 | Richelieu ; Or The Conspiracy |  |
51
ACT III.
Second Day (Midnight).
SCENE I.
Richelieu's Castle at Ruelle—A Gothic chamber—Moonlight at the window, occasionally obscured.RICHELIEU
(reading).
“In silence, and at night, the Conscience feels
That life should soar to nobler ends than Power.”
So sayest thou, sage and sober moralist!
But wert thou tried?—Sublime Philosophy,
Thou art the Patriarch's ladder, reaching heaven,
And bright with beck'ning angels—but, alas!
We see thee, like the Patriarch, but in dreams,
By the first step—dull-slumbering on the earth.
I am not happy!—with the Titan's lust
I woo'd a goddess, and I clasp a cloud.
When I am dust, my name shall, like a star,
Shine through wan space, a glory—and a prophet
Whereby pale seers shall from their aery towers
Con all the ominous signs, benign or evil,
That make the potent astrologue of kings.
But shall the Future judge me by the ends
That I have wrought—or by the dubious means
Through which the stream of my renown hath run
Into the many-voiced unfathomed Time?
Foul in its bed lie weeds—and heaps of slime,
And with its waves—when sparkling in the sun,
Oft times the secret rivulets that swell
Its might of waters—blend the hues of blood.
Yet are my sins not those of CIRCUMSTANCE,
52
Our spirits, like the unsteady lizard, take
The tints that colour, and the food that nurtures?
O! ye, whose hour-glass shifts its tranquil sands
In the unvex'd silence of a student's cell;
Ye, whose untempted hearts have never toss'd
Upon the dark and stormy tides where life
Gives battle to the elements,—and man
Wrestles with man for some slight plank, whose weight
Will bear but one—while round the desperate wretch
The hungry billows roar—and the fierce Fate,
Like some huge monster, dim-seen through the surf,
Waits him who drops;—ye safe and formal men,
Who write the deeds, and with unfeverish hand
Weigh in nice scales the motives of the Great,
Ye cannot know what ye have never tried!
History preserves only the fleshless bones
Of what we are—and by the mocking skull
The would-be wise pretend to guess the features!
Without the roundness and the glow of life
How hideous is the skeleton! Without
The colourings and humanities that clothe
Our errors, the anatomists of schools
Can make our memory hideous!
I have wrought
Great uses out of evil tools—and they
In the time to come may bask beneath the light
Which I have stolen from the angry gods,
And warn their sons against the glorious theft,
Forgetful of the darkness which it broke.
I have shed blood—but I have had no foes
Save those the State had —if my wrath was deadly,
'Tis that I felt my country in my veins,
And smote her sons as Brutus smote his own.
And yet I am not happy—blanch'd and sear'd
Before my time—breathing an air of hate,
And seeing daggers in the eyes of men,
And wasting powers that shake the thrones of earth
In contest with the insects—bearding kings
And braved by lackies —murder at my bed;
53
With the dread Three—that are the Fates who hold
The woof and shears—the Monk, the Spy, the Headsman.
And this is Power! Alas! I am not happy.
(After a pause.)
And yet the Nile is fretted by the weeds
Its rising roots not up; but never yet
Did one least barrier by a ripple vex
My onward tide, unswept in sport away.
Am I so ruthless then that I do hate
Them who hate me? Tush, tush! I do not hate;
Nay, I forgive. The Statesman writes the doom,
But the Priest sends the blessing. I forgive them,
But I destroy; forgiveness is mine own,
Destruction is the State's! For private life,
Scripture the guide—for public, Machiavel.
Would Fortune serve me if the Heaven were wroth?
For chance makes half my greatness. I was born
Beneath the aspect of a bright-eyed star,
And my triumphant adamant of soul
Is but the fix'd persuasion of success.
Ah!—here!—that spasm!—again!—How Life and Death
Do wrestle for me momently!—And yet
The King looks pale. I shall outlive the King!
And then, thou insolent Austrian—who didst gibe
At the ungainly, gaunt, and daring lover,
Sleeking thy looks to silken Buckingham,—
Thou shalt—no matter!—I have outlived love.
O! beautiful—all golden—gentle Youth!
Making thy palace in the careless front
And hopeful eye of man—ere yet the soul
Hath lost the memories which (so Plato dream'd)
54
O! for one gale from thine exulting morning,
Stirring amidst the roses, where of old
Love shook the dew-drops from his glancing hair!
Could I recall the past—or had not set
The prodigal treasures of the bankrupt soul
In one slight bark upon the shoreless sea;
The yoked steer, after his day of toil,
Forgets the goad and rests—to me alike
Or day or night—Ambition has no rest!
Shall I resign—who can resign himself?
For custom is ourself;—as drink and food
Become our bone and flesh—the aliments
Nurturing our nobler part, the mind—thoughts, dreams,
Passions, and aims, in the revolving cycle
Of the great alchemy—at length are made
Our mind itself; and yet the sweets of leisure—
An honour'd home—far from these base intrigues—
An eyrie on the heaven-kiss'd heights of wisdom—
(Taking up the book.)
Speak to me, moralist!—I'll heed thy counsel.
Were it not best—
(Enter François hastily, and in part disguised.)
RICHELIEU
(flinging away the book).
Philosophy, thou liest!
Quick—the despatch!—Power—Empire! Boy—the packet!
FRANCOIS.
Kill me, my Lord.
RICHELIEU.
They knew thee—they suspected—
They gave it not—
FRANCOIS.
He gave it—he—the Count
De Baradas—with his own hand he gave it!
RICHELIEU.
Baradas. Joy! out with it!
FRANCOIS.
Listen,
And then dismiss me to the headsmen.
RICHELIEU.
Ha!
Go on.
55
They led me to a chamber—There
Orleans and Baradas—and some half-score,
Whom I know not—were met—
RICHELIEU.
Not more!
FRANCOIS.
But from
The 'adjoining chamber broke the din of voices,
The clattering tread of armed men;—at times
A shriller cry, that yell'd out, “Death to Richelieu!”
RICHELIEU.
Speak not of me: thy country is in danger!
The 'adjoining room—So, so—a separate treason!
The one thy ruin, France!—the meaner crime,
Left to their tools, my murder!—
FRANCOIS.
Baradas
Questioned me close—demurr'd—until, at last,
O'erruled by Orleans,—gave the packet—told me
That life and death were in the scroll—this gold—
RICHELIEU.
Gold is no proof—
FRANCOIS.
And Orleans promised thousands,
When Bouillon's trumpets in the streets of Paris
Rang out shrill answer;—hastening from the house,
My footstep in the stirrup, Marion stole
Across the threshold, whispering “Lose no moment,
Ere Richelieu have the packet: tell him too—
Murder is in the winds of Night, and Orleans
Swears, ere the dawn the Cardinal shall be clay.”
She said, and trembling fled within; when, lo!
A hand of iron griped me; thro' the dark
Gleam'd the dim shadow of an armed man:
Ere I could draw—the prize was wrested from me,
And a hoarse voice gasp'd—“Spy, I spare thee, for
This steel is virgin to thy Lord!”—with that
He vanish'd.—Scared and trembling for thy safety,
I mounted, fled, and, kneeling at thy feet,
56
Like him, to spare my life.—
RICHELIEU.
Who spake of life?
I bade thee grasp that treasure as thine honour—
A jewel worth whole hecatombs of lives!
Begone—redeem thine honour—back to Marion—
Or Baradas—or Orleans—track the robber—
Regain the packet—or crawl on to Age—
Age and grey hairs like mine—and know, thou hast lost
That which had made thee great and saved thy country.—
See me not till thou'st bought the right to seek me.—
Away!—Nay, cheer thee—thou hast not fail'd yet,—
There's no such word as “fail!”
FRANCOIS.
Bless you, my Lord,
For that one smile!—I'll wear it on my heart
To light me back to triumph. (Exit.)
RICHELIEU.
The poor youth!
An elder had ask'd life!—I love the young!
For as great men live not in their own time,
But the next race,—so in the young, my soul
Makes many Richelieus.—He will win it yet.
François!—He's gone. My murder! Marion's warning!
This bravo's threat! O for the morrow's dawn!—
I'll set my spies to work—I'll make all space
(As does the sun) an Universal Eye—
Huguet shall track—Joseph confess—ha! ha!—
Strange, while I laugh'd I shudder'd, and ev'n now
Thro' the chill air the beating of my heart
Sounds like a death-watch by a sick man's pillow;
If Huguet could deceive me—hoofs without—
The gates unclose—steps near and nearer!
(Enter Julie.)
JULIE.
Cardinal!
My father! (falls at his feet)
.
57
Julie at this hour!—and tears!
What ails thee?
JULIE.
I am safe; I am with thee!—
RICHELIEU.
Safe! why in all the storms of this wild world
What wind would mar the violet?
JULIE.
That man—
Why did I love him?—clinging to a breast
That knows no shelter?
Listen—late at noon—
The marriage-day—ev'n then no more a lover—
He left me coldly,—well,—I sought my chamber
To weep and wonder—but to hope and dream.
Sudden a mandate from the king—to attend
Forthwith his pleasure at the Louvre.
RICHELIEU.
Ha!—
You did obey the summons; and the king
Reproach'd your hasty nuptials.—
JULIE.
Were that all!
He frown'd and chid;—proclaim'd the bond unlawful:
Bade me not quit my chamber in the palace,
And there at night—alone—this night—all still—
He sought my presence—dared—thou read'st the heart,
Read mine!—I cannot speak it!
RICHELIEU.
He a king,—
You—woman; well,—you yielded!
JULIE.
Cardinal—
Dare you say “yielded?”—Humbled and abash'd,
He from the chamber crept—this mighty Louis;
Crept like a baffled felon!—yielded! Ah!
More royalty in woman's honest heart
Than dwells within the crowned majesty
And sceptred anger of a hundred kings!
Yielded!—Heavens!—yielded;
58
To my breast,—close—close!
The world would never need a Richelieu, if
Men—bearded, mailed men—the Lords of Earth—
Resisted flattery, falsehood, avarice, pride,
As this poor child with the dove's innocent scorn
Her sex's tempters, Vanity and Power!—
He left you—well!
JULIE.
Then came a sharper trial!
At the king's suit the Count de Baradas
Sought me to soothe, to fawn, to flatter, while
On his smooth lip insult appear'd more hateful
For the false mask of pity: letting fall
Dark hints of treachery, with a world of sighs
That heaven had granted to so base a Lord
The heart whose coldest friendship were to him
What Mexico to misers! Stung at last
By my disdain, the dim and glimmering sense
Of his cloak'd words broke into bolder light,
And THEN—ah! then, my haughty spirit fail'd me!
Then I was weak—wept—oh! such bitter tears!
For (turn thy face aside, and let me whisper
The horror to thine ear) then did I learn
That he—that Adrien—that my husband—knew
The king's polluting suit, and deemed it honour!
Then all the terrible and loathsome truth
Glared on me;—coldness—waywardness—reserve—
Mystery of looks—words—all unravell'd,—and
I saw the impostor, where I ha' loved the God!—
RICHELIEU.
I think thou wrong'st thy husband—but proceed.
JULIE.
Did you say “wrong'd” him?—Cardinal, my father,
Did you say “wrong'd?” Prove it, and life shall grow
One prayer for thy reward and his forgiveness.
RICHELIEU.
Let me know all.
JULIE.
To the despair he caused
The courtier left me; but amid the chaos
Darted one guiding ray—to 'scape—to fly—
59
Trembling I left my chamber—sought the queen—
Fell at her feet—reveal'd the unholy peril—
Implored her aid to flee our joint disgrace.
Moved, she embraced and soothed me; nay, preserved;
Her word sufficed to unlock the palace-gates:
I hasten'd home—but home was desolate,—
No Adrien there! Fearing the worst, I fled
To thee, directed hither. As my wheels
Paused at thy gates—the clang of arms behind—
The ring of hoofs—
RICHELIEU.
'Twas but my guards, fair trembler.
(So Huguet keeps his word, my omens wrong'd him.)
JULIE.
Oh, in one hour what years of anguish crowd!
RICHELIEU.
Nay, there's no danger now. Thou needest rest.
Come, thou shalt lodge beside me. Tush! be cheer'd,
My rosiest Amazon—thou wrong'st thy Theseus.
All will be well—yes, yet all well.
[Exeunt through a side door.
I need not say that the great length of this soliloquy adapts it only for the closet, and that but few of the lines are preserved on the stage. To the reader, however, the passages omitted in representation will not, perhaps, be the most uninteresting in the play, and may be deemed necessary to the completion of the Cardinal's portrait,—action on the stage supplying so subtly the place of words in the closet. The self-assured sophistries which, in the text, mingle with Richelieu's better-founded arguments in apology for the darker traits of his character, are to be found scattered throughout the writings ascribed to him. The reader will observe that in this self-confession lies the latent poetical justice,—which separates happiness from success.—[Lines retained on the stage from 28 to 40.]
It is well known that when, on his death-bed, Richelieu was asked if he forgave his enemies; he replied, “I never had any, but those of the State.” And this was true enough, for Richelieu and the State were one.
Richelieu's vindication of himself from cruelty will be found in various parts of Petitot's Collection, vols. xxi. xxx. (bis.)
Voltaire has a striking passage on the singular fate of Richelieu, recalled every hour from his gigantic schemes to frustrate some miserable cabal of the ante-room. Richelieu would often exclaim, that “Six pieds de terre (as he called the king's cabinet) lui donnaient plus de peine que tout le reste de l'Europe.” The death of Wallenstein, sacrificed by the Emperor Ferdinand, produced a most lively impression upon Richelieu. He found many traits of comparison between Ferdinand and Louis—Wallenstein and himself. In the Memoirs—now regarded by the best authorities as written by his sanction, and in great part by himself—the great Frenchman bursts (when alluding to Wallenstein's murder) into a touching and pathetic anathema on the misère de cette vie of dependence on jealous and timid royalty, which he himself, while he wrote, sustained. It is worthy of remark, that it was precisely at the period of Wallenstein's death that Richelieu obtained from the king an augmentation of his guard.
Richelieu was commonly supposed, though I cannot say I find much evidence for it, to have been too presuming in an interview with Anne of Austria (the Queen), and to have bitterly resented the contempt she expressed for him. The Duke of Buckingham's frantic and Quixotic passion for the Queen is well known.
The fear and the hatred which Richelieu generally inspired were not shared by his dependants and those about his person, who are said “to have adored him.”—Ses domestiques le regardaient comme le meilleur des maîtres.—Le Clerc. In fact, although il étoit orgueilleux et colère,—he was, en même temps, affable et plein de douceur dans l'abord; and he was no less generous to those who served than severe to those who opposed him.
SCENE II.
Enter Huguet—De Mauprat, in complete armour, his vizor down.(The moonlight obscured at the casement.)
HUGUET.
Not here!
DE MAUPRAT.
Oh, I will find him, fear not. Hence, and guard
The galleries where the menials sleep—plant sentries
At every outlet—Chance should throw no shadow
Between the vengeance and the victim! Go!—
Ere yon brief vapour that obscures the moon,
As doth our deed pale conscience, pass away,
The mighty shall be ashes.
60
Will you not
A second arm?
DE MAUPRAT.
To slay one weak old man?—
Away! No lesser wrongs than mine can make
This murder lawful.—Hence!
HUGUET.
A short farewell!
[Exit Huguet.
Re-enter Richelieu (not perceiving De Mauprat).
RICHELIEU.
How heavy is the air!—the vestal lamp
Of the sad Moon, weary with vigil, dies
In the still temple of the solemn heaven!
The very darkness lends itself to fear—
To treason—
DE MAUPRAT.
And to death!
RICHELIEU.
My omens lied not!
What art thou, wretch?
DE MAUPRAT.
Thy doomsman!
RICHELIEU.
Ho, my guards!
Huguet! Montbrassil! Vermont!
DE MAUPRAT.
Ay, thy spirits
Forsake thee, wizard; thy bold men of mail
Are my confederates. Stir not! but one step,
And know the next—thy grave!
RICHELIEU.
Thou liest, knave!
I am old, infirm—most feeble—but thou liest!
Armand de Richelieu dies not by the hand
Of man—the stars have said it —and the voice
61
Confirms the shining Sibyls! Call them all—
Thy brother butchers! Earth has no such fiend—
No! as one parricide of his father-land,
Who dares in Richelieu murder France!
DE MAUPRAT.
Thy stars
Deceive thee, Cardinal; thy soul of wiles
May against kings and armaments avail,
And mock the embattled world; but powerless now
Against the sword of one resolved man,
Upon whose forehead thou hast written shame!
RICHELIEU.
I breathe;—he is not a hireling. Have I wronged thee?
Beware surmise—suspicion—lies! I am
Too great for men to speak the truth of me!
DE MAUPRAT.
Thy acts are thy accusers, Cardinal!
In his hot youth, a soldier, urged to crime
Against the State, placed in your hands his life;—
You did not strike the blow—but, o'er his head,
Upon the gossamer thread of your caprice,
Hovered the axe.—His the brave spirit's hell,
The twilight terror of suspense;—your death
Had set him free:—he purposed not, nor prayed it.
One day you summoned—mocked him with smooth pardon—
Showered wealth upon him—bade an Angel's face
Turn Earth to Paradise—
RICHELIEU.
Well!
DE MAUPRAT.
Was this mercy?
A Cæsar's generous vengeance?—Cardinal, no!
Judas, not Cæsar, was the model! You
Saved him from death for shame; reserved to grow
The scorn of living men—to his dead sires
Leprous reproach—scoff of the age to come—
A kind convenience—a Sir Pandarus
To his own bride, and the august adulterer!
Then did the first great law of human hearts,
Which with the patriot's, not the rebel's, name
62
Make Misery royal—raise this desperate wretch
Into thy destiny! Expect no mercy!
Behold De Mauprat!
(Lifts his vizor.)
RICHELIEU.
To thy knees, and crawl
For pardon; or, I tell thee, thou shalt live
For such remorse, that, did I hate thee, I
Would bid thee strike, that I might be avenged!—
It was to save my Julie from the King,
That in thy valour I forgave thy crime;—
It was, when thou—the rash and ready tool—
Yea, of that shame thou loath'st—did'st leave thy hearth
To the polluter—in these arms thy bride
Found the protecting shelter thine withheld.
(Goes to the side door.)
Julie de Mauprat—Julie!
Enter Julie.
Lo! my witness!
DE MAUPRAT.
What marvel's this?—I dream! My Julie—thou!
This, thy beloved hand?
JULIE.
Henceforth all bond
Between us twain is broken. Were it not
For this old man, I might, in truth, have lost
The right—now mine—to scorn thee!
RICHELIEU.
So, you hear her?
DE MAUPRAT.
Thou with some slander hast her sense infected!
JULIE.
No, Sir: he did excuse thee in despite
Of all that wears the face of truth. Thy friend—
Thy confidant—familiar—Baradas—
Himself revealed thy baseness,
DE MAUPRAT.
Baseness!
RICHELIEU.
Ay;
That thou didst court dishonour.
63
Baradas!
Where is thy thunder, Heaven?—Duped!—snared!—undone!
Thou—thou could'st not believe him! Thou dost love me!
Love cannot feed on falsehoods!
JULIE
(aside).
Love him!—Ah!
Be still, my heart! Love you I did:—how fondly,
Woman—if women were my listeners now—
Alone could tell!—For ever fled my dream:
Farewell—all's over!
RICHELIEU.
Nay, my daughter, these
Are but the blinding mists of day-break love
Sprung from its very light, and heralding
A noon of happy summer.—Take her hand
And speak the truth, with which your heart runs over—
That this Count Judas—this Incarnate Falsehood—
Never lied more, than when he told thy Julie
That Adrien loved her not—except, indeed,
When he told Adrien, Julie could betray him.
JULIE
(embracing De Mauprat).
You love me, then!—you love me!—and they wrong'd you!
DE MAUPRAT.
Ah! could'st thou doubt it?
RICHELIEU.
Why, the very mole
Less blind than thou! Baradas loves thy wife;—
Had hoped her hand—aspired to be that cloak
To the king's will, which to thy bluntness seems
The Centaur's poisonous robe—hopes even now
To make thy corpse his footstool to thy bed!
Where was thy wit, man?—Ho! these schemes are glass!
The very sun shines through them.
DE MAUPRAT.
O, my Lord,
Can you forgive you?
RICHELIEU.
Ay, and save you!
64
Save!—
Terrible word!—O, save thyself:—these halls
Swarm with thy foes: already for thy blood
Pants thirsty Murder!
JULIE.
Murder!
RICHELIEU.
Hush! put by
The woman. Hush! a shriek—a cry—a breath
Too loud, would startle from its horrent pause
The swooping Death! Go to the door, and listen!—
Now for escape!
DE MAUPRAT.
None—none! Their blades shall pass
This heart to thine.
RICHELIEU
(drily).
An honourable outwork,
But much too near the citadel. I think
That I can trust you now (slowly, and gazing on him)
:—yes; I can trust you.
How many of my troop league with you?
DE MAUPRAT.
All!—
We are your troop!
RICHELIEU.
And Huguet?—
DE MAUPRAT.
Is our captain.
RICHELIEU.
A retribution Power!—This comes of spies!
All? then the lion's skin too short to-night,—
Now for the fox's!—
JULIE.
A hoarse, gathering murmur!—
Hurrying and heavy footsteps!—
RICHELIEU.
Ha!—the posterns?
65
No egress where no sentry!
RICHELIEU.
Follow me—
I have it!—to my chamber—quick! Come, Julie!
Hush! Mauprat, come!
Murmur at a distance
—Death to the Cardinal!
RICHELIEU.
Bloodhounds, I laugh at ye!—ha! ha!—we will
Baffle them yet.—Ha!—ha!
Exeunt Julie, Mauprat, Richelieu.
HUGUET
(without).
This way—this way!
In common with his contemporaries, Richelieu was credulous in astrology and less lawful arts. He was too fortunate a man not to be superstitious.
SCENE III.
Enter Huguet and the Conspirators.HUGUET.
De Mauprat's hand is never slow in battle;—
Strange, if it falter now! Ha! gone!
FIRST CONSPIRATOR.
Perchance
The fox had crept to rest; and to his lair
Death, the dark hunter, tracks him.
Enter Mauprat (throwing open the doors of the recess, in which a bed, whereon Richelieu lies extended.)
MAUPRAT.
Live the King!
Richelieu is dead!
HUGUET
(advancing towards the recess; MAUPRAT following, his hand on his dagger).
Are his eyes open?
DE MAUPRAT.
Ay.
As if in life!
66
(turning back).
I will not look on him.
You have been long.
DE MAUPRAT.
I watch'd him till he slept.
Heed me.—No trace of blood reveals the deed;—
Strangled in sleep. His health hath long been broken—
Found breathless in his bed. So runs our tale,
Remember! Back to Paris—Orleans gives
Ten thousand crowns, and Baradas a lordship,
To him who first gluts vengeance with the news
That Richelieu is in heaven! Quick, that all France
May share your joy!
HUGUET.
And you?
DE MAUPRAT.
Will stay, to crush
Eager suspicion—to forbid sharp eyes
To dwell too closely on the clay; prepare
The rites, and place him on his bier—this my task.
I leave to you, sirs, the more grateful lot
Of wealth and honours. Hence!
HUGUET.
I shall be noble!
DE MAUPRAT.
Away!
FIRST CONSPIRATOR.
Five thousand crowns!
OMNES.
To horse!—to horse!
[Exeunt Conspirators.
67
SCENE IV.
Still night.—A room in the house of Count De Baradas, lighted, &c.Orleans, De Beringhen.
DE BERINGHEN.
I understand. Mauprat kept guard without:
Knows nought of the despatch—but heads the troop
Whom the poor Cardinal fancies his protectors.
Save us from such protection!
ORLEANS.
Yet, if Huguet,
By whose advice and proffers we renounced
Our earlier scheme, should still be Richelieu's minion,
And play us false—
DE BERINGHEN.
The fox must then devour
The geese he gripes, (I'm out of it, thank Heaven!)
And you must swear you smelt the trick, but seem'd
To approve the deed—to render up the doers.
Enter Baradas.
BARADAS.
Julie is fled:—the King, whom now I left
To a most thorny pillow, vows revenge
On her—on Mauprat—and on Richelieu! Well;
We loyal men anticipate his wish
Upon the last—and as for Mauprat,—
(Showing a writ.)
DE BERINGHEN.
Hum!
They say the devil invented printing! Faith,
He has some hand in writing parchment—eh, Count?
What mischief now?
BARADAS.
The King, at Julie's flight
Enraged, will brook no rival in a subject—
So on this old offence—the affair of Faviaux—
Ere Mauprat can tell tales of us, we build
His bridge between the dungeon and the grave.
68
Well; if our courier can but reach the army,
The cards are ours!—and yet, I own, I tremble.
Our names are in the scroll—discovery, death!
BARADAS.
Success, a crown!
DE BERINGHEN
(apart to Baradas).
Our future regent is
No hero.
BARADAS
(to De Beringhen).
But his rank makes others valiant;
And on his cowardice I mount to power.
Were Orleans Regent—what were Baradas?
Oh! by the way—I had forgot, your highness,
Friend Huguet whisper'd me, “Beware of Marion:
I've seen her lurking near the Cardinal's palace.”
Upon that hint—I've found her lodgings elsewhere.
ORLEANS.
You wrong her, Count:—Poor Marion!—she adores me.
BARADAS
(apologetically).
Forgive me, but—
Enter Page.
PAGE.
My Lord, a rude, strange soldier,
Breathless with haste, demands an audience.
BARADAS.
—So!
The archers?
PAGE.
In the ante-room, my Lord,
As you desired.
BARADAS.
'Tis well—admit the soldier.
[Exit Page.
Huguet! I bade him seek me here!
Enter Huguet.
HUGUET.
My Lords,
The deed is done. Now, Count, fulfil your word,
And make me noble!
69
Richelieu dead?—art sure?
How died he?
HUGUET.
Strangled in his sleep:—no blood,
No tell-tale violence.
BARADAS.
Strangled? monstrous villain!
Reward for murder! Ho, there!
[Stamping.
Enter Captain, with five Archers.
HUGUET.
No, thou durst not!
BARADAS.
Seize on the ruffian—bind him—gag him! Off
To the Bastile!
HUGUET.
Your word—your plighted faith!
BARADAS.
Insolent liar!—ho, away!
HUGUET.
Nay, Count;
I have that about me, which—
BARADAS.
Away with him!
[Exeunt Huguet and Archers.
Now, then, all's safe; Huguet must die in prison,
So Mauprat:—coax or force the meaner crew
To fly the country. Ha, ha! thus, your highness,
Great men make use of little men.
DE BERINGHEN.
My Lords,
Since our suspense is ended—you'll excuse me;
'Tis late—and, entre nous, I have not supp'd yet!
I'm one of the new Council now, remember;
I feel the public stirring here already;
A very craving monster. Au revoir!
[Exit de Beringhen.
ORLEANS.
No fear, now Richelieu's dead.
70
And could he come
To life again, he could not keep life's life—
His power,—nor save De Mauprat from the scaffold,—
Nor Julie from these arms—nor Paris from
The Spaniard—nor your highness from the throne!
All ours! all ours! in spite of my Lord Cardinal!
Enter Page.
PAGE.
A gentleman, my Lord, of better mien
Than he who last—
BARADAS.
Well, he may enter.
[Exit Page.
ORLEANS.
Who
Can this be?
BARADAS.
One of the conspirators:
Mauprat himself, perhaps.
Enter François.
FRANCOIS.
My Lord—
BARADAS.
Ha, traitor!
In Paris still?
FRANCOIS.
The packet—the despatch—
Some knave play'd spy without, and reft it from me,
Ere I could draw my sword.
BARADAS.
Play'd spy without!
Did he wear armour?
FRANCOIS.
Ay, from head to heel.
ORLEANS.
One of our band. Oh, heavens!
71
Could it be Mauprat?
Kept guard at the door—knew nought of the despatch—
How HE?—and yet, who other?
FRANCOIS.
Ha, De Mauprat!
The night was dark—his vizor closed.
BARADAS.
'Twas he!
How could he guess?—'sdeath! if he should betray us.
His hate to Richelieu dies with Richelieu—and
He was not great enough for treason.—Hence!
Find Mauprat—beg, steal, filch, or force it back,
Or, as I live, the halter—
FRANCOIS.
By the morrow
I will regain it, (aside)
and redeem my honour!
(Exit Francois.)
ORLEANS.
Oh! we are lost—
BARADAS.
Not so! But cause on cause
For Mauprat's seizure—silence—death! Take courage.
ORLEANS.
Should it once reach the King, the Cardinal's arm
Could smite us from the grave.
BARADAS.
Sir, think it not!
I hold De Mauprat in my grasp. To-morrow
And France is ours!—Thou dark and fallen Angel,
Whose name on earth's Ambition—thou that mak'st
Thy throne on treasons, stratagems, and murder—
And with thy fierce and blood-red smile canst quench
The guiding stars of solemn empire—hear us—
(For we are thine)—and light us to the goal!
END OF ACT III.
| Richelieu ; Or The Conspiracy | |