The king's fool, or The old man's curse : an historic play, in three acts

\

LIBRARY

1 UNIVERSITY OF I
^CALIFORNIA./

THE KING'S FOOL;

OR,

THE OLD MAN'S CURSE.

AN HISTORIC PLAY,

IN THREE ACTS.

BY

J. G. MILLINGEN, M.D.

AUTHOR OF

THE BEE HIVE," <; LADIES AT HOME," " SPRING AND AUTUMN.
" THE ILLUSTRIOUS STRANGER," " LOVE LAUGHS AT BAILIFFS."

THE MUSIC

BY MM. NATHAN AND WADE.

LONDON:

JOHN MILLER, HENRIETTA STREET,
COVEN T GARDEN.

(Agent to the Dramatic Authors' Society.')

1833.

LONDON :

BAYL1S AND LEIGHTOK, JOHNSON'S-COURT,
FLEET-STREET.

PREFACE.

THE following piece is founded on the same traditional subject
as Le Roi s' amuse of Victor Hugo. The chief incidents have been
retained, but the plot and characters differ materially. Urged by
that anti-regal mania which distinguishes the republic of letters of
our ingenious neighbours, the French author represented Francis I.
as a base and profligate prince. I have endeavoured to delineate him
in the colouring transmitted by his chroniclers ; — a lively, amiable
monarch, launched, it is true, on the giddy vortex of a depraved
court, yet still high-minded and chivalric in his disposition, and
according to the acceptation of the word honour, then, and unfortu-
nately now in high life, honourable in illicit pursuits when conde-
scending to ennoble plebeian blood. In the Parisian piece, with
heartless levity, he ruins the child of his miserable jester, while she
is represented an infatuated being, glorying in her royal degradation,
and ready to lay down her life to save that of her despoiler, even
when endangered in a house of ill-fame, and faithless in the arms
of a prostitute, exclaiming —

" Puisqu'il ne m'airae plus, je n'ai plus qu'a mourir,
Eh bien ! mourons pour lui."

Still the animal strength of the pangs of death assail her, and she
says, after hearing the assassin whetting his knife on a scythe, —

" Ciel ! il va me faire bien du mal ! ! "

Hugo's Blanche in short, is a deluded silly girl, creating neither
pity nor esteem, while the public has appeared to take a warm in-
terest in the miseries of my virtuous but ill-fated heroine.

Availing myself of the licence of romance, I have ventured to
make somewhat free with history, and to produce a better dramatic

IV PREFACE.

situation, I have made St. Valier Diana's husband instead of her
father. The death of the Dauphin, supposed at the time to have
been poisoned, was an event posterior to the conspiracy in which
St. Valier was involved, but I have had recourse to this anachron-
ism to heighten the effect of the catastrophe. For although the
old man's denunciations were sadly realised by the miserable cir-
cumstance that attended Francis's death, as related by historians,
it occurred to me that his malediction, falling doubly on the prin-
cipal and the accessory in his wife's disgrace, was a desirable evi-
dence of retributive justice.

It would be no easy task to express my thanks to the perform-
ers ; the applause of the public must have been to them more
grateful than any tribute I can pay them. Mr. Warde's acting
has been justly considered by the press a masterpiece of the histri-
onic art : I was much indebted to him for various suggestions
during the rehearsal. Mr. Abbott acted the merry, light-hearted
Monarch to the life. To Miss Jarman, who undertook a part far
beneath her abilities, I feel personally obliged : her simplicity and
single-heartedness in the humble yet proud Blanch, elicited tears
even from the gallery. When asked by Francis if her father was
not deformed, the manner of her filial reply —

" The world, my liege, might say he is,"

produced an electric effect ; fully proving that our humble classes
are still alive to nature's simple language.

I can only request all the performers to accept my best thanks
and good wishes for their future prosperity. I should be wanting
in justice, were I not publicly to acknowledge the liberality and
activity of the management in producing the play in the splendid
manner in which it was brought out.

J. G. MILLINGEN.

London, August 1st, 1833.

DRAMATIS PERSONS.

MEN.

Francis the First, King of France MR. ABBOTT.

Count de St. Vallier, an aged Nobleman MR. EGERTON.

Chabannes, Lord in Attendance MR. WOOD.

Triboulet, the King's Fool MR. WABDE.

Pardaillan ~)

DeBercy j Officers of the Court ..

Cherubin, a favourite Page Miss P. HOBTON.

Melchior, a Bohemian Bandit

Rodolnh^ „

„ \ Two Bohemians

Zeppo $

WOMEN.

Diana of Poictiers Miss SIDNEY.

Blanch Miss JARMAN.

Zerlina Miss HORTON.

Dame Perrette MRS. GARRICK.

Gertrude Miss SOMERVILLE.

Lords and Ladies of the Court, Guards, Pages, fyc.
. SCENE — Paris.

THE KING'S FOOL;

OH,

THE OLD MAN'S CURSE.

ACT I.— -SCENE I.

A Landscape — Pleasure Grounds — To the right Count de
Saint Valliers Castle, with practicable drawbridge — day-
breaking.

(FRANCIS I. and TRIBOULET, enveloped in ample cloaks,
are discovered under the windows of Diana de Poictiers,
with a band of Minstrels.}

SERENADE. . (WADE.)
Lady, hear the song of morn

Floating on the passing gale,
Dew-drops glisten on the thorn,

Sunbeams gild the waving vale.
Let Dark dreams then flit away,
Wake and greet the blushing day.

Music sounds o'er dell and brake
Feather'd songsters throng the grove.
All around you sings — awake !
'Wake to happiness and love.

(Exeunt Minstrels.

1J THE KING S FOOL.

FRAN. Well, good Triboulet, dost think the beauteous
Diana of Poictievs will consent to be mine ?

TRIE. By my bauble, if rivers flow towards the sea, and
the mind of woman ever flows against wind, tide and current,
e'er yon rising sun set o'er the Louvre turrets, she will be
book'd by your most gracious majesty in the journal of your
conquests — her present captivity will make her pant for
freedom ; for instead of immuring her in that castle, had
her silly old husband the Count, known woman's mind, if he
had wished her to be a domestic wife, he should have thrown
doors and drawbridge open, and told her — "Madam, go
wherever it suits your fancy."

FRAN. Instead of which, no doubt, he amuses her with

weeping love, and jealous sighs

TRIE. That would drown, or puff out even a farthing
rushlight of love.

FRAN. And I cannot but admire the sagacity of the old
gentleman, who, to bring her away from the busy allure-
ments of the capital — that scarcely give a fair lady time to
think — leads her to this romantic abode, where every grove
breathes tender passion, and fans the glow of youth ; where
each bower beckons to soft repose in its mystic shades ; and
the very moon with her chorist the nightingale, pander to
bland seduction and a melting mood.

TRIE. The reason, no doubt, why prudent dames bring
their fair daughters to town during the expansive days of
spring ; knowing, perhaps, from experience the danger that
encompasses sylvan simplicity and rural in — no — cence.

FRAN. Poor Diana ! Even did I not admire those charms,
that rank her first on beauty's list — the odious thraldrom
under which she mourns, would induce me to rescue her
from oppression.

3

TRIE. This day my liege her husband goes to your ma-
jesty's court ; and the coast once clear, I bet my fool's cap
against his coronet — that there being a woman in the case-
folly will bear the bell.

FRAN. And what shall be thy reward good gossip ?

TRIE. The pleasure of seeing others as miserable as my-
self.

FRAN. I am not so ambitious ; and the pleasure of pleas-
ing is the only lot I covet. (Exit.)

TRIE. Now to commence my campaign ; stratagem shall
open these gates, while vanity unbolts the citadel of its fair
inmates's heart, (laughing bitterly) Ha! ha! ha! — Count
De St. Vallier ! You have often spurned me— trampled me
under your noble feet — and why ? — I was a base plebeian, a
low-born wretch — the child of nobody — deformed — mis-
shapen— butt of the rabble— jest of the nobility — the king's
fool ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! I am paid to make him laugh ; but I
feel not my degradation when I can make others weep —
with this bauble I rule the greatest monarch in the world ;
his very ministers are swayed by folly. — I draw my royal
master in my mesh like the wily spider — my bait — the decoy
duck of destruction — woman ! who, like the flowing goblet,
will e'er attract its votaries, though poison lurketh in the
bowl — woman ! I hate you ! — as much as your vain pride
scorns the poor Triboulet (paces up and down contemplating
his deformity] why was I thus created ? — decrepid — a blot
upon the beauteous face of nature — a helpless wretch ? but
no ; I am not helpless ; I can do mischief — aye and bitterly
— I feel that I am sent on earth upon an infernal mission —
the genius of evil — mankind that spurns me, is my natural
foe ; I wage against the fallen race, a war implacable — one
only being in this detested world, still binds me to it ; she
and she alone 1 fondly love ; if Heaven ere had ought to

4 THE KING'S FOOL.

do with me — may Heaven protect and bless her. (Bugle in
the castle.) They come — now, hate and vengeance inspire me
and give to my willing tongue the fascination of the serpent,
with an aspic's sting. (Exit cautiously. The drawbridge is
let down and enter — two servants, COUNT DE St. VALUER,
DIANA, HUBERT, two servants, and two men with crossbows,
who remain on drawbridge.)

COUNT. I must to court, my love ; prithee in my short
absence let all my injunctions be attended to.

DIANA. My bounden duty, my lord, is, no doubt,
obedience ; indeed, resistance would be vain ; but yet my
lord, tho' yonder ponderous gates may check my footsteps'
freedom, a woman's spirit, let me tell you, is of an aerial
nature that power can ne'er confine ; nought, sir, was ever
known to shackle us but affection ; indignant, we will boldly
take our flight upon an eagle's wing to look defiance in the
very sun; or, in gentleness seek with the timid dove a
refuge in the shade.

COUNT. Believe me, Diana, prudence renders retirement
expedient.

DIANA. Then sir, retirement must be our choice; if not,
a splendid notoriety may chance to mark revenge.

COUNT. You know not dearest, the corruption of the
times.

DIANA. Yet I am told, my lord, they ever truly were,
what now they are, and probably will be ; I should much
like forsooth to learn in all your musty books, the purity of
the golden age; when princes fed on acorns and goat's
milk ; and sovereign's daughters churned butter, and
scoured in the royal laundry : it was, no doubt, my lord in
those virtuous and sainted times, when swallows (as nurses
tell their all believing brats) built nests in old men's beards,
ha! ha! ha!

COUNT. Thou little knowest the profligacy of Francis and
his corrupted minions ; nothing is held sacred by their un-
ruly passions ; and to disturb domestic peace, is both their
pride and glory.

DIANA. Did I desire, sir, to be brought from my fair
Poitou to this gay capital ; to be immured a prisoner within
the very precincts of a far-famed court ? Lone and moping
in my prison, the sound of minstrelsy, the shouts of carousal
and merry festivals must ever and anon reach my all listen-
ing ear ; I am frank my lord, I long to see the court to
which my birth and rank now call me, if danger lurketh
there, then let me proudly boast of having dared it.

COUNT. Our holidame forbid it ; the look of Francis pos-
sesses the fascinating power of the serpent,

DIANA. Heigho ! then he must be a very terrible man ;
but hark ye my lord, I have often heard old and experienced
warriors tell bragadocio captains of peaceful times, a fort
cannot be deemed impregnable until it has withstood a bold
attack ; and I must confess, sir, that were I one of your
lords of the creation, instead of a poor simple creature, I
should place little confidence in the security of woman's
heart, unless it had been assailed.

COUNT. Assailed !

DIANA. Aye, sir, assailed — sword in hand, by ladder and
by breach — by gay and gallant cavaliers.

COUNT. You talk Diana like a silly and forward child.

DIANA. I also have heard the same veterans say, the perils
of the field teach the young soldiers prudence and discretion ;
but that the giddy recruit is apt to fall in wily and well-laid
ambuscades ; you my lord, are both a soldier and a statesman.
(Bantering.) I therefore, with all humility, submit these
suggestions to your better judgement— in the mean time,

6 THE KING'S FOOL.

order your trusty warder Hubert to lower the portcullis —
arm every loop-hole — load every gun to the very muzzle —
prepare fire-pots—rockets — blue lights and catamarans —
grind every sword, and sharpen every lance. While the flood
gates of security inundate your castle's ditches, to defend
poor little I against assault and battery, blockade, investment,
or bombardment, ha ! ha ! ha ! (Exit over draw -bridge.)

COUNT. Alas ! this flippant language savours too much of
the licentious court, I fear my apprehensions are but too
well founded — Hubert.

HUBERT. My lord.

COUNT. Thou hast heard this silly woman ; in my absence
I hold thee responsible that no one enters the castle gate.

HUBERT. You shall be obeyed my lord ; yet recollect in
spite of all vigilance, the sceptre of a monarch is a magic
wand that operieth every door.

COUNT. The world at any rate shall not condemn me for
delivering up the keys ; however, such caution Hubert will
not long be wanted ; learn that this very night shall seal the
tyrant's doom ; a host of my noble friends, neglected and
degraded by this profligate monarch, have sworn by the
love they bear their country and their peaceful hearths-
hourly endangered by his wild excesses — to hurl him from
the throne he thus ignobly fills.

HUBERT. It ill becomes a man of my humble degree to
offer unask'd advice ; yet in the name of all you hold dear,
my lord, beware how you enter upon this fearful project ;
whatever may be the faults of Francis — and they no doubt
are many — yet still he is beloved.

COUNT. By none but the corrupt.

HUBERT. Alas ! my lord ! his enemies then, must be but
few.

THE KING'S FOOL. 7

COUNT. Then shall we perish, sooner than with craven
dread submit to his accursed power — dost know the chaste,
the pure Diana has not escaped his all-devouring eye, did'st
thou not hear but awhile ago, a troop of his licentious min_
strels, pour forth under her very casement, their blasting
notes of love ?

HUBERT. Perhaps my lord some wandering troubadours.

COUNT. No Hubert, I recognized among them the king
himself, with Triboulet his jester ; the base agent of his
infamous designs, {Officer without, This way.) and as I live
my guards have seized the caitiff. (Enter officer, bringing
in TRIBOULET and two guards.}

OFFICER. My lord we have seized this knave in the very
act of scaling the postern palisades.

COUNT. (Aside to HUBERT.) Art thou now convinced ?
(To TRIBOULET.) And thou demon! imp of hell ! what
brought thee here? answer as thou vainest thy vile ex-
istence.

TRIB. (Bantering.} To pay my obeisance to your lordship,
and the beautiful Diana of Poictiers, to congratulate you
both on the birth of a son and heir to your estate and
beauty ; offer my humble services, drink a cup of caudle,
and rattle my bauble to amuse the pretty babe.

COUNT. Full well thou knowest Vampire, my union with
the fair Diana has not been blessed with a wished-for heir.
The monster banters me ; no equivocation — this instant tell
me what were thy orders, and thy base plans in thus stealing
into my dwelling.

TRIB. Stealing? — my lord, I never stole anything, save
a march upon my neighbours ; but, since your lordship
must know all, I humbly come to crave your lordship's
permission to get married. I wish to imitate my betters;

8 THE KING'S FOOL.

and though I am only fifty-five, come next Lammas-Day, I
am about wedding a pretty maiden of fourteen next
Michaelmas. Ha ! ha ! ha !

COUNT. The scoundrel's insolence is intolerable !

TRIE. And my gracious sovereign, who admires all his
fair subjects, patronizes my wedding. He wishes every one
to be joyful; and his usual toast is — " May the married be
single, and the single be happy !" Oh ! I beg your lord-
ship's pardon — but I put the cart before the horse !

COUNT. I can no longer brook his insulting gibes. Seize
the reptile, and scourge him into silence !

{Guards seize TRIB.)

TRIB. Flog away ! Flog away, my lord ! Perhaps you '11
get me whipped into a seemly shape ! But one word to your
lordship, (with bitterness.} You are fond of playing at
cards, Sir Count — 1 11 be your partner — your trumps are
now clubs — mine shall be hearts — aye, and bleeding ones,
sir- Now, my merry men, flog away !

(Guards exeunt with him over the bridge.)

COUNT. Can daring insolence be pursued beyond that
wretch's ? The base views of Francis are now obvious : I
haste to court, to meet my secret friends : let not a living
being approach Diana, save the holy Friar who directs her ;
and let not even him come near, unless he shows the signet
that I gave him.

SCENE II.

A festive Hall in the Louvre. — FRANCIS and his Court
discovered at a splendid Ba?iquet. — To the following
Chorus the Lords at Table drink the Ladies' Health.

CHORUS.

Pass the drink divine —

Pledge your ladies' eyes ;
See the sparkling wine

With their blushes vies !
Then, Love, all hail ! And banish fear —

Lethean draughts we '11 sip ;
While kisses check the trembling tear,

And chide the pouting lip.

FRAN. And now Cherubin, my gentle mignon, sing me
that song of thine, which often nerved my arm in battle, as
the breeze, struggling with oppressive smoke, wafted my
scarf to fan my burning brow, and reminded me of the
delicious hands that wove the proud distinction.

CHER. Which of your scarfs, my liege ? for in every
battle I have seen you change them, although the damsels,
who wore out their fingers to work these proud distinctions,
fancied, poor silly thimble-drivers, they had secured your
majesty with what they thought a true- lover's knot. Alas !
it was a Gordian tie that you too well could sever !

FRAN. Well said, my merry page ; and could I venture
on a pun, like my good gossip, poet Marot, I should say,
did thy attraction, pretty page, grow with thy growth (I can
only regret thou hast no sister like thee), I should strongly
recommend every prudent maid, wife, or widow, to pluck
thee from her album.

CHER. Therefore, like you, my liege, I wish not to be
bound.

10 THE KING'S FOOL.

SONG. (NATHAN.)

The spur of the soldier is beauty —

To glory her image will guide ;
He feels a delight in his duty

When he thinks on the maid of his pride !

With ardour he rushes to battle,
And draws the bright steel from his side ;

It beams, 'midst the smoke and the rattle,
The star of his hope and his pride I

No, never that sword can be broken ;

On its strength will the warrior confide ;
And the foe learnt that it was a token —

The last gift of the maid of his pride.

(After the song, the king comes down the stage, in confiden-
tial discourse with CHABANNES.)

CHAB. What, verily and truly in love, my liege? — a
sleepless, hopeless passion ?

FRAN. It is but too true.

CHAB. I hear your majesty has deigned to cast a fa-
vourable eye on the beauteous Diana.

FRAN. That will be a mere courtly aristocratic amour.
I am ashamed to confess it, but I do now experience a sen-
timent of admiration — pure and unmingled with vanity s
attraction, for a damsel of humble rank and mean degree,
the most beauteous creature in my dominions. I first
beheld her in one of my incognito visits at our Lady's
shrine, and have since traced her to a wretched hovel hard
by the palace.

CHAB. To which, no doubt, you shortly will transfer her.

FRAN. Not so: the contrast of her timid looks with
countenances breathing conquest, that I daily see, led me
to wish success might be the triumph of love, and not of
power. In the garb of a humble student have I followed

11

her; but she is constantly attended by an old haridan,
whom I should like to burn for the welfare of her soul.
Not a single word have I been able to exchange ; yet her
downcast looks, and suppressed sighs, lead me to hope for a
fond return.

CHAB. Have you set the knave Triboulet at her ?
FRAN. For the first time in his life, I believe, the fellow
has missed scent. Nay, when I spoke of her, he appeared
uneasy and perplexed ; therefore, Chabannes, to thy dis-
cretion and ability do I entrust this adventure. All that I
have hitherto discovered is, that at nightfall a man, wrapped
in a large mantle, steals cautiously into the house, after
having ascertained the coast is clear.

CHAB. No doubt some troublesome father, brother, or
protector. We'll strangle him in his cloak, with which
we'll hoodwink the damsel, and bear her to your majesty.

FRAN. No, no — no violence: track her out, and leave
the rest to bounteous nature — our silver tongue, and our
good patron St. Francis (takes off his cap), who ever pro-
tects me in my need.

CHAB. Then your majesty is sure of success. Mercury
never took wing to serve the master of the gods more
promptly than shall your faithful servant in obeying your
commands.

FRAN. Jupiter, I fancy, had no body-guards ; but a
company of mine await thee, if success crown thy en-
deavours. But I do not see our trusty and well-beloved
Count De St. Vallier at court.

CHAB. Probably he is consulting with a blacksmith, for
locks and bars to secure his young wife.

DE BER. Or some professor of the black art, to know
under what sign he was born.
CHER. Of all the zodiac, Capricorn seems his greatest dread.

12 THE KING'S

CHAD. The old gentleman is superstitious ; for I hear he
apprehends your majesty can cast an evil eye.

CHER. Or rather, like Caesar, your majesty has nothing
to do but look and conquer.

FRAN. But here he comes — seemingly in a gloomy mood.

CHAB. And he will no doubt, as usual, preach us a
sermon on pretty behaviour.

Enter COUNT and suite.

FRAN. Though late, yet welcome, Count : but still alone ?
Why does not the fair Diana grace our circle ?

COUNT. Reared in rural solitude, she is but badly cal-
culated, my liege, to move in a court, where nought but
present pleasure is attended to, and futurity unheeded and
defied.

FRAN. The business of each day and night, Sir Count, is
sufficient occupation for a reasonable man ; yet methinks,
sir, 110 noble dame has met with aught but high respect
when in our presence.

COUNT. What can wives expect, when your majesty's
tried and faithful servants, high both in birth and rank, are
subject to hourly insult ?

FRAN. I understand you not.

COUNT. But just now, my liege, your favourite jester
has presumed so far to forget his insignificance as to merit
at my hands a well-earned castigation.

FRAN. (Angrily.} What, Sir Count, have you dared to
punish my Triboulet ?

COUNT. I merely did justice in your royal name, sire.
Enter TRIBOULET.

FRAN. (Aside.') By St. Francis, he shall rue the deed!
Come hither, honest Triboulet. (TRIBOULET comes down.}
I learn Count De St. Vallier has dared to lay hands on our
livery.

THE KING^S FOOL. 13

TRIE. He has done worse, my liege ; he has laid them on
our hump.

FRAN. Then thou shalt have, my good gossip, whatever
satisfaction thou demandest for thy injury.

COUNT. Satisfaction, King Francis, to that miserable
wretch ! My services to the state, are few, sire ; but I did
not think they were thus far forgotten ! And to this court
you would wish me to bring my innocent Diana, 'midst
parasites and hireling sycophants ! (General murmur.)

FRAN. We are always ready to hear your homilies, Sir
Count.

COUNT. I remember, sire, the day when your ancestor's
throne was supported by the noble and the brave ; when
honoured chivalry was the boasted lustre of the court ; and
the bright armour of your tried and faithful followers shone
in prouder array than the gorgeous trappings of courtezans
and motley jesters.

FRAN. I must confess, good Count, that in these blessed
days of peace, I 'd rather be surrounded by damsels' distaffs
than soldiers' spears.

TRIE. Henceforth, my liege, I would propose that your
noble court should go to bed in cuirasses ; hand ladies to
dance with an iron gauntlet ; dine in helmets ; and make
love with their visors down !

COUNT. (Not heeding TRIBOULET.) Women and their dis-
taffs, my liege, may have attraction; but seek them not
among the wives and daughters of your faithful servants.

TRIE. I fully coincide in opinion with the noble lord ;
and, for the furtherance of the security of the noble ladies, I
shall move, as an amendment, that it be enacted, no young
lady shall marry an impertinent suitor under the age of
sixty; (All laugh.) that grey hairs, or a bald head, be in-

c

THE KING S FOOL.

dispensable qualifications for a marriage-license; that no
dame, or damsel be permitted to dance with any partner but
her husband, her brother, or her grandfather (laugh,) and
that no doctor be allowed to attend them unveiled, unless
he be three score, and blind — at least of one eye (laugh.)

CHAB. I move that married ladies shall be obliged to
walk out in blinkers.

DE BER. And I, that all ladies' male attendants be
selected among the invalids of your Majesty's armies.

CHERUBIN. That all your Majesty's pages and officers
wear green spectacles, or a patch on the eye.

TRIB. And moreover that the honourable Count de St.
Vallier be appointed lord of every bed chamber and keeper
of the ladies back stairs (all laugh.)

COUNT. 'Tis well my liege ; this banishment from your
Majesty's presence I gratefully accept ; nay hail my dis-
grace as a harbinger of better days ; may your jesters prop
your throne in the ^hour of need. {Exit, followed by his
servants.)

CHAB. Ha! ha! ha! old Nostradamus is furious.

TRIB. Your Majesty — (King comes down — courtiers group
at back.) Your Majesty promised me satisfaction.

FRAN. Methinks your gibes have amply obtain'd it.

TRIB. Not quite my liege ; my lacerated back is not yet
healed: may it please your Majesty — who is more ambi-
tious than a king ?

FRAN. His ministers.

TRIB. You are out : — aga

FRAN. His confessor.

TRIB. You are in — the priory of St. Vallery is vacated by
the death of the incumbent, who breathed his last by the
visitation of a truffled turkey.

THE KING'S FOOL. J5

FRAN. Well.

TRIE. I want it my liege.

FRAN. What ! Triboulet turn friar ?

TRIE. Not yet ; I have other fish to fry — the priory of
St. Vallery please your Majesty.

FRAN. Once more — for whom ?

TRIE. (Bitterly.) For Diana of Poictiers.

FRAN. Ha ! Say you so? — the priory is thine.

TRIE. My power to demand it.

FRAN. This signature (Giving tablets in which he had
written.)

TRIE. This royal token and endowment will procure me
her confessor's signet and an entrance to the castle ; and
then — Diana's yours — and Triboulet's revenged.

(FRANCIS and Court retire up the stage — a Ballet is per-
formed on which the scene closes.)

SCENE III.

(A Chamber in the Count's Castle.)
Enter DIANA with Bird in a cage.

DIANA. Come, my poor fellow prisoner — often do I wish
to restore thee to thy liberty; 'but my good lord tells me,
the wild birds would destroy thee as voraciously as the
king and his courtiers would devour me, were I let loose ;
Heigho ! how I long for my native groves.

SONG, (NATHAN.)

A pretty bird was moping in its golden cage,

While wanton linnets warbled in the green boughs round,

Their merry chirrups could not his sad grief assuag?,
In vain he tried to join in every cheerful sound*

16 THE KING'S FOOL.

Pretty linnet teach me, Those notes so sweet

Teach me I beseech thee I daily greet,

But ne'er can imitate.
Sad fate !

But ne'er can imitate.

A friendly linnet perched upon its splendid dome,

And said, dear bird, I wish you roved the grove with me,
Then you and I in verdant fields would fondly roam ;

No bird can sing in raptures till it's song be free.
Would that I could teach thee, Those notes thus free,
Reach thee sweet to teach thee. - So full of glee.
That slaves can't imitate,

Sad fate !
That slaves can't imitate.

Enter GERTRUDE.

GER. My lady, a holy Franciscan friar wishes to see your
ladyship ; he was at first refused admittance by the war-
der, but on his presenting the Count's signet, the bridge
v/as lowered ; oh, by the blessed and most patient eleven
thousand virgins ! He is the ugliest man my two eyes ever
beheld; and sure I am I should never be a sinner if sin was
half so frightful.

DIANA. (Aside.) Some fresh precaution, no doubt, of my
amiable husband ; at any rate, shew him in — any thing for
a little variety.

GER. That's exactly what I said, dear lady, when the
blessed Saint Zenobia, who was fried on a griddle for her
virtue, promised me in a dream two husbands ; and I hope
she'll keep her promise when I'm awake. (Exit.)

DIANA. I am certain this new monk, whoever he may be,
cannot be more odious than my spiritual director, father
Gregory, who so often couples love with sin, and marriage
with obedience, that the one seems as enticing as the other
is forbidding ; but here is the new comer ; well, the Count

THE KING'S FOOL. 17

must have ransacked all the monasteries in the kingdom to
find such a fright.

Enter TRIBOULET as a Franciscan friar.
TRIB. Peace be with you my sister.

DIANA. A vastly pretty brother truly ; peace, good friar !
I am too peaceful in this gloomy castle ; give me a siege— a
storm — any thing is better than telling beads, and counting
hours ; but prithee, holy man, what brings you here instead
of father Gregory ?

TRIE. It has pleased our gracious sovereign to create my
worthy brother prior of Saint Vallery ; yes lady, to that
distinguished station he has been translated for his virtues.

DIANA. I wish he had been translated to me for my sins,
for I never could understand one word he said, when ring-
ing the changes in my ear, about connubial duties and nup-
tial ties, and matrimonial obligations and abnegations — and
the lord knows what, that deafened me like the great bell of
Notre Dame.

TRIB. I trust, madam, that in me you will find a less
severe director j for if obliged at times to enjoin spiritual
penance I shall not lose sight of some more worldly compen-
sations.

DIANA. (Aside.) Oh dear ! he is just the man I wanted —
I declare he is not half so ugly as I thought him ; and pray
good friar what is your name ?

TRIB. Barnaby, at your ladyship's commands ; an unwor-
Franciscan, and confessor to his most Christian majesty,
Francis the First.

DIANA. Confessor to the king ! then indeed father Bar-
naby you have no sinecure I should think ; or you must be
a very indulgent comforter j and pray what penances do you
enjoin to his Majesty ?

TRIB. Madam I confess according to what I call the new

J8 THE KING'S FOOL

lights ; that is to say, I make darkness more visible ; too
much severity hardens the heart; no man or woman can be
perfect ; and when I listen to the avowal of transgression I
split the difference, between sin and punishment.

DIANA. Explain.

TRIE. Suppose, for instance your ladyehip, or his majesty
had sinned six times during the week, I should lay a solemn
injunction on you not to sin above three times the next one;
nay, I might even be a little more indulgent, and supposing
you had sinned seven times, as I cannot halve the number
without the fraction of half a sin, I strike a balance in your
favour, and allow you four.

DIANA. Ha ! ha ! ha ! well, this is the most convenient
director I ever heard of; but tell me good Barnaby — I
should think the king is more likely to sin forty times than
four.

TRIE. Royalty has prerogatives fair lady ; but my noble
master is most sadly calumniated by the wicked world ;
true, he may be a little fickle in his admirations ; faithless
in his vows of everlasting love ; but this arises from his
having only seen the false and the perfidious that crowd the
court. Oh, St. Francis ! had he but known your ladyship
•— your real — your sterling merits would soon have recalled
him from the paths of folly in which it grieves me to see
him stray ; he never hears of your beauty without emotion ;
or of your virtues without admiration — could you suspect a
frank and open countenance like his to harbour deceit,

DIANA. I never beheld him.

TRIE. What ! never saw your sovereign, of whose couit
you should have been the brightest ornament ?

DIANA. It was never permitted me.

TRIE. Then allow me to shew you his portrait. (Gives
the portrait.')

THE KIND'S FOOL. 19

DIANA. Dear me ! what handsome features ! and is this
like him !

TRIE. No, madam ; art cannot do justice to his noble looks.
DIANA. How I should like to see him.
TRIE. You have my permission; I am sent hither to
direct your steps in the proper path ; behold this signet
given me by your husband himself! holy father Bar-
naby, said he — for he well knows my sainted reputation —
holy father Barnaby said he, I have been unjust and barba-
rous to the beauteous Diana! now I have discovered the
absurdity of my fears ; I leave her entirely to your direc-
tions ; then fairest lady let me commence my instructions by
putting your virtues to the test, and bringing you into the
presence of the king.

DIANA. Oh ! I dare not.

TRIE. That is a bad sign of your fortitude ; well then, I
shall lead you to the royal chapel, whence you will behold
him from the curtained gallery ; this very evening — now —
at vespers.

DIANA. Ah ! perhaps in the chapel, it will not be a sin.

TRIE. A sin ! it is your duty madam ; recollect you will
be instrumental in reclaiming your sovereign — when, for the
first time in his life, he will admire beauty and virtue united.
(Bell.)

DIANA. What is that bell ?

TRIE. To summons you to vespers, madam.

DIANA. Then, must I go?

TRIE. It is your duty.

DIANA. Father I follow — lead on —

TRIE. (Aside.) Count ! the death knell of thy happiness
has rung ; sister I am yours. (Exeunt.) The bell tolls at
intervals till the drop falls.)

END OF ACT I.

ACT II.

Hall in the Louvre. Throne and canopy. Two sentries walk-
ing to and fro. CHABANNKS, CHERUBIN, DE BERCY, PAR-
DILL IAN, discovered.

DE BER. So, the threads of this base conspiracy have
been discovered and the madman, St. Vallier, condemned to
death.

CHAB. Yes ; but on the scaffold, for the sake of the
beauteous Diana, his majesty granted him a pardon.

DE BER. Not only was the king's life threatened, but
the traitors aimed a deadly blow at the young Dauphin.

CHER. Francis would not have survived the death of
this noble boy : (trumpets and kettle-drums. Enter two pages
announcing. — " The king — the king."

CHAB. His majesty approaches ; mirth and good humour
still sit upon his brow ; no danger can ruffle his cheerful
mind. (Enter FRANCIS — Guards 8?c.}

FRAN. Well gentlemen, I have granted a free pardon to
our preacher; the least boon I could bestow in exchange
for the fair Diana's smiles, Chabannes, a tourney and festi-
val to-morrow, and since these madmen have not shed our
blood, let wine flow instead, and broach as many puncheons
as may charm the thoughts of my good citizens of Paris, till
the're too blind to cry, " Long live the king." (Enter THI-
BOULET.)

THE KING^S FOOL. 21

TRIB. My liege ! a most unwelcome visitor follows me,
the Count de St. Vallier himself; he swears he does not
thank your majesty for your pardon ; and would much
rather have come to court like St. Denis with his head under
his arm.

FRAN. I cannot see him ; let him not pass.

CHAB. It is too late my liege ; here he is (Enter with two
guards — The Count in chains.)

FRAN. (Seated.) Strike off the old man's chains (One of
the guards takes off the chains.) So, Sir Count, you have
thought fit to join the standard of rebellion; what could
induce you to commit so insane an act ?

COUNT. Francis of Valois ! I owe you no allegiance; you
have bereaved me of all that attached me to my country
and my birthright ; rendered me an alien in the land of my
forefathers ; thus, no longer a Frenchman I disclaimed the
sovereignty of the king of France.

FRAN. By my holy patron ! this is lofty language; Hark
ye sir, we allow no prisoners in our dominions, save those
the laws and our pleasure deem it meet to consider such ;
your lady was of high degree, and of a lineage more gentle
than your own ; she claimed our royal protection from your
tyranny ; I stretched out my sceptre to shield her from op-
pression, and so far only have I wronged you ; your life is
forfeit by your foul offence ; yet for her sake do I grant it ;
and, but for her intercession your head should have fallen
beneath the axe of justice.

COUNT. The gift of life sir is an outrage at your hands ;
nobler would it be for me to lie now stretched a headless
corse, than bear through the world a brow stamped with
disgrace ! She seek your protection ! alas ! the lamb should
sooner seek shelter with the ruthless wolf, the dove a refuge

22 THE KING S FOOL.

with the vulture, than woman flee for an asylum to this
polluted court.

FRAN. You forget the respect due to our person.

COUNT. You sir, have forgotten the respect due to my
hoary locks.

FRAN. And what respect did you yourself, sir, pay to
those gray hairs when you sought the hand, and love of
youthful beauty ? Go to ! poor, man !

COUNT. This is indeed a refinement of cruelty sir, thus to
add insult to injury ; but mark me ! thoughtless monarch,
thy days are numbered like mine; the grave yawneth for us
both ; thy regal purple will not protect thee from the festive
worm, that gluts alike upon the prince and peasant ; but
ere you descend into the gorgeous sepulchre of your ances-
tors— thus do I prophecy — sorrow shall wring that heart
that now beats high in illicit enjoyments ; disease shall rack
those pliant and luxurious limbs, thy present boast and
pride, till death in all it's horrors shall hug thee in his flesh-
less arms, as closely as my Diana was pressed to thy un-
hallowed bosom.

FRAN. (Agitated.} Hold ! thy ravings ! I can no longer
bear thy screech-owl bodings.

TRIE. Please your majesty the bishop of Autun is a pri-
soner; methinks old Nostradamus here might as well succeed
him ; a mitre would grace his dignified forehead better than
a morion ; if, indeed, he could contrive to put on either.

COUNT. ( To TRIBOULET.) As for thee, foul fiend ! thou
very insult to the name and form of man ! if it were possible
that thou had'st any connexion with mortal being, my curse
alight on thee and all that may be thine! may thy loathsome
life be as miserable as thy death shall be appalling ; once
more — may thou and thine be accursed by earth and heaven.

23

(Vesper Bell} Hark! Hark the bell of Notre Dame ; the
same that sounded the signal of my dishonour ! thou shalt
never hear it's iron tongue vibrate in thine ear without re-
membering an old man's malediction ; now king Francis —
send me to the block — or to my dungeon.

FRAN. Bear him away ; let the mad driveller moulder in
the Bastille until his idle denunciations recoil upon his own
head (rises.} (Exit Count and guards.}

TRIB. (Agitated.) " May thee and thine be accursed by
earth and heaven." — Ha! an unknown thrill creeps through
every fibre of my quivering frame ; an awful malediction !
— an old man's curse, now hovers o'er my illfated being —
Ha ! dark forebodings madden me ! I must away (staggers
out.)

FRAN. (Advancing.) This dotard's predictions have struck
deep ; his prophetic energy seemed to have burst from the
trammels of age to assume the power of youth ; there was
something more than mortal in the old man's voice.

CHAB. My liege, heed not the maniacs jealous wandering
— he knew not what he said — let him go and crown his
wrinkled brow with cypress, while love and pleasure weave
for you a wreath of myrtle, and of roses.

FRAN. (Starting.) A cup of wine — I say a cup of wine.
(All the pages exit severally, and return with wine in goblets on
gold salvers, FRANCIS drinks.)

PARD. Please your majesty, the council entreat your
august presence ; you have just escaped from a detested
conspiracy — an earnest of a long and happy reign.

CHAB. (Aside to the king.) And I have to impart some in-
telligence of the fair damsel.

FRAN. (Recovering.) Chabannes — well !

CHAB. You shall hear all my liege ; but now permit your

24

faithful servants to pledge a cup, to your majesty's long life
and prosperity ; my lords and gentlemen — here's death to
all traitors, and long live the king — the flower of chivalry !
the protector of arts, and the night-mare of jealous husbands.

ALL,. Long live the king. (All drink.)

FRAN. Grand Merci my lords ; our court must indeed be
the envy of the world, when we are thus surrounded by
brave knights, whose prowess in the field of honour can
only be equalled by their success in the sweet savoir of love;
where woman's sparkling eye is the mirror of daring chi-
valry, and her heart the guerdon of their noble deeds (cour-
tiers retire.} And now Chabannes that I have brushed
away the flitting cloud, what tidings of my fair recluse ?

CHAB. Despite of all exertions I have not been able to
discover who she is: but I have found out that your love is
requited ; the old dragon who watches over the treasure is
ours, and the conquest of the little cit may be considered
certain.

FRAN. Verily thou deservest at least a principality, but
we must take heed lest this vulgar amour reach the ears
of the fair Diana ; she might perhaps doubt the necessity
that a king should be acquainted with every class of his
subjects ; I'll now don my student's garb ; and while I am
preferring my lowly suit, remain thou near the house, with
a few trusty archers, for although treason is abroad, by my
faith I cannot remain at home when beauty and adventure
shout " on Valois." (Exit, followed by CHABANNES, fyc.

THE KING'S FOOL. 25

SCENE II.

Street.— Dark.

Enter TRIBOULET.

TRIE. It must be quickly done ; Chabannes, that base
sycophant of the royal profligate has been seen lurking about
my dwelling ! Blanch — my own, my dearest child ! must
be forthwith removed from danger ; I know not why, but
the old man's curse seemeth a fatal omen and shatters all my
resolves : I sorely wronged him it is true, but what wrongs
has not his order heaped upon me ! why then should this
heart — rendered obdurate by ill-treatment — feel one single
pang for the misery I inflict — am not I a vile outcast?
scarcely considered a human being, spurned by mankind
from my very cradle — when I begged for alms to support
my tottering frame, I was whipped as a vagrant — when I
asked for work, I was spurned and laughed at as an useless
being ! thus, if a germ of kindness ever lurked in this dis-
torted bosom, it was nipped and blasted by the damning
chill of prejudice and pride — I was pointed at, and hooted
by what I hate and execrate — that which the world calls
beauty! beauty! faugh! a pretty man — a nice man — would
eye me thro' his glass, and exclaim — the monster ! ! ! but,
when I played the fool — the despicable buffoon — lo ! 'twas
otherwise, I was courted and pampered ; I made man laugh,
and perhaps for a moment it forgot its wretched self; my
jests, my gibes procured me the sustenance refused to honest
industry ; the bee was trampled on — the wasp was courted;
and when I stung some crawling, yet proud creature, hun-
dreds of his fellow insects enjoyed in roars of delight the

D

26 THE KING'S FOOT,.

pangs he endured ! Still this hideous form concealed a heart
made to love — aye, and fondly too ! oh my Blanch ! my
child! thou alone art all the world to me — and thy wretched
father has brought a curse upon thy head. (Exit.)

SCENE III.

To the left, a narrow obscure street: to the right TRIBOU-
LET'S garden and house, separated from the street by a sec-
tion wall in which is practiced a small door.)

Enter TRIBOULET, rushing into the street.

TRIB. I am followed — tracked by bloodhound panders, no,
they have turned into another street; why do I thus dread
the pavement echo of my own footsteps, why does my heart
quail within my knarled ribs, and its tremulous current chill
within my veins ! alas ! I have too long dared the voice of
tardy and retributive conscience, I feel that I have been a
burthen upon this beautiful creation; my very child was
formed to taunt my misery — still she shall be saved — my
poor Blanch — they cannot — they shall not tear thee from
me ; thy virgin prayers must arrest the winged thunderbolt
of St. Vallier's malediction, (opens door in wall and goes into
the garden.) Blanch ! my child — my beloved Blanch (Enter
BLANCH from house, and rushes into his arms.) Bless thee !
my own — my pride ! my universe.

BLANCH. Dearest father ! what aileth thee ; that sad look
grieves my soul.

TRIB. Art thou happy sweet child in this dull retreat ?

BLANCH. Can I be otherwise when blessed with your
affection.

THE KING'S FOOL. 27

TRIE. Oh yes, my child, I love thee dearly — dearly — sit
thee down (she sits, he kneels at herjeet) 'twine that beauteous
arm around my neck, oh how I delight to gaze upon those
heavenly eyes — Blanch — my own Blanch — dost thou know
that even when mine are closed, I still behold the sweetness
of thy enchanting looks ! nay, oft have I wished that I were
blind, that I might have no other sun but thee ; thy heart
beats quick my daughter — feel mine — it throbs for thee
alone — thou art to me — child — country— friends — family —
the world — my idol upon earth !

BLANCH. Dearest father ! it breaks my heart to see you
weep thus.

TRIE. (With concentrated anguish mingled with rage.) To
see me weep — its strings would burst my child, if thou wert
doomed to see me laugh — say, cans't thou look upon this
odious shape, and not despise me ?

BLANCH. Despise you — oh, my father ! kindness and
love like yours need not the aid of outward forms. But
prithee relieve my constant uneasiness by clearing the dark
mystery that hangs about you ; enable your poor child to
answer one ever recurring question — what are you ?

TRIE. Nothing. (With bitterness.}

BLANCH. You lately brought me from my native moun-
tains where I was happy, and now immure me in this
dismal solitude.

TRIE. What ! is it already irksome to thee ?

BLANCH. No, my father, since such is your will; but
merely tell me what I am.

TRIE. My daughter. Child of the only being that ever felt
a sentiment of kind compassion towards me ; oh, how I did
love her ! ! She alone discovered that I possessed a heart,
denied me by all around. She knew that the fairest forms

28

oft disguise the blackest soul ; that deadly nightshade and
dire aconite bore flowrets sweet to lock upon, while many
an unheeded and unsightly weed treasured a panaceura
for the troubled mind — and hers was early such — when I —
yes I — the wretched thing that stands before thee, did save
her mother's life ; passing a plank thrown over a stream,
bearing in her arms your mother, then an infant, both fell
in ; the torrent swept them down its rapid course — when I
plunged in to rescue. I swam — yes Blanch, I swam ! I
was not born a human being it seems ; since swimming was
instinctive, a gift that nature solely grants to brutes !

BLANCH. Oh, my father! your bitterness curdles my
blood.

TRIE. Then did your mother grow in strength and beauty
near me ; she learned to lisp my name and love deformity ;
I was not, in her eyes, an opaque mass of useless flesh and
blood ; she read my soul. The scoffs of the rabble excited
her compassion and her friendship ; she cheered me in my
degradation, endeavouring to conceal her tears ; and if, in
spite of all her eiforts, she at times shed some bitter drops
upon my wrongs, the choaked ones she restrained to bathe her
heart. Oh, Blanch! she was beauteous — thou art her living
image upon earth.

BLANCH. Continue, dearest father. What became of
her?

TRIE. She was accidentally seen by a young nobleman ;
he admired her. For me — aye, for me ! she rejected the fond
entreaties of one of the most fascinating courtiers ; a base
priest was the pander of the miscreant ; thy virtuous mother
scorned him and his employer ; power prevailed, and she
was condemned to the stake as a vile heretic, for her reli-
gion was her love !

THE KlN(i S FOOL. 5£)

BLANCH. Horrible !

TRIB. Yet such my Blanch may be thy fate, if in this
pestilential city thy charms be discovered ; those gay and
gallant cavaliers that women doat on, are gaudy serpents
created to fascinate and destroy. Tell me Blanch, come tell
me truly — tell thy poor father, hast thou, since in this Paris,
seen any of these handsome popinjays ?

BLANCH. I understand you not.

TRIE. Hast thou been often abroad ?

BLANCH. Only to church — to our blessed lady's shrine.

TRIB. Ha! of course with thy face veiled — a mantle
thrown around thee.

BLANCH. Sometimes

TRIB. What ! only sometimes ! ! And ame Perrette ever
with thee?

BLANCH. Ever.

TRIB. 'Tis well Blanch; to-morrow at day-break, we
must depart.

BLANCH. (Anxiously.) To-morrow, sir !

TRIB. To-morrow, sir ! Yes — to-morrow — just now thou
dids't complain of this solitude (earnestly,) has Paris then
some secret charm for thee ?

BLANCHE. (With hesitation.) No, sir; but — but this sud-
den intimation.

TRIB. I see (Aside bitterly.) The curse begins to work —
Dame Perrette.

DAME. (Inside house.) Coming, sweet master — coming.

TRIB. Confound thy flattering tongue. (Enter DAME PER-
RETTE from house.) Come hither, Dame Perrette ; closer —
closer still — thou tremblest like a spaniel crouching for a me-
rited castigation ; guilt sits upon thy wizened brow, beldame.

DAME. May the blessed saints protect me ! — guilty — of

30 THE KING'S FOOL.

what? — true, I ate pork and lentils last Friday, for which
Saint Genevieve forgive me.

TRIE. Is that the whole of thy offence ?

DAME. Pardon me ; I omitted confessing to father Luke
that I had skipped over a few penitential aves and coveted
gossip Magdeline's tabby cat.

TRIB. Hark'ye, crocodile ! chameleon ! that coulds't take
any form save that of beauty to serve thy purposes — did I
not confide to thee this precious treasure ?

DAME. And have I not been true to my trust?

TRIE. Aye, in leading her to vespers and to matins, for
ought I know harridan.

DAME. Matins — blessings on me ! the sweet young lady,
she sleeps twelve hours a day ; and all the matin bells in
Christendom could not awaken her.

TRIE. And hast thou not allowed her to go out without
hood, veil or mantle, to be gazed at by every pampered and
perfumed coxcomb.

DAME. We have not so much as seen any thing in the
shape of something we could swear was a man.

BLANCH. Indeed, dear father! you wrong Dame Per-
rette ; she never loses sight of me for a moment.

TRIE. Well, well, my child, let every thing thou hast be
packed up in haste ; two horses shall be in readiness to bear
you to a safe asylum ; where gallant cavaliers never set their
cloven feet ; look to it Perrette — fidelity — and — activity or,
mark me ! this steel shall seek acquaintance with thy wi-
thered heart — Blanch, my beloved! farewell! (Embraces
her tenderly.') farewell, my child ! (TRIBOULET crosses —
DAME PERRETTE opens door.)

TRIE. (Aside going off.} Oh, I feel as though it were my
last adieu. (Exit, cautiously looking round when in the street.)

THE KING'S FOOL. 31

DAME. Here's pretty usage for a respectable woman !
Marry, come up ! his dagger shall get acquainted with my
too tender heart (aside.) I fear it not, old Scaramouch ! for
I shall sheath its point in gold, (clinking a purse.} I verily
believe, my dear young lady, your good father's upper story
is as badly furnished as our poor lodgings.

BLANCHE. I know not what ails him of late ; but his sus-
picions I fear render him miserable.

DAME. Suspicions! of what! that you — young and hand-
some fit to be at least a princess, or a duchess — should learn
that you possessed a susceptible heart, that you did not wish
to pine and moan in a dungeon, and that because no lady
could possibly look kindly on the cross old gentleman, his fail-
daughter is not to bestow a smile on a good-looking fellow.

BLANCH. If he did but know that this young and hand-
some student who follows me to church, — constantly lurks
about the house —

DAME. And where' s the harm pray ? Has he not the same
right as we to kneel at our blessed lady's shrine ?

BLANCH. True ; but while he tells his beads, hidden be-
hind a pillar, his eyes are ever fixed on me.

DAME. To be sure, thy pretty smile would make a saint
of the most roistering sinner.

BLANCH. My good Perrette, don't flatter.

DAME. Flatter ! the king himself would doff his crown
for one single rosy smile of thine.

BLANCH. And tell me truly, Goody, dost positively think
the youth loves me ?

DAME. Think it ! swear it by the bones of every saint in
the calendar. (Aside.) This must be the hour — ah, sweet
child ! I once loved and was dearly loved in turn — old as I
now am — I'll tell thee all about it in this bower. ( They enter

32 THE KING'S FOOL.

a bower and are seen in earnest conversation. Enter into tke
street, FRANCIS I. dressed as a student — CHABANNES wrapped
in a mantle and archers also cloaked.)

CHAB. This is the house my liege; the mysterious visitor
has just passed us without recognizing your majesty.

FRAN. "Pis well good Chabannes, fix the ladder and re-
main within my call, for these are fearful times when even
lovers must be cautious, (aside.) I know not why, but for the
first time in all my adventurous life do I experience reluct-
ance in pursuit and dread of its results ; that old man's
prophecy ! — come, come Valois, banish apprehension and be
thyself again.

CHAB. The ladder is fixed my liege and success attend
you.

FRAN. Remember — within call — (He goes over the wall,
DAME PERRETTE sees him and leads BLANCH to the front.)

CHAB. And you, my good archers, pace around every
purlieu, and in the King's name, stop the progress of all
curious intruders. (Exit with archers. DAME PERRETTE
and BLANCH come to the front, while FRANCIS glides in be-
hind them, after having made a sign to PERRETTE.)

DAME. And so you often think of this young gallant ?

BLANCH. Ever good Perrette ! Even in my slumbers,
busy fancy pourtrays him, as when I first beheld him at our
Lady's church, enveloped in his mantle, and half concealed
behind a massive pillar, fixing his ardent eyes on me.

DAME. Yes, dear young lady ; they are ardent, but yet
soft and sweet, just like those of my poor departed Jeanty,
(peace be with him,) whose eyes were ever sparkling with
love or liquor — do you know I am certain that this unknown
student of yours is some nobleman in disguise.

BLANCH. Prithee, say not so — oh, no, no ! A youth of

THE KING'S FOOL. 33

high degree could not thus follow and admire a poor thing
like me, without base motives; tell me Perrette, on the con-
trary, that he is of my own station in life — what he appears
to be, a poor and humble student.

DAMK. ( Who has looked back to the king, who throws her a
purse.} Well, so be it — so be it. Yet his features betray a
distinguished rank ; nay, be not uneasy about it, silly child ;
love knows not birth, and many an humble damsel, much
less beauteous than you — verily dairy maids and shepherd-
esses, have oft exchanged their chaplet of wild flowers for a
royal crown or a ducal coronet ; at any rate, if your timid
suitor be not a noble — every look and action shew the gen-
tleman— ( she looks at the purse) — but it's no use thinking of
him; at day-break your father takes you away — Heaven
and our Lady of Bologne knows where. (BLANCH sighs
heavily.) Heigho !

FRAN. Take her away at daybreak ? By my crown this
shall not be. (Aside.)

DAME. What can induce your father, sweet lady, thus to
bear you away at a moment's notice ? There is something
strangely mysterious in all this ; do you know all the neigh-
bours are talking about him ; some say he is the wandering
Jew : others, the old mr.n of the mountains ; Master Froth,
the barber, swears he's a dabbler in the black art ; and gos-
sip Ferret insists that he's in compact with the old gentle-
man— thanks to my blessed saints, I have not a spark of
curiosity about me ; yet have I listened at doors and peeped
through key-holes, and followed and watched him : and
once I even got under a bed — a situation most uncomfortable
in my mind — yet have I never been able to discover who or
what he is. Why is it then that because he is —

BLANCH. (Severely.) My father, Dame Perrette.

34 THE KING'S FOOL.

DAME. I was only going to say — because he is not what
a body might call handsome by no means — he should wish
to deprive a beautiful young lady like you of a great bles-
sing, or, a very necessary evil — a husband.

BLANCH. His will, Perrette, must be my law.

DAME. Surely ! But it's a sad pity that his will has not a
better way ; when I was young, alack-a-day, I took care
that both should suit my fancy ; now, suppose this hand-
some student declared to you his love ; swore he lived only
for you j would throw himself off a house top if you frown'd
on him j and fight the great Mogul for a smile — what would
you do ?

BLANCH. Obey my father. Without any reason apparent
to me he is miserable enough — what would be his sad fate
were I to give him cause of sorrow ! He tells me the world
scorns him — his child's embrace is then his only refuge ; he
says he abhors mankind j then is it my duty to convince
him by my affection, that there does exist a being who wishes
to reconcile him to his dark destinies.

DAME. You are right, lady — quite right — yet I cannot
but pity the poor youth ; to love you so fondly, and lose
you for ever.

BLANCH. For ever ! — nay, good Perrette.

DAME. Well, since you cannot love him ; it is better that
you should part to meet no more. t

BLANCH. (Affected.) I do not love him ! alas, Perrette !
I fear he is any thing but indifferent to my sad heart. —
(FRANCIS rushes forward to throw himself at BLANCH'S
feet — she shrieks.}

FRAN. Hush ! gentle lady, be not alarmed in beholding
at your feet the happiest of men.

BLANCH. Rise, sir, I beseech you ; in mercy's name, what
brought you here ?

THE KING'S FOOL. 35

FRAN. The most fervent love that ever fired a mortal
bosom ; it was but just now that unexpected bliss succeeded
dark despair, when I heard those lips pronounce that my
fond suit was welcome.

BLANCH. Whoever you are, sir, do not abuse this weak-
ness of a silly girl ; you are, I hope, a man of honour, and
not one of those gay and deceitful courtiers my father abhors,
who pride in our sorrow and glory in our tears ; I am a
stranger to the world, sir, yet methinks your language is not
that of the poor student whose garb you wear.

FRAN. Yet a poor and humble scholar am I — I long and
vainly sought for wisdom in musty books and in dark
studies, but now a heavenly beam has illumined my soul,
and I seek for real bliss in the sweet lore of love.

BLANCH. ( With timidity.) And — what may be your name ?
FRAN. Francis.
BLANCH. Your family's ?
FRAN. Beauregard.

BLANCH. Then Francis Beauregard — thus do I reply to
your fond expressions, which, since you have unwarrantably
listened to my idle talk, I should fain hope would prove
sincere —I permit you to address my father on the subject.

FRAN. Who is the happy man, thrice blessed with such
a child ?

BLANCH. A mystery dark and unaccountable hangs
around us, be it your business to draw aside the veil and
ascertain who and what I am, and if then, sir, your senti-
ments remain unchanged, and my poor father grant his
consent, what can I add? — alas! I yield to fate that caused
us to meet, in the hope that there may be faith in man ;
until then, sir, permit me to preserve the privacy enjoin' d
me. (Exit into the house.)

FRAN. Amiable, excellent girl ! and it is thus that in

36 THE KING'S FOOL.

these obscure and humble abodes I meet more pure and
endearing virtue than in my Louvre halls.

DAME. (Who had withdrawn up the stage, comes down.}
Well, good sir, I told you how 'twould be, you have won
the day

FRAN. Aye, and feel it a prouder victory than any I have
ever gained.

DAME. Gained a victory ! mercy on me ! my mind mis-
gives me. Sir, who and what are you ?

FRAN. You hold my portrait in your hand.

DAME, (looks at a coin.) Oh ! I thought as much ; I knew
there was nobility in your looks, oh, my most gracious
and magnificent sovereign ! I hope my freedom — only to
think it, I've been talking to a king ! Oh, my lord ! please
your illustrious majesty, the girl adores you ; is ready to
fall into fits for your omnipotent royalty, hysterics and
quandaries. Oh, by the gridiron that roasted St. Laurence !
I should never, never — oh, bless your glorious majesty !

FRAN. Tush old woman !

DAME. (Aside.) Old woman! now that's unkind even
from royalty.

FRAN. Who is that girl's father ?

DAME. An anonymous madman, please your transcendent
majesty. Moreover as ugly a sinner as your eyes ever be-
held in a week's walk ; and I must also inform your majesty
he's as obstinate as any buck or bear in your majesty's
demesnes. Lord love your royal head, he'd kick a donkey
to make him bray mea culpa, that's what he would ; and at
cock-crow to-morrow morning, great potentate, he intends
to carry off this little innocent of his — that is, when I say
of his, it's a way of speaking ; for as I said just now, your
immortal majesty never beheld such a fright ; and though
he passes for her father, I have ever fancied (saving your

THE XING'* S FOOL. 37

majesty's presence) that he must have found her, as they
say, under a gooseberry bush, for she has always been a
thorn in his side, poor man !

FRAN. Well, well, I shall endeavour to save her from
perdition.

DAME. Bless your royal head — your majesty's just the one
to do it.

FRAN. What's your name ?

DAME. Perrette, at your imperial order and command.

FRAN. This night I bear thy charge to the palace, and
shall endeavour to secure her a happier fate — open that door
(points to the door in wall, which PERETTE opens].

DAME. Oh ! what would become of poor silly girls with-
out protection !

FRAN. (Whistles.)

Enter CHABANNES and ARCHERS.

CHAB. This damsel's father, who, it seems, is little better
than a madman, purposes bearing her away by dawn of
day j perhaps beyond our dominions. This abduction (al-
though parental, we must prevent) ; let her therefore be
carried to the Louvre. Dame Perette, go thou and prepare
her for an interview with her sovereign ; but speak not to
her of Francis Beauregard. Let her not think him capable
of an un courteous act to an unprotected damsel — let her still
fancy me the poor student she first saw and loved ; happier
in the intricacies of crabbed lore than in the labyrinth of
royal councils. When her father returns and misses her, tell
him —

DAME. What?

FRAN. Tell him, his daughter's at the Louvre. (Exit
through door in wall.)

DAME. That would be a nicer composing draught to the

38

poor silly man than ever your majesty's apothecary could
compound — but woe betide me when he comes home ! I
must follow or I'm undone. (To CHABANNES.) Perhaps, my
lord, since his majesty takes the mistress under his sacred
protection, your worship would be bountiful enough to
compassionate the poor maid who has a mighty wish to see
the Louvre too. (Exit into the house with CHABANNES.)

END OF ACT II.

ACT III.— SCENE I.

A small Chamber in the Louvre — through the centre Door two
• Sentries are seen pacing in the Vestibule.

BLANCH discovered at a Table in deep thought.

BLANCH. What can this mean? summoned before the
king, who has not yet appeared, and confined to this room
a close prisoner. Oh ! my poor father ! if he knew that I
was in the power of the King how wretched would he
be. Oft has he told me with bitterness depicted on his
brow — " Ah, Blanch ! if Francis beheld thee for an
instant, thou art lost for ever!" Yet why should I fear
him ? he is, they say, a noble and generous prince, and
surely could not sue for a heart that never, never can be
his. — But some one approaches ; as I live 'tis Francis Beaure-
gard. What can bring him here ?

(Enter FRANCIS, wrapped up in a mantle.}
Oh., master Beauregard, if you are aught in this place, come
to my relief: well I knew your humble garb concealed
some higher person than a simple student. Alas ! you have
deceived me.

FRAN. No, gentle Blanch, I sincerely feel the sentiments
I expressed ; if I appeared what I am not, it was to discover
whether my love really met with a fond return.

BLANCH. Then in pity tell me who you are.

40

FRAN. Ever your faithful Francis : but not Beauregard.
Francis of Valois, — your sovereign, yet your slave. (Throws
off his cloak,)

BLANCH. Heavens ! what do I hear ! Oh, then in mercy,
let me supplicate your majesty to restore me to my wretched
father. The whole night have I thought on nought but his
anguish, when on his return he found his daughter fled, his
hearth deserted !

FRAN. Your father, dear maid, will soon forgive you,
when he learns my ardent love.

BLANCH. Never, sire ; you little know the firmness of his
stern resolves.

FRAN. But when I raise you to the highest dignity in the
kingdom — ?

BLANCH. The more elevated my station, my liege, the
more conspicuous will he deem my disgrace.

FRAN. Blanch, if the sincerest love, my vows of everlast-
ing faith can make you happy '

BLANCH. They were already pledged, my lord, to your
royal consort.

FRAN. That was a union of state policy and cold specu-
lation ; whilst ours shall be the ties of mutual attachment,
since I have discovered that I am not indifferent to your
heart.

BLANCH. Francis Beauregard, my liege, I might have
loved with honour; the addresses of Francis, King of
France, could only be received with disgrace. Once more,
my lord, in pity let me return to my disconsolate father.

FRAN. What ! to be borne by his capricious will beyond
my dominions; — torn from me for ever? Nay, Blanch,
frown not thus on one on whom so very lately you kindly
smiled, and for no other reason than my being born a

THE KING^S FOOL. 41

prince. Stay in this court; — become its pride — its orna-
ment— and let me lavish on you and your's, those favours
that my power confers at will.

BLANCH. My liege, you have a son

FRAN. I have.

BLANCH. You love him, sire ?

FRAN. Beyond expression ! What then ?

BLANCH. ( With calmness, yet determination.) And I, sire,
have a father.

FRAN. (Aside.) That powerful reply has frozen the hot
tide of my mantling blood.

BLANCH. Your majesty would rather see that son, the
generous Dauphin, brought home a corpse upon an un-
stained shield, than returning to your court with a tarnished
escutcheon.

FRAN. Generous girl !

BLANCH. Suffice it — you have known the simple Blanch
will ever bear in fond remembrance the student Francis
Beauregard ; but let her also respect the virtues of Francis I. ;
if you wish to bestow your royal bounty on me, permit
me to enter some holy nunnery, where, in its solemn clois-
ters, I shall never think on one I fondly believed my equal
without prefering a fervent prayer for the prosperity and
glory of my king.

FRAN. Noble damsel ! Thy will shall ever be my law :
thou art free to depart, in virtue as in peace ; but first
inform me who is your father, who thus graces his humble
station by such lofty ideas of honour ?

BLANCH. I can only repeat what I have already stated to
your majesty : I know not his condition ; I was reared in
the mountains of Jura from my infancy j and there, most
probably, should I have still remained, had not our Suzerran

42

lord, when hunting near my cottage, seen me and resolved
to bear to me to his castle. A worthy priest informed me
of his base designs, and I fled to a neighbouring convent for
protection ; thence I was brought to the obscure dwelling
near this palace, which your majesty honoured with your
presence. More I know not, save that, from some secret
motive, my father seems at war with all mankind, and
thinks the whole universe as hostile to him as he feels deep
aversion to all that bears a human form. *

FRAN. Ha ! What a thought ! (Aside.) Tell me, Blanch,
is he not deformed ?

BLANCH. The world, my liege, might say he is. ( With
hesitation.)

FRAN. What is his usual dress ?

BLANCH. When he comes near me, he ever carefully
conceals it.

FRAN. But have you not observed some difference in his
apparel from other men ?

BLANCH. Yes, sire, I have remarked that his hose and
doublet are of a party-colour ; and once I found him con-
cealing a cap and bells, such as, I have heard, mummers
and jesters wear.

FRAN. (Aside.) It must be my poor Triboulet ! And I,
for whose pleasure he has mortgaged his very soul, was
going to rob him of all that Providence had left him ! —
Blanch, thy father I well know : no longer shall he fill the
irksome station, near our person, that he now holds : hence-
forth he shall be free and independent. Accept, dear maid,
this purse — a slender earnest of my future intentions ; and
also take this chain — suspend it round thy father's neck, and
bid him attend upon me early on the morrow. Farewell —
farewell, sweet girl ! I proudly feel that all my triumphs

THE Kl\Vs F06L. 43

in unhallowed loves, never gladdened this heart with the
pure pleasure it now enjoys. In waiting there —
(Enter CHABANNES and OFFICERS.)

Let this gentle lady be conducted to her home hard by
the palace ; let every token of respect be shewn her ;
nay, I would my very sentinels presented their pertuisans
at her approach, for virtue such as her's is now so rare in
courts, that guards should turn out and salute when she
appears. (BLANCH kisses hands; the King embraces her
affectionately, and she departs with a lingering look behind her,
followed by OFFICERS.)

FRAN. What think' st thou Chabannes, of that young
person ?

CHAB. I'm amazed, my liege, to see her thus depart.

FRAN. What ! amazed to see thy sovereign virtuous, and
able to control unruly passions ?

CHAB. Not so, my lord ; but methinks many a less beau-
teous fair has found favour in your majesty's eyes.

FRAN. But wouldst thou believe that angelic creature
calls Triboulet her father.

CHAB. Triboulet!!!

FRAN. Even so ; the poor rogue daserved this mercy at
my hands ; for see — (shews a paper) — how actively the fel-
low ministers to our pleasure ; he has obtained for me this
very night an interview with the far-famed La Ferroniere,
at the inn hard by the Tower of Nesles.

CHAB. What, my lord ! the inn of the ferry ?

FRAN. The same ; there do I meet her in the disguise of
a trainband captain, when the clock strikes ten.

CHAB. Then go not unattended my liege ; the place is a
noted resort of bandits and base Bohemians ; nay, it is said
that dark deeds of blood have been perpetrated in its in-
famous purlieus.

44

FRAN. I fear neither bandits nor dark gipseys ; my steel
corslet and this trusty sword, shall set them at defiance.
Moreover, Chabannes, I shall feel greater delight in having
respected the simple damsel thou hast seen depart, when I
behold a lady of our court, of high degree, meeting me in
the cut- throat place you dread.

CHAB. At any rate, sire, permit me to be in its vicinity,
with a trusty guard.

FRAN. That I allow ; but stir not on thy life, until thou
hearest our given signal. (Exeunt.)

SCENE II.

An humble room in TRIBOULET'S lodging. — A large mantle,
and TRIBOULET'S hat on table. — Table, two chairs, and
lamp on table, lighted.

TRIBOULET discovered in deep thought.
TRIB. Old man, thy curse is thriving! Thou hast not
struck the seed of malediction in an unyielding soil ; the
young shoot is blasted — the parent tree scathed and leafless !
I am now a withered trunk, standing alone in the desert. —
Oh, my poor Blanch ! why did I not strangle thee when
the old toothless, grinning crone came to announce to me,
I had a lovely daughter ! Why wert thou not born as hideous
as the wretch to whom thou owest thy miserable existence ?
Thy purity had singled thee in my eyes from the base herd
of mankind; thy celestial form seemed not created for
earthly pollution ; but now, alas ! how fallen ! thou art now a
woman ! False as the hell whence thy seducer sprung ! base
as the sycophants who crouch around his throne ! — Alas !
base as myself! Yet there are some who will think the poor

45

fool honoured — forsooth, his daughter will be a duchess ! —
the father provided for ! — aye, provided for — (with a despe-
rate laugh.} — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — provided for ! ! A kingly and
kind expression, that meaneth in court language — fed upon
infamy ! — glutted on the carrion remains of his disho-
noured child ! Thank heaven ! no noble and ambitious
blood flows in these distorted limbs ; I am a poor, vulgar
caitiff; yet the spurned cur would rather perish in the
gnawing pangs of hunger, than have his heirs boast proudly
of their barred armorials, and insolently sport the badge of
regal infamy ! Not all the guards that watch thy Louvre's
halls, shall save thee, Francis, from thy fool's revenge ! My
heart is now bursting ! bursting ! — but the volcano of its
explosion shall pour a burning lava on the tyrant's soul.
My plans are laid — well laid : he has cast his fascinating
eyes upon the lovely La Feronniere — ah, as beauteous as
was once my daughter ! I have promised him an interview
with his intended victim ; but instead of a luxurious couch,
he shall find his grave ! — instead of beauty's chiselled arms,
the fangs of death shall fold him in their grasp ! If disco-
vered, joy shall rock my soul, when, as a base regicide, four
active horses shall tear my limbs asunder; — my expiring voice
shall urge their speed, until at last its faltering sounds shall
proudly lisp, " I die content ! I've killed the king ! " (Noise
at the door.} Who comes there ?

Enter BLANCH, she attempts to rush into her father's arms,
but he repels her with horror.

TRIE. Approach me not, lest this steel carve out the ruf-
fian's image from thy heart-

BLANCH. {Supplicating.} Oh, my father !

TRIB. Let me not hear thy voice,

BLANCH. In pity hear me !

46 THE KING'S FOOL.

. TRIE. What canst thou have to say? [Gaze on yon
mirror ; there contemplate thy brow ; once thy hands were
wont (like those of thy poor mother's), to put aside those
auburn locks to show thy innocence; — but now, cover it!
veil it for ever ! for infamy is written in fiery characters on
that once pure tablet of thy spotless virtue.

BLANCH. Heaven knows sir, I am innocent ?

TRIE. Innocent ! — and an inmate of a palace for one
entire night ?

BLANCH. Father, you wrong me, as much as you are un-
just to our gracious sovereign.

TRIB. Gracious ! ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! yes, I see — that
golden chain around thy neck is no doubt a token of his
gracious condescension !

BLANCH. It was for you my father he gave it me.

TRIE. For me ! for me ! a golden chain ! Fiends of
hell — Hark'ye, girl ! dost thou dare add mockery to thy
depravity ?

BLANCH. In mercy's name, sir, hear me ; hear me calmly,
ere the torrent of your wrath hurls us all headlong into a
gulph of misery.

TRIB. Girl ! can I be more miserable than I am ?

BLANCH. Sir ! I swear by my mother's memory —

TRIB. Thy mother ! name her not ; call not on her sacred
shades, lest they rise embodied and scourge thee with scor-
pion whips into dark regions, where thou never can'st be-
hold her sainted spirit.

BLANCH. Kill me, sir, if such be your will, but in my
dying moments I will declare, in the presence of heaven, the
king is as guiltless as your unhappy child !

TRIB. Guiltless ! guiltless ! have I not eyes ? did I not
see the ruffian, Chabannes, leading thee to the Louvre?

THE KING'S FOOL. 47

Alas, I rushed after thee as quickly as these rebellious limbs
could bear me — but I came too late — the palace gates were
closed — in vain I raved and uttered frantic cries for my
child, that would have raised the dead — the sentinels drove
me away like an unwelcome cur, whose barks and yells dis-
turbed their masters rest and pleasures. Francis, guiltless !
No, if all the royal skeletons of his ancestors rose from their
proud sepulchres to affirm it ! I'd drive back their moul-
dering bones to the hell that pour'd them forth, and tell
them they basely lied (perceiving the purse hanging at her
girdle] — Ha ! and that purse at thy girdle, studded with the
royal arms. Ha ! ha, ha, ha ! that is doubtless another
badge of thy purity and his innocence. (Furiously snatching
it from her.} — Give it me this instant ! Ha ! gold — gold !
It was all that I wanted (with composure looking at and
counting the money.} — Blanch, all is well — all will be well!
See ! I breathe freely — I am no longer agitated ; a moun-
tain has been removed from my bosom, Blanch.

BLANCH. Dearest father !

TRIB. Blanch — this night — aye — in an hour — we must
depart.

BLANCH. I am ready to follow you to the world's end.

TRIE. We must depart — quit the country; two horses
shall be in readiness ; haste, put thee on the man's attire in
which I brought thee here— dos't thou hear me ? put it on—-
to-night—to-night— we must depart ! (A gentle tap at the
door.)— Ha ! 'tis he— haste into thy room: haste, I say; on
with thy disguise ; I say once more away, girl— away !

BLANCH. (Entering her room.) May heaven protect me !

Enter MELCHIOR.

(During the following scene BLANCH is discovered at the door
listening with horror.)

TRIB. Thou art late, good Melchior, very late.

48 THE KING'S FOOL.

MEL. Aye, it needed caution to steal to thy nest ; those
hell hounds of the Provost were tracking me j it is time to
tramp, or I shall dangle like an acorn.

TRIE. Good Melchior ! kind Melchior ! in a few moments
he will be at thy house.

MEL. Who?

TRIB. The train-band captain of whom I told thee ; the
miscreant who debauched my child ; an outlawed ruffian —
not satisfied with one victim, he shortly expects another
triumph at the ferry inn, kept by thy sister : there does he
purpose to spend the night in revelry ; there, Melchior, let
him sleep for ever !

MEL. Hark'ye, Master Triboulet, I have no objection to
the job ; it is my trade, and every industrious man must eke
out a living ; but I like not dealing with these men-at-arms.

TRIE. I knew it, and have provided for all ; here, take
this phial, a few drops in his goblet, and were he a Goliath,
in a few seconds he becomes an easy prey. Blunt not thy
dagger on the corslet that he wears ; 'tis proof against thy
steel ; but strike there (pointing to his throat) — just there,
kind Melchior, let out the vital puddle of the knave.

MIL. Dost thou want to teach me my craft, gossip Tri-
boulet ? And prithee, dos't think that for thy poor paltry
hundred crowns, I'll add to my chances of the tree ?

TRIE. (Shewing the purse and chain.) See here — see here
— and here ! This bursting purse of gold, just fresh from
the royal mint, it shall be thine, so shall this massive chain ;
all these, and this passport, a sure safeguard, to bear thee
out of the kingdom, with which thou cans't pass unheeded
through all his majesty's armies ; all shall be thine when
thou deliverest me the caitiff's carcass. Here is a mantle,
let it become his winding sheet; I shall watch at thy door,

49

bring me my prey, good Melchior, and all this treasure's
thine: when the blow is struck, just whistle; thus, then
will I receive my victim, and bless thy avenging hand
for ever !

MEL. Well, a bargain ; my sister expects me. I told her
I had a job on hand this night, but her silly scruples

TRIB. May be silenced by a few drops of that precious
liquor ; but haste thee to the ferry, he is, perhaps, there al-
ready ; borne on the wings of profligacy, the fellow cleaves
the very air, haste thee to the ferry ; and mark me, spare him
not, he did not spare me ! and let thy dagger pierce his throat
as keenly as he has smitten this tortured heart. (Exeunt.)

BLANCH (comes for ward.) Horror has curdled every drop
of my blood. Just heaven ! what a project. Oh, Francis !
(for it can be no other victim,) Francis Beauregard! my
king ! my friend, thus to be basely slaughtered ! No, no,
it shall not be ; in the man's attire my father ordered
me to put on, will I fly to the ferry, seek admittance, and
warn him of his danger. May heaven grant me strength. —
(Exit.)

SCENE III.

The Inn at the Ferry. — Table with lamp, jugs, flagons, chairs.
— A staircase leading to a subterranean passage. — Thunder-
storm.

ZEBLINA. (discovered.) This storm in the dark heavens por-
tends no good on earth ; but what need we poor persecuted
Bohemians care for the turmoils that perplex the world, since
we are condemned never to taste its sweets, except by cunning
industry. ( Thunder.) Mercy o' me ! what a night for a

50 THE KING'S FOOL.

lover to stir abroad ! but more fit for the bloody work which
I fear will be perpetrated here ere long. My outlawed
brother tells me he has a sad task to perform this night,
which will enable him to escape from the fangs of justice ;
he then quits the country, and I shall follow, for I'm sick at
heart with all I witness here. (Knock at the door.) Some one
knocks — no doubt it is the ill-fated lover drawn into the
toils. Who comes there ?

FRAN, (without.) A friend.

ZER. The word ?

FRAN. Bohemia.

ZER. 'Tis well; enter good traveller. — (Enter FRANCIS,
wrapped in a cloak, under which a steel corslet, and the dress
of a roving Captain.)

ZER. Dear me! what a pity ! such a handsome man. The
weather is wet and bleak, good sir ; throw off your cloak and
draw near the fire.

FRAN, (clasping her waist.} The fire, my pretty wench ;
dost think a bold freebooter like me can ever feel the nipping
of a cold wind when near so blooming and fair a maid ?
Were I stretched upon alpine snows, one kiss from those
ambrosial lips would thaw my frozen blood like sun-beams
of Araby. (Kisses her.) And by the mass ! its perfumes
hang upon thy breath.

ZER. Come Captain, that's what all you gay cozeners tell
every simple damsel and truant damej so prithee reserve
your kisses for the lady you expect.

FRAN. So then you know my secret. What is your name,
lovely ?

ZER. Zerlina, sir, at your service.

FRAN. Then I'll tell thee Zerlina, the lady I expect is noble
born ; and her condescension in thus loving a needy soldier

THE KING'S FOOL. 51

of fortune, flatters my vanity, while it fills my purse ; but on
my hilt, sweet gipsey, if thou would'st accept her gold, and
give me in return a few kind looks from those dark gazelle
eyes, I should feel prouder than in a noble adventure.

ZER. (Aside.) And this man doomed to die — nay — nay —
it never shall be.

FRAN. There, take this gold cross as an earnest of my
truth ; and when we part to-morrow, thou shalt find the
wood-ranger worth a fond return.

ZER. You are modest.

FRAN. Come, lovely Bohemian, thou hast no doubt good
skill in palmistry, like all thy boon, but vagrant companions
— thus let me cross thy hand to learn my fate, but I see a
lute — art thou also a sweet songtress Zerlina ?

ZER. Sometimes, sir, I venture on a foreign strain.

FRAN. Then let me hear thee (as she fetches the lute.)
By my patron! she is charming — oh princes! how much we
loose by not being oftener with our subjects, come little
syren, (sits.)

ZER. (Aside, and tuning the instrument.) Oh may I suc-
ceed in warning him of his danger ; I shall sing you a little
ballad, sir, on a true story.

FRAN. Of course — how once upon a time — go on —

SONG. ZERLINA (Wade.)

Good traveller do not pass my gate

Said a warder to a knight,
The rain falls fast ; the hour is late

So from thy horse alight.

Gra' mercy ! sir, the traveller said,

I'd fain accept thy cheer ;
But I've been warned by gipsy maid,

That death and danger's near.

52 THE KING'S FOOL.

Thefore gra'mercy ! friend, once more

I must my road pursue ;
For lightning flash and thunder roar,

Are safer far than you.

And well I ween 'twas for the knight,

He met that gipsey maid ;
Else had his corpse — a dismal sight

In gory grave been laid.

FRAN. Who had listened with increased curiosity and
agitation, (aside.) Ha ! there is some mystery in this gipsey's
song — could there be treachery abroad — come Francis !
Francis ! shame upon thee— that is an interesting ditty
Zerlina — here's my palm — what see'stthou in my destinies?

ZER. In this hand I behold treachery and danger.

FRAN. And how to avoid it ?

ZER. Relying implicitly on a dark woman who watches
over you.

FRAN, (uneasily.) What — no other means of setting
peril at defiance.

ZER. None, (noise without,) hush ! in the name of mercy !

FRAN. Confusion ! I'm betrayed — I'll call my guard.
Enter MELCHIOR, ZEPPO, and RODOLPH.

FRAN. It is too late, we must prepare for the worst,, (sits
down near thejtre.}

MEL. So, thou hast gallant company good sister.

ZER. Yes, Melchior — a benighted captain has asked a
night's asylum : but in truth to await the arrival of the
damsel of his heart.

MEL. 'Tis well ; I suppose by your morion and corslet
good soldier, thou art leader of one of those wary bands
called the flayers ; welcome to this humble abode — it seemeth
poor, but it is safe, here you need not apprehend surprise —
aye — the king's guards themselves could not discover the
secret recesses of this haunt unless initiated in the mysteries

THE KING S FOOL.

53

of Bohemy ; Hollo ! Zerlina — a flagon and glasses — a fresh
tap for our brave guest and my jolly companions — sit down
my boys — come captain, a bumper — here's confusion to the
law. {They drink, repeating the toast,) and now Zeppo a

song — a song.

SONG, ZEPPO. (Nathan.)
Drink, drink, and a fig for all sorrow,

We'll frighten blue devils away ;
Who cares if we all hang to-morrow,
Provided we're joyous to-day.

Chorus.
Then push round the cup and be merry,

Brave boys only, once we can die ;
And 'tis time when we step in death's ferry

To bid our bright flagons good bye.

MEL. Now noble captain ! here's a health to the knight's
of the sword.

ZEP. {Examining the hilt of FRANCIS* srvord.) A trusty
and true Toledo, no doubt.

FRAN. Aye : and has cleared its way at Marignan.
( While FRANCIS is thus engaged, MELCHIOR pours the contents

of the phial into his cup.)

(A watch outside.} Who comes there.

{A voice without.) France and Valois.

(The watch.) Pass France and Valois — all's well. (MEL.
ZEPPO, &c. start up to the door, ZERLINA whispers FRANCIS.)

ZER. Away with that beverage ; pretend to drink it, and
then to sleep.

ZEP. 'Tis nothing but the grand Provost's round.

MEL. High dangling to him in his own orchard (turns
and sees FRANCIS pretending to be emptying his cup.) So
my thirsty soul thou hast thrown off thy drink already —
thou art fit to be one of us ; now honest, skip the ladder my
boy, give us the second chaunt of the stave.

54 THE KING'S FOOL.

The king by his archers surrounded,
Can't keep the grim foe from his hall ;

When once his shrill trumpet has sounded
The boldest must answer the call.

(The king gradually appears to sleep — MELCHIOR, &c.
rise cautiously, anxiety of ZERLINA.)

MEL. He's snug my boys.

ZEPPO. Prudence ! prudence, gentlemen ! Trust not to
appearances ; I like not that long spit of his.

MEL. Coward ! Now for it.

ZER. (Holding him.} Brother, in mercy's name, spare the
ill-fated man !

MEL. Yes — and to-morrow the provost will set us all
dancing a jig to the tune of our clinking chains ; 500 gold
crowns, my lads for this job ; so to the vault. (He touches
a spring and the king's chair, sinks through a trap.)

ZER. Have you not one spark of compassion ?

ZEPPO. Yes : for ourselves, Miss Charity.

ZER. And you, good Zeppo, — you who often said you
loved me — grant me but this request.

ZEPPO. Sweet miss Zerlina, I'm in the minority. (De-
scends stairs R. trap.}

ZER. Then there is no mercy in mankind.

MEL. No more than in your sex ; if we plunge our dag-
gers in a heart for lucre, you break it for your amusemenb
so away, silly wench — no more ! On my lads —

ZER. Ruffian ! I will rouse him, and in a good cause he'll
brave your cowardly daggers.

MEL. Thy words are wind ; thunder could not awaken
him. (Casts her off and descends trap.)

ZER. Mercy 1 mercy ! (Descends Trap after them. — Scene
closes.)

THE KING S FOOL.

55

SCENE IV.
The Ferry. — Ferry Inn, Tower of Nesles.

Thunder, lightning. — A boat with FERRYMAN, and BLANCH
in mans attire, pushes to the bank. — they get out.

FER. A good night to you, young master, and our Lady
guard you ; keep a sharp look out, for many a curious chap
has paid dearly for a peep in this quarter ; the youngster
must be either mad or in love. (Re-enters his boat after re-
ceiving his passage-money, and pushes off.)

BLANCH. Yes ; this must be the house : may heaven
grant me fortitude to perform the task it has imposed upon
me ; it is in the cause of truth and honour, and in saving
the life of my sovereign, do I not also rescue my ill-fated
father from an ignominious death ? On Blanch, and fear
not ! (Knocks at door.) All is silent. (Listening at the
door.} No : I hear voices — they are in loud debate j a fe-
male is amongst them ; oh ! if she possesses the heart of a
woman, if she be mother — daughter — sister — she must
assist me. (Knocks again loudly.)

ZER. (Within.) Who's there?

BLANCH. A benighted traveller, too late for the ferry,
who entreats a night's shelter from the storm. ( The door
opens.) Our Lady and my good saints protect me ! (Exit
into house.)

Enter CHABANNES and PARDILLIAN.

CHAB. Methinks I saw a slender form glide by.

PARD. You are right, my lord ; a female voice demanded
admission at that cut-throat pot-house, and was immediately
let in.

56 THE KING'S FOOL.

CHAB. 'Tis well : it must be the beauteous La Ferronniere
— true to her rendezvous. Well, if this weather cannot
cool man's ardour and woman's vanity, drowning never
would !

PARD. Only think ! the gentle, delicate, lady Ferronniere,
whose footsteps would not crumple a rose-leaf, stepping out
like a trooper, through such a night, on a love adventure !

CHAB. Still I am uneasy about the king — the illfame of
that house

PARD. His majesty is armed to the very teeth ; and with
his trusty blade, he'd dare a host of devils who should inter-
pose between him and a dainty damsel.

CHAB. Still this fearful neighbourhood is well calculated
to excite apprehension.

PARD. Some one draws nigh. Who comes there ?
Enter TRIBOULET.

TRIB. A friend.

PARD. The word?

TRIB. France and Valois.

CHAB. As I live, it is the knave Triboulet ! What brings
thee here, my merry gossip, this dark and cut-throat
night ?

TRIB. To study the planets, practise astrology, watch the
conjunction of Mars and Venus, and see who bears the
ascendant in the firmament.

CHAB. I fancy the lady moon has more influence on thy
poor brain than yon twinkling stars, that scarce can peep
through the inky clouds. (Thunder-storm.)

PARD. My lord, the storm increases ; and since we are
not lovers, methinks we had better seek shelter in yon
tower, where we shall yet be within his majesty's call.

57

Tins. So gentlemen — handsome gentlemen — his majesty
has also crossed the water to read the heavens. They are a
black-letter book, believe me ; I wonder if he cunningly cast
his own nativity ere he came out ?

CHAB. Come., good fool ; a blazing hearth will ease thy
crooked bones from the sharp keenness of the north-east
wind; forsooth gentlemen, we'll keep our watch under
cover since the king is safely housed. Come Triboulet.

TRIE. Thank you, my lord, the earth shall be my pillow,
the sky my canopy. I've had a burning fever all the day,
and want a refreshing night.

CHAB. Well, I thought thee both knave and fool, but now
thou art truly mad ; good night. — (Exit with PARD. into
Tower.}

TRIB. They are gone ; rest my trusty gentlemen, and
refresh yourselves to pay your morning's obeisance to your
master. I ween you can swim, good sirs, for you must dive
deep to find him. — (Listens at the Inn-door.} — All is still.
(Thunder.} — Interrupt me not ye harbingers of revenge, and
let me hear my victim's groan. — (Listen.) — All is quiet,
quiet, quiet. Can I be betrayed ? No, no, no ! for I still hold
my money. Stop ! methought I heard a heavy fall. No, tis but
the wind. What if I was deceived ? Gold ! gold ! hast thou
lost thy power ? No, no, it cannot be ; the late discovered
mines of Mexico are avenues of hell, to lead men to destruc-
tion. Some one approaches; the steps are slow and cautious!
Oh how my heart beats in pleasurable expectation. Good
Melchior ! kind Bohemian ! let thy blows strike home ;
give me the wished for signal — let thy shrill whistle silence
the very winds, and prove a joy-bell to my soul. — (Melchior
whistles.)— 'Tis done ! 'tis done! ha! ha! ha !

SENTINEL. (Without.) Who comes there ?

58

TRIE. France and Valois.

SENTINEL. All's well.

TRIB. Yes, it is Valois. (Aside.) (Enter Melchior, carrying
a corpse, wrapped in a mantle, from house.) Ha ! Melchior,
my friend ! my kinsman ! where is my prey ?

MEL. Hush ! here, here ! but the provost is abroad —
help me to cast it into the river.

TRIB. {Ferociously.) Do'st think, sirrah, I'd leave to thee
the funereal pomp ? No, give me my prey !

MEL. Tush man! I tell thee— assist me with it; thou
hast not strength alone to bear the weight.

TRIB. Not strength to carry such a precious burthen ?
Nature has arched these bandied limbs to give a giant's
power to my revenge !— (Takes the mantle from Melchior and
lays it on the ground.)

MEL. Well, good fool — follow thy fancy — my money — I
have no time to lose.

TRIB. (Giving the purse and chain.) Here and here, would
I had a diadem to reward thee.

MEL. And now my safeguard.

TRIB. There is thy pass — signed by the Chancellor him-
self— flee — while it is time !

MEL. Farewell, good Triboulet ! but, believe me, get rid
of thy burthen as soon as thou canst, or, to-morrow the gallows
put up forme will creak under thy jingling bones. (Exit into
house, and returns instantly with ZEPPO and RODOLPH, — they
Exeunt, looking triumphantly on the mantle.) Hail ! all hail !
Francis the First — my most gracious sovereign ! king of
France ! — Duke of Milan ! Conqueror of Merignan — nations
trembled at thy nod, the country groaned to defray the splen-
dour of thy court and sighed for the glory of thy smiles ;
now bid thy banner fly ; thy trumpets sound ! — now tell thy

THE KING^S FOOL. 59

base minions to bring to thee thy abject subject's wives and
sisters and daughters — aye ! even thy poor fool's only child!
— all he had left on earth — all he adored — without whom
day was as dark as night, and night a constant vigil of mi-
sery. Kings wage wars — so can their fools — now Valois is
defeated, and Triboulet his jester is crowned with laurels !
and, if perchance this heap of regal corruption is dragged
up from the river's bed by some weary fisherman — instead
of thy dreaded sceptre — the bauble of thy jester shall grace
thy monumental statute. (ZERLINA and FRANCIS enter from
the house.}

FRAN. Adieu, good gipsey — this kind office shall not go
unrewarded. (ZERLINA Exits.)

TRIB. (Struck with horror.) Ha ! that voice, (with a loud
yell) who comes there ?

FRAN. France and Valois. (Lightning.)
TRIE. The king's alive ! I'm robbed ! murdered ! — I'm
— unrevenged! — who — what are you ? — speak — kill me with
a word — a touch — or, save me from dissolving into air, if
thou art an apparition !

FRAN. Why, honest Triboulet, what brings you here at
this lone hour ?

TRIE. To send thee to the infernal regions and avenge my
wrongs.

FRAN. The man's mad — prithee, what hast thou there ?
TRIE. I gloried in the thought it was thy corpse ; but
now must find by whom I have been thus basely — cruelly
deceived, (kneels and opens mantle.) Ha ! methinks it is a
woman — this long and flowing hair, (thunder.) Light —
light — in mercy's name ! will not the angry heavens grant
me one single flash of fire to illumine this horrid mystery
(Lightning.) It is a woman ! a beauteous woman ! male-

60 THE KIXG^S FOOL.

diction ! it cannot — it must not be my Blanch — my own —
my life.

FHAN. Horror ! Hollo, my guards — light !
Enter CHABANNES. PARDILLIAN, and archers, with torches.

TRIB. (Discovers his daughter s features.} It is — it is my
own — my child — now Francis glut thy savage eyes upon
thy victim ! my poor — my sweetest daughter ! — oh ! she's
still warm ! thy life still lingers on this wretched earth 'ere
thou art cold for ever ! King art thou satisfied ?
- FRAN. Desperate madman ! thy ill-fated daughter was as
innocent (so help me guardian saints !) as any cherub she
has flown to meet.

TRIB. Innocent ! and one night in thy palace !

FRAN. But whence comes this murdered angel ? (TRi-
BOULET points to the inn.) Haste and bring forth the gypsey
maid that dwells there (PERDILLIAN goes off and returns
with ZERLINA.) that we may trace this horrid, horrid crime !
Come forth good Bohemian — nay tremble not — thou hast
saved the life of thy sovereign.

ZER. (Kneeling.} My sovereign !

FRAN. Yes, excellent girl ! Tell me Zerlina, (for thou
could'st not beguile the truth,) how came this fair victim
to be thus basely slaughtered ?

ZER. Alas, my liege! it is a horrid tale; that very
mantle was to have shrouded your gracious majesty ; fear-
ing you were not fast asleep, the assassins dared not ap-
proach you, and then decided, that to earn the recompence
of their work, if chance brought in some wretched traveller,
he should be sacrificed for the reward; this young man
came — you know the rest.

FRAN. Poor, poor victim ! what could have brought her
to thy dwelling ?

THE KING S FOOL.

ZER. I know not, sire ; but as she fell, I heard her ex-
claim, " Thank Heaven I have saved my benefactor !"
Enter DE BERCY hastily.

DE BER. Where — where is the king ?

FRAN. Here : what brings you thus close upon our foot-
steps.

DE BER. Sad tidings from your majesty's camp at Va-
lentia ; the Dauphin —

FRAN. What of my boy, my dearest son?

DE BER. Alas ! he is no more ! basely poisoned by
Sebastian Montecuculi.

FRAN. My son ! my hope ! my all—

TRIE. ( Who has been absorbed in thought, and gazing on
his child.) Has joined my daughter. (Bell.) Hark ! (Bell)
Hark ! the bell of Notre Dame ! — the old man's curse !
King ! both are smitten ! ( With exultation.) Francis the
First and Triboulet are childless.

(He casts himself on his daughter's corpse — the king sinks
(in the arms of CHABANNES and attendants.

THE END.

BAYI.IS AND LEIGHTOJf,
JOHNSON'S-COURT, FLEET-STREET.
G

U.C.BERKELEY LIBRARIES