FIRST YEAR 1730.—KING VICTOR.
Part II.
Enter , 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. 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 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: now, 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?