University of Virginia Library

FIRST YEAR, 1730.—KING VICTOR.

1. 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 for ever—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 D'Ormea 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 Sebastians, no D'Ormeas 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 world's 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.
'T was war, peace—France our foe, now—England, friend—
In love with Spain—at feud with Austria! Well—
I wondered, laughed a moment's 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 cottage 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 Philip's 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
World's-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! 'T was 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 mother's 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 gaily run state-papers through,
While Charles was spelling at them painfully!
But Victor was my father spite of that.
“Duke Victor's entire life has been,” I said,
“Innumerable efforts to one end;
“And on the point now of that end's success,
“Our Ducal turning to a Kingly crown,
“Where's time to be reminded 't is his child
“He spurns?” And so I suffered—scarcely 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 was 't not like
Our lot would alter? “When he rests, takes breath,
“Glances around, sees who there's left to love—
“Now that my mother's dead, sees I am left—
Is it not like he'll love me at the last?”
Well, Savoy turns Sardinia; the Duke's 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 is 't they want with me?
Him with this mistress and this minister,
—You see me and you hear him; judge us both!
Pronounce what I should do, Polyxena!

Polyxena.
Endure, endure, beloved! Say you not
He is your father? All's so incident
To novel sway! Beside, our life must change:
Or you'll acquire his kingcraft, or he'll find
Harshness a sorry way of teaching it.
I bear this—not that there's so much to bear.

Charles.
You bear? Do not 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 stopped: 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 complaint
Even at Turin, yet complain we here
At Rivoli? 'T were wiser you announced
Our presence to the King. What's now afoot
I wonder? Not that any more's to dread
Than every day's embarrassment: but guess
For me, why train so fast succeeded train
On the high-road, each gayer still than each!
I noticed your Archbishop's 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.
There's our life!
Which of the group of loiterers that stare
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!
D'Ormea's contrivance!

Charles.
Ay, how otherwise
Should the young Prince serve for the old King's foil?
—So that the simplest courtier may remark
'T were idle raising parties for a Prince
Content to linger the Court's laughing-stock.
Something, 't is 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 night's study.

Polyxena.
The faint heart!
Why, as we rode and you rehearsed just now
Its substance . . . (that's 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 father's.

Charles.
Flattery!

Polyxena.
I fancied so:—and here lurks, sure enough
My note upon the Spanish Claims! You've mastered
The fief-speech thoroughly: this other, mind,
Is an opinion you deliver,—stay,
Best read it slowly over once to me;
Read—there's bare time; you read it firmly—loud
—Rather loud, looking in his face,—don't 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 Sebastian's shameless lip,
Or worse, the clipped grey hair and dead white face
And dwindling eye as if it ached with guile,
D'Ormea wears . . .
[As he kisses her, enter from the King's apartment D'Ormea.
I said he would divert
My kisses from your brow!

D'Ormea
[aside].
Here! So, King Victor
Spoke truth for once: and who's ordained, but I
To make that memorable? Both in call,
As he declared. Were 't better gnash the teeth,
Or laugh outright now?

Charles
[to Polyxena].
What's his visit for?

D'Ormea
[aside].
I question if they even speak to me.

Polyxena
[to Charles].
Face the man! He'll suppose you fear him, else.
[Aloud].
The Marquis bears the King's command, no doubt?

D'Ormea
[aside].
Precisely!—If I threatened him, perhaps?
Well, this at least is punishment enough!
Men used to promise punishment would come.

Charles.
Deliver the King's message, Marquis!

D'Ormea
[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!

D'Ormea.
What? You know
As much as I?—preceded me, most like,
In knowledge! So! ('T is in his eye, beside—
His voice: he knows it, and his heart's 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) through the walls, and take
Fresh heart. The King's within that chamber?

D'Ormea
[passing the table whereon a paper lies, exclaims, as he glances at it].
“Spain!”

Polyxena
[aside to Charles].
Tarry awhile: what ails the minister?

D'Ormea.
Madam, I do not often trouble you.
The Prince loathes, and you scorn 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!

D'Ormea
[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 world's face (that is, the world
You make for me at Turin) your contempt?
—Your measures?—When was not a hateful task
D'Ormea's imposition? Leave my robe!
What post can I bestow, what grant concede?
Or do you take me for the King?

D'Ormea.
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 e'er was slave
In his Sardinia.—Europe's spectacle
And the world's bye-word! What? The Prince aggrieved
That I excluded him our counsels? Here [Touching the paper in Charles's hand.

Accept a method of extorting gold
From Savoy's 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: there's counsel, sir,
My counsel, one year old; and the fruit, this—
Savoy's become a mass of misery
And wrath, which one man has to meet—the King:
You're 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 has just agreed
To Austria's offer?

D'Ormea.
That's 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'Ormea.
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,
Here's Austria and here's Spain to fight against:
And what sustains the King but Savoy here,
A miserable people mad with wrongs?
You're not the King!

Charles.
Polyxena, you said
All would clear up: all does clear up to me.

D'Ormea.
Clear up! 'T is no such thing to envy, then?
You see the King's state in its length and breadth?
You blame me now for keeping you aloof
From counsels and the fruit of counsels? Wait
Till I explain this morning's business!

Charles
[aside].
No—
Stoop to my father, yes,—D'Ormea, no:
—The King's son, not to the King's counsellor!
I will do something, but at least retain
The credit of my deed. [Aloud].
Then it is this
You now expressly come to tell me?

D'Ormea.
This
To tell! You apprehend me?

Charles.
Perfectly.
Further, D'Ormea, you have shown yourself,
For the first time these many weeks and months,
Disposed to do my bidding?

D'Ormea.
From the heart!

Charles.
Acquaint my father, first, I wait his pleasure
Next . . . or, I'll tell you at a fitter time.
Acquaint the King!

D'Ormea
[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 man's master? Is it come to this?
Have they supposed (the sharpest insult yet)
I needed e'en his intervention? No!
No—dull am I, conceded,—but so dull,
Scarcely! Their step decides me.

Polyxena.
How decides?

Charles.
You would be freed D'Ormea's 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,—D'Ormea's 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 crown's secure now; I should shame the crown—
An old complaint; the point is, how to gain
My place for one, more fit in Victor's eyes,
His mistress the Sebastian's child.

Polyxena.
In truth?

Charles.
They dare not quite dethrone Sardinia's Prince:
But they may descant on my dulness till
They sting me into even praying them
Grant leave to hide my head, resign my state,
And end the coil. Not see now? In a word,
They'd 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;
There's 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!
By this, D'Ormea acquaints the King, no doubt,
He fears I am too simple for mere hints,
And that no less will serve than Victor's mouth
Demonstrating in council what I am.
I have not breathed, I think, these many years!

Polyxena.
Why, it may be!—if he desire to wed
That woman, call legitimate her child.

Charles.
You see as much? Oh, let his will have way!
You'll not repent confiding in me, love?
There's many a brighter spot in Piedmont, far,
Than Rivoli. I'll 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!

2. Part II.

Enter King Victor, bearing the Regalia on a cushion, from his apartment. He calls loudly.
Victor.
D'Ormea!—for patience fails me, treading thus
Among the obscure trains I have laid,—my knights
Safe in the hall here—in that anteroom,
My son,—D'Ormea, where? Of this, one touch— [Laying down the crown.

This fireball to these mute black cold trains—then
Outbreak enough!
[Contemplating it.]
To lose all, after all!
This, glancing o'er 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 unlearned
When past the use,—“just this once more” (I thought)
“Use it with Spain and Austria happily,
“And then away with trick!” An oversight
I'd have repaired thrice over, any time
These fifty years, must happen now! There's 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 ne'er 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 . . . That's to try,
Kind Europe! My career's not closed as yet!
This boy was ever subject to my will,
Timid and tame—the fitter! D'Ormea, too—
What if the sovereign also rid himself
Of thee, his prime of parasites?—I delay!
D'Ormea! [As D'Ormea enters, the King seats himself.

My son, the Prince—attends he?

D'Ormea.
Sir,
He does attend. The crown prepared!—it seems
That you persist in your resolve.

Victor.
Who's come?
The chancellor and the chamberlain? My knights?

D'Ormea.
The whole Annunziata. If, my liege,
Your fortune had not tottered worse than now . . .

Victor.
Del Borgo has drawn up the schedules? mine—
My son's, 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.

D'Ormea.
Sir, this may be truth;
You, sir, may do as you affect—may break
Your engine, me, to pieces: try at least
If not a spring remain worth saving! Take
My counsel as I've counselled many times!
What if the Spaniard and the Austrian threat?
There's England, Holland, Venice—which ally
Select you?

Victor.
Aha! Come, D'Ormea,—“truth”
Was on your lip a minute since. Allies?
I've broken faith with Venice, Holland, England
—As who knows if not you?

D'Ormea.
But why with me
Break faith—with one ally, your best, break faith?

Victor.
When first I stumbled on you, Marquis—'t was
At Mondovi—a little lawyer's clerk . . .

D'Ormea.
Therefore your soul's ally!—who brought you through
Your quarrel with the Pope, at pains enough—
Who simply echoed you in these affairs—
On whom you cannot therefore visit these
Affairs' ill-fortune—whom you trust to guide
You safe (yes, on my soul) through these affairs!

Victor.
I was about to notice, had you not
Prevented me, that since that great town kept
With its chicane D'Ormea's satchel stuffed
And D'Ormea's self sufficiently recluse,
He missed a sight,—my naval armament
When I burned Toulon. How the skiff exults
Upon the galliot's wave!—rises its height,
O'ertops 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 sea's 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; you'd yet give
Your soul to keep it, as I mean you shall,
D'Ormea! What if the wave ebbed with me?
Whereas it cants you to another crest;
I toss you to my son; ride out your ride!

D'Ormea.
Ah, you so much despise me?

Victor.
You, D'Ormea?
Nowise: and I'll inform you why. A king
Must in his time have many ministers,
And I've 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. D'Ormea,
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!

D'Ormea.
You so despise me! [Aside.]
One last stay remains—
The boy's 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 D'Ormea].
Apprise Del Borgo, Spava, and the rest,
Our son attends them; then return.

D'Ormea.
One word!

Charles
[aside].
A moment's pause and they would drive me hence,
I do believe!

D'Ormea
[aside].
Let but the boy be firm!

Victor.
You disobey?

Charles
[to D'Ormea].
You do not disobey
Me, at least? Did you promise that or no?

D'Ormea.
Sir, I am yours: what would you? Yours am I!

Charles.
When I have said what I shall say, 't is like
Your face will ne'er 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:
That's over now. Go, ne'er to come again!

D'Ormea.
As son, the father—father as, the son!
My wits! My wits!

[Goes.
Victor
[seated].
And you, what meant you, pray,
Speaking thus to D'Ormea?

Charles.
Let us not
Waste words upon D'Ormea! Those I spent
Have half unsettled what I came to say.
His presence vexes to my very soul.

Victor.
One called to manage a kingdom, Charles, needs heart
To bear up under worse annoyances
Than seems D'Ormea—to me, at least.

Charles
[aside].
Ah, good!
He keeps me to the point. Then be it so.
[Aloud.]
Last night, sir, brought me certain papers—these—
To be reported on,—your way of late.
Is it last night's result that you demand?

Victor.
For God's sake, what has night brought forth? Pronounce
The . . . what's your word?—result!

Charles.
Sir, that had proved
Quite worthy of your sneer, no doubt:—a few
Lame thoughts, regard for you alone could wring,
Lame as they are, from brains like mine, believe!
As 't is, sir, I am spared both toil and sneer
These 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? [Aside.]
Has D'Ormea played me false, I wonder?
[Aloud.]
Why, Charles, a king's love is diffused—yourself
May overlook, perchance, your part in it.
Our monarchy is absolutest now
In Europe, or my trouble's 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, D'Ormea, Charles!

Charles.
'Tis well I am a subject then, not you.

Victor
[aside].
D'Ormea has told him everything. [Aloud.]
Aha!
I apprehend you: when all's said, you take
Your private station to be prized beyond
My own, for instance?

Charles.
—Do and ever did
So take it: 't is the method you pursue
That grieves . . .

Victor.
These words! Let me express, my friend,
Your thoughts. You penetrate what I supposed
Secret. D'Ormea plies his trade betimes!
I purpose to resign my crown to you.

Charles.
To me?

Victor.
Now,—in that chamber.

Charles.
You resign
The crown to me?

Victor.
And time enough, Charles, sure?
Confess with me, at four-and-sixty years
A crown's a load. I covet quiet once
Before I die, and summoned you for that.

Charles.
'T is 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
You'd 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 here's a sage
Knows the world well, is not to be deceived,
And his experience and his Macchiavels,
D'Ormeas, 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 woman 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, Sardinia's crown.

Charles.
Farewell!
'T were vain to hope to change this: I can end it.
Not that I cease from being yours, when sunk
Into obscurity: I'll die for you,
But not annoy you with my presence. Sir,
Farewell! Farewell!

Enter D'Ormea.
D'Ormea
[aside].
Ha, sure he's 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].
D'Ormea, 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 D'Ormea.]
Come this side!

D'Ormea
[as Charles turns from him to Victor].
You persist?

Victor.
Yes, I conceive the gesture's meaning. 'Faith,
He almost seems to hate you: how is that?
Be re-assured, my Charles! Is 't over now?
Then, Marquis, tell the new King what remains
To do! A moment's work. Del Borgo reads
The Act of Abdication out, you sign it,
Then I sign; after that, come back to me.

D'Ormea.
Sir, for the last time, pause!

Victor.
Five minutes longer
I am your sovereign, Marquis. Hesitate—
And I'll 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 D'Ormea to precede him.
Thanks, dear Charles!

[Charles and D'Ormea 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, “True,” says Spain, “ 't were 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 father's 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.
We'll have no child's play, no desponding fits,
No Charles at each cross turn entreating Victor
To take his crown again. Guard against that!
Enter D'Ormea.
Long live King Charles!
No—Charles's counsellor!
Well, is it over, Marquis? Did I jest?

D'Ormea.
“King Charles!” What then may you be?

Victor.
Anything!
A country gentleman that, cured of bustle,
Now beats a quick retreat toward Chambery,
Would hunt and hawk and leave you noisy folk
To drive your trade without him. I'm Count Remont—
Count Tende—any little place's Count!

D'Ormea.
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 place's Count”—

Victor.
Proceed!

D'Ormea.
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, slipped
From King to—“Count of any little place”)
Must needs surrender me, all in his reach,—
I, sir, forgive you: for I see the end—
See you on your return—(you will return)—
To him you trust, a moment . . .

Victor.
Trust him? How?
My poor man, merely a prime-minister,
Make me know where my trust errs!

D'Ormea.
In his fear,
His love, his—but discover for yourself
What you are weakest, trusting in!

Victor.
Aha,
D'Ormea, not a shrewder scheme than this
In your repertory? You know old Victor—
Vain, choleric, inconstant, rash—(I've heard
Talkers who little thought the King so close)
Felicitous now, were 't not, to provoke him
To clean forget, one minute afterward,
His solemn act, and call the nobles back
And pray them give again the very power
He has abjured?—for the dear sake of what?
Vengeance on you, D'Ormea! No: such am I,
Count Tende or Count anything 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?

D'Ormea.
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!

D'Ormea.
Ay, to be tossed the people like a rag,
And flung by them for Spain and Austria's sport,
Abolishing the record of your part
In all this perfidy!

Victor.
Prevent, beside,
My own return!

D'Ormea.
That's half prevented now!
'T will go hard but you find a wondrous charm
In exile, to discredit me. The Alps,
Silk-mills to watch, vines asking vigilance—
Hounds open for the stag, your hawk's a-wing—
Brave days that wait the Louis of the South,
Italy's Janus!

Victor.
So, the lawyer's clerk
Won't tell me that I shall repent!

D'Ormea.
You give me
Full leave to ask if you repent?

Victor.
Whene'er
Sufficient time's elapsed for that, you judge! [Shouts inside “King Charles!”


D'Ormea.
Do you repent?

Victor
[after a slight pause].
. . . I've 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 they've set forms for such proceedings; Victor
Imprisoned his own mother: he should know,
If any, how a son's to be deprived
Of a son's right. Our duty's palpable.
Ne'er 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, untramelled 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! He's not made
Like these Italians: 't is a German soul.
Charles enters crowned.
Oh, where's the King's heir? Gone!—the Crown Prince? Gone!—
Where's Savoy? Gone!—Sardinia? Gone! But Charles
Is left! And when my Rhine-land bowers arrive,
If he looked almost handsome yester-twilight
As his grey 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 I'll teach you my language: I'm 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?
What's he then? What's 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 Sardinia's 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?
He's praising me before the people's face—
My people!

Polyxena.
Then he's 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. I'll adventure though alone.
Triumph or die, there's 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, Heaven's 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.
'T is he must show me.

Victor.
So, the mask falls off
An old man's foolish love at last. Spare thanks!
I know you, and Polyxena I know.
Here's 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 anything
That hinders what yourself must need to say
To Charles.

Charles.
Pray speak, sir!

Victor.
'Faith, not much to say:
Only what shows itself, you once i' the point
Of sight. You're now the King: you'll comprehend
Much you may oft have wondered at—the shifts,
Dissimulation, wiliness I showed.
For what's our post? Here's Savoy and here's Piedmont,
Here's Montferrat—a breadth here, a space there—
To o'ersweep all these, what's one weapon worth?
I often think of how they fought in Greece
(Or Rome, which was it? You're 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—e'en then, odds
If the gate opened unless breath enough
Were 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, you're not made Europe's fighting-man!
The barrier-guarder, if you please. You clutch
Hold and consolidate, with envious France
This side, with Austria that, the territory
I held—ay, and will hold . . . which you shall hold
Despite the couple! But I've surely earned
Exemption from these weary politics,
—The privilege to prattle with my son
And daughter here, though Europe wait the while.

Polyxena.
Nay, sir,—at Chambery, away for ever,
As soon you will be, 't is farewell we bid you:
Turn these few fleeting moments to account!
'T is 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?

Victor.
I mean . . .

Polyxena
[who watches Victor narrowly this while].
Your father does not mean
You should be ruling for your father's sake:
It is your people must concern you wholly
Instead of him. You mean this, sir? (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, I know well, you know
But little of my measures! These affect
The nobles; we've resumed some grants, imposed
A tax or two: prepare yourself, in short,
For clamour on that score. Mark me: you yield
No jot of aught entrusted 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 move me, here I keep, nor shall concede
The meanest of my rights.

Victor
[aside].
The boy's a fool!
—Or rather, I'm a fool: for, what's wrong here?
To-day the sweets of reigning: let to-morrow
Be ready with its bitters.
Enter D'Ormea.
There's beside
Somewhat to press upon your notice first.

Charles.
Then why delay it for an instant, sir?
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 ne'er 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.

D'Ormea
[coming forward].
Here they are.
[To Charles.]
I, sir, was minister and much beside
Of the late monarch; to say little, him
I served: on you I have, to say e'en less,
No claim. This case contains those papers: with them
I tender you my office.

Victor
[hastily.]
Keep him, Charles!
There's reason for it—many reasons: you
Distrust him, nor are so far wrong there,—but
He's mixed up in this matter—he'll 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 D'Ormea].
Sir, believe,
In justice to myself, you do not need
E'en this commending: howsoe'er might seem
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 o'er my Sardinia, yet your help
Is necessary. Think the past forgotten
And serve me now!

D'Ormea.
I did not offer you
My service—would that I could serve you, sir!
As for the Spanish matter . . .

Victor.
But despatch
At least the dead, in my good daughter's phrase,
Before the living! Help to house me safe
Ere with D'Ormea you 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:
Here's 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. Tende's, then, a name I take
Just as . . .

D'Ormea.
—The Marchioness Sebastian takes
The name of Spigno.

Charles.
How, sir?

Victor
[to D'Ormea].
Fool! All that
Was for my own detailing. [To Charles.]
That anon!

Charles
[to D'Ormea].
Explain what you have said, sir!

D'Ormea.
I supposed
The marriage of the King to her I named,
Profoundly kept a secret these few weeks,
Was not to be one, now he's 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 where's 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 did, is no concern of yours.

Charles
[after a pause].
The Spanish claim, D'Ormea!

Victor.
Why, my son,
I took some ill-advised . . . one's age, in fact,
Spoils everything: though I was overreached,
A younger brain, we'll trust, may extricate
Sardinia readily. To-morrow, D'Ormea,
Inform the King!

D'Ormea
[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 D'Ormea].
Thus much I know,
And more—too much: the remedy?

D'Ormea.
Of course!
No glimpse of one.

Victor.
No remedy at all!
It makes the remedy itself—time makes it.

D'Ormea
[to Charles].
But if . . .

Victor
[still more hastily].
In fine, I shall take care of that:
And, with another project that I have . . .

D'Ormea
[turning on him].
Oh, since Count Tende means to take again
King Victor's crown!—

Polyxena
[throwing herself at Victor's feet].
E'en now retake it, sir!
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!
'T is in you—in your nature—and the shame's
Not half the shame 't would grow to afterwards!

Charles.
Polyxena!

Polyxena.
A word recalls the knights—
Say it! What's promising and what's the past?
Say you are still King Victor!

D'Ormea.
Better say
The Count repents, in brief!

[Victor rises.
Charles.
With such a crime
I have not charged you, sir!

Polyxena.
(Charles turns from me!)