SCENE FROM RICHELIEU. Enter JULIE DE MORTEMAR
RICHELIEU. That's my sweet Julie! why, upon this face
Blushes such daybreak, one might swear the morning
Were come to visit Tithon.
JULIE (placing herself at his feet). Are you gracious?
May I say "Father?"
RICH. Now and ever!
JULIE. Father!
A sweet word to an orphan.
RICH. No; not orphan
While Richelieu lives; thy father loved me well;
My friend, ere I had flatterers (now I'm great,
In other phrase, I'm friendless)—he died young
In years, not service, and bequeathed thee to me;
And thou shalt have a dowry, girl, to buy
Thy mate amid the mightiest. Drooping?—sighs?—
Art thou not happy at the court?
JULIE. Not often.
RICH, (aside). Can she love Baradas? Ah! at thy heart
There's what can smile and sigh, blush and grow pale,
All in a breath! Thou art admired—art young;
Does not his Majesty commend thy beauty—
Ask thee to sing to him?—and swear such sounds
Had smoothed the brow of Saul?
JULIE. He's very tiresome,
Our worthy King.
RICH. Fie! Kings are never tiresome
Save to their ministers. What courtly gallants
Charm ladies most?—De Sourdioc' Longueville, or
The favorite Baradas?
JULIE. A smileless man—
I fear and shun him.
RICH. Yet he courts thee!
JULIE. Then
He is more tiresome than his Majesty.
RICH. Right, girl, shun Baradas. Yet of these flowers
Of France, not one, in whose more honeyed breath
Thy heart hears Summer whisper?
Enter HUGUET.
HUGUET. The Chevalier De Mauprat waits below.
JULIE. (starting up). De Mauprat!
RICH. Hem! He has been tiresome too!—Anon. [Exit HUGUET.
JULIE: What doth he?
I mean—I—Does your Eminence—that is—
Know you Messire de Mauprat?
RICH. Well!—and you—
Has he addressed you often?
JULIE. Often? No—
Nine times: nay, ten;—the last time by the lattice
Of the great staircase.(In a melancholy tone.) The
Court sees him rarely.
RICH. A bold and forward royster!
JULIE. He? nay, modest,
Gentle and sad, methinks,
RICH. Wears gold and azure?
JULIE. No; sable.
RICH. So you note his colours, Julie?
Shame on you, child, look loftier. By the mass,
I have business with this modest gentleman.
JULIE. You're angry with poor Julie. There's no
cause.
RICH. No cause—you hate my foes?
JULIE. I do!
RICH. Hate Mauprat?
JULIE. Not Mauprat. No, not Adrien, father.
RICH. Adrien!
Familiar!—Go, child; no,—not that way;—wait
In the tapestry chamber; I will join you,—go.
JULIE. His brows are knit; I dare not call him
father! But I must speak. Your Eminence—
RICH. (sternly). Well, girl!
JULIE. Nay,
Smile on me—one smile more; there, now I'm happy.
Do not rank Mauprat with your foes; he is not,
I know he is not; he loves France too well.
RICH. Not rank De Mauprat with my foes?
So be it.
I'll blot him from that list.
JULIE. That's my own father. [Exit JULIE.
Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer.
* * * * *
"DIOS TE GUARDE."
FROM THE SPANISH.
God keep thee safe, my dear,
From every harm,
Close in the shelter of
His mighty arm!
So, when thou must look out
Over earth's noise and rout
May thy calm soul be free
From all alarm.
Or if He shall ordain,
He, the Most Wise,
That woe shall come, that tears
Shall dim thine eyes,
May He still hold thee near,
Dispelling doubt and fear,
Giving thy prostrate heart
Strength to arise.
And when His night comes, love,
And thou must go,
May He still call to thee,
Tenderly, low,
Cradled upon His breast
Sinking to sweetest rest,
God have thee safe, my dear,
And keep thee so.
* * * * *