Richelieu ; Or The Conspiracy A Play In Five Acts |
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| 2. | SCENE IV. |
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 | Richelieu ; Or The Conspiracy |  |
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SCENE IV.
RICHELIEU.Joseph—Did you hear the king?
JOSEPH.
I did—there's danger! Had you been less haughty —
RICHELIEU.
And suffer'd slaves to chuckle—“see the Cardinal—
How meek his Eminence is to-day”—I tell thee
This is a strife in which the loftiest look
Is the most subtle armour—
JOSEPH.
But—
RICHELIEU.
No time
For ifs and buts. I will accuse these traitors!
François shall witness that De Baradas
Gave him the secret missive for De Bouillon,
And told him life and death were in the scroll.
I will—I will—
JOSEPH.
Tush! François is your creature;
So they will say, and laugh at you!—your witness
Must be that same Despatch.
RICHELIEU.
Away to Marion!
JOSEPH.
I have been there—she is seized—removed—imprison'd—
By the Count's orders.
84
Goddess of bright dreams,
My Country—shalt thou lose me now, when most
Thou need'st thy worshipper? My native land!
Let me but ward this dagger from thy heart,
And die—but on thy bosom!
Enter Julie.
JULIE.
Heaven! I thank thee!
I cannot be, or this all-powerful man
Would not stand idly thus.
RICHELIEU.
What dost thou here?
Home!
JULIE.
Home!—is Adrien there?—you're dumb—yet strive
For words; I see them trembling on your lip,
But choked by pity. It was truth—all truth!
Seized—the Bastile—and in your presence too!
Cardinal, where is Adrien? Think—he saved
Your life:—your name is infamy, if wrong
Should come to his!
RICHELIEU.
Be sooth'd, child.
JULIE.
Child no more;
I love, and I am woman! Hope and suffer—
Love, suffering, hope,—what else doth make the strength
And majesty of woman?—Where is Adrien?
RICHELIEU
to JOSEPH.
Your youth was never young—you never loved:—
Speak to her—
JOSEPH.
Nay, take heed—the king's command,
'Tis true—I mean—the—
JULIE
to RICHELIEU.
Let thine eyes meet mine;
Answer me but one word—I am a wife—
I ask thee for my home—my FATE—my ALL!
Where is my husband?
85
You are Richelieu's ward,
A soldier's bride: they who insist on truth
Must out-face fear;—you ask me for your husband?
There—where the clouds of heaven look darkest, o'er
The domes of the Bastile!
JULIE.
I thank you, father,
You see I do not shudder. Heaven forgive you
The sin of this desertion!
RICHELIEU
(detaining her).
Whither wouldst thou?
JULIE.
Stay me not. Fie! I should be there already.
I am thy ward, and haply he may think
Thou'st taught me also to forsake the wretched!
RICHELIEU.
I've fill'd those cells—with many—traitors all.
Had they wives too?—Thy memories, Power, are solemn!
Poor sufferer!—think'st thou that yon gates of woe
Unbar to love? Alas! if love once enter,
'Tis for the last farewell; between those walls
And the mute grave —the blessed household sounds
Only heard once—while, hungering at the door,
The headsman whets the axe.
JULIE.
O, mercy! mercy!
Save him, restore him, father! Art thou not
The Cardinal-King?—the Lord of life and death—
Beneath whose light, as deeps beneath the moon,
The solemn tides of Empire ebb and flow?—
Art thou not Richelieu?
RICHELIEU.
Yesterday I was!—
To-day, a very weak old man!—To-morrow,
I know not what!
JULIE.
Do you conceive his meaning?
Alas! I cannot. But, methinks, my senses
Are duller than they were!
86
The King is chafed
Against his servant. Lady, while we speak,
The lackey of the ante-room is not
More powerless than the Minister of France.
RICHELIEU.
And yet the air is still; Heaven wears no cloud;
From Nature's silent orbit starts no portent
To warn the unconscious world;—albeit, this night
May with a morrow teem which, in my fall,
Would carry earthquake to remotest lands,
And change the Christian globe. What would'st thou, woman?
Thy fate and his, with mine, for good or ill,
Are woven threads. In my vast sum of life
Millions such units merge.
Enter First Courtier.
FIRST COURTIER.
Madame de Mauprat!
Pardon, your Eminence—even now I seek
This lady's home—commanded by the King
To pray her presence.
JULIE
(clinging to Richelieu).
Think of my dead father!—
Think, how, an infant, clinging to your knees,
And looking to your eyes, the wrinkled care
Fled from your brow before the smile of childhood,
Fresh from the dews of heaven! Think of this,
And take me to your breast.
RICHELIEU.
To those who sent you!—
And say you found the virtue they would slay
Here—couch'd upon this heart, as at an altar,
And shelter'd by the wings of sacred Rome!
Begone!
FIRST COURTIER.
My Lord, I am your friend and servant—
Misjudge me not; but never yet was Louis
So roused against you:—shall I take this answer?—
It were to be your foe.
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All time my foe,
If I, a Priest, could cast this holy Sorrow
Forth from her last asylum!
FIRST COURTIER.
He is lost!
(Exit First Courtier.)
RICHELIEU.
God help thee, child!—she hears not! Look upon her!
The storm, that rends the oak, uproots the flower.
Her father loved me so! and in that age
When friends are brothers! She has been to me
Soother, nurse, plaything, daughter. Are these tears?
Oh! shame, shame!—dotage!
JOSEPH.
Tears are not for eyes
That rather need the lightning, which can pierce
Through barred gates and triple walls, to smite
Crime, where it cowers in secret!—The Despatch!
Set every spy to work;—the morrow's sun
Must see that written treason in your hands,
Or rise upon your ruin.
RICHELIEU.
Ay—and close
Upon my corpse!—I am not made to live—
Friends, glory, France, all rest from me;—my star
Like some vain holiday mimicry of fire,
Piercing imperial heaven, and falling down
Rayless and blacken'd, to the dust—a thing
For all men's feet to trample! Yea!—to-morrow
Triumph or death! Look up, child!—Lead us, Joseph.
As they are going out, enter Baradas and De Beringhen.
BARADAS.
My Lord, the King cannot believe your Eminence
So far forgets your duty, and his greatness,
As to resist his mandate! Pray you, Madam,
Obey the King—no cause for fear!
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My father!
RICHELIEU.
She shall not stir!
BARADAS.
You are not of her kindred—
An orphan—
RICHELIEU.
And her country is her mother!
BARADAS.
The country is the King!
RICHELIEU.
Ay, is it so;—
Then wakes the power which in the age of iron
Burst forth to curb the great, and raise the low.
Mark, where she stands!—around her form I draw
The awful circle of our solemn church!
Set but a foot within that holy ground,
And on thy head—yea, though it wore a crown—
I launch the curse of Rome!
BARADAS.
I dare not brave you!
I do but speak the orders of my King.
The church, your rank, power, very word, my Lord,
Suffice you for resistance:—blame yourself,
If it should cost you power!
RICHELIEU.
That my stake.—Ah!
Dark gamester! what is thine? Look to it well!—
Lose not a trick.—By this same hour to-morrow
Thou shalt have France, or I thy head!
BARADAS
(aside to De Beringhen).
He cannot
Have the despatch?
DE BERINGHEN.
No: were it so, your stake
Were lost already.
JOSEPH
(aside).
Patience is your game:
Reflect you have not the Despatch!
89
O! monk!
Leave patience to the saints—for I am human!
Did not thy father die for France, poor orphan?
And now they say thou hast no father!—Fie!
Art thou not pure and good?—if so, thou art
A part of that—the Beautiful, the Sacred—
Which in all climes, men that have hearts adore,
By the great title of their mother country!
BARADAS
(aside).
He wanders!
RICHELIEU.
So cling close unto my breast,
Here where thou droop'st—lies France! I am very feeble—
Of little use it seems to either now.
Well, well—we will go home.
BARADAS.
In sooth, my Lord,
You do need rest—the burthens of the state
O'ertask your health!
RICHELIEU
(to Joseph).
I'm patient, see!
BARADAS
(aside).
His mind
And life are breaking fast!
RICHELIEU
(overhearing him).
Irreverent ribbald!
If so, beware the falling ruins! Hark!
I tell thee, scorner of these whitening hairs,
When this snow melteth there shall come a flood!
Avaunt! my name is Richelieu—I defy thee!
Walk blindfold on; behind thee stalks the headsman.
Ha! ha!—how pale he is! Heaven save my country!
[Falls back in Joseph's arms.
(Baradas exit, followed by De Beringhen, betraying his exultation by his gestures.)
However “orgueilleux” and “colère” in his disputes with Louis, the Cardinal did not always disdain recourse to the arts of the courtier;—once, after an angry discussion with the king, in which, as usual, Richelieu got the better, Louis, as they quitted the palace together, said, rudely, “Sortez le premier; vous étes bien le roi de France.” “Si je passe le premier,” replied the minister, after a moment's hesitation, and with great adroitness, “ce ne peut être que comme le plus humble de vos serviteurs;” and he took a flambeau from one of the pages, to light the king as he walked before him—“en reculant et sans tourner le dos.”
| Richelieu ; Or The Conspiracy | |