No, no-he's caught! [to D'ORMEA.] You venture life,
Upon my father's perfidy; and I
Have, on the whole, no right to disregard
The chains of testimony you thus wind
About me; though I do-do from my soul
Discredit them: still, I must authorize
These measures-and I will. Perugia!
[Many Officers enter.]
You and Solar, with all the force you have,
Are at the Marquis' orders: what he bids,
Implicitly perform! You are to bring
A traitor here; the man that's likest one
At present, fronts me; you are at his beck
For a full hour; he undertakes to show you
A fouler than himself,-but, failing that,
Return with him, and, as my father lives,
He dies this night! The clemency you've blamed
So oft, shall be revoked-rights exercised
That I've abjured.
[To D'ORMEA.] Now, Sir, about the work! To save your king and country! Take the warrant! D'O. [boldly to PERUGIA.] You hear the Sovereign's mandate, Count Perugia?
Obey me! As your diligence, expect
Reward! All follow to Montcaglier!
Cha. [in great anguish.] D'Ormea!
He goes, lit up with that appalling smile!
At least you understand all this?
[To POLYXENA after a pause.
Of our defence—these measures of precaution?
Cha. It must be the best way. I should have else Withered beneath his scorn.
Cha. Why, you don't think I mean to keep the crown, Polyxena? Pol.
You then believe the story
In spite of all-That Victor's coming?
I know that he is coming-feel the strength
That has upheld me leave me at his coming!
'Twas mine, and now he takes his own again.
Some kinds of strength are well enough to have;
But who's to have that strength? Let my crown go!
I meant to keep it--but I cannot—cannot !
Only, he shall not taunt me-he, the first—
See if he would not be the first to taunt me
With having left his kingdom at a word—
With letting it be conquered without stroke-
With . . no-no-'tis no worse than when he left it,
I've just to bid him take it, and, that over,
We'll fly away-fly-for I loathe this Turin,
This Rivoli, all titles loathe, and state.
We'd best go to your country-unless God
Send I die now!
Shall you be my Polyxena-you'll take me
Out of this woe! Yes, do speak-and keep speaking!
I would not let you speak just now, for fear
You'd counsel me against him: but talk, now,
As we two used to talk in blessed times :
Bid me endure all his caprices; take me
From this mad post above him!
We are undone, but from a different cause.
All your resources, down to the least guard,
Are now at D'Ormea's beck. What if, this while,
He acts in concert with your father? We
Indeed were lost. This lonely Rivoli-
Where find a better place for them?
Does Victor come? To undo all that's done!
Restore the past-prevent the future! Seat
His mistress in your seat, and place in mine
.. Oh, my own people, whom will you find there,
To ask of, to consult with, to care for,
To hold up with your hands? Whom? One that's false-
False-from the head's crown to the foot's sole, false!
The best is, that I knew it in my heart
From the beginning, and expected this,
And hated you, Polyxena, because
You saw thro' him, though I too saw thro' him,
Saw that he meant this while he crowned me, while
He prayed for me,―nay, while he kissed my brow,
But if your measures take effect, And D'Ormea's true to you?
I shall have loosed that callous wretch on him!
Well may the woman taunt him with his child-
I, eating here his bread, clothed in his clothes,
Seated upon his seat, give D'Ormea leave
To outrage him! We talk-perchance they tear
My father from his bed-the old hands feel
For one who is not, but who should be there—
And he finds D'Ormea! D'Ormea, too, finds him
-The crowded chamber when the lights go out-
Closed doors-the horrid scuffle in the dark-
The accursed promptings of the minute! My guards!
To horse-and after, with me-and prevent!
Pol. [seizing his hand.] King Charles! Pause here upon this strip of time
Allotted you out of eternity!
Crowns are from God-in his name you hold yours.
Your life's no least thing, were it fit your life
Should be abjured along with rule; but now,
Keep both! Your duty is to live and rule-
You, who would vulgarly look fine enough
In the world's eye, deserting your soul's charge,
Ay, you would have men's praise—this Rivoli
Would be illumined: while, as 'tis, no doubt,
Something of stain will ever rest on you;
No one will rightly know why you refused
To abdicate; they'll talk of deeds you could
Have done, no doubt,-nor do I much expect
Future achievements will blot out the past,
Envelop it in haze-nor shall we two
Be happy any more; 'twill be, I feel,
Only in moments that the duty's seen
As palpably as now-the months, the years
Of painful indistinctness are to come,
While daily must we tread these palace rooms
Pregnant with memories of the past: your eye
May turn to mine and find no comfort there,
Through fancies that beset me, as yourself,
Of other courses, with far other issues,
We might have taken this great night-such bear,
As I will bear! What matters happiness?
Duty! There's man's one moment-this is yours!
[Putting the crown on his head, and the sceptre in his hand,
she places him on his seat; a long pause and silence.
Enter D'ORMEA and VICTOR.
Vic. At last I speak; but once-that once, to you! 'Tis you I ask, not these your varletry,
Cha. [from his seat.] Count Tende . .
Vic.
Assert I ponder in my soul, I say—
Here to your face, amid your guards! I choose
To take again the crown whose shadow I gave—
For still its potency surrounds the weak
White locks their felon hands have discomposed.
Or, I'll not ask who's King, but simply, who
Withholds the crown I claim? Deliver it!
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