The rain streams on him, and his face, convulsed
with hideous joy, is illumined by the lightning.
with hideous joy, is illumined by the lightning.
World's Greatest Books - Volume 17 - Poetry and Drama
_
TRIBOULET: The King! Oh, God, the King!
[_Then, in a sort of madness, he mutters to himself. _
That man that spoke to me . . . Hotel du Maine;
At noon . . . yes; in his house . . . no noise, no risk . . .
Oh, King Francois, the grave is dug for you!
ACT II
SCENE. --_A tumble-down inn on the outskirts of Paris by the edge of
the Seine. The scene is represented on the stage in a sort of
section, so that the spectator sees everything that goes on in
the interior of the inn, as well as on the road outside.
Besides this, the building is so cracked and ruined that any
passer-by can see into the room through the holes in the wall.
It is night. _ TRIBOULET _and his daughter appear in the road. _
SALTABADIL _is sitting in the inn. _
TRIBOULET: I will avenge you, Blanche.
BLANCHE: He cannot be
False and untrue.
TRIBOULET (_whispering, as he leads her to a hole in the wall_):
Come. See with your own eyes,
What kind of man our great King Francois is.
BLANCHE (_whispering, as she sees only_ SALTABADIL):
I only see a stranger.
TRIBOULET: Wait awhile.
[_As he whispers,_ KING FRANCOIS _enters the room by a
little door leading from an inner chamber. _
BLANCHE: Father!
[_She trembles, and follows with angry eyes the movements
of_ THE KING.
TRIBOULET: This is the man you wish to save.
THE KING (_slapping_ SALTABADIL _on the back_):
Tell Maguelonne to bring me in some wine.
TRIBOULET: King by the grace of God he is, with all
The wealth and splendour of the land of France
At his command; but to amuse himself
He drinks himself asleep in thieves' kitchens.
THE KING (_singing while_ TRIBOULET _talks outside_):
Oh, woman is fickle, and man is a fool
To trust in her word!
She changes without any reason or rule,
As her fancies are stirred.
A weather-cock veering to every wind
Is constant and true when compared to her mind.
[_While he sings_ MAGUELONNE _enters with a skin of
wine. _ SALTABADIL _goes out, and seeing_ TRIBOULET,
_approaches him with an air of mystery. _ BLANCHE
_continues to watch_ THE KING.
SALTABADIL: We've caught our man! And now it rests with you
To let him live or die.
TRIBOULET (_looking at_ BLANCHE): Wait for a while.
THE KING (_to_ MAGUELONNE): Life is a flower and love the honey
of life;
Come, let us taste it, mouth to mouth, my sweet.
[_He tries to kiss her, but she escapes. _
MAGUELONNE: You got that from a book.
THE KING: Your dark, sweet eyes
Inspired me! It was only yesterday
We met at the Hotel du Maine, and yet
I love you with as passionate a love
As if we had been sweethearts all our lives.
Come, let me kiss you!
MAGUELONNE (_sitting herself gaily on the table where
he is drinking_): When you have drunk your wine.
[THE KING _empties the flagon of drugged liquor, and
with a mocking laugh the girl jumps down and sits
on his knee. _
THE KING: Oh, you delicious, fascinating thing.
What a wild dance you've led me! Feel my heart
Seating with love for you!
MAGUELONNE: And for a score
Of other women!
THE KING: No, for you alone!
[BLANCHE _cannot bear to look at them any longer. Pale
and trembling, she turns away, and falls into her
father's arms. _
BLANCHE: Oh, God, how he deceived me! My heart breaks.
All that he said to me he now repeats
To this low, shameless slut. He is a man
Without a soul.
TRIBOULET (_in a whisper_): Hush, hush! or he will hear!
You leave him in my hands then?
BLANCHE: What is it
You mean to do?
TRIBOULET: Avenge you and myself!
Run home and dress yourself in the boy's clothes
Prepared for you. Take all the gold you find,
And ride to Evreux, and there wait for me.
BLANCHE (_entreatingly_): Come with me, father!
TRIBOULET (_sternly_): I have work to do,
Terrible work! Do not return for me,
But ride your horse as fast as it will go.
BLANCHE: I am afraid.
TRIBOULET:: Obey me, Blanche! Good-bye!
[_He kisses her, and she staggers away. _ TRIBOULET _then
signs to_ SALTABADIL, _who comes running up, and
gives him ten crowns in gold. _
TRIBOULET: Here is half of the sum. I'll bring the rest
When you hand me the body in a sack.
SALTABADIL: It shall be done to-night.
TRIBOULET: At midnight, then.
[_He goes in. During this scene outside, the drowsy_
KING _has been flirting with_ MAGUELONNE. _She
jumps off his knee as_ SALTABADIL _enters. _ TRIBOULET
_departs. _
SALTABADIL: What a wild night! The rain is pouring down
In torrents.
THE KING (_sleepily_): You must find me a bed.
MAGUELONNE (_in a fierce whisper_): Go! Go!
THE KING: What? And be drowned? You are unkind, my sweet.
SALTABADIL (_Whispering to his sister_):
Keep him here. We have twenty golden crowns
To earn to-night. (_To_ KING FRANCOIS) Sir, you can have my room.
THE KING: Ah, you are kinder than your sister is!
Show me the bed.
[SALTABADIL _takes the lamp and leads him upstairs. _
SALTABADIL: This way.
MAGUELONNE (_in the darkness_): Poor, poor young man!
[SALTABADIL _returns with the lamp. He sits at the table
in silence; his sister watches him. _
MAGUELONNE (_fiercely_): You must not kill him!
SALTABADIL: Twenty golden crowns!
Look, here are ten of them! The rest I get
At midnight. Pest! There is no time to lose.
Quick, sew this sack! My client will return
In a few minutes.
[_Terrified by his look, she takes up the sack and begins
to mend it. There is again a silence, and in the
sinister and momentary radiance of the lightning
the figure of_ BLANCHE _is seen approaching the inn.
She is dressed in a man's clothes, and booted and
spurred. _
BLANCHE: Terrible work to do! I cannot go.
Father, I cannot! Oh, this horrible dream!
Let me awake from it ere I go mad.
This dream, this horrible dream!
[_Seeing the light from the window, she totters up to the
hole in the wall and looks in again. _
God! it is true!
There they are! There! --the man with murderous looks,
The girl with shameless eyes! Where is the king?
[_Her cries are drowned in the thunder. _
MAGUELONNE: Brother!
SALTABADIL: Yes.
MAGUELONNE: Do not kill him.
SALTABADIL: Ten more crowns!
MAGUELONNE: He is worth more than that. Handsome and young,
And noble too, I'll take my oath on it.
Besides, he loves me.
SALTABADIL: Get on with the sack.
MAGUELONNE: You only want the money. Take and kill
The little hunchback when he comes with it.
BLANCHE: My father!
SALTABADIL (_angrily_): What! Am I a common thief?
Kill my own client? I will have you know,
My sister, that I am an honest man.
I do the work I'm paid for.
[_Drawing his dagger, he goes towards the stairs. _
MAGUELONNE (_barring the way_): Stop, I say!
Or I will go and rouse him.
BLANCHE: Good, brave girl!
SALTABADIL: Well, let us make a bargain, Maguelonne.
If anyone comes knocking at our inn
By midnight, he shall go into the sack.
My client only wants to fling some corpse
Into the river, and on this wild night
He will not see what he is throwing in.
MAGUELONNE: It is just on the hour. No one will come.
Cannot you ram this faggot in the sack?
SALTABADIL: Who would take that for a limp body? No!
Either a traveller or the man upstairs.
That is all! Will you take the chance?
MAGUELONNE (_weeping_): I must.
BLANCHE: Oh, God, I cannot! No! I am too young.
He does not love me.
[_A church-bell begins to chime the hour. _
SALTABADIL: Midnight!
MAGUELONNE: Hark, a knock!
BLANCHE (_stumbling to the door_):
My father hates him. . . . Perhaps it will not hurt,
If they strike hard and kill me at a blow.
Oh, if he only loved me!
MAGUELONNE (_opening the door_): Who is there?
BLANCHE: Give me a shelter for the night.
MAGUELONNE: Come in.
[_She enters. As she crosses the threshold_, SALTABADIL
_raises his dagger, and the curtain falls. _
ACT III
SCENE. --_The same; but when the curtain rises, only the outside of the
inn is now seen. It is unlighted; everything is in darkness. _
TRIBOULET (_knocking at the door_): Make haste!
SALTABADIL (_bringing out a sack_): Here is your man.
TRIBOULET (_helping him carry it_): Give me a light.
I want to see him--is he really dead?
SALTABADIL: We must not use a light. We might be seen.
Where is the money?
TRIBOULET (_giving him a bag_): Here. (_Looking at
the sack_) I have you at last!
Long have I waited for this happy hour!
SALTABADIL: Come, throw it in the Seine!
TRIBOULET: I want no help.
Your part is done. Leave me alone.
SALTABADIL: Quick, then!
Somebody may come by. Is the man mad?
[TRIBOULET _has knelt down in the mud by the sack.
The rain streams on him, and his face, convulsed
with hideous joy, is illumined by the lightning. _
SALTABADIL _enters the inn and shuts the door. _
TRIBOULET (_feeling the sack_): Yes! I can feel his
spurs. It is the King!
Now let the heavens break above my head,
And the earth rock and open at my feet!
The vengeance of a clown shakes the whole world!
Francois, the pivot on which Europe turns,
Is broken. German, Spaniard, and Turk
Can make a slaughterhouse of Christendom.
The King of France is dead!
[_Leaping up in a fury, he kicks the sack. _
Francois the First,
Do you remember how you treated me?
Who is the dog now, eh? --the dog to kick
And tumble about to make the courtiers laugh?
You liked my daughter, did you? A clown's brat
Found favour with a king! You stooped too low.
This is the road that you must take.
[_He drags the sack to the parapet. While he is doing
so,_ MAGUELONNE _opens the door of the inn and lets
out_ THE KING, _who goes off singing gaily in the
opposite direction. _
TRIBOULET (_lifting the sack on the parapet, to push
it over_): Go down!
THE KING:
Oh, woman is fickle, and man is a fool
To trust in her word!
TRIBOULET: Oh, God! Whose voice is that?
[_He pulls back the sack. _
THE KING (_now unseen in the darkness_):
She changes without any reason or rule,
As her fancies are stirred.
TRIBOULET: He has escaped! (_Running up to the
inn_) Accursed villains, you have cheated me! (_He
pulls at the door, but it will not open_. )
Who have they put in the sack?
[_He returns to it. _
Some innocent wayfarer? I must see.
[_He tears open the sack, and peers into it. _
It is too dark (_wildly_). Has no one got a light?
[_As he is dragging the body out of the sack the lightning
irradiates it. _
My daughter! God! My daughter! No, Blanche, no!
I sent you to Evreux. It is not her.
[_The lightning again flashes out, and clearly shows the
pale face and closed eyes of the girl. _
Speak, for the love of God! Speak! Oh, the blood!
Blanche, are you hurt? Speak to me! Blanche!
BLANCHE (_opening her eyes_): Where am I? Father!
[_She tries to rise, but falls back groaning. _ TRIBOULET
_takes her in his arms. _
TRIBOULET: Blanche, have they struck you?
It is too dark to see.
BLANCHE (_in a broken, gasping voice_):
The dagger struck me . . . but I . . .
Saved the king . . .
I love him. Father . . . have they let him live?
TRIBOULET: I cannot understand.
BLANCHE: It was my fault . . .
Forgive me . . . father, I----
[_She struggles, speechless, in the agony of death. _
TRIBOULET (_shrieking_): Help! Help! Oh, help!
[_Rushing to the ferry-bell by the riverside, he rings it
madly. The people in the cottages around come running
out in wild alarm. _
A WOMAN: What is it? Is she wounded?
A MAN: She is dead.
TRIBOULET (_taking the lifeless body in his arms and
hugging it to his breast_): I have killed my child!
I have killed my child!
FOOTNOTES:
[L] Victor Hugo was a man with a remarkable aptitude for
divining the real course of popular feeling and giving violent
expression to it. It was this that made him one of the leaders of the
modern republican movement in France. Precluded by his earlier works
from attacking the monarchy openly, he set about discrediting it by
a series of historical plays in which the French kings were depicted
in a sinister light. In "Marion de Lorme" he holds up the weakest of
the Bourbons to bitter contempt; in "The King Amuses Himself" ("Le roi
s'amuse"), produced in 1832, he satirises the most brilliant of the
Valois--Francois I. The portrait is a clever but one-sided piece of
work; it is based on facts; but not on all the facts. It is true that
Francois used to frequent low taverns and mix in disreputable company,
but he was also the most chivalrous king of his age, and a man of fine
tastes in art and letters. Nevertheless, the play is one of the best
of Victor Hugo's by reason of the strange and terrible character of
the king's jester, Triboulet. This ugly little hunchback is surely a
memorable figure in literature. The horror and pity which he excites
as he sits by the river in the storm and darkness, rejoicing in the
consummation of his scheme of revenge, have something of that awfulness
which is the note of veritable tragedy. The scene is a superb example
of dramatic irony.
The Legend of the Ages[M]
_Conscience_
Cain, flying from the presence of the Lord,
Came through the tempest to a mountain land;
And being worn and weary with the flight,
His wife and children cried to him, and said:
"Here let us rest upon the earth and sleep. "
And, folded in the skin of beasts, they slept.
But no sleep fell on Cain; he raised his head,
And saw, amid the shadows of the night,
An eye in heaven sternly fixed on him.
"I am too near," he said, with trembling voice.
Rousing his weary children and worn wife,
He fled again along the wilderness.
For thirty days and thirty nights he fled.
Silent and pale, and shuddering at a sound,
He walked with downcast eyes, and never turned
To look behind him. On the thirtieth day
He came unto the shore of a great sea.
"Here we will live," he said. "Here we are safe.
Here on the lonely frontier of the world! "
And, sitting down, he gazed across the sea,
And there, on the horizon, was the eye
Still fixed on him. He leaped up, wild with fear,
Crying, "Oh, hide me! Hide me! " to his sons.
And Jabal, the tent-maker, sheltered him
Within his tent, and fastened down with stones
The flapping skins. But Cain still saw the eye
Burning upon him through the leathern tent.
And Enoch said, "Come, let us build with stone,
A city with a wall and citadel,
And hide our father there, and close the gates. "
Then Tubalcain, the great artificer,
Quarried the granite, and with iron bands
Bound the huge blocks together, and he made
A city, with a rampart like a hill
Encircling it, and towers that threw a shade
Longer than any mountain's on the plain.
Deep in the highest and the strongest tower,
Cain was enclosed. "Can the eye see you now? "
His children asked him. "Yes, it is fixed on me,"
He answered. And with haggard face he crept
Out of the tower, and cried unto his sons,
"I will go down into the earth, and live
Alone, within a dark and silent tomb.
No one shall ever see my face again,
And I will never look at anything. "
They made a vaulted tomb beneath the earth,
And he was lowered into it; the hole
Above his head was closed; but in the tomb
Cain saw the eye still sternly fixed on him.
_Eviradnus_
When John the Striker, lord of Lusace, died,
Leaving his kingdom to his gentle niece,
Mahaud, great joy there was in all the land;
For she was beautiful, and sweet and young,
Kind to the people, and beloved by them.
But Sigismund, the German emperor,
And Ladislas of Poland were not glad.
Long had they coveted the wide domains
Of John the Striker; and Eviradnus,
The tall, white-haired Alastian warrior,
Home from his battles in the Holy Land,
Heard, as he wandered through the castle grounds,
Strange talk between two strangers--a lute-player
And troubadour--who with their minstrelsy
Had charmed the lovely lady of Lusace.
And she was taking them with her that night
To Corbus Castle--an old ruined keep
From which her race was sprung. Ere she was crowned,
An ancient custom of the land required
Mahaud to pass the night in solitude
At Corbus, where her ancestors reposed,
Amid the silence of the wooded hills
On which the stronghold stands. Being afraid
Of the ordeal, Mahaud took with her
The two strange minstrels, so that they might make
Music and mirth until she fell asleep.
An old priest, cunning in the use of herbs,
Came with her to the border of the wood,
And gave her a mysterious wine to drink
To make her slumber till the break of day,
When all the people of Lusace would come
And wake her with their shouts, and lead her forth
To the cathedral where she would be crowned.
* * * * *
To enter Corbus on this solemn night,
Or linger in the woods encircling it,
Was death to any man. Eviradnus
Did not fear death. Opening the castle gate
He strode into the chamber where Mahaud
Would have to pass the night. Two long, dim lines
Of armed and mounted warriors filled the hall,
Each with his lance couched ready for the shock,
And sternly silent. Empty panoplies
They were, in which the lords of old Lusace
Had lived and fought and died, since the red days
When Attila, from whom their race was sprung,
Swept over Europe. Now, on effigies
Of the great war-horses they loved and rode,
Their armoured image sat; and eyeless holes
Gaped in their visors, black and terrible.
Seizing the leader of this spectral host,
Eviradnus dragged his clanging body down,
And hid it; and then leaped upon the horse.
And with closed visor, motionless mail and lance
Clenched in his gauntlet, he appeared transformed
Into an iron statue, like the rest,
As through the open window came the sound
Of lute-playing and laughter, and a song
Sung by the troubadour, rang righ and clear:
Come, and let us dream a dream!
Mount with me, and ride away,
By the winding moonlight stream,
Through the shining gates of day!
Come, the stars are bright above!
All the world is in our scope.
We have horses--joy and love!
We have riches--youth and hope!
Mount with me, and ride away,
Through the greenness and the dew;
Through the shining gates of day,
To the land where dreams come true!
"Look! " cried Mahaud, as she came in the hall
With the two minstrels. "It is terrible!
Sooner would I have lost my crown than come
Alone at midnight to this dreadful place. "
"Does this old iron," said the troubadour,
Striking the armour of Eviradnus,
"Frighten you? " "Leave my ancestors in peace! "
Exclaimed Mahaud. "A little man like you
Must not lay hands on them. " The troubadour
Grew pale with anger, but the tall lute-player
Laughed, and his blue eyes flamed upon Mahaud.
"Now I must sleep," she said, "the priest's strange wine
Begins to make me drowsy. Stay with me!
Stay and watch over me all night, my friends. "
"Far have we travelled," said the troubadour,
"In hopes to be alone with you to-night. "
And his dark face lightened with a grim smile,
When, as he spoke, Mahaud fell fast asleep.
"I'll take the girl," he cried to the lute-player,
"And you can have the land! Are you content? "
"Yes," said the lute-player, "but love is sweet. "
"Revenge is sweeter! " cried the troubadour.
"'A little man like me! ' Those were her words.
Neither as queen nor empress shall she reign!
I swore it when she flouted me. She dies! "
"I cannot kill her," said the lute-player,
"I love her. " "So do I! " the other said.
"I love her and hate her. If she lived,
There would be war between us two. She dies!
We love her; we must kill her. " As he spoke
The troubadour pulled at a ring, and raised
A flagstone in the floor. "I know this place,"
He said. "A lord of Lusace had this trap
Made for his enemies. 'Twill serve our need!
Help me to lift her. All the land is yours. "
"Look! " screamed the lute-player. "Oh, God! Oh, God! "
The troubadour turned round, and his knees shook.
One of the iron images had leapt
Down from its lifeless horse, and with drawn sword
And clank of armour, it now drove at them.
"King Ladislas and Emperor Sigismund! "
It shouted in a terrible voice that fell
Upon them like a judgment from on high.
They grovelled at its iron feet, and shrieked,
"Mercy! Oh, mercy! " And Eviradnus,
Doffing his helmet and cuirass, exclaimed,
"I am a man and not an iron ghost!
It sickens me to see such cowardice
In the two greatest conquerors of the age.
Look! I have taken all my armour off;
Meet me like men, and use what arms you will. "
"'Tis only an old man," said Ladislas.
"Hold him in front, while I strike from behind. "
Eviradnus laid down his sword, to loose
The last piece of his armour, and the Pole
Ran at him with a dagger; with one hand
The old man gripped the little king, and shook
The life out of him. Then, as Sigismund
Snatched up his sword, and left him still unarmed,
Eviradnus stooped, and, seizing the dead king,
He whirled him by the feet, like a huge club.
Stricken with terror, Sigismund recoiled
Into the open trap.
TRIBOULET: The King! Oh, God, the King!
[_Then, in a sort of madness, he mutters to himself. _
That man that spoke to me . . . Hotel du Maine;
At noon . . . yes; in his house . . . no noise, no risk . . .
Oh, King Francois, the grave is dug for you!
ACT II
SCENE. --_A tumble-down inn on the outskirts of Paris by the edge of
the Seine. The scene is represented on the stage in a sort of
section, so that the spectator sees everything that goes on in
the interior of the inn, as well as on the road outside.
Besides this, the building is so cracked and ruined that any
passer-by can see into the room through the holes in the wall.
It is night. _ TRIBOULET _and his daughter appear in the road. _
SALTABADIL _is sitting in the inn. _
TRIBOULET: I will avenge you, Blanche.
BLANCHE: He cannot be
False and untrue.
TRIBOULET (_whispering, as he leads her to a hole in the wall_):
Come. See with your own eyes,
What kind of man our great King Francois is.
BLANCHE (_whispering, as she sees only_ SALTABADIL):
I only see a stranger.
TRIBOULET: Wait awhile.
[_As he whispers,_ KING FRANCOIS _enters the room by a
little door leading from an inner chamber. _
BLANCHE: Father!
[_She trembles, and follows with angry eyes the movements
of_ THE KING.
TRIBOULET: This is the man you wish to save.
THE KING (_slapping_ SALTABADIL _on the back_):
Tell Maguelonne to bring me in some wine.
TRIBOULET: King by the grace of God he is, with all
The wealth and splendour of the land of France
At his command; but to amuse himself
He drinks himself asleep in thieves' kitchens.
THE KING (_singing while_ TRIBOULET _talks outside_):
Oh, woman is fickle, and man is a fool
To trust in her word!
She changes without any reason or rule,
As her fancies are stirred.
A weather-cock veering to every wind
Is constant and true when compared to her mind.
[_While he sings_ MAGUELONNE _enters with a skin of
wine. _ SALTABADIL _goes out, and seeing_ TRIBOULET,
_approaches him with an air of mystery. _ BLANCHE
_continues to watch_ THE KING.
SALTABADIL: We've caught our man! And now it rests with you
To let him live or die.
TRIBOULET (_looking at_ BLANCHE): Wait for a while.
THE KING (_to_ MAGUELONNE): Life is a flower and love the honey
of life;
Come, let us taste it, mouth to mouth, my sweet.
[_He tries to kiss her, but she escapes. _
MAGUELONNE: You got that from a book.
THE KING: Your dark, sweet eyes
Inspired me! It was only yesterday
We met at the Hotel du Maine, and yet
I love you with as passionate a love
As if we had been sweethearts all our lives.
Come, let me kiss you!
MAGUELONNE (_sitting herself gaily on the table where
he is drinking_): When you have drunk your wine.
[THE KING _empties the flagon of drugged liquor, and
with a mocking laugh the girl jumps down and sits
on his knee. _
THE KING: Oh, you delicious, fascinating thing.
What a wild dance you've led me! Feel my heart
Seating with love for you!
MAGUELONNE: And for a score
Of other women!
THE KING: No, for you alone!
[BLANCHE _cannot bear to look at them any longer. Pale
and trembling, she turns away, and falls into her
father's arms. _
BLANCHE: Oh, God, how he deceived me! My heart breaks.
All that he said to me he now repeats
To this low, shameless slut. He is a man
Without a soul.
TRIBOULET (_in a whisper_): Hush, hush! or he will hear!
You leave him in my hands then?
BLANCHE: What is it
You mean to do?
TRIBOULET: Avenge you and myself!
Run home and dress yourself in the boy's clothes
Prepared for you. Take all the gold you find,
And ride to Evreux, and there wait for me.
BLANCHE (_entreatingly_): Come with me, father!
TRIBOULET (_sternly_): I have work to do,
Terrible work! Do not return for me,
But ride your horse as fast as it will go.
BLANCHE: I am afraid.
TRIBOULET:: Obey me, Blanche! Good-bye!
[_He kisses her, and she staggers away. _ TRIBOULET _then
signs to_ SALTABADIL, _who comes running up, and
gives him ten crowns in gold. _
TRIBOULET: Here is half of the sum. I'll bring the rest
When you hand me the body in a sack.
SALTABADIL: It shall be done to-night.
TRIBOULET: At midnight, then.
[_He goes in. During this scene outside, the drowsy_
KING _has been flirting with_ MAGUELONNE. _She
jumps off his knee as_ SALTABADIL _enters. _ TRIBOULET
_departs. _
SALTABADIL: What a wild night! The rain is pouring down
In torrents.
THE KING (_sleepily_): You must find me a bed.
MAGUELONNE (_in a fierce whisper_): Go! Go!
THE KING: What? And be drowned? You are unkind, my sweet.
SALTABADIL (_Whispering to his sister_):
Keep him here. We have twenty golden crowns
To earn to-night. (_To_ KING FRANCOIS) Sir, you can have my room.
THE KING: Ah, you are kinder than your sister is!
Show me the bed.
[SALTABADIL _takes the lamp and leads him upstairs. _
SALTABADIL: This way.
MAGUELONNE (_in the darkness_): Poor, poor young man!
[SALTABADIL _returns with the lamp. He sits at the table
in silence; his sister watches him. _
MAGUELONNE (_fiercely_): You must not kill him!
SALTABADIL: Twenty golden crowns!
Look, here are ten of them! The rest I get
At midnight. Pest! There is no time to lose.
Quick, sew this sack! My client will return
In a few minutes.
[_Terrified by his look, she takes up the sack and begins
to mend it. There is again a silence, and in the
sinister and momentary radiance of the lightning
the figure of_ BLANCHE _is seen approaching the inn.
She is dressed in a man's clothes, and booted and
spurred. _
BLANCHE: Terrible work to do! I cannot go.
Father, I cannot! Oh, this horrible dream!
Let me awake from it ere I go mad.
This dream, this horrible dream!
[_Seeing the light from the window, she totters up to the
hole in the wall and looks in again. _
God! it is true!
There they are! There! --the man with murderous looks,
The girl with shameless eyes! Where is the king?
[_Her cries are drowned in the thunder. _
MAGUELONNE: Brother!
SALTABADIL: Yes.
MAGUELONNE: Do not kill him.
SALTABADIL: Ten more crowns!
MAGUELONNE: He is worth more than that. Handsome and young,
And noble too, I'll take my oath on it.
Besides, he loves me.
SALTABADIL: Get on with the sack.
MAGUELONNE: You only want the money. Take and kill
The little hunchback when he comes with it.
BLANCHE: My father!
SALTABADIL (_angrily_): What! Am I a common thief?
Kill my own client? I will have you know,
My sister, that I am an honest man.
I do the work I'm paid for.
[_Drawing his dagger, he goes towards the stairs. _
MAGUELONNE (_barring the way_): Stop, I say!
Or I will go and rouse him.
BLANCHE: Good, brave girl!
SALTABADIL: Well, let us make a bargain, Maguelonne.
If anyone comes knocking at our inn
By midnight, he shall go into the sack.
My client only wants to fling some corpse
Into the river, and on this wild night
He will not see what he is throwing in.
MAGUELONNE: It is just on the hour. No one will come.
Cannot you ram this faggot in the sack?
SALTABADIL: Who would take that for a limp body? No!
Either a traveller or the man upstairs.
That is all! Will you take the chance?
MAGUELONNE (_weeping_): I must.
BLANCHE: Oh, God, I cannot! No! I am too young.
He does not love me.
[_A church-bell begins to chime the hour. _
SALTABADIL: Midnight!
MAGUELONNE: Hark, a knock!
BLANCHE (_stumbling to the door_):
My father hates him. . . . Perhaps it will not hurt,
If they strike hard and kill me at a blow.
Oh, if he only loved me!
MAGUELONNE (_opening the door_): Who is there?
BLANCHE: Give me a shelter for the night.
MAGUELONNE: Come in.
[_She enters. As she crosses the threshold_, SALTABADIL
_raises his dagger, and the curtain falls. _
ACT III
SCENE. --_The same; but when the curtain rises, only the outside of the
inn is now seen. It is unlighted; everything is in darkness. _
TRIBOULET (_knocking at the door_): Make haste!
SALTABADIL (_bringing out a sack_): Here is your man.
TRIBOULET (_helping him carry it_): Give me a light.
I want to see him--is he really dead?
SALTABADIL: We must not use a light. We might be seen.
Where is the money?
TRIBOULET (_giving him a bag_): Here. (_Looking at
the sack_) I have you at last!
Long have I waited for this happy hour!
SALTABADIL: Come, throw it in the Seine!
TRIBOULET: I want no help.
Your part is done. Leave me alone.
SALTABADIL: Quick, then!
Somebody may come by. Is the man mad?
[TRIBOULET _has knelt down in the mud by the sack.
The rain streams on him, and his face, convulsed
with hideous joy, is illumined by the lightning. _
SALTABADIL _enters the inn and shuts the door. _
TRIBOULET (_feeling the sack_): Yes! I can feel his
spurs. It is the King!
Now let the heavens break above my head,
And the earth rock and open at my feet!
The vengeance of a clown shakes the whole world!
Francois, the pivot on which Europe turns,
Is broken. German, Spaniard, and Turk
Can make a slaughterhouse of Christendom.
The King of France is dead!
[_Leaping up in a fury, he kicks the sack. _
Francois the First,
Do you remember how you treated me?
Who is the dog now, eh? --the dog to kick
And tumble about to make the courtiers laugh?
You liked my daughter, did you? A clown's brat
Found favour with a king! You stooped too low.
This is the road that you must take.
[_He drags the sack to the parapet. While he is doing
so,_ MAGUELONNE _opens the door of the inn and lets
out_ THE KING, _who goes off singing gaily in the
opposite direction. _
TRIBOULET (_lifting the sack on the parapet, to push
it over_): Go down!
THE KING:
Oh, woman is fickle, and man is a fool
To trust in her word!
TRIBOULET: Oh, God! Whose voice is that?
[_He pulls back the sack. _
THE KING (_now unseen in the darkness_):
She changes without any reason or rule,
As her fancies are stirred.
TRIBOULET: He has escaped! (_Running up to the
inn_) Accursed villains, you have cheated me! (_He
pulls at the door, but it will not open_. )
Who have they put in the sack?
[_He returns to it. _
Some innocent wayfarer? I must see.
[_He tears open the sack, and peers into it. _
It is too dark (_wildly_). Has no one got a light?
[_As he is dragging the body out of the sack the lightning
irradiates it. _
My daughter! God! My daughter! No, Blanche, no!
I sent you to Evreux. It is not her.
[_The lightning again flashes out, and clearly shows the
pale face and closed eyes of the girl. _
Speak, for the love of God! Speak! Oh, the blood!
Blanche, are you hurt? Speak to me! Blanche!
BLANCHE (_opening her eyes_): Where am I? Father!
[_She tries to rise, but falls back groaning. _ TRIBOULET
_takes her in his arms. _
TRIBOULET: Blanche, have they struck you?
It is too dark to see.
BLANCHE (_in a broken, gasping voice_):
The dagger struck me . . . but I . . .
Saved the king . . .
I love him. Father . . . have they let him live?
TRIBOULET: I cannot understand.
BLANCHE: It was my fault . . .
Forgive me . . . father, I----
[_She struggles, speechless, in the agony of death. _
TRIBOULET (_shrieking_): Help! Help! Oh, help!
[_Rushing to the ferry-bell by the riverside, he rings it
madly. The people in the cottages around come running
out in wild alarm. _
A WOMAN: What is it? Is she wounded?
A MAN: She is dead.
TRIBOULET (_taking the lifeless body in his arms and
hugging it to his breast_): I have killed my child!
I have killed my child!
FOOTNOTES:
[L] Victor Hugo was a man with a remarkable aptitude for
divining the real course of popular feeling and giving violent
expression to it. It was this that made him one of the leaders of the
modern republican movement in France. Precluded by his earlier works
from attacking the monarchy openly, he set about discrediting it by
a series of historical plays in which the French kings were depicted
in a sinister light. In "Marion de Lorme" he holds up the weakest of
the Bourbons to bitter contempt; in "The King Amuses Himself" ("Le roi
s'amuse"), produced in 1832, he satirises the most brilliant of the
Valois--Francois I. The portrait is a clever but one-sided piece of
work; it is based on facts; but not on all the facts. It is true that
Francois used to frequent low taverns and mix in disreputable company,
but he was also the most chivalrous king of his age, and a man of fine
tastes in art and letters. Nevertheless, the play is one of the best
of Victor Hugo's by reason of the strange and terrible character of
the king's jester, Triboulet. This ugly little hunchback is surely a
memorable figure in literature. The horror and pity which he excites
as he sits by the river in the storm and darkness, rejoicing in the
consummation of his scheme of revenge, have something of that awfulness
which is the note of veritable tragedy. The scene is a superb example
of dramatic irony.
The Legend of the Ages[M]
_Conscience_
Cain, flying from the presence of the Lord,
Came through the tempest to a mountain land;
And being worn and weary with the flight,
His wife and children cried to him, and said:
"Here let us rest upon the earth and sleep. "
And, folded in the skin of beasts, they slept.
But no sleep fell on Cain; he raised his head,
And saw, amid the shadows of the night,
An eye in heaven sternly fixed on him.
"I am too near," he said, with trembling voice.
Rousing his weary children and worn wife,
He fled again along the wilderness.
For thirty days and thirty nights he fled.
Silent and pale, and shuddering at a sound,
He walked with downcast eyes, and never turned
To look behind him. On the thirtieth day
He came unto the shore of a great sea.
"Here we will live," he said. "Here we are safe.
Here on the lonely frontier of the world! "
And, sitting down, he gazed across the sea,
And there, on the horizon, was the eye
Still fixed on him. He leaped up, wild with fear,
Crying, "Oh, hide me! Hide me! " to his sons.
And Jabal, the tent-maker, sheltered him
Within his tent, and fastened down with stones
The flapping skins. But Cain still saw the eye
Burning upon him through the leathern tent.
And Enoch said, "Come, let us build with stone,
A city with a wall and citadel,
And hide our father there, and close the gates. "
Then Tubalcain, the great artificer,
Quarried the granite, and with iron bands
Bound the huge blocks together, and he made
A city, with a rampart like a hill
Encircling it, and towers that threw a shade
Longer than any mountain's on the plain.
Deep in the highest and the strongest tower,
Cain was enclosed. "Can the eye see you now? "
His children asked him. "Yes, it is fixed on me,"
He answered. And with haggard face he crept
Out of the tower, and cried unto his sons,
"I will go down into the earth, and live
Alone, within a dark and silent tomb.
No one shall ever see my face again,
And I will never look at anything. "
They made a vaulted tomb beneath the earth,
And he was lowered into it; the hole
Above his head was closed; but in the tomb
Cain saw the eye still sternly fixed on him.
_Eviradnus_
When John the Striker, lord of Lusace, died,
Leaving his kingdom to his gentle niece,
Mahaud, great joy there was in all the land;
For she was beautiful, and sweet and young,
Kind to the people, and beloved by them.
But Sigismund, the German emperor,
And Ladislas of Poland were not glad.
Long had they coveted the wide domains
Of John the Striker; and Eviradnus,
The tall, white-haired Alastian warrior,
Home from his battles in the Holy Land,
Heard, as he wandered through the castle grounds,
Strange talk between two strangers--a lute-player
And troubadour--who with their minstrelsy
Had charmed the lovely lady of Lusace.
And she was taking them with her that night
To Corbus Castle--an old ruined keep
From which her race was sprung. Ere she was crowned,
An ancient custom of the land required
Mahaud to pass the night in solitude
At Corbus, where her ancestors reposed,
Amid the silence of the wooded hills
On which the stronghold stands. Being afraid
Of the ordeal, Mahaud took with her
The two strange minstrels, so that they might make
Music and mirth until she fell asleep.
An old priest, cunning in the use of herbs,
Came with her to the border of the wood,
And gave her a mysterious wine to drink
To make her slumber till the break of day,
When all the people of Lusace would come
And wake her with their shouts, and lead her forth
To the cathedral where she would be crowned.
* * * * *
To enter Corbus on this solemn night,
Or linger in the woods encircling it,
Was death to any man. Eviradnus
Did not fear death. Opening the castle gate
He strode into the chamber where Mahaud
Would have to pass the night. Two long, dim lines
Of armed and mounted warriors filled the hall,
Each with his lance couched ready for the shock,
And sternly silent. Empty panoplies
They were, in which the lords of old Lusace
Had lived and fought and died, since the red days
When Attila, from whom their race was sprung,
Swept over Europe. Now, on effigies
Of the great war-horses they loved and rode,
Their armoured image sat; and eyeless holes
Gaped in their visors, black and terrible.
Seizing the leader of this spectral host,
Eviradnus dragged his clanging body down,
And hid it; and then leaped upon the horse.
And with closed visor, motionless mail and lance
Clenched in his gauntlet, he appeared transformed
Into an iron statue, like the rest,
As through the open window came the sound
Of lute-playing and laughter, and a song
Sung by the troubadour, rang righ and clear:
Come, and let us dream a dream!
Mount with me, and ride away,
By the winding moonlight stream,
Through the shining gates of day!
Come, the stars are bright above!
All the world is in our scope.
We have horses--joy and love!
We have riches--youth and hope!
Mount with me, and ride away,
Through the greenness and the dew;
Through the shining gates of day,
To the land where dreams come true!
"Look! " cried Mahaud, as she came in the hall
With the two minstrels. "It is terrible!
Sooner would I have lost my crown than come
Alone at midnight to this dreadful place. "
"Does this old iron," said the troubadour,
Striking the armour of Eviradnus,
"Frighten you? " "Leave my ancestors in peace! "
Exclaimed Mahaud. "A little man like you
Must not lay hands on them. " The troubadour
Grew pale with anger, but the tall lute-player
Laughed, and his blue eyes flamed upon Mahaud.
"Now I must sleep," she said, "the priest's strange wine
Begins to make me drowsy. Stay with me!
Stay and watch over me all night, my friends. "
"Far have we travelled," said the troubadour,
"In hopes to be alone with you to-night. "
And his dark face lightened with a grim smile,
When, as he spoke, Mahaud fell fast asleep.
"I'll take the girl," he cried to the lute-player,
"And you can have the land! Are you content? "
"Yes," said the lute-player, "but love is sweet. "
"Revenge is sweeter! " cried the troubadour.
"'A little man like me! ' Those were her words.
Neither as queen nor empress shall she reign!
I swore it when she flouted me. She dies! "
"I cannot kill her," said the lute-player,
"I love her. " "So do I! " the other said.
"I love her and hate her. If she lived,
There would be war between us two. She dies!
We love her; we must kill her. " As he spoke
The troubadour pulled at a ring, and raised
A flagstone in the floor. "I know this place,"
He said. "A lord of Lusace had this trap
Made for his enemies. 'Twill serve our need!
Help me to lift her. All the land is yours. "
"Look! " screamed the lute-player. "Oh, God! Oh, God! "
The troubadour turned round, and his knees shook.
One of the iron images had leapt
Down from its lifeless horse, and with drawn sword
And clank of armour, it now drove at them.
"King Ladislas and Emperor Sigismund! "
It shouted in a terrible voice that fell
Upon them like a judgment from on high.
They grovelled at its iron feet, and shrieked,
"Mercy! Oh, mercy! " And Eviradnus,
Doffing his helmet and cuirass, exclaimed,
"I am a man and not an iron ghost!
It sickens me to see such cowardice
In the two greatest conquerors of the age.
Look! I have taken all my armour off;
Meet me like men, and use what arms you will. "
"'Tis only an old man," said Ladislas.
"Hold him in front, while I strike from behind. "
Eviradnus laid down his sword, to loose
The last piece of his armour, and the Pole
Ran at him with a dagger; with one hand
The old man gripped the little king, and shook
The life out of him. Then, as Sigismund
Snatched up his sword, and left him still unarmed,
Eviradnus stooped, and, seizing the dead king,
He whirled him by the feet, like a huge club.
Stricken with terror, Sigismund recoiled
Into the open trap.
