the name of the poet implicated ought to have been a suiHcient refutation. The drama is printed to-day. If you were not present at the representation, read it. If you were there, stiQ read it. Remem- ber that that representation was less a perfoiTaance than a battle, •a sort of battle of Montihery (let this somewhat ambitious com- parison pass), where the Parisians and the Burgundians each pre- tended to have "pocketed" the victory, as Matthieu said. The piece is immoral ? Think you so ? Is it from its sub- ject ? Triboulet is deformed, Triboulet is unhealthy, Triboulet is a court buffoon — a threefold misery which renders him evil. Triboulet hates the king because he is king, the nobles because they are nobles, and he hates ordinary men because they have not humps on their backs. His oiJy pastime is to set the nobles unceasingly against the king, crushing the weaker by the stronger. He depraves the king, corrupts and stultifies him ; he encourages him in tyranny, ignorance, and vice. He lures him to the fami- lies of gentlemen, pointing out the wife to sednce, the sister to ■carry off, the daughter to dishonour. The king in the hands of Triboulet is but an all-powerfiil pu2ipet which ruins the lives of those in the midst of whom the bniToon sets him to play. One day, in the midst of a fete, at the moment when Triboulet is urging the king to carry off the wife of M. de Cosse, M. de Saint- Vallier reaches the presence chamber, and in a loud voice author's peefaoe. 159 reproaches the king for the dishonour of Diana de Poitiers. This father, from whom the king has taken his daughter, is jeered at and insulted by Triboulet. Then the father stretches forth his hand and curses Triboulet. It is from this scene the whole play develops. The real subject of the drama is (he curse ofM. de Saint- Vallier. Attend. Ton are in the second act. On whom has this curse fallen ? On Triboulet as the king's fool ? No. On Triboulet as a man, a father who has a heart and has a daughter. Triboulet has a daughter, all in that is expressed^ Triboulet has but his daughter in the world, and he hides her from all eyes in a solitary house in a deserted quarter. The more he spreads in the town the contagion of debauchery and vice, the more he seeks to isolate and immure his daughter. He brings up his child in faith, innocence, and modesty. His greatest fear is that she may fall into evil, for he knows, being himself wicked, aU the wretchedness that is endured by evil-doers. Well, now ! The old man's malediction will reach Triboulet through the only being in the world whom he loves, his daughter. This same king whom Triboulet urges to pitiless vice will be the ravisher of Triboulet's daughter. The buffoon will be struck by Providence precisely in the same manner as was M. de Saint- "Vallier. And more, his daughter once ruined, he lays a snare for the king by which to avenge her; but it is she that falls into it. Thus Triboulet has two pupils — the king and his daughter — the king, whom he has trained to vice, his daughter, whom he has reared for virtue. The one destroys the other. He intends Madame de Cosse to be carried off for the king, it his daughter that is entrapped. He wishes to kill the king, and so avenge his child; it is his daughter whom he slays. Punishment does not stop halfway ; the malediction of Diana's father is ftilfilled on the father of Blanche. Undoubtedly it is not for us to decide if this is a dramatic idea, but certainly it is a moral one. The foundation of one of the author's other works is fatality. The foundation of this one is Providence. We repeat expressly that we are not now addressing the police, we do them not so much honour, but that part of the public to whom this discussion may seem necessary. Let us proceed. If the work is moral in its invention, is it that it was immoral in its execution? The question thus put seems to contradict itself; but let us see. Probably there is nothing imm oral in the 160 author's peepacb. first and second acts. Is it the situation in the third which shocks ? Read this third act, and tell us in aU honesty if the impression which results be not profoundly one of chastity and virtuous principle. Is it the fourth act which is objectionable ? But when was it not permitted for a king on the stage to make love to the servant at an inn ? The incident is not new either in history or the drama. And more, history shows us Francis the First in a drunken istate in the hovels of the Rue du Pelican. To take a king into a viler place is not more new. The Greek theatre, which is the classical, has done it. Shakespeare, whose plays are of the romantic, has done it. The author of this drama has not. He knows all that has been written about the house of Saltabadil. But why represent him to have said what he has not said ? Why in a similar case make him overleap a barrier which he has not passed ? This Bohemian Maguelonne, so much censured, is assuredly not more brazen than the Lisettes and Marions of the old theatre. The cottage of Saltabadil is a tavern, an hostelry, the pothouse of The Fir- Cone, a suspected cut- throat place, we admit, but not still viler. It is terrible, horrible, evil and fear- ful if you wUl, but it is not an obscene place. There remain, then, the details of style. Read. The author accepts for judges of rigid strictness of his style even those per- sons who are startled at Juliet's nurse, and Ophelia's father, and by Beavimarchais and Regnard, by VEcole des Femmes and Amphitryon, Dandin and Sganarelli, and the grand scene of Tar- taffe — Tartuffe, accused also of immorality in his day. Only there where he has found it necessary to be clear he has thought it his duty to be so at all risks and perils, but always with serious- ness and moderation. He desires art to be chaste, but not prudish. Behold, however, this piece concerning which the Minister has made so many accusations ! This immorality, this obscenity — here is the piece laid bare. What a pity ! Authority had its hidden reasons, and we shall indicate them presently, for raising against Le Roi s^ Amuse the strongest prejudice possible. It wished that the public should stifle this piece from a distorted imagination, without hearing or understanding it, even as Othello stifles Desdemona. Honest logo! But as it finds that Othello has not stifled Desdemona, lago authoe's preface. » 161 nnmasks and charges Hmself with the task. The day following the representation the piece is prohibited hy order. Certainly if we condescend for a moment to accept the ridicu- lous fiction that on this occasion it is care for public morality which actuates our rulers, and that shocked at the state of licence into which certain theatres have fallen during the last two years, they have chosen at the end, in defiance of all laws and rights, to make an example of a work and an author — certainly if the choice of the work be singular, it must be admitted the choice of the author is not less so. Who is the man whom purblind power "* controls so strangely ? It is a writer so placed that if his talents may be questioned by all, his character cannot be by anyone. It is acknowledged that he is an honest man, proved and verified — a thing rare and to be respected just now. He is a poet whom this same licentiousness of the theatre revolted and made indignant from the first ; who for the last eighteen months, on the report that the inquisition of theatres was to be equally re- established, has gone in person in the company of many other di-amatic authors to warn the Minister against such a measure ; and who loudly demanded a law repressive of riot in the theatre, protesting against the censorship in strong language which cer- tainly the Minister has not forgotten. He is an artist devoted to art, who has never courted success by unworthy means, and who has all his life accustomed himself to look the public steadily in the face. He is a moderate and sincere man, who has fought more than one battle for liberty against arbitrai-y rule ; who, in 1829, in the last year of the Restoration, refused all that the Government then ofiered him to compensate for the interdict placed on Marion de Lorme^ and who a year later, in 1830, the Kevolution of July having taken place, refused, against his worldly interests, to allow the performance of this same Marion de Iiorme lest it should be the occasion of insult and attack upon tlie deposed king who had prohibited it; conduct undoubtedly quite natural, and which would have been that of any man of honour in his place, but which, perhaps, should have rendered him henceforth safe from censure, and in reference to which he ^ In allusion to the offer of Charles the Tenth to grant the author a fresh pension of 4,000 francs as compensation for the suppression of Marion de Lorme. — Tkans. M 162 ■ author's peefacb. wrote in August, 1834 : — " The success of political allusions and sought-for scandals he avows pleases him but little. Such success is short-lived and of little value. Besides, it is precisely when there is no censorship that authors should themselves be honest, conscientious, severe censors. Thus it is they raise the dignity of art. When there is perfect liberty, it is becoming to keep within bounds." Judge now. On one side you have a man and his woi-ks ; on the other the Minister and his actions. Now that the pretended immorality of this drama is reduced to a nonentity ; now that the scaffolding of false and shameful reasons is thrown down and lies under our feet, it is time to notice the true motives of the measure, the motive of the ante- chamber, the motive of the Court, the secret motive which is not told, the motive that cannot be avowed even to themselves, the motive that has been so well hidden under a pretext. This motive has already transpired to the public, and the public has divined correctly. We shall say no more about, it. It may be useful to our cause that we offer to our adversaries an example of courtesy and moderation. It is right that a lesson of dignity and good sense should be given to the Government by an indi- vidual, by him who was persecuted to the persecutor. Besides, we are not of those who think to cure their own wounds by poisoning the sores of others. It is but too true that in the thu'd act of this piece there is a line in which the ill-placed cleverness of some of the intimates of the palace has discovered an allusion (mark a moment — an allusion !) of which neither the public nor the author had dreamed until then, but which, once denounced in this manner, becomes the most cruel of injuries. It is but too true that this verse sufficed for the order that in announcements concerning the Theatre Frangais the seditious little phrase of Le Roi s'Amnse, should never again be allowed to satisfy the curiosity of the public. We shall not cite here this verse, which is as red-hot iron, we shall not even indicate it, save in a last extremity should they be so imprudent as to drive us there for our defence. We will not cause the revival of old historic scandals. We will spare as much as possible a personao-e in a high position the consequences of this stupidity of courtiers.Ji One may make war generously even on a king. We wish to do thus. Only let the powerful ones reflect on the inconvenience author's preface. 163 it is to have for a fi-iend the brute who only knows how to crush with the" paving-stone of censorship the microscopic allusions which have just been placed before their faces. We cannot even tell if in this conflict we shall not feel indul- gent towards the Minister himself. The whole thing, to ^peak the truth, inspires us with pity. The Government of July is as yet but new born, it is but thirty months old, and is still in its cradle ; it has the little furies of babyhood. Does it deserve that we should spend on it much manly anger? When it is grown up we shall see about that. However, to look at the question for a moment only from the private point of view, the censorial confiscation of which he com- plains does more harm, perhaps, to the author of this drama than a like injury could do to any other dramatist. Indeed, during the fourteen years that he has written, not one of his works has escaped the unlucky honour of being chosen on its appearance for a battle-field, and which has not at first, for a longer or shorter period, been obscured by the dust, and the smoke, and the noise of the conflict. Thus, when he produces a piece at the theatre — not being able to hope for a calm audience on the first night — that which concerns him most is a series of representa- tions. If it happens that on the first occasion his voice is drowned in the tumult and his ideas are not comprehended, the following representations may correct first impressions. Hernani has been performed fifty-three times, Marion de Lorme sixty-one ; Lc Roi s' Amuse, thanks" to Ministerial oppression, has only been repre- sented once. Assuredly the wrong done to the author is great. Who can render to him exactly what this third experience — so important to him — ^might have brought ? Who can tell him what might have followed that first performance ? A^'lio can restore that public of the next day — a public usually impartial — the public that is without friendships and without enmities, that teaches the poet, and that the poet teaches ? The period of political transition in which we now are is curious. It is one of those moments of general weariness when all acts of despotism are possible, even in a society infiltrated by ideas of emancipation and liberty. France moved fast in July, 1830; she did three days' good work; she made three great advances in the field of civilization and progress. Now in the march of progress many are harassed, many are out of breath, 164 author's pbefacb. many require to halt. They would hold back those generous, unwearying spirits who do not falter, who still go on. They would wait for the tardy who remain behind, and give them time to join us. There is a singular fear in these of aU that advances, of alUthat stirs, of all that protests, of all who think. A strange frame of mind, easy to comprehend, difficult to define. These are the beings who are afraid of new ideas. It is the league of interests that are ruffled by theories. It is commerce frightened at systems ; it is the merchant who wants to sell ; it is tumult which terrifies the counting-house ; it is the shopkeeper armed to defend himself. In our opinion Government makes use of this let-alone dis- position and fear of revolutionary novelties. It stoops to petty tyrannies. AU this is bad for it and for us. If it believes that there is now a feeling of indiflference to liberal ideas it deceives itself; there is only a certain weariness. Some day it will be called severely to account for the illegal acts which have accu- mulated for some time past. What a life it has led us ! Two years ago we feared for order, now we tremble forHberty. Ques- tions of free thought, intelligence, and art are imperiously quelled by the viziers of the king of the barricades. It is indeed melan- choly to see how the revolution of July is terminating, mulier formosa superne. Certainly if one reflects of how little consequence the work or the author under consideration is, the Ministerial measure against them is of no great importance. It is only a mischievous little blow to literature, which has no other merit than not being too unlike numerous arbitraiy acts of which it is the sequel. But if we take a loftier view we shall see that it does not only effect this play and this poet, but, as we said from the first, the rights of liberty and property are both entirely concerned in the question. These are great and serious interests ; and though the author is obliged to associate this affair with the simple com- mercial interests of the Theatre Fran^ais — not being able to attack directly the Minister barricaded behind the plea of being a counsellor of state — he hopes that his cause will appear to everyone a great cause on the day when it shall be presented at the bar of the consular tribunal, with liberty on the right hand and property on the left. He will speak himself, if need be, in aid of the independence of his art. He will plead fcr his author's preface. 165 rights firmly, with gravity and simplicity, without hatred or fear of anyone. He counts on the co-operation of all, on the frank and cordial support of the press, on the justice of public opinion, on the equity of tribunals. He will succeed. He doubts it not. The state of siege willrbe raised in the city of literature as in the city politic. When this shall be done, when he shaU have brought to his home intact, inviolate, and sacred the liberty of a poet and a citizen, he wiU again set himself peaceably to the work of his life, from which he has been so violently forced, and from which he would not willingly abstain for a moment. He has his task before him, he knows it, and nothing shall distract him from it. For the moment political work comes to him ; he has not sought, but he accepts it. Truly the power which encounters us will not have gained much when we indignant and offended artists quit our conscientious, peaceful, earnest and sacred work — our work of the past and of the future — to mix ourselves with an ii-re- verent and sooflSng assembly, who for fifteen years have watched, amid hooting and whistling, the wretched political bunglers who imagined they were building a social edifice because every day, with great trouble, sweating and panting, they wheeled a heap of legal projects from the Tuileries to the Palais-Bourbon, and from the Palais-Bourbon to the Luxembourg I November SOth, 1832. PERSONAGES OP THE DRAMA. Fkancis the First. Triboulet, The Court Jester. Mods. St. Valliee. MoNS. Des Gordes. MONS. De PlENNE. MoNS. De Latour Landet. MoNS. De Vic. Moss. De Pardaillah. MoNS. De Cosse. MoNS. De Brion. MoNS. De Montmorency. MONS. De MONTCHEN0. MAtTRB Clement Marot, The Court Poet. Saltabadil, a Bravo, Blanche, Davghter to Triboulet. Dame Bekarde, A Duenna. Maguelonne, Sister to Saltabadil. Madame De Coss^fi. A Messenger from the Queen, A Servant of the King. A Surgeon. Courtiers, Ladies, Servants, THE KING'S DIVERSION. ACT FIRST : MONS. DE ST. VALLIER. Scene 1. — The stage represents a Fete at the Louvre. A magnificent suite of apartments crowded with nohles and ladies of the cowrt in full costume. There are lights, music, dancing, and shouts of laught&r. Servants hand refreshments in vessels of porcelain and gold. Orouios of guests pass and repass across the stage. The fete draws to an end, daylight peeps through the windows. The architectwre, the furniture, and the dresses belong to the style of the Renaissance. The King as painted hy Titian. — Mons. De la Toue Landet. The King. I'll ne'er relinquish the adventarous chace Till it give forth the fruit of so much toil. Plebeian though she be ! of rank obscure, Her birth unknown, her very name concealed : What then ? These eyes ne'er gazed on one so fair. .^ La Toue. And this bright city goddess still yon meet At holy mass ? The King. At St. Germain des Pres As sure as Sunday comes. 170 deamas op victor hugo. [act i, La Totje. Tour amorous flame Dates two months since. You've tracked the game to earth. The King. Near Bnssy's Terrace, where De Coss6 dwells, She lives immured. La Toue. I think I know the spot, That is, the outside. Not, perchance, so well As doth your Majesty the heaven within. The King. Nay, there yon flatter ; entrance is denied. A beldam fierce, who keeps eyes, ears, and tongue Under her guidance, watches ever there. La Toue. Indeed ! The Kino. And then, oh mystery most rare ! As evening falls, a strange unearthly form, Whose features night conceals, enshrouded close In mantle dark, as for some guilty deed. Doth glide within. La Toue. Then do thoa likewise. The King. The house is barred and isolate from all. Nay. La Toue. At least the fair one, with such patience wooed, Hath shewn some signs of life. The King. I do confess, so. II. J THE king's DIVEESION. 171 If glances speak the soul, those witching eyes Proclaim no hatred insurmountable. La Toue. Knows she a monarch loves ? The King. Impossible ! A homely garb, a student's woollen dress Conceals my quality. La Tooe. Oh, virtuous love ! That burns with sucli a pure undying flame. I warrant me 'tis some sly Abbe's mistress. (Enter Teiboulet, and a mmiber of courtiers.) The King. Hush ! some one comes ! (^Aloud to Teiboulet, as he a^roaehes). Silence his lips must seal Whose love would prosper ! — Have I said aright ? Teiboulet. To shade the fragile vase, glass lends its veil ; Thus flimsy mystery hides love more frail. Scene 2. — The King, Teiboulet, M. De Goedes, and many other Gentlemen, superbly dressed. Teiboulet is in the dress of the Court Fool, as painted hy Bonifacio. The King turns to admire a group of Ladies. La Toue. Madame de Vendome looks, to-night, divine. Db Goedes. Pair D'Albe and Montchevreuil blaze like twin stars. 172 deamas of victor hugo. [act i. The King. Now, in my eyes, De Cosse's charming wife Outshines all three. De Goedes (^Pointing to M. de Cosse, surnamed Le Beaktome, one of the four fattest gentlemen of France"). Hush ! hush, your majesty ! Unless you mean this for a husband's ear. The King. Why, for that matter, Count, i'faith I care not. De Goedes. He'll tell the fair Diana. The King. What care I ? [The King retires to speak to some ladies at the hack of the stage. Teiboulet (to M. BE Goedes). The King will anger Dian of Poitiers. For eight long days he holds not converse with her. De Goedes. Will he restore her to her husband's arms ? Teiboulet. Indeed, I hope not. De Goedes. She hath paid in full A guilty ransom for her father's life, Teiboulet. Ah ! apropos, now, of St. Vallier. — 'Tis a most strange and singular old man : How could he think to join in nuptial bond His daughter Dian, radiant as the light, (An angel sent by Heaven to bless this earth). With an ill-favoured hunch-backed seneschal ? BC. II.] THE king's DIVEESION. 173 De Goedes. 'Tis an old fool — a pale and grave old man. When pardon came, I stood beside the block, — Aye, nearer much than now I do to thee, — Yet said he nothing, but " God bless the King ! " And now he's quite distraught ! The King (passing across with Madame Db Oosse). Unkind ! so soon P Madame db Oosse. My husband takes me with him to Soissons, The King. Oh ! 'tis a sin ! Paris forbids thy flight — Paris, where wits and courtiers languish all With melting tenderness and fond desires — Where duellists and poets ever keep Their keenest thrusts, their brightest thoughts for thee ; For thee, whose glances, winning every heart, Warn each fair dame to watch her lover well ; Dazzling our court with such a flood of light. Thy sun once set, we ne'er shall think 'tis day. Canst thou abandon kings and emperors, Dukes, princes, peers, and condescend to shine (Thou star of town !) in a vile country heaven ? Madame de Oosse. Be calm. The King. As though some sacrilegious hand Amidst the brightest splendour of the dance Had from the ball-room torn the chandelier. Madame de Oosse. My jealous lord ! (She points to her Jmsland approaching, and runs aivmj.'). The King. The devil claim his soul ! 174 DRAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [ikCT I. (Twnvng to TEiBonLEi). But I have penned a sonnet to his wife. Has Marot shewn thee those last rhymes of mine ? Teiboulet. I never read your verses, — royal strains Are always vile. The King. Oh, bravo ! Teiboulet. Let the herd Rhyme love with dove — 'tis their vocation thus ; Monarchs, with beauty, take a different course ; Make love, oh sire, and let Marot make verse — It but degrades a king. The King [Sees Madame de Coslin, to wlwm he turns, leaving Teiboulet. (To Teiboulet.) I'd have thee whipped, If fair de Coslin did not tempt me hence. Teiboulet {aside). Another still ! Oh, fickle as the wind That blows thee to her. De Goedes [approaching Teiboulet). By the other door Madame de Cosse comes ! I pledge my faith She drops some token, that the amorous king May turn to raise it. Teiboulet. Let's observe awhile. (Madame de Cosse drops her houguei). De Goedes. I said so ! so. II.] THE king's diveksion. 175 Teiboulet. Excellent ! \_Th6 King leames Madame de Coslin, picks ivp the bouquet, and presents it to Madame de Cosse, with whom he enters into a livehj conversation, apparently of a tender nature. De Goedes. The bird's re-snared ! Teiboulet. Woman's a devil of most rare perfection ! \_The King whispers Madame de Cosse — she Imtghs. Suddenly M. de Cosse draws near, coming from the hack of the stage. De Goedes remarks it to Teiboulet. De Goedes. Her husband ! [Madame de Cosse sees her husband — disengages her- self from the King, and runs off. Madame De Cosse. Leave me ! Teiboulet. What a jealous fright Shakes his fat side, and wrinkles o'er his brow. (The King who has been helped to wine comes forward). The King. Oh happy hours ! Why, Jupiter himself, And Hercules, were two poor senseless fools, Compared to me ! 'Tis woman gilds this earth. I am all happiness ! — and thou ? (To Teiboulet.) Teiboulet. All joy ! I lauEfh at balls, pomps, follies, guilty loves ; 176 DRAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [aCT I. And sneer whilst you enjoy. Yet both are blest ; You as a King, and as a hunchback I, The King. De Oosse damps the fete ; but let that pass. How does he look now, think you ? {Pointing to De Oosse, ivlio is leaving the palaoe). Teibodlet. Like an ass ! The King. Nought plagues me save this corpulent old Count ; Mine is the power to do, — to wish ! — to have ! Oh, Triboulet, what pleasure 'tis to live ! — The world's so happy ! Teibodlet (aside). And the King is drunk. The King. Ah, there again ! What arms ! — what lips ! — what eyes ! Teiboulbt. Madame de Oosse ? The King (to Teiboulet). Take thou charge of me. The King (s " Paris, bright and gay, Nowhere is thy fellow — All thy girls are ripe — " Teibodlet (sings). "And all thy men are mellow." lExit King and Teibodlet. sc. III.] THE king's diveesion. 177 Scene 3. — Enter Mons. De Gokdes, Paedailian, De Vic, MaIteb Clement Maeot, the Poet; after them M. De PiENNE, and De CossS — (they soUute). Db Pienne. Most noble friends, a novelty I bring — A riddle that wonld cheat the shrewdest brain ; A something comic, wonderful, sublime ; A tale of love ! a thing impossible ! Db Goedes. What is't ? Maeot. What would'st thou, noble Sir ? De Pienne. Marot, I tell thee, thou'rt a mighty fool. Maeot. Mighty ! I ne'er did think myself in aught. De Pienne. I read in your last poem of " Peschere " These lines on Triboulet : " One marked for scorn — As wise at thirty as the day when born." Thou art the fool ! Maeot. May Cupid stop my breath, If I can take you. Db Pienne, Hark ye, now, De Gordes, And you, De Pardaillan, I pray ye, guess. Something most strange has chanced to Triboulet. De Paedaillan. He's become straight. Db Cossb. Or Constable of France. N 178 deamas op victor hugo. [act i, Marot. Or cooked and served up at the royal table. De Pibnne. No ! — droller still, lie has — (you ne'er can guess — The thing's incredible). De Pardaillan. Perhaps an ape More ugly than himself. Mabot. His starving purse Grown plethoric with gold. De Cosse, The fitting place Of turnspit dog. Marot. A billet-doux to meet The blessed Virgin, up in Paradise. De Gordes. Perhaps a soul ! De Pienne. Ye ne'er will strike the mark. The buffoon, Triboulet, uncouth, deformed — Guess what he has ! Come ! something monstrous ! Guess! Marot. His hump ! De Pienne. Nay ! nay ! ye're dull, — Now listen all ! A mistress ! ! ! (All bwst into a Jit of Icmghter.) Maeot. Duke, your wit o'ershoots its aim. De Gordes. A scurvy joke ! De Pienne. I'll swear it, by my soul ! sc. m.] THE king's diversion. 179 I'll brinof you even to the lady's door Each night he enters, shrouded in his cloak With air most sombre — ^like some hungry bard By happiest chance I spied the quarry out, Prowling myself, hard by De Coss^'s gate. Now keep my secret : I've a scheme to plague him. Marot. A sonnet ! — " Triboulet to Cupid changed ! Tet this much I'll engage ! should ever more Another Bedford land on France's shore, The English foes would dare our arms in vain. The lady's face would fright them back again." [All laugh — M. Db Vic drawing neair — De Pieni>e p'ats Ms finger to Ms lips. Db Pienne. Silence, my Lords ! De Paedaillan. How comes it that the King Roams every night alone, as though he sought Some amorous quest. De Pienne {to Db Vic). De Vic will tell us that. De Vic. Just now the wind of his caprice doth sit To wander forth, in hood and cloak disguised. That none can know him ! If the night's so dark, He doth mistake some window for a door. Why (not being married) 'tis no care of mine. Db Cosse. Ah ! who would own a sister, child, or wife ? The King robs others of the joys he takes. And for his pleasure, makes another's woe. The laughing mouth has fangs most sharp within. 180 DRAMAS OF TICTOE HUGO. [aCT 1. De Vic (to De Pienne and Mabot). He trembles at the King. De Pienne (aside). His pretty wife Feels no alarm. Marot (aside). 'Tis that wHcli frightens him. De Goedes (aloud). You're wrong, De Cosse ; 'tis a courtier's task To keep the King kind, liberal and gay. De Pienne. Amen, say I : — a melancholy king Is like long mourning or a backward spring. Scene 4. — Enter the King and Teibodlet. Teiboulet. Scholars at court ! Monstrosity most rare ! The King. Go, preach unto my sister of Navarre, She'd set me round with pedants ! Triboulbt. Sire, at least You'll own I've drunk a somewhat less than you. And therefore crave I to decide this matter In all its points, shapes, hues, and qualities. I've one advantage, nay, I'll reckon two. First, I am sober, next, I'm not a king. Rather than summon scholars to the court. Bring plague and famine ! The King. Yet my sister strives To fill my court with scholars. so. IT.] THE king's DIVERSION. 181 Teiboulet. Most unkind Upon a sister's part. — Believe me, Sire, There's not in nature's strange menagerie. Nor hungry wolf, nor crow, nor fox, nor dog, Nor famished poet, heretic nor Turk, Nor hideous owl, nor bear, nor creeping sloth One half so hungry, hideous, filthy, foul, Pufied with conceits and strange absurdities, As that same animal, yclept a scholar. Have you not pleasures, conquests, boundless power. And (shedding light and perfume over all) Enchanting woman ? The King. Marguerite avers That woman's love may tempt me not for long. And when it palls — Teiboulet. Oh medicine most strange 1 Prescribe a pedant, for a heart that's cloyed. The Lady Marguerite, 'tis widely known, "Was ever famed for desperate remedies. The King. I'll have no scholars, — poets might be borne. Teiboulet. Now, were I king, I'd loathe a poet more Than Beelzebub doth sign of holy cross. The King. But some half dozen ! Teiboulet. 'Tis a stable full, — A whole menagerie. We've quite enough Of Marot here, without being poison'd quite With flimsy rhymesters. 182 deamas op victoe hugo. [act i. Maeot. Thank yon, good Imffoon, — (Aside) The fool were wiser, had he held his tongue. Teiboulet. Be beauty still your heaven ; 'tis the Sun Whose smiles illumine earth. Ne'er clog your brain With books. The King. Nay, by the faith, now, of a gentleman For books care I as much as fish for apples. \_8houts of laughter a/re heard from a group of oouriieri hehind. Methinks, good fool, jihey've merry at thy cost. Teiboulet (draws near to the growp, listens, and retwms). Another fool they laugh at ! The King. Aye ! whom, then ? Tkibodlet. The King ! ! The King. At me? Teiboulet. Tes, Sire, they call yon mean : Say gold and honours fly into Navarre, Whilst they get nothing. The King. Now, I note them well ! Montmorency, Brion, and Montchenu. Teiboulet. Exactly so. The King. Ungrateful, selfish hounds ! SC. IV.] THE king's DIVERSION. 183 One I made admiral, — constable the next, And Montchenu my master of the horse ; — Tet they complain ! Teiboulet. Why, 'tis not quite enough ; They still deserve something at your hands : — Best do it quickly, Sire. The King. Do what ? Teiboulet. Hang up all three. De Piennb {pointing to Teiboulet, and spectking to the three Courtiers). Tou heard him ? De Bieon (to Db Pienne). Aye, indeed. MONTMOEENCT (to De PibNNE). He smarts for this. Teiboulet (to the King). Tour heart methinks must feel a painful void, Knovfing, amongst these yielding fair, not one Whose eyes invite not, yet whose soul could love. The King. What knowest thou of this ? Teiboulet. The love of one. Whose heart hath lost the bloom of innocence, Is love no longer. The King. Art thou then so sure I have not found one woman who can love ? 184 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT I. Triboulet. Thy rank unknown ? The King (assenting). Unknown ! ! (aside) I'll noji betray My little beauty of De Bussy's Terrace. Teibodlet. Some city belle ! The King. Why not ? Tribodlet (mth agitation). Oh Sire, beware ! Tour love runs hazards that it dreams not of; These citizens, in wrath, are fierce as Romans. Who takes their goods may leave a life in pledge : We kings and fools still satisfied should be With the fair wives and sisters of our friends. The King. Methinks De Oosse's wife would suit me well. Teibotjlet. Then take her. The King. Marry, 'tis a hopeless thing ; Easy to say, — to do, impossible ! ! Triboulet. Command it. Sire, this very night 'tis done. The King (pointing to De Cosse). Her jealous Husband, — Teiboulet. Send to the Bastille ! The King. Oh, no ! sc. IV.] THK king's divbesion. 185 Tkiboulet. Well, then, to balance the acooTint, Create Lim Duke. The King. His vulgar jealonsy Might still rebel and trumpet forth his wrongs. Teiboulet. He must be banished then or bought. Tet stay ! l^WMlst Tbiboulbt is speaMng, De Cosse comes ttp and overhears the rest of the speech. There is one method, simple and concise, — 'Tis strange it stepped not first into my mind ; — Cut off his head ! ! [Db Cosse starts hach with affright. Involve him in some plot — Some scheme to help the arms of Spain or Kome, De Cosse (coming between). Infernal villain ! The King (to Teiboulet). Nay, now, think again ; Cut off a head like that, — impossible ! Teiboulet. What, be a king, yet foiled in a caprice, — A paltry trifle such as this denied. De Cosse (To Teiboulete). I'll have thee beaten. Teiboulet. Nay, I fear thee not : A war of words on all around I wage. And care for nothing, whilst my neck doth bear The sacred head and cap-piece of the fool. But one thing fear I, — that my hump might fall And plant itself in front, as thou dost wear it ; 'Twould quite disfigure me ! 186 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT I. Dfi CosSB (overcome with rage, d/ra/ws his sword.) lU-manner'd slave ! The King. Be wiser, Count ! Come hither, fool, with me ! [Exeunt King amd Tkiboulet laughing, (The OouETiEES assemble after the King has retired.) De Beion. Vengeance on Tribonlet ! Maeot, He's too well armed ; How can we strike, or where inflict the blow ? Db Pienne. I have it, gentlemen ; the wrongs of all Shall be avenged in full. When evening falls Meet me, well armed, at Bussy's Terrace wall, Near to De Cosse's gate ; ask nought beside. Maeot. I guess thy scheme. Db Pienne. Be silent all ; he comes ! Teiboulet (aside). Whom next to trick ? — the King ? By Heaven ! 'twere great ! [Enter a Servant in the King's livery, who whispers to Teiboulet. Sbevant. Monsieur St, Vallier (an infirm old man In deepest mourning) asks to see the King. Teiboulet. (Aside) The Devil ! — (aloud) Oh certainly ; most glad to see Monsieur St. Vallier. lExit Servar.t. so. IV.] THE king's diversion. 187 (Aside) Excellent, by Jove ! This is a joke ttat makes all others tame — {There is a noise and confusion at the door of entrance.) Voice Outside. I'll see the King ! The King [stopping short in his attentions to a group of ladies.) Who dares to enter here ? Voice Odtside. I'll see the King ! The King. No ! no ! [jdm old man in deep mourning, with white hair and hea/rd, bursts through the crowd at the bach of the stage, mid confronts the King, gazing steadily upon him. Scene 5. — The King, St. Valuer, Teiboulet am,d the couetiees. St. Valliee. I will be heard ! Who dare restrain me ? The King (appalled). Monsieur St. Vallier ! St. Valliee. 'Tis thus I'm named ! [The King Advances angrily towa/rds him, hut is stopped hy Teiboulet. Teiboulet. Permit me. Sire, to speak. 188 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT I. 'I will SO bravely lecture this good man ! [Puts himself in a theatrical attitude, and addresses St. Yalliee. Teiboulet. ^Sir ! you once stirred rebellion 'gainst our throne ; We pardoned, as kind monarchs should ; yet now A stranger, wilder madness takes your mind, — Tou seek for offspring from a son-in-law As hideous as the vilest dwarf e'er known. Ill-shaped, ill-bred, pale, ghastly, and deformed, An odious wart upon his monstrous nose, A shape like that ! (^pointing to De Cosse) An ugly hump like mine ! Who sees your daughter near him, needs must laugh. (Unless our King had interfered), he might Have made rare specimens of grandsons for you. Diseased, unseemly, rickety, misshaped, iSwoll'n like that gentleman, [pointing to De Coss^, wlio writhes with anger. Or humped like me. Bah ! he's too ugly ; — now, our noble King Will give you grandsons, that may be your pride. To climb your knee and pluck your reverend beard ! [The Courtiers laugh and applaud TeibouleTi St. Valliee. 'Tis but one insult more ; — now hear me, Sire, A king should listen when his subjects speak : 'Tis true, your mandate led me to the block. Where pardon came upon me, like a dream ; I blessed you then, unconscious as I was That a king's mercy, sharper far than death, To save a father doomed his child to shame ; Tes, without pity for the noble race Of Poitiers, spotless for a thousand years, Tou, Francis of Valois, without one spark ■Of love or pity, honour or remorse so. IV.] THE king's DIVERSION. 189' Did on that night, (thy couch her virtue's tomb,) With cold embraces, foully bring to scorn !My helpless daughter, Dian of Poitiers. To save her father's life, a knight she sought. Like Bayard, fearless and without reproach. She found a heartless king, who sold the boon. Making cold bargain for his child's dishonour. Oh ! monstrous traffic ! foully hast thou done ! My blood was thine, and justly, tho' it springs Amongst the best and noblest names of France ; But to pretend to spare these poor grey looks, And yet to trample on a weeping woman. Was basely done ; the father was thine own. But not the daughter ! — thou hast overpassed The right of monarchs ! — yet, 'tis mercy deemed. And I, perchance, am called ungrateful still. Oh, hadst thou come within my dungeon walls, I would have sued upon my knees for death, But mercy for my child, my name, my race, Which, once polluted, is my race no more ; Rather than insult, death to them and me. I come not now to ask her back from thee ; Nay, let her love thee with insensate love ; I take back nought that bears the brand of shame- Keep her ! — Yet still amidst thy festivals, Until some father's, brother's, husband's hand,' ('Twill come to pass,) shall rid us of thy yoke, My pallid face shall ever haunt thee there. To tell thee, Francis, it was foully done ! And thou shalt listen, and thy guilty pride Shall shrink abashed before me ; would you now Command the headsman's axe to do its office, ^ According to ancient writers, St. Vallier's prophecy was terribly fulfilled. The death of Francis the First affords a melancholy illustra- tion of the morals of the " good old times." Whether the story be the record of history, or the invention of slander, we have only to choose between the malignity of the falsehood, or the infamy of the fact. A sad alternative for the believer in the supremacy of the past. — P. L. S. ] 90 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [aCT I. You dare not, lest my spectre should return To tell thee The King. Madness ! {To De Pienne.) Duke ! arrest the traitor. Teiboulet (sneering at St. Valliee). The poor man raves. St. Valliee, Accursed be ye both ! Oh, Sire ! 'tis wrong upon the dying lion To loose thy dog ! (twns to Teiboulet.) And thou, who'er thou art, That with a fiendish sneer and viper's tongue, Makest my tears a pastime and a sport, My curse upon thee ! — Sire, thy brow doth bear The gems of France ! — on mine, old age doth sit ; Thine decked with jewels, mine with these grey hairs ; We both are Kings, yet bear a diSerent crown ; And should some impious hand upon thy head Heap wrongs and insult, with tifeine own strong arm Thou canst avenge them ! — God avenges mine ! [St. Valliee is led off — the curtain falls. END OP THE FIRST ACT, ACT SECOND: SALTABADIL, Scene 1. — The scene represents a deserted corner of Be Bussy Terrace. On the right a house of decent appearance, with a court-yard m front (surrounded by a wall), which forms a part of the stage. In the couirt are some trees, and a stone seat. A door opens from the waU into the street. Above the wall is a terrace, with a roof sup- ported by arches. A door from the first floor of the house opens upon this terrace, which communicates with the court by a flight of steps. On the left are the high walls of the Be Oosse Palace, and in the bacJeground, distant houses and the steeple of St. Severin. Teibotjlet, Saltababil ; afterwards De Pienne and De Goedes. [Teiboulet is enveloped in his cloak, but without his buffoon's dress — he advances cautiously towards the door in the wall. A man dressed in black, and likewise wrapped in a cloak {from, beneath which the point of a sword peeps out), follows him stealthily. Teiboulet (lost in thought). The old man cursed me. Saltabadil (accosting him). Sir! 192 dramas of victoe hugo, [act ii. Teiboulet. \_start8, turns round, and searching in Ms pockets, says angrily, I've nothing for you. Saltabadil. And nothing asked I : you mistake ! Teiboulet {irritated). Then leave me. Saltabadil {bowing and touching his long sword). You wrong me, Sir. — By my good sword, I live. Teiboulet {drawing hack alarmed). A cut-throat ! [Enter Ds Pienne atid Db Goedes, wJio remain watching at the hack of the stage. Saltabadil {in an insinuating manner). Something weighs upon your mind: Night after night, you haunt this lonely spot — Confess the truth, some woman claims your care ! Teiboulet. That which concerns but me, I tell to none. Saltabadil. But 'tis for your advantage that I speak ; You'd treat me better if you knew me well. ( Whispers.) Perhaps your mistress on another smiles, — You're jealous, Sir ? Teiboulet. By all the fiends, what want ye ? Saltabadil {in a low voice, speaking softly and quickly). For some broad pieces, by this hand he dies ! Teiboulet {aside). I breathe again. so. I.J THE king's diversion. 193 Saltabadil. I see you deem me now An honest man. Teiboulet. At least a useful one ! Saltabadil (with an assumption of modesty). Guard to the honour of our Paris dames. Teibodlet. Name your price to slay a cavalier. Saltabadil.. Why that's according to the man we slay, With some slight guerdon for the skill displayed. Teibodlet. To stab a nobleman ? Saltabadil. By Beelzebub ! There's too much risk of a slashed doublet there : Cunning in fence, and armed, your nobleman Is dear indeed ! Teiboulet (laughing). Tour nobleman is dear ; And pray, do citizens by your kind aid Each other slaughter ? Saltabadil. Tes ; in truth they do ; But 'tis a luxury — a taste you know That's scarcely fit, but for the man well born. Some upstarts are there (being rich forsooth). That ape the habits of a gentleman. And force my service, — How I pity them ! I'm paid one half beforehand, and the rest When the deed's done ! 194 deamas of victor hugo, [act ii, Teiboulet. For this yon brave the rack ? Saltabadil (smiling). Not much ! a tribute paid to the police ! Teiboulet, So much per head ? Saltabadil. Just so ! unless indeed — (What shall I say ?) unless the King were slain ! Teiboulet, And how contrive you ? Saltabadil. In the street I slay, Or else at home ! Teiboulet, In a most courteous way ? Saltabadil. If in the street — a sharp keen blade I wear, And watch my man at night. Teiboulet. And if at home ? Saltabadil, Why then my sister Magnelonne assists — A sprightly girl — that in the streets by night Doth dance for gain, and, with enticing smiles, Allures our prey, and draws the game to earth, Teiboulet. I see ! Saltabadil. 'Tis managed without noise or stir, Quite decently ! Nay, most respectably. so. I.J THE king's diversion. 195 Now let me crave your patronage, good Sir ; You'll be contented, tho' I keep no shop, Nor make parade ; I am not of that race Of coward cnt-throats, armed from head to heel. Who herd in bands to take a single life — Wretches ! with courage shorter than their sword. [Drawing an enormously long sword. This is my weapon ! (Tbiboulet starts). (Smiling and homing to Teiboulet). At your service, Sir ! Teiboulbt. Just now, indeed, I've no occasion for it, Saltabadil. So much the worse ! You'll find me, when you list, Before the palace of the Duke of Maine. At noon each day I take my morning's stroll : My name's Saltabadil ! Teiboulet. Of gipsy race ? Saltabadil, Burgundian too ! De Goedes {to De Pienne, taking out Ms tablets). A jewel of a man, Whose name (lest I forget) at once I write. Saltabadil. Sir, you'll not think the worse of me for this ? Teiboulet. What for ! why should I ? every one must live. Saltabadil. I would not be a beggar, idler, rogue ! Then I've four children. Teiboulet. Whom 'twere barbarous 196 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT II. To leave unfed. [Trying to get rid of Mm. Heaven keep you in its love ! Db Pienne (to De Goedes). 'Tis still too light ! Return we here anon. [Exeimt De Pienne and Db Goedes. Teiboulet (roughly to Saltabadil). Good day ! Saltabadil (bowing). Tour humble servant, Sir. Adieu ! [Exit. Teiboulet (watching him as he retires'). How much alike his cruel trade to mine ; — His sword is sharp, but with a tongue more keen I stab the heart ! Aye, deeper far than he. Scene 2. — Teiboulet (alone). [Saltabadil having departed, Teiboulet gently opens the door in the wall. He holes anxiously round, and, taldng the hey out of the loch, carefully shuts the door on the inside. He then paces the cou/rt with an air of melan- choly and abstraction, Teiboulet. The old man cursed me ! even as he spoke I mocked and taunted him ; — and yet, oh shame ! My lip but smiled. His sorrow touched my soul. Accurst indeed ! — \_he sits down on the stone seat. For man with nature leagues To make me wicked, heartless, and depraved ! Buffoon ! Oh heav'n ! — deformed, despised, disgraced ; Always that thought, or sleeping or awake, — It haunts my dreams, and tortures me by day : The vile buffoon — the wretched fool of court sc. ii.J THE king's diversion. 197 Who must not, cannot, dare not, for his hire Do aught but laugh ! Oh grief ! oh misery ! The poorest beggar, or the vilest slave, — The very galley convict in his chains, May weep and soothe his anguish with his tears. Alas, I dare not ! Oh, 'tis hard to feel Bowed down to earth with sore infirmities ; Jealous of beauty, strength, or manly grace, — With splendour circled, making me more sad. In vain my wretchedness would hide from man, — In vain my heart would sob its griefs alone. — My patron comes, — the joyous, laughing king. Beloved of women ! heedless of the tomb ; Well shapen, handsome. King of France, — and young. And with his foot he spurns me as I hide ; And, yawning, cries, " Come, make me laugh, buffoon." Alas, poor fool ! — arid yet am I a man. And rancorous hate, and pride, and baffled rage, BoU in my brain, and make my soul like hell. Ceaseless I meditate some dark design, Yet, feeling, nature, thought, must I conceal. And at my master's sign make sport for all. Abjection base ! where'er I move to feel My foot encumbered with its galling chain. By men avoided, loathed, and trampled on ; — By women treated as a harmless dog. Soh! gallant courtiers and brave gentlemen. Oh, how I hate you ! — here behold your foe ; Tour bitter sneers I pay you back with scorn, And foil and countermine your proud desires. Like the bad spirit, in your master's ear I whisper death to each aspiring aim. Scattering, with cruel pleasure, leaf by leaf. The bud of hope — long ere it come to flower. Ton made me wicked : — yet what grief to live But to drop poison in the cup of joy That others drink ! — and if within my breast 198 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT II. One kindly feeling springs, to thrust it forth And stun reflection with these jingling bells. Amidst the feast, the dance, the glittering show, Like a foul demon, seek I to destroy, For very sport, the happiness of all, Covering with hollow, false, malignant smile The venomed hate, that festers at my heart. Yet am I wretched ! \_He rises from the stone seat. No, not wretched here ! This door once past, existence comes anew : Let me forget the world, — no past regret Shall dim the happiness that waits me here. {Tie falls into a reverie. The old man cursed me ! Why returns that thought ? Forebodes it evil ? Pshaw ! art mad ? — for shame ! [Ke hnocks at the door of tliejiouse. A young girl dressed in white rushes out, and throws lierself into his airms. Scene 3. — Blanche — Teiboulet ; afterwards Dame Beeaede. Teiboulet. My child ! [He presses her to his hosom with delight. Ah, place your arms around my neck ; Come to my heart, my child ! I'm happy now ; Near thee all's joy ! I live, I breathe again. [He gazes at her with transport. More beauteous every day. Blanche, art thou well, — Quite well ? Dear Blanche ! come kiss me once again. Blanche. Tou are so kind, dear father. Teiboulet. No, indeed, I do but love thee. Thou'rt my life, my blood. Blanche, if I lost thee ! — oh, the thought is death. sc. III.] THE king's diversion. 199 Blanche (putting her hamd on Ms forehead). What makes you sigh so heavily, my father ? Tell me your sorrows ; trust your grief with me. Have we no kindred ? Where are all our friends ? TEIBOnLET. Daughter, thou hast none. Blanche. Tell me then your name. Teiboulet. Why would'et thou know it ? Blanche. When at dear Chinon, The little village where I lived before. The neighbours call'd me orphan, till you came. Teiboulet. 'Twere far more prudent to have left thee there ; But I could bear my sad, sad life no longer ; I yearned for thee — I wanted one to love me. Blanche, Well, if you will not tell me of yourself — Teiboulet {not listening to her). You go not out ? Blanche. Two months have I been here. And but eight times to mass gone forth. Teiboulet. 'Tis well. Blanche. At least you'll tell me of my mother now ? Teiboulet. No, no, forbear to wake that chord, my child. 200 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [aOT II. Let me not think upon how much I've lost ; Wert thou not here I'd deem it all a dream : A woman different from all womankind, Who knew me poor, deserted, sick, deformed, Tet loved me, even for my wretchedness. Dying, she carried to the silent tomb The blessed secret of her sainted love : Love, fleeter, brighter than the lightning's flash ; A ray from Paradise, illuming Hell. Oh, earth, press lightly on that angel breast, Where only did my sorrow find repose. But thou art here, my child. Oh God, I thank thee ! [He bursts into tears, Blanche. Oh, how you weep ! indeed I cannot bear To see you thus — it makes me wretched too. Teiboulet, Would'st have me laugh ? Blanche. Dear father, pardon me. Tell me your name, — confide your grief in me. Teiboulet. I am thy father. Ask me not for more ; In this great world some hate me — some despise ; But here at least, where all is innocence, I am thy father — loved, revered. No name Is holier than a father's to his child. i Blanche. Dear father ! Teiboulet (again embracing her). Ah, what heart responds like thine ? I love thee, as I hate all else beside. Sit thee down by me. Come, we'll talk of this. sc. III.] THE king's diveesion. 201 Art sure thou lov'st me ? Now that we are hero Together, and thy hand is clasped in mine, Why should we speak of anything but thee ? The only joy that Heaven vouchsafes, my child ! Others have parents, brothers, loving friends. Wives, husbands, vassals, a long pedigree Of ancestors, and children numerous — But I have only thee ! Some men are rich, Thou art my only treasure, Blanche ! my all. Some trust in Heaven : I trust alone in thee. What care I now for youth, or woman's love, Por pomp or grandeur, dignities or wealth ? These are brave things, but thou outweigh'st them all ; Thou art my country, city, family — My riches, happiness, religion, hope — My universe ; I find them all in thee. Prom all but thee, my soul shrinks, trembling, back. Oh, if I lost thee ! The distracting thought Would kill me, i£ it lived one instant more ! Smile on me, Blanche ! thy pretty, artless smile. So like thy mother's ; she was artless too.-r- You press your hand upon your brow, my child, Just as she did. My soul leaps forth to thine, Even in darkness — I can see thee still — Por thou art day, and light, and life to me. Blanche. Would I could make you happy ! Teiboulet. Happy ! Blanche ! I am so happy when I gaze on thee- My very heart seems bursting with delight. [^Passes Ms hand through her hair, and smil What fine dark hair ! I recollect it once So very light ! Who would believe it now ? 202 deamas of victor hugo. [act ii. Blanche. Some day, before the curfew bell has tolled, Tou'll let me take a walk, and see the town ? Teiboulet. Oh, never, never ! Thou hast not left home Unless with Dame Berarde ? Blanche. Oh, no ! Beware ! Teiboulet. Blanche. Forth, but to church, I go ! Teiboulet. (Aside.) She may be seen. Perhaps pursued, torn from me, and disgraced. Hah ! were it so ! the wretched jester's daughter There's none would pity. (Aloud.) I beseech thee, Blanche, Stir not abroad. — Thou know'st not how impure. How poisonous is the Paris air to woman : How heartless profligates infest the streets, And courtiers baser still ! (Aside.) Oh, Heaven, protect. Watch o'er, preserve her from the damning snares And touch impure, of libertines, whose breath Hath blighted flowers pure and fair as she. Let e'en her dreams be holy ! — Here at least Her hapless father, resting from his woes. Shall breathe, with grateful heart, the sweet perfume Of this fair rose of innocence and love ! [He buries Ms face in his hands and hursts into tears. Blanche. I'll think no more of going out, dear father, But do not weep. Teiboulet. These tears relieve me, child. SC, HI.J THE king's DIVERSION. 203 So much I laughed last night : — but I forget, The hour to bear my hated yoke draws nigh. Dear Blanche, adieu ! Blanche (embracing Mm). You'll soon be here again. Teiboulet. Alas, I am not master of my will. Ho ! Dame Berarde ! — Whene'er I visit here l_Aii old duenna enters. None see me enter ? Beeaede. Nay, of course not. Sir ! This street's deserted ! [Jf is now nearly darle, the King a/ppeairs outside the wall, disguised in a dark-coloured dress. He examines the high wall and closed door with gestures of impatience and disappointment. Teiboulet. Dearest Blanche, adieu ! (to Dame Beeaede). The door towards the quay is ever closed ? I know a house more lonely e'en than this. Near St. Germain ! I'll see to it to-morrow. Blanche. The terrace, father, is so pleasant here, Above the gardens. Teiboulet. Go not there, my child ! [ffe listens. Ha ! footsteps near ! {Me goes to the gate, opens it, and loohs out : the King slips into a recess in the wall near the door, which Teiboulet leaves open. 204 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT II. Blanche {pointing to the terrace). But may I not at night Breathe the pure air ? Triboulet. Alas ! you might be seen. [Whilst he is speaking to Blanche, his hade towairds the door, the King slips in, unseen hy all, and con- ceals himself behind a tree. (To Dame Beraede) You let no lamp from out the casement shine. Beeaede. Why, gracious powers ! what man could enter here ? \_She turns and sees the King behind the tree. Just as she is about to cry out, the King holds a purse out to her, which she takes, loeighs in her hand, and is silent. Blanche (to Triboulet, who has been to examine the terrace with a lantern. Why dost thou look ? — what fearest thou, my father ? Triboulet. Nought for myself, but everything for thee. Pare well, my child ! [He again folds her in his arms ; a ray of light from the lantern held by Dame Beeaede falls upon them. The King. The Devil !— Triboulet ! Qie laughs). Triboulet's daughter ! — why, the jest 's divine. Teiboulet (returning). A thought disturbs me : — when from church you come Has no one followed thee ? [Blanche is confxmed and casts down her eyes. Beeaede. Oh, never, Sir ! sc. IV.] THE ki:&g's DIVEBSION. 205' Teiboulbt, Shriek out for help, if any one molest Or stop thy path. Beeaede, I'd scream and call the guard. Teiboulet. Whoever knocks, keep closed to all the door. Beeaede. Tho' 'twere the King ? Teiboulet. Much more if 'twere the King. [He embraces Blanche again, a/nd goes out, carefuUyi shutting the door after him. Scene 4. — Blanche, Dame Beeaede, the King. (During the first ^art of this scene, the King etiW- remains hehind the tree.') Blanche. Tet feels my heart remorse. Beeaede. Remorse ? — for what ? Blanche. How sensitive to every fear he seems ! How every shadow darkens o'er his soul ! Bv'n as he left, his eyes were wet with tears. Dear, good, kind father ! should I not have told How, every Sunday, when we leave the church, He follows me ! — you know ! — that fine young man P Beeaede. Why speak of that ? — already, unprovoked, Tour father's humour sets most fierce and strange ;. Besides, of course, you hate this gentleman. 206 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [act II. Blanche. Hate him ! — Ah, no ! — Alas ! I shame to say, His image never fades npon my mind ; But fitom the hour when first his looks met mine, Where'ere I gaze, methinks I see him there. Wbuld it were so ! Oh ! 'tis a noble form ! So gentle, yet so bold ! so proud his mien ! Methinks upon a fiery courser's back He'd look right nobly ! [As Dame Beeaede stands near the King, he puts a handfid of gold into her hand. He's so accomplished. Beeaede, Well, he charms me too ; Blanche. Such a man must be Discreet and wise ! 'Tis a great heart ! Beeaede. Blanche. His looks reveal his heart ; Beeaede. Oh, wonderful ! immense ! ^At every sentence that Beeaede speaks she holds out her hand to the King, who puts money in it. Courageous ! Blanche. Beeaede. Formidable ! Blanche. Yet so kind ! Beeaede. So tender ! so. IV,] THE king's DIVERSION. 207 Blanche. Generous ! Bekaede. Magnificent ! Blanche. All that can please ! Beeaede. His shape without a fault, — His eyes, his nose, his forehead. [Holds out her hcmdfor money at each word. The King {aside). Nay, by Jove, If she admires in detail, I'm undone : No purse can long resist, I'm stripped of all. Blanche. I love to speak of him. Beeaede. I know it, child. The King {aside, giving more money). Oil upon fire, Beeaede. So tall, kind, handsome, good. Great-hearted, generous. King (aside). There ! She's ofiF again. Beeaede. 'Tis some great nobleman, his airs so grand. His glove I noted, broidered on with gold. [The King makes signs when she holds out her hand, that he has nothing left. Blanche. Oh no ! I would not he were rich or great. 208 DEAMAS OP YICTOE HUGO. [aCT U. But some poor country student ; for I think He'd love me better. Bekaede. Well, it may be so, If you prefer it ! (Aside) Heavens ! what a taste ! These love-sick girls will move by contraries. [Again holding out her hand to the King. (AloKd.) But this I'm sure, he loves you to despair. [The King gives nothing. (Aside.) Is he then drained ! No money, Sir ! no praise ! Blanche. How long it seems till Sunday comes again ! Until I see him, sadness with my soul Dwells night and day ; when on the altar last My humble gifts I placed, he seemed as though He would have spoken. How my heart did throb ! Oh I am sure, love hath possessed him too ! My image never, never quits his mind. Different from other men, his looks sincere Tell me no woman fills his heart but me ; That, shunning pleasnre, solitude he seeks To think on me. Beeaede. [Making a last effort, holding out her hand to the King. I stake my head 'tis true ! The King (tolling off a ring and giving it to Beeaede). This for thy head. Blanche. Oh, how I wish, whene'er I think of him by day, and dream by night. He were beside me : I would tell him then, Be happy ; oh be mine, for thee [The King comes from behind the tree, and stretches out his arms towards her, going on his Jcnee luhilst she has her face turned from him. When she looTci round again he speaks, finishing her speech. so. IV.] THE king's diteesion. 209 . The King. I love ! Say on ; oh, cease not ! say thou lov'st me, Blanche : Love sounds so sweetly from a lip like thine. Blanche (frightened, looks roimdfor Dame Beeaede, wJio has purposely disappea/red). Oh ! I'm betrayed, alone, and none to help ! The King. Two happy lovers are themselves a world. Blanche. Whence come you, Sir ? The King. From heaven or from hell, 'Tis of no import — angel, man, or fiend, I love thee ! Blanche. Heavens ! if my father knew. I hope none saw you enter ! Leave me. Sir ! The King. Leave thee, whilst trembling in my arms you rest. And I am thine, and thou art all to me ! Thou lov'st me ! Blanche (confused). Oh, you listened ! The King. 'Tis most true ; What sweeter music could I listen to ? Blanche (supplicating). Well, if you love, leave me for love's own sake. The King. Leave thee, when now my fate is linked with thine ! p 210 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT II. Twin stairs, in one horizon, douhly bright,^ When heaven itself has chosen me to wake Within thy virgin breast the dawn of love, That soon shall blaze like noon ! 'Tis the soul's sun ; Dost thou not feel its soft and gentle flame ? The monarch's crown, that death confers or takes, — The cruel glory of inhuman war ; The hero's name, the rich man's vast domains, — All these are transient, vain and earthly things. To this poor world, where all beside doth fade. But one pure joy remains, — 'tis love ! 'tis love ! Dear Blanche, such happiness I bring to thee. Life is a flower, and love its nectared juice. 'Tis like the eagle mated with the dove, — 'Tis trembling innocence with strength allied, — 'Tis like this little hand, thus lost in mine. Oh let us love ! [He embraces her, she resists, Blanche. No ! leave me ! Beeaedb (aside, peeping out from the terrace). All goes well ! She's snared ! The King. Oh, tell me thou dost love ! Beeaedb. (Aside.) The wretch ! The King. Blanche, say it o'er again. ^ Victor Hugo's lines run thus ! — " Quand notre double €toile au meme horizon brille ! " But as I cannot find tliat double stars were at all suspected in the days of Francis the First, I have taken the liberty to avoid the anachronism by a slight alteration of the text. so. IV.] THE king's DIVEESION. 211 Blanche (bending down Tier eyes). You heard me once, Yon know it. The King. Then I'm happy ! Blanche. I'm undone ! The King. No, blest with me ! Blanche. Alas ! I know you not ! Tell me your name. Beeaede. (Aside.) High time to think of that. Blanche. You are no nobleman, no courtier, sure ; My father fears them. The King. No, by heaven! — (Aside.) Let's see [he deliberates). Godfrey Melune I'm called, a student poor, , So poor ! Beeaede (who is just counting the money he has givmi her, holds up her hand). (Aside.) The liar ! [Enter De Piennb and Paebaillan, they carry a dark lantern, and are concealed in cloaTis. De Pienne (to Paedaillan). Here 'tis, chevalier ! Beeaede (runs down from the terrace). Voices outside I hear. 212 dramas of victor hugo. [act ii. Blanche. Oh, heaven ! my father. Dame Berabde (to the King). Leave us ! — away ! The King. What traitor mars my hliss ? Would that my hands were grasping at his throat .' Blanche (to Beeaede). Quick ! quick ! — Oh, save him ! Ope the little gate That leads towards the quay. The King. Leave thee so soon ! Wilt love to-morrow, Blanche ? Blanche. And thou ? The King. For ever ! Blanche. Thou may'st deceive ; for I've deceived my father. The King. Never ! — One kiss on those bright eyes ! Blanche. No! No! [The King, in spite of her resistance, seizes her in his arms, and kisses her several times. Beeaede. A most infuriate lover, by my soul ! [Exit the King with Beeabbe. [Blanche remains for some time with her eyes fixed on the door through which the King has passed; sle then enters the house. Meanwhile the street is 6C. v.] THE king's DIVERSION. 213 fMed with Courtiers, a/rmed and wea/ring mantles and masques. De Goedbs, De Cossb, Db Beion, Db Montmoeenct, De Montchenu, and Clement Maeot, join De Pienne and Paedaillan. The night is very dark — the lanthorns they carry are closed. They mahe signals of recognition, and point out Teiboulbt's house. A servant attends them bearing a scaling ladder. Scene 5. — Blanche — the Couetiees. Afterwards Teiboulet. Blanche comes out on the terrace ; she holds a flambeau in her ha/nd, which throws its light upon her countenance. Blanche. Godfrey Melune ! Oh, name that I adore, Be graven on my heart ! De Pienne {to the Courtiers). Messieurs, 'tis she ! De Goedes. Some bourgeois beauty ; how I pity you, Who cast your nets amongst the vulgar throng. \As he speaks, Blanche twrns roumd, and the light falls full on her featwres, De Pienne. What think you now ? Maeot. I own the jade is fair. De Goedes. An angel, — fairy, — an accomplished grace. Paedaillan. Is this the mistress of our Triboulefc ? The rascal ! 214 deamas of victor hugo. [act ii. De Goedes. Scoundrel ! Maeot, Beauty and the Beast ! 'Tis just ! Old Jupiter would cross the breed. De Pienne. Enough ! we came to punish Triboulet ; "We are all here, determined, well prepared, With hatred armed, — aye, and a ladder too, — Scale we the walls, and having seized the fair, Convey her to the Louvre ! Our good king Shall greet the beauty at his morning's levee. De Cossb. And straightway seize her, as most lawful prey. Maeot. Oh, leave tbe Devil and Fate to settle that. De Goedes. 'Tis a bright jewel, worthy of a crown. [Enter Teiboulet absorbed in thoiMght. Teiboulit. Still I return, — and yet I know not why. The old man cursed me ! \_In the darh he runs agadnst De Goedes. Who goes there ? De Goedes (runs bach to the conspirators, and whispers). Messieurs, 'Tis Triboulet ! De Cossb. Oh, double victory I Let's slay the traitor ! Db Pienne. Nay, good Count, — not so : — Pray, how, to-morrow, could we laugh at him ? SC. v.] THE king's DIVERSION. 215 De Goedes, Oh, if he's killed, the joke's not half so droll. De CossS. He'll spoil our plans. Maeot. No ! leave you that to me, — I'll manage all. , Teiboulet (aside). Some whispering I hear. Maeot (goimg up to Teibodlet). What! TriboTilet! Teiboulet (fiercely). Who's there ? 'Tis I. What I ? Maeot. Don't eat me up ! Teiboulet. Maeot. Marot. Teiboulet. The night's so dark. Maeot. Satan has made an inkstand of the sky. Teiboulet. Why are yon here ? Maeot. We come (yon surely guess) : — (he laughs) De Cosse's wife we aim at, for the king. Teiboulet. Ah, excellent ! 216 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [AOT II. Db Cosse {aside). "Would I could break his bones ! Teiboulet. How would you enter, — not by open force ? Maeot (to Db Cosse). Give me your key. (De Cossf passes Mm the key). (To Teiboulet) This will ensure success, reel you De Coss^'s arms engraved thereon ? Teiboulet (aside, feeling the hey). Three leaves serrate : I know the scutcheon well, — There stands his house. What silly fears were liiine ! (retwrnvng the hey to Maeot.) If all you purpose be to steal the wife Of fat De Cosse — 'faith, I'm with you too. Maeot. We are all masqued. Teiboulet. Give me a mask as well. [Maeot puts on a mash, and ties it with a thick hand- herchief, or hcmdage, covering both Teiboulet's eyes and ears. Maeot (to Teiboulet). You guard the ladder, Teiboulet. Are there many here ? I can see nothing. Maeot. 'Tis so dark a night (to the Courtiers). Walk as you will, and talk without disguise, The trusty bandage blinds and deafens him. [^The Courtiers mount the ladder, hwrst open the door of the terrace, amd enter the house. Soon afterwards one returns, and opens the door of the court-y so. v.] THE king's diteesion. 217 from within. Then the whole body rush out, bear- ing Blanche, half senseless. After they home left the stage, her voice is heard in the distance. Blanche {in tlie distance). Help ! help me, father ! Courtiers (in the distance). Victory ! she's ours ! Triboulet (ai the bottom of the ladder). How long must I stand doing penance here ? Will they ne'er finish ? Soh ! I'll wait no more. \_He tears off the matsTt, and discovers the bandage. Hah ! my eyes bandaged ! \JSe tears off the masTe a/nd bandage. By the light of a la/nthorri left behind, on the ground, he sees some- thing white, which he tafces up, a/nd discovers to be his daughter's veil, Se looJcs round — the ladder is against his own wall — the wall-door is open. He rushes into his house like a madman, and retwns dragging out Dame Beeaede, half dressed and sca/rcely amaJce. He holes round in a state of hmoilderment and stu/por, tears his hair, and utters some inarticulate sounds of agony. At last his voice returns — he breaks forth into a cry of despair. Oh, the curse ! — the curse ! [He falls down in a swoon. IND OF THE SECOND ACT, ACT THIRD : THE KING. Scene 1. — Boyal anticJiamher at the Louvre, fnrnished in the style of the Benmsscmce. Near the front of the stage, a table, cham; and footstool. At the hack of the scene, a, Iwrge door richly gilt. On the left, the door of the King's sleeping apmtment, covered with a tapestry hanging. On the right, a heamfet, with vessels of porcelain and gold. The door at the hach opens on to a terrace with gwrden behind. The Couetiees. De Goedes. 'Tis fit we plan the end of this adventure. Db Pienne. Not so ; let Triboulet still writhe and groan, Ne'er dreaming that his loye lies hidden here ! De Cosse. Aye, let him search the world. Yet, hold, my lords ! The palace gnard our secret might betray. De Mohtchen^. Throughout the Louvre all are ordered well ; They'll swear no woman came last night within. Paedaillan. Besides, to make the matter darker stUl, sc. I.] THE king's diversion. 219 A knave of mine, well versed in strategy, Called at tlie poor fool's house and told he saw, At dead of night, a struggling woman borne To Hautefort's palace. Maeot (takes out a letter). This last night sent I : (He reads). " Tour mistress, Triboulet, I stole ; If her fair image dwells with thee, Long may that image fill thy soul ; But her sweet self leaves Prance with me." Signed with a flourish, John de Nivelles. [Courtiers all laugh vociferously. Paedaillan. Gods ! what a chase ! Db Cosse. His grief is joy to me. De Goedes. Aye, let the slave, in agony and tears. With clenching hands, and teath that gnash with rage, Pay in one day our long arrears of hate. [_The door of the Boyal apartment apeiis, and the Kikg enters, dressed in a magnificent morning dress ; he is accompanied hy De Pienne ; the Courtiers droM near. The King and De Pienne loAigh immoderately. The King (pointing to the distant door). She's there ! De Pienne (laughing). The loved one of our Triboulet. The King (laughing). Steal my Fool's mistress ! — Excellent, i'faith ! De Pienne. Mistress or wife ? 220 DEAMAS OP YICTOB HUGO. [ACT The King (aside). A wife and daughter too ! So fond a fool I ne'er imagined him ! De Pienne. Shall I produce her now ? The King. Of course, Pardieu ! [De Pienne lea/oes the room, and retwtns immediately, leading in Blanche, closely veiled and trembling. The King sits down in Ms chair, in a careless attitude. De Pienne. Enter, fair dame ; then tremble as you will. Behold the King ! Blaitche (still veiled). So young ! — is that the King ? She throws herself at his feet. At the first sound of Blanche's voice, the King starts, and then signs to the Courtiers to retire. Scene 2. — The King — Blanche. The King, when left alone with Blanche, talces the veil from her face. The King. Blanche ! Blanche. Godfrey Melune ! Oh Heav'n ! The King (bursting into a Jit of laughter). Now, by my faith ! Whether 'tis chance or planned, the gain is mine. so. II.] THE KINGS BIVERSION. 221 My Blanche ! my beautiful, my heart's delight, Come to my arms ! Blanche (rising and shrinking hook). The King ! — forgive me, Sire ; Indeed, I know not -what to say. — Good Sir, Godfrey Melune ; — but no ! you are the King. \_8h6 falls on her knees again. Whoe'er thou art, alas ! have mercy on me ! The King. Mercy on thee ! my Blanche, whom I adore ! Francis confirms the love that Godfrey gave. I love, thou lovest, and we both are blest. The name of King dims not the lover's flame. Tou deemed me, once, a scholar, clerk, Lowly in rank, in all but learning poor ; And now that chance hath made me nobler born, And crowned me King, is that sufficient cause To hold me suddenly in such abhorrence ? — I've not the luck to be a serf — what then ? [The King laughs heartily^ Blanche (aside). Oh, how he laughs ! — and I with shame could die ! The King. What fetes, what sports and pageants, shall be ours ! What whispered love in garden and in grove ! A thousand pleasures that the night conceals ! Thy happy future grafted on mine own — We'll be two lovers wedded in delight. Age must steal on, and what is human life ? A paltry stuff, of mingled toil and care, Which love with starry light doth spangle o'er ; Without it, trust me, 'tis a sorry rag — Blanche, 'tis a theme I've oft reflected on. And this is wisdom : — honour Heaven above, Eat, drink, be merry, crowning all with love ! 222 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT III, Blanche (confowndeA omd shuddering). Oh, how Tinlike the picture fancy drew ! The King. What did yon think me, then, a solemn fool, A trembling lover, spiritless and tame. Who thinks all women ready to expire With melting sympathy, because he sighs And wears a sad and melancholy face ? Blanche. Oh, leave me ! — (Aside.) Wretched girl ! The King. Know'st who I am ? — ■ Why, Prance — a nation — fifteen million souls — Gold, honour, pleasures, power uncurbed by law, All, all are mine : — I reign and rule o'er all. I am their sovereign, Blanche, but thou art mine — I am their King, Blanche, wilt not be my Queen ? Blanche. The Queen ! Tour wife ! The King (laughing heartily). No ! virtuous innocence ; The Queen, my mistress : 'tis the fairer name. Blanche. Thy mistress ! Shame upon thee ! The King. Hah ! so proud ? Blanche (indignantly). I'll ne'er be such ! My father can protect me ! The King. My poor Bufibon ! my Fool ! my Triboulet ! Thy father's mine ! — my property ! my slave ! His will's mine own ! sc. II.] THE king's diversion. 223 Blanche (weeping). Is he, too, yours ? [She sobs out. The King (falling on his Jcnees). Dear Blanche ! too dear to me ! Oh, weep not thus ! but, pressed against my heart- Forbear ! \_He endeavows to embrace her. Blanche. The King. Say but again, thou lov'st me, Blanche ! Blanche. No ! no ! — 'tis passed. The King. I've pained thee thoughtlessly. Nay, do not sob ! Rather than force from thee Those precious drops, my Blanche, I'd die with shame, Or pass before my kingdom and my court For one unknown to gallantry and fame. A King, — and make a woman weep ! Ye gods ! Blanche. 'Tis all a cheat ! I know you jest with me ! If you be King, let me be taken home. My father weeps for me. I live hard by De Cosse's palace ; but you know it well. Alas ! who are you ? I'm bewildered ! — ^lost ! Dragg'd like a victim here 'midst cries of joy ; My brain whirls round. 'Tis but a frightful dream ! Tou, that I thought so kind. (Weeping). Alas! I think I love you not ! (suddenly starting bach). I do but fear you now ! The King (trying to take her in his arms). Tou fear me, Blanche ! 224 DRAMAS OP VICTOB HUGO. [ACT III. Blanche (resisting'). Have pity ! The Kiug (seizing her in his arms). Well, at least One pardoning kiss ! Blanche (struggling). No ! no ! The King (laughing). (Aside). How strange a girl ! Blanche (forces herself away). Help ! Ah ! that door ! [^She sees the door of the King's own room, rushes in, and closes it violently. The King (taking out a little key from his girdle). 'Tis lucky I've the key ! [He opens the door, rushes in, and locks it behind him. Maeot (who has been watching for some time at the door at the bach of the stage). She flies for safety to the King's own chamber ! Alas ! poor lamb ! (Se calls to De Gokdes, who is outside). Hey, count ! Db Gordes (peeping in). May we return ? Scene 3. — Maeot — The Couetieks — Tbiboulet. All the Courtiers come in except De Pibnne, who remains watching at the door. Maeot (pointing to the door). The sheep seeks refuge in the lion's den ! Paedaillan (overjoyed). Oh ho ! poor Triboulet ! so. III. J THE king's diversion. 225 De Pienne (entering). Hush ! hush ! he comes 1 Be all forewarned ; assume a careless air. Maeot. To none but me he spoke, nor can he guess At any here. Paedaillan. Yet might a look betray. [Enter Teiboulet. His appearance is imaltered. He has the usual dress and thoughtless deportment of the Jester, only he is very pale. [De Pienne appea/rs to he engaged in conversation, hut is privately maJcing signs and gestures to some of the young nohles, loho com scarcely repress their laughter. Teiboulet (adva-ncing slowly to the front of the stage). They all have done this ! guilt is in their looks : — Yei where concealed her ? — It were vain to ask — But to be scoffed at ! [ffe goes up to Maeot with a gay and smiling air. Ah, I'm so rejoiced To see you took no cold last night, Marot. Maeot. Last night ! Teiboulet {affecting to treat it as a jest). The trick, I own, was neatly played. Maeot. The trick ! Teiboulet. Aye ! well-contrived !. Maeot. Why, man, last night. When curfew tolled, ensconced between the sheets Q 226 DEAMAS OP VICTOB HOGO. [ACT III. I slept so soundly, that the sun. was high This morn when I awoke. Teiboulet (affecting to beli&ve), I must have dreamed, [Teiboulet sees a wMte JiandJcercMef upon the tahle, and darts wpon it ; lie examines the initials. Paedaillan [to De Piennb). See, Duke, how he devours my hankerchief ! Teiboulet (loith a sigh). Not hers ! De Pienne (to the yoimg Courtiers, who cannot control their laughter). Nay, gentlemen, what stirs your mirth ? De Goedes (pointing to Maeot). 'Tis he, by Jupiter ! Te'boulet, They're strangely moved. Sleeps the King yet, my lord ? (advancing to De Pienke.) De Pienne. He doth, good Fool. Teiboulet. Methinks I hear some stir within his room. [He attempts to approach the door, De Pienne (preventing him). You'll wake his Majesty ! De Goedes (to Paedaillan). Viscount, hear this : — Marot (the rascal) tells a pleasant tale, How the three Guys, returning Heaven knows whence, Pound each, last night, — what sayest thou. Buffoon ? — His loving wife with a gallant ! Maeot. Concealed ! sc. III.] THE king's diversion. 227 Teiboulet. Ah, 'tis a wicked world in which we live ! De Cosse. Woman's so treacherous ! Teiboulet. My Lord, take heed ! De Cosse. Of what ? Teiboulet. Beware ! the case may be your own ; Just such a pleasant tale of you they tell ; E'en now there's something peeps above your ears. [^MaJces a sign of liorns. De Cosse (in a fury'). Hah! Teiboulet {speaking to the Courtiers, and pointing to De Cosse). 'Tis indeed an animal most rare ; When 'tis provoked, how strangely wild its cry ! Hah ! (mimicleing De Cosse). [The Courtiers laugh at De Cossfi. Enter a Gentleman hearing the Queen's livery. De Pienne. Vandragon ! what now ? Gentleman. Her Majesty Would see the King, on matters of import, [De Pienne makes signs that it is impossible. Gentleman. Madame de Breze is not with him now ! De Pienne (wngrily). The King still sleeps ! 228 DEAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [aCT III. Gentleman. How, Duke ! — a moment past You were together ! Db Pienne (makes signs to the Gentleman, wlio will not imderstand hi/m, cmd which Teiboulbt observes with breathless attention). He has joined the chase. Gentleman, Indeed ! without a horse or huntsman, then, For all his equipages wait him here. De PllNNE. Confusion ! (Then i/n a rage to the messenger') Now, Sir, will you understand? The King sees nobody to-day. Teiboulbt (in a voice of thwider). She's here ! She's with the King ! [The Courtiers are alarmed.) De GoedeS. What she ? — I'faith he raves. Teiboulet. Ah, gentlemen, well know you what I mean ; Nor shall you fright me from my purpose now. She, whom last night yon ravished from my home — Base cowards all ! — Montmorency, Brion, De Pienne, and Satan (for with fiends you're leagued), She's here, — She's mine ! De Pienne. What then, my Triboulet ? You've lost a mistress ! Such a form as thine Will soon find others. Teiboulet (i/n a loud voice). Give me back my child ! so. III.] THE king's divebsion. 229 CouETiBRS (appalled). His child ! Teibodlet. My daughter ! Do you taunt me now ? Why, wolves and courtiers have their offspring too, And why not I ? Enough of this, my lords ; If 'twere a jest, 'tis ended now ! Ton laugh, — Tou whisper ! Villains ! 'twas a heartless deed. I'll tear her from you. Give me back my child ! She's there ! [He rushes to the door of the King's rowi. All the Courtiers interpose and prevent him,, Maeot. His folly has to madness turned. Teiboulbt. Base courtiers ! demons ! fawning race accurst I A maiden's honour is to you as nought — A king's fit prey — a profligate's debauch. Tour wives and daughters (if they chance to please), Belong to him. The virgin's sacred name Is deemed a treasure, burthensome to bear : A woman's but a field — a yielding farm Let out to royalty. The rent it brings, A government, a title, ribbon, star ! Not one amongst ye give me back the lie. 'Tis true, base robbers ! you would sell him all ! (to Db Goedbs) — Your sister, sir ! (to Paedailian) — Your mother ! (to Db Beion) — You ! — Your wife ! Who shall believe it ? — Nobles, dukes, and peers ; A Vermandois from Charlemagne who springs ; A Brion from Milan's illustrious duke ; A Gordes Simians ; a Pienne ; a Pardaillan ; And you, Montmorency ! What names are these 230 DBAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [aCT III, Who basely steal away a poor man's child ? O nerer from such a high and ancient race, Such blazons proud, sprung dastards such as ye, But from some favoured lacquey's stolen embrace : You're bastards all ! De Goedes. Bravo, Buffoon ! Teibodlet. How much Has the King given for this honoured service ? You're paid, — I know it. \_Tears his hair. I, who had but her, — What can the King for me ! He cannot give A name like yours, to hide me from mine own : Nor shape my limbs, nor make my looks more smooth. Hell ! — he has taken all ! I'll ne'er go hence Till she's restored ! Look at this trembling hand, — 'Tis but a serf's ; no blood illustrious there ; — Unarmed you think, because no sword it bears, — But with my nails I'll tear her from ye all ! \JSe rushes agadn at the door — all the Courtiers close ivpon him ; he struggles desperatehj for some time, but at length, exhausted, he falls on his Jcnees ai the front of the stage. All ! all combined against me ! ten to one ! {turning to Maeot). Behold these tears, Marot ! — Be merciful ; Thine is a soul inspired. Oh, have a heart ! Tell me she's here ! Ours is a common cause, For thou alone, amidst this lordly throng, Hast wit and sense. Marot ! — Oh, good Marot ! {turns to the Courtiers). Even at your feet, my Lords, I sue for grace ; I'm sick at heart ; alas, be merciful ! Some other day I'll bear your humours better ; For many a year, your poor mis-shaped Buffoon so. III.] THE king's diversion. 231 Has made you sport — aye, when his heart would break. Forgive your Triboulet, nor vent your spleen On one so helpless ; give me back my child — My only treasure — all that I possess ! Without her, nothing in this world is mine. Be kind to me ! another night like this Would sear my brain, and whiten o'er my hair. \_The door of the King's room opens, and Blanche, agitated amd disordered, rushes out, and, with aery of terror, throws herself into her father's arms. Blanche. J[y father, ah! (She Juries her head in her father's bosom). Teiboulet. My Blanche ! my darling child ! Look ye, good Sirs, the last of all my race. Dear angel ! — Gentlemen, you'll bear with me — You'll pardon, I am sure, these tears of joy, A child like this, whose gentle innocence Even to look on makes the heart more pure, Could not be lost, you'll own, without a pang. (to Blanche). Fear nothing now ; 'twas but a thoughtless jest, ■ Something to laugh at. — How they frightened thee ! Confess it, Blanche. [Embraces her fondly. But I'm so happy now. My heart's so full, I never knew before How much I loved. I laugh, that once did weep To lose thee ; yet to hold thee thus again, Is surely bliss. — But thou dost weep, my child ? Blanche (covering her face with her hand). Oh, hide me from my shame ! Teiboulet (starting). What mean'st thou, Blanche ? Blanche (pointing to the Courtiers). Not before these ; I'd blush and speak, alone. 232 DRAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [ACT III. Teiboulet (turns in an agovy to the King's door). Monster ! — She too ! Blanche (sohhing and falling at Ms feet). Alone with thee, my father ! Teiboulet (striding towards the Courtiers), Go, get ye hence ! And if the King pretend To turn his steps this way, (to Veemandois) You're of his guard ! Tell him he dare not ! — Triboulet is here ! Db Pienne. Of all the fools, no fool e'er equalled this. De Goedes. To fools and children sometimes must wB yield, Yet will we watch without, [Exeunt all the Courtiers but De Cosse. Teiboulet. Speak freely to me, Blanche. (He twns and sees De Cosse, (In a voice of thunder). You heard me, Sir ? De Cosse (retiring precipitately). These fools permit themselves strange liberties. Scene 4. — Teiboulet — Blanche. Teiboulet (gravely and sternly). Now, speak ! Blanche (with downcast eyes, interrupted hy sobs). Dear father, 'twas but yesternight He stole within the gate (She hides her face). I cannot speak. so. I?.] THE king's diversion. 233 [Tbiboulet presses her in his arms, and Jcisses her , forehead tenderly. But long ago, (I should have told you then,) He followed me, yet spoke not, and at church, As sure as Sunday came, this gentleman TfiiBOULET (fiercely). The King ! Blanche. Passed close to me, and, as I think, Disturbed my chair, that I might look on him. Last night he gained admittance. Teiboulet. Stop, my child ; I'll spare thy shame the pang of telling it ; I guess the rest, (He stands erect,) Oh, sorrow, most complete ! His loathsome touch has withered on thy brow The virgin wreath of purity it wore. And in its stead has left the brand of shame ! The once pure air that did environ thee His breath has sullied. Oh, my Blanche ! my child I Once the sole refuge of my misery. The day that woke me from a night of woe. The soul through which mine own had hopes of Heaven, A veil of radiance, covering my disgrace. The haven still for one by all accurst. An angel left by God to bless my tears. The only sainted thing I e'er did trust ! What am I now ? Amidst this hollow court, Where vice, and infamy, and foul debauch, With riot wild, and bold effrontery, reign ; These eyes, aweary with the sight of crime, Turned to thy guileless soul to find repose ; Then could I bear my fate, my abject fate. My tears, the pride that swelled my bursting heart. 234 DKAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [aCT III. The witty sneers that sharpened on my woes — Yes, all the pangs of sorrow and of shame I could endure, but not thy wrongs, my child ! Aye, hide thy face and weep ; at thy young age Some part of anguish may escape in tears ; Pour what thou, can'st into a father's heart. (Abstractedly.) But now, enough. The matter once despatched, We leave this city, — aye, if I escape ! [Turning with redoubled rage to the King's chamber, Prancis the First ! May God, who hears my prayer. Dig in thy path a bloody sepulchre, And hurl thee down, unshrived, and gorged with sin ! BiANOHE (aside). Grant it not. Heaven ! for I love him still. Db Pibnne (speaJcing outside), De Montchenu, guard hence to the Bastile Monsieur St. Yallier, now your prisoner. Enter St. Valliee, Montchenu, and Soldiers. St. Valliee. Since neither Heaven doth strike, nor pitying man Hath answered to my curse on this proud King, Steeped to the lip in crime, — why, then 'tis sure The monarch prospers, and my curse is vain. Teiboulet (iurtiing roimd, and confronting him). Old man, 'tis false ! There's one shall strike for thee ! END OF THE THIED ACT. ACT FOURTH: BLANCHE. Scene 1. — The scene represents the Place de la Greve, near la Tournelle, an ancient gate of the City of Paris. On the right is a miserable hovel, which purports, hy a rude sign, to he house of entertainment, or auberge of the lowest description. The front of the house is towards the spectators, and is so arranged, that the inside is easily seen. The lower room is wretchedly furnished. There is a table, a large chimney, and a narrow staircase lead- ing to a sort of loft or garret above, containing a truclde bed, easily seen through the loindow. The side of the building to the left of the actor has a door which opens inwards. The wall is dilapidated, and so full of clmiks and apertures, that what is passing in the house may be witnessed by an observer outside. The remainder of the stage represents the Greve. On the left is am old ruined wall and parapet, at the foot of which runs the river Seine. In the distance beyond the river is seen the old City of Paris. Teibodlet — Blanche outside — Saltabadil inside the house. [During the ivhole of this scene, Teiboulet has the ap- pearance of one anxious and fearful of surprise. Saltabadil sits in the Auberge, near the table, engaged in cleaning his belt, and iwt hearing what is passing without. Teiboulet. Thoulov'st him still? 236 EEAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [ACT IV, Blanche. For ever ! Teiboulet. Yet I gave TuU time to cure tkee of this senseless dream. Blanche. Indeed, I love him. Teiboulet. Ah, 'tis woman's heart ! But, Blanche, explain thy reasons — why dost love ? Blanche. I know not. Teiboulet. 'Tis most strange ! — incredible ! Blanche. Not so ! — It may be 'tis for that I love — Say that a man doth risk his life for ours. Or husband bring us riches, rank and fame, Do women therefore love ? — In truth, I know, All he hath brought me are but wrongs and shame. And yet I love him, tho' I know not why. Whate'er is linked with him ne'er quits my mind. 'Tis madness, father ! Can'st thou pardon still ? Though he hath wronged, and thou art ever kind, For him I'd die as surely as for theee. Teiboulet. I do forgive thee. Blanche. Then he loves me too. Teiboulet. Insensate ! — No ! Blanche, He pledged his faith to me. so. I.] THE king's diversion. 237 And with a solemn oath confirmed his vows, Such loving things ! — with such resistless grace He speaks, no woman's heart his truth can doubt. His words, his looks, so eloquent, so kind, 'Tis a true King, a handsome, and a brave ! Teiboulet. 'Tis a cold, perjured, and relentless fiend ! Tet 'scapes he not my vengeance. Blanche. Dearest father, Tou once forgave him. Teiboulet. Till the snare was spread For his dark villainy, I dared not strike. Blanche. 'Tis now a month — (I tremble as I speak) — You seemed to love the King. Teiboulet. 'Twas but pretence ; Thou shalt have vengeance ! Blanche. Father, spare your child ! Teiboulet. Thy senseless passion might be turned to hate, If he deceived thee. Blanche. He ! I'll ne'er believe it ! Teiboulet. What if those eyes, that plead his cause with tears. Beheld his perfidy — would'st love him still ? 238 DRAMAS OF VICTOK HUGO. [ACT IT. Blanche. I cannot tell. He loves me ! nay, adores. 'Twas but last niglit Teiboulet (interrupting her, sneeringly). What time ? Blanche. About this hour. Triboulet. Then witness here, and, if thou can'st, forgive ! [He draws her to the house, mid directs her gaze through one of the apertures in the wall, where all that passes ivithin may he seen. Blanche. Nought but a man I see. Teiboulet. Look now ! [The King, dressed as an Officer, a^ears from a door u'hich communicates with am, apartment within. Blanche (starting). Oh, father ! ^During the following scene, Blanche remains, fixed as a statue, against the fissure in the wall, ohservi/iig what is passing within, inattentive to all else, and only agitated from time to time with a convulsive shudder. Scene 2. — Blanche — Teibodlbt outside — Saltabadil — The King — Maguelonnb inside. The King (striking QkLikBAniL familiarly on the shoidda'). Two things at once — your sister and a glass ! SC. II.J THE king's. DIVERSION. 239 Teiboulet (aside). The morals of a King by grace divine ; Who risks his life in low debaucheries, And doth prefer the wine that damns his sense, If proffered by some tavern Hebe's hand I The King (sings). " Changeful woman, constant never, He's a fool who trusts her ever. For her love the wind doth blow, Like a feather, to and fro." ' [Saltabadil goes sullenly to the next room, returning ivith a bottle and glass, loliich he places on the table. He then strikes twice on the floor with the handle of Ms long sword, and at this signal a young girl, dressed in the Gipsy dress, bounds quickly down the stair. As she enters, the King tries to seize her in his arms, but she slips aivay. Saltabadil re- commences cleaning his belt. The King (to Satabadil). My friend, thy buckle would be brighter far Cleaned in the open air. Saltabadil (sullenly). I understand. [He rises, salutes the King awkwardly, opens the door and comes out. He sees Teiboulet, and com^s cautiously towards him. Blanche sees nothing hut the young Gipsy girl, who is dancing round the King. Saltabadil (in a low voice fo. Teiboulet). Shall he die now ? ' The reader's attention is requested to these verses. They are made the means of producing, in the Fifth Act, a most startling dra- matic effect. 240 DEAMAS OF YICTOR HUGO. [ACT IV. Tkiboulet. Not yet ! — return anon. [Teiboulet makes signs to Mm to retire. Saltabadil disappears hehind the parapet wall. Meantime the King endeavov/rs to ca/ress the young Gvpsy, No, No ! Maguelonne (slipping away). The King, Thou ofiferest too much: defence. A truce ! Come hither ! (The girl draws nearer). • 'Tis a week ago, At Triancourt's Hotel, (Ah, let me see. Who took me there ? — I think 'twas Triboulet,) There first I gazed upon that beauteous face. 'Tis just a week, my goddess, that I love thee, And thee alone. Maguelonne. And twenty more besides ; To me, a most accomplished rake you seem. The King. Well, well ! I own some hearts have ached for me. True, I'm a monster ! Maguelonne. Coxcomb ! The King. 'Tis most true ! But, tempter, 'twas your beauty lured me here. With most adventurous patience to endure A dinner of the vilest ; — and such wine ! Your brother's hang-dog looks have soured it : An ugly wretch ! How dares he shew his face So near those witching eyes and lips of bliss ! SC. II.] THE king's DIVEESION. 241 It matters not. I stir not hence to-night. Maguelonnb (aside). He courts the snare ! (to the King, who tries to embrace her). Excuse me ! The King. Why resist ? Maguelonne. Be wise ! The King. Why this is wisdom, Jlaguelonne, Eat, drink, and love ; I hold exactly there With old King Solomon. Maguelonne (laughing). Ha ! ha ! I think Thou lov'st the tavern better than the church. The King (stretching out his arms to catch her). Dear Maguelonne ! Maguelonne (runs round behind the table). To-morrow ! The King (seizing the table with both hands). ^ Say again That odious word, thy fence I'll overthrow ; The lip of beauty ne'er should say to-morrow. Maguelonne (comes suddenly round and sits by the King). Well, let's be friends ! The King (taking her hand). Ah, what a hand is thine ! So soft, so taper ! — 'twere a Christian's part, Without pretence to over sanctity. To court thy blow, and turn his cheek for more. Maguelonne (pleased). You mock me. E 242 deamas of victor hugo. [act it, The King. Never ! Magttelonnb. But I am not fair. The King. Unkind to me, and to thyself unjust ! Queen of inexorables, know'st thou not How tyrant love doth rule the soldier's heart ? " And if bright beauty doth our suit approve, Though 'twere 'midst Russia's snows, we blaze with love." Magdelonnb (bursting into a Jit of lattghter). I'm sure you've read that somewhere in a book. The King {aside). Quite possible ! (Aloud.') Come, kiss me ! Maguelonne. Sir, you're drunk ! The King. With love ! Maguelonne. I know you do but jest with me. And couch your v?it against a silly girl. [The King succeeds m giving her a hiss, and tries a second time, which she refuses. Enough ! The King. I'll marry thee. Maguelonne {laughing). Tou pledge your word. [The King clasps her round the waist, and whispers in her ear. BLANCHE,'Mraa&Ze to bear the scene any longer, turns round, and totters towards her father. Teiboulet (after contemplating her for some time in silence), What think'st thou now of vengeance, my poor child ? so. ii.l THE king's diversion. 243 Blanche. Betrayed ! ungrateful ! — Oh, my heart will break ! He hath no soul, no pity, kindness — none ! Eyen to that girl, who loves him not, he says The same fond words that once he said to ' le. [Hides her head in her father's bosom. And oh, that shameless creature ! Teiboulbt. Hash ! no more ! Enough of tears, leave now revenge to me! Blanche. Do as thou wilt. Teiboulet. I thank thee. Blanche. Tet, alas ! Father, I tremble when I read thy looks. What would'st thou do ? Teiboulet. I pray thee, ask me not ! All is prepared ! — Now to our house, my child ; There quick disguise thee as a cavalier. Mount a swift steed, and store thy purse with gold ; — Hie thee to Evreux, stop not on the road. And by to-morrow's eve I'll join thee there. Beneath thy mother's portrait stands a chest — Thou know'st it well — the dress lies ready there. The horse stands saddled. Do as I have said, But come not here again; for here shall pass A deed most terrible. Go now, dear Blanche ! Blanche. You'll surely come with me ? Teiboulet. Impossible ! 244 DRAMAS OP VICIOK HUGO. [aCT IV. Blanche (aside). My heart feels sick and faint. Tkibodlet. Now, fare thee well ! Remember, Blanche, do all as I have said ! [Exit Blanche. [Paring this scene, the King and Maguelonnb continue laughing, and tdlhing m a low voice. As soon as Blanche is gone, Teibotjlet goes to the parapet and makes a sign for Saltabadil who appears from iehind the wall. Night draws on ; the stage becomes da/rJcer. Scene 3. — Teiboulet — Saltabadil outside : — The King — Maguelonnb (inside the house). Teiboulet (counting out the gold to Saltabadil). Ton ask for twenty, — here are ten in hand. Art sure he stays the night ? [He stops in the act of giving him the money. Saltabadil (goes to examine the appearance of the night). The storm comes on. In one short hour, the tempest and the rain Shall aid my sister to detain him here. Teiboulet. At midnight I return. Saltabadil. No need of that. Thank Heaven, I've strength enough, nnhelped, to throw A corpse into the Seine. Teiboulet. That triumph's mine. These hands alone shall do it. so. IV.] THE king's DIVERSION. 246 Saltabadil. As for that, Even as you please ; 'tis no afiFair of mine. I balk no fancies. In a sack concealed, Tour man shall be delivered you to-night. Teiboulet (gives Mm the gold). 'Tis well ! — At midnight, and the rest are thine. Saltabadil. It shall be done ! How call you this gallant ? Teiboulet. Would'st know his name ? — Then hear mine own as well, For mine is chasUsement, and his is crime ! \Exit Teiboulet. Scene 4. — Saltabadil — The King — ^Maguelonne. [Saltabadil, alone outside, examines the appearcmce of the shy, whic7^ is becoming gradually more overcast. It is almost night. The lightning flashes, and thunder is heard in the distance. Saltabadil. The storm o'erhangs the city, — aye, that's well. This place will soon be lonely as the grave. 'Tis a strange business this, and, by my head ! I cannot fathom it. These people seem Possessed with something that I can't divine. [He examines the shy again. During this time the King is laughing with Maguelonne. Tie endea- vou/rs to embrace her, Maguelonne (repulsing him). My brother's coming ! 246 dramas of tictoe hugo. [act iv, The King. Sweetest one, what then ? Saltabadil enters, closing the door after him. A loud peal of thmider. Maguelonnb. Hark, how it thunders ! Saltabadil. Listen to the rain. The King. Well, let it rain ! 'tis onr good pleasure here To stop this night. [Slaving SaltabadiIi on the shoulder. Maguelonnb (lanighdng at hirri). 'Tis our good pleasure ! Well ! This is a King indeed ! Tour family May be alarmed. [Saltabadil makes signs to her not to prevmt him. The King. Nor wife nor child have I. I care for none. Saltabadil (aside). There's Providence in that. [The rainfalls heawily. The night becomes quite darJe, The King. Thou, fellow, may'st go sleep, e'en where thou wilt. Saltabadil (bowing). Most happy. Maguelonnb (in an ea/mest whisper, while lighting thelamp). Get thee hence ! The King (laughs and speaks aloud). In such a night ! I'd scarcely turn a poet out of doors. sc. IV.] THE kikq's biveksion. 247 Saltabadil (aside to Maguelonne, slwwing the gold). Let liim remain. I've ten good crowns of gold — As much more when 'tis done ! (To the King) Most proud am I To offer my poor chamber for the night. The King. Beshrew me now, 'tis some infernal den, Where summer bakes one, and December's snows Freeze every vein. Saltabadil. I'll show it, with your leave. The King. Lead on ! [Saltabadil takes the lamp ; the King goes to Mague- lonne, and whispers something in her ear. Then both mount the narrow staircase, Saltabadil pre- ceding the King. Maguelonne (she loohs out at the window). Ah, poor young m.an ! How dark without. [The King and Saltabadil a/re seen through the window of tlie room above. Saltabadil (to the King). Here is a bed, a table, and a chair ! The King (measuring tliem). Three, six, nine feet in all. Thy furniture Hath surely fought at Marignan, my friend, 'Tis chopped, and cut, and hacked so wondrous small. \_He examines the window, in which there is no glass. How healthy 'tis to sleep i' the open air : No glass — ^no curtains ! sure the gentle breeze Was ne'er more courteously received than here. Good night, good fellow ! 248 DEAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [ACT IV. Saltabadil (descending the stairs). Heaven preserve you, sir ! •Si The King. In truth, I'm weary, and would sleep awhile. — [ne places his hat and sword on the chair, takes off his boots, and throws himself on the bed. 'Tis a sweefc girl ! — that Maguelonne, so gay. So fresh, so young. I trust the door's unbarred. [ffe gets up amd tries the lock. Ah, 'tis all right ! [Throws himself again on the bed, and is soon fast [Maguelonne and Saltabadil are sitting down below. The tempest rages. Thunder, lightning, and rain incessant, Maguelonne sits with some needle- worh, Saltabadil, with a nonchalant air, is emptying the bottle of wine the King has left. Both seem lost in thought, Maguelonne (after a pause of some dwration). Methinks this Cavalier Most prepossessing ! Saltabadil. Faith, I think so, too — He fills my purse with twenty crowns of gold ! Maguelonne. How manyp Saltabadil. Twenty. Maguelonne. Oh, he's worth much more ! Saltabadil. Go up, pert doll ! and if his sleep be sound, Bring down his sword ! SC. lY.J THE king's DIVERSION. 249 QMagublonnb oheys. The storm rages violently. At this moment BhAinmL enters from the hack of the stage, dressed as a mem, in a black ridiiig habit, hoots, and spws. — She advances slowly to the crevice in the wall. Meamuhile Saltabadil continues to drinJc ; and Maguelonnb, with a lamp in her hand, bends over the sleeping King. Maguelonnb. He sleeps. Alas ! poor youth. \She brings down his sword to Saltabadil. Scene 5. — The King asleep in the upper room. Saltabadil and Magublonne in the room hehw, Blanche outside. Blanche {walking slowly in the dark, guided by the flashes of lightning. Thunder incessant), A deed most terrible ! ! Is reason fled ? There's something more than nature buoys me up : — Even in this dreadful house he stops to-night ! Oh, pardon, Father, pardon my return — My disobedience ! I could bear no more The agony of doubt that racked my soul — I, who have lived, till now, unknowing all The tears and sorrows of this cruel world Midst peace and flowers ! — now am hurled at once From happy innocence to guilt and shame ! Love tramples on the ruined edifice Of virtue's temple, that his torch has seared ! His fire's extinct — the ashes but remain : — He loves me not ! Was that the thunder's voice ? It wakes me from my thoughts ! Oh, fearful night ! Despair has nerved my heart — my woman's heart That once feared shadows ! [Sees the light in the upper window. 250 DRAMAS OF TICTOB HUGO. [ACT IT. Ah, what is't they do ? How my heart throbs ! They would not slay him, sure ? [^Noise of thunder and rain. Saltabadil (laithin). Heaven growls above as though 'twere married strife — One curses, — t' other drowns the earth with tears. Blanche. Oh, if my father knew his child were here ! Magdelonne (within). Brother ! Blanche (startled). Who spoke ? Maguelonnb (louder). Why, brother ? Saltabadil, Maguelonne. Thou canst not read my thoughts ? Saltabadil. Magdelonne. Saltabadil. The fiend confound thee ! Well, what now ? Not I! But guess ! Magdelonne. Come ! this fine young man- So tall ! so handsome I — ^who lies wrapped in sleep As thoughtless and as trusting as a child ! — We'll spare his life ! Blanche. Oh, heaven ! so. v.] THE king's DIVERSION. 251 Saltabadil. Take thou this sack, And sew these broken seams. Maguelonne. What would yon do ? Saltabadil. E'en place therein thy handsome, tall gallant. When my keen blade hath dealt with him above, And sink his carcase, garnished with yon stone, Deep in the river's bed. Maguelonne. But— Saltabadil. Silence, girl ! Urge me no more. Maguelonne. Yet— Saltabadil. Wilt thou hold thy peace ? Wert thou consulted, no one would be slain. On with thy work. Blanche. What dreadful pair are these ! Is it on hell I gaze ? Maguelonne. Well, I obey : But you must hear me. Saltabadil. Umph! Maguelonne. You do not hate This gentleman. 262 DEAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [ACT IV. Saltabadil. Not I. I love the man That bears a sword. 'Tis by the sword I live. Maguelonne. Why stab a handsome youth, to please, forsooth, An ugly hunchback, crooked as an S ! Saltabadil. Hark ye awhile, the simple case I'll state. A hunchback gives, to slay a handsome man — I care not whom, — ten golden crowns in hand. And ten besides, whene'er the deed is done. Of course — he dies ! Maguelonne. Why not the old man slay When he returns to pay thee o'er the gold ? 'Twere all the same. Blanche. My father ! Saltabadil (with indignation). Hark ye now : — I'll hear no more of this. Am I a thief, — A bandit, cut-throat, cheat ? Would'st have me rob The client who employs and pays my sword ? Maguelonne. Couldst thou not place this log within the sack ? The night's so dark, the cheat he could not tell. Saltabadil. Ha ! ha ! Thy trick would scarce deceive the blind. There's something in the clammy touch of death That baffles imitation. Maguelonne. Spare his life ! so. v.] THE king's diveesion. 253 Saltabadil. I say — he dies ! Magublonne. I'll scare him from his sleep : — Save and protect him hence. Blanche, Good, generous girl ! Saltabadil. My twenty crowns ! He mnst not live. Maguelonne. 'Tis true ! Saltabadil. Hear reason, then : Maguelonne. I say he shall not die ! [She places herself in a determined attitude at the foot of the stairs ; Saltabadil, fearing to waJce the King, stops in his purpose, apparently thinhinrj how to compromise the affair. Saltabadil. Hear me : — At midnight comes my patron back j If any stranger chance to pass this way, And claim our shelter, ere the bell shall toll, I'll strike him dead, — and offer, in exchange. His mangled body for thy puppet yonder. So that the corse he throws into the Seine, He cannot guess the change. But this is all That I can do for thee. Maguelonne. Gramercy, brother, — In the fiend's name, who'er can pass this way ? 254 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HCJQO. [aCT IV. Saltabadil. Nought else can save his life ! Maguelonnb. At such an honr ! Blanche. Oh God ! thou temptest me ! Thou bid'st me die To save a perjured life ! Oh, spare me yet ! I am too young. Urge me not thus, my heart ! [Thunder rolls. Oh, agony ! Should I go call the guard ? No, all is silence ! darkness reigns around : — Besides, these demons would denounce my father ; Dear father, I should live to thank thy love, — To cherish and support thy failing years. Only sixteen ! — 'tis hard to die so young ; — To feel the keen, sharp dagger at my heart ! Ah me ! how cold the plashing rain comes down ! My brain seems fire — but my limbs are ice ! l_A clock in the distance strikes one quarter. Saltabadil. 'Tis time ! [_The clock strikes two more quarters. Three-quarters past eleven now ! Hear'st thou no footsteps ? Ere the midnight hour. It must be done. [He puts Ms foot on the first stair. Maguelonnb (hursts into tears'). Oh, brother, wait awhile ! Blanche. This woman weeps, yet J refuse to save. He loves me not ! Have I not prayed for death ? That death would save him, but my heart recoils. Saltabadil {^attempting to pass Maguelonne). I'll wait no longer. sc. v.] the kings diteesion. 255 Blanche. If he'd strike me dead With one sharp sadden blow ! not gash my face, Or mangle me. How chilling falls the rain ! Oh, it is horrible to die so cold. [Saltabadil again attempts to pass Maquelonne. Blanche gradually drags herself round to the door, and gives a feeble Ttnock. Maguelonne. A knock . Saltabadil. 'Tis but the wind. Maguelonne (Blanche hnocks again). Again ! — a knock ! \_She runs to the window, opens it, and looks out, Saltabadil (aside). 'Tis passing strange ! Maguelonne. Who's there ? (Aside to Saltabadil.) A traveller ! Blanche (faintly). A night's repose ! Saltabadil (aside). A sound eternal sleep ! Maguelonne (aside). Aye, a long night indeed ! Blanche. Haste ! haste ! — I faint ! Saltabadil. Give me the knife ! Maguelonne. Poor wretch ! his hand hath struck 266 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT IV. Upon the portal of his tomb ! (Aside to Saltabadil.) Be quick ! Saltabadil. Behind the door, I'll strike him as he comes. Maguelonne (opening the door to Blakche.), Come in ! Blanche (shuddering'). I dare not ! Maguelonne (half dragging her in), 'Tis too late for that ! [J.S she passes tlie threshold, Saltabadil strikes, [The Curtain falls. END OP THE FOUETH ACT. ACT FIFTH: TRIBOULET. Scene 1. — The Stage represents the same scene as the Fourth Act ; hut the house of Saltabadil is completely closed. There is no light within. All is darlcness. [Tbiboulet comes slowly from the hack of the stage, enveloped in Ms mantle. The storm has somewhat diminished in violence. The rain has ceased; hut there arte occasional flashes of lightning, and distant ihimder is heard. Tkiboulet. Now is the triumph mine ! The blow is struck That pays a lingering month of agony. 'Midst sneers and ribald jests, the poor Buflfoon Shed tears of blood beneath his mask of smiles. [Sxamifies the door of the house. This is the door — oh vengeance exquisite != — Thro' which the corse of him I hate shall pass The hour has not yet tolled ; yet am I here To gaze upon thy tomb ! Mysterious night ! [Thwider. In heaven a tempest ; murder upon earth ! Now am I great indeed. My just revenge Joins with the wrath of God. I've slain the King ! ! And such a king ! — upon whose breath depends The thrones of twenty monarchs ; and ■^hose voice Declares to trembling millions, peace or war ! He wields the destinies of half mankind, And falling thus, the world shall sink with him. 'Tis I that strike this mighty Atlas down ! S 258 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT V. Through me, all Europe shall his loss bewail. Affrighted earth, e'en from its utmost bounds, Shall shriek ! Thy arm hath done this, Triboulet. Triumph, Buffoon ! — exult thee in thy pride ; A fool's revenge the globe itself doth shake ! \_The storm continues, A distant elooTc strikes twelve. The hour ! ! [He runs to the door, and hnooks loudly. Voice (Jrom witlwi). Who knocks ? Tkibotjlet. 'Tis I ! admit me ! haste ! Voice (within). All's well ; but enter not ! [The lower half of the door is oj)ened, and Saltabadil crawls out, dragging after him an ohlong-shajied mass, scarcely distinguishable in the darkness of the night. Scene 2. — Teiboulet — Saltabadil. Saltabadil. How dull a load. Lend me your aid awhile ; within this sack Tour man lies dead ! Teiboulet. I'll look upon his face. Bring me a torch ! Saltabadil. By all the saints, not I. Teiboulet. What, canst thou stab, yet fear to look on death ? sc. III.] THE king's diversion. 259 Saltabadil. The guard I fear ! — the archers of the night ; You'll have no light from me. My task is done. The gold ! [Tkiboulet gives it to him, then turns to gaze on the dead body, Teiboulet. 'Tis there ! (Adde) — so hatred hath its joys! Saltabadil. Shall not I help you to the river's side ? Teiboulet. Alone I'll do it. Saltabadil. Lighter 'twere for both. Teiboulet. 'Tis a sweet load ; to me 'tis light indeed ! Saltabadil. Well, as you will ; but cast it not from hence. [Pointing to aiiother part of the wall. The stream runs deepest there. Be quick. Good-night. [He re-enters the house, closing the door after him. Scene 3. — Teiboulet alone, his eyes fixed on the body, Teiboulet. There lies he ! dead ! Would I could see him now. [He examines the sach. It matters not, 'tis he ! — his spurs peep forth. Yes ! yes ! 'tis he ! [He rises wp and places his foot on the body. Now, giddy world, look on ! Here see the Jester ! There, the King of Kings, 260 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT T. Monarcli o'er all, nnrivalled, Lord supreme ! Beneatli my feet I spurn him as he lies, , The Seine his sepulchre, this sack his shroud. Who hath done this ? 'Tis I — and I alone. Stupendous victory ! When morning dawns The slavish throng will scarce believe the tale, But future ages, nations yet unborn Shall own, and shudder at, the mighty deed. What, Francis of Yalois, thou soul of fire, Great Charles's greater rival. King of France, And God of battles ! at whose conquering step The very battlements have quaked for fear ! Hero of Marignan, whose arm o'erthrew Legions of soldiers, scattered like the dust Before the impetuous wind ! whose actions beamed Like stars o'ershining all the universe. Art thou no more ? — unshrived, unwept, unknown, Struck down at once ! In all thy power and pride, From all thy pomps, thy vanities, thy lusts. Dragged off and hidden like a babe malformed ; Dissolved, extinguished, melted into air ; Appeared and vanished like the lightning's flash. Perhaps to-morrow, — haggard ! trembling ! pale ! And prodigal of gold — thro' every street Criers shall shout, to wond'ring passers by, Francis the First— Francis the First is lost ! 'Tis strange ! {After a short silenae.') But thou, my poor long-suffering child, Thou hast thy vengeance. What a thirst was mine That craved for blood ! Gold gave the draught ! 'Tis quench'd ! l_He hends over the body in a Jit of ungovernaMe rage. Perfidious monster ! Oh, that thou couldst hear ! My child, more precious than a monarch's crown. My child, who never injured aught that breathed, Tou foully robbed me of, and gave her back sc. III. THE king's ditbesion. 261 Disgraced and shamed ; but now the triumph's mine. With well dissembled art I lured thee on, And bade thy caution sleep, as if the woe That breaks a father's heart could e'er forgive ! 'Twas a hard strife, tlie weak against the strong : The weak hath conquered ! He who kissed thy foot Hath gnawed thy heartstrings. Dost thou hear me now, Thou King of Gentlemen ! The wretched slave, The Pool, Buffoon, scarce worth the name of man — He whom thou called'st dog — now gives the blow ! [He strikes the dead body. 'Tis vengeance speaks, and at its voice the soul, How base soe'er, bursts from its thralling sleep. The vilest are ennobled, changed, transformed : Then from its scabbard, like a glittering sword, The poor oppressed one, draws his hatred forth, The stealthy cat's a tiger, and the Pool Becomes the executioner of kings. Would he could feel how bitterly I hate ! But 'tis enough. Go seek thou in the Seine Some loyal current that against the stream May bear thy mangled corse to Saint Denis. Accursed Prancis ! [Re takes the sack hy one end, and drags it to the edge of the wall ; as he is about to place it on the parapet Maguelonne comes out, loohs round anxiously, and returns with the King, to whom she makes signs that he may now escape wiseen. At the moment that Teibouiet is about to throw the body into the Seine, the King leames the stage in the opposite direction, singing carelessly, — The King. " Changeful woman ! — constant never ! He's a fool who trusts her eroer !" 262 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT V. Tbiboulet (dropping the body on the siage) Hah ! what voice was that ? Some spectre of the night is mocking me ! [He twms rovnd, and listens in a state of great agita- tion. The voice of the King is agcdn heard in the distance. The King. " For her love the wind doth hlow Lihe a feather to and fro," Teieoulet. Now, by the curse of Hell ! This is not he ! Some one hath saved him ! — robbed me of my prey ! — Betrayed ! betrayed ! [Buns to the house, hut onhj the wpper window is open. Assassins ! — 'Tis too high ! What hapless victim has supplied his place — What guiltless life ? — I shudder ! {Feels the body.) 'Tis a corpse ! But, who hath perished ? 'Tis in vain to seek From this abode of hell — a torch to break The pitchy darkness of this fearful night ! I'll wait the lightning's glare ! [ffe waits some moments, his eyes fixed on the half- opened sach, from which he has partly drawn forth the body of Blanche. Scene 4. — Tbiboulet — Blanche. A flash of lightning ! Tbiboulet starts wp with a fremied scream. Tbiboulet. Oh, God ! My child ! Hah, what is this ? My hands are wet with blood — so. IV.] THE king's DIVERSION. 263 My daughter ! Oh, my brain ! — Some hideous dream Hath seized my senses ! 'Tis impossible ! But now she left me ! Heaven be kind to me ! 'Tis but a maddening vision — 'tis not she ! \_Another flash of lightning. It is my child — my daughter ! Dearest Blanche ! These fiends have murdered thee! Oh, speak, my child! Speak to thy father ! Is there none to help ? Speak to me, Blanche ! My child ! My child ! Oh, God I [Se sinks down exhausted. Blanche, (Half-dying, hut rallying at the cries of her father — In a faint voice — ) Who calls on me ? Teiboulet (in an ecstasy of joy). She speaks ! She grasps my hand ! Her heart beats yet ! All-gracious Heaven, she lives ! Blanche. \She raises herself to a sitting position. Her coat has been taken off, her shirt is covered with Mood, her hair hangs loose ; the rest of her body is concealed. Where am I ? Teiboulet. Dearest, sole delight on earth, Hear'st thou my voice ? Thou know'st me now ? Blanche. My father I Triboulet. Who hath done this? What dreadful mystery ! I dare not touch, lest I should pain thee, Blanche. I cannot see, but gently guide my hand. Where art thou hurt ? 264 DRAMAS OF TICTOE HUGO, [ACT V. Blanche (jgaspmg for breath). The knife — has reached — my heart. I felt — it pierce me. Triboulbt. Who has struck the blow ? Blanche. The fault's mine own, for I deceived thee, father ! I loved too well ! And 'tis for him — I die. Triboulet. Oh, retribution dire ! — the dark revenge I plotted for another falls on me ! But how ? — what hand ? — Blanche, if thou can'st, explain ! Blanche. Oh, ask me not to speak ! Triboulet (covering her with hisses). Forgive me, Blanche ! And yet to lose thee thus ! Blanche. I cannot breathe ! Turn me this way ! — Some air ! Triboulet. Blanche, Blanche ! my child ! Oh, do not die ! (Turns round in desipair.) Help, help ! Will no one come ? Will no one help my child ? The ferry bell Hangs close against the wall. An instant now I'll leave thee, but to call assistance here. And bring thee water. [Blanche makes signs that it is useless. Tet I must have aid. (Shouts for help.) What, ho ! — Oh, live to bless your father's heart ! My child, my treasure, all that I possess sc. IV.] THE king's diveesion. 265 Is thee, my Blanche ! — I cannot part with thee ! Oh, do not die ! Blanche (in the agony of death). Help, father ! — Raise me np ! Give me some air ! Teiboulet. My arm hath pressed on thee. I am too rough. I think 'tis better now. Thou hast more ease, dear Blanche ! — For mercy's sake, Try but to breathe till some one pass this way To bring thee succour ^Help ! Oh, help my child ! Blanche (with difficulty). Forgive him, father ! [She dies. Her head falls bach on Ms shoulder. Teiboulet (vii an agony). Blanche ! — She's dying ; — Help ! [jffe runs to the ferry -bell, and rings it fwriously. Watch ! murder ! help ! [He returns to Blanche. Oh, speak to me again. One word — one, only one. In mercy speak ! [Essaying to lift her up. Why wilt thou lie so heavily, my child ? ^Only si;steen! — so young ! Thou art not dead. ftiou would'st not leave me thus. Shall thy sweet voice e'er bless thy father more ? Oh, God of Heaven ! W^hy should this be ? How cruel 'twas to give So\\weet a blessing. Tet forbear to take Her soul away ere all its worth I knew. Why didst thou let me count my treasure o'er ? Would'st thou had died an infant ! aye, before Thy mother's arms had clasped thee ! or that day (When quite a child) thy playmates wounded thee, I could have borne the loss. But, oh, not now, My child ! my child ! [A number of people, alarmed by the ringing of the bell, 26(3 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [aCT V. now come in, being present during the latter pa/rt of the foregoing speech. A Woman. His sorrow wrings my heart ! Teiboulet. So ye are come at last ! — ^indeed, 'twas time ! [Turning to a waggoner, cund seizing him by the arm. Hast thou a horse, my friend ? — a loaded wain ? Waggonee. I have — (aside') How fierce his grasp ! Teieoulet. Then take my head, And crush it 'neath thy wheels ! — my Blanche ! my child ! Anothee Man. This is some murder ! Grief has turned his brain : Better to part them. [They drag Teibotjlet away. Teiboulet. Never ! — here I'll stay. I love to look upon her, though she's dead. I never wronged ye — why then treat me thus ? I know ye not. Good people, pity mel {To the Woman). Madam, you weep — ^you're kind. In mercy beg They drag me not from hence. [Tlxs Woman intercedes; they let him come bach to the body of Blanche. He runs wildly to it, and falls on his Tcnees. Upon thy knees — Upon thy knees, thou wretch, and die with her ! The Woman. Be calm — be comforted. If thus you rave You must be parted ! Teiboulet (luild with grief). No ! no ! no ! sc. IV.] THE king's diveesion. 267 [^Seizes her in his arms, and suddenly stops in his grief — his senses are evidently wandering. I think She breathes again. She wants a father's care ! Go some one to the town, and seek for aid : I'll bold her in my arms. — I'm quiet now. [He takes her in his arms and holds her as a mother would an infant. No ! she's not dead, God will not have it so, ^ He knows that she is all I lov'd on earth. ^ The poor deformed one was despised by all, Avoided, hated. None were kind to him But she ! she loved me, my delight, my joy : When others spurned, she loved and wept with me. So beautiful, yet dead ! Tour kerchief, pray, To smoothe her forehead. See, her lip's still red. Oh, had you seen her, as I see her still, But two years old : her pretty hair was then As fair as gold ! [Presses her to his heart. Alas ! most foully wronged, My Blanche, my happiness, my darling child ! When but an infant, oft I've held her thus : She slept upon my bosom just as now — And when she woke, her laughing eyes met mine. And smiled upon me with an angel's smile. She never thought me hideous, vile, deformed. Poor girl ! she loved her father. Now she sleeps ! Indeed, I know not what I feared before — She'll soon awaken ! Wait awhile, I pray, You'll see her eyes will open ! Friends ! you hear I reason calmly. I'm quite tranquil now ; I'll do whate'er you will, and injure none, So that you let me look upon my child. [He gates upon her face. How smooth her brow, no early sorrows there Have marked the fair entablature of youth. (Starting), Ha ! I have warmed her little hand in mine. 268 DRAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [ACT V. [To the 'people). Feel how tte pulse returns ! (Enter a Surgeon). The Woman (to Tbibotjlet). The surgeon's here. Teiboulbt. Look, Sir, examine, I'll oppose in nought. She has but fainted, is't not bo ? StJEGEON (after feeUng her pulse, says coldly). She's dead ! [Teibgtjlet starts vip convulsively, the Surgeon goes on examining the wound. The wound's in her left side. 'Tis very deep. Blood must have flowed upon the lungs. She died By suffocation. Teiboulet (with a scream of agony). I have slain my child ! [He falls senseless on the grownd. Feedeeick L. Slous. - RUY BLAS: A TRAGEDY IN PIYE ACTS. (1838.; Tbanslated by Mes. Newton Ceosland. AUTHOR'S PREFACE. Three sorts of spectators compose what we are accustomed to call the play-going public. Firstly, women ; secondly, thinkers ; and thirdly, the general crowd. That which the last-named chiefly requires m a dramatic work is action ; what most attracts women is passion ; but what the thoughtful seek above all else is the portrayal of human nature. If one studies attentively these three classes of spectators this may be remarked; the crowd is so delighted with incident, that often it cares little for characters and passions.' Women, whom action likewise interests, are so absorbed in the development of emotion, that they little heed the representation of characters. As for the thoughtfid, they so much desire to see characters, that is to say living men, on the scene, that though they willingly accept passion as a natural element in a dramatic work, they are almost troubled by the incidents. Thus what the mass desires on the stage is sen- sational action ; what the women seek is emotion ; and what the thoughtful crave is food for meditation. All demand pleasure, — the first, the pleasure of the eyes ; the second, the gratification of the feelings ; the last, mental enjoyment. Thus on our scene are three distinct sorts of work ; the one common and inferior, the two others illustrious and superior, but all supplying a want : melodrama for the crowd ; tragedy which analyses passion * That is to say, style. For if action can in many cases express itself by action alone, passions and characters, with few exceptions, are expressed by speech. Now the words of the drama — words fixed and not fluctuating — form style. Let the personage speak as he should speak, sibi constet, says Horace. All is in that. 272 AUTHOK'S PEBPACfc. foi' the women ; and for the thinkers, comedy that paints human nature. Let us say, in passing, that we do not lay down an infallible law, and we entreat the reader to make for himself the restric- tions which our opinions may contain. Rules always admit of exceptions ; we know well that the crowd is a great body, in which all qualities are to be found, — the instinct for the beautiful and the taste for mediocrity, love of the ideal and liking for the matter-of-fact. We know also that every great intellect ought to be feminine on the tender side of the heart; and we are aware that, thanks to that mysterious law which attracts the sexes to each other, as well mentally as bodily, very often a woman is a thinker. This understood, and after again beseeching the reader not to attach too rigid a meaning to our statement, there only remains for us to proceed. To every man who considers seriously the three sorts of spec- tators we have just indicated it will be evident that all are to be justified. The women are right in wishing to have their hearts touched ; the thinkers are right in desiring to be taught ; and the crowd is not wrong in wishing to be amused. Prom these established facts the laws of the drama are deduced. In truth, that fiery barrier called the footlights separates the world of reality from that ideal world where the dramatist's art is to create, and make live in conditions combined of art and nature, charac- ters, that is to say, and we repeat it, men ; into these men and these characters to fling the passions which develop some and modify others ; and at last, in the conflict of these characters and these passions with the great laws of Providence to show human life, that is to say events, great and small, pathetic, comic, and terrible, which prove for the heart what we call interest, and for the mind what may be considered the truths of moral philo- sophy; such is the aim of the drama. One sees that the drama is tragedy by its illustration of the passions, and comedy by its portrayal of characters. The mixed drama is the third great form of the art, comprising, encircling, and making fruitful the two others. Corneille and Moliere would remain independent of each other if Shakespeai-e were not between them, giving to Corneille his left hand, and to Moliere his right. In this manner the two opposite electric forces of comedy and tragedy meet, and the spark struck out is the di-ama. author's preface. 273 In explaining, as lie understands them, and as he has already often stated, the laws and the end of the drama, the author is not ignorant of the limitation of his own powers. He defines now — and let it be so understood — not what he has done, but what he has endeavoured to do. He shows what his aim was. Nothing more. We can but write a few lines at the beginning of this book ; we have not space for necessary details. Let us then be per- mitted to pass on, without dwelling otherwise on the transition from the general ideas which we have jiist indicated, and which in our opinion, the conditions of the ideal being maintained, rule the entire art, to some of the special reflections which this drama, Ruy Bias, will suggest to the attentive mind. And first, to take only one side of the question, from the pomt of view of the philosophy of history, what is the spirit of this drama ? Let us explaia. At the moment when a monarchy is about to fall several phenomena may be observed. First, the nobility has a tendency to break up, and in dissolving divides after this fashion : — The kingdom totters, the dynasty destroys itself, law decays ; political unity crumbles away by the action of intrigue ; the best born of society are corrupt and degenerate ; a mortal enfeeblement is felt on all sides without and within ; great purposes of the state fall low, and only little ones stand forth — a mournful public spectacle ; more police, more soldiers, more taxes ; every one divines the end has come. Hence among all there is the weariness of expectancy and fear of the future, distrust of all men, and general discouragement, with profound discontent. As the malady of the State is in the head, the nobility, who are the nearest, are the first attacked. What becomes of them then ? One party, the least worthy and the least generous, remains at court. All will soon be engulfed, there is no time to be lost, men must hasten to enrich and aggrandise themselves and profit by circumstances. Each thinks only of himself Without pity for the country each man acquires a little private fortune in some department of the public evil. He is courtier and minister, and hastens to be prosperous and powerful. He is clever and unscrupulous, and he succeeds. Offices of the state, honours, places, money, they take all, and covet all, and pillage everywhere ; they live only for ambition and T 274 author's peeface. cupidity. Tliey hide the evils which human infirmity may engender, under a grave exterior. And as this debased life, given up to the excitements of the vanities and pleasures of pride, has for its first condition oblivion of all proper sentiments, a man is made ferocious by leading it. When the day of mis- fortune arrives some monstrous quaUty is developed in the fallen courtier, and the man becomes a fiend. The desperate state of the kingdom drives the other half of the nobility, the best and best bom, into another mode of living. They retire to their palaces, their estates and country houses. They have a horror of public affairs, they can do nothing, the end of the world is at hand, what use is it to lament ? They must divert themselves, and shut their eyes, live, drink, love, and be merry. Who knows ? Have they not yet perhaps a year before them? This said, or even simply thought, the gentleman takes the thing in earnest, multiplies his establishment tenfold, buys horses, enriches women, orders f^tes, pays for orgies, flings away, gives, sells, buys, mortgages, forfeits, devours, gives himself up to money lenders, and sets fire at the four corners to all he has. One fine morning a misfortune happens to him. It is that, though the monarchy goes down hill at great speed, he himself is ruined before it. All is finished, all is bm-nt. Of this fine blazing life there remains not even the smoke that has passed away ; some ashes, nothing more. Forgotten and deserted by all except his creditors, the poor gentleman then becomes what he may, — a little of the adventurer, a little of the swash- buckler, a little of the Bohemian. He sinks and disappears in the crowd, that great, dull, black mass, which until this day he has scarcely noticed, from afar off, under his feet. He plunges therein and takes refuge there. He has no more gold, but there remains to him the sun, that wealth of those who have nothing. At first he dwelt in the highest society ; see, now that he herds with the lowest, and accommodates himself to it, he laughs at his ambitious relative who is rich and powerful; he becomes a philosopher, and compares thieves to courtiers. Fof the rest he is good natured, brave, loyal and intelligent ; a mixture of poet, prince and scamp ; langhiag at everything ; making his comrades to-day thrash the watch, as formerly he bade his servants, but not doing it himself; combining in his manner, with some grace, the assurance of a marquis with the effrontery of a gipsy; authob's preface. 276 soiled outside, but wholesome within ; and having nothing left of the gentleman but his honour which he guards, his name which he hides, and his sword which he shows. K the double picture we have just drawn is a faithful re- presentation of the state of all monarchies at a given moment, it is especially and in a striking manner true of that of Spain at the close of the seventeenth century. Thus, if the author has succeeded in executing this part of his plan, which he is far from assuming, in the drama before the reader, the first half of the Spanish nobility of that period is depicted in Don SaUuste, and the second half in Don Caesar ; the two being cousins, as is Here, as throughout, let it be well understood that in sketching our outline of the CastiUian nobles towards 1695 we would wish to reserve rare and revered exceptions. Let us continue. Always in examining this monarchy and this epoch, below the nobility thus divided — and which up to a certain point may be personified in the two men just named — one sees trembling in the shade something great, gloomy, and unrecognised. It is the people. The people for whom is the future blit not the present ; the people orphans, poor, intelligent and strong, placed very low, and aspiring very high; bearing on their backs the marks of servitude, and in their hearts the premonitions of genius ; the people serfs of the great lords, in their abject misery, in love with the only form which in this decaying society represents for them in divine radiance authority, charity, and fertility. The people should be represented in the character of Ruy Bias. Now above these thi-ee men, who thus considered should make move and be apparent to the spectator three facts, and in these facts all the Spanish monarchy of the seventeenth century, — above these men, we say, is a pure and luminous creature, a woman, a queen. Unhappy as wife, because she is as if she had not a husband ; unhappy as queen, because she lives as if without a king ; inclining towards those beneath her by royal pity, and also perhaps by womanly instinct, looking downwards, while Euy Bias — personification of the people — looks up. In the author's opinion, and without wishing to slight what the accessory characters may contribute to the truthfulness of the entire work, those four personages, so grouped, comprise the leading principles which present themselves to the philosophical 276 atjthoe's peefacb. Wstorian of the Spanisli Monarchy as it was a hundred and forty years ago.^ To those four personages we might add a fifth, namely, Charles the Second. But in history, as in the drama, Charles the Second of Spain is not a figure, but a shadow. Now let us hasten to say that what has just been stated is not an explanation of Ruy Bias. It is only one of the aspects. It is the impression which, if the drama be worth studying seriously and conscientiously, would be produced on the mind from the point of view of the philosophy of history. But, small as it may be, this drama, like everything in the world, has many aspects, and it can be looked at in many other ways. One can take many views of an idea, as of a mountain. It depends on our position. Let pass, for the sake of making ourselves clear, a comparison that is infinitely too presumptuous. Mont Blanc iseen from the Croix-de-Fleoheres does not resemble Mont Blanc seen from Sallenches. It is, however, always Mont Blanc. In the same manner, to descend from a very great thing to a very little one, this drama, of which we have just indicated the historical meaning, presents quite another aspect if we look at it from a still more elevated point of view, that is to say the purely human. Then Don Salluste would be the personification of absolute egotism, anxiety without rest ; Don Ctesar, his opposite in all respects, would be regarded as the type of generosity and thoughtless carelessness ; and Buy Bias would express the spirit and passion of the community, and springing forth the higher in proportion to the violence of their compression ; the queen would exemplify virtue undermined by wearying monotony. Simply from the literary point of view the aspect of this design, such as it is, entitled Ruy Bias, would again change. The three governing forms of the art would appear there personified and summed up. Don Salluste would be the mixed drama ; Don Ctesar, comedy ; and Ruy Bias, tragedy. The drama provides action, comedy confuses it, and tragedy decides it. All these aspects are just and true, but not one of them is complete. Absolute truth is only to be found in the entire work. If each finds therein what he seeks, the poet, who does not flatter himself about the remainder, will have attained his ' Written in 1838. author's preface. 277 end. The philosopliical motive of Buy Bias is a people aspiring to a higher state ; the human subject is a man who lores a woman ; the dramatic interest is a lackey who loves a queen. The crowd who flock every night to witness this work, because in France public attention never fails to be directed to mental efforts, whatever they may be besides, the crowd, we say, see only in Ruy Ulas the last, the dramatic subject, the lackey ; and they are right. And what we have just said of Ruy Bias seems to us applicable to every other production. The old renowned works of the masters are even more remarkable in that they offer more facets to study than others. Tartuffe makes some laugh, and others tremble. Tai-tuffe is the domestic serpent — the hypocrite ; or rather, hypocrisy. He is sometimes a man, and sometimes an idea. Othello is for some but a, black man who loves a fair woman ; for others he is an upstart who has married a patrician ; for some he is a jealous man ; for others the personification of jealousy. And this diversity of opinion takes nothing from the fundamental unity of the composition. We have said so else- where ; there are a thousand branches and one trunk. If in this work the author has particularly insisted on the historical significance of Ruy Bias, it is that in his opinion, by its historical meaning — and it is true by that alone — Ruy Bias is allied to Hernani. The grand fact of the condition of the nobles is shown in Hernani, as in Ruy Bias, by the side of exist- ing royalty. Only in Hernani, as an absolute monarchy was not yet established, the nobility still struggled with the king, here by haughtiness, there by the sword, in a mixture of feudalism and rebellion. In 1519 the great lord lived far from coiu-t, in the mountains as bandit like Hernani, or in patriarchal state like Euy Gomez. Two centm-ies later the position is changed. The vassals have become courtiers, and if from cu-cumstances the noble has still occasion to conceal his name, it is not to escape from the king, but to elude his creditors. He does not become a bandit, he turns Bohemian. One feels that royal despotism has passed during these long years over the noble heads, bending some and crushing others. And, if we may be permitted this last word between Hei-nani and Huy Bias, two centuries of Spanish life are framed ; two great centuries, during which the descendants of Charles the 278 author's preface. Fifth were permitted to rule the world ; two centuries of a state which Providence^and it is a remarkable thing — would not prolong another hour, for Charles the Fifth ' was born in 1500, and Charles the Second died in 1700. In 1700 Louis the Fourteenth inherited from Charles the Fifth, as in 1800 Napoleon inherited from Louis the Fourteenth. These great dynastic apparitions, which from time to time illuminate history, are for the author a beautiful and pathetic spectacle to wh;ch his eyes often turn. He tries at times to transfer something of their interest to his work.s. Thus he has striven to show Hernani in the bright light of an aurora, and to cover Muy JBlas with the gloom of twilight. In Hernani the sun of the House of Austria was rising ; in Ruy Slas it was setting. Pakis, November 25th, 1838. 1 Charles the Fifth of Germany and First of Spain, PERSONAGES OF THE DRAMA. EuT Blas. Don Sall'jste de Bazan. Don C^sak de Bazan. Don Gukitan. The Count de Campokeai,. The Makqdis de Santa-Crdz. The Makqlis del Basto. The Coont d'Albe. The JIarquis de Peiego. Don Manuel Arias. Monpazgo. Don Antonio Ubilla. Covadenoa. GuDIEL. A Lackey. An Alcaid, An Usher. An Alguazil. A Page. Dona Maria de Nebbobbg, Queen of Spain. The Duchess d'Albuquerqde. Casilda. A Ddenna. Ladies, Lords, Privy Councillors, Pages, Duennas, Alguazils, Guards, and Gentlemen Ushers. Madrie, 169 — , RUY BLAS. ACT FIRST: DON SALLUSTE. \The Sail of Danae in the King's Palace at Madrid. Magnificent fwrniture in the half-Flemish Style of Philip IV. At the left, a large window with small squares of glass set in gilt frames. On each side a low door leading to some interior apartments. At the back, a large glass partition with gilt frames opens by a glass door on a long corridor. This corridor, which stretches all along the stage, is concealed hy wide curtains thai fall from top to hottom of the glass partition. A table luith writing materials, and am, easy chair. Don Salluste enters hy the little door at the left, followed by EuT Blas, and by Gudibl, who carries a cash-box and other packages as if in preparation for a journey. Don Salluste is dressed in black velvet, in the fashion of the Court of Charles II., and loears the Golden Fleece, Over his black dress he has a rich mantle of light velvet embroidered with gold and lined with black satin. A sword with a large hilt. A hat with white feathers. Gudibl is in black and wears a sword. Rut Blas is in livery — leggings and undercoat brown ; overcoat turned up with red and gold. Bareheaded and without a sword. 282 deamas op victor hugo. [act i. Scene 1. — Don Salluste db Bazan, Gudiel; EuY Blas at intervals. Don Salluste. That window open, Ruy Bias — and shut The door. [Rut Blas obeys, and then, at a sign from Don Salluste, goes out by the door at the hack. Don Salluste walks to the window. All here still sleep. 'Tis nearly dawn, (jffe turns suddenly towards Gudiel). It is a thunderbolt ! Ah, yes, my reign Is over, Gudiel ! Exiled and disgraced, All loBt in but a day. At present, though. The thing is secret-^speak not of it, pray. Yes, only for a little love affair, — At my age senseless folly I admit — And with a nobody — a serving maid Seduced — ill luck ! because she was about The Queen, who brought the girl from Neubourg here. This creature wept, complained of me, and dragg'd Into the royal chambers her young brat ; Then was I ordered to espouse the girl. And I refused. They banished me. Me — me They exiled ! After twenty years of work So difiScult, engaging day and night. Tears of ambition. I, the President, Abhorr'd by all the Court Alcaids, who named Me but with dread. Chief of the house Bazan That is so proud ; my credit, power, and all I did, and had, and dreamed, honours and place One moment sweeps away, amid the roars Of laughter of the crowd. Gudiel. None know it yet, My Lord. so. I.J RUT BIAS. 283 Don Sallustb. Ah, but to-morrow ! 'Twill be known To-morrow ! We shall then be on our way. I will not fall. No, no, I'll disappear. (Ee hastens to imhutton Ms doublet.') You always fasten me as if I were A priest. You strain my doublet ; and oh, now I stifle. {Re sits down.) Ah, with th' air of innocence I'll dig a deep, dark mine ! Chased — chased away ! (JSe rises.) Gtjdibl. Whence came the blow, my Lord ? Don Salluste. 'Twas from the Queen. Oh, Gudiel, I will be revenged. Thou know'st. Thou understandest me — whom thou hast taught And aided well for twenty years in things Long past. Thou know'st where turn my darken'd thoughts, As a skill'd architect can at a glance Measure the depth of wells that he has sunk. I will set out for my Oastilian lands. Estates of Finlas there to brood and plan. All for a girl ! Thou must — for time is short — Arrange for our departure. First I'd speak A word at any risk unto the scamp Thou know'st. It may be that he proves of use. I know not. But till night I'm master here. I will have vengeance — how I cannot tell ; But I will make it terrible. Go now. At once get ready — hasten — silent be ! You shall go with me — hasten. [Gudiel hows and exit. Don Salluste calls. Ruy Bias ! '284 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT I. Rut Blas {a/ppearing at the door at the tack). Excellency ? Don Salltjste. Within the Palace walls I sleep no more ; thus shutters should be closed, The keys be left. Rut Blas. My Lord, it shall be done. Don Sallustb. Listen, I beg. In two hours will the Queen, In coming back from mass unto her room Of state, pass through the corridor ; you must Be there. Rut Blas. I will, my Lord. Don Salluste {at the window'). See you that man I' the square — a paper to the guard he shows And passes ? Sign to him without a word That he may enter by the back stair way. [Rut Blas obeys. Don Salluste continues, pointing to the little door on the right. Before you go look in the guard room there — See if three Alguazils on duty are As yet awake. Rut Blas (He goes to the door, half opens it and comes iacJc), My Lord, they sleep. Don Salluste, Speak low. I shall be wanting you, so go not far Away. Keep watch that we be not disturbed, [Enter Don O^jsae de Bazan. Hat staved in. A ragged cloaJe, which conceals all his dress except so. II.] BUT BLAS. 285 stockings that hcmg loose, and slwes that are split Of en. Sivord of a brawler. As lie enters, he and Rut Blas glance at each other from opposite sides with gestures of surprise. Don Salltjste {observing them, aside). Looks were exchanged ! Can they each other know ! [Exit RuY Blas. Scene 2. — Don Salluste — Don O^sae. Don Salluste. So, bandit, you are here ! Don C^sae. Yes, cousin, yes. Behold me. Don Salluste. Great the pleasure 'tis to see ! Don OiESAE (hoiuing). I delighted am. . . A beggar i ^ Don Salluste. We know Tour doings, sir. Don C^sab (^graciously). Which you approve ? Don Salluste. Oh yes, They're mighty meritorious. Don Charles De Mira but the other night was robb'd. They took from him his sword with scabbard chased. And shoulder belt. As 'twas near Easter Eve, 286 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT I; And he a knight of bless'd St. James, the band Let him retain hia cloak. Don C^sae. Just heaven, why ? Don Salluste. Because upon it was embroidered plain The order. Well, what say you to all this ? Don O^sae. The devil ! I but say we live in times Most dreadful. Oh, what will become of us If thieves pay court to good St. James, and count Him of themselves ? Don Salluste. You were with them. Don Cjisae. Well, yesf If I must speak, I was. But your Don Charles I did not touch. I only gave advice. Don;..Salluste. Worse still. Last night, just when the moon had set, A crowd of low riff-raff, — all sorts of men, Shoeless and ragged, rushed out from their dens Pell-mell unto the Mayor Square, and then Attacked the guard. There you were. Don C2BSAE. Cousin, yes, 'Tis true. But always I disdain to fight The mere thief -catchers. There I was — that's all ; For during all the row, I walked apart Beneath th' Arcade, verse making. Ah, they knock'd Each other about finely. Don Salluste. That's not all. sc. ii.] rut blas. 287 Don O^sae. Well, what is it ? Don Salluste. 'Mong other things, in France They say that you, with rebels like yourself, Did force the lock of the strong money box Of the Excise. Don C^sae. Oh, I deny it not, France is the country of an enemy. Don Salltjste. Again, in Flanders, meeting with Don Paul Barthelemy, who then had just received The product of a vineyard he was charged To carry to Mons' noble Chapter, you Laid hands upon it, though the gold belonged E'en to the clergy. Don CiESAE. In Flanders, was it ? It might be so, for I have travelled much. And is that all ? Don Salluste. The sweat of shame, Don CiBsar, To my forehead mounts whene'er I think of you. Don C^sae. Well, let it mount. Don Salluste. Oar family Don Oj!SAe. No, stay ; For only unto you in all Madrid My real name is known. So do not speak Of family. 288 dramas op victoe hugo. [act l. Don Sallustb. Only tlie other day, A marcMoness, when leaving Church, spoke thus : Who is that brigand there below, who struts With nose turned up, and eyes upon the watch. Squaring himself with arms a-kimbo set ? More tatter'd far than Job, and prouder he Than a Braganza — covering his rags With arrogance — handling his big sword-hilt Beneath his sleeve, that's all in slits, the while The blade about his heels hangs as he steps With masterful air, his cloak in dented gaps Eesembling saws, his stockings all awry. Don CiESAE (glmicing at his own attire) And then, of course, you promptly answered her. It is dear Zafari ! Don Sallustb. No Sir, I blush'd. Don O^sae. Ah, well, the lady had her laugh. I like To make a woman laugh. Don Sallustb. Tour comrades are Swashbucklers infamous. Don O^sae. Mere learners they — Scholars — each one as gentle as a sheep. Don Sallustb. You everywhere are seen with women vile. Don C^sae. Oh Love's bright radiance ! Oh sweet Isabels ! What fine things now pne hears of you ! A shame SC. II.] BUT BLAS. 289 It is to treat you thus — beauties with sly And laughing eyes, to whom I tell at night The sonnets I have made at morn. Don Sallustb. In short, The friend you are of Matalobos, that Galician thief who desolates Madrid, Defying our police. Dow CaiSAE, If you will deign I beg you let us reason. Without him Bare-backed I should have been — that would have looked Unseemly. Seeing me without a coat, Though it was winter time, he felt for me. — That amber-perfumed fop, the Count of Albe, Was robbed but lately of his doublet fine, His silken one Don Sallustb. Well? Don Cjisar. I it is who have it, Matalobos gave it me. Don Sallustb. The Count's pelisse ! And you are not ashamed ? Don C^sae. I'm n'er ashamed Of wearing a good coat, 'broidered, galloon'd, That keeps me warm in winter — makes me smart In summer time. Look, here it is, quite new. [_He half opens his cloak, and sJmws a superb doublet of rose-coloured satin embroidered in gold. By scores, love-letters written to the Count Are cramm'd i' the pockets. Oft, when poor, love-sick, V 290 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT I. With nought to eat, a steaming vent hole I Discover, from the which comes up the smell Of cooking, cheating then by turns my heart And stomach, I can sit me down to read The Count's sweet letters, revelling there alike I' the scent of feasting, and a dream of love. Don Sallustb. Don CsBsar Don C^sae. Cousin, now a truce, I beg. Unto reproaches. A grandee I am. And of your kindred. Caesar is my name. The Count Gar of a, but upon my birth 'Twas folly crown'd me. Lands and palaces I had, and well I paid the Celimenes. Pshaw ! Scarcely twenty years I knew before The whole had vanished, only there remained Of my good fortune — true or false-^a pack Of creditors to howl about my heels. Good faith ! I took to flight and changed my name. ITow am I but a boon companion found, Zafari, whom none know by other name Save you. No money. Master, give you me ; I do without. At night, with head upon The stones, before the ancient palace walls Of Teve, there these nine years past I've stopp'd. I slumber with the blue sky overhead. And happy thus. 'Tis a fine fortune, mine ! The world believes me to the Indies gone, Or to the devil — dead. The fountain near Supplies my drink, and afterwards I walk With air of glory. My own palace, whence My money flew, is tenanted to-day By the Pope's Nuncio, Espinola. Well, When I by chance am there, I give advice Unto the Nuncio's workmen — occupied so. II.] EUT BLAS. 291 In Boulpturing a Bacclms o'er the door. — But will yon lend me just ten crowns ? Don Salluste. Hear me- DoN O^SAE (crossing his arms). Now, what is't you would say? Don Salluste. I sent for you That I might serve you. I, childless and rich, And much the elder, see you, Caesar, now With sorrow and regret to ruin dragged, And fain would save you. Bully that you are, Tou are unfortunate. I'll pay your debts. Restore your palace — place yon at the Court, And make of you again a lady-killer. Let then Zafari be extinguished now, And Caasar newly born. I wish that you Henceforth should, at your will, my fortune use Fearless, and taking with both hands, nor care For future needs. When we have relatives We must support them, and be pitiful. [While Don Salluste is speaking DonC^sae's coimte- nance talces more and more the expression of asto- nishment, joyous and hopeful. At last he hursts out. Don C^sae. Tou always had a devil's wit, and what Tou've said just now 's most eloquently put.^ Go on. Don Salluste. Tes, CsBsar, I will do all this On one condition. I'll explain it all A moment hence. First take my purse. 292 DEAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [-iCT !• Don C^SAB (wdgMng the purse, which is full of gold). This is Magnificent ! Don Sahtote. And I intend for you Five hundred dncats. Don C^sae (hewildered). Marquis ! Don Salltiste. From to-day. Don 0#sae. By Jove, I'm yours to order. Now then tell Conditions — name them. On a brave man's faith My sword is at your service to command. Tour slave I am, and, if you wish it so, I'll cross blades with the Don Spavento, who A captain is that comes &om hell. Don Salluste. No, not Tour sword can I accept, for reasons good. Don C^sab. What then ? Right little else have I. Don Salluste (drawing nearer and lowering his voicey, Tou know, And in this case 'tis lucky, all the rogues About Madrid. Don C^sae. Tou do me honour. Don Salluste. Tou Can always in your train bring all the pack ; so. II.] RUT BLAS. 293 Tou could raise up a tumult if need be. I know it. All this may be useful now. Don C^sae. Upon my word it seems you would invent An opera. What part am I to take ? Shall I compose the Terse, or symphony ? Command, I for a frolic row am good. Don Salluste {gravely). *Tis to Don Cfflsar that I speak, and not Zafari (lowering his voice more and more'). List ! 'Tis for a stern result I need that some one should in secret work And aid me with his skill to bring about A great event. Not mischievous am I, But times there are when without any shame One the most delicate turns up his sleeves And sets to work. Thou shalt be rich, but thou Must help me silently to spread a net As in the night bird-catchers do. A web That's strong, but hid by shining glass, a snare Such as is set for lark or girl. The plan, It must be terrible and wonderful. I think you are not very scrupulous. — Avenge me. Don Cj!Sae. Tou avenge ! Don Salluste. Tes, me. A woman. Don Cjdsae. Don Salluste. On whom ? 294 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [aCT I. Don C^sar (drawing liimself up and looking TiomgMihj at Don Sallustb), Halt ! and say no more of this To me. Now, Cousin, on my soul I'll speak My mind to you. He who can claim the right A sword to bear, and yet by stealthy means Takes vengeance basely — on a woman, too, — Who, born patrician, acts the bailiff's part. Were he grandee of Old Castile, and did A hundred clarions follow him, and sound Their din, were he with orders harness'd, were He Marquis, Viscount, or the lineal heir Of blameless, noble sire — for me he'd be Only a scoundrel of the deepest dye, Whom for such villainy I'd gladly see Upon the gallows, hanging by four nails. Don Salluste. Cassar ! Don C^sar. Add not a word, outrageous 'tis. [Me throws the purse at the feet of Don Salluste. There — keep your secret and your money, too. Ah, I can comprehend a theft, a stroke That's murderous, or in darkness of the night The forcing prison doors — hatchet in hand. And with a hundred desperate buccaneers, With howl and thrust, to slaughter jailers there, Claiming, we bandits, for an eye an eye, And tooth for tooth — ^men against men. That's well. But stealthily a woman to destroy, And dig a trap beneath her feet — perchance Abuse her, for who knows what chance may be ? — To take this poor bird in some hideous snare — Oh, rather than accomplish such dishonour. And be at such a price, my noble Lord, So rich and great — I say before my God, SC. II.] BUT BLAS. 295 Who sees my soul, muoli sooner would I choose — Than reach such odious infamy — that dogs Should gnaw my bones beneath the pillory. Don Salldste. Cousin Don Cjjsae. Tour benefits I shall not need, So long as I shall find in my free life Fountains of water — in the fields fresh air, And in the town a thief who me provides With winter raiment ; in my soul shall be Forgetf nlness of past prosperity, When, Sir, before your palace's great doors. At noon I lay me down, my head in shade And feet in sunshine, without thought for what May be on waking. So adieu ; — 'tis God Can judge between us. Now, Don Salluste, you I leave with people of the Court, who are Of your own sort; I with the scamps will stay. I herd with wolves, but not with serpents. Don Salluste. An instant Hold Don Cj;sae. Now, my master, cease. Let us Cut short this visit ; if 'twas meant to trap And send me off to prison — do it quick. Don Salluste. I thought you, Caesar, much more hardened. Ah, My trial of you has succeeded well. I now am satisfied. Tour hand, I pray. Don CiESAE. How — ^what ? 296 dramas op victoe hugo. [act i. Don Salluste. 'Twas but in jest I spoke to you. All tliat I said just now was but a test, And nothing more. Don C^sae. You've set me dreaming, though. About a woman, vengeance, and a plot— — Don Salluste. A trap — imagination, that was all. Don C^sae. Ah, well and good ! — But how about my debts ? Is paying them imagination, too ? And the five hundred ducats promised me ? Don Salluste. I'm going now to fetch them. [He goes towa/rds the door at the bach, and makes a sign to Rut Blas to come in. Don C^sab (aside, at the front, ound looTcing across to Don Salluste). Hum ! The face A traitor's is. And when the mouth says yes, The look implies, perhaps. Don Salluste {to Rut Blab). Ruy Bias, stay here. (to Don C^sae.) I'm coming back. [Exit hy little door at left. As soon as he is gone, Don Cjisae and Rur Blas wpproach each other eagerly SC. III.] BUT BLAS. 297 Scene 3. — Don O^esie — Rut Blas. Don C^sar. No, I was not deceived ; IJpon my faith, 'tis thou, Rny Bias ! Rut Blas. 'Tis thou, Zafari ! But how comest thou within The palace ? Don Cjisae. Oh, by chance. But soon I take Myself away. I am a bird, and like Free space. But thou ? this livery ? is it worn For a disguise ? Rut Blas (bitterly). No, I'm disguised when I Am otherwise. Don Cj;sae. What is it that you say ? Rut Blas. Give me thy hand to press again, as in The happy time of joy and wretchedness. When without home I lived, hungry by day And cold at night, when I at least was free ! Then when thou knew'st me, I was still a man ; Born of the people both of us — alas ! It was life's mom ! — So much alike we were That many thought us brothers, and from dawn Of day we caroU'd — and at night we slept Before our God, our Father and our Host, Beneath starr'd heaven sleeping side by side. Yes, we shared all things — ^but at last there came The day — the mournful hour when we were forced 298 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT I. To go our different ways, but now unclianged, After four years I find thee still the same ; As joyous as a child, and free as are The gipsy folk. Always Zafari, rich Though poor, who never had, and never aught Desired ! But as for me, what change ! What can I say, my brother ? Orphan boy, brought up From charity at College ! nursed in pride And science, it but proved a mournful boon. Instead of skilful workman I was made A dreamer. Thou hast known me well. My thoughts And aspirations lifted I to heav'n In strophes wild. A gainst thy railing laugh I brought a hundred answers. Knowing then That strange ambition fired my soul, what need Had I to work ? But towards an end unseen I moved ; I thought dreams true and possible. And hoped all things from fate. — And since I am Of those who pass long, idle days in thought Before some palace gorged with wealth — and watch The Duchesses go in and out — one day, When torn by hunger in the street, I picked Up bread where I could find it ; — brother, 'twas By ignominious sluggishness. Oh, when I was but twenty, full of confidence In my own powers, I barefoot walked, but lost In meditations on humanity ; I built up many plans, a mountain made Of projects. Pitying the ills of Spain I thought, poor soul, that by the world myself Was needed. Friend, the issue see — behold, I am a lackey ! Dow Cjisae. Tes, I know full well That want is a low door, which, when we must By stern necessity pass through, doth force so. III.] EUT BLAS. 299 The greatest to bend down the most. But fate Has ever ebb and flow. So hope, I say. Rut Blas (shaking his head). My master is the Marquis of Finlas. Don C^sae. I know him. Is it, then, that you reside Within this palace ? Buy Blas. No ! until to-day, Just now, I never have the threshold cross'd. Don C^sab. Ah, is it so ? Tour master from his place, His duties, must live here himself ? EuT Blas. Oh yes. The Court may want him any hour. But he A little secret dwelling has — where perhaps In daylight he has never yet been seen. An unobtrusive house, a hundred steps Beyond the palace ; brother, there I live ; And by the secret door, of which alone He has the key, sometimes at night he comes Followed by men whom he lets in. These men Are masked and speak in whispering tones. They are Shut in together, and none ever knows What passes then. Of two black mutes I am The master and companion. But my name They know not. Don C^sae. Tes, 'tis there that he receives His spies, as Chief of the Alcaids. 'Tis there He plans his many snares. Subtle is he, And holds all in his hand. ■300 DEAMAS 03? VICTOR HUGO, [ACT I. Rur Blas. 'Twas yesterday- He said " you must be at the palace ere The dawn ; and enter by the golden grill." I came, and then he made me don this suit, This odious livery which you see me in, And which to-day I for the first time wear. Don Cjisae. StUl hope ! Buy Bias. I hope ! But you know nothing yet. To breathe 'neath this degrading garb, to lose The joy and pride of life — all this is naught. To be a slave and vile, what matters that ! But listen, brother, well. I do not feel This servile dress, for at my heart there dwells A hydra, with the fangs of flame, that binds Me in its fiery folds. If the outside Has shock'd you — ^what would be could you but look Within ? Don C^sae. What can you mean ? Rut Blab. Invent — suppose — Imagine — search your mind for all strange things Unheard of, mad, and horrible— a fate Bewildering ! Yes, compose a deadly draught, And dig a pit more black than crime, more dull Than folly, still my secret thou wilt not Approach. Thou canst not guess it ! Ah, who could, Zafari ? In the gulf where destiny Has plunged me — plunge thine eyes ! I love the queen ! Don C^sae. Good heavens ! so. ni.] BUT ELAS. 301 Rut Blas. Beneath a splendid canopy, Adorned at top with the Imperial globe There is in Aranjuez, or may be In the Esonrial — or sometimes here — A man that scarce is looked on from below, Or named, except with dread — before whose eyes We all of equal meanness seem, as if That he were God. A man that men gaze on With trembling, serving him on bended knee. To in his presence stand with cover'd head Is token of high honour. If he will'd Our heads should fall, a sign would be enough. His every whim is an event. He lives Alone — superb — encased in majesty. So bulwark'd and profound, its weight is felt Through half the world. Well, now thou understand'sE That I the lackey — ah, yes even I Am jealous of that man — yes, of the king ! Don C^sae. Tou jealous of the king ! EuT Blas. Undoubtedly, Because I love his wife ! Don Ojisae. Unhappy one ! Rut Blas. Listen : each day I watch to see her pass. And like a madman am. And oh, the life Of this poor thing is one long weariness. Each night I dream of her. Oh, think what 'tis For her to live in this dull court of hate, And base hypocrisies, — married to one Who in the chase spends all his time ! A king — A fool — an imbecile ! at thirty years 302 DRAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [ACT I, Already old — and less than man — unfit Alike to live or reign. And of a race That's dying oflf. His father could not hold A parchment, so debilitated he ! What misery for her, so young and fair. Thus to be wedded to the second Charles ! Unto the sisters of the Rosary She goes each eve — thou know'st it — traversing The Ortaleza street, — I cannot tell How 'twas this madness grew within my heart, But judge ! She loves a little azure flower Of Germany — I go each day a league To Oaramanchel, where alone I find It grows. I have sought for it everywhere. I pluck the finest, and a posy make. Oh, but I tell you now these foolish things ! — At midnight like a thief I scale the wall Around the royal park, and place the flowers Upon her favourite bench. Even last night I dared to put a letter 'mid the flowers — Truly a letter ! Brother, pity me ! At night to reach this bank I have to mount The wall where bristle iron spikes. I know Some time that I shall leave my flesh thereon. Now will she find my flowers — my letter too ? I know not — ^but you see how mad I am. Don O^sae. It is the devil ! Now take care — thy game Is dang'rous. There 's the Count Onate, he loves Her also, and keeps guard as Chamberlain As well as lover. On some night a trooper Unpitying might despatch you with one blow. Before your flowers were faded nailing them Unto your heart. Oh th' idea, I say, Is quite preposterous — loving thus the queen ! And why ? It is a devil's scrape you're in. SC. III.] RUT BLAS. S03 EuT Blas (with energy). Do I not know it ! I myself ! My soul Is given over, I would sell it might I thus become like one of those young Lords That from this window I behold — who are A live offence, entering with plumed hats And haughty brows. Tea, if I could but break My chain, and could, as they, approach the queen In garments not degrading. But — oh ! rage, To thus appear to her, and unto them ! To be for her a lackey ! pity me, Oh God ! [ApjproacMng Don C^sae. But I must recollect myself. Ask'st thou not when and why I loved her thus ? One day — but what's the good of this ? 'Tis true My desperate madness I've made known to thee And all my thousand tortures made you share, In showing you my agony — ^but ask Not how — or wherefore ! only I love her — Insanely love her, that is all. Don C^sae. There now. Don't fret. Rut Blas (paZe and overcome, falling into the arm-chair). No — no — I suffer — pardon me. Or rather fly from me, my brother. Go, And leave the wretched madman who but knows With horror that beneath the lackey's coat There rage the passions of a king ! Don C^sae (laying his hand on the shoulder of Rut Blas). Leave thee ! What, I ! who have not suffer'd thus because I have not loved. Like a poor bell am I Without a clapper — beggar who e'en begs For love he knows not where. To whom from time To time fate throws some paltry coin. With heart 304 DEAMAS OF VICIOE HUGO. [ACT I. Extinguished — drawn within itself, as from The tatter'd play-bill of the yester night. Seest thou that for this all absorbing love I envy quite as much as pity thee ! Oh, Ruy Bias ! [A moment of silence, wJvtle with clasped hands theif looh at each other sorrowfully, hut with confiding friendship. Enter Don Salluste. He advances softly, looJevng at Don Ca;sAE arid Rmr Blas with profound attention, they not perceiving him. In one hand he holds a hat and a sivord, which on entering he places on an a/rm-chair, and in the other a purse which he lays on the table. Don Salluste {to Don C^sae). Here is the money. [At the mice of Don Salluste, Rut Blas, suddenly airoused, sta/fts up, and with eyes loohing down, assumes am, attitude of respect. Don Oj;sae (aside, and loohing tideways at Don Salluste). Ah, The devil has me ! At the door no doubt The artful one has listened. After all What matter — Pshaw ! (aloud to Don Salluste). Don Salluste, thanks. [He opens the purse — spreads the money on the table, handling the ducats delightedly. Then he arranges them in two piles on the velvet cover. While he is counting them, Don Salluste goes to the baelc, looking behind him to be sure that Don Cjjsae is not observing him. He opens the little door at the right. At a sign from him three Alguaails, a/rmed with swords and dressed in black, a/ppea/r. Don Salluste points out Don C^sae to them in a mysterious manner. Rut Blas stands upright and motionless as a statue by the table, neither seeing nor hearing anytMng. SC. III.3 BUT BIAS, * 305 Don Salluste (to a low tone to the Algnazils). You see That man who counts the money — follow him When he goes hence, and seize him silently, And without violence. And then embark By shortest way to Denia. [He gives them a sealed parchment. Here is writ The order by my hand. And afterwards, Without attending to his statements, all Chimerical, you'll sell him on the sea To corsairs there will be from Africa ; A thousand piastres for you — but be quick. [T]ie three Alguazils how and exeunt. Don C J!SAE {finishing the arrangement of Ms ducats). Surely there's nothing more amusing than To equally divide the crowns that are One's own. {He malces two equal piles, and turns to Rut Blas.) Here, brother, is thy share Rut Blas. How — what ! Don CiBSAE (pointing to one of the heaps of gold). Come — take, be free ! Don Sallustb (aside, looJcing at them from the hack). The devil ! Rdt Blas (shaking his head in sign of refusal). No — the heart It is that has to be delivered. No, My lot is here. I must remain. Don C^sae. Well— well Have thine own way. Art thou the crazy one ? And am I wise ? God knows. 306 DEAMAS OP VICTOB HUGO. [ACT I. [He gathers the money into the hag omd puts it in his pocket. Don Salluste (Jrom the baah, watching them). How near alike They are in mien and face ! Don OiESAE (ta Rut Blas). Adieu ! EuT Blas. Thy hand ! [They press hands. Exit Don C^sae witlwmt noticing Don Salluste, who has "kept himself apart. Scene 4. — Rinr Blas. ■ Don Salluste. Don Salluste. Buy Bias ! EuT Blas (turning qimkhj). My Lord ? Don Salluste. I am not confident Whether 'twas fully daylight when you came This morning — tell me. EuY Blas. Excellency, no, Not quite. I gave your pass without a word To the door-keeper, then came up. Don Salluste. Wore you A cloak ? EuT Blas, I did, my Lord, bo. iv.] rut blas. 307 Don Salluste. In that case then None in the Castle yet has seen on you This livery ? Rut Blas. Nor peTrson of Madrid. Don Sailustb (pomting to the door hy which Don CiESAE had gone out). That's well. Go, close the door. Take off this coat. [Rut Blas tahes off his livery-coat and throws it on a chair. I think your writing's good. Write now for me. [Se makes a sign to Rut Blas to seat himself at the table where there a/re writing materials. Rut Blas obeys. My secretary yon must be to-day, And first a love-letter must write ; you see I nothing hide from you — my queen of love Is Dona Praxedis — a witch that's come, I think, from paradise. There — I'll dictate. " A danger terrible environs me ; My queen alone can stay the tempest's force By coming to my house this night. If not, I'm lost. My life, my heart, my reason now I lay before the feet I kiss." [He laughs, interrupting himself. Danger, A turn well put to draw her on. I am Expert. Women like much to save just those Who fool them most. Add now, " Come to the door That's at the end of the Avenue — at night Tou'll not be recognised. And one who is Devoted will be there to ope the door." 'Tis perfect, on my word. — Sign now. 308 DRAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [ACT I. EuT Blas. Tour name, My Lord ? Don Sallustb. Not so — sign Cffisar. 'Tis the name In such adventures I adopt. EuT Blas (after homing obeyed). Unknown Will be the writing to the lady ? Don Salluste. Pshaw ! The seal will be enough. Oft thus I write. I go away at night-fall, Eny Bias, And leave you here. I'm planning for you as A friend sincere. Tour state shall change, but then Ton must obey me in all things. In you I've found a servant faithful and discreet Rdy BiiAS (bowing). My Lord 1 Don Salltjste. To better your condition here I wish. EuT Blas {showing the letter he has just written). How should the letter be addressed ? Don Salltjste. I will attend to that. [^Approaching Euy Blas in a signi/lccmt manner. I wish your good. [_8ilencefor a few moments. Then he makes a sign for EuT Blas to seat hi/mself again at the table. Write thus. " I, Euy Bias, the serving man Of the most noble Lord the Marquis of Finlas, engage to serve him faithfully On all occasions as a servant true so. IV.] KUr BLAS. 309 In public or in secrecy." (Rut Blas oleys). Now sign Tour name. The date. That's well. Give it to me. [Se folds and puts into his portfolio the letter and the paper which Rut Blas has just written. Jnst now they brought me in a sword. — Ah, there It is upon the chair. [He holes towards the a/rm-chair on which he had placed the sword and hat — goes to it and takes up the sword. The tie's of silk, Painted and 'broidered in the newest style — [He maJces Rut Blas admire it. Take it. What say you to this foil, Ruy Bias ? The hilt is workmanship of Gil the famed Engraver, he who chisels out a box For sweetmeats in a sword's hilt, to amuse The pretty girls. [He passes the scarf to which the sword is attached over the sJioulders of EuT Blas. Now put it on — I want To see the effect on you. I do declare Tou look a noble every inch. (Listening.^ They come — Ah yes, 't is almost time the queen were here — The Marquis Basto ! — [The door at the end of the corridor opens, Don Salluste unfastens his cloak and hastily throws it over the shoulders of Rut Blas, just at tlie moment when the Maequis del Basto o^jpecsrs ; then he goes up to the Makquis, drawing after him Rut Bias in a stupefied stata. 310 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT I. Scene 6. — Don Sailustb, Rut Blas, Don Pamfilo d'Avalos, Marquis del Basto, — afterwards the Marquis de Santa- Cruz, then the Count d'Albe and all the Court. Don Salluste {to the Marquis del Basto). Let me to your grace Present my cousin — the Don Cassar — Count Of Garofa, near to Velaloazar. Rut Blas {aside). Oh heav'ns ! Don Salluste (aside to Eur Blas). Silence ! Marquis del Basto {to Rut Blas). Sir, I am charm'd- [Ee puts out his hand, which Rut Blas takes in a con- fused manner, Don Salluste {in a whisper to Eut Blas). Let be — Salute him. [Rut Blas lows to the Marquis. Marquis del Basto {to Rut Blas). Ah, I loved your mother much. {Aside to Don Salluste). Hovr changed ! I scarcely would have known him. Don Salluste {speaking low to the Marquis). Ten years away ! Marquis del Basto {in the same manner). Indeed ! Don Salluste {slapping Rut Blas on the shoulder). At last come back ! Tou recollect the prodigal he was ? Ah! so. v.] BUT ELAS. 311 And how he sqtiander'd the pistoles ? Each night A dance or fete — a hundred instruments Of music on Apollo's fish-pond raged. Concerts and masquerades, and wildest pranks Dazzled Madrid with sudden scenes. Ruin'd In just three years ! Truly a lion he. — He came from India in the galleon. Rut Blas (confused^. My Lord Don Salluste {gaily). Oh, call me cousin — such we are. We, the Bazans, are an old family, Our ancestor was Iniguez d'lviza ; His grandson, Pedro de Bazan, was wed To Marianne de Gor. Their son was Jean ; Under king Philip he was admiral. Jean had two sons, who on our ancient tree Grafted two stocks for blazonry : I am The Marquis of Pinlas, and you the Count Of Garofa, each equal in degree. And by the women, Caesar, 'tis the same. 'Tis Aragon you claim, I Portugal. Tour branch as lofty is as ours. I am The fruit of one, and of the other you The offspring are. Rut Blas (aside). Where is he dragging me ? [ Whilst Don Salluste was speaking, the Maequis db Santa-Ceuz, Don Alvae de Bazan t Bbnavidis, an old man with a white moustache and a thick wig was aippxoaching them, Maequis de Santa-Ceuz {to Don Salluste). Tou make it clear. If he your cousin is Mine is he too. 312 deamas of tictoe hugo, [act i. Don Sallustb. True, Marquis — for we come Of the same stock. [H"e presents Rot Blas to the Maequis db Santa-Ceuz. Don Caesar, Maequis de Santa-Oeuz. I opine It is not he whom we thought dead ? Don Salluste, It is. Maequis de Santa-Ceuz, He has come back then ? Don Salluste. From the Indies. Maequis de Santa-Ceuz (looking at Eut Blas). Ah, Indeed ! Don Salluste. Ton then remember him ? V Maequis de Santa-Ceuz. By Heav'ns, I recollect his birth, Don Salluste {aside to Rut Blas). Half blind he is — The good man will not own it. 'Tis to prove His eyes are good he recognizes you. Maequis de Santa-Ceuz {extending Ms hand to Eur Blas), Tour hand, my cousin. Rut Blas {lowing). My Lord SC. v.] BUT BLAS. 313 Marquis de Santa-Ckuz {in a low tone to Don Salldste, and pointing to RuY Blas). He could not look Better. {To Rut Blas.) Ckarmed again to see you. Don Salluste (in a low tone omd taking the Maequis His debts I mean to pay. I think that you can serve him, In your position, if some place at court Should vacant be — ^about the king or queen Maequis db Santa-Ceuz (in a low tone), A charming youth he is ; I will not fail To think of it ; for he a kinsman is. Don Salluste. At the Castilian council board I know Tou're powerful, I recommend him to you. [Ee quits the Maequis de Santa-Ceuz, and goes to other nobles to whom he presents Eur Blas. Among them is the Count d'Albe very superbly dressed, Don Salluste introduces Rut Blas to him. My cousin, Csesar, Count of Garofa, Near to Velalcazar. l^The nobles gra/vely exchange bows with Rut Blas, who is abashed. Don Salluste to the Count de RiBAGOEZA. Ton missed last night The Atalanta ballet ? Lindamire Did dance divinely. [j?e goes into ecstasies at the doublet of the Count d'Albe. Count, this is splendid ! Count d'Albe. Ah, I had one was richer — rose-coloured 314 DRAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [ACT I. Satin witli golden braid. Matalobos Stole it. An Usher op the Couet (Jrom the iack). The Queen is coming. Gentlemen, Arrange yourselves. [The large curtains at the glased side of the corridor open. The nobles fall into line near the door. The gua/rds line a passage. Rut Blas, breathless and beside himself, comes to the front as if to take refuge there. Don Salluste follows him. Don Salluste (in a low voice to Rut Blas). Are you not 'shamed that with Expanding fortunes, thus your heart should shrink ? Awake. I quit Madrid. My little house Near to the bridge, where you reside, I leave For you to use, nothing reserving save The secret keys. I leave the mutes with you. Some other orders you will soon receive. Obey, and I will make your fortune. Rise, Fear nothing, for the time is opportune. The Court 's a territory where one moves With little light. Walk you with bandaged eyes. I'll see for you, my man ! Usher (in a loud voice). The Queen ! Rut Blas. Queen ! oh ! l_The Queen appears magnificently attired and sur- rownded by ladies and pages, and imder a camopy of scarlet velvet supported by four gentlemen of the chamber ba/re headed. Rut Blas, bewildered, gazes as if absorbed by this resplendant vision. All the Grandees of Spain cover, the Maequis del Basto, the Count d'Albb, the Maequis de Santa-Ceuz, Don Salluste. Don Salluste moves rapidly to so. V.J RUT BLAS. 315- the arm-chair, takes from it the hat, which he carries to Edt Blas and puts on his head. Don Salldste. What giddiness has seized you ? Cover now, Cffisar, you are grandee of Spain. Rut Blas (absent, low to Don Salluste). And next, My lord, what is 't you order me to do ? Don Salluste (indicating the Queen, wlio is slowly passing/ along the corridor). To please that woman, and her lover be. ACT SECOND: THE QUEEN OF SPAIN. A Saloon next to the Queen's hedchamber. At the left a little door opening into that room. At the right, in om angle of the wall, another door opening to the external apart- ments. At the hack large openwindows. It is the' after- noon of a fine day in sv/mmer. The face of a saAnt richly enshrined is agamsi the wall ; heneath it is read, " S.oly Moflry in Slavery." On the opposite side is a Madorma, before which a golden lamp is iitming. Near to the Madonna is a full length portrait of Oharles the Second. At the rising of the curtain the Queen DoSa Maeia or Neuboueq is in one comer seated hesideoneofher ladies, a young and pretty girl. The Queen is in a white dress of cloth of silver. She is emlroidering, hut inter- rupts herself from time to time to chat. In the opposite corner is seated, in a high-bached chair, the Dona JuANA de la Cueva, Duchess d'Albuqueeque, first lady of the Ghamber, with tapestry in her hand, an old woman in hlaeJc, Neair to the Duchess a table where several ladies are engaged in feminine worTc, At the hack stands Don Gueitan Count d'Onate, the Chamber- lain, a tall, thin man of about ffty-fvoe yea/es of age, with grey moustache, looJemg the old soldier though dressed with exaggerated elegance, wea/ring ribbons down to his shoes. Scene 1. — The Queen, The Duchess d'Albuqueeque, Don Gueitan, Casilda, Duennas. The Queen. He's gone, however ! And I ought to be At ease. Ah well, I am not, though ! this man, so. I.] BUT BLAS. 317 The Marquis of Finlas, weighs on my soul, He hates me so. Casilba. According to your wish Is he not exiled ? The Qdeen. That man hates me. Casilda. Oh Tour majesty- The Queen. 'Tis true, Oasilda. Strange This man for me is like an angel bad. One day — 'twas on the morrow he must leave — He came as usual to kiss hands. The rest, All the grandees, approach'd the throne in file ; I gave my hand — was sorrowful, and still, Observing vaguely in the hall's dim light A battle picture painted on the wall. When, suddenly it was, my eyes looked down Near to the table and perceived this man, So dreaded, was advancing unto me. Soon as I saw him nothing more I saw. Slowly he moved, and fingered all the while His poignard's sheath, so that at times the blade I saw. Grave was he, yet he dazzled me With looks of flame. Sudden he bent, and like A creeping thing and then upon my hand I felt his serpent-mouth ! Oasilda, He render'd you His homage ; — do not we the same ? The Queen. His lips Were not like other lips, 'Twas the last time 318 DEAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [aOT II. I saw him. Often since I've thonglit of him. 'Tis true that I have other troubles, yet I tell myself that hell is in that soul. Only a woman am I to that man. In dreams of night I meet again this fiend, And feel his frightful kiss upon my hand ; I see his eyes shine out with hatred's glare ; 'And as a deadly poison runs from vein To vein, so e'en within my freezing heart I feel the shudder of that icy kiss ! What sayest thou to this ? Casilda. Madam, they are But phantoms ! The Queen. Ah, indeed — sorrows I know That are more real. (Aside). Oh, but I mast hide That which torments me, (To Oasilda.) Those poor mendicants Who dare not to approach — tell me Casilda (going to the window). Madam, I know. They still are in the square. The Queen. Here then. Throw them my purse. [Casilda takes the purse and, throws it from the window, Casilda. Oh Madam, you who give Tour alms so sweetly, [Poimiing to Don Gueitan who, standing erect and sileni at the hack of the stage, holes at the Queen with an expression of mute adoration. Will you nothing throw In pity to the Count Onate — a word, so. I.] BUT BLAS. 319 Only a word. A brave old man is he, "With love beneath his armour, and a heart More soft than hard the rind ! The Queen. So tiresome he ! Casilda. I know it. Tet I pray you speak to him. The Queen (turning towwrds Don Gueitan). Good day unto you, Count. [Don Gueitan, making three hows, approaches the Queen, sighing, to Iciss her hand, which with an indifferent amd absent manner she allows him to do. After- wa/rds he returns to his place beside the chair of the Duchess. Don Gueitan (in retiring to Casilda). How charming is The Queen to-day ! Casilda (looking at him retreating). Oh ! the poor heron ! near The stream that tempts, he stays. After a day Of quiet waiting, he but snatches up A " good day " or " good night," often a dry Cold word, and goes away delighted with This little morsel in his beak. The Queen (with a sorrowful smile). Be still ! Casilda. He only needs for happiness to see The Queen. To see you means delight for him ! [^Looking with ecstasy at a box on a round table. Oh, what a lovely box ! The Queen. I have the key. 320 DRAMAS OP TICTOE HUGO. [ACT II. Casilda. This box of calambao is exquisite. The Queen {giving Tier the "key). Now open it and see. I've had it fiU'd, My dear, with relics, and 'tis my intent To send it on to Nenbonrg — well I know My father will be greatly pleased with it. {8he muses for a moment. Then suddenly forces "herself out of her reverie. I will not think ! That which is in my mind I wish to drive from it. {To Casilda.) Go to my room And fetch me thence a book. What foolishness ! I don't possess a German book ! they all Are Spanish ! And the king is at the chase ; Always away. What weariness ! Near him, In six months, I have only pass'd twelve days. Casilda. Who'd wed a king if she must live this way ! [The Queen again falls into reverie — and again rouses herself hy a violent effort. The Queen. I wish to go out now. [At 'these words, pronounced imperiously ly the Queen, the Duchess d'Albuqueeque, who tiU this moment had remained motionless in her chair, lifts up her head, then rising makes a low cwrtsey to the Queen. Duchess d'Albuqueeque {in a hard, curt manner). It needs before The Queen goes out — ^it is the rule — that all The doors should opened be by some grandee Of Spain who has the right to bear the keys; Now at this hour not one of them remains Within the palace. so. I.] EUT BLAS, 321 The Queen. Then yon shut me up ! Dachess, in short, they wish that I should die ! The Duchess (with another cmtsey). I am duenna of the chamber, so I must fulfil my duty (reseats herself). The Queen (lifting her hcmds to Iter head despairingly, aside). Well, then, now To dream again ! But no ! (Aloud). Ladies, be quick \ A table — let us play at lansquenet ! The Duchess (to the ladies). Ladies, stir not (rising and curtseying to the Queen). Your Majesty cannot. According to the ancient law, play cards, Except with kings or with their relatives. , The Queen (with an air of cormnand). Well, then, go bring to me these relatives. Casilda (hoMng at the Duchess). Oh this duenna ! The Duchess (maJcing the sign of the Gross), To the King who reigns God has not given. Madam, any kin. The Queen his mother' s dead. He's now alone. The Queen. Let them, then, serve me a collation. Casilda. Yes, That were amusing. The Queen. I invite you now To it, Casilda. 322 DRAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [aOT II. Casilda (aside, looking at the Duchess). Oh, you proper — prim Old grandmotlier ! The Duchess (making a reverence). When absent is the King, The Queen eats quite alone (re-seats herself ). The Queen (Jier 'patience at am, end). Oh God ! what is 't That I can do? Not take fresh air, nor play A game, nor even eat at mine own will ! Most truly I've been dying all the year That I've been Queen. Casilda (aside, looking at her with compassion). Oh the poor woman ! thus To pass her days in weariness in this Insipid Court ! with no distraction, save To see at border of this sleepy swamp (looking at Don Guritan) An old, but love-sick Count, that stands upon One leg to dream. The Queen (to Casilda). Think now of something ; say, What shall we do ? Casilda. Ah, hold ! The King away, 'Tis you who rule. Just for amusement's sake Summon the Ministers. The Queen (shrugging her shoulders). A pleasure that ! To see eight gloomy countenances ranged For talk with me concerning France, and its Declining king, of Rome, — they'd also tell About the portrait of the Archduke which so. I.] EUT BLAS. 323 Ttey bear about at Burgos, 'mid the show Of cavalcades, beneath a canopy Of cloth of gold upheld by four Alcaids ! Oh, think of something else ! Casilda. Well, now, 'twould be Amusing if some youthful equerry I made come up. The Queen. Casilda ! Casilda. Oh, I want So much to look at some young man. Madam, This venerable Court is death to me. I think that through the eyes old age comes on, That we, by always looking at the old. Ourselves age all the sooner. The Queen. Foolishness ! There comes a time the heart asserts itself. As it wakes up from sleep, it loses joy. (^Tlumghtfully.) My only happiness — ah, that is in The corner of the park, where I'm allowed To go alone. Casilda. Fine happiness, indeed ! A charming place ! where snares are set behind The marble forms — and where one nothing views. The walls around are higher than the trees. The Queen. Oh, how I wish I could go out sometimes ! Casilda (in a low voice). Go out? Well, Madam, listen. Let us, though, 324 DKAMAS OP VIOTOK HUGO. [ACT tl. Speak softly. In such a prison's gloomy shade Nought is there so worth search and finding as One precions sparkling jewel that is called The key o' the fields. I have it ! And whene'er Ton wish, in spite of foes, I'll let you out At night, and through the town we both can go. The Queen. Heavens ! never ! Silence ! Casilda. 'Tis quite easy. The Queen. Peace ! (She draws a little away from Casilda, and falls into reverie). Oh would that I, who fear the grandees here. Were still in my good Germany, beside My parents, as when with my sister dear I rambled freely through the fields ; and when We met the peasants trailing their rich sheaves. We talked to them. 'Twas charming. But alas ! One night a man arrived who said — and he Was dressed in black, I holding by the hand My sister, sweet companion — " Madam, you Are to be Queen of Spain." — My father was All joyous, but my mother wept. Now they Both weep. — I mean to send in secret soon This box unto my father, he'll be pleased. Sec you how everything disheartens me. My birds from Germany all died. [Casilda loohs across to the Duchess, and mahes a sign of wringing the hirds' necJcs. And then They would not let me have the flowers that grew In mine own country. Never on mine ear Doth vibrate now a word of love. A Queen I am to-day. But formerly I knew so. I.J BUT BLAS. 325 What freedom was. Truly thou say'st this park At eve is dreary — with its walls so high, One cannot see beyond. — Oh weariness ! [Singing afar off is heard. What is that sound ? Casilda. The laundrywomen, they Are singing, as they pass the heather through. [The singers approach. The words are heard. The Queen listens eagerly. Song eeom Outside. Why should we listen To birds that rejoice ? The bird the most tender Sings now in thy voice. Let God show or veil The stars in the skies, The purest of stars Shines now in thine eyes. Let April renew All the blossoms around. The loveliest flower In thy heart will be found. The passionate bird song. The day star above, And the flower of the soul But call themselves love ! The Queen (musing'). Love — love ! Ah, they are happy ! And their song. Their voices, do me harm as well as good. The Duchess (to the ladies). These women with their song annoy the Queen, Drive them away ! 326 niuMAS or victoe hugo. [act ii. The Queen {eagerly). How, Madam ! scarcely can I hear them ; 'tis my will that they, poor things. Should pass in peace. {To Oasilda, pointing to a casement at the lacJc). The trees are here less thick, This window opens to the country ; come Let us now try to look at them. {_She goes towards the window with Oasilda. The DtrCHESS {rising and cwrtseying). Spain's Queen Must not look out of window. The Queen {stopping and retracing her steps). Oh, what next ! The lovely sunset filling all the vales, The golden dust of evening rising o'er The way, the far-ofi" songs to which all ears May listen, — these for me exist no more, Unto the world I've said adieu. Not e'en May I regard the nature made by God ! E'en others' freedom I may not behold ! The Duchess {making signs to the assistants to leave). Go now. To day is sacred to the Saints, Th' Apostles. [Oasilda goes towards the door. The Queen stops her. The Queen. What ! You leave me ? Oasilda (pointing to the Duchess). Madam, we Are ordered out. The Duchess {ewtseying to the ground). 'Tis right that we the Queen To her devotions leave. [All go out with profov/nd reverence. so. II.] BUY BLAS. 327 Scene 2. The Queen (alone). To her devotions ? Say rather to her thoughts ! How can I flee Now from them ? All have left me, and alone I am, poor soul, without a torch to light My dusky way ! (Musing.) That bleeding hand whose print Was on the wall ! Oh God, and could it be That he was hurt ? If so it was his fault. Why would he climb the wall so high ? And all To bring me flowers which they refuse me here ; For such a little thing to venture thus ! Doubtless his wounds were from the iron spikes — A scrap of lace hung there. A drop of blood Shed for me claims my tears. (Losing herself in reverie.) Each time I go TJnto.the bench, to seek the flowers, I say To God — whose help forsakes me — that I will No more return. And yet I still go back. — But he ! Behold three days have pass'd and he Has not been there. — And wounded ! — Oh, young man, Unknown, whoever thou may'st be, who thus Dost see me lonely, and afar from them Who cherish'd me, who without recompense. Or even hope of aught, comes to me thus 'Mid perils never counted — thou who shed'st Thy blood, and risk'st thy life to give a flower Unto the Queen of Spain, whoever thou May'st be — the friend whose shadow follows me — Since unto law inflexible my heart Submits, may'st thou be by thy mother loved. And bless'd by me ! [Energetically, cmd pressing her hand on her heart. But oh, his letter burns ! (Falling again into reverie.) 328 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HOGO. [ACT II, And he that other ! the implacable Don Salluste ! I by destiny am now Afflicted and protected too. At once An angel follows me, and spectre dread. And without seeing them I feel a stir Amid the gloom that is perchance about Moments supreme to bring, in which a man Who hates me will come near to him who loves. Shall I by one be from the other saved ? I know not. Oh my fate seems but the sport Of two opposing winds. To be a Queen How weak and poor a thing ! Ah, I will pray. (She Jcneels before the Madonna.) Oh Blessed Lady help me ! For mine eyes I dare not raise to look on you ! (She interrupts herself.) Oh God ! The lace, the letter, and the flowers are fire ! l_Sheputs her hand to her bosom amd takes out a erit/mpled letter, some little dried blue flowers, a/nd a moi'sel of lace stained with blood which she throws on the table ; then she again Jcneels. Oh Virgin, thou the star o' the sea ! the hope Of martyrs ! help me now ! (Intemtpting herself.) That letter ! \Turns half round to the table. Ah! 'Tis that distracts me. (She Jcneds again.) Not again I'll read The letter. Queen of sweet compassion ! you Who wert bestowed on all afflicted souls For sister ! Come, I call you ! \_8he rises, advances towards the table, then pa/uses, but at last grasps the letter as if yielding to an irresist- able impulse. Tes, 1 will Re-read it one last time, and after that Destroy it. ( With a sad smile.) For a month, alas ! 'tis this SC. III.3 BUT BLAS. 329 I've said ! [She unfolds the letter resolutely and reads. " Madam, in dull obscurity Beneatli jour feet, and hidden in the shade, A man there is who loves you ! he the worm That suffers, loving thus a star ; who would For you give up his soul, if so must be ; And who lies depths below, while you must shine On high." [She places the letter on the table. When souls are thirsty they must drink. Though it be poison ! [She puts the letter and the lace in her bosom. Nought on earth have I. Ah, but I need some one to love. The King I would have truly loved, had he so will'd it. But me he leaves alone, of love bereft, [The great folding doors open. An Usher of the Chamber in full dress enters. The Ushee (in a loud voice) . A letter from the King ! The Qcjebn (as if suddenly awakened, with a joyful cry). From him ! I'm saved ! Scene 3. — The Queen, the Duchess d'Albuqubeque, Casilda, Don Gueitan, Ladies in Waiting, Pages, Rut Blas. All enter with solemnity, the Duchess at their head, followed by the women. Rut Blas remains at the bach of the chamber. He is magnificently dressed. His cloak falls over his left arm and hides it. Two pages, carrying the King's letter on a cushion of cloth of gold, kneel before the Queen at a few paces distant. 330 DEAMAS OP VICTOK HUGO. [ACT II. Rut Blas (at the hack — aside). Where am I now ? — How beautiful she is ! Oh, for what purpose am I here ? The Queen {aside). 'Tis aid From heaven ! (Aloud.) Give it me — ^be quick ! [Twning to the portrait of tJie King. My thanks Your majesty ! (To the Duchess.) Whence comes this letter, say? The Duchess. From Aranjuez, Madam, where the King Now hunts. The Queen. And from my soul I thank him. He Has understood my need of words of love From him, in my lone weariness. Come then, Now give it me. The Duchess (curtseying and pointing to the letter). I must inform you that The custom is, that whatso'er it be I first must open it and read. The Queen. Again ! — Ah well, then read. [The Duchess takes the letter and slowly unfolds it. Oasilda. Let's hear the lines of love. The Duchess (reoiding). " Madam, the wind is high, and I have killed Six wolves. Signed, Charles." so. III.] BUT BLAS. 331 The Queen (aside). Alas! Don Gueitan (io the Duchess). And is that all ? The Duchess. Yes, Count. Casilda (aside'). Six wolves he's killed ! How this excites Th' imagination ! Tender is your heart, Exacting, weary, sick. Six wolves he's killed ! The Duchess (to the QuEmi, presenting the letter to her). If that your Majesty ? The Queen QpusMng it away). Oh no. Casilda (to the Duchess). And this Is really all ? The Duchess. Undoubtedly. What more Should be ? Our king is hunting ; on the way He writes declaring all he's killed, and states The weather he has had. All this is well. [^Examining the letter again. He writes — ah no, he dictates. The Queen (snatching the letter and examinmg it herself). Then, in short, 'Tis not his hand, only his signature. [She examines it with more attention, and seems struck with st'wpor. (Aside.) Is it delusion ? the hand writing's just The same as that o' the letter ! [She indicates with her hand the letter she has just hidden in her bosom. 332 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [aCT II. Oh, what's this ? (To the Duchess.) Who, then, conveyed the letter ? The Duchess (•pointing to Rut Blas). He is there. The Queen (half turning towwrds Rut Blas). That young man ? The Duchess. 'Twas he himself who brought it. He's a new equerry his Majesty Has given to the Queen. A noble whom, As from the King, my Lord of Santa Cruz Has introduced to me. The Queen. His name ? The Duchess. He is The noble Caesar de Bazan — the Count Of Garofa. If rumour be believed He is the most acoomplish'd gentleman That can be found. The Queen. That's well. I'll speak to him. (To Rut Blas.) Sir- I tremble. Rut Blas (aside, trembling). Ah, she sees — she speaks to me. Oh God ! The Duchess (to Rut Blas). Count, approach. Don GuEiTAN (aside, and loohing sideways at Rur Blas). I did not dream so. III.J ETJT BLAS. 333 Of this, — that young man ! he an equerry ! [RuY Blas, pale and troubled, slowly advances^ The Queen. You come from Aranjuez ? EuT Blas. Tes, Madam. The Queen. The king is well ? [Rut Blas hows, she points to the royal letter. This letter was by him Dictated ? Rut Blas. He on horseback was when he [Hesitates a moment. To one of his attendants did the lines Dictate. The Queen (aside, loohing at Rut Blas). His looks so pierce me that I dare Not ask to whom. (Aloud.) 'Tis well, you may depart. Ah!— [Rut Blas, who had stepped hack a few paces, turns again towards the Queen. Many nobles were assembled there ? (Aside.) Why am I stirr'd on seeing this young man ? [Rut Blas hows, and she continues. Who were they ? Rut Blas. Names I do not know. I was But there a few short moments, for Madrid I quitted but three days ago. The Queen (aside). Three days ! [She looTcs at Rut Blas with a troubled expression. 334 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HnGO. [aCT II, Rut Blas (aside). Another's wife ! Oh. frightful jealousy ! Of whom ? A gulf has opened in my heart. Don Gueitan {approaoliing Rut Blas). You are an equerry unto the Queen. One word with you. Know you your duty ? You To-night must in the next room stay to be In readiness to open to the king Should he arrive. Rut Blas (treinblmg, aside). I open to the king ! (Aloud.) But he is absent now. Don Gueitan. Yet may he not, Though unexpectedly, return ? Rut Blas (aside). Ah — how ! Don Gueitan (aside, observing Rut Blas). What ails him ? The Queen (who has heard all amd is looJcing at Rut Blas), Oh, how pale he grows ! [Rut Blas, tottering, leans his arm on a great chair, Casilda (to And Austria also watches you. And then .' Bavaria's Prince is dying — that you know. As for your viceroys — your Medina, fool '"■ Of love, fills Naples with such tales as are A scandal ; Milan's sold by Vandemont, Legnnez loses Flanders. What for this The remedy ? The state is indigent. The state is drained of troops and money both. Upon the sea — where God his anger shows — Wo have already lost three hundred ships RC. II.J EUT BUS. 353 Without our counting galleys. And you dare ! Ye Sirs, for twenty years the People — think Of it — and I have reckoned it is thus — Have borne the burden under which they bend For you — your pleasures and your mistresses ; — The wretched people whom you still would grind, Have sweated for your uses, this I say, More than four hundred millions of their gold ! And this is not enough for you ! and still My masters ! Ah, I am ashamed ! At home The spoilers, troopers, traverse all the land And fight, the harvest burning. Carbines too Are pointed at each thicket, just as 'twere The war of princes ; war is there between The convents, war between the provinces, All seeking to devour their neighbours poor, Eaters o' the famished on a vessel wreck'd ! Within your ruined churches grows the grass. And they are full of adders. Many great By ancestry, but workers none. Intrigue Is all, and nothing springs from loyalty. A sewer is Spain, to which th' impurity ■ Of all the nations drains. — In his own pay Each noble has a hundred cut-throats, who Do speak a hundred tongues. The Genoese, Sardinian, Flemish. — Babel's in Madrid. The magistrates, so stern to poverty, Are lenient to the rich. When night comes on There's murder, then each one cries out for help ! But yesterday they robb'd me, yes, myself, Near the Toledo bridge. One half Madrid Now robs the other half, judges are bribed, No soldier gets his pay. Old conquerors 0' the world — the Spaniards that we are — see now What army have we ? It but barely shows Six thousand men who barefoot go ; a host Made up of beggars, Jews, and mountaineers, A A 354 DEAMAS OF VIOTOE HUGO. [aCT III. Who, armed with daggers, dress themselves in rags. And every regiment plies a double trade. When darkness falls disorder reigns, and then The doubtful soldier changes to a thief. The robber Matalobos has more troops Than any Baron. One of his followers Made war upon the king of Spain. Alas ! The country peasantry, unshamed, insult The carriage of the king. And he, your lord, Consumed by grief and fear, stays all alone Within the Escurial, with but the dead He treads upon, and stoops his anxious brow From which the empire crumbles fast ! Behold,^ Alas ! all Europe crushing 'neath its heel This land, once purpled — which is now in rags. The state is ruined in this shocking age ; And you dispute among yourselves who shall The fragments take ! The Spanish nation, once So great, lies in the shadow enervate. And dies while you upon it live — mournful As a lion that to vermin is a prey ! — Oh, Charles the Fifth, in these dread times of shame And terror, oh, what dost thou in thy tomb Most mighty Emperor ? Arise, — come, see The best supplanted by the very worst ; This kingdom, now in agony — that was Constructed out of Empires — near its fall. It wants thine arm ! Come to the rescue, Charles ! For Spain is dying, blotted out, self slain ! Thy globe, which brightly shone in thy right hand, A dazzling sun that made the world believe That thenceforth at Madrid the day first dawn d, Is now a dead star, that in the gloom grows less And less — a moon three quarters gnaw'd away. And still decreasing ne'er to rise again But be effaced by other nations ! Oh, Thy heritage is now put up for sale. SC. II.] BUT BLAS. 355 Alas ! they make piastres of thy rays, And soil thy splendours ! Giant ! can it be Thou sleepest ? By its weight thy sceptre now They sell ! A crowd of dwarfs deformed cut up Thy royal robes to make their doublets, while Th' Imperial Eagle, which beneath thy rule Covered the world, and grasped its thunderbolts And darted flame, a poor unfeather'd bird Is cooking in their stew-pan infamous ! [r/te Counsellors are silent in their consternation. But the Maequis de Peiego and the Count de Oampo- EBAL raise their heads and looJc angrily at Rut Blas. Then Campoeeal, after hawing spohen to Peiego, goes to the table and writes a few loords on apiece of pa/per which they loth sign. Count de Campoeeal (pointing to the Maequis de Peiego and presenting the pa/per to Rut Blas). In both our names, your Grace, I tender you The resignation of our posts. Rut Blas (talcing the paper calmly). Thanks. You Will with your family retire, (To Peiego.) Tou, Sir, To Andalusia. (To Campoeeal.) Tou, Count, unto Castile. To his estates each one. Set out To-morrow. [The two nobles bow and exeunt haughtily wearing their hats. Rut Blas, turning to the other counsellors. Whoso'er declines to go My road, can follow now those gentlemen. [SUencefor awhile. Rut Blas seats himself in a, chair with a hack, placed by the side of the royal chair, and begins to open letters. While running his eyes 356 DEAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [aCT III. over them one after another, Covadbnga, Aeias, and Ubilla exchange a few words in low tones. Ubilla (to CovADENGA, indicating Eur Blas). A master we have found, iny friend. This man Will rise to greatness. Don Manuel Aeias. Yes, if he has time. COTADENGA. And if he does not lose himself at view Of all too near, Ubilla. He will be Richelieu ! Don Manuel Aeias. Unless 'tis Olivarez ^ that he proves ! KuY Blas (after having run over in an excited manner a letter he had just opened), A plot ! what's this ? Now, Sirs, what did I say ? (Beading.) " Duke d' Olmedo must watch. A snare there is Preparing to remove a personage, One of the greatest of Madrid." (Examining the letter.) They say Not whom. But I will watch. — Anonymous The letter is. Enter a Court Usher who approaches Hoy Blas with a profound how. How now — what's this ? USHEE. Unto ^ Gaspar Guzman, Count d' Olivarez, Minister of Philip the Fourth of Spain. For a time he seemed the redresser of abuses, but commerce and agriculture declined under his sway, and his foreign policy was disastrous. He was ultimately banished from Court and died in disgrace. — Trans. so. II.] EDY BLAS. 857 Tour Excellence, th' Ambassador of France I now announce. Rut Blas. Ah, Harcourt ! at this time I cannot see him. UsHEE (bowing). And the Nuncio Imperial waits in the saloon of honour To see your Excellence, Rut Blas. Oh, at this hour It is impossible. [The Usher hows and exit. A few moments previously a Page dressed in a livery of pinMslt-grey and silver, had entered and a^yproached Rut Blas. Rot Blas (perceiming him). My Page, to none Whatever am I visible just now. The Page (in a low voice). The Count de Gnritan, who has return'd From Neubourg Rut Blas {with a gesture of surprise). Ah ! — Page, show to him my house I' the suburb, saying that to-morrow he Will find me there — ^if it should please him. Go. [The Page exit. (To the Counsellors.) We shall have work together soon to do. In two hours, gentlemen, return. [All exeunt, hoiuing low to Rut Blas. [Rut Blas is alone, and walks a few steps, absorbed in deep reverie. Suddenly in the corner of the room the tapestry is raised, and the Queen appears. She 358 DEAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [ACT 111. is dressed in white, with a crown on her head. She seeins radiant with joy, and looTcs at EuT Blas ■viith an expression of respect and admiration. She Iwlds back the tapestry with one arm, hehind which is p&rceptible a dark recess, in which a little door can he distinguished, Eur Blas, in twrwing rownd, sees the Queen, and remains as if petrified hy the apparition. Scene 3. — Eut Blas — The Queen. The Queen. Oh, thanks ! Eut Blas. Oh, Heaven ! The Queen. Toil have done well to speak them thus. I can refrain no longer, Duke. I must Press now that loyal hand so strong and true. [She walks quickly towards him and takes Ms hand, which she presses before he can prevent her. Eut Bias (aside). To shun her for six months, and then at once Thus suddenly behold her ! (Aloud.) Madam, you Were there ? The Queen. Yes, Duke, and I heard all yon said. Yes, I was there, and listened with my soul ! Eut Blas (pointing to the hiding-place). I never thought Madam, that hiding-place so. III.J EUT BLAS. 359 The Queen. It is unknown to all. A dark recess That the Third Philip hollowed in the wall, By means of which the master heard all things While, spirit-like, invisible. And oft Prom there have I beheld the Second Charles, Mournful and dull, attend the Councils where They pillaged him and sacrificed the State. Rut Blas. And what said he ? The Queen. He nothing said. Rut Blas. What did he, then ? Nothing ! The Queen. He to the hunting field Went ofi". But you ! Your threatening words still ring Upon mine ear. Oh ! in what haughty ways You treated them, and how superbly right You were ! The border of the tapestry I raised and saw you. Yes, your flashing eyes With lightning overwhelmed them, and without Fury. Unto them everything was said. You seemed to me the only upright one ! But where, then, have you learn'd so many things ? How comes it that you know effects and cause ? That everything you know ? Whence cometh it That your voice speaks as tongues of kings should speak. Why, then, were you like messenger of God, So terrible and great ? Rut Blas, Because — because I love you ! I whom all these hate. Because 360 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT III. I know full well that what they seek to crush Must fall on you ! Because there's nothing can Dismay a reverent passion so profound. Therefore to save you I would save the world ! Unhappy man, who loves you with such love, Alas ! I think of you as think the blind Of day. Oh, Madam, hear me, I've had dreams Uncounted, I have loved you from afar, From the deep depths of shade ; I have not dared To touch your finger-tips. Ton dazzled me As sight of angel might, I've suffered much. Truly I have. Ah, Madam, if you knew ! Six months I hid my love — ^but now I speak. I fled — I shunned you, but I tortured was. I am not thinking of these men at all, I love you ! And, oh God ! I dare to speak The words unto your Majesty, Now say. What I must do ? Should you desire my death, I'll die. Oh, pardon me — I'm terrified ! The QtjEEN, Oh, speak ! enchant me ! Never in my life Such words I've heard, I listen. 'Tis thy soul That speaking overwhelms me quite, I need Thy voice, thine eyes. Oh, if thon knewest ! I It is who suffered ! Ah, a hundred times When in the last six months your eyes shunn'd mine But no, I must not say these things so fast I'm most unhappy. Silent let me be, I am afraid ! EuT Blas [listening with rapture). Oh, Madam, finish. You With joy fill up my heart. The Queen, Well, listen, then, [Baisincf her eyes to heomen. Yes, I will tell him all. Is it a crime ? so. HI.] EUY BIAS. 361 So mucli the worse ! But when the heart is torn One cannot he'p bit show what there was hid. Thou fled'st the Queen ? Ah, well, the Queen sought thee. Each day she came there to that secret place, And listened to thee, gathering up thy words. Silent, in contemplation of thy mind, Which judged, and resolutely willed. Thy voice Enthralled me, and gave interest to all. To me thou seem'dst the real king, the right True master. I it was that in six months — Perchance thou doubtest — made thee mount unto The summit ; where by fate thou should'st have been, A woman placed thee. All that concerned me Thou hast considered. First it was a flower, But now an Empire. Ah, I reverence thee. At first I thought thee good — but afterwards I found thee great. My God, 'tis this that wins A woman ! If I now do ill, oh why Was I incarcerated in this tomb, As in a cage they put a dove, deprived Of hope, of love, without one gilded ray ? — Some day, when we have time, I'll tell thee all That I have suffered, I, ever alone. As if forgot ! humiliated too Most constantly. Now judge. 'Twas yesterday, My chamber I disliked ; you know — for you Know all things — rooms there are where we feel more Depressed than in some others. Mine I wished To change. Now see what chains are ours, they would Not let me. Thus a slave am I. O Duke, It must have been that heaven sent thee here To save the tottering state, and from the gulf To draw the people back — the working ones. And love me who thus suffer. Ah I tell Thee all at random, in my simple way. You must, however, see that I am right. 862 EUAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT III. RuY Blas (^falling on Ms Icnees). Madam. The Queen (gravely), Don Caesar — I to you give up My soul. The Queeu for others, I to you Am but a woman. By the heart to you It is that I belong. And I have faith To know your honour will respect mine own. Whenever you shall call me I wUl come. Ready I am. Sublime thy spirit is, Oh Csesar. And be proud, for thou art crown'd By genius. (She hisses Ids forehead.) Adieu ! \She radses the tapestry and exit. Scene 4. — Rut Blas (alone). [lie is as if absorbed in sera/phic contemplation. Before mine eyes 'Tis heav'n I see ! In all my life, oh God, This hour stands first. Before me is a world, A world of light, as if the paradise We dream about had open'd wide and fiU'd My being with new life and brilliancy ! In me, around me, everywhere is joy, Intoxication, mystery, and delight. And pride, and that one thing that on the earth Approaches most divinity, love — love, In majesty and power. The Queen loves me \ Oh heavens, it is true — me — me — myself ! Since the Queen loves me I am more than King ! Oh, it is dazzling. Conqueror, happy, loved. Duke d'Olmedo am I — and at my feet Is Spain. I have her heart. That angel, whom Upon my knees I contemplate and name. Has by a word transfigured me and made so. lY.] EUT BLAS. 363 Me more than man. But in my star-lit dream Do I move waking ! Tes, I'm very sure 'Twas she herself who spoke — quite sure 'twas she. A little diadem of silver lace She wore; and I observed the while she spoke — I think I see it still — an eagle 'graved Upon her golden bracelet. She confides In me, has told me so. — Poor Angel ! Oh, If it be true that God in granting love Does by a miracle within us blend That which can make man great with that which can His nature soften, I who nothing fear Since I am loved by her, I, who have power. Thanks to her choice supreme, I, whose full heart Might well the envy be of kings, declare — Before my God who hears me — without fear, And with loud voice, that Madam you may trust In me, — unto my arm as Queen, unto My heart as woman, — for devotion, pure And loyal, dwells i' the depth of my great love. Ah, fear thou nothing ! [Buring this speech a man had entered, hy a door at the hack, wrapped in a large cloak mid ivith a hat gaUooned in silver. He advances slowly towards E.DY Blas without being seen, and at the moment when Rut Blas, intoxicated with ecstasy and happiness, raises his eyes to hea/ven, this man slaps him on the shoulder. Rut Blas turns, startled as if awakening from a dream,. The man lets fall Ms cloak, and RuY Blas recognises Don Sallustb. Don Sal- LUSTE is dressed in a pinkish-grey livery gaUooned with silver, like that of the page of Rbt Blas. ■364 DEAMAS OF TIOTOE HUGO. [ACT III. Scene 5. — Eut Blas, Don Salluste. Don Salluste (placing Ms hand on the slumlder of Eut Blas). Ah, good day. Eut Blas (aside). Great God ! I'm lost ! It is the Marquis that is here ! Don Salluste. I wager now you did not think of me. Eut Blas. Indeed your lordship did surprise me. (Aside.) Oh, My misery is resumed. When turned towards An angel, 'twas a demon came ! [He hurries to the tapestry which conceals the little hiding place, and bolts the door inside. Then he returns trembling to Don Salluste. Don Salluste. Well now, How are you ? Eut Blas (his eyes fixed on Don Salluste who is im- perturahle, and as if himself incapable of gathering together his ideas). Why this livery ? Don Salluste [still smiling). I desired To find an entrance to the palace. This Admits me everywhere. I have assumed Tour livery, and find it suits me well. [He puts on his hat. Eut Blas remains la/reheaded. SC-. v.] BUT ELAS. 365 Rdt Blas. But I'm alarmed for you. Don Sallustb. Alarmed ! What was That word so ludicrous ? Rut Blas. Exiled you were ! Don Salluste, Ton think so ? Possibly. Eur Blas. If it should be That in the palace you were recognised In the broad daylight ? Don Salluste. Nonsense ! Happy folks, Who are about the Court, would waste their time, The time that flies so fast, remembering A face that's in disgrace. Besides, who looks Upon a lackey's profile ? (He seats himself in the arm cliair. Rut Blas remaitis: standing.) By the bye. And if you please, what's this that in Madrid They say ? Is't true, that, burning with a zeal Extravagant, and only for the sake Of public funds, you've exiled a grandee. That dear Priego ? You've forgotten quite That you're relations, for his mother was A Sandoval — yours also. What the deuce ! A Sandoval doth bear on field of " or " A bend of " sable." Look to your blazonry, Don Csesar, it is very clear. Such things, My dear, between relations should not be. The wolves that fight with other wolves, make they 366 DBAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [ACT III. Good leaders ? Open wide your eyes for self. But shut them for the others. For himself Each one. Rut Blas (recovering himself a little). However, Sir — permit me, pray. The Marquis de Priego, of the State A noble, does great wrong in swelling now Th' expenses of the kingdom. Soon we shall Have need to put an army in the field ; We have not money, yet it must be done. Bavaria's Prince is at the point of death ; And yesterday the Count d'Harcourt, whom well You know, said to me in the Emperor's His master's name, that if the Archduke should Assert his claim, war would break out Don Salluste. The air Seems rather chill — will you be good enough To close the casement ? [Rut Blas, pale with shame and despair, hesitates a moment; then by an effort he goes slowly to the window, and shuts it. He retv/rn^ to Don Sal- luste, wlio is still seated in the arm-chair, watching him in am indifferent manner. Rut Blas (^continuing his endeavour to eon/oince Don Salluste), Deign, I beg, to see How very difficult a war will prove ; What without money can we do ? Listen, My Lord. Spain's safety in her honour lies. For me — I've to the Emperor said, as if Our arms were ready, I'd oppose him Don Salluste (interrwpting him, and pointing to his handkerchief, which he had let fall on entering). Stay, SC. v.] E0T BLAS. 3C7 Pick up my handkerchief. [EuT Blas, as if tortured, again hesitates; then stoops and takes up the handkerchief, giving it to Don Salluste. Don Salluste (putting the handkerchief in his poolcet). Tou did observe ? Rut Blas (with an effm-t). Yes, Spain is at our feet ; her safety now And public interest demand that each Forgets himself. The nation blesses those Who would release her. Let us dare be great, And strike and save the people. Let us now Remove the mask from knaves, and let in light Upon intrigue. Don Salluste (with indifference). First let me say all this Is wearying, — it of the pedant smacks. His petty way of making monstrous noise Concerning everything. What signifies A wretched million, more or less, devoured. That all these dismal cries are raised about ? My boy, great Lords are not the pedant class. Freely they live — I speak without bombast. The mien of them who would redress abuse Is pride inflated and with anger red ! Pshaw ! now you want to be a famous spark Adored by traders and by citizens. 'Tis very droll. Have newer fancies, pray. The public good ! First think now of your own. Spain's safety is a hollow phrase; the rest Can shout, my boy, as well as you can do. And popularity ? a rattling noise Thought glory. Oh, what charming work to prowl Like barking dog about the taxes ! But I know conditions better. Probity ? And faith ? and virtue ? faded tinsel, used Already from the time of Charles the Fifth. 368 DRAMAS OF YICTOE HOGO. [AOT III. You are no fool. Must you be cured of all This sentiment ? Tou were a sucking cMld When we did gaily and without remorse By pin-pricks, or a kick, burst all at once Your fine balloon, and amidst roaring mirth Let out the wind from all these crotchets. EuT Bias. My Lord, however- But Don Salluste (witTi icy sviile). You're astonishing. Let us be serious now. (7ji an abrupt and imperious manner.) To-morrow, all The morning you will wait at home for me, Within the house I lent you. What I do Now neara the end. Only retain the mutes To wait upon us. In the garden have. But hidden by the trees, a carriage, well Appointed, horses, all prepared for use. I will arrange relays. Do all I wish. — You will want money, I will send it you. — Rut Blas. I will obey you, Sir. I will do all. But first, oh, swear to me that with this work The Queen has nought to do. Don Salluste (playing with an ivory Jcnife on the table, turns half round). With what are you Now meddling? Rut Blas {tr'>mblvng and looking at him with terror). Oh, you are a fearful man ! My knees beneath me tremble. Towards a gulf Invisible you drag me. Oh, I feel so. v.] EUT BLAS. 369 That in a hand most terrible I am ! You have some monstrous scheme. Something I see That's horrible. Have mercy upon me ! Oh, I must tell you, — -judge alas ! yourself Tou knew it not. I love that woman ! Don Salluste. Tea. I knew it. RuY Blas. Knew it ! ' s Don Salluste. What, by heaven, can That signify ? Rut Blas (leaning for support against the wall, and as if speaking to himseHf). Then for mere sport he has, The coward ! this torture practised upon me ! Ah, this affair will be most horrible ! [He raises his eyes to heaven. Oh, God all-powerful ! who tries me now, Spare me, oh God ! Don Salluste. There, that's enough — yon dream ! Truly you think in earnest that you are A personage, but 'tis buffoonery. I to an end move on which I alone Should know, an end that happier is for you Than you can guess. But keep you still. Obey. I have already said, and I repeat I wish your good. Proceed, the thing is done. And after all, what are the woes of love ? We all go through them — troubles of a day. Know you, an Empire's destiny's concerned ? What's yours beside it ? Willingly I'd tell Tou all ; but have the sense to comprehend. 370 BKAMAS OF TICTOB HUGO. [ACT III^ Tour station keep. I'm very good and kind. A lackey thougli, of coarse clay or of fine, Is but an instrument to serve my whims. Witli your sort, what one wishes one can do. Your master did disguise you as his plan Required, and can unmask you at his will. I made you a great Lord — fantastic part — But for the instant — and you have complete The outfit. But forget not that you are My servant. Tou pay court unto the Queen — An incident — like stepping up behind My carriage. Therefore reasonable be. Rut BIjAS (who has listened distracted, as if he could not believe his ears'). Oh God — oh God ! the just ! the merciful ! Oh, of what crime is this the punishment ? What have I done ? Oh, Thou our Father art, And wouldst not that a man despair. Behold, Then, where I am ! — And willingly, my Lord, And without wrong in me — only to see A victim agonised, in what abyss You've plunged me ! torturing thus a heart replete With love and faith, to serve alone as- means For vengeance of your own ! (.4s if speaking to himself.) For vengeance 'tis ! The thing is certain. I divine too well It is against the Queen ! What can I do ? Go tell her all ? Great Heaven ! become to her An object of disgust and horror I Knave With double face ! A Crispin ! Scoundrel base And impudent, such as they bastinado And drive away ! Never ! — I grow insane. My reason totters ! (A pause. He ponders.) God ! behold what things eC. v.] EUY BLAS. 371 Are done ! To build an engine silently, To arm it hideously with frightful wheels Unnumber'd, then to see it work, upon The stone to throw a livery 'd one, a thing, A serving man, and set in motion all — And suddenly to watch come out, beneath The wheels, some muddy, blood-stained rags, a head All broken, and a warm and steaming heart, And not to shudder then to find, despite The name they call him, that the livery was But outward covering of a man. (Turning towards Don Salluste.) But oh. There still is time ! Truly, my Lord, as yet Th' horrible wheel is not in motion. {Throws himself at his feet.") Oh, Have pity on me 1 Mercy ! Pity her ! Tou know that I a faithful servant am, Tou often said it. See how I submit ! Oh, grace ! Don Salluste. The man will never understand. This wearies me ! RuY Blas (trailing at his feet). Oh, mercy ! Don Salluste. Let us now Have done. (He turns towards the window.) Ton badly closed the window there, I'm sure. A draught comes thence. (Me goes to the casement and shuts it,) Rur Blas (rising). It is too much ! 372 DEAMAS OF VICTOK HUGO. [ACT III. At present I'm Duke d'Olmedo, and still Th' all-powerful minister ! I raise my head From 'neath tlie foot wliioli cruslies me. Don Sallustb. What's that You say ? Repeat the phrase. Is Euy Bias Indeed Duke d'Olmedo ? Tour eyes are bound. 'Twas only on Bazan that thou wast raised To be Olmedo. Rut Blas. I will order you To be arrested. But- DoN Salluste. I'll say who you are. Rur Blas (excitedly). Don Salluste. You'll accuse me ? I've risked both our heads. That was foreseen. Too soon do you assume The air of triumph. Rut Blas. I'll deny it all. Don Salluste. Pshaw ! you're a child. Rut Blas. You have no proof ! Don Salluste. And you No memory. I'll do just what I say, And you had best believe me. But the glove Are you, I am the hand. (Lowering Ms voice and approaching Rut Blas.) If thou obey'st so. v.] KUY BLAS. 373 Me not, if thou to-morrow do not stay At home preparing what I wish, if thou Should'st speak a single word of all which now Is passing, if by look or gesture thou Betray — first she, for whom thou fearest, shall, By this thy folly, in a hundred spots Be publicly defamed, and ruined quite, And afterwards she shall receive — in this There's nought obscure — a paper under seal Which in a place secure I keep ; 'twas writ Thou wilt remember by what hand ? and signed Thou knowest how ? These are the words her eyes Will read : " I, Buy Bias, the serving-man Of the most noble Lord the Marquis of Finlas, engage to serve him faithfully On all occasions as a servant true In public or in secrecy." Rut Blas (crushed, and in hushy voice.") Enough. I will, my Lord, do what you please. [The door at the hack opens. One sees the members of the Privy Council re-entering. Don Sallustb hastens to wrap his chah round him. Don Salluste (in a low voice.) They come. (Aloud, and homing loio to RdT Blas.) I am your humble servant, my Lord Duke. [Exit ACT FOURTH: DON" O^SAR. A small, gloomy, but sv/mptuous room. Old-fashioned wainscot a/nd furnitwre, ivith old gilding. The walls covered with old hanging's of crimson velvet pressed doivn in places, and at the hacJc of the a/rm-chairs, and gathered by shining gold galloon into vertical bands. At the back folding doors. At the left angle of the wall, a large corner chimney with scidpture of the time of Philip the Second, and an escutcheon of wrought iron inside. At the opposite angle a little door leading to a darlc closet. A single window at the left, placed very high, has bars across it, and an inside splay like the ivindoios of prisons. On the walls are some old por- traits smoke-begrimed and half defaced. A chest for clothes and a Venetian looking-glass. Large arm-chairs in the fashion Philip the Third's time. A highly orna- mented cupboard against the wall. A squa/re table with writing materials on it. A little round table with gilt feet in a corner. It is morning. When the curtain rises Rut Blas, dressed in black without his mantle and ivithout the Fleece, is seen walking about the room greatly agitated. At the back stands his Page motionless, as if awaiting orders. Scene 1. — Rut Blas. The Page. RuY Blas (aside, as if s'peaking to himself). What is it can be done ? She must be saved ! Before all else ! Nothing but her to be SC. I.] EUT BIAS. 375 Considered ! Should my brains from on a wall Spurt out, or should the gibbet claim, or should Hell seize me, rescued she must be ! But how ? To give my blood, my heart, my soul, all that "Were nothing — it were easy. But to break This web ! To guess, for guess one must, what schemes This man constructing has combined ! Sudden He comes from out the shadow, and therein Replunges. Lone in darkness what does he ? When I remember that at first to him For self I pleaded ! Oh, 'twas cowardice ! Moreover it was stupid ! This is why — He is a wretch.— The thing has olden date. No doubt. — How could I think, that when he held His prey but half devoured, the demon would, In pity for his lackey, leave the Queen ! Can we subdue wild beasts ? Oh misery ! I yet must save her ! I, the cause of this ! At any price it must be done. All — all Is ended. Now behold my fall ! From height So great so low ! Have I then dream'd ? — Yet oh ! She must escape ! But he ! By what door will He come — and by what trap, oh God, will he, The traitor black, proceed ? As of this house, So of my life, he is the lord. He can The gilding all strip off. He has the keys Of all the locks. Enter and leave he can, Approaching in the dark to tread upon My heart as on this floor. Yes, this my dream ! Such fate confuses thought i'the rapid tide Of things so quickly done. I am distraught. No one thought have I clear. My mind — of which I was so vain — oh God ! is now in such A hurricane of rage and fear 'tis like A reed storm-twisted ! — Oh what can I do ? Let me reflect. At first to hinder her From stirring from the palace. Yes, 'tis that 376 DRAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO, [ACT IV. Undoubtedly tliat is the snare. Around Myself the whirlpool is, and darkness dense. I feel the mesh but see it not. Oh, how I suffer ! — 'Tis decided. To forewarn — Prevent her going from the palace — this At once to do. But how ? No one I have ! [He reflects earnestly. Suddenly, as if struck with an idea, and having a ray of hope, he raises his head. Don Gnritan ! Ah, yes, he loves her well, And he is loyal ! (He signs to the Page to approach, then speaks low.) Page, this instant go Unto Don Guritan. Make him from me Apologies ; Emd beg him then without Delay to seek the Queen, and pray her in My name, and in his own, that whatso'er May happen or be said, on no account To leave the palace for three days. To stir Not out. Now run. (Beealling the Fage) . Ah! (He takes a leaf and a pencil from his note case.) Let him give these words Unto the Queen, — and watch ! (He writes on his knee rapidly.) " Believe what says Don Guritan, as he advises do." [He folds the paper and gives it to the Page. As for the duel, tell him I was wrong, That I am at his feet, that I have now A trouble, beg of him to pity me. And take my supplication to the Queen On th' instant. Tell him that I will to him, In public, make apologies. And say There is for her a danger imminent. She must not venture out for quite three days Whate'er occurs. Exactly do all this ; Go, be discreet, and nothing let appear. so. I.] BUT BLAS. 377 Page. I am to you devoted — for you are A master good. EuT Bias. Run fast, my little Page, Hast thou well understood ? Page. Oil yes, my lord. Be satisfied. [Exit Page. Rut Blas (alone, falling into an arm-chair). My thoughts grow calmer now. Tet I forget, and feel things all confused As were I mad. Ah yes, the means are sure. Don Guritan. But I myself? Is there The need to wait Don Salluste here ? Wherefore ? Oh no, I will not wait, and that perchance Will paralyse him for a day. Within A church I want to pray. I'll go — I've need Of help, and God will me inspire ! [He tahes Ms hat from a side table, and shakes a little hell placed on the table. Two negroes dressed in pale green velvet Irocaded with gold, j ache ts plaited into great lappets, appea/r at the door at the hacJc. I leave. But very soon a man will hither come — And by an entrance known to him. May be. When in the house, as if he were indeed The master, he will act. Let him so do. And if some others come (After hesitating a moment.) My faith, why then Ton '11 please to let them enter. [By a gesture he dismisses the negroes who how in toJcen of ohedience and exewnt. Now I go ! [Eieii. 378 DRAMAS OP VICTOB HUGO. [-ACT IV. [^At the moment the door closes on Rtjt Blas there is heard a great noise in the chimney, from which suddenly falls a man wrapped in a tattered cloak. It is Don O^sae who throws himself into the room. Scene 2. — Don C^sah. Don OiESAE (scaled, out of breath, stupefied, disordered, with an expression of mingled joy and anxiety). 'Tis I ! So mucb. the worse ! [jffe rises, rubbing the leg on which he has fallen, and comes into the room hat in hand and bowing low. Tour pardon, pray ! But heed me not. I don't attend — go on With your discourse, continue I entreat, I enter rather rudely — Sirs, for that I'm sorry ! (He stops in the middle of the room, perceiving he is alone.') No one here ? — When on the roof Just now I perched, I thought I heard the sound Of voices. — No one, though ! (Seats himself in an arm-chair.) That's very well. Let me now gather up my thoughts. And good Is solitude. Oh, what events ! — Marvels With which I'm charged, just as a wetted dog Who shakes off water. First those Algaazils Who seized me in their claws, and that absurd Embarkment ; then the corsairs, and the town So big where I was beaten sorely. Then Temptations of that sallow woman ; next. Departure from the prison ; travels, too. And at the last return to Spain, And then— Oh, what a tale ! — The day that I arrived, SC. II.j BUY BLAS. 379 Those self-same Alguazils the first I met. My desperate flight, and their enraged pursuit ; I leaped a wall, and then I saw a house Half-hidden by the trees ; I thither ran ; None saw me, so I nimbly climbed from shed To roof; at last I introduced myself Into the bosom of a family By coming down a chimney, where I tore To rags my newest mantle, that now hangs About my heels. By heav'n. Cousin Salluste, Tou are a braggart rogue ! (Iiooking at himself in a little Venetian glass placed on the sculptured chest.) My doublet here Has kept to me through these disasters all. It struggles yet. [^He talees off his mantle and admires in the glass Ms rose-coloured doublet, now torn and patched; then he puts his hand sharply to his leg, with a looJc at the chimney. But in my fall my leg Has suffer'd horribly ! [ife opens the drawers of the chest. In one of them he finds a mantle of light-green velvet embroidered with gold. The mantle given by Don Salluste to KuY Blas. He examines it and compares it with his own. It seems to me This mantle is more decent than my own. [Se puts on the green mantle, and leaves Ms own in the chest, after having carefully folded it up. Me adds Ms hat, which he crushes under the mantle with a blow of Ms ■fist. Then he shuts the draiver, a/nd struts about proudly draped in the fine mantle embroidered with gold. 'Twill do. Behold me now return'd. All is Proceeding well. Ah, cousin very dear, 380 DRAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [-^CT lY. Tou wished to send me ofiF to Africa, Where man is mouse unto the tiger ! Ah, I'll be revenged on you most savagely, My cursed cousin, when I've breakfasted. In my right name I'll go to you, and drag With me a troop of rogues, such as can smell The gibbet a league off — and more, I will Deliver you alive, thus to appease The appetites of all my creditors. These followed by their little ones. [B"e perceives in the corner a pair of splendid hoots trinvmed with lace. He talces off his shoes in a leisii/rely marni&r, and, without scruple, puts on the new hoots. But first I^ow let me see where all his perfidies Have led me. {After loohing all rowid the room.) A mysterious dwelling, fit IPor tragedies. Closed doors and shutters barred, A dungeon quite. Into this charming place One enters from the top, just as there comes The wine into the bottles. {With a sigh.) Ah, good wine Is very good. [He notices the little door at the tight, opens it, and hastily enters the closet with which it communicates, and then comes hack with a gesture of astonishment. Oh wonders, wonders more ! Where everything is closed, a little room Without the means of egress ! [He goes to the door at the hach, half-opens it, and loolcs out; he lets it close amd comes to the front. Not a soul ! — Oh, where the deuce am I ? — At any rate, I've managed to escape the Alguazils. so. II.] EUY BLAS. 381- What matters all the rest ? Need I be scared And take a gloomy yiew, because I ne'er Before beheld a house like this ? (He seats himself in ihe a/rm-clum; and yawns, hut soon gets v/p again.) Come, though, I feel the dullness here is horrible ! (Perceiving a little comer cupboard in the wall.) Let's see, this looks to me a little like A bookcase. (He opens it, and finds it to he a well-fit/rnislied larder.) Ah ! 'tis just the thing. — A pie, A water-melon, and some wine. A cold Collation for emergency. By Jove ! I'd prejudices 'gainst this house. (Uxamines the flagons one after the other.) AH good. — Come, now ! This place is worthy of great praise. {He goes to the corner, and hriAigs thence to the front a little round table, on which he places the contents of the la/rder — bottles, dishes, etc. He adds a glass, plate, forh, etc. Then he takes up one of the- bottles. Let's read this one the first. (He Jills the glass, and drinks off the wine.) A work that is Most admirable. The production fine Of that so famous poet called the sun ! Xeres-des-Ohevaliers can nothing show More ruby-like. (He sits, and pours out another glass of wine.) What book's worth this ? Find me Something that is more spiritual ! (He drinks.) Ah! This comforts ! Let us eat. (He cuts the pie.) 382 DEAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [ACT IV. I have outstripp'd Those dogs of Alguazils. They've lost the scent. (ffe begins eating.') The king of pies ! and as for him who is The master here, should he drop in (He goes to the sideboard, and brings thence a glass and a plate.) Why, him I now invite, if that he does not come To drive me hence. Let me be very quick, (He takes large mouthfuls.) My dinner done, I'll look about the house. Who can inhabit it ? Maybe, he is A jolly fellow. This place can but hide Some feminine intrigue. Pshaw ! What's the harm That here I do ? What is it, I beseech ? Nought but this worthy's hospitality After the ancient way, (He half Icneels, surrounding the table with his arms.) Embracing thus The altar. (He drinhs.) Firstly though, this wine is not A bad man's wine. And then if anyone Should come, I'd certainly declare myself. How you would rage, my old accursed coz ! What, that low fellow, that Bohemian ! That beggarly black sheep Zafari ? Tes, Don Caesar de Bazan, the cousin he Of the Don Salluste ! What a fine surprise ! And what a hubbub in Madrid ! When was't That he return'd ? This morning, or this night ? What tumult everywhere at such a bomb. The great forgotten name that all at once Again is heard ! Don CsBsar de Bazan ! Tes, if you please, good Sirs. Nobody thought — Nobody spoke of him, — then he's not dead ! He lives, my dames and gentlemen ! The men BO. III.] KUy BLAS. 383 Will cry : The deuce ! The women they will say, Indeed ! Aye, aye ! Soft sound that mingles with The barking of three hundred creditors As you go home ! Mne part to play ! Alas ! I'm wanting money for it. (^A noise is heard at the door.) Some one comes ! No doubt t' expel me like a vile buffoon. — No matter though. CsBsar, do nought by halves ! [ffe wraps himself in Ms cloak wp to the eyes. The door at the hach opens. A lackey in livery enters hear- ing a great courier's hag on Ms hack. Scene 3. — Don CiESAE. A Lackey. Don Cmsab, (scanning the Lackey /rom head to foot). Whom seek you here my friend ? (Aside.) I must assume Great confidence — the peril is extreme. The Lackey. Don Caasar de Bazan ? Don Cjisab (lowering his mantle from his face). Don Caesar ! That's Myself ! (Aside.) Here is the wonderful ! The Lackey. Tou are, My Lord, Don Caasar de Bazan ? n Don Cjisae. By heav'n I have the honour so to be. Caesar, The true and only Caesar ! Count of Gar 384 DRAMAS OP VICTOE H0GO. [ACT IV. The Lackey (placing the bag on the arm-ohodr). Now deign to see if the amount be right Don O^sae (daaed — aside'). Some money ! Oh, it is too wonderful ! (Aloud.) My man The Lackey. You'll condescend to count. It is The sum that I was told to bring you. Don Cjisab (grwvely). Ah! 'Tis well, I understand. (Aside.) The devU now I wish But there we must not disarrange This admirable story. In the nick Of time it comes. (Aloud.) Now want you a receipt ? The Lackey. Not so, my Lord. Don C^sae (pointing to the table). Put there the money bag. [^The Lackey obeys. Whom comes it from ? The Lackey. My Lord knows very well. Don C^sab. Undoubtedly, but still The Lackey. This money here — And this is what is netful that I add — Now comes for purpose that you know, from him Tou know. Don C^sae (satisfied with the explanation). Ah! sc. iii.] but bias. 385 The Lackey. Both of us must careful be — Hush! Don Cjisae. Hush ! — This money comes The phrase is most Magnificent ! Repeat it once again. The Lackey. This money Don C^sae. All explains itself. It comes Prom him I know The Lackey. For purpose that you know. We must Don C^sae. The pair of us ! The Lackey. Be guarded now» Don C^sae. It is quite clear. The Lackey. I do not understand, I but obey. Don Cjisae. Pshaw — pshaw ! The Lackey. But you, I know, Do comprehend. Don C^sae. The deuce ! The Lackey. Sufficient 'tis>- C C 386 DRAMAS Of YICTOE HUOO. [AOT IT. Don GaiSAK. I take it and I understand, my boy, Receiving money always easy is. The Lackey. Hush! Don C^sae. Hush ! Deuce take it — ah, we must not now Imprudent be ! The Lackey. Count it, my Lord ! Don C^sae. For what. Pray, do you take me ? \_Admvrmg the rotundity of the hag on the table. Oh ! the fine paunch ! The Lackey (insisting'). Don Cj!Sae. I do confide in thee. The Lackey. The gold is in Broad quadruples, that weigh their full seven drachms And six and thirty grains, or good doubloons, The silver in cross-maries. [Don CasAE opens the great hag and tahesfrom it several small bags full of gold and silver, which he opens and empties on to the table admirvnghj ; then he digs his hand into the bags of gold and drams out handfuls, filling his pockets with quadruples and doubloons. Don C^sae (poMsing, with majesty. Aside.) Now behold My fine romance, — the crown of fairy-dreams Is dying for love of a fat million. [He continues filling his pochets. But- so. III.] BUT BLiS. 387 Oh joy ! I take in like a galleon ! [Owe pocket filled, he passes to (mother. He seelcs every- where for pockets cmd seems to have forgotten the Lackey, The Lackey (who looks at him calmly'). And now I wait your orders. Don Cj)Sar (tmning round). What to do ? The Lackey, To promptly execute without delay A something which you know, but I do not, A thing of great importance Don C^sae (interrupting him as if understanding). Public 'tis And private The Lackey. Which this instant should be done. I say what I was told to say. Don C^sae (slapping him on the shoulder). And I Applaud thee for it — faithful servant thou ! The Lackey. That nothing be delayed my master sends Myself to help you. Don OiESAK. Acting in accord, Let us do what he wishes. (Aside.) Hang me now If I know what to tell him. (Aloud.) Galleon, Come here, and first (Heflls the other glass with wine), Drink this ! 388 dramas of victoe hdgo. [act ly. The Lacket. Indeed, my Lord Don C^sae. Drink this. [The Lackey drinks, and Don CiESAE again Jills the glass. 'Tis wine of Oropesa ! {He makes the Lackey sit down, and plies him with wine). Now Let's cliat. (^Aside.} His eyes already sparkle. {Aloud, and stretching hrniself on his chair.') Man Is nought, dear friend, bnt black smoke that proceeds From out the passions' fire. Pshaw ! I declare (Pours wine for him, to drink.) 'Tis rubbish this I'm telling thee. At first The smoke, unto blue hesfv'n recalled, comports Itself in manner diflferent from when 'Tis in a chimney. It mounts gaily, while We tumble down. (He rubs his leg.) Only vile lead is man, (He fills the two glasses.) Let's drink. All thy doubloons are of less worth Than is a passing drunkard's song. (Approaching nearer to him in a mysterious m,anner.) But see. Be prudent. The o'erloaded axle breaks ; The wall without foundation suddenly Gives way. — My mantle's collar please to hook. The Lackey (haughtily). My Lord, I'm not a valet. (Before Don CiESAE can prevent Mm, he rings the little bell on the table.) SC. III.] EUT BLAS. 389 Don OjiSAE (aside — terrified). Oh, he rings ! The master, perhaps, will come himself. I'm caught ! [Enter one of the Negroes. Don C^isae, a prey to the greatest anxiety, turns towards the opposite side, as if not knowing what to do. The Lackey (to the Negro). Fasten my Lord's clasp. [_The Negro gravely approaches Don Ojisae, who looks at him as if sttipejied. Then he fastens the mantle, bows, and goes out, leaving Don CiESAE petrified. Don CajSAE (rising from the table — aside). On my word of honour ! Beelzebub's abode this is ! (B.e comes to the front, and strides about.) My faith ! Now let things drift, and take what comes. At least, I'll stir the crowns ; a coffer full of them. The money I have got ! What shall I do With it ? (Twning towards the Lackey, who is stUl at the table, drinking, a/nd who begins to reel in Ms chair). Tour pardon — stop. (Musing — aside. ) Now, let me see, — If I should pay my creditors ? — for shame ! — At least, to calm their minds that are so prompt At turning sour, — if I should water them With something on account ? What good is it To water flowers so villainous ? How now The devil did I think of such a thing ? Nothing there is like money to corrupt A man, and fill him up unto the throat With all mean sentiments ! E'en if he were From Hannibal himself descended, him 390 DRAMAS OP TICTOB HUGO. [ACT IV. Who conquer'd Rome ! To see me paying debts I owe ! what would they say ? Ah, ah ! The Lackey (emptying his glass). What now Do you command of me ? Don CiESAR. Let be — I am Reflecting. Drink, while waiting. [The Lackey begins drinking again, Don C^sae eon- timues to muse; then suddenly strikes his forehead, as if he hadfowid an idea. Yes! {To the Lackey.) Get up Immediately. See now, what must be done. Thy pockets fill with gold. \The Lackey rises, strnnhling, a/nd fills the pockets of his coat, Don C^sae helping him as he continues. Go thou unto The lane which leads from out the Mayor Square, Enter at Number Nine. A narrow house ; A pleasant dwelling, if it did not hap The glass panes at the right were paper patched. The Lackey, A one-eyed house ? ' Don Cjisar. Oh no, it only squints.' One might be crippled mounting up the stairs, So take you care. The Lackey, A ladder is 't ? ' Maison horgm — French slang for a disreputable house ; and louche, for a suspicious one. — Trans. so. III.] EUT BLAS. 391 Don C^sae, Almost, But steeper. Up above, a beauty dwells, Easy to know — beneath a threepenny cap Thiokish disordered hair. She's rather short And red — a charming woman, though. My boy, Tou'll be respectful, she my dear love is, Luoinda fair, with eyes like indigo, Once she ; who danced fandango for the Pope At eve to see. Count out and give to her A hundred of the ducats, in my name. Then, in a hovel near, you'll see a stout And red-nosed devil, with an old felt hat Dragged down upon his eyebrows, and a plume, A feather brush, that tragically hangs Astonished from it ; rapier at his side, And rags upon his back. Give next, from me. Unto this creature six piastres. — Then Go further, thou wilt find a hole, black like An oven, 'tis a tavern at cross roads ; There smokes and drinks i' the porch, a frequenter, A gentle-manner'd man who leads a life That's elegant, a gentleman from whom An oath ne'er dropp'd, my heart's friend he ; his name Is Goulatromba. Give him thirty crowns ! And tell him for thanksgiving he alone Must drink them quick, and he shall have some more. Give to these rascals in the biggest coins, And do not wonder at the eyes they'll ope. The Lackey. And afterwards ? Don C^sae. Why, keep the rest. And then At last The Lackey. What would my Lord ? 392 DEAMAS OP VICTOK HUGO. [ACT IT. Don Gj!Sae. Then surfeit thou Thyself, thou scamp. Break many pots, and make Much noise, and not until to-morrow, in The night, go home. The Lackey. Enough, my Prince. [He moves towards the door in a siigmg way. Don C^sae (aside — observing his walk). He is Abominably drunk ! (Becalling the other, who turns hack.) Ah, now — when out Thou goest, idle folks will follow thee. Do honour to the drink thou'st had. Try thou To bear thyself in noble fashion. If By chance some crowns from out thy stocking drop, Then let them fall, — and if assayers, clerks. Some scholars, or the beggars that one sees Pass by, should pick them up, let them do so. Don't be a mortal fierce, that they would dread T' approach. — And e'en if from thy pocket some They take — ^be thou indulgent. They are men As we. And, as you see, it is a law For us, in this world full of misery. To give sometimes a little joy to all Who live. (With melancholy.) Perchance they will be hang'd some day ! Show, then, the kindness to them which is due ! Go, now. \_The Lackey goes out. Left alone, Don C^sae sits down agadn, omd leans his elbow on the table, appearing to be plunged in deep thought. It is the duty of the sage And Christian having money that he use so. IV.] EUT BLAS. 393 It well. For eight days at the very least I have enough. These will I live. And should A little money still remain, I will Employ it piously. But I must not Be over confident. Undoubtedly 'Tis all a blunder, and from me it will Be taken, ah, the thing will all become Misunderstood. A fine scrape this of mine. . . . \_The door at the hack opens. Enter cm old, grey-haired Duenna in hladk dress and mantle, and with a fan. Scene 4. — Don Ojisae. A Duenna. The Duenna (at the threshold of the door). Don Osesar de Bazan ? [Don C jjsae, aisorhed in his meditations, turns his head suddenly. Don OiESAE. Now then, what is it ? (Aside). A woman ! Oh ! l_Whilst the Duenna makes a low respectful curtsey at the hacTc he comes to the front wonder-struoh. The devil or Salluste Must be mixed up in this ! Next I expect To see my cousin here. Duenna, oh ! {Aloud). 'Tis I, Don Csesar, tell your business, pray. (Aside). Most commonly it is a woman old That ushers in a young one. The Duenna (bowing and making sign of the Gross). I, my Lord, Salute you, on this fast day, in the name Of Him o'er whom there's nothing can prevail. 394 DEAMAS OF TIOTOB HUGO. [AOT IV. Don CiESAE {aside). A galant ending that begins devoutly. (^Aloud), Amen. Good day. The Duenna. May God maintain you, e'er In happiness. {Mysteriously), Know you of some one who Has sent me now, with whom you've plann'd to-night A secret meeting ? Don C^sae. Oh, I'm capable Of such a thing. The Duenna (who takes from her fa/rthingale a folded letter which she shows to him, hut without allowing him to take it). Then you indeed it is, Galant discreet, who've just addressed to one Who loves yon, for to-night a message, — one Whom you know well ? Don C^sae. It must be I. The Duenna. Good — good. The lady married to some dotard old Is forced no doubt, to careful be. I was Desired to hither come. Her I know not, But you know her — it was her waiting maid Who told me about things. That was enough, Without the names. Don Cjisae. Excepting mine. The Duenna. 'Tis plain. SC. IV.] EUY BLAS. 395> Th' appointment for the lady lias been made By her soul's friend, — but fearing there may be Some snare, and knowing too much caution ne'er Spoiled aught, she sends me here from your own moutk To have the confirmation Don C^sae. Oh the old And surly thing ! What fuss about a sweet Love letter ! Yes, 'tis I myself, I tell You so. The Duenna (placing on the table the folded letter, which Don Ojisab looJcs at with cii/riosity). In that case then, if you it be, The one word. Gome, upon the letter you Will write — but not by your own hand — that so There may be nothing compromised. Don O^sae. Indeed ! From mine own hand ! (Aside). A message well conveyed ! [He puts oiit his hand to talce the letter; hut it has been resettled and the Duenna will not let him touch it. The Duenna. You must not open. You will recognise The fold. Don C^sae. By Heaven ! (Aside). I who burn to see ! But let me play my part ! [He rings the little bell. One of the negroes enters. Know'st thou to write ? [The Negro nods am, affirmative sign. Astonishment of Don OiESAE. (Aside.) A «ign ! (Aloud). Art thou then dumb, thou rascal ? 896 DEAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [aOT 17. [Again the Negro makes the sign of affirmation. Fresh siijt/pefaction of Don OiESAE. (Aside.') WeU! Contiime ! Mutes appear the latest thing ! [To the Mute, showing Mm the letter which the old woman holds down on the table. Write there : Come. [The Mute writes. Don O^sae signs to the Duenna to take hack the letter, and to the Mute to go. Exit the Mute. Ah ! he is obedient ! The Duenna (with an air of mystery again placing the letter in her fairthingale, and approaching nea/rer to Don C^sae). To-night you'll see her. Is she very fair ? Don C^sae. Oh, charming ! The Duenna. 'Twas the cunning waiting-maid Who managed it. At sermon-time aside She took me. Oh, how beautiful was she ! With angel's profile and a demon's eye. Knowing in love affairs she seemed to be. Don O^sae (aside). I'd be contented with the maid ! The Duenna. We judge — For always beauty makes the plain afraid, — So with Sultana and her slave, and with The master and his man. Most certainly Tour love is very beautiful. Don CiESAR. I'm proud. Indeed, to think so ! SC. IV.] EUY BIAS. 397 The Duenna (making a curtsey and about to withdrcm). Sir, I kiss your hand. Don CiBSAB (giving her a handful of doubloons'). I'll grease thy palm. Old woman, stop. The Duenna (pocketing them). Ah, youth Is gay to-day! Don CiESAE (dismissing her). Now go. The Duenna (cwtseys). IS you have need I'm named Dame Oliva. Saint Isidro, . The Convent, \_8he goes out. Afterwards the door re-opens and her head appears. Always at the right I sit Of the third pillar entering the church. [Don Cjbsae tu/rns round with impatience. TJie door closes ; again it half opens and the old woman re-appears. To-night yon'U see her ! In your prayers, my Lord, Remember me. Don C^sae (driving her away angrily). Ah! [The Duenna disappears and the door closes. Don C^sae (alone). Now I'm resolved, my faith, At nothing more to be at all surprised. I'm in the moon. Behold a love afiair Now comes ; I am about to satisfy My heart, after long hunger. (Musing.) Oh all this 398 DEAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [aCT IV. To me just now seems mighty good. But ah. ! Beware the end ! [The door at the hook opens. Don Guritan . appears with two long naked swords wider his arm. Scene 5. — ^Don Cjesae — Don Guritan. Don Guritan {at the hack). Don OsBsar de Bazan ? Don Cj)SAE (turning and perceiving Don Guritan with the . two swords). And now ! Well, well ! Events were fine enough, But better still they are. A dinner good. Then money ; and an assignation — ^now A duel ! Csesar in his natural state Again am I ! \_He greets Don Guritan gaily, with demonstrative salutations; Don Guritan looks at him impatiently, and advances to the front loith a firm step. Here is he, my dear Lord. And will you please to enter — take a chair (He places cm a/rm-chair — Don Guritan remains standing.) Be seated, pray ; — without formality, As if at home. I'm charm'd to see you, Sir ; There, let us chat a moment. Tell me now What's doing in Madrid ? A charming place ! I nothing know ; but I suppose that still They wonder at the Matalobos, and The Lindamere ! As for myself, I'd fear The stealer of our hearts as peril more Than stealer of our money bags. Oh, Sir, The women ! Sex possessed ! My brain is crack'd Where they 're concern'd, they so enslave me. Speak, And tell me what is doing now-a-days ; I 8im but half alive — an ox — a thing BC. v.] EUr BLAS. 399 Absurd — with nought that's human left in him, A dead man risen, an hidalgo true Of old Castile. They've robbed me of my plume, And I my gloves have lost, I come from lands Most wonderful. Don Guritan. « You come, dear Sir ? Ah well, I've just arrived from farther off than you ! Don Cj)SAe (hrightening iip). From what distinguished sbore ? Don Gueitan. Down yonder, in The north. Don CaisAE. And I from farther in the south. Don Gueitan. I'm furious ! Don OaiSAE. Is it so ? I am enraged ! Don Gueitan. Twelve hundred leagues I've travelled ! Don CiESAE. I have done Two thousand ! Women fair, black, yellow, brown I've seen. To places bless'd by heaven I've been. Algiers the happy town, and fair Tunis Where one may see — such pleasant ways have Turks- People impaled hooked up above the doors. Don Gueitan. I have been played a trick. Don CiESAR. And I've been sold. 400 dramas op victor hugo. [act iv. Don Gueitan. Almost exiled I was. Don C^sae. I almost hang'd ! Don Guritan. To Nenbonrg cnnningly they sent me off, To bear these few words written in a box : " Keep this old fool as long as possible." Don CiBSAE (hv/rsting out laughing'). And who did this ? Don Gueitan. But I will wring the neck Of Caesar de Bazan. Don Cj)SAE (gravely). Ah! Don Gueitan. And to crown His insolence, he just now sent to me A lackey to excuse himself, he said, A serving man, but I refused to see The varlet, and I made them lock him up. Now to the master, Cffisar de Bazan, I come ! This most audacious traitor knave ! See now, I'll kill him ! Where is he ? Don OaiSAE (still gramely). I'm he. Don Gueitan. You ! — Ton are joking. Sir ? Don C^sae. I am Don CsBsar, Don Gueitan. What ! This again ! so. V.j EUT BLAS. 401 Don C^sae. Undoubtedly again ! Don Gueitan. Leave off this play, you greatly weary me. E'en if you think that you are droll. Don CiESAE. And you Amuse me much. Tou have to me the air Of jealousy. Exceedingly, dear Sir, I pity you. The ills that come to us From our own vices are more hard to bear Than those which hap to us from others' sins. I'd rather be — and so I've often said — Quite poor than miserly, and be deceived Rather than jealous. Tou are both. And now. Upon my soul, I do to-night expect Your wife. Don Gueitan. My wife ! Don Oj!sab. Oh yes, your wife ! Don Gueitan. Jome now ! I am not married. Don Oj]sab. Yet you. have stirr'd up This riot ! And you're not a married man ! For the last quarter of an hour you have Assumed the husband's roar, or else the air Of weeping tiger, so efficiently That in simplicity I've given you A heap of precious counsel seeming fit ! But if not married, why, by Hercules, Have you thus made yourself ridiculous ? D D 402 DEAMAS OF VICTOR HUGO. [aOT IV. Don Gueitan. Do you know, Sir, that you exasperate me ? Don Cj:sae. Pooh! Don Gueitan. This is too much. ! Don Cj:sae. Truly ? Don Gueitan. Oh, but you Shall pay for this ! Don C^sae (looking m a jeering manner at Don Gueitan's feet, which are covered hy waves of ribbon, according to the new fashion). In days gone by it was That on the head were ribbons worn. I mark That now — and 'tis an honest mode — they're placed Upon the boot, and feet are thus adorned. A charming thing ! Don Gueitan. I see that we must fight ! Don O^sae (with indifference'). Tou think so ? Don Gueitan. You're not Osesar, that concerns Myself ; but I'll commence with you. Don Ojisae. Good, good ! Take care with me to finish. Don Gueitan (presenting one of tlie swords to him). Fop ! At once. so. VI.] RUT BLAS. 403 Don Oj)SAE (taking the sword). Immediately. When I've a chance to fight I do not lose it ! Don Gueixan. Where? Don CiESAE. Behind the wall. This street's deserted. » Don Gueitan {trying the point of his sword on the floor'). As for Csesar, ah ! I'll kill him afterwards. Don C^sae. Indeed ? Don Gueitan. Most surely ! Don C^SAE {also maldng his sword lend). Pshaw ! One of us dead, you I then defy To kill Don Osesar, Don Gueitan. Let us out ! \_They go out. The soimd of their retreating steps is heard. A little concealed door opens in the right waU, and Don Salluste enters hy it. Scene 6. Don Salluste {dressed in a darh green coat, almost hlack. He appears a/nxious and pre-oceupied. JBfe loohs about, and listens wneasily). There's nought Prepared ! (Noticing the table covered with dishes.) 404 DEAMAS OF YICTOB HUGO. [ACT IV. What means all this ? (Hearing the noise of C^sae's and Gueitan's steps.) What noise is that ? (He walks about in reverie.') This morning Gudiel saw the Page go out And followed him. — Unto Don Gnritan He went. — I see not Ruy Bias. This Page Oh Satan ! 'Tis some countermine ! some word Of faithful counsel, with the which he charged Don Guritan for her ! — And from the mutes One can learn nothing ! It is that ! I had Wot counted on Don Guritan at all. [Enter Don C^sab. In Ms hand he carries the bare sword, which, on entering, he throws upon an arm- chair. Scene 7. — Don Salluste — Don Cjesae. Don C^SAB (from the threshold of the door). Ah, I was very sure ! I see you then, Old fiend ! Don Salluste (twnmg rowrid petrified). Don Caesar ! Don C^SAe (crossing his wtms and bwsting out laughing). Ton are weaving now Some frightful scheme ! But have I not distnrb'd It all just now, by sprawling heavily Into the midst of it ? Don Salluste (aside). Oh, all is lost ! Don C^sae (laughing). Through all this morning have I come across Your spider webs. Not one of all your plans SC. VII.] BUT BLAS. 405 Is now unspoilt. I flung myself on them At hazard ; and the whole demolished I. This is delightful ! Don Salltjste (aside). Demon ! What can he Hare done ? Don CisSAB (laughing louder and louder). The man you sent with money-bag For purpose that you know, to whom you know. (He laughs.) What a good joke ! Don Salluste. What then ? Don Cjisab. I made him drunk. Don Salluste. About the money that he had ? Don O^sab. With it I presents made to divers persons. Well, We all have friends. Don Salluste. Tou wrongly me suspect Don Ojjsab (rattling the money in his pockets). I first my pockets filled, you will believe. (Laughs again.) YovL understand ? the lady ! Don Salluste. Oh! Don Ojisab (rema/rhing his anxiety). Tou know, — 406 DRAMAS OP VICTOE HUGO. [ACT IV. [Don Salluste listens with redoubled anxiety, Don C^SAE proceeds, laughing. She sent an old duenna — fearful wretch, "With sprouting beard and drunkard's ruddy nose Don Sallustb. What for ? Don C^sak. To quietly inquire if it Were true — from prudence — that Don Ceesar here Expected her to-night Don Salluste (aside). Good Heavens ! (Aloud.) And what Didst thou reply ? Don CjiSAE. My master, I said yes ! That I awaited her. Don Salluste (aside). It may be all Is not yet lost ! Don C^sae. And last your swordsman fine, Tour Captain, on the field he gave his name — 'Twaa Guritan. (Don Salluste sta/rts.) This morning prudently He would not see the lackey that was sent With message from Don Csesar, and he came To me demanding satisfaction Don Salluste. Well, And what didst thou ? Don C^sae. I killed the goose-cap. Ah! so. VII.] RUY BLAS. 407 Don Salluste. Indeed ? Don CiBSAE. Tea, 'neath the wall he's dying now. Don Salluste. Art sure he'll die ? Don Cjisab. I fear so. Don Salluste {aside). Oh, again I breathe ! By Grace of heaven ! nothing he Has yet disturbed ! Quite otherwise. But let me Be rid of him, this rough assistant, now ! The money — as for that, 'tis nought. (Aloud^ Your tale Is very strange. And have you seen none else ? Don Ojisae. No soul. But soon I shall, I shall go on. My name will cause sensation through the town. I'll make a frightful scandal, you may rest Assured. Don Salluste (aside). The devil ! (Eagerly, and approaching Don C^sab.) Money you may keep, But leave this house. Don C^sae. Ah, yes, one knows your ways-; You'd have me followed ! Then I should return — Delightful destiny — to contemplate Thy blue, oh sea Mediterranean ! Not I. 408 DRAMAS OP VIOTOE HUUO. ■ [aCT IV. Don Salluste. Believe me. Don Cjisab. No. Besides, witliin This palace-prison some one is, I feel, A prey to yonr dark treachery. All plots Of Courts have double ladders. On one side Arms tied, and gloom, and troubled looks. By one Ascends the suff 'rer, by the other mounts The executioner. — Now you must be The headsman of necessity. Don Salluste. Oh! oh! Don C^sae. For me ! I pull the ladder, and crack — down It goes ! Don Salluste. I swear Don Oa:sAB. I will to spoil it all Stay through th' adventure. Oh, I know you sharp Enough, my subtle cousin, puppets two Or three to hang up by one cord. Hold, now, I'm one ! and I will here remain ! Don Salluste. Hark, now ■ Don Cjisae. To rhetoric ! Ah, me you sold away To Afrio's pirates ! Here you fabricate Some CsBsar false I And thus you compromise My name ! Don Salluste. Mere chance it was. so. YIII.] EXIT BLAS. 409 Don Oj;sae. Mere chance ! Excuse That dish that rogues prepare for fools to gulp ; No chance was it. The worse for you if plans Break through. But I intend to succour those Whom you'd destroy. I shall cry out my name From the house-tops. (Se climhs on the window supports and looks out.) Now wait ! Here is good luck ! The Alguazils are 'neath the window now. (He passes his arm through the bars and shakes them, crying out) Halloa ! Don Salluste (aside, and terrified, at the front of the stage). All's lost if he be recognized ! [The Alguazils enter, preceded by am, Alcaid. Don Salltjste appea/rs in great perplexity. Don C^sab goes towards the Alcaid with an air of triwmph. Scene 8. — The Same, an Alcaid, and the Alguazils. Don Cjisae (to the Alcaid). Ton, in your warrant, will take down Don Salluste (pointing to Don Ojisae). That this Man is the famous robber Matalobos ! Don C^sae (amazed). How! Don Salluste (aside). All I gain, if I but gain a day. 410 BEAM AS OF VICTOE HUGO. [aCT IV. (To the Alcaid.) This man in shining daylight dares to come Into our houses. — Seize the thief. \The Alguazils seize Don C^sar hy the colla/r. Don OiBSAE (furious, to Don Sailuste). Pardon ! Tou lie ontrageonsly ! The Alcaib. Who -was it, then, That called us ? That's bold ! Don Sallustb. It was I. Don Cjisab. By heaven, now ! The Alcaid. Be still ! I think he^s right. Don C^sae. But list, I am Don Caesar de Bazan himself ! Don Salluste. Don Caesar ! If you please, examine now His mantle — you will find that Salluste's writ Beneath the collar. 'Tis a mantle which Just now he stole from me. [The Alguazils snatch off the manUe, and the Alcaid examines it. The Alcaid. Quite right — 'tis so. Don Salluste. The doublet that he wears so. TIII.J EUT BIAS. 411 Don CiESAE (aside). Accursed Sallnste ! Don Salluste (continuing'). Belongs to the CoTint d'Albe ; it was from him He stole it, (slwwing an escutcheon embroidered on the facing of the left sleeve) And whose 'scutcheon you behold ! Don CiESAE (aside). Bewitched he must be ! The Aloaid (examining the blazon). Ah, yes — yes ; here are The castles two, in gold Don Salluste. Also you'll see Two cauldrons, Henriquez and Guzman. [In struggling, Don Cmsaji, has let fall some doubloong from his pochets. Don Salluste 'points out to the Alcaid the manner in which they were filled. There ! Is that the way that money's borne about By honest men ? The Alcaid (shaking his head). Ahem ! Don C^sae (aside). I'm caught ! The Alcaid. Here are Some papers. Don CiESAE (aside). Ah, they're found ! Oh, oh, the poor Love-letters saved through all my scrapes ! 412 DEAMAS OP VICTOB HUGO. [ACT IV. The Alcaid (examining the papers). Letters What's this ? — in different hands are they Don Sallustb (maling Mm observe the directions). But all Directed to the Count. The Alcaid. Yes. Don Cmsau. But The Alcaid (tying Ms hands). Caught now ! "What luck ! An Alguazil (entering to the Alcaid). Outside, my Lord, a man has just Been killed. The Alcaid. Who is the murderer ? Don Salluste (pointing to Don C^sae). 'Tis he, Don C^sae (aside). The duel ! Oh, that senseless freak ! Don Salldste. Ah, when He entered, in his hand he had a sword, And there it is. The Alcaid (examining the sword). And blood upon it ! Ah ! (To Don C^sae.) There — go with them. so. VIII.] KUY BLAS. 413 Don Sallustb (to Don C^sae, whom the Alguazils are faking away). To Matalobos now Good evening. Don Ojisab (making a step towards him and loohing ot him fixedly). Earth's vilest scoundrel you ! ACT FIFTH: THE TIGER AND THE LION. The same room. It is night. A lamp is on the table. At the rising of the curtain Rut Blas is alone. He is dressed in a long black robe, which conceals his otlier vestments. Scene 1. RuY Blas (alone). 'Tis ended now. The dream — the vision-r-all Has passed away. All day till eve I've walked Haphazard through the streets. Just now I've hope. I'm calm. At night the head is less disturb'd By noise, and one reflects the better then. Nought too alarming in these darkened walls I see ; the furniture is 'ranged ; the keys Are in the locks ; the mutes sleep overhead ; The house is truly very still. Oh yes, There is no reason for alarm. All things Proceed quite well. My Page all faithful is. Don Guritan is 'sure to stir himself For her. Oh, God ! May I not thank Thee now, Just God, for suff'ring that advice to reach Her ears. Thou, gracious God, hast aided me, 'Tis Thou hast helped me to protect and save This angel, and defeat Don Salluste. Oh May she have nought to fear, and nought, alas. To suffer ; and may she be ever saved ! And oh, that I may die ! BO. I.] EUT BLAS. 415 [He draws from Ms hosom a little vial which he places on the table. Tes, perisli now, Despised ! and sink into the grave ! Tes, die As one should die, who seeks to expiate A crime ! Die in this dwelling, wretched, vile, And lone ! [He throws open the hlacJc roie, under which is seen the livery which he wore in the first act. Die with thy livery beneath Thy winding-sheet ! Oh, if the demon comes To see his victim dead, \He pushes a piece of furniture to barricade the secret door. he shall at least Not enter by this horrid door ! [He comes back to the table. 'Tis sure The Page has spoken to Don Guritan. It was not eight o'clock this morn. [He gazes on the vial. Tor me I have condemned myself, and now prepare My execution, — on my head I shall Myself let fall the tomb's so heavy lid. At least I have the comfort certainly To know there is no help. My fall must be. [_8vnhing into the arm-chair. And yet she loved me ! Oh God, help me now ! I've .not the courage ! QHe weeps. Oh ! he might in peace Have left us ! [He hides his face in his hands and sobs. Oh, my God ! }[Badsing his head, as if distramght, and looMng at the vial. The man who sold Me this asked me what day o' the month it was. I could not tell. My head's conf ased. Oh, men Are cruel. Tou may die, and none will care. 416 DRAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [aCT V. I suffer. — Me she loved ! — To know things past Can never be restored ! And to behold Her nevermore ! Her hand that I have press'd ! Her lips that touch'd my brow Angel adored ! Poor angel ! There is need to die, and die Despairing ! Oh, her dress, the folds of which Each one had grace, her footstep that had power To stir my soul when it pass'd by, her eyes That did intoxicate mine own still all Irresolute, her smile, her voice and I Shall see her, hear her never more. Is this Then possible ? Oh, never ! [In cmgiiish he stretches out his hand to the vial; at the moment when he seizes it convulsi/aely the door at the hack opens. The Queen appea/rs dressed in white, with a dark mantle, the hood of which homing fallen hack on her shoulders, shows her pale face. She carries in her hand a dark lantern which, she places on the floor a/nd walks rapidly towards Rut Blas. Scene 2. — Rut Blas — The Queen. The Queen (entering). Don Csesar ! Rut Blas (turning round with a frightened gesture, and closing hurriedly the rohe which had hidden his livery). Oh God ! 'tis she ! In a most horrid snare She's taken. (Aloud.) Madam ! The Queen. Csesar ! What a cry Of fright Rut Blas. Who -was it told you to come here ? sc. 11.] eut blas. 417 Thu) Queen. Thyself. Rut Blas. Oh, how ? The Queen. I have received from you ■ ■ RuY Blas (hreathless). The Queen. Speak, quick ! A note. Indited. EuT Blas. From me ! The Queen. By your own hand EuT Blas. This is but to dash one's brow Against the wall ! But oh, I have not writ — Of that I'm very sure ! The Queen {d/rawing from Tier bosom a letter, which she gives him). Eead — read it then. [EuT Blas takes the letter eagerly, am>d bends towards the lamip to read it). EuT Blas (reading), " A danger terrible environs me ; My Queen alone can stay the tempest's force [He looks at the letter as if in a stupor and unable to read fwrther. The Queen (continuing, and pointing with her finger to the lines as she reads). " By coming to my house this night. If not, I'm lost." E E 418 DRAMAS OP VICTOR H0GO. [AOI V, Rut Blas (mi a stifled voice). What treason ! Oh, that letter ! The Queen (eontimdng to read). 'Come To the door that's at the end of th' Avenue ; At night you'll not be recognized. And one Who is devoted will be there to ope The door." Rut Blas (aside). This note I had forgotten. [To the Queen, in a terribk voice. Go Away ! The Queen. I'll go, Don Caesar. Tou are cruel ! My God ! What have I done ? Rut Blas. Good heavens ! What ? Tou ruin and destroy yourself ! The Queen. But how ? Rut Blas. Explain I cannot. Fly — fly quick. The Queen. This morn I for your safety did precaution take, And a duenna sent Rut Blas. Oh God ! but now As from a heart that bleeds, I feel your life In streams is running out. — Go — go ! The Qdeen (as if struck by a sudden idea). Inspired SC. II.J EUT ELAS. 41 9 I am by that devotion which my love Suggests. Oh, you approach some dreadful hour, And would remove me from the danger now ! But I remain ! Rut Blas. Oh, what sublimity ! What thoughtfulness ! — Oh God ! to thus remain At such an hour in such a place ! The Queen. From you The letter really came. And thus Rut Blas (raising his arms to hea/ven in despair). Oh Power Divine ! The Queen. Tou wish me gone. Rut Blas (taking her hands). Oh, understand ! The Queen. I do. Upon the moment's spur you wrote. And after — ; — Rut Blas. Unto thee I have not writ. I am a demon. Ply ! Ah it is thou. Poor child, who lead'st thyself into the snare ! Ah, it is true, and hell on every side Besieges thee ! Then nothing can I find That will persuade thee ? Listen — understand ; I love thee well, thou know'st. To save thy mind Prom what is imaged, I would pluck my heart Prom out my body. Go thou ! The Queen. Don Csesar 420 beamas of yictoe hugo. [act t, Rut Blas. Go — go. But I remember, some one must Hare opened to you ? The Queen. Tes. Rut Bias. Ok Satan ! Who ? The Queen. One in a mask — and hidden by the wall. Rut Bias. What said the man ? wlat was his' figure — say ? Oh, was he tall ? Who was he ? Speak, I wait ! \_A man in black, and •masked, appea/rs at the door at the hack. The Masked Man. 'Twas I. [lie takes off his mask. It is Don Salluste. The Queen and Rut Blas recognise him with terror. Scene 3. — The Same, Don Salluste. Rut Blas. Great God ! Fly, Madam, fly ! Don Salluste. There is No longer time. Madam de Neubourg now Has ceased to be the Queen of Spain. The Queen (horrified). Don Salluste ! Don Salluste (pointing to Rut Blas). That man's companion you henceforth must be. so m.] KUT BLAS. 421 The Queen. Great God ! ah yes, it is indeed a snare ! Don Ctesar Rut Blas (^despairingly). Madam, what, alas ! is it You've done ? Don Salluste (^moving slowly towards the Queen). I hold you. here. — But I will speak Without offence unto your Majesty, For without wrath am I. — I find you here — Now listen, do not let us make a stir — At midnight, in Don Caesar's room alone. This fact, if public — for a queen — would be Enough at Rome the marriage to annul. And promptly would the Holy Father be Informed of it. — But by consent the thing Could be concealed. [ffe draws from his poohet a loarchment, which he unrolls and presents to the Queen. Sign me this letter then Unto His Majesty our King. I will Send it by hand of the grand equerry To the chief notary, and afterwards — A carriage, where I've placed a heap of gold (Poirding outside.) Is there — set out the two of you at once. I help you. Be not anxious, you can go Toledo way by Alcantare — so Reach Portugal. Go where you will — to us It is the same. We'll shut our eyes. — Obey. I swear that I alone as yet am 'ware Of the adventure ; but if you refuse, Madrid to-morrow shall know everything. Let us be calm. I hold you in my hand. [Pointing to the table ore which is an inJc-stand. Madam, for writing, what you need is there. 422 DRAMAS OF VIOXOE HDGO. [aCT V. The Queen (^overwhelmed, falling mto an arm-chair). I'm in his power ! Don Salluste. From you I only ask This acquiescence signed, for me to send To the king. [Whisipering to Eur Blas, who listens motionless and thunderstruck. Let me alone, it is for thee I work. (To the Queen.) Sign now. The Queen (aside, trembling). What can I do ? Don Salluste (leaning over her, whispering in her ear, atid presenting a pen). There now ! What is a crown ? Tou happiness will gain, Though you may lose a throne. My people all Remain outside. They nothing know of this, All passes here between us three. ITrying to put the pen between the Queen's J^ngrera, she neither taking nor rejecting it. Well now, [The Queen, distraught and iindecided, looks at him with anguish. If you sign not you strike the blow yourself — The scandal and the cloister ! Tee Queen (overwhelmed). Oh, my God ! Don Salluste (pointing to Rut Blas). Don CsBsar loves you. He is worthy you ; Upon my honour he is nobly born ; Almost a prince. Lord of a donjon keep With walls embattled, holding fee of lands, so. III.] BUT BLAS. 423 He is the Duke d'Olmedo — Count Bazan, Grandee of Spain [JEe pushes to the parchment the hand of the Queen, who, trembling and dismayed, seems ready to sign. Rut Blas {as if suddenly awakening'). My name i3 Ruy Bias, And I a lackey am ! [Snatching the pen from the hand of the Queen, and the 'parchment, which he tears. Madam, sign not ! — At last ! — I suffocate ! The Queen, Oh, what says he ? Don CsBsar ! Rut Blas (letting his rote fall, and showing himself in livery without a sword). Yes, my name is Buy Bias I am the servant, of that man ! (Tu/rning to Don Salluste.) I say There's been enough of treason, and that I Refuse my happiness ! — Oh thanks ! — Tou thought That you did well to whisper in my ear ! I say that it is time, that I at last Should waken, though I'm strangled in your web Of hideous plots — and I no further step Will go. I say we two together make, My Lord, a pair that's infamous. I have The clothing of a lackey — ^you the soul ! Don Salluste (to the Queen coldly'). This man indeed my servant is. (To Rut Blas, with authority.) Not one Word more. 424) DRAMAS OP VICTOR HUGO. [ACT V. The Queen (letting a cry of despodr escape her, am,d wring- ing her hands). Just teav'n ! Don Sallustb (conUnuing). Only he spoke too soon. [He crosses his arms, a/nd holds himself wp, speaking with a voice of thwnder. Well — yes ! now 'tis for me to tell it all. It matters not, my vengeance in its vyay Is all complete. {To the QuEEN.^ What think you ? On my word, Madrid will laugh ! Tou ruined me ! and you I have dethroned. Tou banished me, and now I boast of driving you away. Ha, ha ! Tou offered me for wife your waiting-maid ! (Bursting into laughter.) My lackey I for lover give to you. Tou can espouse him certainly. The King Sinks fast ! — A lover's heart will be your wealth. {He laughs.) Tou will have made him Duke, that you might be His Duchess ! (Grinding his teeth.) Ah, you blighted, ruined me, And trampled me beneath your feet, and yet — And yet you slept in peace ! Fool that you were ! [ Whilst he ha^ been speaking, Rut Blas has gone to the door at the iacJc and fastened it ; then he 1ms approached him by soft steps from behind, witliout homing been perceived. At tlie moment when Don 8 ALLVSTM finishes, fixing his eyes full of hatred ami trivmvph on the annihilated Queen, Rut Blas Esizes the sword of the Marquis by tlie hilt, and draws it out swiftly. so. ni.] BUT BLAS. 425 Rut Blas (ivith the sword of Don Salluste in his hand). I say you liave insulted now your Queen ! [Don Salluste rushes toioards the door. Rut Blas bars the iimij. — Oh, go not there ! 'tis not worth while ; long since I fastened it. Marquis, until to-day, Satan protected thee ; but if he will Prom my hands pluck thee, let him show himself. — 'Tis my turn now ! — When we a serpent meet, It must be crush'd. No one can enter here. No, not thy people, and not hell. Beneath Mine iron heel I hold thee foaming now ! — This man spoke insolently to you. Madam ! I will explain. He has no human soul. A monster he. With jibings yesterday He suffocated me. He crush'd my heart, For his mere pleasure. Oh, he bade me close A window, and he martyrized me then ! I prayed — I wept — I cannot tell you all. u (To the Makquis.) In these last moments you have counted o'er Tour wrongs. I shall not answer your complaints. Besides, I comprehend them not. But you, Oh wretch ! you dare your Queen to outrage now — Woman adorable — whilst I am by ! Hold ! for a clever man, in truth you much Astonish me ! And you imagine, too. That I shall see you do it, and say nought ! But listen, — whatsoe'er his sphere, my Lord, When a vile, trait'rous, tortuous scoundrel strange And monstrous acts commits, noble or churl. All men have right, in coming on his path. To splutter out his sentence to his face. And take a sword, a knife, a hatchet Oh, By Heav'n ! to be a lackey ! When I should The headsman be ! 426 deamas of vicioe hugo. [act v. The Queen. Ton do not mean to kill This man? KuT Bias. Madam, I am ashamed, indeed. That I my duty mnst accomplish here ; But this affair must all be stifled now. {He pushes Don Sallustb towards the closet.) 'Tis settled. Go you there, my Lord, and pray. Don Salluste. It is assassination. EuT Blas. Think you so ? Don Salluste (unarmed, and loolcmg aroimd him with rage). Nothing upon these walls ! No arms ! {To Rdt Blas.) A sword. At least ! EuT Blas. Marquis, you jest ! What ! Master ! is 't That I'm a gentleman ? a duel ! fie ! One o£ thy servants am I, in galloon And red, a 'knave to be chastised and whipp'd, And one who kills ! Yes, I shall kill you, Sir Believe you it ? — as villain infamous ! As craven ! as a dog ! The Queen. Have mercy on him ! EuT Blas (to the Queen, and seieing the Maequis). Madam, each one takes vengeance for himself. The demon cannot any longer be Saved by an Angel ! so. IV.] RUT BLAS. 427 The Queen (kneeling). Mercy ! Don Salluste [calling for help). Murder ! help ! Rut Blas (raising the sivord). How soon will you have done ? Don Salluste {throwing himself on Eut Blas). Demon ! I die By murder ! Rut Blas (pushing him, into the closet). No, in rightful punishment ! [They disappear in the cabinet, the door of which closes on them. The Queen [alone, and falling half dead into the a/rm-cliair). Oh heavens ! [J. moment of silence. RuT Blas re-enters, pale, and without the sword. Scene 4. — The Queen — Rut Blas. ■ Rut Blas totters a few steps towards the Queen, who remains motionless and as if frozen. Then he falls on both knees, Ms eyes fixed on the ground, as if he dared not raise them to her. Rut Blas (m a grave low voice). Now, Madam, must I speak to you. But I will not come near. I frankly speak. I'm not as guilty as you think I am. I know my treason, as to you it seems, Must horrible appear. Oh, to explain It is not easy. Yet not base my soul, — At heart I'm honest. 'Tis this love which has 428 DEAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [aCT V. Destroyed me. Not that I defend myself, For well I know I should have found some means T' escape. The sin is consummated now ! But all the same, IVe loved you truly well. The Queen. Sir Rut Blas (still on Ms Jmees). Fear not. I will not approach. Yet would I to your Majesty from step to step The whole declare. Believe I am not vile ! To-day — all day I paced about the town Like one possessed. Often the people looked At me. And near the 'spital that by you Was founded, vaguely did I feel, athwart My brain delirious, that silently A woman of the crowd did wipe away The sweat from off my brow. Have mercy, God ! My heart is broken ! The Queen. What is't that you wish ? Rut Blas (joining Ms hands). That, Madam, you would pardon me ! The Queen. Never. Rut Blas. Never ! [He rises, and walks slowly towards the table. Very sure ? The Queen. No, never — never ! Rut Blas (he takes the vial that was placed on the table, carries it to Ms lips, and empties it at one draught). Sad flame, extinguished be ! so. IV. J EUT BLAS. 429. The Queen (rising oMd rushing to him). Wliat have you done ? Eur Bias (slwwing the vial). Notiiing. My woes are ended. Nothing. You Curse me — and I bless you. There — that is all. The Queen {overcome). Don Csesar ! Rut Blas. When I think, poor angel, that You loved me ! The Queen. Oh, what was that philtre strange ? What have you done ? Speak — answer — tell to me. I do forgive and love thee, Cffisar. I Believe in thee. RuY Blas. My name is Ruy Bias. The Queen {throiving her arms round him). I do forgive thee. Buy Bias. But speak, Say what it is you've done ? 'Tis my command ! That frightful draught — it was not pois«Tn ? Say ? EuY Blas. Yes ; it was poison. But my heart is glad. [Holding the Queen in his arms and raising his eyes to heaven. Permit, oh God, — the Sovereign Justice Thou — That the poor lackey pours out blessings on This Queen, who did console his tortured heart By — in his life — her love, and pity gives In death. The Queen. Poison ! Oh God ! 'tis I— 'tis I Have killed thee ! Ah, I love thee ! If I had But pardoned ! 430 DRAMAS OF VICTOE HUGO. [ACT V. EuT Blas (sinhmg). I liad done the same, [ffis voice faMs, The Queen Bwpports him. I could No longer live ! Adieu ! (Pointing to the door,') Fly hence, and all Will secret be. I die. (He falls.) The Queen (tlvrowing herself on his body). Euy Bias ! Hut Blas (at the point of death, rousing himself at Ms name pronounced by the Queen). I thank thee ! TEE END. CHISWICK press;— C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT» CHANCERY LANE. ALPHABETICAL LIST OF - BOHN'S LIBRARIES, March, 1894, ' I may any In regard to all manner of books, Bohn's Publication Series Is the usefuUest thing I know.' — Thomas Carlyle. 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