King Victor and King Charles (1842) by Robert Browning 1730, COMPLIMENTS OF WIKISOURCE Contents 1 Note 2 Persons 3 Scene 4 Contents Note[edit] So far as I know, this Tragedy is the first artistic consequence of what Voltaire termed a terrible event without consequences; and although it professes to be historical, I have taken more pains to arrive at the history than most readers would thank me for particularizing: since acquainted, as I will hope them to be, with the chief circumstances of Victors remarkable European career—nor quite ignorant of the sad and surprising facts I am about to reproduce (tolerable accounts of which are to be found, for instance, in Abbé Romans Récit, or even the fifth of Lord Orrerys Letters from Italy)—I cannot expect them to be versed, nor desirous of becoming so, in all the details of the memoirs, correspondence, and relations of the time. From these only may be obtained a knowledge of the fiery and audacious temper, unscrupulous selfishness, profound dissimulation, and singular fertility in resources, of Victor—the extreme and painful sensibility, prolonged immaturity of powers, earnest good purpose and vacillating will, of Charles—the noble and right womans manliness of his wife—and the ill-considered rascality and subsequent better-advised rectitude of DOrmea. When I say, therefore, that I cannot but believe my statement (combining as it does what appears correct in Voltaire and plausible in Condorcet) more true to person and thing than any it has hitherto been my fortune to meet with, no doubt my word will be taken, and my evidence spared as readily. R.B. London, 1842 Persons[edit] Victor Amadeus, first King of Sardinia. Charles Emmanuel, his son, Prince of Piedmont. Polyxena, wife of Charles. DOrmea, minister. Scene[edit] The Council Chambers of Rivoli Palace, near Turin, communicating with a Hall at the back, an Apartment to the left, and another to the right of the stage. FIRST YEAR 1730.—KING VICTOR. Part I. Charles. Polyxena. Charles. You think so? Well, I do not. Polyxena. My beloved, All must clear up—we shall be happy yet: This cannot last forever . . oh, may change To-day, or any day! Charles. —May change? Ah yes— May change! Polyxena. Endure it, then. Charles. No doubt, a life Like this drags on, now better and now worse; My father may . . . may take to loving me; And he may take, too, DOrmea closer yet To counsel him;—may even cast off her —That bad Sebastian; but he also may . . Or, no, Polyxena, my only friend, He may not force you from me? Polyxena. Now, force me From you!—me, close by you as if there gloomed No DOrmeas, no Sebastians on our path— At Rivoli or Turin, still at hand, Arch-counsellor, prime confidant . . . force me! Charles. Because I felt as sure, as I feel sure We clasp hands now, of being happy once. Young was I, quite neglected, nor concerned By the worlds business that engrossed so much My father and my brother: if I peered From out my privacy,—amid the crash And blaze of nations, domineered those two; Twas war, peace—France our foe, now—England, friend— In love with Spain—at feud with Austria!—Well— I wondered—laughed a moments laugh for pride In the chivalrous couple—then let drop My curtain—I am out of it, I said— When . . . Polyxena. You have told me, Charles. Charles. Polyxena— When suddenly,—a warm March day, just that! Just so much sunshine as the cottagers child Basks in delighted, while the cottager Takes off his bonnet, as he ceases work, To catch the more of it—and it must fall Heavily on my brother . . . had you seen Philip—the lion-featured!—not like me! Polyxena. I know— Charles. And Philips mouth yet fast to mine, His dead cheek on my cheek, his arm still round My neck,—they bade me rise, for I was heir To the Duke, they said, the right hand of the Duke; Till then he was my father, not the Duke! So . . let me finish . . the whole intricate Worlds business their dead boy was born to, I Must conquer,—ay, the brilliant thing he was, I, of a sudden, must be: my faults, my follies, —All bitter truths were told me, all at once To end the sooner. What I simply styled Their overlooking me, had been contempt: How should the Duke employ himself, forsooth, With such an one while lordly Philip rode By him their Turin through? But he was punished, And must put up with—me! Twas sad enough To learn my future portion and submit— And then the wear and worry, blame on blame! —For, spring-sounds in my ears, spring-smells about, How could I but grow dizzy in their pent Dim palace-rooms at first? My mothers look As they discussed my insignificance— (She and my father, and I sitting by,)— I bore:—I knew how brave a son they missed: Philip had gayly passed state-papers oer, While Charles was spelling at them painfully! But Victor was my father spite of that. Duke Victors entire life has been, I said, Innumerable efforts to one end; And, on the point now of that ends success, Our Ducal turning to a Kingly crown, Wheres time to be reminded tis his child He spurns? And so I suffered . . yet scarce suffered, Since I had you at length! Polyxena. To serve in place Of monarch, minister and mistress, Charles. Charles. But, once that crown obtained, then wast not like Our lot would alter?—When he rests, takes breath, Glances around, and sees whos left to love— Now that my mothers dead, sees I am left— Is it not like hell love me at the last? Well: Savoy turns Sardinia—the Dukes King! Could I—precisely then—could you expect His harshness to redouble? These few months Have been . . . have been . . Polyxena, do you And God conduct me, or I lose myself! What would he have? What ist they want with me? Him with this mistress and this minister, —You see me and you hear me; judge us both! Pronounce what I should do, Polyxena! Polyxena. Endure, endure, beloved! Say you not That hes your Father? Alls so incident To novel sway! Beside, our life must change: Or youll acquire his kingcraft, or hell find Harshness a sorry way of teaching it. I bear this—not that theres so much to bear— Charles. You bear it? dont I know that you, tho bound To silence for my sake, are perishing Piecemeal beside me? and how otherwise? —When every creephole from the hideous Court Is stopt; the Minister to dog me, here— The Mistress posted to entrap you, there! And thus shall we grow old in such a life— Not careless,—never estranged,—but old: to alter Our life, there is so much to alter! Polyxena. Come— Is it agreed that we forego complaints Even at Turin, yet complain we here At Rivoli? Twere wiser you announced Our presence to the king. Whats now a-foot, I wonder?—Not that any mores to dread Than every days embarrassment—but guess, For me, why train so fast succeeded train On the high-road, each gayer still than each; I noticed your Archbishops pursuivant, The sable cloak and silver cross; such pomp Bodes . . what now, Charles? Can you conceive? Charles. Not I, Polyxena. A matter of some moment— Charles. Theres our life! Which of the group of loiterers that stared From the lime-avenue, divines that I— About to figure presently, he thinks, In face of all assembled—am the one Who knows precisely least about it? Polyxena. Tush! DOrmeas contrivance! Charles. Ay—how otherwise Should the young Prince serve for the old Kings foil? —So that the simplest courtier may remark, Twere idle raising parties for a Prince Content to linger DOrmeas laughing-stock! Something, tis like, about that weary business [Pointing to papers he has laid down, and which Polyxena examines.] —Not that I comprehend three words, of course, After all last nights study. Polyxena. The faint heart! Why, as we rode and you rehearsed just now Its substance . . (thats the folded speech I mean, Concerning the Reduction of the Fiefs . .) —What would you have?—I fancied while you spoke, Some tones were just your fathers. Charles. Flattery! Polyxena. I fancied so:—and here lurks, sure enough, My note upon the Spanish Claims! Youve mastered The fief-speech thoroughly—this other, mind, Is an opinion you deliver,—stay, Best read it slowly over once to me; Read—theres bare time; you read it firmly—loud —Rather loud—looking in his face,—dont sink Your eye once—ay, thus! If Spain claims . . . begin —Just as you look at me! Charles. At you! Oh, truly, You have I seen, say, marshalling your troops— Dismissing councils—or, through doors ajar, Head sunk on hand, devoured by slow chagrins —Then radiant, for a crown had all at once Seemed possible again! I can behold Him, whose least whisper ties my spirit fast, In this sweet brow, nought could divert me from, Save objects like Sebastians shameless lip, Or, worse, the dipt gray hair and dead white face, And dwindling eye as if it ached with guile, Which DOrmea wears . . . [As he kisses her, enter from the Kings apartment DOrmea.] . . I said he would divert My kisses from your brow! DOrmea. [Aside.] Here! So King Victor Spoke truth for once; and whos ordained, but I, To make that memorable? Both in call, As he declared! Weret better gnash the teeth, Or laugh outright now? Charles. [to Polyxena.] Whats his visit for? DOrmea. [Aside.] I question if theyll even speak to me. Polyxena. [to Charles.] Face DOrmea, hell suppose you fear him, else. [Aloud.] The Marquis bears the Kings command, no doubt. DOrmea. [Aside.] Precisely!—If I threatened him, perhaps? Well, this at least is punishment enough! Men used to promise punishment would come. Charles. Deliver the Kings message, Marquis! DOrmea. [Aside.] Ah— So anxious for his fate? [Aloud.] A word, my Prince, Before you see your father—just one word Of counsel! Charles. Oh, your counsel certainly— Polyxena, the Marquis counsels us! Well, sir? Be brief, however! DOrmea. What? you know As much as I?—preceded me, most like, In knowledge? So! (Tis in his eye, beside— His voice—he knows it and his hearts on flame Already!) You surmise why you, myself, Del Borgo, Spava, fifty nobles more, Are summoned thus? Charles. Is the Prince used to know, At any time, the pleasure of the King, Before his minister?—Polyxena, Stay here till I conclude my task—I feel Your presence—(smile not)—thro the walls, and take Fresh heart. The Kings within that chamber? DOrmea. [Passing the table whereon a paper lies, exclaims, as he glances at it,] Spain! Polyxena. [Aside to Charles.] Tarry awhile: what ails the minister? DOrmea. Madam, I do not often trouble you. The Prince loathes, and you loathe me—let that pass; But since it touches him and you, not me, Bid the Prince listen! Polyxena. [to Charles.] Surely you will listen! —Deceit?—Those fingers crumpling up his vest? Charles. Deceitful to the very fingers ends! DOrmea. [who has approached them, overlooks the other paper Charles continues to hold] My project for the Fiefs! As I supposed! Sir, I must give you light upon those measures —For this is mine, and that I spied of Spain, Mine too! Charles. Release me! Do you gloze on me Who bear in the worlds face (that is, the world Youve made for me at Turin) your contempt? —Your measures?—When was any hateful task Not DOrmeas imposition? Leave my robe! What post can I bestow, what grant concede? Or do you take me for the King? DOrmea. Not I! Not yet for King,—not for, as yet, thank God, One, who in . . shall I say a year—a month? Ay!—shall be wretcheder than eer was slave In his Sardinia,—Europes spectacle, And the worlds byword! What? The Prince aggrieved That Ive excluded him our counsels? Here [Touching the paper in Charless hand.] Accept a method of extorting gold From Savoys nobles, who must wring its worth In silver first from tillers of the soil, Whose hinds again have to contribute brass To make up the amount—theres counsel, sir! My counsel, one year old; and the fruit, this— Savoys become a mass of misery And wrath, which one man has to meet—the King: Youre not the King! Another counsel, sir! Spain entertains a project (here it lies) Which, guessed, makes Austria offer that same King Thus much to baffle Spain; he promises; Then comes Spain, breathless lest she be forestalled, Her offer follows; and he promises . . . Charles. —Promises, sir, when he before agreed To Austrias offer? DOrmea. Thats a counsel, Prince! But past our foresight, Spain and Austria (choosing To make their quarrel up between themselves Without the intervention of a friend) Produce both treaties, and both promises . . . Charles. How? D O. Prince, a counsel!—And the fruit of that? Both parties covenant afresh, to fall Together on their friend, blot out his name, Abolish him from Europe. So take note, Heres Austria and heres Spain to fight against, And what sustains the King but Savoy here, A miserable people mad with wrongs? Youre not the King! Charles. Polyxena, you said All would clear up—all does clear up to me! DOrmea. Clears up? Tis no such thing to envy, then? You see the Kings state in its length and breadth? You blame me, now, for keeping you aloof From counsels and the fruit of counsels?—Wait Till Ive explained this mornings business! Charles. [Aside.] No— Stoop to my father, yes,—to DOrmea, no; —The Kings son, not to the Kings counsellor! I will do something,—but at least retain The credit of my deed! [Aloud.] Then, DOrmea, this You now expressly come to tell me? DOrmea. This To tell! You apprehend me? Charles. Perfectly. And further, DOrmea, you have shown yourself, For the first time these many weeks and months, Disposed to do my bidding? DOrmea. From the heart! Charles. Acquaint my father, first, I wait his pleasure: Next... or, Ill tell you at a fitter time. Acquaint the King! DOrmea. [Aside.] If I scape Victor yet! First, to prevent this stroke at me—if not,— Then, to avenge it! [To Charles.] Gracious sir, I go. [Goes.] Charles. God, I forbore! Which more offends—that man Or that mans master? Is it come to this? Have they supposed (the sharpest insult yet) I needed een his intervention? No! No—dull am I, conceded,—but so dull, Scarcely! Their step decides me. Polyxena. How decides? Charles. You would be free from DOrmeas eye and hers? —Could fly the court with me and live content? So—this it is for which the knights assemble! The whispers and the closeting of late, The savageness and insolence of old, —For this! Polyxena. What mean you? Charles. How? you fail to catch Their clever plot? I missed it—but could you? These last two months of care to inculcate How dull I am,—with DOrmeas present visit To prove that, being dull, I might be worse Were I a king—as wretched as now dull— You recognize in it no winding up Of a long plot? Polyxena. Why should there be a plot? Charles. The crowns secure now; I should shame the crown— An old complaint; the point is, how to gain My place for one more fit in Victors eyes, His mistress, the Sebastians child. Polyxena. In truth? Charles. They dare not quite dethrone Sardinias Prince: But they may descant on my dulness till They sting me into even praying them For leave to hide my head, resign my state, And end the coil. Not see now? In a word, Theyd have me tender them myself my rights As one incapable:—some cause for that, Since I delayed thus long to see their drift! I shall apprise the King he may resume My rights this moment. Polyxena. Pause—I dare not think So ill of Victor. Charles. Think no ill of him! Polyxena. —Nor think him, then, so shallow as to suffer His purpose be divined thus easily. And yet—you are the last of a great line; Theres a great heritage at stake; new days Seemed to await this newest of the realms Of Europe:—Charles, you must withstand this! Charles. Ah— You dare not then renounce the splendid court For one whom all the world despises? Speak! Polyxena. My gentle husband, speak I will, and truth. Were this as you believe, and I once sure Your duty lay in so renouncing rule, I could . . could? Oh, what happiness it were— To live, my Charles, and die alone with you! Charles. I grieve I asked you. To the Presence, then! DOrmea acquaints the King by this, no doubt, He fears I am too simple for mere hints, And that no less will serve than Victors mouth Teaching me in full council what I am. —I have not breathed, I think, these many years! Polyxena. Why—it may be!—if he desires to wed That woman and legitimate her child— Charles. You see as much? Oh, let his will have way! Youll not repent confiding in me, love? Theres many a brighter spot in Piedmont, far, Than Rivoli. Ill seek him—or, suppose You hear first how I mean to speak my mind? —Loudly and firmly both, this time, be sure! I yet may see your Rhine-land—who can tell? Once away, ever then away! I breathe. Polyxena. And I too breathe! Charles. Come, my Polyxena! FIRST YEAR 1730.—KING VICTOR. Part II. Enter King Victor, bearing the regalia on a cushion from his apartment. He calls loudly. Victor. DOrmea!—for patience fails me, treading thus Among the trains that I have laid,—my knights, Safe in the hall here—in that anteroom, My son,—and DOrmea where? Of this, one touch— [Laying down the crown.] This fire-ball to these mute, black, cold trains—then! Outbreak enough! [Contemplating it.] To lose all, after all! This—glancing oer my house for ages—shaped, Brave meteor, like the Crown of Cyprus now— Jerusalem, Spain, England—every change The braver,—and when I have clutched a prize My ancestry died wan with watching for, To lose it!—by a slip—a fault—a trick Learnt to advantage once, and not unlearnt When past the use,—just this once more (I thought) Use it with Spain and Austria happily, And then away with trick!—An oversight Id have repaired thrice over, any time These fifty years, must happen now! Theres peace At length; and I, to make the most of peace, Ventured my project on our people here, As needing not their help—which Europe knows, And means, cold-blooded, to dispose herself (Apart from plausibilities of war) To crush the new-made King—who neer till now Feared her. As Duke, I lost each foot of earth And laughed at her: my name was left, my sword Left, all was left! But she can take, she knows, This crown, herself conceded . . . Thats to try, Kind Europe! My careers not closed as yet! This boy was ever subject to my will— Timid and tame—the fitter! DOrinea, too— What if the sovereigns also rid of thee, His prime of parasites?—Yet I delay! DOrmea! [As DOrmea enters, the King seats himself.] My son, the Prince—attends he? DOrmea. Sire, He does attend. The crown prepared!—it seems That you persist in your resolve. Victor. Whos come? The chancellor and the chamberlain? My knights? DOrmea. The whole Annunciata.—If, my liege, Your fortunes had not tottered worse than now . . . Victor. Del Borgo has drawn up the schedules? mine— My sons too? Excellent! Only, beware Of the least blunder, or we look but fools. First, you read the Annulment of the Oaths; Del Borgo follows . . no, the Prince shall sign; Then let Del Borgo read the Instrument— On which, I enter.— DOrmea. Sire, this may be truth; You, sire, may do as you affect—may break Your engine, me, to pieces: try at least If not a spring remains worth saving! Take My counsel as Ive counselled many times! What if the Spaniard and the Austrian threat? Theres England, Holland, Venice—which ally Select you? Victor. Aha! Come, my DOrmea,—truth Was on your lip a minute since. Allies? Ive broken faith with Venice, Holland, England. —As who knows if not you? DOrmea. But why with me Break faith—with one ally, your best, break faith? Victor. When first I stumbled on you, Marquis—(twas At Mondovi—a little lawyers clerk . . .) DOrmea. . . . Therefore your souls ally!—who brought you through Your quarrel with the Pope, at pains enough— Whove simply echoed you in these affairs— On whom you cannot, therefore, visit these Affairs ill fortune—whom youll trust to guide You safe (yes, on my soul) in these affairs! Victor. I was about to notice, had you not Prevented me, that since that great town kept With its chicane my DOrmeas satchel stuffed, And DOrmeas self sufficiently recluse, He missed a sight,—my naval armament When I burnt Toulon. How the skiff exults Upon the galliots wave!—rises its height, Oertops it even; but the great wave bursts— And hell-deep in the horrible profound Buries itself the galliot:—shall the skiff Think to escape the seas black trough in turn? Apply this: you have been my minister —Next me—above me, possibly;—sad post, Huge care, abundant lack of peace of mind; Who would desiderate the eminence? You gave your soul to get it—youd yet give Your soul to keep it, as I mean you shall, My DOrmea! What if the wave ebbed with me? Whereas it cants you to anothers crest— I toss you to my son; ride out your ride! DOrmea. Ah, you so much despise me then? Victor. You, DOrmea? Nowise: and Ill inform you why. A king Must in his time have many ministers, And Ive been rash enough to part with mine When I thought proper. Of the tribe, not one ( . . Or wait, did Pianezze? . . ah, just the same!) Not one of them, ere his remonstrance reached The length of yours, but has assured me (commonly, Standing much as you stand,—or nearer, say, The door to make his exit on his speech) —I should repent of what I did: now, DOrmea, (Be candid—you approached it when I bade you Prepare the schedules! But you stopped in time) —You have not so assured me: how should I Despise you, then? [Enter Charles.] Victor. [changing his tone] Are you instructed? Do My order, point by point! About it, sir! DOrmea. You so despise me? [Aside.] One last stay remains— The boys discretion there, [to Charles.] For your sake, Prince, I pleaded—wholly in your interest— To save you from this fate! Charles. [Aside.] Must I be told The Prince was supplicated for—by him? Victor. [to DOrmea.] Apprise Del Borgo, Spava, and the rest, Our son attends them; then return. DOrmea. One word. Charles. [Aside.] A moments pause and they would drive me hence, I do believe! DOrmea. [Aside.] Let but the boy be firm! Victor. You disobey? Charles. [to DOrmeo.] You do not disobey Me, DOrmea? Did you promise that or no? DOrmea. Sir, I am yours—what would you? Yours am I! Charles. When I have said what I shall say, tis like Your face will neer again disgust me. Go! Through you, as through a breast of glass, I see. And for your conduct, from my youth till now, Take my contempt! You might have spared me much, Secured me somewhat, nor so harmed yourself— Thats over now. Go—neer to come again! DOrmea. As son, the father—father as, the son! My wits! My wits! [Goes.] Victor. [Seated.] And you, what meant you, pray, By speaking thus to DOrmea? Charles. Let us not Weary ourselves with DOrmea! Those few words Have half unsettled what I came to say. His presence vexes to my very soul. Victor. One called to manage kingdoms, Charles, needs heart To bear up under worse annoyances Than DOrmea seems—to me, at least. Charles. [Aside.] Ah, good! He keeps me to the point! Then be it so. [Aloud.] Last night, Sire, brought me certain papers—these— To be reported on,—your way of late. Is it last nights result that you demand? Victor. For Gods sake, what has night brought forth? Pronounce The . . whats your word?—result! Charles. Sire, that had proved, Quite worthy of your sneers, no doubt:—a few Lame thoughts, regard for you alone could wring, Lame as they are, from brains, like mine, believe! As tis, sire, I am spared both toil and sneer. There are the papers. Victor. Well, sir? I suppose You hardly burned them. Now for your result! Charles. I never should have done great things of course, But . . oh, my father, had you loved me more . . . Victor. Loved you? [Aside.] Has DOrmea played me false, I wonder? [Aloud.] Why, Charles, a kings love is diffused—yourself May overlook, perchance, your part in it. Our monarchy is absolutest now In Europe, or my troubles thrown away: I love, my mode, that subjects each and all May have the power of loving, all and each, Their mode: I doubt not, many have their sons To trifle with, talk soft to, all day long— I have that crown, this chair, and DOrmea, Charles! Charles. Tis well I am a subject then, not you. Victor. [Aside.] DOrmea has told him every thing. [Aloud.] Aha I apprehend you: when alls said, you take Your private station to be prized beyond My own, for instance? Charles. —Do and ever did So take it: tis the method you pursue That grieves . . . Victor. These words! Let me express, my friend, Your thought. You penetrate what I supposed A secret. DOrmea plies his trade betimes! I purpose to resign my crown to you. Charles. To me? Victor. Now—in that chamber. Victor. You resign The crown to me? Victor. And time enough, Charles, sure? Confess with me, at four-and-sixty years A crowns a load. I covet quiet once Before I die, and summoned you for that. Charles. Tis I will speak: you ever hated me, I bore it,—have insulted me, borne too— Now you insult yourself, and I remember What I believed you, what you really are, And cannot bear it. What! My life has passed Under your eye, tormented as you know,— Your whole sagacities, one after one, At leisure brought to play on me—to prove me A fool, I thought, and I submitted; now Youd prove . . . what would you prove me? Victor. This to me? I hardly know you! Charles. Know me? Oh, indeed You do not! Wait till I complain next time Of my simplicity!—for heres a sage— Knows the world well—is not to be deceived— And his experience, and his Macchiavels, His DOrmeas, teach him—what?—that I, this while, Have envied him his crown! He has not smiled, I warrant,—has not eaten, drunk, nor slept, For I was plotting with my Princess yonder! Who knows what we might do, or might not do? Go, now—be politic—astound the world!— That sentry in the antechamber . . nay, The varlet who disposed this precious trap [Pointing to the crown] That was to take me—ask them if they think Their own sons envy them their posts!—Know me! Victor. But you know me, it seems; so learn in brief My pleasure. This assembly is convened . . . Charles. Tell me, that women put it in your head— You were not sole contriver of the scheme, My father! Victor. Now observe me, sir! I jest Seldom—on these points, never. Here, I say, The Knights assemble to see me concede, And you accept, Sardinias crown. Charles. Farewell! Twere vain to hope to change this—I can end it. Not that I cease from being yours, when sunk Into obscurity. Ill die for you, But not annoy you with my presence—Sire, Farewell! Farewell! [Enter DOrmea.] DOrmea. [Aside.] Ha, sure hes changed again— Means not to fall into the cunning trap— Then, Victor, I shall yet escape you, Victor! Victor. [Suddenly placing the crown upon the head of Charles.] DOrmea, your King! [To Charles.] My son, obey me. Charles, Your father, clearer-sighted than yourself, Decides it must be so. Faith, this looks real! My reasons after—reason upon reason After—but now, obey me! Trust in me! By this, you save Sardinia, you save me! Why the boy swoons! [To DOrmea.] Come this side! DOrmea. [as Charles turns from him to Victor.] You persist? Victor. Yes—I conceive the gestures meaning. Faith, He almost seems to hate you—how is that? Be reassured, my Charles! Ist over now? Then, Marquis, tell the new King what remains To do! A moments work. Del Borgo reads The Act of Abdication out, you sign it, Then I sign; after that, come back to me. DOrmea. Sire, for the last time, pause! Victor. Five minutes longer I am your sovereign, Marquis. Hesitate— And Ill so turn those minutes to account That . . . Ay, you recollect me! [Aside.] Could I bring My foolish mind to undergo the reading That Act of Abdication! [As Charles motions Dormea to precede him.] Thanks, dear Charles! [Charles and DOrmea retire.] Victor. A novel feature in the boy,—indeed Just what I feared he wanted most. Quite right, This earnest tone—your truth, now, for effect! It answers every purpose: with that look, That voice,—I hear him: I began no treaty, (He speaks to Spain,) Nor ever dreamed of this You show me; this I from my soul regret; But if my father signed it, bid not me Dishonour him—who gave me all, beside. And, truth, says Spain, twere harsh to visit that Upon the Prince. Then come the nobles trooping: I grieve at these exactions—I had cut This hand off ere impose them; but shall I Undo my fathers deed?—And they confer: Doubtless he was no party, after all; Give the Prince time!— Ay, give us time—but time! Only, he must not, when the dark day comes, Refer our friends to me and frustrate all. Well have no childs play, no desponding-fits, No Charles at each cross turn entreating Victor To take his crown again. Guard against that! [Enter DOrmea.] Long live King Charles!— No—Charless counsellor! Well, is it over, Marquis? Did I jest? DOrmea. King Charles! What then may you be? Victor. Any thing! A country gentleman thats cured of bustle, And beats a quick retreat toward Chambery To hunt and hawk, and leave you noisy folk To drive your trade without him. Im Count Remont— Count Tende—any little places Count! DOrmea. Then, Victor, Captain against Catinat, At Staffarde, where the French beat you; and Duke At Turin, where you beat the French; King, late, Of Savoy, Piedmont, Montferrat, Sardinia, —Now, any little places Count— Victor. Proceed! DOrmea. Breaker of vows to God, who crowned you first; Breaker of vows to Man, who kept you since; Most profligate to me, who outraged God And Man to serve you, and am made pay crimes I was but privy to, by passing thus To your imbecile son—who, well you know, Must, (when the people here, and nations there, Clamour for you, the main delinquent, slipt From King to—Count of any little place) —Surrender me, all left within his reach,— I, sir, forgive you: for I see the end— See you on your return (you will return) To him you trust in for the moment. . . Victor. How? Trust in him? (merely a prime-minister This DOrmea!) How trust in him? DOrmea. In his fear— His love,—but pray discover for yourself What you are weakest, trusting in! Victor. Aha, My DOrmea, not a shrewder scheme than this In your repertory? You know old Victor— Vain, choleric, inconstant, rash—(Ive heard Talkers who little thought the King so close) Felicitous, now, weret not, to provoke him To clean forget, one minute afterward, His solemn act—to call the nobles back And pray them give again the very power He has abjured!—for the dear sake of—what? Vengeance on you! No, DOrmea: such am I, Count Tende or Count any thing you please, —Only, the same that did the things you say, And, among other things you say not, used Your finest fibre, meanest muscle,—you I used, and now, since you will have it so, Leave to your fate—mere lumber in the midst, You and your works—Why, what on earth beside Are you made for, you sort of ministers? DOrmea. Not left, though, to my fate! Your witless son Has more wit than to load himself with lumber: He foils you that way, and I follow you. Victor. Stay with my son—protect the weaker side! DOrmea. Ay, be tossed to the people like a rag, And flung by them to Spain and Austria—so Abolishing the record of your part In all this perfidy! Victor. Prevent, beside, My own return! DOrmea. Thats half prevented now! Twill go hard but youll find a wondrous charm In exile to discredit me. The Alps— Silk-mills to watch—vines asking vigilance— Hounds open for the stag—your hawks a-wing— Brave days that wait the Louis of the South, Italys Janus! Victor. So, the lawyers clerk Wont tell me that I shall repent! DOrmea. You give me Full leave to ask if you repent? Victor. Wheneer, Sufficient times elapsed for that, you judge! [Shouts inside: King Charles.] DOrmea. Do you repent? Victor. [After a slight pause.] . . . Ive kept them waiting? Yes! Come in—complete the Abdication, sir! [They go out. Enter Polyxena.] Polyxena. A shout? The sycophants are free of Charles! Oh, is not this like Italy? No fruit Of his or my distempered fancy, this— But just an ordinary fact! Beside, Here theyve set forms for such proceedings—Victor Imprisoned his own mother—he should know, If any, how a sons to be deprived Of a sons right. Our dutys palpable. Neer was my husband for the wily king And the unworthy subjects—be it so! Come you safe out of them, my Charles! Our life Grows not the broad and dazzling life, I dreamed Might prove your lot—for strength was shut in you None guessed but I—strength which, untrammelled once, Had little shamed your vaunted ancestry— Patience and self-devotion, fortitude, Simplicity and utter truthfulness —All which, they shout to lose! So, now my work Begins—to save him from regret. Save Charles Regret?—the noble nature! Hes not made Like the Italians: tis a German soul. [Charles enters crowned.] Oh, wheres the Kings heir? Gone:—the Crown-prince? Gone— Wheres Savoy? Gone:—Sardinia? Gone!—But Charles Is left! And when my Rhine-land bowers arrive, If he looked almost handsome yester-twilight As his gray eyes seemed widening into black Because I praised him, then how will he look? Farewell, you stripped and whited mulberry-trees Bound each to each by lazy ropes of vine! Now Ill teach you my language—Im not forced To speak Italian now, Charles? [She sees the crown.] What is this? Answer me—who has done this? Answer! Charles. He! I am King now. Polyxena. Oh worst, worst, worst of all! Tell me—what, Victor? He has made you King? Whats he then? Whats to follow this? You, King? Charles. Have I done wrong? Yes—for you were not by! Polyxena. Tell me from first to last. Charles. Hush—a new world Brightens before me; he is moved away —The dark form that eclipsed it, he subsides Into a shape supporting me like you, And I, alone, tend upward, more and more Tend upward: I am grown Sardinias King. Polyxena. Now stop: was not this Victor, Duke of Savoy At ten years old? Charles. He was. Polyxena. And the Duke spent Since then, just four-and-fifty years in toil To be—what? Charles. King. Polyxena. Then why unking himself? Charles. Those years are cause enough. Polyxena. The only cause? Charles. Some new perplexities. Polyxena. Which you can solve, Although he cannot? Charles. He assures me so. Polyxena. And this he means shall last—how long? Charles. How long? Think you I fear the perils I confront? Hes praising me before the peoples face— My people! Polyxena. Then hes changed—grown kind, the King? (Where can the trap be?) Charles. Heart and soul I pledge! My father, could I guard the Crown you gained, Transmit as I received it,—all good else Would I surrender! Polyxena. Ah, it opens then Before you—all you dreaded formerly? You are rejoiced to be a king, my Charles? Charles. So much to dare? The better;—much to dread? The better. Ill adventure tho alone. Triumph or die, theres Victor still to witness Who dies or triumphs—either way, alone! Polyxena. Once I had found my share in triumph, Charles, Or death. Charles. But you are I! But you I call To take, Heavens proxy, vows I tendered Heaven A moment since. I will deserve the crown! Polyxena. You will. [Aside.] No doubt it were a glorious thing For any people, if a heart like his Ruled over it. I would I saw the trap! [Enter Victor.] Tis he must show me. Victor. So the mask falls off An old mans foolish love at last! Spare thanks— I know you, and Polyxena I know. Heres Charles—I am his guest now—does he bid me Be seated? And my light-haired, blue-eyed child Must not forget the old man far away At Chambery, who dozes while she reigns. Polyxena. Most grateful shall we now be, talking least. Of gratitude—indeed of any thing That hinders what yourself must have to say To Charles. Charles. Pray speak, Sire! Victor. Faith, not much to say— Only what shows itself, once in the point Of sight. You are now the King: youll comprehend Much you may oft have wondered at—the shifts, Dissimulation, willingness I showed. For whats our post? Heres Savoy and heres Piedmont, Heres Montferrat—a breadth here, a space there— To oersweep all these, whats one weapon worth? I often think of how they fought in Greece (Or Rome, which was it? Youre the scholar, Charles!) You made a front-thrust? But if your shield, too, Were not adroitly planted—some shrewd knave Reached you behind; and, him foiled, straight if thong And handle of that shield were not cast loose, And you enabled to outstrip the wind, Fresh foes assailed you, either side; scape these, And reach your place of refuge—een then, odds If the gate opened unless breath enough Was left in you to make its lord a speech. Oh, you will see! Charles. No: straight on shall I go, Truth helping; win with it or die with it. Victor. Faith, Charles, youre not made Europes fighting-man! Its barrier-guarder, if you please. You hold, Not take—consolidate, with envious French This side, with Austrians that, these territories I held—ay, and will hold . . . which you shall hold Despite the couple! But Ive surely earned Exemption from these weary politics, —The privilege to prattle with my son And daughter here, tho Europe waits the while. Polyxena. Nay, Sire,—at Chambery, away forever, As soon youll be, tis a farewell we bid you! Turn these few fleeting moments to account! Tis just as though it were a death. Victor. Indeed! Polyxena. [Aside.] Is the trap there? Charles. Ay, call this parting—death! The sacreder your memory becomes. If I misrule Sardinia, how bring back My father? No—that thought shall ever urge me. Victor. I do not mean . . . Polyxena. [who watches Victor narrowly this while.] Your father does not mean That you are ruling for your fathers sake: It is your people must concern you wholly Instead of him. You meant this, Sire? (He drops My hand!) Charles. That People is now part of me. Victor. About the People! I took certain measures Some short time since . . Oh, Im aware you know But little of my measures—these affect The nobles—weve resumed some grants, imposed A tax or two; prepare yourself, in short, For clamours on that score: mark me: you yield No jot of whats intrusted you! Polyxena. No jot You yield! Charles. My father, when I took the oath, Although my eye might stray in search of yours, I heard it, understood it, promised God What you require. Till from this eminence He moves me, here I keep, nor shall concede The meanest of my rights. Victor. [Aside.] The boys a fool! —Or rather, Im a fool: for, whats wrong here? To-day the sweets of reigning—let to-morrow Be ready with its bitters. [Enter DOrmea.] Theres beside Somewhat to press upon your notice first. Charles. Then why delay it for an instant, Sire? That Spanish claim, perchance? And, now you speak, —This morning, my opinion was mature— Which, boy-like, I was bashful in producing To one, I neer am like to fear, in future! My thought is formed upon that Spanish claim. Victor. (Betimes, indeed.) Not now, Charles. You require A host of papers on it— DOrmea. [coming forward.] Here they are. [To Charles.] I was the minister and much beside— Of the late monarch: to say little, him I served; on you I have, to say een less, No claim. This case contains those papers: with them I tender you my office. Victor. [hastily.] Keep him, Charles! Theres reason for it—many reasons: you Distrust him, nor are so far wrong there,—but Hes mixed up in this matter—hell desire To quit you, for occasions known to me: Do not accept those, reasons—have him stay! Polyxena. [Aside.] His minister thrust on us! Charles. [to DOrmea.] Sir, believe, In justice to myself, you do not need Een this commending: whatsoer might be My feelings toward you as a private man, They quit me in the vast and untried field Of action. Though I shall, myself, (as late In your own hearing I engaged to do) Preside oer my Sardinia, yet your help Is necessary. Think the past forgotten, And serve me now! DOrmea. I did not offer you My services—would I could serve you, Sire! As for the Spanish matter . . . Victor. But despatch At least the dead, in my good daughters phrase, Before the living! Help to house me safe Ere you and DOrmea set the world a-gape! Here is a paper—will you overlook What I propose reserving for my needs? I get as far from you as possible. Theres what I reckon my expenditure. Charles. [reading.] A miserable fifty thousand crowns! Victor. Oh, quite enough for country gentlemen! Beside the exchequer happens . . . but find out All that, yourself! Charles. [still reading.] Count Tende—what means this? Victor. Me: you were but an infant when I burst Through the defile of Tende upon France. Had only my allies kept true to me! No matter. Tendes then, a name I take Just as . . , DOrmea. —The Marchioness Sebastian takes The name of Spigno. Charles. How, sir? Victor. [to DOrmea.] Fool! All that Was for my own detailing. [To Charles.] That anon! Charles. [to DOrmea.] Explain what you have said, sir! DOrmea. I supposed The marriage of the King to her I named, Profoundly kept a secret these few weeks, Was not to be one, now hes Count. Polyxena. [Aside.] With us The minister—with him the mistress! Charles. [to Victor.] No— Tell me you have not taken her—that woman To live with, past recall! Victor, And wheres the crime . . . Polyxena. [to Charles.] True, sir, this is a matter past recall, And past your cognizance. A day before, And you had been compelled to note this—now Why note it? The King saved his House from shame: What the Count does, is no concern of yours. Charles. [after a pause.] The Spanish business, DOrmea! Victor. Why, my son, I took some ill-advised . . . ones age, in fact, Spoils every thing: though I was overreached, A younger brain, well trust, may extricate Sardinia readily. To-morrow, DOrmea, Inform the King! DOrmea. [without regarding Victor, and leisurely.] Thus stands the case with Spain: When first the Infant Carlos claimed his proper Succession to the throne of Tuscany . . . Victor. I tell you, that stands over! Let that rest! There is the policy! Charles. [to DOrmea.] Thus much I know, And more—too much: the remedy? DOrmea. Of course! No glimpse of one— Victor. No remedy at all! It makes the remedy itself—time makes it. DOrmea. [to Charles.] But if... Victor. [still more hastily.] In fine, I shall take care of that— And, with another project that I have . . . DOrmea. [turning on him.] Oh, since Count Tende means to take again King Victors crown!— Polyxena. [throwing herself at Victors feet.] Een now retake it, Sire! Oh, speak! We are your subjects both, once more! Say it—a word effects it! You meant not, Nor do mean now, to take it—but you must! Tis in you—in your nature—and the shames Not half the shame twould grow to afterward! Charles. Polyxena! Polyxena. A word recalls the Knights— Say it!—Whats promising and whats the past? Say you are still King Victor! DOrmea. Better say The Count repents, in brief! [Victor rises.] Charles. With such a crime I have not charged you, Sire! Polyxena. Charles turns from me! TO BE CONTINUED
Posted on: Tue, 15 Oct 2013 18:45:49 +0000
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