 | Richelieu ; Or The Conspiracy |  |
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ACT I.
First Day.
SCENE I.
A room in the house of Marion de Lorme; a table towards the front of the stage (with wine, fruits, &c.), at which are seated Baradas, Four Courtiers, splendidly dressed in the costume of 1641–2;—the Duke of Orleans reclining on a large fauteuil;—Marion de Lorme, standing at the back of his chair, offers him a goblet, and then retires. At another table, De Beringhen, De Mauprat, playing at dice; other Courtiers, of inferior rank to those at the table of the Duke, looking on.ORLEANS
(drinking).
Here's to our enterprise!—
BARADAS
(glancing at Marion).
Hush, Sir!—
ORLEANS
(aside).
Nay, Count,
You may trust her; she doats on me; no house
So safe as Marion's. At our statelier homes
The very walls do play the eaves-dropper.
There's not a sunbeam creeping o'er our floors
But seems a glance from that malignant eye
Which reigns o'er France; our fatal greatness lives
In the sharp glare of one relentless day.
But Richelieu's self forgets to fear the sword
The myrtle hides; and Marion's silken robe
Casts its kind charity o'er fiercer sins
Than those which haunt the rosy path between
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So safe as Marion's.
BARADAS.
Still, we have a secret,
And oil and water—woman and a secret—
Are hostile properties.
ORLEANS.
Well—Marion, see
How the play prospers yonder.
Marion goes to the next table, looks on for a few moments, then Exit.
Baradas
(producing a parchment).
I have now
All the conditions drawn; it only needs
Our signatures: upon receipt of this,
(Whereto is joined the schedule of our treaty
With the Count-Duke, the Richelieu of the Escurial,)
Bouillon will join his army with the Spaniard,
March on to Paris,—there, dethrone the King:
You will be Regent; I, and ye, my Lords,
Form the new Council. So much for the core
Of our great scheme.
ORLEANS.
But Richelieu is an Argus;
One of his hundred eyes will light upon us,
And then—good bye to life.
BARADAS.
To gain the prize
We must destroy the Argus:—ay, my Lords,
The scroll the core, but blood must fill the veins,
Of our design;—while this despatched to Bouillon,
Richelieu despatched to Heaven!—The last my charge!
Meet here to-morrow night. You, Sir, as first
In honour and in hope, meanwhile select
Some trusty knave to bear the scroll to Bouillon;
Midst Richelieu's foes I'll find some desperate hand
To strike for vengeance, while we stride to power.
ORLEANS.
So be it;—to-morrow, midnight.—Come, my Lords.
Exeunt Orleans, and the Courtiers in his train. Those at the other table rise, salute Orleans, and re-seat themselves.
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Double the stakes.
DE MAUPRAT.
Done.
DE BERINGHEN.
Bravo; faith it shames me
To bleed a purse already in extremis.
DE MAUPRAT.
Nay, as you've had the patient to yourself
So long, no other doctor should despatch it.
De Mauprat throws and loses.
OMNES.
Lost! Ha, ha—poor De Mauprat!
DE BERINGHEN.
One throw more?
DE MAUPRAT.
No; I am bankrupt (pushing gold)
. There goes all—except
My honour and my sword. (They rise.)
DE BERINGHEN.
Long cloaks and honour
Went out of vogue together, when we found
We got on much more rapidly without them;
The sword, indeed, is never out of fashion,—
The devil has care of that.
First gamester.
Ay, take the sword
To Cardinal Richelieu:—he gives gold for steel,
When worn by brave men.
DE MAUPRAT.
Richelieu!
DE BERINGHEN
(to Baradas).
At that name
He changes colour, bites his nether lip.
Ev'n in his brightest moments whisper “Richelieu,”
And you cloud all his sunshine.
BARADAS.
I have mark'd it,
And I will learn the wherefore.
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The Egyptian
Dissolved her richest jewel in a draught:
Would I could so melt time and all its treasures,
And drain it thus (drinking)
.
DE BERINGHEN.
Come, gentlemen, what say ye,
A walk on the Parade?
OMNES.
Ay; come, De Mauprat.
DE MAUPRAT.
Pardon me; we shall meet again ere nightfall.
BARADAS.
I'll stay and comfort Mauprat.
DE BERINGHEN.
Comfort!—when
We gallant fellows have run out a friend
There's nothing left—except to run him through!
There's the last act of friendship.
DE MAUPRAT.
Let me keep
That favour in reserve; in all beside
Your most obedient servant.
Exeunt De Beringhen, &c. Manent De Mauprat and Baradas.
BARADAS.
You have lost—
Yet are not sad.
DE MAUPRAT.
Sad!—Life and gold have wings,
And must fly one day:—open, then, their cages
And wish them merry.
BARADAS.
You're a strange enigma:—
Fiery in war—and yet to glory lukewarm;—
All mirth in action—in repose all gloom—
These are extremes in which the unconscious heart
Betrays the fever of deep-fix'd disease.
Confide in me! our young days roll'd together
In the same river, glassing the same stars
That smile i'the heaven of hope;—alike we made
Bright-winged steeds of our unform'd chimeras,
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Wherein we shaped fair castles from the cloud.
Fortune of late has sever'd us—and led
Me to the rank of Courtier, Count, and Favourite,—
You to the titles of the wildest gallant
And bravest knight in France;—are you content?
No;—trust in me—some gloomy secret—
DE MAUPRAT.
Ay:—
A secret that doth haunt me, as, of old,
Men were possess'd of fiends!—Where'er I turn,
The grave yawns dark before me!—I will trust you;—
Hating the Cardinal, and beguiled by Orleans,
You know I join'd the Languedoc revolt—
Was captured—sent to the Bastile—
BARADAS.
But shared
The general pardon, which the Duke of Orleans
Won for himself and all in the revolt,
Who but obey'd his orders.
DE MAUPRAT.
Note the phrase;—
“Obey'd his orders.” Well, when on my way
To join the Duke in Languedoc, I (then
The down upon my lip—less man than boy)
Leading young valours—reckless as myself,
Seized on the town of Faviaux, and displaced
The Royal banners for the Rebel. Orleans,
(Never too daring,) when I reach'd the camp,
Blamed me for acting—mark—without his orders:
Upon this quibble Richelieu razed my name
Out of the general pardon.
BARADAS.
Yet released you
From the Bastile—
DE MAUPRAT.
To call me to his presence,
And thus address me:—“You have seized a town
Of France, without the orders of your leader,
And for this treason, but one sentence—Death.”
BARADAS.
Death!
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“I have pity on your youth and birth,
Nor wish to glut the headsman;—join your troop,
Now on the march against the Spaniards;—change
The traitor's scaffold for the soldier's grave;—
Your memory stainless—they who shared your crime
Exil'd or dead—your king shall never learn it.”
BARADAS.
O tender pity!—O most charming prospect!
Blown into atoms by a bomb, or drill'd
Into a cullender by gunshot!—Well?—
DE MAUPRAT.
You have heard if I fought bravely.—Death became
Desired as Daphne by the eager Daygod.
Like him I chas'd the nymph—to grasp the laurel!
I could not die!
BARADAS.
Poor fellow!
DE MAUPRAT.
When the Cardinal
Review'd the troops—his eye met mine;—he frown'd,
Summon'd me forth—“How's this?” quoth he; “you have shunn'd
The sword—beware the axe!—'twill fall one day!”
He left me thus—we were recall'd to Paris,
And—you know all!
BARADAS.
And, knowing this, why halt you,
Spell'd by the rattle-snake,—while in the breasts
Of your firm friends beat hearts, that vow the death
Of your grim tyrant?—Wake!—Be one of us;
The time invites—the King detests the Cardinal,
Dares not disgrace—but groans to be deliver'd
Of that too great a subject—join your friends,
Free France, and save yourself.
DE MAUPRAT.
Hush! Richelieu bears
A charmed life:—to all, who have braved his power,
One common end—the block.
BARADAS.
Nay, if he live,
The block your doom;—
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Better the victim, Count,
Than the assassin.—France requires a Richelieu,
But does not need a Mauprat. Truce to this;—
All time one midnight, where my thoughts are spectres.
What to me fame?—What love?—
BARADAS.
Yet dost thou love not?
DE MAUPRAT.
Love?—I am young—
BARADAS.
And Julie fair! (Aside)
It is so,
Upon the margin of the grave—his hand
Would pluck the rose that I would win and wear!
(Aloud)
Thou lovest—
DE MAUPRAT.
Who, lonely in the midnight tent,
Gazed on the watch-fires in the sleepless air,
Nor chose one star amidst the clustering hosts
To bless it in the name of some fair face
Set in his spirit, as that star in Heaven?
For our divine Affections, like the Spheres,
Move ever, ever musical.
BARADAS.
You speak
As one who fed on poetry.
DE MAUPRAT.
Why, man,
The thoughts of lovers stir with poetry
As leaves with summer-wind.—The heart that loves
Dwells in an Eden, hearing angel-lutes,
As Eve in the First Garden. Hast thou seen
My Julie, and not felt it henceforth dull
To live in the common world—and talk in words
That clothe the feelings of the frigid herd?—
Upon the perfumed pillow of her lips—
As on his native bed of roses flush'd
With Paphian skies—Love smiling sleeps:—Her voice
The blest interpreter of thoughts as pure
As virgin wells where Dian takes delight,
Or Fairies dip their changelings!—In the maze
Of her harmonious beauties—Modesty
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Of her sweet sisters) every airy motion
Attunes to such chaste charm, that Passion holds
His burning breath, and will not with a sigh
Dissolve the spell that binds him!—Oh those eyes
That woo the earth—shadowing more soul than lurks
Under the lids of Psyche!—Go!—thy lip
Curls at the purfled phrases of a lover—
Love thou, and if thy love be deep as mine,
Thou wilt not laugh at poets.
BARADAS
(aside).
With each word
Thou wak'st a jealous demon in my heart,
And my hand clutches at my hilt—
DE MAUPRAT
(gaily).
No more!—
I love!—Your breast holds both my secrets;—Never
Unbury either!—Come, while yet we may,
We'll bask us in the noon of rosy life:—
Lounge through the gardens,—flaunt it in the taverns,—
Laugh,—game,—drink,—feast:—If so confined my days,
Faith, I'll enclose the nights.—Pshaw! not so grave;
I'm a true Frenchman!—Vive la bagatelle!
(As they are going out, Enter Huguet, and four arquebusiers.)
HUGUET.
Messire De Mauprat,—I arrest you!—Follow
To the Lord Cardinal.
DE MAUPRAT.
You see, my friend,
I'm out of my suspense!—the tiger's play'd
Long enough with his prey.—Farewell!—Hereafter
Say, when men name me, “Adrien de Mauprat
Lived without hope, and perished without fear!”
[Exeunt De Mauprat, Huguet, &c.
BARADAS.
Farewell!—I trust for ever! I design'd thee
For Richelieu's murderer—but, as well his martyr!
In childhood you the stronger—and I cursed you;
In youth the fairer—and I cursed you still;
And now my rival!—While the name of Julie
Hung on thy lips—I smiled—for then I saw
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Hang o'er thy head the pall!—Ambition, Love,
Ye twin-born stars of daring destinies,
Sit in my house of Life!—By the King's aid
I will be Julie's husband—in despite
Of my Lord Cardinal—By the King's aid
I will be minister of France—in spite
Of my Lord Cardinal;—and then—what then?
The King loves Julie—feeble Prince—false master—
(Producing and gazing on the parchment.)
Then, by the aid of Bouillon, and the Spaniard,
I will dethrone the King; and all—ha!—ha!—
All, in despite of my Lord Cardinal.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
A room in the Palais Cardinal, the walls hung with arras. A large screen in one corner. A table covered with books, papers, &c. A rude clock in a recess. Busts, statues, bookcases, weapons of different periods, and banners suspended over Richelieu's chair.Richelieu.—Joseph.
RICHELIEU.
And so you think this new conspiracy
The craftiest trap yet laid for the old fox?—
Fox!—Well, I like the nickname! What did Plutarch
Say of the Greek Lysander?
JOSEPH.
I forget.
RICHELIEU.
That where the lion's skin fell short, he eked it
Out with the fox's! A great statesman, Joseph,
That same Lysander!
JOSEPH.
Orleans heads the traitors.
RICHELIEU.
A very wooden head then! Well?
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The favourite,
Count Baradas—
RICHELIEU.
A weed of hasty growth;
First gentleman of the chamber—titles, lands,
And the King's ear!—it cost me six long winters
To mount as high, as in six little moons
This painted lizard—But I hold the ladder,
And when I shake—he falls! What more?
JOSEPH.
A scheme
To make your orphan-ward an instrument
To aid your foes. You placed her with the Queen,
One of the royal chamber,—as a watch
I'th'enemy's quarters—
RICHELIEU.
And the silly child
Visits me daily,—calls me “Father,”—prays
Kind heaven to bless me—And for all the rest,
As well have placed a doll about the Queen!
She does not heed who frowns—who smiles; with whom
The King confers in whispers; notes not when
Men who last week were foes, are found in corners
Mysteriously affectionate; words spoken
Within closed doors she never hears;—by chance
Taking the air at keyholes—Senseless puppet!
No ears—nor eyes!—and yet she says—“She loves me!”
Go on—
JOSEPH.
Your ward has charm'd the King—
RICHELIEU.
Out on you!
Have I not, one by one, from such fair shoots
Pluck'd the insidious ivy of his love?
And shall it creep around my blossoming tree
Where innocent thoughts, like happy birds, make music
That spirits in Heaven might hear?—They're sinful too,
Those passionate surfeits of the rampant flesh,
The Church condemns them; and to us, my Joseph,
The props and pillars of the Church, most hurtful.
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Must rule the King; the lady loves another,
The other rules the lady—thus we're balked
Of our own proper sway—The King must have
No goddess but the State:—the State—That's Richelieu!
JOSEPH.
This not the worst;—Louis, in all decorous,
And deeming you her least compliant guardian,
Would veil his suit by marriage with his minion,
Your prosperous foe, Count Baradas!
RICHELIEU.
Ha! ha!
I have another bride for Baradas.
JOSEPH.
You, my Lord?
RICHELIEU.
Ay—more faithful than the love
Of fickle woman:—when the head lies lowliest,
Clasping him fondest;—Sorrow never knew
So sure a soother,—and her bed is stainless!
JOSEPH
(aside).
If of the grave he speaks, I do not wonder
That priests are bachelors!
Enter François.
FRANÇOIS.
Mademoiselle De Mortemar.
RICHELIEU.
Most opportune—admit her.
[Exit François.
In my closet
You'll find a rosary, Joseph; ere you tell
Three hundred beads, I'll summon you.—Stay, Joseph;—
I did omit an Ave in my matins,—
A grievous fault;—atone it for me, Joseph;
There is a scourge within; I am weak, you strong,
It were but charity to take my sin
On such broad shoulders. Exercise is healthful.
JOSEPH.
I! guilty of such criminal presumption
As to mistake myself for you—No, never!
Think it not!— (Aside)
Troth, a pleasant invitation!
[Exit Joseph.
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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?”
RICHELIEU.
Now and ever!
JULIE.
Father!
A sweet word to an orphan.
RICHELIEU.
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 bequeath'd thee to me;
And thou shalt have a dowry, girl, to buy
Thy mate amidst the mightiest. Drooping?—sighs?—
Art thou not happy at the court?
JULIE.
Not often.
RICHELIEU
(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 smooth'd the brows of Saul?—
JULIE.
He's very tiresome,
Our worthy King.
RICHELIEU.
Fie; kings are never tiresome,
Save to their ministers.—What courtly gallants
Charm ladies most?—De Sourdiac, Longueville, or
The favourite Baradas?
JULIE.
A smileless man—
I fear, and shun him.
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Yet he courts thee?
JULIE.
Then
He is more tiresome than his Majesty.
RICHELIEU.
Right, girl, shun Baradas.—Yet of these flowers
Of France, not one, in whose more honied breath
Thy heart hears Summer whisper?
Enter Huguet.
HUGUET.
The Chevalier
De Mauprat waits below.
JULIE
(starting up).
De Mauprat!
RICHELIEU.
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?
RICHELIEU.
Well!—and you—
Has he address'd 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.
RICHELIEU.
A bold and forward royster?
JULIE.
He?—nay, modest,
Gentle, and sad methinks.
RICHELIEU.
Wears gold and azure?
JULIE.
No; sable.
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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.
RICHELIEU.
No cause—you hate my foes?
JULIE.
I do!
RICHELIEU.
Hate Mauprat?
JULIE.
Not Mauprat. No, not Adrien, father.
RICHELIEU.
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—
RICHELIEU
(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.
RICHELIEU.
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.
RICHELIEU
(ringing a small bell on the table.)
Huguet!
Enter Huguet.
De Mauprat struggled not, nor murmur'd?
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No; proud and passive.
RICHELIEU.
Bid him enter.—Hold:
Look that he hide no weapon. Humph, despair
Makes victims sometimes victors. When he has enter'd,
Glide round unseen;—place thyself yonder (pointing to the screen)
; watch him;
If he show violence—(let me see thy carbine;
So, a good weapon;)—if he play the lion,
Why—the dog's death.
HUGUET.
I never miss my mark.
Exit Huguet; Richelieu seats himself at the table, and slowly arranges the papers before him. Enter De Mauprat, preceded by Huguet, who then retires behind the screen.
RICHELIEU.
Approach, Sir.—Can you call to mind the hour,
Now three years since, when in this room, methinks,
Your presence honour'd me?
DE MAUPRAT.
It is, my Lord,
One of my most—
RICHELIEU
(drily).
Delightful recollections.
DE MAUPRAT
(aside).
St. Denis! doth he make a jest of axe
And headsman?
RICHELIEU
(sternly).
I did then accord you
A mercy ill requited—you still live?
DE MAUPRAT.
To meet death face to face at last.
RICHELIEU.
Your words
Are bold.
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My deeds have not belied them.
RICHELIEU.
Deeds!
O miserable delusion of man's pride!
Deeds! cities sack'd, fields ravaged, hearths profaned,
Men butcher'd! In your hour of doom behold
The deeds you boast of! From rank showers of blood,
And the red light of blazing roofs, you build
The Rainbow Glory, and to shuddering Conscience
Cry,—Lo, the Bridge to Heaven!
DE MAUPRAT.
If war be sinful,
Your hand the gauntlet cast.
RICHELIEU.
It was so, Sir.
Note the distinction:—I weigh'd well the cause
Which made the standard holy; raised the war
But to secure the peace. France bled—I groan'd;
But look'd beyond; and, in the vista, saw
France saved, and I exulted. You—but you
Were but the tool of slaughter—knowing nought,
Foreseeing nought, nought hoping, nought lamenting,
And for nought fit,—save cutting throats for hire.
Deeds, marry, deeds!
DE MAUPRAT.
If you would deign to speak
Thus to your armies ere they march to battle,
Perchance your Eminence might have the pain
Of the throat-cutting to yourself.
RICHELIEU
(aside).
He has wit,
This Mauprat— (Aloud)
—Let it pass; there is against you
What you can less excuse. Messire de Mauprat,
Doom'd to sure death, how hast thou since consumed
The time allotted thee for serious thought
And solemn penitence?
DE MAUPRAT
(embarrassed).
The time, my Lord?
RICHELIEU.
Is not the question plain? I'll answer for thee.
Thou hast sought nor priest nor shrine; no sackcloth chafed
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Have not, with pious meditation, purged
Earth from the carnal gaze. What thou hast not done
Brief told; what done, a volume! Wild debauch,
Turbulent riot:—for the morn the dice-box—
Noon claim'd the duel—and the night the wassail;
These, your most holy, pure preparatives
For death and judgment. Do I wrong you, Sir?
DE MAUPRAT.
I was not always thus:—if changed my nature,
Blame that, which changed my fate.—Alas, my Lord,
There is a brotherhood which calm-eyed Reason
Can wot not of betwixt Despair and Mirth.
My birth-place mid the vines of sunny Provence,
Perchance the stream that sparkles in my veins
Came from that wine of passionate life which, erst,
Glow'd in the wild heart of the Troubadour:
And danger, which makes steadier courage wary,
But fevers me with an insane delight;
As one of old who on the mountain-crags
Caught madness from a Mænad's haunting eyes.
Were you, my Lord,—whose path imperial power,
And the grave cares of reverent wisdom guard
From all that tempts to folly meaner men,—
Were you accursed with that which you inflicted—
By bed and board, dogg'd by one ghastly spectre—
The while within you youth beat high, and life
Grew lovelier from the neighbouring frown of death—
The heart no bud, nor fruit—save in those seeds
Most worthless, which spring up, bloom, bear, and wither
In the same hour—Were this your fate, perchance,
You would have err'd like me!
RICHELIEU.
I might, like you,
Have been a brawler and a reveller;—not,
Like you, a trickster and a thief.—
DE MAUPRAT
(advancing threateningly).
Lord Cardinal!—
Unsay those words!—
(Huguet deliberately raises the carbine).
RICHELIEU
(waving his hand).
Not quite so quick, friend Huguet;
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And he can wait!—
You have outrun your fortune;—
I blame you not, that you would be a beggar—
Each to his taste!—But I do charge you, Sir,
That, being beggar'd, you would coin false monies
Out of that crucible, called DEBT.—To live
On means not yours—be brave in silks and laces,
Gallant in steeds—splendid in banquets;—all
Not yours—ungiven—unherited—unpaid for;—
This is to be a trickster; and to filch
Men's art and labour, which to them is wealth,
Life, daily bread,—quitting all scores with—“Friend,
You're troublesome!”—Why this, forgive me,
Is what—when done with a less dainty grace—
Plain folks call “Theft!”—You owe eight thousand pistoles,
Minus one crown, two liards!—
DE MAUPRAT
(aside).
The old conjuror!—
Sdeath, he'll inform me next how many cups
I drank at dinner!—
RICHELIEU.
This is scandalous,
Shaming your birth and blood.—I tell you, Sir,
That you must pay your debts.—
DE MAUPRAT.
With all my heart,
My Lord.—Where shall I borrow, then, the money?
RICHELIEU
(aside and laughing).
A humorous dare-devil!—The very man
To suit my purpose—ready, frank, and bold!
(Rising, and earnestly).
Adrien de Mauprat, men have called me cruel;—
I am not;—I am just!—I found France rent asunder,—
The rich men despots, and the poor banditti;—
Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple;
Brawls festering to Rebellion; and weak Laws
Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths.—
I have re-created France; and, from the ashes
Of the old feudal and decrepit carcase,
Civilization on her luminous wings
Soars, phœnix-like, to Jove!—What was my art?
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Not so;—my art was Justice!—Force and Fraud
Misname it cruelty—you shall confute them!
My champion YOU!—You met me as your foe,
Depart my friend—You shall not die.—France needs you.
You shall wipe off all stains,—be rich, be honour'd,
Be great.—
(De Mauprat falls on his knee—Richelieu raises him.)
I ask, Sir, in return, this hand,
To gift it with a bride, whose dower shall match,
Yet not exceed, her beauty.
DE MAUPRAT.
I, my Lord,— (hesitating)
I have no wish to marry.
RICHELIEU.
Surely, Sir,
To die were worse.
DE MAUPRAT.
Scarcely; the poorest coward
Must die,—but knowingly to march to marriage—
My Lord, it asks the courage of a lion!
RICHELIEU.
Traitor, thou triflest with me!—I know all!
Thou hast dared to love my ward—my charge.
DE MAUPRAT.
As rivers
May love the sunlight—basking in the beams,
And hurrying on!—
RICHELIEU.
Thou hast told her of thy love?
DE MAUPRAT.
My Lord, if I had dared to love a maid,
Lowliest in France, I would not so have wrong'd her,
As bid her link rich life and virgin hope
With one, the deathman's gripe might, from her side,
Pluck at the nuptial altar.
RICHELIEU.
I believe thee;
Yet since she knows not of thy love, renounce her;—
Take life and fortune with another!—Silent?
20
Your fate has been one triumph—You know not
How bless'd a thing it was in my dark hour
To nurse the one sweet thought you bid me banish.
Love hath no need of words;—nor less within
That holiest temple—the heaven-builded soul—
Breathes the recorded vow.—Base knight,—false lover
Were he, who barter'd all, that brighten'd grief,
Or sanctified despair, for life and gold.
Revoke your mercy;—I prefer the fate
I look'd for!
RICHELIEU.
Huguet! to the tapestry chamber
Conduct your prisoner.
(To Mauprat.)
You will there behold
The executioner:—your doom be private—
And Heaven have mercy on you!—
DE MAUPRAT.
When I'm dead,
Tell her, I loved her.
RICHELIEU.
Keep such follies, Sir,
For fitter ears;—go—
DE MAUPRAT.
Does he mock me?
Exeunt de Mauprat, Huguet.
RICHELIEU.
Joseph,
Come forth.
Enter Joseph.
Methinks your cheek hath lost its rubies;
I fear you have been too lavish of the flesh;
The scourge is heavy.
JOSEPH.
Pray you, change the subject.
RICHELIEU.
You good men are so modest!—Well, to business!
Go instantly—deeds—notaries!—bid my stewards
Arrange my house by the Luxembourg—my house
21
Who weds to-morrow.
JOSEPH.
Weds, with whom?
RICHELIEU.
De Mauprat.
JOSEPH.
Penniless husband!
RICHELIEU.
Bah! the mate for beauty
Should be a man, and not a money-chest!
When her brave sire lay on his bed of death,
I vow'd to be a father to his Julie:—
And so he died—the smile upon his lips!—
And when I spared the life of her young lover,
Methought I saw that smile again!—Who else,
Look you, in all the court—who else so well,
Brave, or supplant the favourite;—balk the King—
Baffle their schemes?—I have tried him:—He has honour
And courage;—qualities that eagle-plume
Men's souls,—and fit them for the fiercest sun,
Which ever melted the weak waxen minds
That flutter in the beams of gaudy Power!
Besides, he has taste, this Mauprat:—When my play
Was acted to dull tiers of lifeless gapers,
Who had no soul for poetry, I saw him
Applaud in the proper places: trust me, Joseph,
He is a man of an uncommon promise!
JOSEPH.
And yet your foe.
RICHELIEU.
Have I not foes enow?—
Great men gain doubly when they make foes friends.
22
All methods to conciliate.
JOSEPH.
Failing these?
RICHELIEU
(fiercely).
All means to crush: as with the opening, and
The clenching of this little hand, I will
Crush the small venom of these stinging courtiers.
So, so, we've baffled Baradas.
JOSEPH.
And when
Check the conspiracy?
RICHELIEU.
Check, check? Full way to it.
Let it bud, ripen, flaunt i'the day, and burst
To fruit,—the Dead Sea's fruit of ashes; ashes
Which I will scatter to the winds.
Go, Joseph;
When you return, I have a feast for you;
The last great act of my great play: the verses,
Methinks, are fine,—ah, very fine.—You write
Verses! — (aside)
such verses!—You have wit, discernment.
JOSEPH
(aside).
Worse than the scourge! Strange that so great a statesman
Should be so bad a poet.
RICHELIEU.
What dost say?
23
That it is strange so great a statesman should
Be so sublime a poet.
RICHELIEU.
Ah, you rogue;
Laws die, Books never. Of my ministry
I am not vain! but of my muse, I own it.
Come, you shall hear the verses now (Takes up a MS.).
JOSEPH.
My Lord,
The deeds, the notaries!
RICHELIEU.
True, I pity you;
But business first, then pleasure.
[Exit Joseph.
RICHELIEU
(seats himself and reading).
Ah, sublime!
Enter De Mauprat and Julie.
DE MAUPRAT.
Oh, speak, my Lord—I dare not think you mock me,
And yet—
RICHELIEU.
Hush—hush—This line must be consider'd!
JULIE.
Are we not both your children?
RICHELIEU.
What a couplet!—
How now! Oh! Sir—you live!
DE MAUPRAT.
Why, no, methinks,
Elysium is not life!
JULIE.
He smiles!—you smile,
My father! From my heart for ever, now,
I'll blot the name of orphan!
RICHELIEU.
Rise, my children,
For ye are mine—mine both;—and in your sweet
24
My own lost youth breathes musical!
DE MAUPRAT.
I'll seek
Temple and priest henceforward;—were it but
To learn Heaven's choicest blessings.
RICHELIEU.
Thou shalt seek
Temple and priest right soon; the morrow's sun
Shall see across these barren thresholds pass
The fairest bride in Paris.—Go, my children;
Even I loved once!—Be lovers while ye may!
How is it with you, Sir? You bear it bravely:
You know, it asks the courage of a lion.
[Exeunt Julie and De Mauprat.
RICHELIEU.
Oh! godlike Power! Woe, Rapture, Penury, Wealth,—
Marriage and Death, for one infirm old man
Through a great empire to dispense—withhold—
As the will whispers! And shall things—like motes
That live in my daylight—lackies of court wages,
Dwarf'd starvelings—mannikins, upon whose shoulders
The burthen of a province were a load
More heavy than the globe on Atlas,—cast
Lots for my robes and sceptre? France! I love thee!
All Earth shall never pluck thee from my heart!
My mistress France—my wedded wife,—sweet France,
Who shall proclaim divorce for thee and me!
[Exit Richelieu.
There are many anecdotes of the irony, often so terrible, in which Richelieu indulged. But he had a love for humour in its more hearty and genial shape. He would send for Boisrobert “to make him laugh,”—and grave ministers and magnates waited in the ante-room, while the great Cardinal listened and responded to the sallies of the lively wit.
The Abbé Arnaud tells us that the Queen was a little avenged on the Cardinal by the ill success of the tragi-comedy of Mirame—more than suspected to be his own—though presented to the world under the foster name of Desmarets. Its representation (says Pelisson) cost him 300,000 crowns. He was so transported out of himself by the performance, that at one time he thrust his person half out of his box to show himself to the assembly; at another time he imposed silence on the audience that they might not lose “des endroits encore plus beaux!” He said afterwards to Desmarets: “Eh bien, les Français n'auront donc jamais de goût. Ils n'ont pas été charmés de Mirame!” Arnaud says pithily, “On ne pouvoit alors avoir d'autre satisfaction des offenses d'un homme qui étoit maitre de tout, et redoutable à tout le monde.” Nevertheless his style in prose, though not devoid of the pedantic affectations of the time, often rises into very noble eloquence.
“Vialart remarque une chose qui peut expliquer la conduite de Richelieu en d'autres circonstances:—c'est que les seigneurs à qui leur naissance ou leur mérite pouvoit permettre des prétensions, il avoit pour systême, de leur accorder au-delà même de leurs droits et de leurs espérances, mais, aussi, une fois comblés—si, au lieu de reconnoître ses services ils se levoient contre lui, il les traitoit sans miséricorde.”—Anquétil. See also the Political Testament, and the Mémoires de Cardinal Richelieu, in Petitot's collection.
“Tantôt fanatique—tantôt fourbe—fonder les religieuses de Calvaire— faire des vers.” Thus speaks Voltaire of Father Joseph. His talents, and influence with Richelieu, grossly exaggerated in his own day, are now rightly estimated.
“C'étoit en effet un homme infatigable—portant dans les entreprises, l'activité, la souplesse, l'opiniâtreté propres à les faire réussir.”—Anquétil. He wrote a Latin poem, called “La Turciade,” in which he sought to excite the kingdoms of Christendom against the Turks. But the inspiration of Tyrtæus was denied to Father Joseph.
END OF ACT I.
| Richelieu ; Or The Conspiracy | |