IV. NIGHT

3d Girl.[ToPippawho approaches.]Oh, you may come closer—we shall not eat you! Why, you seem the very person that the great rich handsome Englishman has fallen so violently in love with. I 'll tell you all about it.

Inside the Palace by the Duomo.Monsignor,dismissing hisAttendants.Monsignor.Thanks, friends, many thanks! I chiefly desire life now, that I may recompense every one of you. Most I know something of already. What, a repast prepared?Benedicto benedicatur... ugh, ugh! Where was I? Oh, as you were remarking, Ugo, the weather is mild, very unlike winter-weather: but I am a Sicilian, you know, and shiver in your Julys here. To be sure, when 'twas full summer at Messina, as we priests used to cross in procession the great square on Assumption Day, you might see our thickest yellow tapers twist suddenly in two, each like a falling star, or sink down on themselves in a gore of wax. But go, my friends, but go![To theIntendant.]Not you, Ugo![The others leave the apartment.]I have long wanted to converse with you, Ugo.Intendant.Uguccio—Mon.... 'guccio Stefani, man! of Ascoli, Fermo and Fossombruno;—what I do need instructing about, are these accounts of your administration of my poor brother's affairs. Ugh! I shall never get through a third part of your accounts; take some of these dainties before we attempt it, however. Are you bashful to that degree? For me, a crust and water suffice.Inten.Do you choose this especial night to question me?Mon.This night, Ugo. You have managed my late brother's affairs since the death of our elder brother: fourteen years and a month, all but three days. On the Third of December, I find him ...Inten.If you have so intimate an acquaintance with your brother's affairs, you will be tender of turning so far back: they will hardly bear looking into, so far back.Mon.Ay, ay, ugh, ugh,—nothing but disappointments here below! I remark a considerable payment made to yourself on this Third of December. Talk of disappointments! There was a young fellow here, Jules, a foreign sculptor I did my utmost to advance, that the Church might be a gainer by us both: he was going on hopefully enough, and of a sudden he notifies to me some marvellous change that has happened in his notions of Art. Here's his letter,—"He never had a clearly conceived Ideal within his brain till to-day. Yet since his hand could manage a chisel, he has practised expressing other men's Ideals; and, in the very perfection he has attained to, he foresees an ultimate failure: his unconscious hand will pursue its prescribed course of old years, and will reproduce with a fatal expertness the ancient types, let the novel one appear never so palpably to his spirit. There is but one method of escape: confiding the virgin type to as chaste a hand, he will turn painter instead of sculptor, and paint, not carve, its characteristics,"—strike out, I dare say, a school like Correggio: how think you, Ugo?Inten.Is Correggio a painter?Mon.Foolish Jules! and yet, after all, why foolish? He may—probably will—fail egregiously; but if there should arise a new painter, will it not be in some such way, by a poet now, or a musician (spirits who have conceived and perfected an Ideal through some other channel), transferring it to this, and escaping our conventional roads by pure ignorance of them; eh, Ugo? If you have no appetite, talk at least, Ugo!Inten.Sir, I can submit no longer to this course of yours. First, you select the group of which I formed one,—next you thin it gradually,—always retaining me with your smile,—and so do you proceed till you have fairly got me alone with you between four stone walls. And now then? Let this farce, this chatter end now: what is it you want with me?Mon.Ugo!Inten.From the instant you arrived, I felt your smile on me as you questioned me about this and the other article in those papers—why your brother should have given me this villa, thatpodere,—and your nod at the end meant,—what?Mon.Possibly that I wished for no loud talk here. If once you set me coughing, Ugo!—Inten.I have your brother's hand and seal to all I possess: now ask me what for! what service I did him—ask me!Mon.I would better not: I should rip up old disgraces, let out my poor brother's weaknesses. By the way, Maffeo of Forli, (which, I forgot to observe, is your true name,) was the interdict ever taken off you for robbing that church at Cesena?Inten.No, nor needs be: for when I murdered your brother's friend, Pasquale, for him ...Mon.Ah, he employed you in that business, did he? Well, I must let you keep, as you say, this villa and thatpodere, for fear the world should find out my relations were of so indifferent a stamp? Maffeo, my family is the oldest in Messina, and century after century have my progenitors gone on polluting themselves with every wickedness under heaven: my own father ... rest his soul!—I have, I know, a chapel to support that it may rest: my dear two dead brothers were,—what you know tolerably well; I, the youngest, might have rivalled them in vice, if not in wealth: but from my boyhood I came out from among them, and so am not partaker of their plagues. My glory springs from another source; or if from this, by contrast only,—for I, the bishop, am the brother of your employers, Ugo. I hope to repair some of their wrong, however; so far as my brother's ill-gotten treasure reverts to me, I can stop the consequences of his crime: and not onesoldoshall escape me. Maffeo, the sword we quiet men spurn away, you shrewd knaves pick up and commit murders with; what opportunities the virtuous forego, the villanous seize. Because, to pleasure myself apart from other considerations, my food would be millet-cake, my dress sackcloth, and my couch straw,—am I therefore to let you, the off-scouring-of the earth, seduce the poor and ignorant by appropriating a pomp these will be sure to think lessens the abominations so unaccountably and exclusively associated with it? Must I let villas andpoderigo to you, a murderer and thief, that you may beget by means of them other murderers and thieves? No—if my cough would but allow me to speak!Inten.What am I to expect? You are going to punish me?Mon.Must punish you, Maffeo. I cannot afford to cast away a chance. I have whole centuries of sin to redeem, and only a month or two of life to do it in. How should I dare to say ...Inten."Forgive us our trespasses"?Mon.My friend, it is because I avow myself a very worm, sinful beyond measure, that I reject a line of conduct you would applaud perhaps. Shall I proceed, as it were, a-pardoning?—I?—who have no symptom of reason to assume that aught less than my strenuousest efforts will keep myself out of mortal sin, much less keep others out. No: I do trespass, but will not double that by allowing you to trespass.Inten.And suppose the villas are not your brother's to give, nor yours to take? Oh, you are hasty enough just now!Mon.1, 2—Nᵒ. 3!—ay, can you read the substance of a letter, Nᵒ. 3, I have received from Rome? It is precisely on the ground there mentioned, of the suspicion I have that a certain child of my late elder brother, who would have succeeded to his estates, was murdered in infancy by you, Maffeo, at the instigation of my late younger brother—that the Pontiff enjoins on me not merely the bringing that Maffeo to condign punishment, but the taking all pains, as guardian of the infant's heritage for the Church, to recover it parcel by parcel, howsoever, whensoever, and wheresoever. While you are now gnawing those fingers, the police are engaged in sealing up your papers, Maffeo, and the mere raising my voice brings my people from the next room to dispose of yourself. But I want you to confess quietly, and save me raising my voice. Why, man, do I not know the old story? The heir between the succeeding heir, and this heir's ruffianly instrument, and their complot's effect, and the life of fear and bribes and ominous smiling silence? Did you throttle or stab my brother's infant? Come now!Inten.So old a story, and tell it no better? When did such an instrument ever produce such an effect? Either the child smiles in his face; or, most likely, he is not fool enough to put himself in the employer's power so thoroughly: the child is always ready to produce—as you say—howsoever, wheresoever, and whensoever.Mon.Liar!Inten.Strike me? Ah, so might a father chastise! I shall sleep soundly to-night at least, though the gallows await me to-morrow; for what a life did I lead! Carlo of Cesena reminds me of his connivance, every time I pay his annuity; which happens commonly thrice a year. If I remonstrate, he will confess all to the good bishop—you!Mon.I see through the trick, caitiff! I would you spoke truth for once. All shall be sifted, however—seven times sifted.Inten.And how my absurd riches encumbered me! I dared not lay claim to above half my possessions. Let me but once unbosom myself, glorify Heaven, and die!Sir, you are no brutal dastardly idiot like your brother I frightened to death: let us understand one another. Sir, I will make away with her for you—the girl—here close at hand; not the stupid obvious kind of killing; do not speak—know nothing of her nor of me! I see her every day—saw her this morning: of course there is to be no killing; but at Rome the courtesans perish off every three years, and I can entice her thither—have indeed begun operations already. There's a certain lusty blue-eyed florid-complexioned English knave, I and the Police employ occasionally. You assent, I perceive—no, that's not it—assent I do not say—but you will let me convert my present havings and holdings into cash, and give me time to cross the Alps? 'Tis but a little black-eyed pretty singing Felippa, gay silk-winding girl. I have kept her out of harm's way up to this present; for I always intended to make your life a plague toyou with her. 'T is as well settled once and forever. Some women I have procured will pass Bluphocks, my handsome scoundrel, off for somebody; and once Pippa entangled!—you conceive? Through her singing? Is it a bargain?[From without is heard the voice ofPippa,singing—

Inside the Palace by the Duomo.Monsignor,dismissing hisAttendants.

Monsignor.Thanks, friends, many thanks! I chiefly desire life now, that I may recompense every one of you. Most I know something of already. What, a repast prepared?Benedicto benedicatur... ugh, ugh! Where was I? Oh, as you were remarking, Ugo, the weather is mild, very unlike winter-weather: but I am a Sicilian, you know, and shiver in your Julys here. To be sure, when 'twas full summer at Messina, as we priests used to cross in procession the great square on Assumption Day, you might see our thickest yellow tapers twist suddenly in two, each like a falling star, or sink down on themselves in a gore of wax. But go, my friends, but go![To theIntendant.]Not you, Ugo![The others leave the apartment.]I have long wanted to converse with you, Ugo.

Intendant.Uguccio—

Mon.... 'guccio Stefani, man! of Ascoli, Fermo and Fossombruno;—what I do need instructing about, are these accounts of your administration of my poor brother's affairs. Ugh! I shall never get through a third part of your accounts; take some of these dainties before we attempt it, however. Are you bashful to that degree? For me, a crust and water suffice.

Inten.Do you choose this especial night to question me?

Mon.This night, Ugo. You have managed my late brother's affairs since the death of our elder brother: fourteen years and a month, all but three days. On the Third of December, I find him ...

Inten.If you have so intimate an acquaintance with your brother's affairs, you will be tender of turning so far back: they will hardly bear looking into, so far back.

Mon.Ay, ay, ugh, ugh,—nothing but disappointments here below! I remark a considerable payment made to yourself on this Third of December. Talk of disappointments! There was a young fellow here, Jules, a foreign sculptor I did my utmost to advance, that the Church might be a gainer by us both: he was going on hopefully enough, and of a sudden he notifies to me some marvellous change that has happened in his notions of Art. Here's his letter,—"He never had a clearly conceived Ideal within his brain till to-day. Yet since his hand could manage a chisel, he has practised expressing other men's Ideals; and, in the very perfection he has attained to, he foresees an ultimate failure: his unconscious hand will pursue its prescribed course of old years, and will reproduce with a fatal expertness the ancient types, let the novel one appear never so palpably to his spirit. There is but one method of escape: confiding the virgin type to as chaste a hand, he will turn painter instead of sculptor, and paint, not carve, its characteristics,"—strike out, I dare say, a school like Correggio: how think you, Ugo?

Inten.Is Correggio a painter?

Mon.Foolish Jules! and yet, after all, why foolish? He may—probably will—fail egregiously; but if there should arise a new painter, will it not be in some such way, by a poet now, or a musician (spirits who have conceived and perfected an Ideal through some other channel), transferring it to this, and escaping our conventional roads by pure ignorance of them; eh, Ugo? If you have no appetite, talk at least, Ugo!

Inten.Sir, I can submit no longer to this course of yours. First, you select the group of which I formed one,—next you thin it gradually,—always retaining me with your smile,—and so do you proceed till you have fairly got me alone with you between four stone walls. And now then? Let this farce, this chatter end now: what is it you want with me?

Mon.Ugo!

Inten.From the instant you arrived, I felt your smile on me as you questioned me about this and the other article in those papers—why your brother should have given me this villa, thatpodere,—and your nod at the end meant,—what?

Mon.Possibly that I wished for no loud talk here. If once you set me coughing, Ugo!—

Inten.I have your brother's hand and seal to all I possess: now ask me what for! what service I did him—ask me!

Mon.I would better not: I should rip up old disgraces, let out my poor brother's weaknesses. By the way, Maffeo of Forli, (which, I forgot to observe, is your true name,) was the interdict ever taken off you for robbing that church at Cesena?

Inten.No, nor needs be: for when I murdered your brother's friend, Pasquale, for him ...

Mon.Ah, he employed you in that business, did he? Well, I must let you keep, as you say, this villa and thatpodere, for fear the world should find out my relations were of so indifferent a stamp? Maffeo, my family is the oldest in Messina, and century after century have my progenitors gone on polluting themselves with every wickedness under heaven: my own father ... rest his soul!—I have, I know, a chapel to support that it may rest: my dear two dead brothers were,—what you know tolerably well; I, the youngest, might have rivalled them in vice, if not in wealth: but from my boyhood I came out from among them, and so am not partaker of their plagues. My glory springs from another source; or if from this, by contrast only,—for I, the bishop, am the brother of your employers, Ugo. I hope to repair some of their wrong, however; so far as my brother's ill-gotten treasure reverts to me, I can stop the consequences of his crime: and not onesoldoshall escape me. Maffeo, the sword we quiet men spurn away, you shrewd knaves pick up and commit murders with; what opportunities the virtuous forego, the villanous seize. Because, to pleasure myself apart from other considerations, my food would be millet-cake, my dress sackcloth, and my couch straw,—am I therefore to let you, the off-scouring-of the earth, seduce the poor and ignorant by appropriating a pomp these will be sure to think lessens the abominations so unaccountably and exclusively associated with it? Must I let villas andpoderigo to you, a murderer and thief, that you may beget by means of them other murderers and thieves? No—if my cough would but allow me to speak!

Inten.What am I to expect? You are going to punish me?

Mon.Must punish you, Maffeo. I cannot afford to cast away a chance. I have whole centuries of sin to redeem, and only a month or two of life to do it in. How should I dare to say ...

Inten."Forgive us our trespasses"?

Mon.My friend, it is because I avow myself a very worm, sinful beyond measure, that I reject a line of conduct you would applaud perhaps. Shall I proceed, as it were, a-pardoning?—I?—who have no symptom of reason to assume that aught less than my strenuousest efforts will keep myself out of mortal sin, much less keep others out. No: I do trespass, but will not double that by allowing you to trespass.

Inten.And suppose the villas are not your brother's to give, nor yours to take? Oh, you are hasty enough just now!

Mon.1, 2—Nᵒ. 3!—ay, can you read the substance of a letter, Nᵒ. 3, I have received from Rome? It is precisely on the ground there mentioned, of the suspicion I have that a certain child of my late elder brother, who would have succeeded to his estates, was murdered in infancy by you, Maffeo, at the instigation of my late younger brother—that the Pontiff enjoins on me not merely the bringing that Maffeo to condign punishment, but the taking all pains, as guardian of the infant's heritage for the Church, to recover it parcel by parcel, howsoever, whensoever, and wheresoever. While you are now gnawing those fingers, the police are engaged in sealing up your papers, Maffeo, and the mere raising my voice brings my people from the next room to dispose of yourself. But I want you to confess quietly, and save me raising my voice. Why, man, do I not know the old story? The heir between the succeeding heir, and this heir's ruffianly instrument, and their complot's effect, and the life of fear and bribes and ominous smiling silence? Did you throttle or stab my brother's infant? Come now!

Inten.So old a story, and tell it no better? When did such an instrument ever produce such an effect? Either the child smiles in his face; or, most likely, he is not fool enough to put himself in the employer's power so thoroughly: the child is always ready to produce—as you say—howsoever, wheresoever, and whensoever.

Mon.Liar!

Inten.Strike me? Ah, so might a father chastise! I shall sleep soundly to-night at least, though the gallows await me to-morrow; for what a life did I lead! Carlo of Cesena reminds me of his connivance, every time I pay his annuity; which happens commonly thrice a year. If I remonstrate, he will confess all to the good bishop—you!

Mon.I see through the trick, caitiff! I would you spoke truth for once. All shall be sifted, however—seven times sifted.

Inten.And how my absurd riches encumbered me! I dared not lay claim to above half my possessions. Let me but once unbosom myself, glorify Heaven, and die!

Sir, you are no brutal dastardly idiot like your brother I frightened to death: let us understand one another. Sir, I will make away with her for you—the girl—here close at hand; not the stupid obvious kind of killing; do not speak—know nothing of her nor of me! I see her every day—saw her this morning: of course there is to be no killing; but at Rome the courtesans perish off every three years, and I can entice her thither—have indeed begun operations already. There's a certain lusty blue-eyed florid-complexioned English knave, I and the Police employ occasionally. You assent, I perceive—no, that's not it—assent I do not say—but you will let me convert my present havings and holdings into cash, and give me time to cross the Alps? 'Tis but a little black-eyed pretty singing Felippa, gay silk-winding girl. I have kept her out of harm's way up to this present; for I always intended to make your life a plague toyou with her. 'T is as well settled once and forever. Some women I have procured will pass Bluphocks, my handsome scoundrel, off for somebody; and once Pippa entangled!—you conceive? Through her singing? Is it a bargain?

[From without is heard the voice ofPippa,singing—

Overhead the tree-tops meet,Flowers and grass spring 'neath one's feet;There was naught above me, naught below,My childhood had not learned to know:For, what are the voices of birds—Ay, and of beasts,—but words, our words,Only so much more sweet?The knowledge of that with my life begun.But I had so near made out the sun,And counted your stars, the seven and one,Like the fingers of my hand:Nay, I could all but understandWherefore through heaven the white moon ranges;And just when out of her soft fifty changesNo unfamiliar face might overlook me—Suddenly God took me.[Pippapasses.

Overhead the tree-tops meet,

Flowers and grass spring 'neath one's feet;

There was naught above me, naught below,

My childhood had not learned to know:

For, what are the voices of birds

—Ay, and of beasts,—but words, our words,

Only so much more sweet?

The knowledge of that with my life begun.

But I had so near made out the sun,

And counted your stars, the seven and one,

Like the fingers of my hand:

Nay, I could all but understand

Wherefore through heaven the white moon ranges;

And just when out of her soft fifty changes

No unfamiliar face might overlook me—

Suddenly God took me.[Pippapasses.

Mon.[Springing up.]My people—one and all—all—within there! Gag this villain—tie him hand and foot! He dares ... I know not half he dares—but remove him—quick!Miserere mei, Domine!Quick, I say!

Pippa'sChamber again. She enters it.The bee with his comb,The mouse at her dray,The grub in his tomb,While winter away;But the fire-fly and hedge-shrew and lob-worm, I pray,How fare they?Ha, ha, thanks for your counsel, my Zanze!"Feast upon lampreys, quaff Breganze"—The summer of life so easy to spend,And care for to-morrow so soon put away!But winter hastens at summer's end,And fire-fly, hedge-shrew, lob-worm, pray,How fare they?No bidding me then to ... what did Zanze say?"Pare your nails pearlwise, get your small feet shoesMore like" ... (what said she?)—"and less like canoes!"How pert that girl was!—would I be those pertImpudent staring women! It had done me,However, surely no such mighty hurtTo learn his name who passed that jest upon me:No foreigner, that I can recollect,Came, as she says, a month since, to inspectOur silk-mills—none with blue eyes and thick ringsOf raw-silk-colored hair, at all events.Well, if old Luca keep his good intents,We shall do better, see what next year brings!I may buy shoes, my Zanze, not appearMore destitute than you perhaps next year!Bluph ... something! I had caught the uncouth nameBut for Monsignor's people's sudden clatterAbove us—bound to spoil such idle chatterAs ours: it were indeed a serious matterIf silly talk like ours should put to shameThe pious man, the man devoid of blame,The ... ah but—ah but, all the same,No mere mortal has a rightTo carry that exalted air;Best people are not angels quite:While—not the worst of people's doings scareThe devil; so there 's that proud look to spare!Which is mere counsel to myself, mind! forI have just been the holy Monsignor:And I was you too, Luigi's gentle mother,And you too, Luigi!—how that Luigi startedOut of the turret—doubtlessly departedOn some good errand or another,For he passed just now in a traveller's trim,And the sullen company that prowledAbout his path, I noticed, scowledAs if they had lost a prey in him.And I was Jules the sculptor's bride,And I was Ottima beside,And now what am I?—tired of fooling.Day for folly, night for schooling!New year's day is over and spent,Ill or well, I must be content.Even my lily 's asleep, I vow:Wake up—here 's a friend I've plucked you!Call this flower a heart's-ease now!Something rare, let me instruct you,Is this, with petals triply swollen,Three times spotted, thrice the pollen;While the leaves and parts that witnessOld proportions and their fitness,Here remain unchanged, unmoved now;Call this pampered thing improved now!Suppose there 's a king of the flowersAnd a girl-show held in his bowers—-"Look ye, buds, this growth of ours,"Says he, "Zanze from the Brenta,I have made her gorge polentaTill both cheeks are near as bouncingAs her ... name there 's no pronouncing!See this heightened color too,For she swilled Breganze wineTill her nose turned deep carmine;'T was but white when wild she grew.And only by this Zanze's eyesOf which we could not change the size,The magnitude of all achievedOtherwise, may be perceived."Oh what a drear dark close to my poor day!How could that red sun drop in that black cloud?Ah Pippa, morning's rule is moved away,Dispensed with, never more to be allowed!Day's turn is over, now arrives the night's.Oh lark, be day's apostleTo mavis, merle and throstle,Bid them their betters jostleFrom day and its delights!But at night, brother owlet, over the woods,Toll the world to thy chantry;Sing to the bats' sleek sisterhoodsFull complines with gallantry:Then, owls and bats,Cowls and twats,Monks and nuns, in a cloister's moods,Adjourn to the oak-stump pantry![After she has begun to undress herself.Now, one thing I should like to really know:How near I ever might approach all theseI only fancied being, this long day:—Approach, I mean, so as to touch them, soAs to ... in some way ... move them—if you please,Do good or evil to them some slight way.For instance, if I windSilk to-morrow, my silk may bind[Sitting on the bedside.And border Ottima's cloak's hem.Ah me, and my important part with them,This morning's hymn half promised when I rose!True in some sense or other, I suppose.[As she lies down.God bless me! I can pray no more to-night.No doubt, some way or other, hymns say right.All service ranks the same with God—With God, whose puppets, best and worst,Are we; there is no last nor first.[She sleeps.

Pippa'sChamber again. She enters it.

The bee with his comb,The mouse at her dray,The grub in his tomb,While winter away;But the fire-fly and hedge-shrew and lob-worm, I pray,How fare they?Ha, ha, thanks for your counsel, my Zanze!"Feast upon lampreys, quaff Breganze"—The summer of life so easy to spend,And care for to-morrow so soon put away!But winter hastens at summer's end,And fire-fly, hedge-shrew, lob-worm, pray,How fare they?No bidding me then to ... what did Zanze say?"Pare your nails pearlwise, get your small feet shoesMore like" ... (what said she?)—"and less like canoes!"How pert that girl was!—would I be those pertImpudent staring women! It had done me,However, surely no such mighty hurtTo learn his name who passed that jest upon me:No foreigner, that I can recollect,Came, as she says, a month since, to inspectOur silk-mills—none with blue eyes and thick ringsOf raw-silk-colored hair, at all events.Well, if old Luca keep his good intents,We shall do better, see what next year brings!I may buy shoes, my Zanze, not appearMore destitute than you perhaps next year!Bluph ... something! I had caught the uncouth nameBut for Monsignor's people's sudden clatterAbove us—bound to spoil such idle chatterAs ours: it were indeed a serious matterIf silly talk like ours should put to shameThe pious man, the man devoid of blame,The ... ah but—ah but, all the same,No mere mortal has a rightTo carry that exalted air;Best people are not angels quite:While—not the worst of people's doings scareThe devil; so there 's that proud look to spare!Which is mere counsel to myself, mind! forI have just been the holy Monsignor:And I was you too, Luigi's gentle mother,And you too, Luigi!—how that Luigi startedOut of the turret—doubtlessly departedOn some good errand or another,For he passed just now in a traveller's trim,And the sullen company that prowledAbout his path, I noticed, scowledAs if they had lost a prey in him.And I was Jules the sculptor's bride,And I was Ottima beside,And now what am I?—tired of fooling.Day for folly, night for schooling!New year's day is over and spent,Ill or well, I must be content.Even my lily 's asleep, I vow:Wake up—here 's a friend I've plucked you!Call this flower a heart's-ease now!Something rare, let me instruct you,Is this, with petals triply swollen,Three times spotted, thrice the pollen;While the leaves and parts that witnessOld proportions and their fitness,Here remain unchanged, unmoved now;Call this pampered thing improved now!Suppose there 's a king of the flowersAnd a girl-show held in his bowers—-"Look ye, buds, this growth of ours,"Says he, "Zanze from the Brenta,I have made her gorge polentaTill both cheeks are near as bouncingAs her ... name there 's no pronouncing!See this heightened color too,For she swilled Breganze wineTill her nose turned deep carmine;'T was but white when wild she grew.And only by this Zanze's eyesOf which we could not change the size,The magnitude of all achievedOtherwise, may be perceived."

The bee with his comb,

The mouse at her dray,

The grub in his tomb,

While winter away;

But the fire-fly and hedge-shrew and lob-worm, I pray,

How fare they?

Ha, ha, thanks for your counsel, my Zanze!

"Feast upon lampreys, quaff Breganze"—

The summer of life so easy to spend,

And care for to-morrow so soon put away!

But winter hastens at summer's end,

And fire-fly, hedge-shrew, lob-worm, pray,

How fare they?

No bidding me then to ... what did Zanze say?

"Pare your nails pearlwise, get your small feet shoes

More like" ... (what said she?)—"and less like canoes!"

How pert that girl was!—would I be those pert

Impudent staring women! It had done me,

However, surely no such mighty hurt

To learn his name who passed that jest upon me:

No foreigner, that I can recollect,

Came, as she says, a month since, to inspect

Our silk-mills—none with blue eyes and thick rings

Of raw-silk-colored hair, at all events.

Well, if old Luca keep his good intents,

We shall do better, see what next year brings!

I may buy shoes, my Zanze, not appear

More destitute than you perhaps next year!

Bluph ... something! I had caught the uncouth name

But for Monsignor's people's sudden clatter

Above us—bound to spoil such idle chatter

As ours: it were indeed a serious matter

If silly talk like ours should put to shame

The pious man, the man devoid of blame,

The ... ah but—ah but, all the same,

No mere mortal has a right

To carry that exalted air;

Best people are not angels quite:

While—not the worst of people's doings scare

The devil; so there 's that proud look to spare!

Which is mere counsel to myself, mind! for

I have just been the holy Monsignor:

And I was you too, Luigi's gentle mother,

And you too, Luigi!—how that Luigi started

Out of the turret—doubtlessly departed

On some good errand or another,

For he passed just now in a traveller's trim,

And the sullen company that prowled

About his path, I noticed, scowled

As if they had lost a prey in him.

And I was Jules the sculptor's bride,

And I was Ottima beside,

And now what am I?—tired of fooling.

Day for folly, night for schooling!

New year's day is over and spent,

Ill or well, I must be content.

Even my lily 's asleep, I vow:

Wake up—here 's a friend I've plucked you!

Call this flower a heart's-ease now!

Something rare, let me instruct you,

Is this, with petals triply swollen,

Three times spotted, thrice the pollen;

While the leaves and parts that witness

Old proportions and their fitness,

Here remain unchanged, unmoved now;

Call this pampered thing improved now!

Suppose there 's a king of the flowers

And a girl-show held in his bowers—-

"Look ye, buds, this growth of ours,"

Says he, "Zanze from the Brenta,

I have made her gorge polenta

Till both cheeks are near as bouncing

As her ... name there 's no pronouncing!

See this heightened color too,

For she swilled Breganze wine

Till her nose turned deep carmine;

'T was but white when wild she grew.

And only by this Zanze's eyes

Of which we could not change the size,

The magnitude of all achieved

Otherwise, may be perceived."

Oh what a drear dark close to my poor day!How could that red sun drop in that black cloud?Ah Pippa, morning's rule is moved away,Dispensed with, never more to be allowed!Day's turn is over, now arrives the night's.Oh lark, be day's apostleTo mavis, merle and throstle,Bid them their betters jostleFrom day and its delights!But at night, brother owlet, over the woods,Toll the world to thy chantry;Sing to the bats' sleek sisterhoodsFull complines with gallantry:Then, owls and bats,Cowls and twats,Monks and nuns, in a cloister's moods,Adjourn to the oak-stump pantry![After she has begun to undress herself.Now, one thing I should like to really know:How near I ever might approach all theseI only fancied being, this long day:—Approach, I mean, so as to touch them, soAs to ... in some way ... move them—if you please,Do good or evil to them some slight way.For instance, if I windSilk to-morrow, my silk may bind[Sitting on the bedside.And border Ottima's cloak's hem.Ah me, and my important part with them,This morning's hymn half promised when I rose!True in some sense or other, I suppose.[As she lies down.God bless me! I can pray no more to-night.No doubt, some way or other, hymns say right.

Oh what a drear dark close to my poor day!

How could that red sun drop in that black cloud?

Ah Pippa, morning's rule is moved away,

Dispensed with, never more to be allowed!

Day's turn is over, now arrives the night's.

Oh lark, be day's apostle

To mavis, merle and throstle,

Bid them their betters jostle

From day and its delights!

But at night, brother owlet, over the woods,

Toll the world to thy chantry;

Sing to the bats' sleek sisterhoods

Full complines with gallantry:

Then, owls and bats,

Cowls and twats,

Monks and nuns, in a cloister's moods,

Adjourn to the oak-stump pantry!

[After she has begun to undress herself.

Now, one thing I should like to really know:

How near I ever might approach all these

I only fancied being, this long day:

—Approach, I mean, so as to touch them, so

As to ... in some way ... move them—if you please,

Do good or evil to them some slight way.

For instance, if I wind

Silk to-morrow, my silk may bind[Sitting on the bedside.

And border Ottima's cloak's hem.

Ah me, and my important part with them,

This morning's hymn half promised when I rose!

True in some sense or other, I suppose.[As she lies down.

God bless me! I can pray no more to-night.

No doubt, some way or other, hymns say right.

All service ranks the same with God—With God, whose puppets, best and worst,Are we; there is no last nor first.[She sleeps.

All service ranks the same with God—

With God, whose puppets, best and worst,

Are we; there is no last nor first.[She sleeps.

This was No. II. ofBells and Pomegranatesand was issued in 1842, though it appears to have been written before the publication ofPippa Passes. The following is the advertisement prefixed to the tragedy when first published and always afterward retained.

"So far as I know, this tragedy is the first artistic consequence of what Voltaire termed 'a terrible event without consequences;' and although it professes to be historical, I have taken more pains to arrive at the history than most readers would thank me for particularizing: since acquainted, as I will hope them to be, with the chief circumstances of Victor's remarkable European career—nor quite ignorant of the sad and surprising facts I am about to reproduce (a tolerable account of which is to be found, for instance, in Abbe Roman'sRécit, or even the fifth of Lord Orrery's Letters from Italy)—I cannot expect them to be versed, nor desirous of becoming so, in all the detail of the memoirs, correspondence, and relations of the time. From these only may be obtained a knowledge of the fiery and audacious temper, unscrupulous selfishness, profound dissimulation, and singular fertility in resources, of Victor—the extreme and painful sensibility, prolonged immaturity of powers, earnest good purpose and vacillating will of Charles—the noble and right woman's manliness of his wife—and the ill-considered rascality and subsequent better-advised rectitude of D'Ormea. When I say, therefore, that I cannot but believe my statement (combining as it does what appears correct in Voltaire and plausible in Condorcet) more true to person and thing than any it has hitherto been my fortune to meet with, no doubt my word will be taken, and my evidence spared as readily.R. B."London, 1842.

London, 1842.

PERSONS

Victor Amadeus, first King of Sardinia.Charles Emanuel, his son, Prince of Piedmont.Polyxena, wife of Charles.D'Ormea, minister.

Scene.—The Council Chamber of Rivoli Palace, near Turin, communicating with a Hall at the back, an Apartment to the left, and another to the right of the stage.Time, 1730-31.Charles,Polyxena.

Scene.—The Council Chamber of Rivoli Palace, near Turin, communicating with a Hall at the back, an Apartment to the left, and another to the right of the stage.

Time, 1730-31.

Charles,Polyxena.

Charles.You think so? Well,Ido not.Polyxena.My beloved,All must clear up; we shall be happy yet:This cannot last forever—oh, may changeTo-day or any day!Cha.—May change? Ah yes—May change!Pol.Endure it, then.Cha.No doubt a lifeLike this drags on, now better and now worse.My father may ... may take to loving me;And he may take D'Ormea closer yetTo counsel him;—may even cast off her—That bad Sebastian; but he also may... Or no, Polyxena, my only friend,He may not force you from me?Pol.Now, force meFrom you!—me, close by you as if there gloomedNo Sebastians, no D'Ormeas on our path—At Rivoli or Turin, still at hand,Arch-counsellor, prime confidant ... force me!Cha.Because I felt as sure, as I feel sureWe clasp hands now, of being happy once.Young was I, quite neglected, nor concernedBy the world's business that engrossed so muchMy father and my brother: if I peeredFrom out my privacy,—amid the crashAnd blaze of nations, domineered those two.'Twas war, peace—France our foe, now—England, friend—In love with Spain—at feud with Austria! Well—I wondered, laughed a moment's laugh for prideIn the chivalrous couple, then let dropMy curtain—"I am out of it," I said—When ...Pol.You have told me, Charles.Cha.Polyxena—When suddenly,—a warm March day, just that!Just so much sunshine as the cottage childBasks in delighted, while the cottagerTakes off his bonnet, as he ceases work,To catch the more of it—and it must fallHeavily on my brother! Had you seenPhilip—the lion-featured! not like me!Pol.I know—Cha.And Philip's mouth yet fast to mine,His dead cheek on my cheek, his arm still roundMy neck,—they bade me rise, "for I was heirTo the Duke," they said, "the right hand of the Duke:"Till then he was my father, not the Duke.So ... let me finish ... the whole intricateWorld's-business their dead boy was born to, IMust conquer,—ay, the brilliant thing he wasI of a sudden must be: my faults, my follies,—All bitter truths were told me, all at once,To end the sooner. What I simply styledTheir overlooking me, had been contempt:How should the Duke employ himself, forsooth,With such an one, while lordly Philip rodeBy him their Turin through? But he was punished,And must put up with—me! 'Twas sad enoughTo learn my future portion and submit.And then the wear and worry, blame on blame!For, spring-sounds in my ears, spring-smells about,How could I but grow dizzy in their pentDim palace-rooms at first? My mother's lookAs they discussed my insignificance,She and my father, and I sitting by,—I bore; I knew how brave a son they missed;Philip had gayly run state-papers through,While Charles was spelling at them painfully!But Victor was my father spite of that."Duke Victor's entire life has been," I said,"Innumerable efforts to one end;And on the point now of that end's success,Our Ducal turning to a Kingly crown,Where's time to be reminded 'tis his childHe spurns?" And so I suffered—scarcely suffered,Since I had you at length!Pol.To serve in placeOf monarch, minister and mistress, Charles!Cha.But, once that crown obtained, then was't not likeOur lot would alter? "When he rests, takes breath,Glances around, sees who there's left to love—Now that my mother's dead, sees I am left—Is it not like he'll love me at the last?"Well, Savoy turns Sardinia; the Duke's King:Could I—precisely then—could you expectHis harshness to redouble? These few monthsHave been ... have been ... Polyxena, do youAnd God conduct me, or I lose myself!What would he have? What is't they want with me?Him with this mistress and this minister,—You see me and you hear him; judge us both!Pronounce what I should do, Polyxena!Pol.Endure, endure, beloved! Say you notHe is your father? All's so incidentTo novel sway! Beside, our life must change:Or you'll acquire his kingcraft, or he'll findHarshness a sorry way of teaching it.I bear this—not that there's so much to bear.Cha.You bear? Do not I know that you, though boundTo silence for my sake, are perishingPiecemeal beside me? And how otherwiseWhen every creephole from the hideous CourtIs stopped; the Minister to dog me, here—The Mistress posted to entrap you, there!And thus shall we grow old in such a life;Not careless, never estranged,—but old: to alterOur life, there is so much to alter!Pol.Come—Is it agreed that we forego complaintEven at Turin, yet complain we hereAt Rivoli? 'Twere wiser you announcedOur presence to the King. What's now afootI wonder? Not that any more's to dreadThan every day's embarrassment: but guessFor me, why train so fast succeeded trainOn the high-road, each gayer still than each!I noticed your Archbishop's pursuivant,The sable cloak and silver cross; such pompBodes ... what now, Charles? Can you conceive?Cha.Not I.Pol.A matter of some moment—Cha.There's our life!Which of the group of loiterers that stareFrom the lime-avenue, divines that I—About to figure presently, he thinks,In face of all assembled—am the oneWho knows precisely least about it?Pol.Tush!D'Ormea's contrivance!Cha.Ay, how otherwiseShould the young Prince serve for the old King's foil?—So that the simplest courtier may remark'T were idle raising parties for a PrinceContent to linger the court's laughing-stock.Something, 't is like, about that weary business[Pointing to papers he has laid down, and whichPolyxenaexamines.—Not that I comprehend three words, of course,After all last night's study.Pol.The faint heart!Why, as we rode and you rehearsed just nowIts 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.Cha.Flattery!Pol.I fancied so:—and here lurks, sure enough,My note upon the Spanish Claims! You 've masteredThe 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 sinkYour eye once—ay, thus! "If Spain claims" ... begin—Just as you look at me!Cha.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 onceSeemed possible again! I can beholdHim, whose least whisper ties my spirit fast,In this sweet brow, naught could divert me fromSave objects like Sebastian's shameless lip,Or worse, the clipped gray hair and dead white faceAnd dwindling eye as if it ached with guile,D'Ormea wears ...(As he kisses her, enter from theKing'sapartmentD'Ormea.)I said he would divertMy kisses from your brow!D'Ormea.[Aside.]Here! So, King VictorSpoke truth for once: and who 's ordained, but ITo make that memorable? Both in call,As he declared! Were 't better gnash the teeth,Or laugh outright now?Cha.[toPol.]What 's his visit for?D'O.[Aside.]I question if they even speak to me.Pol.[toCha.]Face the man! He 'll suppose you fear him else.[Aloud.]The Marquis bears the King's command, no doubt?D'O.[Aside.]Precisely!—If I threatened him, perhaps?Well, this at least is punishment enough!Men used to promise punishment would come.Cha.Deliver the King's message, Marquis!D'O.[Aside.]Ah—So anxious for his fate?[Aloud.]A word, my Prince,Before you see your father—just one wordOf counsel!Cha.Oh, your counsel certainly!Polyxena, the Marquis counsels us!Well, sir? Be brief, however!D'O.What? You knowAs much as I?—preceded me, most like,In knowledge! So! ('T is in his eye, beside—His voice: he knows it, and his heart 's on flameAlready!) You surmise why you, myself,Del Borgo, Spava, fifty nobles more,Are summoned thus?Cha.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 feelYour presence (smile not) through the walls, and takeFresh heart. The King 's within that chamber?D'O.[Passing the table whereon a paper lies,exclaims, as he glances at it]"Spain!"Pol.[Aside toCha.]Tarry awhile: what ails the minister?D'O.Madam, I do not often trouble you.The Prince loathes, and you scorn me—let that pass!But since it touches him and you, not me,Bid the Prince listen!Pol.[toCha.]Surely you will listen:—Deceit?—Those fingers crumpling up his vest?Cha.Deceitful to the very fingers' ends!D'O.[who has approached them, overlooks theother paperCharlescontinues 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!Cha.Release me! Do you gloze on meWho bear in the world's face (that is, the worldYou make for me at Turin) your contempt?—Your measures?—When was not a hateful taskD'Ormea's imposition? Leave my robe!What post can I bestow, what grant concede?Or do you take me for the King?D'O.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 slaveIn his Sardinia,—Europe's spectacleAnd the world's by-word! What? The Prince aggrievedThat I excluded him our counsels? Here[Touching the paper inCharles'shand.Accept a method of extorting goldFrom Savoy's nobles, who must wring its worthIn silver first from tillers of the soil,Whose hinds again have to contribute brassTo make up the amount: there 's counsel, sir,My counsel, one year old; and the fruit, this—Savoy 's become a mass of miseryAnd 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 KingThus much to baffle Spain; he promises;Then comes Spain, breathless lest she be forestalled,Her offer follows; and he promises ...Cha.—Promises, sir, when he has just agreedTo Austria's offer?D'O.That's a counsel, Prince!But past our foresight, Spain and Austria (choosingTo make their quarrel up between themselvesWithout the intervention of a friend)Produce both treaties, and both promises ...Cha.How?D'O.Prince, a counsel! And the fruit of that?Both parties covenant afresh, to fallTogether 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!Cha.Polyxena, you saidAll would clear up: all does clear up to me.D'O.Clear up! 'T is no such thing to envy, then?You see the King's state in its length and breadth?You blame me now for keeping you aloofFrom counsels and the fruit of counsels? WaitTill I explain this morning's business!Cha.[Aside.]No—Stoop to my father, yes,—D'Ormea, no;—The King's son, not to the King's counsellor!I will do something, but at least retainThe credit of my deed![Aloud.]Then it is thisYou now expressly come to tell me?D'O.ThisTo tell! You apprehend me?Cha.Perfectly.Further, D'Ormea, you have shown yourself,For the first time these many weeks and months,Disposed to do my bidding?D'O.From the heart!Cha.Acquaint my father, first, I wait his pleasure:Next ... or, I'll tell you at a fitter time.Acquaint the King!D'O.[Aside.]If I 'scape Victor yet!First, to prevent this stroke at me: if not,—Then, to avenge it![ToCha.]Gracious sir, I go.[Goes.Cha.God, I forbore! Which more offends, that manOr 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.Pol.How decides?Cha.Yon would be freed 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!Pol.What mean you?Cha.How? You fail to catchTheir clever plot? I missed it, but could you?These last two months of care to inculcateHow dull I am,—D'Ormea's present visitTo prove that, being dull, I might be worseWere I a King—as wretched as now dull—You recognize in it no winding upOf a long plot?Pol.Why should there be a plot?Cha.The crown's secure now; I should shame the crown—An old complaint; the point is, how to gainMy place for one more fit in Victor's eyes,His mistress the Sebastian's child.Pol.In truth?Cha.They dare not quite dethrone Sardinia's Prince:But they may descant on my dulness tillThey sting me into even praying themGrant 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 rightsAs one incapable;—some cause for that,Since I delayed thus long to see their drift!I shall apprise the King he may resumeMy rights this moment.Pol.Pause! I dare not thinkSo ill of Victor.Cha.Think no ill of him!Pol.—Nor think him, then, so shallow as to sufferHis purpose be divined thus easily.And yet—you are the last of a great line;There's a great heritage at stake; new daysSeemed to await this newest of the realmsOf Europe:—Charles, you must withstand this!Cha.Ah!You dare not then renounce the splendid courtFor one whom all the world despises? Speak!Pol.My gentle husband, speak I will, and truth.Were this as you believe, and I once sureYour duty lay in so renouncing rule,I could ... could? Oh what happiness it wereTo live, my Charles, and die, alone with you!Cha.I grieve I asked you. To the presence, then!By this, D'Ormea acquaints the King, no doubt,He fears I am too simple for mere hints,And that no less will serve than Victor's mouthDemonstrating in council what I am.I have not breathed, I think, these many years!Pol.Why, it may be!—if he desire to wedThat woman, call legitimate her child.Cha.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, supposeYou 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.Pol.And I too breathe.Cha.Come, my Polyxena!

Charles.You think so? Well,Ido not.

Polyxena.My beloved,All must clear up; we shall be happy yet:This cannot last forever—oh, may changeTo-day or any day!

Polyxena.My beloved,

All must clear up; we shall be happy yet:

This cannot last forever—oh, may change

To-day or any day!

Cha.—May change? Ah yes—May change!

Cha.—May change? Ah yes—

May change!

Pol.Endure it, then.

Cha.No doubt a lifeLike this drags on, now better and now worse.My father may ... may take to loving me;And he may take D'Ormea closer yetTo counsel him;—may even cast off her—That bad Sebastian; but he also may... Or no, Polyxena, my only friend,He may not force you from me?

Cha.No doubt a life

Like this drags on, now better and now worse.

My father may ... may take to loving me;

And he may take D'Ormea closer yet

To counsel him;—may even cast off her

—That bad Sebastian; but he also may

... Or no, Polyxena, my only friend,

He may not force you from me?

Pol.Now, force meFrom you!—me, close by you as if there gloomedNo Sebastians, no D'Ormeas on our path—At Rivoli or Turin, still at hand,Arch-counsellor, prime confidant ... force me!

Pol.Now, force me

From you!—me, close by you as if there gloomed

No Sebastians, no D'Ormeas on our path—

At Rivoli or Turin, still at hand,

Arch-counsellor, prime confidant ... force me!

Cha.Because I felt as sure, as I feel sureWe clasp hands now, of being happy once.Young was I, quite neglected, nor concernedBy the world's business that engrossed so muchMy father and my brother: if I peeredFrom out my privacy,—amid the crashAnd blaze of nations, domineered those two.'Twas war, peace—France our foe, now—England, friend—In love with Spain—at feud with Austria! Well—I wondered, laughed a moment's laugh for prideIn the chivalrous couple, then let dropMy curtain—"I am out of it," I said—When ...

Cha.Because I felt as sure, as I feel sure

We clasp hands now, of being happy once.

Young was I, quite neglected, nor concerned

By the world's business that engrossed so much

My father and my brother: if I peered

From out my privacy,—amid the crash

And blaze of nations, domineered those two.

'Twas war, peace—France our foe, now—England, friend—

In love with Spain—at feud with Austria! Well—

I wondered, laughed a moment's laugh for pride

In the chivalrous couple, then let drop

My curtain—"I am out of it," I said—

When ...

Pol.You have told me, Charles.

Cha.Polyxena—When suddenly,—a warm March day, just that!Just so much sunshine as the cottage childBasks in delighted, while the cottagerTakes off his bonnet, as he ceases work,To catch the more of it—and it must fallHeavily on my brother! Had you seenPhilip—the lion-featured! not like me!

Cha.Polyxena—

When suddenly,—a warm March day, just that!

Just so much sunshine as the cottage child

Basks in delighted, while the cottager

Takes off his bonnet, as he ceases work,

To catch the more of it—and it must fall

Heavily on my brother! Had you seen

Philip—the lion-featured! not like me!

Pol.I know—

Cha.And Philip's mouth yet fast to mine,His dead cheek on my cheek, his arm still roundMy neck,—they bade me rise, "for I was heirTo the Duke," they said, "the right hand of the Duke:"Till then he was my father, not the Duke.So ... let me finish ... the whole intricateWorld's-business their dead boy was born to, IMust conquer,—ay, the brilliant thing he wasI of a sudden must be: my faults, my follies,—All bitter truths were told me, all at once,To end the sooner. What I simply styledTheir overlooking me, had been contempt:How should the Duke employ himself, forsooth,With such an one, while lordly Philip rodeBy him their Turin through? But he was punished,And must put up with—me! 'Twas sad enoughTo learn my future portion and submit.And then the wear and worry, blame on blame!For, spring-sounds in my ears, spring-smells about,How could I but grow dizzy in their pentDim palace-rooms at first? My mother's lookAs they discussed my insignificance,She and my father, and I sitting by,—I bore; I knew how brave a son they missed;Philip had gayly run state-papers through,While Charles was spelling at them painfully!But Victor was my father spite of that."Duke Victor's entire life has been," I said,"Innumerable efforts to one end;And on the point now of that end's success,Our Ducal turning to a Kingly crown,Where's time to be reminded 'tis his childHe spurns?" And so I suffered—scarcely suffered,Since I had you at length!

Cha.And Philip's mouth yet fast to mine,

His dead cheek on my cheek, his arm still round

My neck,—they bade me rise, "for I was heir

To the Duke," they said, "the right hand of the Duke:"

Till then he was my father, not the Duke.

So ... let me finish ... the whole intricate

World's-business their dead boy was born to, I

Must conquer,—ay, the brilliant thing he was

I of a sudden must be: my faults, my follies,

—All bitter truths were told me, all at once,

To end the sooner. What I simply styled

Their overlooking me, had been contempt:

How should the Duke employ himself, forsooth,

With such an one, while lordly Philip rode

By him their Turin through? But he was punished,

And must put up with—me! 'Twas sad enough

To learn my future portion and submit.

And then the wear and worry, blame on blame!

For, spring-sounds in my ears, spring-smells about,

How could I but grow dizzy in their pent

Dim palace-rooms at first? My mother's look

As they discussed my insignificance,

She and my father, and I sitting by,—

I bore; I knew how brave a son they missed;

Philip had gayly run state-papers through,

While Charles was spelling at them painfully!

But Victor was my father spite of that.

"Duke Victor's entire life has been," I said,

"Innumerable efforts to one end;

And on the point now of that end's success,

Our Ducal turning to a Kingly crown,

Where's time to be reminded 'tis his child

He spurns?" And so I suffered—scarcely suffered,

Since I had you at length!

Pol.To serve in placeOf monarch, minister and mistress, Charles!

Pol.To serve in place

Of monarch, minister and mistress, Charles!

Cha.But, once that crown obtained, then was't not likeOur lot would alter? "When he rests, takes breath,Glances around, sees who there's left to love—Now that my mother's dead, sees I am left—Is it not like he'll love me at the last?"Well, Savoy turns Sardinia; the Duke's King:Could I—precisely then—could you expectHis harshness to redouble? These few monthsHave been ... have been ... Polyxena, do youAnd God conduct me, or I lose myself!What would he have? What is't they want with me?Him with this mistress and this minister,—You see me and you hear him; judge us both!Pronounce what I should do, Polyxena!

Cha.But, once that crown obtained, then was't not like

Our lot would alter? "When he rests, takes breath,

Glances around, sees who there's left to love—

Now that my mother's dead, sees I am left—

Is it not like he'll love me at the last?"

Well, Savoy turns Sardinia; the Duke's King:

Could I—precisely then—could you expect

His harshness to redouble? These few months

Have been ... have been ... Polyxena, do you

And God conduct me, or I lose myself!

What would he have? What is't they want with me?

Him with this mistress and this minister,

—You see me and you hear him; judge us both!

Pronounce what I should do, Polyxena!

Pol.Endure, endure, beloved! Say you notHe is your father? All's so incidentTo novel sway! Beside, our life must change:Or you'll acquire his kingcraft, or he'll findHarshness a sorry way of teaching it.I bear this—not that there's so much to bear.

Pol.Endure, endure, beloved! Say you not

He is your father? All's so incident

To novel sway! Beside, our life must change:

Or you'll acquire his kingcraft, or he'll find

Harshness a sorry way of teaching it.

I bear this—not that there's so much to bear.

Cha.You bear? Do not I know that you, though boundTo silence for my sake, are perishingPiecemeal beside me? And how otherwiseWhen every creephole from the hideous CourtIs stopped; the Minister to dog me, here—The Mistress posted to entrap you, there!And thus shall we grow old in such a life;Not careless, never estranged,—but old: to alterOur life, there is so much to alter!

Cha.You bear? Do not I know that you, though bound

To silence for my sake, are perishing

Piecemeal beside me? And how otherwise

When every creephole from the hideous Court

Is stopped; the Minister to dog me, here—

The Mistress posted to entrap you, there!

And thus shall we grow old in such a life;

Not careless, never estranged,—but old: to alter

Our life, there is so much to alter!

Pol.Come—Is it agreed that we forego complaintEven at Turin, yet complain we hereAt Rivoli? 'Twere wiser you announcedOur presence to the King. What's now afootI wonder? Not that any more's to dreadThan every day's embarrassment: but guessFor me, why train so fast succeeded trainOn the high-road, each gayer still than each!I noticed your Archbishop's pursuivant,The sable cloak and silver cross; such pompBodes ... what now, Charles? Can you conceive?

Pol.Come—

Is it agreed that we forego complaint

Even at Turin, yet complain we here

At Rivoli? 'Twere wiser you announced

Our presence to the King. What's now afoot

I wonder? Not that any more's to dread

Than every day's embarrassment: but guess

For me, why train so fast succeeded train

On the high-road, each gayer still than each!

I noticed your Archbishop's pursuivant,

The sable cloak and silver cross; such pomp

Bodes ... what now, Charles? Can you conceive?

Cha.Not I.

Pol.A matter of some moment—

Cha.There's our life!Which of the group of loiterers that stareFrom the lime-avenue, divines that I—About to figure presently, he thinks,In face of all assembled—am the oneWho knows precisely least about it?

Cha.There's our life!

Which of the group of loiterers that stare

From the lime-avenue, divines that I—

About to figure presently, he thinks,

In face of all assembled—am the one

Who knows precisely least about it?

Pol.Tush!D'Ormea's contrivance!

Pol.Tush!

D'Ormea's contrivance!

Cha.Ay, how otherwiseShould the young Prince serve for the old King's foil?—So that the simplest courtier may remark'T were idle raising parties for a PrinceContent to linger the court's laughing-stock.Something, 't is like, about that weary business[Pointing to papers he has laid down, and whichPolyxenaexamines.—Not that I comprehend three words, of course,After all last night's study.

Cha.Ay, how otherwise

Should the young Prince serve for the old King's foil?

—So that the simplest courtier may remark

'T were idle raising parties for a Prince

Content to linger the court's laughing-stock.

Something, 't is like, about that weary business

[Pointing to papers he has laid down, and whichPolyxenaexamines.

—Not that I comprehend three words, of course,

After all last night's study.

Pol.The faint heart!Why, as we rode and you rehearsed just nowIts 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.

Pol.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.

Cha.Flattery!

Pol.I fancied so:—and here lurks, sure enough,My note upon the Spanish Claims! You 've masteredThe 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 sinkYour eye once—ay, thus! "If Spain claims" ... begin—Just as you look at me!

Pol.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!

Cha.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 onceSeemed possible again! I can beholdHim, whose least whisper ties my spirit fast,In this sweet brow, naught could divert me fromSave objects like Sebastian's shameless lip,Or worse, the clipped gray hair and dead white faceAnd dwindling eye as if it ached with guile,D'Ormea wears ...(As he kisses her, enter from theKing'sapartmentD'Ormea.)I said he would divertMy kisses from your brow!

Cha.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, naught could divert me from

Save objects like Sebastian's shameless lip,

Or worse, the clipped gray hair and dead white face

And dwindling eye as if it ached with guile,

D'Ormea wears ...

(As he kisses her, enter from theKing'sapartmentD'Ormea.)

I said he would divert

My kisses from your brow!

D'Ormea.[Aside.]Here! So, King VictorSpoke truth for once: and who 's ordained, but ITo make that memorable? Both in call,As he declared! Were 't better gnash the teeth,Or laugh outright now?

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?

Cha.[toPol.]What 's his visit for?

D'O.[Aside.]I question if they even speak to me.

Pol.[toCha.]Face the man! He 'll suppose you fear him else.[Aloud.]The Marquis bears the King's command, no doubt?

Pol.[toCha.]Face the man! He 'll suppose you fear him else.

[Aloud.]The Marquis bears the King's command, no doubt?

D'O.[Aside.]Precisely!—If I threatened him, perhaps?Well, this at least is punishment enough!Men used to promise punishment would come.

D'O.[Aside.]Precisely!—If I threatened him, perhaps?

Well, this at least is punishment enough!

Men used to promise punishment would come.

Cha.Deliver the King's message, Marquis!

D'O.[Aside.]Ah—So anxious for his fate?[Aloud.]A word, my Prince,Before you see your father—just one wordOf counsel!

D'O.[Aside.]Ah—

So anxious for his fate?[Aloud.]A word, my Prince,

Before you see your father—just one word

Of counsel!

Cha.Oh, your counsel certainly!Polyxena, the Marquis counsels us!Well, sir? Be brief, however!

Cha.Oh, your counsel certainly!

Polyxena, the Marquis counsels us!

Well, sir? Be brief, however!

D'O.What? You knowAs much as I?—preceded me, most like,In knowledge! So! ('T is in his eye, beside—His voice: he knows it, and his heart 's on flameAlready!) You surmise why you, myself,Del Borgo, Spava, fifty nobles more,Are summoned thus?

D'O.What? You know

As much as I?—preceded me, most like,

In knowledge! So! ('T is 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?

Cha.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 feelYour presence (smile not) through the walls, and takeFresh heart. The King 's within that chamber?

Cha.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) through the walls, and take

Fresh heart. The King 's within that chamber?

D'O.[Passing the table whereon a paper lies,exclaims, as he glances at it]"Spain!"

Pol.[Aside toCha.]Tarry awhile: what ails the minister?

D'O.Madam, I do not often trouble you.The Prince loathes, and you scorn me—let that pass!But since it touches him and you, not me,Bid the Prince listen!

D'O.Madam, I do not often trouble you.

The Prince loathes, and you scorn me—let that pass!

But since it touches him and you, not me,

Bid the Prince listen!

Pol.[toCha.]Surely you will listen:—Deceit?—Those fingers crumpling up his vest?

Pol.[toCha.]Surely you will listen:

—Deceit?—Those fingers crumpling up his vest?

Cha.Deceitful to the very fingers' ends!

D'O.[who has approached them, overlooks theother paperCharlescontinues 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!

D'O.[who has approached them, overlooks theother paperCharlescontinues 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!

Cha.Release me! Do you gloze on meWho bear in the world's face (that is, the worldYou make for me at Turin) your contempt?—Your measures?—When was not a hateful taskD'Ormea's imposition? Leave my robe!What post can I bestow, what grant concede?Or do you take me for the King?

Cha.Release me! Do you gloze on me

Who bear in the world's face (that is, the world

You make for me at Turin) your contempt?

—Your measures?—When was not a hateful task

D'Ormea's imposition? Leave my robe!

What post can I bestow, what grant concede?

Or do you take me for the King?

D'O.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 slaveIn his Sardinia,—Europe's spectacleAnd the world's by-word! What? The Prince aggrievedThat I excluded him our counsels? Here[Touching the paper inCharles'shand.Accept a method of extorting goldFrom Savoy's nobles, who must wring its worthIn silver first from tillers of the soil,Whose hinds again have to contribute brassTo make up the amount: there 's counsel, sir,My counsel, one year old; and the fruit, this—Savoy 's become a mass of miseryAnd 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 KingThus much to baffle Spain; he promises;Then comes Spain, breathless lest she be forestalled,Her offer follows; and he promises ...

D'O.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 by-word! What? The Prince aggrieved

That I excluded him our counsels? Here

[Touching the paper inCharles'shand.

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 ...

Cha.—Promises, sir, when he has just agreedTo Austria's offer?

Cha.—Promises, sir, when he has just agreed

To Austria's offer?

D'O.That's a counsel, Prince!But past our foresight, Spain and Austria (choosingTo make their quarrel up between themselvesWithout the intervention of a friend)Produce both treaties, and both promises ...

D'O.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 ...

Cha.How?

D'O.Prince, a counsel! And the fruit of that?Both parties covenant afresh, to fallTogether 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!

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!

Cha.Polyxena, you saidAll would clear up: all does clear up to me.

Cha.Polyxena, you said

All would clear up: all does clear up to me.

D'O.Clear up! 'T is no such thing to envy, then?You see the King's state in its length and breadth?You blame me now for keeping you aloofFrom counsels and the fruit of counsels? WaitTill I explain this morning's business!

D'O.Clear up! 'T is 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 explain this morning's business!

Cha.[Aside.]No—Stoop to my father, yes,—D'Ormea, no;—The King's son, not to the King's counsellor!I will do something, but at least retainThe credit of my deed![Aloud.]Then it is thisYou now expressly come to tell me?

Cha.[Aside.]No—

Stoop to my father, yes,—D'Ormea, 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 it is this

You now expressly come to tell me?

D'O.ThisTo tell! You apprehend me?

D'O.This

To tell! You apprehend me?

Cha.Perfectly.Further, D'Ormea, you have shown yourself,For the first time these many weeks and months,Disposed to do my bidding?

Cha.Perfectly.

Further, D'Ormea, you have shown yourself,

For the first time these many weeks and months,

Disposed to do my bidding?

D'O.From the heart!

Cha.Acquaint my father, first, I wait his pleasure:Next ... or, I'll tell you at a fitter time.Acquaint the King!

Cha.Acquaint my father, first, I wait his pleasure:

Next ... or, I'll tell you at a fitter time.

Acquaint the King!

D'O.[Aside.]If I 'scape Victor yet!First, to prevent this stroke at me: if not,—Then, to avenge it![ToCha.]Gracious sir, I go.[Goes.

D'O.[Aside.]If I 'scape Victor yet!

First, to prevent this stroke at me: if not,—

Then, to avenge it![ToCha.]Gracious sir, I go.[Goes.

Cha.God, I forbore! Which more offends, that manOr 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.

Cha.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.

Pol.How decides?

Cha.Yon would be freed 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!

Cha.Yon would be freed 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!

Pol.What mean you?

Cha.How? You fail to catchTheir clever plot? I missed it, but could you?These last two months of care to inculcateHow dull I am,—D'Ormea's present visitTo prove that, being dull, I might be worseWere I a King—as wretched as now dull—You recognize in it no winding upOf a long plot?

Cha.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,—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?

Pol.Why should there be a plot?

Cha.The crown's secure now; I should shame the crown—An old complaint; the point is, how to gainMy place for one more fit in Victor's eyes,His mistress the Sebastian's child.

Cha.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.

Pol.In truth?

Cha.They dare not quite dethrone Sardinia's Prince:But they may descant on my dulness tillThey sting me into even praying themGrant 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 rightsAs one incapable;—some cause for that,Since I delayed thus long to see their drift!I shall apprise the King he may resumeMy rights this moment.

Cha.They dare not quite dethrone Sardinia's Prince:

But they may descant on my dulness till

They sting me into even praying them

Grant 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.

Pol.Pause! I dare not thinkSo ill of Victor.

Pol.Pause! I dare not think

So ill of Victor.

Cha.Think no ill of him!

Pol.—Nor think him, then, so shallow as to sufferHis purpose be divined thus easily.And yet—you are the last of a great line;There's a great heritage at stake; new daysSeemed to await this newest of the realmsOf Europe:—Charles, you must withstand this!

Pol.—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!

Cha.Ah!You dare not then renounce the splendid courtFor one whom all the world despises? Speak!

Cha.Ah!

You dare not then renounce the splendid court

For one whom all the world despises? Speak!

Pol.My gentle husband, speak I will, and truth.Were this as you believe, and I once sureYour duty lay in so renouncing rule,I could ... could? Oh what happiness it wereTo live, my Charles, and die, alone with you!

Pol.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!

Cha.I grieve I asked you. To the presence, then!By this, D'Ormea acquaints the King, no doubt,He fears I am too simple for mere hints,And that no less will serve than Victor's mouthDemonstrating in council what I am.I have not breathed, I think, these many years!

Cha.I grieve I asked you. To the presence, then!

By this, D'Ormea acquaints the King, no doubt,

He fears I am too simple for mere hints,

And that no less will serve than Victor's mouth

Demonstrating in council what I am.

I have not breathed, I think, these many years!

Pol.Why, it may be!—if he desire to wedThat woman, call legitimate her child.

Pol.Why, it may be!—if he desire to wed

That woman, call legitimate her child.

Cha.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, supposeYou 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.

Cha.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.

Pol.And I too breathe.

Cha.Come, my Polyxena!

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