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!
François, 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.
François 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.