ACT I

SCENE.--TRIBOULET, _the ugly little hunchback jester to_ KING FRANÇOIS, _has stolen from the Louvre to a secluded house in a remote part of Paris. He takes out the key to open the door, then stops and glances round uneasily._

TRIBOULET: I thought I heard a footstep. Blanche must go Back to the country. In this wild, rough town My little lonely girl may come to harm. I was a fool to bring her here. A fool! Ah, if she learns what a vile part I play In this vile city--sees her father dressed In patchwork, using his deformities To make sport for a proud, vain, wicked king. Oh, how I hate the man who laughs at me! When I am sick and miserable, and creep Into some corner to bewail my lot, He kicks me out into the light, and cries, "Amuse me, fool!" Some day I shall go mad, And kill----

[SALTABADIL, _who has been following him, comes forward and bows._

SALTABADIL: Your servant, sir!

TRIBOULET (_startled_): What! Who are you?

SALTABADIL: Excuse me. I have watched you for a week Come to this house at evening. Every time You seem afraid some foe is following you.

TRIBOULET (_still more startled_): What do you want? Who are you? Go away!

SALTABADIL: I want to help you. Do you need a sword? I am an honest man, and at a price I'll rid you of your enemy.

TRIBOULET (_relieved by the bravo's air_): What price?

SALTABADIL: According to the job. If he is armed 'Tis best to get my sister, Maguelonne, To help me. She will lure him to our house--

TRIBOULET: I understand.

SALTABADIL (_confidentially_): No noise, you see; no risk. Give me your custom, sir, and you will find I do the work better than any man In Paris.

TRIBOULET: But at present I've no need--

SALTABADIL: Well, think about it. I am Saltabadil. I wait for clients every day at noon By the Hôtel du Maine.

TRIBOULET: Good-night to you.

SALTABADIL: Believe me, I am honest. Times are bad; I have four children, and at least my trade Is better than mere beggary.

TRIBOULET: Of course. One must bring up one's children.

SALTABADIL: Thanks. Good-night.

[_He departs._ TRIBOULET _then opens the door leading into a courtyard, and knocks at an inner entrance. This is opened by a charming young girl, who throws herself into the jester's arms._

TRIBOULET: My daughter! When I see your sweet, bright face My grief and trouble vanish. Kiss me, Blanche; I am in need of love. Have you been out?

BLANCHE: Only to church. It is so dull in town That, were it not for you, dear, I should like To go back to Chinon.

TRIBOULET: It would be best; put now I could not live in solitude. My darling, I have no one in the world But you to love me!

[_Hiding his face in his hands, he weeps._

BLANCHE: Father, trust in me. Tell me your name and calling. Every night You come by stealth to see me; every day You disappear. Oh, how it troubles me To see you weep!

TRIBOULET: You would be troubled more If you could see me laugh! No, no, my child! Know me but as your father; let me be Something that you can venerate and love.

BLANCHE: My father!

TRIBOULET: But I cannot stay to-night; I only came to see if you were safe. Good-bye, my darling! Do not leave the house.

[_While he is speaking,_ KING FRANÇOIS _glides into the courtyard, and hides behind a tree there. He is dressed like a student._

BLANCHE: Good-bye, my father!

THE KING: Father! Triboulet Her father! What a joke!

TRIBOULET: May God guard you!

[_He kisses her again and departs._ BLANCHE _stands at the door watching him, and_ DAME BERARDE, _her housekeeper, joins her._

BLANCHE: I have not told him.

DAME BERARDE: What?

BLANCHE: That a young man Follows me when I come from church.

DAME BERARDE (_laughing_): You wish To chase this handsome man away?

BLANCHE: Ah, no! 1 think he loves me. Oh, when Sunday comes I shall be happy!

DAME BERARDE: I should think he was Some noble lord.

BLANCHE: No! Lords, my father says, Are men of little faith or honesty. I hope he is a poor young scholar, filled With noble thoughts rather than noble blood. How long it is to Sunday! Would he were Kneeling before me here. I then would say Be happy, for I----

[_The_ KING _comes from behind the tree, and kneels before her._

THE KING: Love you! Say it sweet: I love you!

BLANCHE: If my father comes! Ah, go!

THE KING: Go? When my life is bound to yours? Sweet Blanche, There is one heavenly thing alone on earth, And that is love. Glory and wealth and power Are base and worthless when compared with it. Blanche, it is happiness your lover brings, Happiness, shyly waiting on your wish. Life is a flower, and love the honey of life. Come, let us taste it, mouth to mouth, my sweet.

[_Taking her in his arms, he kisses her._

BLANCHE: I do not know your name. Are you a lord? My father does not like them.

THE KING (_confused_): Yes.... My name-- Gaucher Mahiet, a poor young scholar.

DAME BERARDE: Look! Someone is coming.

[_It is_ TRIBOULET. _Seeing his daughter in the arms of a man, he rushes forward with a terrible cry._ KING FRANÇOIS _leaves_ BLANCHE, _and, brushing past the jester, who staggers as he catches a glimpse of his face, hastens away._

TRIBOULET: The King! Oh, God, the King!

[_Then, in a sort of madness, he mutters to himself._

That man that spoke to me ... Hôtel du Maine; At noon ... yes; in his house ... no noise, no risk ... Oh, King François, the grave is dug for you!