Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series
Page 264
— 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 dipt gray hair and dead white face,
And dwindling eye as if it ached with guile,
Which 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’ll even speak to me.
Polyxena.
[to Charles.] Face D’Ormea, 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! (‘Tis 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) — thro’ 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 loathe me — let that pass;
But since it touches him and you, not me,
Bid the Prince listen!
Polyxena.
[to Charles.] Surely you will listen!
— Deceit? — Those fingers crumpling up his vest?
Charles.
Deceitful to the very fingers’ ends!
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’ve made for me at Turin) your contempt?
— Your measures? — When was any hateful task
Not 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 byword! What? The Prince aggrieved
That I’ve 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 before 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’ O.
Prince, a counsel! — And the fruit of that?
Both parties covenant afresh, to fall
Together on their friend, blot out his name,
Abolish him from Europe. So take note,
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.
Clears up? “Tis 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’ve explained this morning’s business!
Charles.
[Aside.] No —
Stoop to my father, yes, — to D’Orme
a, 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, D’Ormea, this
You now expressly come to tell me?
D’Ormea.
This
To tell! You apprehend me?
Charles.
Perfectly.
And 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 free from 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, — with 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
For 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!
D’Ormea acquaints the King by this, no doubt,
He fears I am too simple for mere hints,
And that no less will serve than Victor’s mouth
Teaching me in full council what I am.
— I have not breathed, I think, these many years!
Polyxena.
Why — it may be! — if he desires to wed
That woman and legitimate her child —
Charles.
You see as much? Oh, let his will have way!
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!
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 trains that I have laid, — my knights,
Safe in the hall here — in that anteroom,
My son, — and D’Ormea where? Of this, one touch —
[Laying down the crown.]
This fire-ball to these mute, black, cold trains — then!
Outbreak enough!
[Contemplating it.] To lose all, after all!
This — glancing 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 unlearnt
When past the use, — ”just this once more” (I thought)
“Use it with Spain and Austria happily,
“And then away with trick!” — An oversight
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’Orinea, too —
What if the sovereign’s also rid of thee,
His prime of parasites? — Yet I delay!
D’Ormea! [As D’Ormea enters, the King seats himself.]
My son, the Prince — attends he?
D’Ormea.
Sire,
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 Annunciata. — If, my liege,
Your fortunes had not tottered worse than now . . .
Victor.<
br />
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.
Sire, this may be truth;
You, sire, may do as you affect — may break
Your engine, me, to pieces: try at least
If not a spring remains worth saving! Take
My counsel as 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, my 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 — (‘twas
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’ve simply echoed you in these affairs —
On whom you cannot, therefore, visit these
Affairs’ ill fortune — whom you’ll trust to guide
You safe (yes, on my soul) in these affairs!
Victor.
I was about to notice, had you not
Prevented me, that since that great town kept
With its chicane my D’Ormea’s satchel stuffed,
And D’Ormea’s self sufficiently recluse,
He missed a sight, — my naval armament
When I burnt 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,
My D’Ormea! What if the wave ebbed with me?
Whereas it cants you to another’s crest —
I toss you to my son; ride out your ride!
D’Ormea.
Ah, you so much despise me then?
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