The little wit I have, and that your presence

Would only disconcert me—

Sir, this way of wile were good to catch,
But I have not the sleight of it. The truth!
Though I sink under it! What brings you here?
Vic. Not hope of this reception, certainly,
From one who'd scarce assume a stranger mode
Of speech, did I return to bring about

Some awfulest calamity!

Cha.

-You mean,

Did you require your crown again! Oh yes,

I should speak otherwise! But turn not that
To jesting! Sir, the truth! Your health declines?
Is aught deficient in your equipage?

Wisely you seek myself to make complaint,
And foil the malice of the world which laughs
At petty discontents; but I shall care

That not a soul knows of this visit.

Speak!

Vic. [Aside.] Here is the grateful, much-professing son

Who was to worship me, and for whose sake

I think to waive my plans of public good!

[Aloud.] Nay, Charles, if I did seek to take once more

My crown, were so disposed to plague myself-
What would be warrant for this bitterness?

I gave it--grant, I would resume it—well?

Cha. I should say simply-leaving out the why

And how-you made me swear to keep that crown:
And as you then intended...

Vic.

Fool! What way

Could I intend or not intend? As man,
With a man's life, when I say "I intend,"
I can intend up to a certain point,
No further. I intended to preserve
The Crown of Savoy and Sardinia whole.
And if events arise demonstrating
The way I took to keep it, rather's like
To lose it...

Cha.

Keep within your sphere and mine!

It is God's province we usurp on, else.

Here, blindfold thro' the maze of things we walk
By a slight thread of false, true, right and wrong;
All else is rambling and presumption. I

Have sworn to keep this kingdom: there's my truth.
Vic. Truth, boy, is here—within my breast; and in
Your recognition of it, truth is, too;

And in the effect of all this tortuous dealing

With falsehood, used to carry out the truth,

-In its success, this falsehood turns, again,

Truth for the world! But you are right: these themes
Are over-subtle. I should rather say

In such a case, frankly,—it fails, my scheme:
I hoped to see you bring about, yourself,
What I must bring about: I interpose

On

your behalf-with my son's good in sight

To hold what he is nearly letting go-
Confirm his tit›-add a grace, perhaps―
There's Sicily. for instance,-granted me
And taken back, "ome years since till I give
That island with the rest, my work's half done.
For his sake, therefore, as of those he rules...

Cha. Our rakes are one-and that, you could not say, Because my answer would present itself

Forthwith ;-a year has wrought an age's change:
This people's not the people now, you once

Could benefit; nor is my policy

Your policy.

Vic. [with an outburst.] I know it! You undo

All I have done-my life of toil and care!

I left you this the absolutest rule

In Europe-do you think I will sit still

And see you throw all power off to the people

See my Sardinia, that has stood apart,

Join in the mad and democratic whirl,

Whereto I see all Europe haste full-tide?

England casts off her kings-France mimics England

This realm I hoped was safe! Yet here I talk,

When I can save it, not by force alone,

But bidding plagues, which follow sons like you,
Fasten upon my disobedient. ..

[Recollecting himself.] Surely

I could say this-if minded so-my son?

Cha. You could not! Bitterer curses than your curse

ve I long since denounced upon myself

If I misused my power. In fear of these

I entered on those measures-will abide

By them so, I should say, Count Tende...

Vic.

No!

But no! But if, my Charles, your―more than old-
Half-foolish father urged these arguments,

And then confessed them futile, but said plainly
That he forgot his promise, found his strength
Fail him, had thought at savage Chambery
Too much of brilliant Turin, Rivoli here,
And Susa, and Veneria, and Superga-
Pined for the pleasant places he had built
When he was fortunate and young—

Cha.

My father!

Vic. Stay yet-and if he said he could not die
Deprived of baubles he had put aside,

He deemed, forever-of the Crown that binds
Your brain up, whole, sound, and impregnable,

Creating kingliness-the Sceptre, too,

Whose mere wind, should you wave it, back would beat Invaders and the golden Ball which throbs

As if you grasped the palpitating heart

Indeed o' the realm, to mould as you may choose!

-If I must totter up and down the streets

My sires built, where myself have introduced
And fostered laws and letters, sciences,

The civil and the military arts

Stay, Charles-I see you letting me pretend

To live my former self once more--King Victor,

The venturous yet politic-they style me
Again, the Father of the Prince-friends wink
Good-humouredly at the delusion you

So sedulously guard from all rough truths
That else would break upon the dotage !-You-
Whom now I see preventing my old shame—
I tell not, point by cruel point, my tale—
For is't not in your breast my brow is hid?
Is not your hand extended? Say you not. . .

Enter D'ORMEA, leading in POLYXENA.

Pol. [advancing and withdrawing CHARLES-to VICTOR.]

In this conjuncture, even, he would say―

(Tho' with a moistened eye and quivering lip)
The suppliant is my father-I must save

A great man from himself, nor see him fling
His well-earned fame away: there must not follow
Ruin so utter, a break-down of worth

So absolute: no enemy shall learn,

He thrust his child 'twixt danger and himself,

And, when that child somehow stood danger out,

Stole back with serpent wiles to ruin Charles

-Body, that's much,-and soul, that's more-and realm,

That's most of all! No enemy shall say.

D'O. Do you repent, sir?

Vic. [resuming himself.] D'Ormea? This is well! Worthily done, King Charles, craftily done!