COLOMBE'S BIRTHDAY

A PLAY

"Ivy and violet, what do ye here

With blossom and shoot in the warm spring-weather,
Hiding the arms of Monchenci and Vere?"

HANMER.

NO ONE LOVES AND HONORS BARRY CORNWALL MORE THAN DOES

ROBERT BROWNING;

WHO, HAVING NOTHING BETTER THAN THIS PLAY TO GIVE
HIM IN PROOF OF IT, MUST SAY SO.

LONDON, 1844.

PERSONS.

COLOMBE OF RAVESTEIN, Duchess of Juliers and Cleves.

SABYNE, ADOLF, her Attendants.

GUIBERT, GAUCELME, MAUFROY, CLUGNET, Courtiers.
VALENCE, Advocate of Cleves.

PRINCE BERTHOLD, Claimant of the Duchy.

MELCHIOR, his Confidant.

PLACE, The Palace at Juliers.

TIME, 16-.

ACT I.

Morning. SCENE. A corridor leading to the Audience-chamber. GAUCELME, CLUGNET, MAUFROY and other Courtiers, round GUIBERT who is silently reading a paper: as he drops it at the end –

Gui. That this should be her birthday; and the day We all invested her, twelve months ago,

As the late Duke's true heiress and our liege;

And that this also must become the day

Oh, miserable lady!

1st Court.

Ay, indeed?

2d Court. Well, Guibert ?

3d Court.

But your news, my friend, your news!

The sooner, friend, one learns Prince Berthold's pleasure,

The better for us all how writes the Prince?

Give me! I'll read it for the common good.

Gui. In time, sir, — but till time comes, pardon me!

Our old Duke just disclosed his child's retreat,
Declared her true succession to his rule,
And died this birthday was the day, last year,
We convoyed her from Castle Ravestein

That sleeps out trustfully its extreme age

On the Meuse' quiet bank, where she lived queen
Over the water-buds, - to Juliers' court

With joy and bustle. Here again we stand;
Sir Gaucelme's buckle's constant to his
To-day's much such another sunny day!

cap:

Gau. Come, Guibert, this outgrows a jest, I think! You're hardly such a novice as to need

The lesson, you pretend.

Gui.

What lesson, sir?

That everybody, if he'd thrive at court,

Should, first and last of all, look to himself?
Why, no and therefore with your good example,
Ho, Master Adolf!) — to myself I'll look.
Enter ADOLF.

Gui. The Prince's letter; why, of all men else
Comes it to me?

Adolf.

By virtue of your place,

Sir Guibert! "Twas the Prince's express charge,
His envoy told us, that the missive there

Should only reach our lady by the hand
Of whosoever held your place.

Gui.

Enough!

Then, gentles, who 'll accept a certain poor

Indifferently honorable place,

[ADOLF retires.

My friends, I make no doubt, have gnashed their teeth

At leisure minutes these half-dozen years,

To find me never in the mood to quit?

Who asks

have it, with my blessing, and may This to present our lady. Who 'll accept?

You,

-

you you? There it lies, and may, for me! Mau. [a youth, picking up the paper, reads aloud.] "Prince Berthold, proved by titles following

Undoubted Lord of Juliers, comes this day
To claim his own, with license from the Pope,
The Emperor, the Kings of Spain and France
Gau. Sufficient "titles following," I judge!
Don't read another! Well, -"to claim his own?"
Маи. 66
And take possession of the Duchy held
Since twelve months, to the true heir's prejudice,
By". Colombe, Juliers' mistress, so she thinks,
And Ravestein's mere lady, as we find!

Who wants the place and paper? Guibert 's right.
I hope to climb a little in the world,

I'd push my fortunes, but, no more than he,
Could tell her on this happy day of days,
That, save the nosegay in her hand, perhaps,
There's nothing left to call her own. Sir Clugnet,
You famish for promotion; what say you?

Clug. [an old man.] To give this letter were a sort, I take it, Of service services ask recompense :

What kind of corner may be Ravestein?

Gui. The castle? Oh, you'd share her fortunes? Good! Three walls stand upright, full as good as four,

With no such bad remainder of a roof.

Clug. Oh, but the town?

Gui.

Five houses, fifteen huts

A church whereto was once a spire, 't is judged;
And half a dyke, except in time of thaw.
Clug. Still, there's some revenue?
Gui.

Else Heaven forfend!

You hang a beacon out, should fogs increase;
So, when the Autumn floats of pine-wood steer
Safe 'mid the white confusion, thanks to you,
Their grateful raftsman flings a guilder in;
That's if he mean to pass your way next time.
Clug. If not?

Gui.

Hang guilders, then he blesses you! Clug. What man do you suppose me? Keep your paper! And, let me say, it shows no handsome spirit

To dally with misfortune: keep your place!

Gau. Some one must tell her.

Gui.

Some one may you may!

Gau. Sir Guibert, 't is no trifle turns me sick

Of court-hypocrisy at years like mine,

But this goes near it. Where's there news at all?
Who 'll have the face, for instance, to affirm

He never heard, e'en while we crowned the girl,

That Juliers' tenure was by Salic law;

That one, confessed her father's cousin's child,

And, she away, indisputable heir,

Against our choice protesting and the Duke's,
Claimed Juliers? nor, as he preferred his claim,
That first this, then another potentate,

Inclined to its allowance?

-I or you,

Or any one except the lady's self?"

Oh, it had been the direst cruelty

To break the business to her! Things might change:

At all events, we'd see next masque at end,
Next mummery over first: and so the edge
Was taken off sharp tidings as they came,
Till here's the Prince upon us, and there's she
Wreathing her hair, a song between her lips,
With just the faintest notion possible
That some such claimant earns a livelihood
About the world, by feigning grievances -
Few pay the story of, but grudge its price,
And fewer listen to, a second time.

Your method proves a failure; now try mine!
And, since this must be carried

Gui. [snatching the paper from him.] By your leave! Your zeal transports you! 'T will not serve the Prince So much as you expect, this course you'd take.

If she leaves quietly her palace, well;

no:

what the devil knows!

But if she died upon its threshold,
He'd have the trouble of removing her.
Come, gentles, we 're all
You, Gaucelme, won't lose character, beside -
You broke your father's heart superiorly
To gather his succession never blush!
You're from my province, and, be comforted,
They tell of it with wonder to this day.
You can afford to let your talent sleep.
We'll take the very worst supposed, as true:

There, the old Duke knew, when he hid his child

Among the river-flowers at Ravestein,

With whom the right lay! Call the Prince our Duke! There, she's no Duchess, she 's no anything

More than a young maid with the bluest eyes:

And now, sirs, we 'll not break this young maid's heart
Coolly as Gaucelme could and would! No haste!

His talent's full-blown, ours but in the bud :
We'll not advance to his perfection yet

Will we, Sir Maufroy? See, I've ruined Maufroy
Forever as a courtier !

And, count us, will you? Count its residue,

This boasted convoy, this day last year's crowd!

A birthday, too, a gratulation-day!

I'm dumb bid that keep silence!

Mau. and others.

Eh, Sir Guibert ?

He's right that does say something that's bare truth. Ten-twelve, I make a perilous dropping off!

Gui. Pooh- - is it audience hour? The vestibule

Swarms too, I wager, with the common sort

That want our privilege of entry here.

Gau. Adolf! [Re-enter ADOLF.] Who's outside?

Gui.

Nobody waiting?

Oh, your looks suffice!

Mau. [looking through the door-folds.] Scarce our number ! Gui.

Nothing to beg for, to complain about?

It can't be ! Ill news spreads, but not so fast

As thus to frighten all the world!

Gau.

Lives out of doors, sir

The world

not with you and me
By presence-chamber porches, state-room stairs,
Wherever warmth 's perpetual: outside's free
To every wind from every compass-point
And who may get nipped needs be weather-wise.
The Prince comes and the lady's People go;
The snow-goose settles down, the swallows flee
Why should they wait for winter-time?
Don't you feel somewhat chilly?

Gui.

'Tis instinct:

That's their craft?

And last year's crowders-round and criers-forth
That strewed the garlands, overarched the roads,
Lighted the bonfires, sang the loyal songs!
Well 't is my comfort, you could never call me
The People's Friend! The People keep their word
I keep my place: don't doubt I 'Îl entertain

The People when the Prince comes, and the People
Are talked of! Then, their speeches no one tongue
Found respite, not a pen had holiday

For they wrote, too, as well as spoke, these knaves!
Now see we tax and tithe them, pill and poll,
They wince and fret enough, but pay they must
We manage that, so, pay with a good grace
They might as well, it costs so little more.
But when we've done with taxes, meet folk next
Outside the toll-booth and the rating-place,
In public there they have us if they will,
We're at their mercy after that, you see!
For one tax not ten devils could extort
Over and above necessity, a grace;
This prompt disbosoming of love, to wit-
Their vine-leaf wrappage of our tribute-penny,
And crowding attestation, all works well.
Yet this precisely do they thrust on us!

These cappings quick, these crook-and-cringings low,

'Sdeath!