KING VICTOR & KING CHARLES.

A TRAGEDY.

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 careernor 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 Abbé Roman's Récit, 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.

VOL. IIL

1

PERSONS.

VICTOR AMADEUS, First King of Sardinia.

CHARLES EMMANUEL, 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, 173-I.

KING VICTOR & KING CHARLES.

FIRST YEAR, 1730.-KING VICTOR.

PART I.

CHARLES, POLYXENA.

Cha. You think so? Well, I do not.

Pol.

All must clear up; we shall be happy yet:
This cannot last for ever-oh, may change
To-day or any day!

My beloved,

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 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 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.

'T was 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.
Cha.

You have told me, Charles!

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—