Henry of Navarre; a romantic play in four acts

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Act I

Royal apartments in the Louvre. Rich tapestry hangings. Window from which can be heard murmurs of Paris. Door L. Door hidden by tapestry at back. Chairs with Royal arms, etc. Servants cross with rich stuffs, etc.

Enter Duke de la Rochefoucauld and Gentlemen. Roche. [Airily with the tone of an exquisite.] Ah, Des Valles, preparing for the mask to-night? I hear you are going to surpass yourself. Enter Arthur de Mouhy. He is a tall, dark, gloomy, religious, sombre man who has only two ideas, the Religion and Henry of Navarre.

Roche. Welcome, De Mouhy, welcome to the Louvre. I have not seen you since Moncontour, when you were wounded. Things have changed. Then we were crushed to the ground, and hope itself had vanished. Now the Huguenots are in favour again. The King surrounds himself with us, he is unhappy when we are away. But why this dull suit, man? you come to a wedding, not to a funeral. You will disgrace us with Catherine's fair ladies, the famous Flying Squadron.

De M. I wear black like my master. You are gay, M. Rochefoucauld, but Henry of Navarre has not forgot that but two months back his mother was poisoned in this palace.

Roche. Tales, De Mouhy, tales. Let but a prince die suddenly, and Cosmo Ruggieri has put a poison in his wine, or his gloves are poisoned. Wear a bright face, man. I tell you the King loves us, as he fears the Guise. Has he not given his sister Marguerite, the most learned lady in France, to our young leader, the Bearnais Prince, Henry of Navarre? Get a new suit, man, and prepare you for the wedding.

De M. I will, I '11 sharpen my sword, for the favours will be crimson.

Enter Page.

Page. Monsieur, the Due de Guise.

Enter Guise with De Besme.

Roche. Ah, M. de Guise! Do you dance in the mask to-night? The King and his brothers Anjou and Alencon defend the gates of Paradise, which are rudely assaulted by Henry of Navarre, Conde, and myself. Their skill renders the gates inpregnable. Then the King of his great generosity grants us admittance. A pretty allegory, M. de Guise, showing that where arms fail love prevails, and Henry gains Paradise indeed in the arms of the most lovely lady, Marguerite of Valois. I must prepare my costume for to-night, the hour flies. Will you come, De Mouh3 T ? [Exeunt De Rochefoucauld and De Mouhy.

Guise. [To Besme.] Fools! I wonder if we could ever be so blind and dance while death danced with us.

De B. When is it to be?

Guise. To-night if the King but agrees. This mar-

Act I. 5

riage has drawn them all together. Paris is one big net. To-morrow if the King wishes it there will not be a Huguenot alive in Paris.

Enter Page.

Page. The Queen-Mother, the Due d'Anjou. Enter Catherine de' Medici and two ladies, who arrange her dress and then retire. Anjou who has entered with her stands at her side. De Besme stands at the door.

Guise. Madame, my felicitations. At last our plans are crowned with success. For nine years I have waited for this hour. Nine years ago my father, the Balafre, lay dead at Orleans, this dagger at his side. [Draws dagger.] I have sworn that it shall rust in Coligny's blood, and that I shall exterminate the Huguenots as I would the heathen. I was but a boy then; I have grown since, and my hate has grown with me.

Cath. Everything is prepared, there can be no mistake ?

Guise. Impossible. The Catholics are armed. Marcel, the provost of Paris, will lead them himself.

Anjou. [An affected perfumed youth.] My gentlemen are ready, and the Swiss Guard.

Guise. And all who have not the white cross in their hat, the white band on their arms, must die.

Cath. It is wonderful that they suspect nothing. An Italian would not be duped so easily.

Guise. Coligny dreams of nothing but of winning glory in Flanders. Henry of Navarre, the Bearnais, is a loutish country lad, King on suffrance, bred on garlic and mountain air, content to eat and hunt, drink and make love.

Cath. Yet is it he of whom I am afraid. Cosmo Ruggieri says he will be King.

Guise. A conjurer's tale!

Cath. His father foretold my husband's death. The court laughed at him, but all the world knows that Henry Second fell to Montgomery's lance.

Guise. The best way to cheat a prophecy is to fulfill it. Crown his dead head like the Welch prince of old.

Cath. If all the others live, I swear that he shall die. Year after year I have fought with foes at home, and foes abroad, played one against the other, smiled with my heart on fire, flattered when I might not strike. I have seen another woman by my husband's side and heard him sing her praises. I have endured all, all, that my sons should reign. I have kept France a kingdom, when her princes would have dismembered her. I have saved the crown, for whom? For Henry of Navarre? Never! O that I were a man ! I would strangle him with my own hands.

Guise. Have no fear, Madame, he will not escape.

Enter Page.

Page. The Princess Marguerite.

Enter Marguerite with Marie Belleforet. Marguerite is a tall, stately, gracious woman, and Marie is short and slight and girlish, with a little piquant face and bright manners.

Mar. [Anxiously.] He has come, you have seen him?

Cath. The King of Navarre?

Mar. Has he arrived?

Guise. Yes, the Bearnais is here.

Cath. And in a few moments he will wait on you.

Act I. 7

Mar. Then my last hope has gone. I have hoped and hoped he would not come. I heard that he had started on his journey, but still I prayed something might turn him back.

Cath. [Suspiciously, thinking of massacre.] Why, what should turn him back?

Guise. [Also suspiciously.] Has not the King given his word for his safety in Paris?

Mar. I was not thinking of his safety. The Bearnais has been bred a mountaineer. He is rude and coarse, but he is no coward.

Cath. He is simple. You need not fear Margot. The moment he sees you he will be at your feet. But you must robe yourself, child, to meet him.

Mar. Not for a king of peasants. He would not know a silk farthingale from a cotton gown. Mother, I will not marry this Bearnais, no, not for you, not for my brother Charles. It is unnatural for a Catholic to marry a Huguenot.

Cath. The King has sent to Rome for a dispensation; you need have no fear.

Mar. I love the court, my poets, and my music; he cares for nothing but hunting and his dinner. Besides, I hate him, Mother.

Guise. Princess, you have never seen him.

Mar. I met him at Blois.

Cath. That is years ago when you were children, too long for you to remember him.

Mar. But I do. He boxed my ears, I 've never forgotten it. I ate his sweets, he called me greedy, and then I pulled his hair.

Guise. He 's a man now and will be like every other man — at your feet.

Mar. [Musing.] I wonder. He had a nose and chin even then. He was not a man to let a woman rule him. But I will not marry him. I will not be sacrificed to a heretic, to a Gascon.

Cath. Your brother Charles is set on it. Be careful how you thwart him. His mad fits grow on him until I tremble for myself. [Goes up to window.] I can do nothing.

Mar. [Turning to Guise.] My own mother is against me. M. de Guise, you are the foremost Catholic in France. Can you not save me from this outrage ?

Guise. There is one way, but it is desperate.

Mar. Surely danger will not stop the Due de Guise.

Guise. If the reward be great enough, if the prize be worth winning. [Speaking low and rapidly.] My uncle the Cardinal is all-powerful in Rome. If I stop the dispensation may I hope — may I hope that the most beautiful woman [taking her hand], the most beautiful woman in France will not be cruel to me?

Mar. [Coldly withdrawing hand.] M. le Due! [He turns away, she stops him with a gesture.] Oh, M. de Guise, stop the dispensation and my gratitude shall end only with my life.

Guise. [Passionately.] Will it be only — gratitude?

Mar. [Haughtily.] M. de Guise! You forget, I am a princess of France.

Enter Page.

Page. His Majesty, the King.

Enter Charles, Tavannes, De Retz, and Biragues and other gentlemen. Charles is in high spirits.

Charles. Ha, ha ! now I have the wolf by the ears.

Act I. 9

It was an excellent idea this marriage ; confess, Mother, did I not play the part well?

Cath. [Warning him.] Ssh! Margot, you may retire.

Mar. [Going to the door, suddenly returns and confronts her brother.] Sire, Sire, must this marriage take place? You will not permit this outrage.

Charles. Outrage ! outrage ! Harry 's a good fellow and [looking at Anjou] not always scheming for riches or for power. I like Harry. He is fond of the chase too.

Mar. He is a Huguenot.

Guise. And the dispensation has not yet arrived.

Charles. You, too, against me, Guise, with Anjou? what mischief are you plotting ? Get you gone, girl, and prepare to receive your lover.

Mar. But Sire

Charles. S'death ! Did you not hear me? My only bad subjects are in my own family. Get you gone. [Margot retires slowly.

Guise. I leave your Majesty to — your Huguenots. When your Majesty has need of your loyal Catholics the Guise shall be the first to join you.

[Guise bows low and retires with De Besme.

Cath. [Going to Charles, lays her hand on his arm.] You are imprudent, my son. You fawn on these heretics until even I know not if you are sincere. You relent?

Charles. [Throwing off his mother's hand.] Relent! God's death, mother! have I forgot my ride in Gascony — the desolation, the bare monasteries, the broken altars, the mutilated saints? I even saw a dog, a mongrel, with a rosary for a collar. A godless land io Henry of Navarre

where not a mass was heard from morn to night. It chilled me to the heart.

Tav. The time has come for vengeance. Paris is prepared. You have but to say the word and the Huguenots will be exterminated.

Charles. [Half to himself.] Dead, all dead. I like Harry and Rochefoucauld, and they would be dead.

Cath. You consent, my son?

Charles. Wait, wait until the marriage has disarmed them. [Cunningly.] Beside, mother, if I cut down Navarre the Guise will grow too tall. Come, Tavannes, they worry me with statecraft. I '11 work in the smithy until dinner. [As he reaches door, turns.] Anjou, you are heir to the crown, you can look after Harry. [Looks at Anjou, chuckling. Anjou at the word "smithy" puts his handkerchief to his nose. Charles, seeing the action, snatches it and smelling it throws it angrily away.] Faugh! You smell like Ruggieri's perfumery. I '11 to my horses.

[Laughs and exits.

Cath. [Looking after Charles.] Blind! Blind! He will not see. The stars have said it, the Bearnais shall reign. [Fiercely.] But he shall not. Ruggieri will help me. I would go to the rack willingly if I knew the Bearnais were dead.

Enter Ruggieri, stands motionless.

Cath. [Sees Ruggieri.] Ruggieri, have you recast the horoscope?

Rug. As you did direct. It is as my father said. Three sons of Catherine shall reign and after that the Bearnais.

Cath. Always the same! Navarre, the Bearnais. Did you consult the omens?

Act I. ii

Rug. As you commanded. Always the three cries symbolic of three deaths.

Cath. Charles, Anjou, and Alencon, always the same. But there 's still the mirror, Ruggieri.

Rug. It would tell the same tale, my art cannot lie.

Cath. You could show us the Bearnais in the mirror crowned and King of France. [To Anjou.] I have it. Ruggieri, you shall show your power before the King and the whole court. [To Anjou, triumphantly.'] The Bearnais crowned! Charles will go mad and kill him where he stands.

Anjou. He would kill me, his own brother, if he thought I coveted the crown. We have the fox at last, mother. Farewell. I must meet de Guise and practice my dance this evening. [Exit Anjou.

Cath. [To Ruggieri.] You have the — the other things I spoke of? [Ruggieri silently hands a phial.] You have made a mistake, the phial is empty.

Rug. There is enough to kill ten men in that small phial, and yet it is invisible to sight as it is to taste,

Cath. Navarre shall drink it in the rarest vinatge. Ay, and his bride shall hand it to him.

Rug. If this should fail, there are subtler things, the smoke

Cath. The smoke?

Rug. [Gives her powder.] Throw this powder on the fire, and within ten minutes every living thing in the room will be dead. Ten minutes more the smoke will have vanished and only death will remain.

Cath. I like it well. The winecup and the perfumed glove are left behind, but the smoke vanishes. You are a genius, Ruggieri, yet no man loves you. Even the King fears you, and Henry of Navarre has sworn your death. Men say that you killed his mother with a pair of perfumed gloves.

Rug. [Bowing.] Which your Majesty presented to her.

Cath. Ah, have no fear, Ruggieri, for I still need you, but avoid the Bearnais.

Enter Margot and Marie.

My daughter must suspect nothing, come.

[They go behind tapestry and disappear through private door.

Mar. Marie, what shall I do. Charles forgets he is my brother and remembers only he is the King.

Marie. Have comfort, Madame ; the King of Navarre may not be so bad. He fought bravely at Jarnac and Moncontour.

Mar. He was born with teeth in his mouth and bit his nurses. A Gascon, a savage. At his birth his grandfather put a clove of garlic between his lips, and weaned him on Cahors wine. He can hunt and fight ; I doubt if he can read.

Marie. They say the Gascons are most ardent lovers.

Mar. I doubt he will not lack for compliments, but I know them all by heart. Oh, if I could only meet a man.

Marie. There are many at court.

Mar. They love the princess, not the woman. Once for a moment

Marie. Once

Mar. [Dreamily.'] I was leaning from my casement watching the crowd below. The sunshine flooded the street and warmed my blood. I laughed, Marie, laughed with the joy of living. Then from the

Act I. 13

crowd below two eyes shone into mine. My cheek warmed, I turned my face away. [Pause.] I looked again, they had gone. But always when I dream these eyes, like two stars, look at up me again, and I know somewhere, somehow there lives a man who loves me, even if I were the lowliest born in France. [Sighing.] That is when I dream, Marie.

Marie. The King of Navarre is a man. They say he will march until his men drop and then order music and dance alone.

Mar. I hope he may dance alone. He may be a great marcher, but he seems in no hurry to visit me.

Marie. He is playing tennis with M. de Mouhy.

Mar. Playing tennis with M. de Mouhy! They told me he was robing to meet me.

Marie. He had on a olack riding habit; I caught a glimpse of him.

Mar. A black riding habit!

Enter Page.

Page. The King of Navarre waits upon her Highness's pleasure.

Mar. Tell the King I will receive him here.

[Exit Page.

Mar. [To Marie.] In ten mintues.

Marie. Ten minutes!

Mar. In ten minutes, and then mayhap he '11 have to wait. So he plays tennis while I wait for him. I '11 teach this Gascon gentleman a lesson. He wears plain black when he comes a-courting, thinks only of his mother when he woos a wife. I shall be back shortly, Marie. You can entertain this budding Amadis !

Marie. But, Madame, where are you going?

Mar. I 'm going to change my dress. [Going to door.]

[Margot exits through door in tapestry.

Enter Page.

J

Page. King Henry of Navarre!

Enter Henry in an old rusty black riding habit with

De Mouhy. He enters with a -flourish, after a

quick look at tapestry, knowing that Margot has

just left. He seizes Marie's hand and kisses it.

Henry. Your devoted servant, fair mistress.

Marie. Your Majesty, Sire, I 'm not the Princess.

Henry. [Glancing at tapestry.] I '11 not believe it: was I not told the fairest maid in France — come, kiss me, sweetheart.

Marie. The Princess will join you shortly, Sire.

Henry. [Loudly. She need not hurry when she leaves so fair a subst* ute. What is your name, child?

Marie. Marie Bell f oret.

Henry. A very pretty name too, Marie. I christen it. [Kisses her on lips.]

Marie. Oh, Sire, you must not.

Henry. What! are my »s so rough, or is kissing out of fashion ?

Marie. Sire, it is wrong.

Henry. Never you believe it, Marie, unless I tell you so. I have tried it and I know.

Marie. Sire, you are a Huguenot.

Henry. There is no heresy in love, Marie, unless it is to be old and ugly. [Goes to kiss her again, but she restrains him by placing her hand over his mouth.]

Marie. [Smiling.] Must I tell your Majesty he is ugly?

Henry. A hit, Marie, a hit! But spare me the

Act I. 15

truth. It is almost the only thing in which the court remembers I am a king. There, I '11 not kiss you, Marie.

Marie. And I '11 not say your Majesty is ugly. Your Highness saved me a falsehood from confession when I meet Father Manson.

Henry. You flatter, child ; must you confess the kiss?

Marie. Nay, that is on your Majesty's conscience.

Henry. Mordieu, Marie, I thought it was on your lips.

Marie. Sire, your generosity has already forgotten it.

Henry. As you will, Marie. I 've forgotten it, though, faith, I 'd like to refresh my memory. [Goes toward her, she backs away holding back her hands to keep him off.] What a prim lit e' rosebud to find at court among the famous Flyir Squadron. If your mistress had but your modesty and half your wit I had not been so long a-comirig. What is she doing, Marie?

Marie. She is attiring herself, Sire.

Henry. [Makes gestu- of skirts about himself.] We poor countrymen ar co be dazzled.

Marie. The Princess has lovely dresses, Sire.

Henry. Devil a kiss I '11 get from her, De Mouhy — her robe will take half the room.

[Marie curtsies and exits. [All this time De Mouhy has stood in the background gazing in silent admiration at Marie, in half indignation at his master. He now comes forward.

De M. Is this wise, Sire?

Henry. Is what wise, De Mouhy?

De M. We are surrounded by enemies. Our live? hang on a thread. Will you force the Princess into their ranks?

Henry. Mordieu, I came to marry her.

De M. And you start by kissing her maid.

Henry. And a very good start, too. She 's pretty; would n't you have kissed her too, De Mouhy?

De M. You mistake her for the mistress.

Henry. Mistake! Nonsense, man. The Princess kept us waiting to flout us. Mistake! I know her every feature. What thought you of our reception?

De M. The King was gracious and the courtiers smiled.

Henry. But Paris, our good Paris, would have torn us to pieces. You heard their song. [Sings a snatch of the song.] "Every street shall be a grave. " [Makes gesture of cutting throat.] A word from Cousin Charles would cut* our throats. Do you think I am fooled? No. Charles would massacre us all to-morrow but that it would make the Guise all-powerful. He hates the Huguenots, but he fears the Guise.

De M. Then why trust yourself here? why not stay in Beam?

Henry. A man can die but once, and there are precipices in Beam. I came here because I love the danger, to pit my head against Catherine's, and to be frank, De Mouhy, I am in love.

De M. In love! And you come to marry Marguerite.

Henry. Because, my dear old slow-head, I am in love with Marguerite.

De M. You 've never seen her since she was a child at Blois.

Henry. When she pulled my hair! [Laughs.]

Act I. 17

Mordieu! She had spirit and beauty even then, for all she was a girl all arms and legs. She has blossomed since. Francois Clouet sent me her picture. I used to look at it for hours, until the eyes grew soft and the blush reddened on the cheek. But it could n't speak, De Mouhy, so I went all the way from Gascony to hear her voice.

De M. You went all the way from Gascony?

Henry. Yes, and I was missing for a month. They said I was gone hunting. I went to Paris. I saw her for just one minute, De Mouhy, the sunlight in her hair, the shadow deep in her eyes, and I heard her laugh, De Mouhy, just once, that was all.

De M. You love her !

Henry. In the morning and in the evening, when I wake and when I sleep.

De M. She is a Valois.

Henry. I know, but though Charles is a madman, Anjou a fop, and Alencon a weaKling, Marguerite is a Marguerite indeed, a white star with a heart of gold.

De M. And you woo her in an old riding habit and start by keeping her waiting.

Henry. Ventre St. Gris! De Mouhy, you 're all right in a battle, but heaven help you as a cavalier. She has been pampered and surfeited by praises. Is she to be won by compliment? No, no, she thinks us Gascons savages. I humour her.

De M. The maid will tell her you kissed her.

Henry. I meant her to, she saw it.

De M. Saw it!

Henry. Yes, she forgets that in the mountains we have the ears of a fox and the eyes of an eagle. I saw the tapestry rustle, I caught the glimpse of a face, my heart beat quickly, and I kissed Marie.

De M. Jealousy is not love, Sire.

Henry. No, but it comes either before or after. I 'm afraid, De Mouhy, you are so serious, in your case it will come after.

De M. My wife will have no cause for jealousy. [Stiffly.]

Henry. No, man, it is you who will be jealous.

De M. I don't understand women, but I should n't insult my mistress by wooing her in mourning in my oldest raiment.

Henry. [Takes off his hat and looks at it, passing finger through broken rim.] The hat is somewhat rusty and the rim a trifle broken. I doffed it so often as we rode through Paris — there was a saint at every corner.

De M. Your subjects would have grieved for you. It is a sin for a Huguenot to uncover before a graven image.

Henry. It is a greater sin for a Gascon to uncover before a lady even though she be a saint. St. Agnes, St. Catherine, St. Genevieve [Throws a kiss] — I love them all, and, ventre St. Gris, when I passed St, Anthony I looked the other way. Mordieu, the Princess keeps us waiting : shall we get back to tennis, De Mouhy ?

De M. If we were wise we should go to Beam. You can see the avalanche and the landslip, in Paris the peril is hidden.

Henry. You are a cheerful companion, De Mouhy, you '11 become popular in Paris — at funerals. It is well we are alone. [Ruggieri steps from tapestry.]

Rug. A king should know that in a palace one is never alone.

De M. [Hand on sword.] Are you a friend?

Act I. 19

Henry. Who are you?

Rug. Cosmo Ruggieri.

Henry. [Drawing sword, De Mouhy also.] The Queen's poisoner!

Rug. The Queen's perfumer would sound better.

Henry. The Queen's executioner.

Rug. If you will have it so.

Henry. Are you mad to venture here like this? Do you not know that I have sworn your death?

Rug. Yes, but you will not kill me. You are young, you love, and you wish to live. [Folds his arms.] I am alone, Sire, I am unarmed, and all men hate me. Strike me if you will, but when you kill me your own doom is sealed.

Henry. My dead mother's soul calls out for vengeance.

Rug. You wrong me, Sire, I did not kill your mother. It is said I sent your mother death in a pair of perfumed gloves.

Henry. Ay, she died within the week.

Rug. It is false. Jeanne d'Albret would not wear gloves with perfume, it was an abomination to her. It was like incense, a thing accursed.

Henry. That is true, De Mouhy.

Rug. Look from this window, Sire. You see the river sparkling in the sun? Its exhalations cause more death each year than poison in an age. Did she herself not write and warn you against Paris?

Henry. That is so, but how came you to know it?

Rug. It was I who told you Paris was bad for you, but I was not thinking of your health.

Henry. [Puts up sword.] Why do you tell me this? What do you here with the King of Navarre' you that serve the Medici?

Rug. I serve the stars whose messenger I am. Night after night I watch their quiet faces and read their distant secrets. Catholic or Huguenot — differences of the day ; the silent stars care not, what they write remains.

Henry. [Interested in spite of himself.] What have they writ?

Rug. One thing they spell clearly. The Bearnais shall be King. Three sons of Catherine, and then Navarre. Francois is dead. Charles reigns now, then Anjou, then you. You will be King.

Henry. King! King! Ay, so I am already. A few houses and a wilderness .

Rug. Nay you shall be a king without a peer in France, but the road is rough and broken and danger lurks by the way.

Henry. I was born on the flank of a precipice. I care not how difficult the road, how fierce the peril, if France be at the end.

Rug. Courage alone will never win the goal: you must have cunning, Sire.

Henry. Am I not a Gascon, Ruggieri?

Rug. Ay, but you fight an Italian.

Henry. Tell me what are these dangers, Ruggieri?

Rug. I see them yet but dimly, but first beware of wine.

Henry. I will, Ruggieri, I '11 be rid of it as quickly as I may.

Rug. You laugh, but the cup that cheers you to-day may bring you the great silence to-morrow. Beware of fire when the sun is still warm and summer lingers.

Henry. You see that scar, Ruggieri? A burnt child. I shall not forget.

Act I. 21

Rug. Sometimes the smoke is deadlier than the flame. And beware of the fourth Sunday in August.

Henry. I always beware of Sundays, Ruggieri; it 's a dull day with us Huguenots.

Rug. Will your Majesty accept a gift from so humble a friend as the poor astrologer? [Hands him a ring.]

Henry. An opal. Look, De Mouhy! Ventre St. Gris! Saw you ever the like? It is alive: see, it gleams with the fire of Etna.

Rug. There 's magic in it. It is blood red — place it near poison, it grows green as grass. That stone is worth a throne.

Henry. And you would part with it? You are more generous than a king.

Rug. I give it to make one, to win a king for a friend. [Finger to lips, disappears through tapestry.

De M. I like it not. The Florentines, they wish to rouse your ambition. This is some snare of Catherine's to trap you.

Henry. I shall be King of France, De Mouhy, the stars have said it.

De M. And Ruggieri reads them. Who shall judge between him and them?

Henry. My own heart, De Mouhy. I feel it here [touching breast] and here [touching head]. The heart to dare and the brain to achieve.

Enter Page.

Page. Her Highness, the Princess Marguerite.

De M. I will leave you, Sire. I must see Taille-

bois, and get the latest tidings. [Exit De Mouhy.

Enter Marguerite and ladies of the court. Margot

has an enormous farthingale, the others smaller ones. Margot evidently expects Henry to rush to her feet — as he did — and be overwhelmed. He is turned away, hat on, as if he did not hear her enter.

Mar. Leave me, Marie, I '11 teach the Gascon boor a lesson. [Aloud to Henry.] Your servant, your Majesty.

[Henry turns, sees farthingale, and roars with laughter. Margot, disconcerted, draws herself up proudly.

You are amused, Sire; you do not laugh at us?

Henry. Mordieu! I laugh because I must. My mother laughed when I first saw the light. I was born laughing and I have laughed ever since. Ventre St. Gris, we all laugh at Nerac. When you get there, Margot, you '11 laugh too.