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diff --git a/old/63776-0.txt b/old/63776-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 92260d9..0000000 --- a/old/63776-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,21188 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 63776 *** - -EIGHT DRAMAS OF CALDERON - - - - - EIGHT DRAMAS - OF - CALDERON - - FREELY TRANSLATED - BY - EDWARD FITZGERALD - - London - MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED - NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 1906 - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - ADVERTISEMENT 1 - - THE PAINTER OF HIS OWN DISHONOUR 3 - - KEEP YOUR OWN SECRET 80 - - GIL PEREZ, THE GALLICIAN 139 - - THREE JUDGMENTS AT A BLOW 193 - - THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA 255 - - BEWARE OF SMOOTH WATER 309 - - THE MIGHTY MAGICIAN 369 - - SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE OF 441 - - - - -ADVERTISEMENT - - -In apologizing for the publication of so free translations of so famous a -poet as Calderon, I must plead, first, that I have not meddled with any -of his more famous plays; not one of those on my list being mentioned -with any praise, or included in any selection that I know of, except the -homely Mayor of Zalamea. Four of these six indeed, as many others in -Calderon, may be lookt on as a better kind of what we call melodramas. -Such plays as the _Magico Prodigioso_ and the _Vida es Sueño_ (I cannot -rank the _Principe Constante_ among them) require another translator, -and, I think, form of translation. - -Secondly, I do not believe an exact translation of this poet can be very -successful; retaining so much that, whether real or dramatic Spanish -passion, is still bombast to English ears, and confounds otherwise -distinct outlines of character; Conceits that were a fashion of the day; -or idioms that, true and intelligible to one nation, check the current -of sympathy in others to which they are unfamiliar; violations of the -probable, nay _possible_, that shock even healthy romantic licence; -repetitions of thoughts and images that Calderon used (and smiled at) as -so much stage properties—so much, in short, that is not Calderon’s own -better self, but concession to private haste or public taste by one who -so often relied upon some striking dramatic crisis for success with a not -very accurate audience, and who, for whatever reason, was ever averse -from any of his dramas being printed. - -Choosing therefore such less famous plays as still seemed to me suited to -English taste, and to that form of verse in which our dramatic passion -prefers to run, I have, while faithfully trying to retain what was fine -and efficient, sunk, reduced, altered, and replaced, much that seemed -not; simplified some perplexities, and curtailed or omitted scenes that -seemed to mar the breadth of general effect, supplying such omissions -by some lines of after-narrative; and in some measure have tried to -compensate for the fulness of sonorous Spanish, which Saxon English at -least must forgo, by a compression which has its own charm to Saxon ears. - -That this, if proper to be done at all, might be better done by others, -I do not doubt. Nay, on looking back over these pages, I see where in -some cases the Spanish individuality might better have been retained, -and northern idiom spared; and doubtless there are many inaccuracies I -am not yet aware of. But if these plays prove interesting to the English -reader, I and he may be very sure that, whatever of Spain and Calderon be -lost, there must be a good deal retained; and I think he should excuse -the licence of my version till some other interests him as well at less -expense of fidelity. - -I hope my _Graciosos_ will not be blamed for occasional anachronisms not -uncharacteristic of their vocation. - - - - -THE PAINTER OF HIS OWN DISHONOUR - - - - -DRAMATIS PERSONÆ - - - FEDERICO _Prince of Orsino._ - - CELIO _his Friend._ - - DON LUIS _Governor of Naples._ - - PORCIA _his Daughter._ - - ALVARO _his Son._ - - FABIO ⎫ - ⎪ - BELARDO ⎬ _their Servants._ - ⎪ - JULIA ⎭ - - DON JUAN ROCA - - SERAFINA _his Wife._ - - DON PEDRO _his Father-in-law._ - - LEONELO ⎫ - ⎬ _their Servants._ - FLORA ⎭ - - MASKERS, MUSICIANS, SAILORS, etc. - - - - -ACT I - - -SCENE I.—_A Room in DON LUIS’ palace at Naples._ - - _Enter DON LUIS and DON JUAN meeting._ - - _Luis._ Once more, a thousand times once more, Don Juan, - Come to my heart. - - _Juan._ And every fresh embrace - Rivet our ancient friendship faster yet! - - _Luis._ Amen to that! Come, let me look at you— - Why, you seem well— - - _Juan._ So well, so young, so nimble, - I will not try to say how well, so much - My words and your conception must fall short - Of my full satisfaction. - - _Luis._ How glad am I - To have you back in Naples! - - _Juan._ Ah, Don Luis, - Happier so much than when I last was here, - Nay, than I ever thought that I could be. - - _Luis._ How so? - - _Juan._ Why, when I came this way before, - I told you (do you not remember it?) - How teased I was by relatives and friends - To marry—little then disposed to love— - Marriage perhaps the last thing in my thoughts— - Liking to spend the spring time of my youth - In lonely study. - - _Luis._ Ay, ay, I remember: - Nothing but books, books, books—still day and night - Nothing but books; or, fairly drowsed by them, - By way of respite to that melancholy, - The palette and the pencil— - In which you got to such a mastery - As smote the senseless canvas into life. - O, I remember all—not only, Juan, - When you were here, but I with you in Spain, - What fights we had about it! - - _Juan._ So it was— - However, partly wearied, partly moved - By pity at my friends’ anxieties, - Who press’d upon me what a shame it were - If such a title and estate as mine - Should lack a lineal inheritor, - At length I yielded— - Fanned from the embers of my later years - A passion which had slept in those of youth, - And took to wife my cousin Serafina, - The daughter of Don Pedro Castellano. - - _Luis._ I know; you show’d me when you last were here - The portrait of your wife that was to be, - And I congratulated you. - - _Juan._ Well now - Still more congratulate me—as much more - As she is fairer than the miniature - We both enamoured of. At the first glance - I knew myself no more myself, but hers, - Another (and how much a happier!) man. - - _Luis._ Had I the thousand tongues, and those of brass, - That Homer wished for, they should utter all - Congratulation. Witty too, I hear, - As beautiful? - - _Juan._ Yourself shall judge of all, - For even now my lady comes; awhile - To walk the Flora of your shores, and then - Over your seas float Venus-like away. - - _Luis._ Not _that_, till she have graced our gardens long, - If once we get her here. But is she here? - - _Juan._ Close by—she and her father, who would needs - See her aboard; and I push’d on before - To apprize you of our numbers—so much more - Than when I first proposed to be your guest, - That I entreat you— - - _Luis._ What? - - _Juan._ —to let us go, - And find our inn at once—not over-load - Your house. - - _Luis._ Don Juan, you do me an affront— - What if all Naples came along with you?— - My heart—yes, and my house—should welcome them. - - _Juan._ I know. But yet— - - _Luis._ But yet, no more ‘but yets’— - Come to my house, or else my heart shall close - Its doors upon you. - - _Juan._ Nay, I dare not peril - A friendship— - - _Luis._ Why, were ’t not a great affront - To such a friendship—when you learn besides, - I have but held this government till now - Only to do you such a courtesy. - - _Juan._ But how is this? - - _Luis._ Sickness and age on-coming, - I had determined to retire on what - Estate I had—no need of other wealth— - Beside, Alvaro’s death—my only son— - - _Juan._ Nay, you have so felicitated me, - I needs must _you_, Don Luis, whose last letter - Told of a gleam of hope in that dark quarter. - - _Luis._ A sickly gleam—you know the ship he sail’d in - Was by another vessel, just escaped - The selfsame storm, seen to go down—it seem’d - With all her souls on board. - - _Juan._ But how assured - ’Twas your son’s ship?— - - _Luis._ Alas, so many friends - Were on the watch for him at Barcelona, - Whither his ship was bound, but never came— - Beside the very messenger that brought - The gleam of hope, premised the tragedy— - A little piece of wreck, - That floated to the coast of Spain, and thence - Sent to my hands, with these words scratcht upon ’t— - ‘_Escaped alive, Alvaro._’ - - _Juan._ When was this? - - _Luis._ Oh, months ago, and since no tidings heard, - In spite of all inquiry. But we will hope. - Meanwhile, Serafina—when will she be here? - - _Juan._ She must be close to Naples now. - - _Luis._ Go then, - Tell her from me— - I go not forth to bid her welcome, only - That I may make that welcome sure at home. - - _Juan._ I’ll tell her so. But— - - _Luis._ What! another ‘_But_’? - No more of that. Away with you.—Porcia! - - [_Exit JUAN._ - - _Enter PORCIA._ - - Daughter, you know (I have repeated it - A thousand times, I think) the obligation - I owe Don Juan Roca. - - _Porcia._ Sir, indeed - I’ve often heard you talk of him. - - _Luis._ Then listen. - He and his wife are coming here to-day— - Directly. - - _Por._ Serafina! - - _Luis._ Yes. - To be our guests, till they set sail for Spain; - I trust long first— - - _Por._ And I. How glad I am! - - _Luis._ You! what should make you glad? - - _Por._ That Serafina, - So long my playmate, shall be now my guest. - - _Luis._ Ay! I forgot—that’s well, too— - Let us be rivals in their entertainment. - See that the servants, Porcia, dress their rooms - As speedily and handsomely as may be. - - _Por._ What haste can do (which brings its own excuse) - I’ll do—’tis long a proverb hereabout - That you are Entertainer-general, - Rather than Governor, of Naples. - - _Luis._ Ay, - I like to honour all who come this way. - - _Enter LEONELO._ - -_Leonelo._ Peace to this house!—and not only that, but a story beside.—A -company of soldiers coming to a certain village, a fellow of the place -calls out for two to be billeted on him. ‘What!’ says a neighbour, ‘you -want a double share of what every one else tries to shirk altogether?’ -‘Yes,’ says he, ‘for the more nuisance they are while they stay, the more -glad one is of their going.’ In illustration of which, and also of my -master’s orders, I crave your Lordship’s hand, and your Ladyship’s foot, -to kiss. - -_Luis._ Welcome, good Leonelo. I was afraid I had overlooked you in -receiving your master. - -_Por._ And how does marriage agree with you, Leonelo? - -_Leon._ One gentleman asked another to dine; but such an ill-ordered -dinner that the capon was cold, and the wine hot. Finding which, the -guest dips a leg of the capon into the wine. And when his host asks him -what he’s about—‘Only making the wine heat the capon, and the capon cool -the wine,’ says he. Now just this happened in my marriage. My wife was -rather too young, and I rather too old; so, as it is hoped— - -_Por._ Foolery, foolery, always!—tell me how Serafina is— - -_Leon._ In a coach. - -_Por._ What answer is that? - -_Leon._ A very sufficient one—since a coach includes happiness, pride, -and (a modern author says) respectability. - -_Por._ How so? - -_Leon._ Why, a certain lady died lately, and for some reason or other, -they got leave to carry her to the grave in a coach. Directly they got -her in,—the body, I mean,—it began to fidget—and when they called out to -the coachman—‘Drive to St. Sepulchre’s!’—‘No!’ screams she,—‘I won’t go -there yet. Drive to the Prado first; and when I have had a turn there, -they may bury me where they please.’ - -_Luis._ How can you let your tongue run on so! - -_Leon._ I’ll tell you. A certain man in Barcelona had five or six -children: and he gave them each to eat— - -(_Voices within._) ‘Way there! way!’ - -_Por._ They are coming. - -_Leon._ And in so doing, take that story out of my mouth. - - _Enter JULIA._ - -_Julia._ Signor, your guests are just alighting. - -_Luis._ Come, Porcia— - -_Leon._ (No, no, stop you and listen to me about those dear children.) - -_Por._ They are coming upstairs—at the door— - - _Enter DON JUAN leading SERAFINA, DON PEDRO and FLORA—all in - travelling dress._ - - _Luis._ Your hand, fair Serafina, whose bright eyes - Seem to have drawn his lustre from the sun, - To fill my house withal;—a poor receptacle - Of such a visitor. - - _Por._ Nay, ’tis for me - To blush for that, in quality of hostess; - Yet, though you come to shame my house-keeping, - Thrice welcome, Serafina. - - _Serafina._ How answer both, - Being too poor in compliment for either! - I’ll not attempt it. - - _Pedro._ I am vext, Don Luis, - My son-in-law should put this burden on you. - - _Luis._ Nay, vex not me by saying so.—What burden? - The having such an honour as to be - Your servant?— - - _Leon._ Here’s a dish of compliments! - - _Flora._ Better than you can feed your mistress with. - - (_Guns heard without._) - - _Juan._ What guns are those? - - _Enter FABIO._ - - _Fabio._ The citadel, my lord, - Makes signal of two galleys in full sail - Coming to port. - - _Luis._ More guests! the more the merrier! - - _Ped._ The merrier for them, but scarce for you, - Don Luis. - - _Luis._ Nay, good fortune comes like bad, - All of a heap. What think you, should it be, - As I suspect it is, the Prince Orsino - Returning; whom, in love and duty bound, - I shall receive and welcome— - - _Juan._ Once again, - Don Luis, give me leave— - - _Luis._ And once again, - And once for all, I shall _not_ give you leave. - Prithee, no more— - All will be easily arranged. Porcia, - You know your guest’s apartments—show her thither; - I’ll soon be back with you. - - _Ped._ Permit us, sir, - To attend you to the port, and wait upon - His Highness. - - _Luis._ I dare not refuse that trouble, - Seeing what honour in the prince’s eyes - Your company will lend me. - - _Leon._ And methinks - I will go with you too. - - _Juan._ What, for that purpose? - - _Leon._ Yes—and because perhaps among the crowd - I shall find some to whom I may relate - That story of the children and their meat. - - [_Exeunt DON LUIS, PEDRO, JUAN, LEONELO, FABIO, etc._ - - _Ser._ Porcia, are they gone? - - _Por._ They are. - - _Ser._ Then I may weep. - - _Por._ Tears, Serafina! - - _Ser._ Nay, they would not stay - Longer unshed. I would not if I could - Hide them from you, Porcia. Why should I, - Who know too well the fount from which they flow? - - _Por._ I only know you weep—no more than that. - - _Ser._ Yet ’tis the seeing you again, again - Unlocks them—is it that you do resent - The discontinuance of our early love, - And that you _will_ not understand me? - - _Por._ Nay,— - What can I say? - - _Ser._ Let us be _quite_ alone. - - _Por._ Julia, leave us. - - _Ser._ Flora, go with her. - - _Julia._ Come, shall we go up to the gallery, - And see the ships come in? - - _Flora._ Madam, so please you. - - [_Exeunt FLORA and JULIA._ - - _Ser._ Well, are we _quite_ alone? - - _Por._ Yes, quite. - - _Ser._ All gone, - And none to overhear us? - - _Por._ None. - - _Ser._ Porcia, - You knew me once when I was happy! - - _Por._ Yes, - Or thought you so— - - _Ser._ But now most miserable! - - _Por._ How so, my Serafina? - - _Ser._ You shall hear. - Yes, my Porcia, you remember it,— - That happy, happy time when you and I - Were so united that, our hearts attuned - To perfect unison, one might believe - That but one soul within two bodies lodged. - This you remember? - - _Por._ Oh, how could I forget! - - _Ser._ Think it not strange that so far back I trace - The first beginnings of _another_ love, - Whose last sigh having now to breathe, whose last - Farewell to sigh, and whose deceased hopes - In one last obsequy to commemorate, - I tell it over to you point by point - From first to last—by such full utterance - My pent up soul perchance may find relief. - - _Por._ Speak, Serafina. - - _Ser._ You have not forgot - Neither, how that close intimacy of ours - Brought with it of necessity some courtesies - Between me and your brother, Don Alvaro— - Whose very name, oh wretched that I am! - Makes memory, like a trodden viper, turn, - And fix a fang in me not sharp enough - To slay at once, but with a lingering death - Infect my life— - - _Por._ Nay, calm yourself. - - _Ser._ We met, - Porcia—and from those idle meetings love - Sprang up between us both—for though ’tis true - That at the first I laugh’d at his advances, - And turn’d his boyish suit into disdain, - Yet true it also is that in my heart - There lurk’d a lingering feeling yet behind, - Which if not wholly love, at least was liking, - In the sweet twilight of whose unris’n sun - My soul as yet walk’d hesitatingly. - For, my Porcia, there is not a woman, - Say what she will, and virtuous as you please, - Who, being loved, resents it: and could he, - Who most his mistress’s disfavour mourns, - Look deeply down enough into her heart, - He’d see, however high she carries it, - Some grateful recognition lurking there - Under the muffle of affected scorn. - You know how I repell’d your brother’s suit: - How ever when he wrote to me I tore - His letters—would not listen when he spoke— - And when, relying on my love for you, - Through you he tried to whisper his for me, - I quarrell’d with yourself—quarrell’d the more - The more you spoke for him. He wept—I laugh’d; - Knelt in my path—I turn’d another way; - Though who had seen deep down into my heart, - Had also seen love struggling hard with pride. - Enough—at last one evening as I sat - Beside a window looking on the sea, - Wrapt in the gathering night he stole unseen - Beside me. After whispering all those vows - Of love which lovers use, and I pass by, - He press’d me to be his. Touch’d by the hour, - The mask of scorn fell from my heart, and Love - Reveal’d himself, and from that very time - Grew unconceal’d between us—yet, Porcia, - Upon mine honour, (for I tell thee _all_,) - Always in honour bounded. At that time - In an ill hour my father plann’d a marriage - Between me and Don Juan—yours, you know, - Came here to Naples, whence he sent your brother, - I know not on what business, into Spain; - And we agreed, I mean Alvaro and I, - Rather than vex two fathers at one time - By any declaration of our vows, - ’Twere best to keep them secret—at the least, - Till his return from Spain. Ah, Porcia, - When yet did love not thrive by secrecy? - We parted—he relying on my promise, - I on his quick return. Oh, mad are those - Who, knowing that a storm is up, will yet - Put out to sea, Alvaro went—my father - Urged on this marriage with my cousin. Oh!— - - _Por._ You are ill, Serafina! - - _Ser._ Nothing—nothing— - I reason’d—wept—implored—excused—delay’d— - In vain—O mercy, Heaven! - - _Por._ Tell me no more: - It is too much for you. - - _Ser._ Then suddenly - We heard that he was dead—your brother—drown’d— - They married me—and now perhaps he lives - They say—Porcia, can it be?—I know not - Whether to hope or dread if that be true:— - And every wind that blows your father hope - Makes my blood cold; I know that I shall meet him, - Here or upon the seas—dead or alive— - Methinks I see him now!—Help! help! - - [_Swoons._ - - _Por._ Serafina!— - She has fainted!—Julia! Flora!— - - _Enter ALVARO._ - - _Alvaro._ My Porcia! - - _Por._ Alvaro! (_They embrace._) - - _Alv._ I have outrun the shower of compliment - On my escapes—which you shall hear anon— - To catch you to my heart. - - _Por._ Oh joy and terror! - Look there!— - - _Alv._ Serafina! - And sleeping too! - - _Por._ Oh, swooning! see to her - Till I get help. - - [_Exit._ - - _Ser._ (_in her swoon_). Mercy, mercy! - Alvaro, slay me not!—I am not guilty!— - Indeed I am not!— - - _Alv._ She dreams—and dreams of me—but very strangely— - Serafina!— - - _Ser._ (_waking_). Dead!—or return’d alive to curse and slay me!— - But I am innocent!—I could not help— - They told me you were dead—and are you not?— - And I must marry him— - - _Alv._ Must marry?—whom?— - Why, you are dreaming still— - Awake!—’tis your Alvaro— (_Offers to embrace her._) - - _Ser._ No, no, no— - I dare not— - - _Alv._ Dare not! - - _Enter PORCIA, FLORA, JULIA._ - - _Por._ Quick, quick! - - _Flora._ My lady! - - _Julia._ My lord alive again! - - _Alv._ Porcia, come hither—I am not alive, - Till I have heard the truth—nay, if ’t be true - That she has hinted and my heart forebodes, - I shall be worse than dead— - - [_Retires with PORCIA to back of Stage._ - - _Enter JUAN and PEDRO._ - - _Juan._ What is the matter?— - My Serafina! - - _Pedro._ We have hurried back, - Told of your sudden seizure—What is it? - - _Ser._ The very heart within me turn’d to ice. - - _Juan._ But you are better now?— - - _Ser._ Yes—better—pray, - Be not uneasy for me. - - _Alv._ (_to PORCIA in the rear_). This is true then! - - _Por._ Nay, nay, be not so desperate, Alvaro, - Hearing but half the story—no fault of hers— - I’ll tell you all anon. Come, Serafina, - I’ll see you to your chamber. - - _Pedro._ She will be better soon— - - _Juan._ Lean upon me, my love—so—so. - - _Alv._ Oh, fury! - - _Ser._ Oh, would to heaven these steps should be my last, - Leading not to my chamber, but my grave! - - _Por._ (_to ALVARO_). Wait here—compose yourself—I shall be back - Directly. - - [_Exeunt PORCIA, SERAFINA, and JUAN._ - - _Alv._ She is married—broke her troth— - And I escape from death and slavery - To find her—but the prince!—Oh weariness! - - _Enter the PRINCE ORSINO, CELIO, DON LUIS, and Train._ - - _Prince._ Each day, Don Luis, I become your debtor - For some new courtesy. - - _Luis._ My lord, ’tis I - Who by such small instalments of my duty - Strive to pay back in part the many favours - You shower upon your servant. And this last, - Of bringing back Alvaro to my arms, - Not all my life, nor life itself, could pay. - - _Prince._ Small thanks to me, Don Luis; but indeed - The strangest chance—two chances—two escapes— - First from the sinking ship upon a spar, - Then from the Algerine who pick’d him up, - Carried him captive off— - He first adroitly through their fingers slipping - That little harbinger of hope to you, - And then, at last, himself escaping back - To Barcelona, where you know I was— - If glad to welcome, house, and entertain - Any distrest Italian, how much more, - Both for his own sake and for yours, your son, - So making him, I trust, a friend for life. - - _Alv._ Rather a humble follower, my lord. - - _Luis._ I have no words to thank you—we shall hear - The whole tale from Alvaro by and by— - To make us merry—once so sad to him. - Meanwhile, Alvaro, thou hast seen thy sister? - - _Alv._ Yes, sir— - - _Luis._ Oh what a joy ’tis to see thee! - - _Prince._ A day of general joy. - - _Alv._ (_aside_). Indeed!— - - _Prince._ Especially - To her, Alvaro— - - _Alv._ Sir? - - _Prince._ I mean your sister. - - _Alv._ Yes, my lord—no—I am not sure, my lord— - A friend of hers is suddenly so ill, - My sister is uneasy— - - _Luis._ Serafina! - Indeed!—I know your Highness will forgive - My seeing to her straight. - - [_Exit._ - - _Alv._ And I, my lord, - Would fain see some old faces once again - As soon as may be. - - _Prince._ Nay, no more excuse— - Follow your pleasure. - - _Alv._ (_aside_). ’Tis no friend I seek, - But my one deadliest enemy—myself. - - [_Exit._ - - _Prince._ Celio, I think we have well nigh exhausted - The world of compliment, and wasted it: - For I begin to doubt that word and deed - Are wasted all in vain. - - _Celio._ How so, my lord? - - _Prince._ Why, if I never am to see Porcia, - Whom I have come so far and fast to see— - - _Cel._ _Never_, my lord! her father’s guest is ill, - And she for a few minutes— - - _Prince._ _Minutes_, Celio! - Knowest thou not minutes are years to lovers? - - _Cel._ I know that lovers are strange animals. - - _Prince._ Ah, you have never loved. - - _Cel._ No, good my lord, - I’m but a looker-on; or in the market - Just give and take the current coin of love— - Love her that loves me; and, if she forget, - Forget her too. - - _Prince._ Ah, then I cannot wonder - You wonder so at my impatience; - For he that cannot love, can be no judge - Of him that does. - - _Cel._ How so? - - _Prince._ I’ll tell thee, Celio. - He who far off beholds another dancing, - Even one who dances best, and all the time - Hears not the music that he dances to, - Thinks him a madman, apprehending not - The law that rules his else eccentric action. - So he that’s in himself insensible - Of love’s sweet influence, misjudges him - Who moves according to love’s melody: - And knowing not that all these sighs and tears, - Ejaculations, and impatiences, - Are necessary changes of a measure, - Which the divine musician plays, may call - The lover crazy; which he would not do - Did he within his own heart hear the tune - Play’d by the great musician of the world. - - _Cel._ Well, I might answer, that, far off or near, - Hearing or not the melody you tell of, - The man is mad who dances to it. But - Here is your music. - - _Enter PORCIA._ - - _Porcia._ I left my brother here but now. - - _Prince._ But now, - Sweet Porcia, you see he is not here— - By that so seeming earnest search for him - Scarce recognising me, if you would hint - At any seeming slight of mine toward you, - I plead not guilty— - - _Por._ You mistake, my lord— - Did I believe my recognition - Of any moment to your Excellency, - I might perhaps evince it in complaint, - But not in slight. - - _Prince._ Complaint!— - - _Por._ Yes, sir—complaint. - - _Prince._ Complaint of what? I knowing, Porcia, - And you too knowing well, the constant love - That I have borne you since the happy day - When first we met in Naples— - - _Por._ No, my lord— - You mean my love to you, not yours to me— - Unwearied through your long forgetful absence. - - _Prince._ How easily, Porcia, would my love - Prove to you its unchanged integrity, - Were it not that our friends— - - _Por._ Your friends indeed, - Who stop a lame apology at the outset. - - _Enter SERAFINA._ - - _Serafina._ I cannot rest, Porcia, and am come - To seek it in your arms—but who is this? - - _Por._ The Prince Orsino. - - _Ser._ Pardon me, my lord— - I knew you not—coming so hurriedly, - And in much perturbation. - - _Prince._ Nay, lady, - I owe you thanks for an embarrassment - Which hides my own. - - _Ser._ Let it excuse beside - What other courtesies I owe your Highness, - But scarce have words to pay. Heaven guard your Highness— - Suffer me to retire. - - [_Exit._ - - _Por._ I needs must after her, my lord. But tell me, - When shall I hear your vindication?— - To-night? - - _Prince._ Ay, my Porcia, if you will. - - _Por._ Till night farewell, then. - - [_Exit._ - - _Prince._ Farewell.—Celio, - Didst ever see so fair an apparition, - As her who came and went so suddenly? - - _Cel._ Indeed, so sweetly manner’d when surprised, - She must be exquisite in her composure. - - _Prince._ Who is she? - - _Cel._ Nay, my lord, just come with you, - I know as little— - What! a new tune to dance to?— - - _Prince._ In good time, - Here comes Alvaro. - - _Enter ALVARO._ - - _Alvaro._ How restless is the sickness of the soul! - I scarce had got me from this fatal place, - And back again— - - _Prince._ Alvaro! - - _Alv._ My lord— - - _Prince._ Who is the lady that was here anon? - - _Alv._ Lady, my lord—what lady?— - - _Prince._ She that went - A moment hence—I mean your sister’s guest. - - _Alv._ (This drop was wanting!) - My lord, the daughter of a nobleman - Of very ancient blood— - Don Pedro Castellano. - - _Prince._ And her name? - - _Alv._ Serafina. - - _Prince._ And a most seraphic lady! - - _Alv._ You never saw her, sir, before? - - _Prince._ No, surely. - - _Alv._ (_aside_). Would I had never done so! - - _Prince._ And in the hasty glimpse I had, - I guess her mistress of as fair a mind - As face. - - _Alv._ Yes, sir— - - _Prince._ She lives in Naples, eh? - - _Alv._ No—on her way - To Spain, I think— - - _Prince._ Indeed!—To Spain. Why that? - - _Alv._ (How much more will he ask?) - My lord, her husband— - - _Prince._ She is married then?— - - _Alv._ Torture! - - _Prince._ And who so blest to call her his, - Alvaro? - - _Alv._ Sir, Don Juan Roca, her cousin. - - _Prince._ Roca? Don Juan Roca? Do I know him? - - _Alv._ I think you must; he came, sir, with my father - To wait upon your Grace. - - _Prince._ Don Juan Roca! - No; I do not remember him—should not - Know him again. - - _Enter DON LUIS._ - - _Luis._ My lord, if my old love - And service for your Highness may deserve - A favour at your hands— - - _Prince._ They only wait - Until your tongue has named it. - - _Luis._ This it is then— - The captain of the galleys, good my lord, - In which your Highness came, - Tells me that, having landed you, he lies - Under strict orders to return again - Within an hour. - - _Prince._ ’Tis true. - - _Luis._ Now, good my lord, - The ships, when they go back, must carry with them - Some friends who, long time look’d for, just are come, - And whom I fain— - - _Prince._ Nay, utter not a wish - I know I must unwillingly deny. - - _Alvaro._ Confusion on confusion! - - _Prince._ I have pledg’d - My word to Don Garcia of Toledo, - The galleys should not pass an hour at Naples. - I feel for you,—and for myself, alas! - So sweet a freight they carry with them. But - I dare not—and what folly to adore - A Beauty lost to me before I found it! - - [_Exeunt PRINCE and CELIO._ - - _Luis._ And those I so had long’d for, to avenge - Their long estrangement by as long a welcome, - Snatcht from me almost ere we’d shaken hands!— - Is not this ill, Alvaro? - - _Alv._ Ill indeed. - - _Luis._ And, as they needs must go, my hospitality, - Foil’d in its spring, must turn to wound myself - By speeding their departure. (_Going._) - - _Alv._ Sir, a moment. - Although his Highness would not, or could not, - Grant you the boon your services deserved, - Let not that, I beseech you, indispose you - From granting one to me. - - _Luis._ What is ’t, Alvaro? - ’Twere strange could I refuse you anything. - - _Alv._ You sent me, sir, on state affairs to Spain, - But being wreckt and captured, as you know, - All went undone. - Another opportunity now offers; - The ships are ready, let me go and do - That which perforce I left undone before. - - _Luis._ What else could’st thou have askt, - In all the category of my means, - Which I, methinks, had grudged thee! No, Alvaro, - The treacherous sea must not again be trusted - With the dear promise of my only son. - - _Alv._ Nay, for that very reason, I entreat you - To let me go, sir. Let it not be thought - The blood that I inherited of you - Quail’d at a common danger. - - _Luis._ I admire - Your resolution, but you must not go, - At least not now. - Beside, the business you were sent upon - Is done by other hands, or let go by - For ever. - - _Alv._ Nay, sir— - - _Luis._ Nay, Alvaro. - - [_Exit._ - - _Alv._ He is resolved. And Serafina, - To whose divinity I offer’d up - My heart of hearts, a purer sacrifice - Than ever yet on pagan altar blazed, - Has play’d me false, is married to another, - And now will fly away on winds and seas, - As fleeting as herself. - Then what remains but that I die? My death - The necessary shadow of that marriage! - Comfort!—what boots it looking after that - Which never can be found? The worst is come, - Which ’twere a blind and childish waste of hope - To front with any visage but despair. - Ev’n that one single solace, were there one, - Of ringing my despair into her ears, - Fails me. Time presses; the accursed breeze - Blows foully fair. The vessel flaps her sails - That is to bear her from me. Look, she comes— - And from before her dawning beauty all - I had to say fades from my swimming brain, - And chokes upon my tongue. - - _Enter SERAFINA, drest as at first, and PORCIA._ - - _Porcia._ And must we part so quickly?— - - _Serafina._ When does happiness - Last longer? - - _Alv._ Never!—who best can answer that? - I standing by, why ask it of another? - At least when speaking of such happiness - As, perjured woman, thy false presence brings! - - _Ser._ Alvaro, for Heaven’s sake spare me the pang - Of these unjust reproaches. - - _Alv._ What! unjust! - - _Ser._ Why, is it not unjust, condemning one - Without defence? - - _Alv._ Without defence indeed! - - _Ser._ Not that I have not a most just defence, - But that you will not listen. - - _Alv._ Serafina, - I listen’d; but what wholly satisfies - The criminal may ill suffice the judge; - And in love’s court especially, a word - Has quite a different meaning to the soul - Of speaker and of hearer. Yet once more, - Speak. - - _Ser._ To what purpose? I can but repeat - What I have told your sister, and she you,— - What on the sudden waking from my swoon, - I, who had thought you dead so long, Alvaro, - Spoke in my terror, suddenly seeing you - Alive, before me. - - _Alv._ I were better, then, - Dead than alive? - - _Ser._ I know not—were you dead - I might in honour weep for you, Alvaro; - Living, I must not. - - _Alv._ Nay then, whether you - Forswear me living or lament me dead, - Now you must hear me; if you strike the wound, - Is it not just that you should hear the cry? - - _Ser._ I must not. - - _Alv._ But I say you must. - - _Ser._ Porcia, - Will you not help me when my life and honour - Are thus at stake? - - _Alv._ Porcia’s duty lies - In keeping watch that no one interrupt us. - - _Porcia._ Between the two confused, I yield at last - To him, both as my brother, Serafina, - And for his love to you. Compose yourself; - I shall be close at hand, no harm can happen. - And let him weep at least who has lost all. - - [_Exit._ - - _Ser._ If I am forced to hear you then, Alvaro, - You shall hear me too, once more, once for all, - Freely confessing that I loved you once; - Ay, long and truly loved you. When all hope - Of being yours with your reported death - Had died, then, yielding to my father’s wish, - I wed another, and am—what I am. - So help me Heaven, Alvaro, this is all! - - _Alv._ How can I answer if you weep? - - _Ser._ No, no, - I do not weep, or, if I do, ’tis but - My eyes,—no more, no deeper. - - _Alv._ Is ’t possible you can so readily - Turn warm compassion into cold disdain! - And are your better pulses so controll’d - By a cold heart, that, to enhance the triumph - Over the wretched victim of your eyes, - You make the fount of tears to stop or flow - Just as you please? If so, teach me the trick, - As the last courtesy you will vouchsafe me. - - _Ser._ Alvaro, when I think of what I was, - My tears will forth; but when of what I am, - My honour bids them cease. - - _Alv._ You _do_ feel then— - - _Ser._ Nay, I’ll deny it not. - - _Alv._ That, being another’s— - - _Ser._ Nay, no argument— - - _Alv._ These tears— - - _Ser._ What tears? - - _Alv._ Are the relenting rain - On which the Iris of my hope may ride; - Or a sweet dew— - - _Ser._ Alvaro— - - _Alv._ That foretells - That better day when in these arms again— - - _Ser._ Those arms! Alvaro, when that day shall come - May heaven’s thunder strike me dead at once! - - (_Cannon within._) - - Mercy, what’s that? - - _Enter PORCIA._ - - _Porcia._ A signal from the ship, - ’Tis time: your father and Don Juan now - Are coming for you. - - _Alv._ O heavens! - - _Por._ Compose yourself, - And you, Alvaro—— (_Motions him back._) - - _Enter DON JUAN, LUIS, PEDRO, LEONELO, etc._ - - _Luis._ Lady, believe how sadly I am come - To do you this last office. - - _Juan._ Trembling still?— - But come, perhaps the sea-breeze, in requital - Of bearing us away from those we love, - May yet revive you. - - _Luis._ Well, if it must be so, - Lady, your hand. Porcia, come with us. - - [_Exeunt all but ALVARO._ - - - - -ACT II - - -SCENE I.—_A room in DON JUAN’S house at Barcelona: he is discovered -painting SERAFINA. It gradually grows dusk._ - - _Juan._ Are you not wearied sitting? - - _Serafina._ Surely not - Till you be wearied painting. - - _Juan._ Oh, so much - As I have wish’d to have that divine face - Painted, and by myself, I now begin - To wish I had not wish’d it. - - _Ser._ But why so? - - _Juan._ Because I must be worsted in the trial - I have brought on myself. - - _Ser._ You to despair, - Who never are outdone but by yourself! - - _Juan._ Even so. - - _Ser._ But _why_ so? - - _Juan._ Shall I tell you why? - Painters, you know, (just turn your head a little,) - Are nature’s apes, whose uglier semblances, - Made up of disproportion and excess, - Like apes, they easily can imitate: - But whose more gracious aspect, the result - Of subtlest symmetries, they only outrage, - Turning true beauty into caricature. - The perfecter her beauty, the more complex - And hard to follow; but her perfection - Impossible. - - _Ser._ That I dare say is true, - But surely not in point with me, whose face - Is surely far from perfect. - - _Juan._ Far indeed - From what is perfect call’d, but far beyond, - Not short of it; so that indeed my reason - Was none at all. - - _Ser._ Well now then the true reason - Of your disgust. - - _Juan._ Yet scarcely my disgust, - When you continue still the cause of it. - Well then, to take the matter up again— - The object of this act, (pray, look at me, - And do not laugh, Serafina,) is to seize - Those subtlest symmetries that, as I said, - Are subtlest in the loveliest; and though - It has been half the study of my life - To recognise and represent true beauty, - I had not dreamt of such excess of it - As yours; nor can I, when before my eyes, - Take the clear image in my trembling soul; - And therefore if that face of yours exceed - Imagination, and imagination - (As it must do) the pencil; then my picture - Can be but the poor shadow of a shade. - Besides,— - - _Ser._ Can there be any thing besides? - - _Juan._ ’Tis said that fire and light, and air and snow, - Cannot be painted; how much less a face - Where they are so distinct, yet so compounded, - As needs must drive the artist to despair! - I’ll give it up.——(_Throws away his brushes, etc._) - The light begins to fail too. - And Serafina, pray remember this, - If, tempted ever by your loveliness, - And fresh presumption that forgets defeat, - I’d have you sit again, allow me not,— - It does but vex me. - - _Ser._ Nay, if it do that - I will not, Juan, or let me die for it,— - Come, there’s an oath upon ’t. - - _Juan._ A proper curse - On that rebellious face. - - _Enter LEONELO._ - -_Leonelo._ And here comes in a story:— - -A man got suddenly deaf, and seeing the people about him moving their -lips, quoth he, ‘What the devil makes you all dumb?’ never thinking for -a moment the fault might be in himself. So it is with you, who lay the -blame on a face that all the world is praising, and not on your own want -of skill to paint it. - -_Juan._ Not a very apt illustration, Leonelo, as you would admit if you -heard what I was saying before you came in. But, whose soever the fault, -I am the sufferer. I will no more of it, however. Come, I will abroad. - -_Ser._ Whither, my lord? - -_Juan._ Down to the pier, with the sea and the fresh air, to dispel my -vexation. - -_Ser._ By quitting me? - -_Juan._ I might indeed say so, since the sight of you is the perpetual -trophy of my defeat. But what if leave you in order to return with a -double zest? - -_Ser._ Nay, nay, with no such pretty speeches hope to delude me; I know -what it is. The carnival with its fair masks. - -_Juan._ A mask abroad when I have that face at home! - -_Ser._ Nay, nay, I know you. - -_Juan._ Better than I do myself? - -_Ser._ What wife does not? - -_Leon._ Just so. A German and the priest of his village coming to high -words one day, because the man blew his swine’s horn under the priest’s -window, the priest calls out in a rage, ‘I’ll denounce your horns to -the parish, I will!’ which the man’s wife overhearing in the scullery, -she cries out, ‘Halloa, neighbour, here is the priest revealing my -confession!’ - -_Ser._ What impertinence, Leonelo! - -_Leon._ Very well then, listen to this; a certain man in Barcelona had -five or six children, and one day— - -_Juan._ Peace, foolish fellow. - -_Leon._ Those poor children will never get the meat well into their -mouths. - - _Juan._ Farewell, my love, awhile. - - [_Exeunt JUAN and LEONELO._ - - _Ser._ Farewell, my lord. - Thou little wicked Cupid, - I am amused to find how by degrees - The wound your arrows in my bosom made, - And made to run so fast with tears, is healing. - Yea, how those very arrows and the bow - That did such mischief, being snapt asunder— - Thyself art tamed to a good household child. - - _Enter FLORA, out of breath._ - -_Flora._ O madam! - -_Ser._ Well, Flora, what now? - -_Flora._ O madam, there is a man down-stairs! - -_Ser._ Well? - -_Flora._ Drest sailor-like. - -_Ser._ Well? - -_Flora._ He will not go away unless I give this letter into your hands. - -_Ser._ Into my hands? from whom? - -_Flora._ From the lady Porcia he says, madam. - -_Ser._ From Porcia, well, and what frightens you? - -_Flora._ Nothing, madam, and yet— - -_Ser._ And yet there is something. - -_Flora._ O, my lady, if this should be Don Alvaro! - -_Ser._ Don Alvaro! what makes you think that? - -_Flora._ I am sure it is he. - -_Ser._ But did you tell him you knew him? - -_Flora._ I could not help, madam, in my surprise. - -_Ser._ And what said he then? - - _Flora._ That I must tell you he was here. - - _Ser._ Alvaro!— - Flora, go back, tell him you dared not tell me, - Fearful of my rebuke, and say beside, - As of your own advice, that it is fit, - Both for himself and me, - That he depart immediately. - - _Flora._ Yes, madam. - - _As she is going, enter ALVARO, as a Sailor._ - - _Alvaro._ No need. Seeing Don Juan leave his house, - I have made bold to enter, and have heard - What Flora need not to repeat. - - _Ser._ Nay, sir, - Rather it seems as if you had not heard; - Seeing the most emphatic errand was - To bid you hence. - - _Alv._ So might it seem perhaps, - Inexorable beauty: but you know - How one delinquency another breeds: - And having come so far, and thus disguised, - Only to worship at your shrine, Serafina, - (I dare not talk of love,) I do beseech you - Do not so frown at my temerity, - As to reject the homage that it brings. - - _Ser._ Don Alvaro, - If thus far I have listen’d, think it not - Warrant of further importunity. - I could not help it—’tis with dread and terror - That I have heard thus much; I now beseech you, - Since you profess you came to honour me, - Show that you did so truly by an act - That shall become your honour well as mine. - - _Alv._ Speak, Serafina. - - _Ser._ Leave me so at once, - And without further parley, - That I may be assured _you_ are assured - That lapse of time, my duty as a wife, - My husband’s love for me, and mine for him, - My station and my name, all have so changed me, - That winds and waves might sooner overturn - Not the oak only, - But the eternal rock on which it grows, - Than you my heart, though sea and sky themselves - Join’d in the tempest of your sighs and tears. - - _Alv._ But what if I remember other times - When Serafina was no stubborn oak, - Resisting wind and wave, but a fair flower - That open’d to the sun of early love, - And follow’d him along the golden day: - No barren heartless rock, - But a fair temple in whose sanctuary - Love was the idol, daily and nightly fed - With sacrifice of one whole human heart. - - _Ser._ I do not say ’twas not so; - But, sir, to carry back the metaphor - Your ingenuity has turn’d against me, - That tender flower, transplanted it may be - To other skies and soil, might in good time - Strike down such roots and strengthen such a stem - As were not to be shook: the temple, too, - Though seeming slight to look on, being yet - Of nature’s fundamental marble built, - When once that foolish idol was dethroned, - And the true God set up into his place, - Might stand unscathed in sanctity and worship, - For ages and for ages. - - _Alv._ Serafina, - Why talk to me of ages, when the account - Of my misfortune and your cruelty - Measures itself by hours, and not by years! - It was but yesterday you loved me, yes, - Loved me, and (let the metaphor run on) - I never will believe it ever was, - Or is, or ever can be possible - That the fair flower so soon forgot the sun - To which so long she owed and turn’d her beauty, - To love the baser mould in which she grew: - Or that the temple could so soon renounce - Her old god, true god too while he was there, - For any cold and sober deity - Which you may venerate, but cannot love, - Newly set up. - - _Ser._ I must leave metaphor, - And take to sober sense; nor is it right, - Alvaro, that you strive - To choke the virtuous present with the past, - Which, when it was the past, was virtuous too, - But would be guilty if reiterate. - Nor is it right, nor courteous, certainly, - Doubting what I declare of my own heart; - Nay, you who do yourself affirm, Alvaro, - How well I loved you when such love was lawful, - Are bound to credit me when I declare - That love is now another’s. - - _Alv._ Serafina— - - _Juan_ (_speaking within_). Light, light, there! - - _Enter FLORA hurriedly._ - - _Flora._ Madam, my lord, my lord. - - _Alv._ Confusion! - - _Ser._ O ye heavens! - - _Flora._ The old lover’s story. - Brother or husband sure to interrupt. - - _Juan_ (_within_). A light there, Flora! Serafina! night - Set in, and not a lamp lit in the house? - - _Alv._ He comes. - - _Ser._ And I am lost! - - _Flora._ Quick, Don Alvaro, - Into this closet, till my lord be gone - Into his chamber; in, in, in! - - _Alv._ My fears - Are all for you, not for myself. - - [_Hides in the closet._ - - _Flora._ In, in! - - [_Exit._ - - _Juan_ (_entering_). How is it there’s no light? - - _Ser._ She had forgot— - But here it comes. - - _Enter FLORA with lights._ - - ’Twas kind of you, my lord,— - So quickly back again— - Sooner than I expected. - - _Juan._ Yes, a friend - Caught hold of me just as I reach’d the pier, - And told me to get home again. - - _Ser._ (_aside_). My heart! - - _Juan._ And wherefore do you think? - - _Ser._ Nay, I know not. - - _Juan._ To tell you of a festival, Serafina, - Preparing in your honour. - - _Ser._ (_aside_). I breathe again. - - _Juan._ The story’s this. It is the carnival, - You know, and, by a very ancient usage, - To-morrow all the folk of Barcelona, - Highest as well as lowest, men and women, - Go abroad mask’d to dance and see the shows. - And you being newly come, they have devised - A dance and banquet for you, to be held - In Don Diego’s palace, looking forth - So pleasantly (do you remember it?) - Upon the sea. And therefore for their sakes, - And mine, my Serafina, you must for once - Eclipse that fair face with the ugly mask; - I’ll find you fitting dress,—what say you? - - _Ser._ Nay, - What should I say but that your will is mine, - In this as evermore? - And now you speak of dress, there are ev’n now - Some patterns brought me in the nick of time - To choose from, in my chamber; prithee come, - And help me judge. - - _Juan._ I would that not your robe - Only, but all the ground on which you walk - Were laced with diamond. - - _Ser._ What, not done yet - With compliment? Come—come. - - (_She takes a light._) - - _Juan._ But wherefore this? - - _Ser._ My duty is to wait upon you. - - _Juan._ No. - Take the lamp, Flora. - - _Ser._ Flora waits on me, - And I on you. - - _Juan._ What humour’s this? - But be it as you will. - - [_Exeunt JUAN and SERAFINA._ - - _Flora_ (_letting out ALVARO_). Now is the time, Signor Alvaro! hist! - The coast is clear, but silently and swiftly— - Follow—but, hush! stop! wait! - - _Alv._ What now? - - _Flora._ A moment! - Back, back, ’tis Leonelo. - - _Alv._ Put out the light, I can slip past him. - - _Flora_ (_falls putting out light_). No sooner said than done. - O Lord, Lord, Lord! - - _Enter LEONELO._ - -_Leonelo._ What is the matter? - -_Flora._ The matter is, I have fallen. - -_Leon._ Into temptation? - -_Flora._ It is well, sir, if I have not broken my leg; here, sir, cease -your gibing, and get this lamp lighted directly. - -_Leon._ (_stumbling over ALVARO_). Halloa! - -_Flora._ What now? - -_Leon._ I’ve fallen now, and on your temptation I think, for it has got a -beard. - -_Alv._ (_groping his way_). The fool! but I can find the door. - - [_Exit._ - -_Leon._ There goes some one! - -_Flora._ The man’s mad! - -_Leon._ Am I? Halloa! halloa, there! - - _Enter JUAN with light._ - -_Juan._ What is the matter? - -_Flora._ Nothing, nothing, my lord. - -_Leon._ Nothing? I say it is something, a great— - -_Flora._ My lord, going to shut the door, I stumbled, fell, and put out -the light, that’s all. - -_Leon._ And I stumbled too. - -_Juan._ Well? - -_Leon._ Over a man. - -_Juan._ In this chamber? - -_Leon._ Yes, and— - -_Flora._ Nonsense! my lord, he stumbled against _me_, as we both -floundered in the dark. - -_Leon._ You! What have you done with your beard then? - -_Juan._ Are you mad? or is this some foolery? - -_Leon._ My lord, I swear I stumbled over a fellow here. - -_Juan_ (_aside_). And she so anxious to light me to her chamber! what is -all this? Take the lamp, Leonelo. Though partly I think you have been -dreaming, I will yet search the house; come with me. I will draw the -sting of suspicion at once, come what come may. - - [_Draws sword and exit._ - - _Flora_ (_to LEON._). All of your work. A murrain on your head, - Making this pother. - - _Leon._ Minx! what is said, is said. - - [_Exeunt severally._ - - -SCENE II.—_The garden of DON LUIS’ palace at Naples; a window with a -balcony on one side, or in front:—night._ - - _Enter the PRINCE and CELIO muffled up._ - - _Celio._ Still sighing? pardon me, your Highness, but - This melancholy is a riddle to me. - - _Prince._ Ah, Celio, so strange a thing is love, - The sighs you think are melancholy sighs, - Yet are not so; I have indeed drunk poison, - But love the taste of it. - - _Cel._ I used to think - ’Twas all of being away from your Porcia; - But now when better starr’d, her brother absent; - Her father unsuspicious, at her bidding - Night after night you come beneath her lattice, - And yet— - - _Prince._ If Porcia be not the cause - Of my complaint she cannot be the cure: - Yet (such is love’s pathology) she serves - To soothe the wound another made. - - _Cel._ Who then was she, my lord, for whose fair sake - You cannot either love this loving lady, - Nor leave her? - - _Prince._ I would tell you, Celio, - But you would laugh at me. - - _Cel._ Tell me, however. - - _Prince._ Rememberest not the lady whom we saw - For a few minutes, like some lovely vision, - In this same house a little while ago, - Not Porcia, but her diviner guest? - - _Cel._ Oh, I remember; is it then to be - The speciality of your Highness’ love, - That, whereas other men’s dies off by absence, - Yours quickens—if it can be love at all - Caught from one transitory glance? - - _Prince._ Nay, Celio; - Because a cloud may cover up the sun - At his first step into the firmament, - Are we to say he never rose at all? - Are we to say the lightning did not flash - Because it did but flash, or that the fountain - Never ran fresh because it ran so fast - Into its briny cradle and its grave? - My love, if ’twere but of one moment born, - And but a moment living, yet was love; - And love it _is_, now living with my life. - - (_A harp heard._) - - _Cel._ O fine comparisons! but hark, I hear - The widow’d turtle in the leaves away - Calling her faithless mate. - - _Prince._ Yes, Celio, ’tis - Porcia—if she sings to me of _love_, - I am to approach the window; but if _jealousy_, - I am to keep aloof. Listen! - - _Porcia_ (_singing within_). - - Of all the shafts to Cupid’s bow. - The first is tipt with fire; - All bare their bosoms to the blow, - And call the wound Desire. - - (_She appears at the window._) - - _Prince._ Ah! I was waiting, lovely Porcia, - Till your voice drew me by the notes of love, - Or distanced me by those of jealousy. - - _Por._ Which needs not music, prince, to signify, - Being love’s plain, prose history. - - _Prince._ Not always; - For instance, I know one, - Who, to refute your theory, Porcia, - Attracts men by her jealousy as much - As she repels them by her love. - - _Por._ Nay, then - Men must be stranger beings than I thought. - - _Prince._ I know not how that is, I only know - That in love’s empire, as in other empires, - Rebellion sometimes prospers. - - _Por._ That the night - Would give us leave to argue out their point! - Which yet I fear it will not. - - _Prince._ Why? - - _Por._ My father, - Who frets about my brother’s sudden absence, - Sits up enditing letters after him; - And therefore I have brought my harp, that while - We talk together I may touch the strings, - So as he, hearing me so occupied, - May not suspect or ask for me. Besides, - We can talk under cover of the music. - - _Prince._ Not the first time that love has found himself - Fretted, Porcia. - - _Por._ Oh, the wretched jest! - But listen— - The music is for him, the words for you, - For I have much to tell you underneath - This mask of music. - - (_Plays on the harp._) - - You know my father has been long resolved - To quit this government, and to return - To his own country place—which resolution, - First taken on my brother’s supposed death, - My brother’s sudden absence has revived; - And brought to a head—so much so, that to-morrow, - To-morrow, he has settled to depart - To Bellaflor—I scarce can say the words— - But let my tears— - - _Prince._ ’Tis well that you should mask - Ill news under sweet music: though, indeed, - A treason to make sweet the poison’d cup. - - _Por._ Who more than I— - - _Enter JULIA within, hurried._ - - _Julia._ Madam, madam, your father - Is gone into the garden—I hear his steps. - - _Por._ Nay then——(_Sings_) - - Love’s second is a poison’d dart, - And Jealousy is named: - Which carries poison to the heart - Desire had first inflamed. - - _Prince._ She sings of jealousy—we must retire; - Hist, Celio! - - [_CELIO and PRINCE retreat._ - - _Enter LUIS._ - - _Julia._ Who’s there? - - _Por._ Speak! - - _Luis._ Oh, I, Porcia, - Who writing in my study, and much troubled - About your brother, was seduced away - By your harp’s pleasant sound and the cool night, - To take a turn in the garden. - - _Por._ Yes, sir, here - I sit, enjoying the cool air that blows - Up from the shore among the whispering leaves. - - _Luis._ What better? but, Porcia, it grows late, - And chilly, I think: and though I’d have you here - Singing like a nightingale the whole night through, - It must not be. Will you come in? - - [_Exit._ - - _Por._ Directly— - I’ve but a moment. - - _Prince_ (_entering_). And you shall not need - Repeat the love call, for I heard— - - _Por._ (_playing as she speaks_). Nay, listen, - And that attentively. To-morrow, then, - We go to Bellaflor, (you know the place,)— - There in the hill-top, hid among the trees, - Is an old castle; ours, but scarcely used, - And kept by an old man who loves me well, - And can be secret. And if you should come - That way by chance, as hunting it may be, - I think we yet may meet. - - _Luis_ (_within_). Porcia! - - _Por._ Sir! - - _Luis_ (_within_). It’s time, indeed, to shut your window. - - _Por._ Hark, - I dare no longer. - - _Prince._ Then farewell! - - _Por._ Farewell! - Remember Bellaflor: while you retreat - Among the trees, I still shall sing to you - Of love; not that dark shape of jealousy, - But in the weeds of absence. - - _Prince._ A descant - That suits us both,——(_aside_) but on a different theme. - - _Por._ (_singing_). - - The last of Cupid’s arrows all - With heavy lead is set; - That vainly weeping lovers call - Repentance or Regret. - - [_As she retires still singing from the window within, the - PRINCE and CELIO retire back into the garden._ - - -SCENE III.—_A street before DON DIEGO’S house in Barcelona._ - - _Enter ALVARO and FABIO, masked: other Masks pass across, and into - DIEGO’S house._ - -_Alv._ This is the place; here will I wait till she comes by. I know her -dress, but I dared not follow her till myself disguised. - -_Fab._ And no doubt, sir, you will find good opportunity of talking to -her. ’Tis the old and acknowledged usage of this season, that any one may -accost any one so long as both are masked, and so neither supposed to -know the other. - -_Alv._ Oh, a brave usage, and a brave invention, that of the Carnival! -One may accost whom one pleases, and whisper what one will, under the -very ears of husband, father, or duenna! - -_Fab._ So received a custom, that even among this hot-headed jealous -people of Spain, no mortal quarrel has yet arisen on these occasions, -though plenty to provoke it. - -_Alv._ Look! the Masks are coming; I hear the music within. She must -soon be here. Let us withdraw round this corner till she come. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE IV.—_A garden leading down to the sea; on one side a Portico._ - - _Masks singing and dancing; in the course of which enter - and mix with them, JUAN, SERAFINA, LEONELO, and FLORA, - and afterwards ALVARO; all masked._ - - CHORUS. - - Tantara, tantara, come follow me all, - Carnival, Carnival, Carnival. - Follow me, follow me, nobody ask; - Crazy is Carnival under the mask. - Follow me, follow me, nobody knows; - Under the mask is under the rose. - Tantara, tantara, etc. - - _Juan._ How like you all this uproar? - - _Ser._ O quite well. - - _Juan_ (_aside_). And so should I, - Did not a shadow from that darken’d room - Trail after me. But why torment myself! - - _Leon._ My lord, the dancers wait. - - _Juan_ (_to the musicians_). Pardon me. Strike up! - - _Voices._ Strike up! strike up! - - _A Voice._ The castanets! - - _Voices._ The castanets! the castanets! - - _Musician._ What will you have? - - _Voices._ The Tarazana! the Tarazana! - - [_A dance, during which ALVARO observes SERAFINA._ - - _Fab._ You recognise her? - - _Alv._ Yes, Fabio, my heart - Would recognise her under any dress, - And under any mask. - - _Fab._ Now is your time. - - _Alv._ (_to SERAFINA_). Mask, will you dance with me? - - _Ser._ No, Cavalier; - You come too late. - - _Alv._ Too late? - - _Ser._ I am engaged. - - _Alv._ Nevertheless— - - _Ser._ Nay, sir, I am not apt - To change my mind. - - _Alv._ I hoped that in my favour - You might perhaps. - - _Ser._ ’Twas a delusion. - - _Alv._ But, - Fair Mask, didst never change thy mind before? - - _Ser._ Perhaps once—to such purpose that that _once_ - Forbids all other. - - _Juan._ Serafina, the Mask - Has askt your hand to dance. On these occasions - You must permit him, whether known or not. - Unknown, the usage of the time allows; - If known, ’twere more discourteous to refuse. - - _Ser._ My lord, ’twas chiefly upon your account - That I refused to dance with him; if you - Desire it, I am ready. - - _Juan._ How, my love, - On my account? - - _Ser._ Liking your company - Much better. - - _Juan._ Nay, take the humour of the time, - And dance with him. (_Aside._) I marvel who it is - That follows Serafina, and to whom, - The very indisposition that she shows, - Argues a kind of secret inclination. - - _Alv._ Well, do you still reject me? - - _Ser._ I am bidden - To dance with you; what measure will you call? - - _Alv._ Play ‘Love lies bleeding!’ - - _Ser._ But why that? - - _Alv._ Because - The spirit of the tune and of the words - Moves with my heart, and gives me leave beside - Amid its soft and slow divisions - To gaze on you and whisper in your ear. - - (_A minuet by the Masks; during which ALVARO - constantly whispers SERAFINA, who seems distrest; - after some time, they return in the figure to the - front of the Stage._) - - _Ser._ I’ve heard enough, sir; save for courtesy, - Too much. No more. - - _Alv._ Brief as the happiness - That once was mine! But— - - _Ser._ Stay, sir, I will hear - No more. I had not danced with you at all, - But that I wish’d to tell you once for all - How hopeless is your passion—the great danger - Your coming hither put and puts me to, - And that not my honour only, but my life, - Depends upon your quitting me at once, - Now and for ever. - - _Alv._ Serafina! - - _Ser._ (_aloud_). I am tired; - Pardon me, friends, I cannot dance. - - _Juan._ My love, - What is ’t? Unwell? - - _Ser._ I know not. - - _A Woman._ Stop the ball! - - _Another._ All in her honour too! - - _Another._ What is the matter? - - _Juan._ You are but tired with dancing. - - _Ser._ No, no, no, - Let us go home. - - _Juan._ Pardon us, friends, - Continue you your revels; we will go - Into the house awhile, and rest; I think - The heat and dancing have distrest her much, - But she’ll be better. To your dance again. - Come, Serafina. (_Aside._) Leonelo! hither! - Find out the Mask that with your lady danced. - - _Leon._ I’ll watch him to the world’s end—or beyond, - If need be. - - _Juan._ Good—Come, Serafina. - - [_Exeunt JUAN and SERAFINA._ - - _Alv._ So end my hopes for ever. Fool! who seeking - For what once lost could never more be found - Like to a child after a rainbow running— - Leaving my father, who had only just - Recover’d me to his old heart again, - Without adieu—equipp’d this Brigantine - (Down to the bottom may she go with me!) - In chase of this—not Serafina—no— - But this false Siren, - Who draws me with the music of her beauty, - To leave me in destruction. - -_Leon._ (_watching him_). This must be some monk, who knows of some -better entertainment elsewhere. - - _Alv._ And after all, - Not one kind word of welcome or of thanks, - But that her life depended on my leaving her, - Who would for her have sacrificed my own - In any way but that. But it is done! - Henceforward I renounce all hope; henceforth— - And why not all despair?—the world is wide, - Eh, Fabio? and the good old saw says well - That fortune at the worst must surely mend. - Let us to sea, the ship is ready; come, - Away with all this foolery. - - (_Throws off mask, etc._) - - _Leon._ Here is a harlequin sailor! - - _Fabio._ Well resolved. - - _Alv._ Wear them what other fool may list, - I’ll straight aboard, and if the wind and sea - Can rise as they were wont, I’ll stretch all sail - Toward the perdition she consigns me to. - Halloa there! (_Whistles._) - - _Enter SAILORS._ - - _Sail._ Captain? - - _Alv._ How is ’t for a cruise? - - _Sail._ Oh, never better; just a breeze to keep - The ship from looking in her glass too long. - - _Alv._ Aboard, aboard then! Farewell all my hopes; - My love, farewell for ever! - - _Voices_ (_within_). Fire! fire! fire! - - _All._ What’s this? - - _Voices._ Fire! fire! in Don Diego’s palace! - Help! help! - - _Alv._ She there! my life shall save the life - She said it jeopardied. - - _As he is going out, enter JUAN with SERAFINA - fainted in his arms._ - -_Juan._ Friends! Gentlemen! if you would help in this calamity, take -charge for a moment of this most precious thing of all, till I return. - -_Alv._ (_taking SERAFINA in his arms_). Trust me, sir. - - [_JUAN rushes off._ - -_Leon._ Stop, my lord, stop a moment—he is gone, and this man— - - _Alv._ Serafina in my arms! my ship at hand! - O love, O destiny!—aboard, aboard— - O ’tis the merriest proverb of them all, - How one man rises by his neighbour’s fall. - - [_Exit, carrying off SERAFINA._ - -_Leon._ Halloa! stop him! stop him! it is my mistress; Don Juan! my lord! -my lord! the rascal has carried her off! my lord! my lord! - - [_Runs after ALVARO._ - -_1st Voice in the crowd._ The fire is getting under. - -_2nd Voice._ No lives lost? - -_3rd Voice._ Only, they say, one poor girl of the lady Serafina’s. - - _Enter DON JUAN hurriedly._ - -_Juan._ I thought I heard Leonelo calling me—But where is Serafina? This -is the place—yes—Serafina! I left them here—taken her perhaps fainting as -she was for help. Gentlemen, have you seen any here with a lady, fainted, -in their charge—a sailor, I think? - -_1st Man._ Not I, sir. - -_2nd Man._ Nor I. - -_3rd Man._ Stay, I think there were some sailors with a lady in their -arms. - -_Juan._ And where— - - _Enter LEONELO breathless._ - -_Leon._ Oh, my lord, my lord! - -_Juan._ Speak! - -_Leon._ The Mask who danced with my lady— - -_Juan._ Where is she? - -_Leon._ Was the sailor you gave her in charge to—He has carried her off. - -_Juan._ The Mask! the sailor! - -_Leon._ I saw him throw off his disguise, and now he has carried her -off—to the shore—to sea—to the ship there now spreading her sails in the -harbour. - -_Juan._ Man! beware lest I blast thee! - -_Leon._ As if I were the sailor! I tell you I ran after them, shouted, -struggled, but was pushed aside, knocked down— - -_Juan._ To the shore, to the shore! follow me! - -_Voices._ What is the matter? - -_Juan._ What I dare not name till it be avenged; Pirate!—Ruffian! Oh -fool, I might have guessed—but I will find them through water and fire -too. To the shore! - - [_Exit JUAN, LEONELO after him; confusion, etc._ - - - - -ACT III - - -SCENE I.—_A room in DON LUIS’ country-house near Naples._ - - _Enter DON LUIS reading a letter._ - -_Luis._ ‘You bid me tell you why it is Don Juan Roca has not written -to you so long: and though it be pain to do so, I dare no longer defer -answering you. At a carnival dance here, the palace of Don Diego de -Cordona, in which the festival was held, took fire so suddenly, as -people had much ado to escape with their lives. Don Juan’s wife fainting -from terror, he carried her out, and gave her in charge to a sailor -standing near, while he himself returned to help at the fire. No doubt -this sailor was a pirate: for he carried her off to his ship and set -sail immediately. Don Juan returning and finding her gone rushes madly -after; casts himself into the sea in his rage and desperation; is rescued -half drowned, and taken to his house, from which he was missed—he and -his servant Leonelo—some days ago, taking scarce any thing with him, and -leaving no hint of whither he is gone. And since that hour we have heard -nothing of him, or of Serafina.’ - - My heart prevents my eyes from reading more. - O heavens! to what chance and danger is - The fortune of the happiest, and still more - The honour of the noblest, liable! - Ill fortune we may bear, and, if we choose, - Sit folded in despair with dignity; - But honour needs must wince before a straw, - And never rest until it be avenged. - To know where Juan is, and by his side - To put myself, and run all risk with him - Till he were righted, and the offender too, - I’d give my life and all I’m worth; no corner - In the wide earth but we would ferret it, - Until—Porcia! - - _Enter PORCIA._ - - _Por._ Pray, sir, pardon me, - But I would know what vexes you, you stand - Angrily talking to yourself alone: - This letter in your hand—What is it, sir? - - _Luis._ Nothing, nothing, Porcia; (for Juan’s sake - I must dissemble)—Nay, I have received - A letter upon business that annoys me. - - _Por._ I’m sorry, sir, for that, for I had come - To ask a favour of you. - - _Luis._ Well, why not? - - _Por._ They say that those who ask unseasonably - Must be content with a refusal. - - _Luis._ Nay, - Between us two no season’s out of season. - - _Por._ So? then I’ll ask. Alvaro— - - _Luis._ All but that! - Ask me not that way. - - _Por._ Then ’tis _not_ the season. - - _Luis._ The season for all else but that which never - Can be in season. How often have I told you - Never to speak to me again of him! - - _Por._ What has my brother done, sir, after all, - To make you so inveterate? - - _Luis._ What done! - To leave my house, to which I only just - Had welcomed him as only a father can, - Without adieu, or word of when or where, - And then as suddenly come back, forsooth, - Knock at my door, as if he had but made - A morning call, and think to find it open— - It and my heart—open to him as ever. - - _Por._ But may not, sir, the thoughtlessness of youth - Be some excuse? Pray you remember, sir, - How on a sudden you yourself determined - To leave the cheerful city and come here, - Among dull woods and fields, and savage people; - And surely ’twas no wonder that my brother - Should, ill advised, no doubt, but naturally, - Slip for a month back to the busy world - To which his very dangers had endear’d him. - And now to prove - How much he feels your anger and his fault, - Since his return he has lived quietly, - I might say almost _eremitically_, - Up in the mountain, yet more solitary - And still than this is, doing penance there. - Let me plead for him, sir; let him come down, - To kiss your hand and see you once again. - - _Luis._ He should be grateful to you, Porcia— - Well, let him come. - - _Por._ Bless you for saying so! - I’ll go myself to him this evening, - And tell him this good news. - - _Luis._ Do so. Ah me! - That all were settled thus! Did I but know - Where Juan is, and where his enemy! - - [_Exit._ - - _Julia_ (_entering_). Well, madam, you have gain’d your point. - - _Por._ Yes, Julia, - _Two_ points; for, first, my brother will come back; - And, secondly, so doing, leave the old castle - At my disposal, where the Prince and I - May meet together in security. - I’ll write to Alvaro now, and do you tell - The messenger who brought his letter hither, - I’ll go this evening up the mountain. So - Belardo, the old porter, - Who knows and loves me well, will look for me, - And understand the purpose of my going. - - _Julia._ Ah, now I see, beside his bow and arrows, - Love arms himself with trick and stratagem. - - _Por._ And something else; give me my arquebuss; - So, Love and I perchance, as says the song, - May hit a hart, as we shall go along. - - -SCENE II.—_A room in DON LUIS’ castle in the hills._ - - _Enter ALVARO and FABIO._ - - _Alv._ How is ’t with Serafina? - - _Fab._ Nay, you know. - Ever the same. - - _Alv._ You mean still weeping? - - _Fab._ Ay. - - _Alv._ Yes, from the hour when, fainting in my arms, - She pass’d from raging flame to the wild seas, - And opening those heavenly eyes again, - Still with the hue of death upon her cheek, - She saw herself in my ship—in my power,— - She has not ceased to weep; all my caresses - Unable to console her. - I fondly hoped that she— - - _Enter SERAFINA._ - - _Ser._ Good Fabio, - - [_Exit FABIO._ - - Leave us awhile. ‘You fondly hoped,’ Alvaro— - So much I heard, connected with my name; - And I perhaps have something on that text - Would clear the matter up to both of us. - ‘You fondly hoped’—was ’t not that I might be - So frail, so lost to shame, and so inconstant, - That for the loss of husband, home, and honour, - Lost in one day, I might console myself - With being in his arms, who robb’d me of all! - Was ’t this you hoped? - - _Alv._ No, Serafina, but— - - _Ser._ But what? - - _Alv._ And yet perhaps ’twas that I hoped— - The very desperation of my act - Bringing its pardon with it, soon or late, - Seeing the very element of love - Is rashness, that he finds his best excuse - In having none at all. Ah, Serafina, - How greatly must he love, who all for love - Perils the hope of being loved at all! - - _Ser._ Poor argument! I rather draw that he - Who ventures on such desperate acts can have - No true respect for her he outrages, - And therefore no true love. No, daring traitor— - But I’ll not strive to break the heart of flint, - But wear it with my tears. Hear me, Alvaro, - In pity—in mercy—hear me. - This thing is done, there is no remedy, - Let us not waste the time in arguing - What better had been done; the stars so ruled it— - Yea, providence that rules the stars. Well then, - What next? Alvaro, I would speak of this; - And if ’t be right I owe you any thing, - Be it for this one boon, a patient hearing. - Listen to me— - I never draw a breath but ’tis on fire - With Juan’s vengeance; never move a step - But think I see his fierce eyes glaring at me - From some dark corner of this desolate house - In which my youth is buried. And what gain you - By all this crime and misery? My body, - But not my soul; without possessing which, - Beauty itself is but a breathing corpse, - But a cold marble statue, unsuffused - With the responsive hue of sympathy, - Possess’d but not enjoy’d. - Oh, ill betide that villain love, not love, - That all its object and affection finds - In the mere contact of encircling arms! - But if this move you not—consider, Alvaro— - Don Juan is a nobleman—as such - Bound to avenge his honour; he must know - ’Twas you who did this monstrous act, for Flora - Would tell him all. There is one remedy: - ’Tis this, that you, despairing of my love, - Which you can never gain—forgo me quite, - And give me up to some cold convent’s cloister, - Where buried I may wear away— - - _Alv._ No more, - Rather than give you up again, Serafina, - Pray heaven’s thunder— - - (_Shot within._) - - _Ser._ Again, this dreadful omen! - ’Tis for my death! - - _Alv._ Fear not—Belardo! ho! - What shot was that? - - _Enter BELARDO._ - - _Bel._ Your sister Porcia - Is coming up the mountain; nay, is now - At the very gate. - - _Ser._ Oh, whither must I go! - - _Alv._ Belardo, lead her hence. - - _Bel._ Not that way, sir, - By which your sister enters. - - _Alv._ In here then. - I’ll go and meet Porcia. - - _Ser._ Mercy, heaven! - - [_She goes in at one door, as PORCIA enters by another._ - -_Alv._ How now, Porcia, you look pleased to-day! - -_Por._ And well I may—for two reasons, Alvaro. - -_Alv._ Well, what are they? - -_Por._ First, I have got my father to relax in his humour against you. - -_Alv._ My good sister! - -_Por._ So as he will see you at Bellaflor this very evening. - -_Alv._ Good! and your second reason? - -_Por._ That coming up the pass, I made the crowning shot of my life with -this arquebuss—a hare at full speed—flying, I might say. - -_Alv._ Give you joy of both your hits, Porcia. - -_Por._ I am so proud of the last (though glad of the first, Alvaro) that -I shall try my luck and skill a little longer about the castle this -evening. - -_Alv._ So— - -_Por._ You will not wait for me, but go down at once to Bellaflor, and -show my father you value his forgiveness by your haste to acknowledge it. - -_Alv._ You say well; but you will go with me? - -_Por._ Fear not, I shall soon be after you. - -_Alv._ Well, if so, then——(_apart to BELARDO_) Belardo, remember you get -the lady to her room directly my sister is gone out. - -_Por._ Our roads lie together as far as the gate at least. (_Aside to -BELARDO._) If the Prince happen to come hither, tell him to wait for me, -Belardo; I shall be back directly. Come, brother. - - [_Exeunt ALVARO and PORCIA._ - -_Bel._ They say a Pander is a good business; and yet here am I -ministering both to brother and sister with very little profit at the -year’s end. - -_Ser._ (_entering cautiously_). Porcia’s gone? - -_Bel._ Yes, she is gone. - -_Ser._ Had she resolved on going into the room where I was she could have -done it; there was neither key nor bolt within. But she is gone and I -can get to my own. - -_Bel._ No. - -_Ser._ Belardo! why? - -_Bel._ Some one coming. - -_Ser._ Again! - - [_She hides, as before._ - - _Enter PRINCE._ - -_Prince._ How now, Belardo, where is your mistress? she advised me her -brother would be away, and she here this evening. - -_Bel._ Your Highness comes in good time. She went with him, but will be -back directly. She is here. - - _Enter PORCIA._ - -_Por._ Not far behind, you see. Scarce had he taken the turn to -Bellaflor, when I turn’d back. - -_Prince._ How shall I thank you for this favour? - -_Por._ My brother’s living here has been the reason of our not meeting -before: but that is remedied for the future. - -_Prince._ And how? - -_Por._ He is at last reconciled to my father, and is even now gone home, -to Bellaflor. - -_Prince._ (_aside_). My heart thanks you but little, being away with -another; but if I cannot avenge memory, I will thus try and deceive or -amuse it. My lovely Porcia! - -_Bel._ (_aside_). She hears every word they say! - -_Por._ Ah, you flatter still. - -_Prince._ Flatter! - -_Por._ Do I not know there is a Siren at Naples— - -_Prince._ Porcia, to prove to you how unfounded that suspicion is, I have -these many days wholly quitted Naples, and, out of a melancholy that has -taken hold of me, now live retired in a little Villa hard by this: you -may imagine at least one reason for my doing so. And so enchanted am I -with my solitude, that till this evening (when you broke it as I could -wish) I have not once stirred abroad; my only occupation being to watch -some pictures that I am having done, by the best masters of Italy and of -Spain too; one of which country I have happened on, who might compete -with Apelles. As I told you, I have spent whole days in watching them at -work. - -_Por._ My jealousy whispered— - - _Enter BELARDO._ - -_Bel._ Unlucky to be sure. - -_Por._ What now? - -_Bel._ What can make your brother return so suddenly? - -_Por._ My brother! - -_Bel._ He is now at the gate. - -_Por._ He must suspect the Prince! O, my lord, hide yourself. - -_Prince._ Where? - -_Por._ Any where!—quick! here. - - [_She puts him where SERAFINA is._ - -_Prince._ For your sake, Porcia. - - _Enter ALVARO._ - -_Alv._ I cannot be easy till I am assured that Serafina——Porcia here? - -_Por._ Alvaro! - -_Alv._ You left me on a sudden? - -_Por._ I was tired, and came back for rest. - -_Alv._ So— - -_Por._ But you? - -_Alv._ I bethought me that, considering my father’s late indisposition -toward me, it were better you were at my side when I went to him. - -_Por._ So— - -_Alv._ So that if he should relapse into ill-humour, you know how to -direct him. - -_Por._ Well, shall we start again together? - -_Alv._ Is not that best? - -_Por._ As you please. - -_Alv._ (_aside_). She will not then stumble on Serafina. - -_Por._ (_aside_). I shall so get him out of the Prince’s way. - - [_Exeunt PORCIA and ALVARO._ - -_Bel._ Now then the two imprisoned ones get out. - - _Enter the PRINCE, and SERAFINA, her hand before her face._ - - _Ser._ In vain—you shall not know me. - - _Prince._ Nay, in vain - You try to be unknown. - - _Ser._ Consider— - - _Prince._ Nay, - Down with that little hand, too small a cloud - To hide the heaven of your beauty from me. - Lady, I know you—but one such. And know - That love himself has wrought a miracle, - To this unlikeliest place, by means unlikeliest, - Bringing us here together. - -_Bel._ Only this was wanting to the plot! The sister’s gallant in love -with the brother’s mistress! - - _Ser._ Generous Orsino! if I try in vain - To hide me from you—wretched that I am - To have to hide at all—but the less wretched - Being unmaskt by your nobility— - I ask this mercy at your feet; betray not - The secret chance has now betray’d to you. - I am a wretched woman, you a Prince. - Grant me this boon; and yet one more, to leave me - To weep my miseries in solitude. - - _Prince._ Madam, your prayer is not in vain. - Your name, - Upon the word and honour of a Prince, - Shall never pass my lips. - And for that second wish, hardest of all, - I yet will pay for one delicious glance - The greatest price I can, by leaving you. - Farewell—you owe me more anxiety - Than you believe. - - _Ser._ I shall not be ashamed - To own the debt, though hopeless to repay it. - But heav’n shall do that for me. Farewell, my lord. - - _Prince._ Farewell. - - [_Exeunt PRINCE and SERAFINA._ - - _Bel._ I wonder if they know the ancient line, - ‘I’ll keep your secret, only you keep mine.’ - - [_Exit._ - - -SCENE III.—_The PRINCE’S Villa._ - - _Enter DON JUAN in poor apparel; and CELIO._ - - _Cel._ Your business with the Prince, sir? - - _Juan._ Only to speak - About a picture I have finish’d for him. - - _Cel._ He is not here at present; not, I think, - Return’d from hunting. - - _Juan._ Will he soon be home? - - _Cel._ I cannot speak to that, sir. - - [_Exit CELIO._ - - _Juan._ Why, what a fate is mine! - All of a sudden—but I dare not say it; - Scarce could I of myself believe it, if - I told it to myself; so with some things - ’Tis easier to bear, than hear of them; - And how much happens daily in this strange world, - Far easier to be done than be believed. - Who could have thought that I, being what I was - A few days back, am what I am; to this - Reduced by that name _Honour_; whose nice laws, - Accurst be he who framed! - Little he knew the essence of the thing - He legislated for, who put my honour - Into another’s hand; made my free right - Another’s slave, for others to abuse, - And then myself before the world arraign’d, - To answer for a crime against myself! - And one being vain enough to make the law, - How came the silly world to follow it, - Like sheep to their own slaughter! And in all - This silly world is there a greater victim - To its accursed custom than myself! - - _Enter LEONELO, poorly drest._ - - _Leon._ Yes, one, - Who follows your misfortunes, and picks up - The crumbs of misery that fall from you; - My chief subsistence now. - - _Juan._ And I have left - Country and home to chase this enemy, - Of whom as yet no vestige— - - _Leon._ And no wonder, - Seeing he travels with you. - - _Juan._ In these rags— - - _Leon._ And very hungry; and so we come at last - To Naples; for what purpose? - - _Juan._ Why, if ’t be - Some former lover; would he not return - To his own country, and hers? - - _Leon._ In which meanwhile - We starve, without a stiver in our pockets, - While friends swarm round us, if you would, my lord, - Reveal yourself. - - _Juan._ Shorn of my honour? No! - - _Leon._ And I, not being shorn of appetite, - Would publish my disgraceful want of food - To all the world. There is Don Luis now, - Your ancient friend. - - _Juan._ What friend but, if he be - True to himself and me, must be my enemy, - And either wholly turn his face away, - Or look at me with pity and contempt? - I will reveal myself to no one, nay, - Reveal _myself_ I cannot,—not myself - Until I be avenged. - - _Leon._ And so you make - The painter’s trade your stalking-horse - To track your enemy, and in these rags - Come to the Prince. - - _Juan._ Oh let me die in rags, - Rather than he should recognise me! Once - He saw me— - - _Leon._ O my lord, fear not for that; - Hunger, and rags, and sleeplessness, and anguish, - Have changed you so your oldest friend would pass you. - - _Juan._ They have that merit then. But see—the Prince. - - _Enter PRINCE._ - - I kiss your Highness’ hand. - - _Prince._ Well, Spaniard, - What would you with me? - - _Juan._ I waited on your Highness, - To tell you of a picture I had finisht. - Thinking your Grace might like— - - _Prince._ I thank you, sir. - What is the subject? - - _Juan._ Hercules, my lord; - Wherein (unless I do deceive myself) - I think the fair and terrible are join’d - With some success. - - _Prince._ As how? - - _Juan._ As thus, my lord. - The point I have chosen in that history - Is where the faithless Centaur carries off - Deianira, while beyond the river - Stands Hercules with such a face and gesture - As not a man, I think, who looks on it, - But would exclaim, ‘Jealousy and Revenge!’ - - _Prince._ I long to see it. - - _Juan._ That is the main group; - But far away, among the tangled thicks - Of a dark mountain gap, this Hercules - Fires his own funeral pile to the smoky clouds. - And I would have this motto for the whole, - ‘So Jealousy in its own flames expires.’ - - _Prince._ Not only do I like the subject well, - But now especially, being deeply scorcht, - Not with the flame that burn’d up Hercules, - But that for which the unlucky Centaur died. - - _Juan._ Indeed, my lord. - - _Prince._ Indeed—and, having done - This picture for me, you shall set about - One other. - - _Juan._ At your pleasure. - - _Prince._ You shall know then, - That of a certain lady whom but once - I saw, and for a moment, I became - Infatuated so, her memory - Every where and for ever, day and night, - Pursues me. Hopeless of obtaining her, - And ev’n of ever seeing her again, - Chance has discover’d to me where she lives - Conceal’d—I know not why, but so it is— - And ’twould at least console my hopeless love, - To have her picture. You are a foreigner - Who know not nor are known by any here, - So I can better trust you with a secret - I dare not even to herself reveal. - - _Juan._ I’ll do my best to serve you; but I fear, - If she be such a creature as you say, - That I shall fail to satisfy myself - Or you. - - _Prince._ Why so? - - _Juan._ I tried at such a face - Once. - - _Prince._ Nay, I know that beauty’s subtlest essence - Is most impossible to seize. But yet - I shall commit this business to your hands - Most confidently. - - _Juan._ I’ll do my best. - - _Prince._ Come then, - Remembering this business must be done - With all despatch and secrecy. Yourself - Must not be seen by her, nor I, who know not - (I told you) how or why she should be there; - But my authority, and a little gold, - (At least, I hope,) shall set the door ajar, - That you may catch a sight of her. Myself - Will be at hand, and ready to protect you - Against all danger. - - _Juan._ I will trust your Highness, - And also (let me say so) trust myself, - Although but a poor painter. - - _Prince._ I believe it; - And each of us shall play his part, I think, - That neither shall depart unsatisfied. - - [_Exit PRINCE._ - - _Juan._ Perhaps, but not as you suppose. Leonelo, - Put up my brushes and my colours, and— - My pistols with them. - - _Leon._ Pistols! Is ’t to paint - In body colour? - - _Juan._ Put them up. - - _Leon._ And whither - Are we to carry them? - - _Juan._ I do not know. - Whither the Prince shall carry me, I go. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE IV.—_A room in DON LUIS’ Villa._ - - _Enter LUIS and ALVARO._ - - _Alv._ Now, sir, that (thanks to Porcia) you have open’d - Your arms to me once more, I cannot rest - (So favour ever calls for favour) till - You tell me what the inward trouble is - That mars your outward feature. I was cause - Of so much trouble to you, that I dread - Lest of this also, which with troubled looks - You still keep speaking to yourself apart, - Like people in a play. - - _Luis._ Alvaro, no. - Thank God, this trouble lies not at your door. - Let that suffice. - - _Alv._ You will not trust me, sir? - - _Luis._ Why will you press me? since you must be told, - It is about my friend—Don Juan Roca. - - _Alv._ Don Juan! - - _Luis._ Yes, Don Juan. - - _Alv._ What of him? - (I’ll drink the cup at once!) (_aside_). - - _Luis._ What evil star - Made him my friend! - - _Alv._ Too true! (_aside_). But what has happen’d? - - _Luis._ Why will you know? and should I dare to tell - My friend’s dishonour? Well, no more than this— - Some wretch—some villain—some accursed—but - Be there bad name enough to brand him by, - I have not breath for it—nor is it well - For you or for myself—has ravisht from him - His wife, his Serafina. - And I, O God! not able to avenge him! - - _Alv._ (_aside_). Does he know all? and knowing whose the crime, - Cannot, he says, avenge it on his son? - Shall I then tell, and gain at least the grace - Of a confession? Hear me, sir. - - _Luis._ Nay, nay, - I know what you would say, how vain it is - To vex myself who cannot help my friend— - We neither knowing who the villain is, - Nor whither both are fled: heaven! if we did, - I should not now be idly moaning here. - - _Alv._ All’s safe! (_aside_). Nor I, sir; give me but a clue, - (Not only for Don Juan’s sake, but yours,) - I’ll track the villain through the world. - - _Luis._ Alvaro, - Your words are music to me. - - _Alv._ Still, my father, - I will say what to say you said was vain. - Until some clue be found, let not this grief - Consume you so. - - _Luis._ Such wounds are hard to heal. - Yet, quicken’d by your courage, and to show - How well I like your counsel—come, Alvaro, - I will with you to your hill castle there; - That which has been your banishment so long, - Shall witness now our reconciliation. - We’ll go this evening—now—together. - - _Alv._ Good, sir. - But pardon me, let me go on before - To apprize Belardo of your going thither— - And also Serafina! (_apart_). - - [_Exit._ - - _Luis._ Be it so! - - _Julia_ (_entering_). My lord, Don Pedro is without, and fain - Would speak to you. - - _Luis._ Admit him, Julia. - The wound re-opens—Serafina’s father! - No doubt upon what errand. - - _Enter DON PEDRO._ - - _Ped._ Ah, Don Luis, - Your arms! (_They embrace._) - - _Luis._ Don Pedro, I must surely thank - The cause to which my poor retirement owes - This honour. - - _Ped._ Yet a thankless cause, Don Luis. - These many days I have heard nothing of - Don Juan and my daughter; they neither write - Themselves, nor any one to whom I write - To ask about them answers to the purpose. - What may this mean? I have come hither thinking - That you, who are the model of all friends, - May deal more clearly with me. You may think - What I endure from this suspense. In mercy - Relieve me from it quickly. - - _Luis_ (_aside_). Poor old man; - What shall I say? tell his grey hairs at once - The ruin of his honour and his love? - - _Ped._ You pause, my lord! - - _Luis._ And yet I need not wonder, - I nothing hear of them if you do not. - - _Ped._ And you know nothing of them? - - _Enter PORCIA hurriedly._ - - _Por._ Sir, I hear - You are going (are you not?) this evening - To the castle, with my brother. - But who is this? - - _Ped._ Ever your slave, sweet lady. - - _Por._ Oh, pardon me, my lord. - - _Luis._ Nay, pardon _me_ - That I cut short your compliments, Porcia. - (This interruption, come so opportune, - Shall carry what ill news I have to tell - Into the open air at least.) Don Pedro, - I am going to the mountain, as she says; - You to the city; for some way at least - Our roads are one, and I would talk with you - About this business without interruption. - Will ’t please you come? - - _Ped._ Your pleasure’s mine. Adieu, - Fair lady. - - _Por._ Farewell, sir. - - _Luis._ Porcia, you - Will follow in the carriage. - - [_Exeunt LUIS and PEDRO._ - - _Por._ And should go - More gladly, were my lover there to meet me. - - [_Exit._ - - -SCENE V.—_The garden under ALVARO’S castle. A large grated door in the -centre._ - - _Enter PRINCE, JUAN, LEONELO, and BELARDO._ - -_Prince_ (_to BELARDO_). You know your office; take this diamond by way -of thanks. - -_Bel._ I know little of diamonds but that they sell for less than you -give for them. But this (_to JUAN_) is to be your post. - -_Juan._ I am ready. - -_Prince._ Remember, Spaniard, it is for _me_ you run this hazard, if -there be any; I shall be close at hand to protect you. Be not frightened. - -_Juan._ Your Highness does not know me: were it otherwise, danger cannot -well appal him whom sorrows like mine have left alive. - -_Bel._ And, another time—doubloons, not diamonds. - - [_Exeunt PRINCE and LEONELO._ - -Here she mostly comes of an evening, poor lady, to soothe herself, -walking and sitting here by the hour together. This is where you are to -be. Go in; and mind you make no noise. - - [_Puts JUAN into the grated door, and locks it._ - -_Juan_ (_through the grated window_). But what are you about? - -_Bel._ Locking the door to make all sure. - -_Juan._ But had it not better be unlockt in case— - -_Bel._ Hush! she comes. - -_Juan._ My palette then. - - _Enter SERAFINA._ - - _Ser._ How often and how often do I draw - My resolution out upon one side, - And all my armed sorrows on the other, - To fight the self-same battle o’er again! - - _Juan._ He stands in the way; I cannot see her face. - - _Bel._ Still weeping, madam? - - _Ser._ Wonder not, Belardo: - The only balm I have. You pity me: - Leave me alone then for a while, Belardo; - The breeze that creeps along the whispering trees - Makes me feel drowsy. - - _Juan_ (_to BELARDO, whispering_). She turns her head away, - I cannot see her still. - - _Ser._ What noise was that? - - _Bel._ Madam? - - _Ser._ I thought I heard a whisper. - - _Bel._ Only - The breeze, I think. If you would turn this way, - I think ’twould blow upon you cooler. - - _Ser._ Perhaps it will. - Thank you. I am very miserable and very weary. - - _Bel._ She sleeps: that is the lady. - Make most of time. - - [_Exit._ - - _Juan._ Yes. Now then for my pencil. - Serafina! found at last! Whose place is this? - The Prince? no! But the stray’d lamb being here, - The wolf is not far off. She sleeps! I thought - The guilty never slept: and look, some tears - Still lingering on the white rose of her cheek. - Be those the drops, I wonder, - Of guilty anguish, or of chaste despair? - This death-like image is the sculptor’s task, - Not mine. - Or is it I who sleep, and dream all this, - And dream beside, that once before I tried - To paint that face—the daylight drawing in - As now—and when somehow the lamp was out, - A man—I fail’d: and what love fail’d to do, - Shall hate accomplish? She said then, if ever - She suffer’d me to draw her face again, - Might she die for it. Into its inmost depth - Heav’n drew that idle word, and it returns - In thunder. - - _Ser._ (_dreaming_). Juan! Husband! on my knees. - Oh Juan—slay me not! - - _Enter ALVARO; she wakes and rushes to him._ - - Alvaro, - Save me, oh save me from him! - - _Alv._ So the wretch - Thrives by another’s wretchedness. My love! - - _Juan._ Alvaro, by the heavens! - - _Alv._ Calm yourself; - You must withdraw awhile. Come in with me. - - _Juan._ Villain! - - _Ser._ (_clinging to ALVARO_). What’s that? - - _Juan_ (_shaking at the door_). The door is fast; - Open it, I say!— - Then die, thou and thy paramour! - - [_Shoots a pistol at each through the grating.—Both - fall; SERAFINA into the arms of BELARDO, who has - come in during the noise.—Then directly enter - DON LUIS, PEDRO, PORTIA._ - - _Luis._ What noise is this? - - _Ser._ My father!—in your arms - To die;—not by your hand—Forgive me—Oh! - - [_Dies._ - - _Ped._ (_taking her in his arms_). My Serafina? - - _Luis._ And Alvaro! - - _Alv._ Ay, - But do not curse me now! - - [_Dies._ - - _Enter the PRINCE and LEONELO._ - - _Leon._ They must have found him out. - - _Prince._ Whoever dares - Molest him, answers it to me. Open the door. - But what is this? - - [_BELARDO unlocks the door._ - - _Juan_ (_coming out_). A picture— - Done by the Painter of his own Dishonour - In blood. - I am Don Juan Roca. Such revenge - As each would have of me, now let him take, - As far as one life holds. Don Pedro, who - Gave me that lovely creature for a bride, - And I return to him a bloody corpse; - Don Luis, who beholds his bosom’s son - Slain by his bosom friend; and you, my lord, - Who, for your favours, might expect a piece - In some far other style of art than this: - Deal with me as you list; ’twill be a mercy - To swell this complement of death with mine; - For all I had to do is done, and life - Is worse than nothing now. - - _Prince._ Get you to horse, - And leave the wind behind you. - - _Luis._ Nay, my lord, - Whom should he fly from? not from me at least, - Who loved his honour as my own, and would - Myself have help’d him in a just revenge, - Ev’n on an only son. - - _Ped._ I cannot speak, - But I bow down these miserable gray hairs - To other arbitration than the sword; - Ev’n to your Highness’ justice. - - _Prince._ Be it so. - Meanwhile— - - _Juan._ Meanwhile, my lord, let me depart; - Free, if you will, or not. But let me go, - Nor wound these fathers with the sight of one, - Who has cut off the blossom of their age: - Yea, and his own, more miserable than all. - They know me; that I am a gentleman, - Not cruel, nor without what seem’d due cause - Put on this bloody business of my honour; - Which having done, I will be answerable - Here and elsewhere, to all for all. - - _Prince._ Depart - In peace. - - _Juan._ In peace! Come, Leonelo. - - [_He goes out slowly, followed by LEONELO: and the curtain - falls._ - -Some alterations of this play were made with a view to the English stage, -where, spite of the slightness of many parts, I still think it might be -tried. - -Its companion play, the _Medico de su Honra_, is far more famous; has -some more terrible, perhaps some finer, situations; but inferior, I -think, in variety of scene, character, and incident. - -It may add a little to the reader’s interest, as it did to mine, to learn -from Mr. Ticknor, that Calderon wrote a ‘_Tratado defendiendo la nobleza -de la Pintura_.’ - - - - -KEEP YOUR OWN SECRET - - - - -DRAMATIS PERSONÆ - - - ALEXANDER _Prince of Parma._ - - NISIDA _his Sister._ - - DON CESAR _his Secretary._ - - DON ARIAS ⎫ - ⎬ _Gentlemen of the Court._ - DON FELIX ⎭ - - DONNA ANNA _Sister to Don Felix._ - - ELVIRA _her Maid._ - - LAZARO _Don Cesar’s Servant._ - - - - -ACT I - - -SCENE I.—_A Room in the Palace._ - - _Enter the PRINCE ALEXANDER, and DON ARIAS._ - - _Prince._ I saw her from her carriage, Arias, - As from her East, alight, another sun - New ris’n, or doubling him whose envious ray - Seem’d as I watch’d her down the corridor, - To swoon about her as she moved along; - Until, descending tow’rd my sister’s room, - She set, and left me hesitating like - Some traveller who with the setting sun - Doth fear to lose his way; her image still, - Lost from without, dazzling my inner eye— - Can this be love, Don Arias? if not, - What is it? something much akin to love. - - _Ar._ But had you not, my lord, often before - Seen Donna Anna? - - _Prince._ Often. - - _Ar._ Yet till now - Never thus smitten! how comes that, my lord? - - _Prince._ Well askt—though ignorantly. Know you not - That not an atom in the universe - Moves without some particular impulse - Of heaven? What yesterday I might abhor, - To-day I may delight in: what to-day - Delight in, may as much to-morrow hate. - All changes; ’tis the element the world, - And we who live there, move in. Thus with me; - This lady I have often seen before, - And, as you say, was ne’er a sigh the worse, - Until to-day; when, whether she more fair, - Or I less blind, I know not—only know - That she has slain me; though to you alone - Of all my friends I would my passion own. - - _Ar._ Much thanks; yet I must wonder, good my lord, - First, that in all your commerce with Don Cupid - You never, I think, dealt seriously till now. - - _Prince._ Perhaps: but if Don Cupid, Arias, - Never yet tempted me with such an offer? - Besides, men alter; princes who are born - To greater things than love, nevertheless - May at his feet their sovereignty lay down - Once in their lives; as said the ancient sage— - ‘He were a fool who had not done so once, - Though he who does so twice is twice a fool.’ - - _Ar._ So much for that. My second wonder is, - That you commit this secret to _my_ keeping; - An honour that, surpassing my desert, - Yea, and ambition, frights me. Good my lord, - Your secretary, Don Cesar,— - To whom you almost trust the government - Of your dominions,—whom you wholly love, - I also love, and would not steal from him - A confidence that is by right his own; - Call him, my lord: into his trusty heart - Pour out your own; let not my loyalty - To you endanger what I owe to him; - For if you lay ’t on me— - - _Prince._ Don Arias, - I love Don Cesar with as whole a heart - As ever. He and I from infancy - Have grown together; as one single soul - Our joys and sorrows shared; till finding him - So wise and true, as to another self - Myself, and my dominion to boot, - I did intrust: you are his friend, and surely - In honouring you I honour him as well. - Besides, Arias, I know not how it is, - For some while past a change has come on him; - I know not what the cause: he is grown sad, - Neglects his business—if I call to him, - He hears me not, or answers from the purpose, - Or in mid answer stops. And, by the way, - We being on this subject, I would fain, - Being so much his friend, for both our sakes, - You would find out what ails and occupies him; - Tell him from me to use my power as ever, - Absolute still: that, loving him so well, - I’d know what makes him so unlike himself; - That, knowing what it is, I may at least, - If not relieve his sorrow, share with him. - - _Ar._ Oh, not unjustly do you bear the name - Of Alexander, greater than the great - In true deserts! - - _Enter LAZARO (with a letter)._ - -_Laz._ Not here? my usual luck; had I bad news to tell my master, such as -would earn me a broken head, I should find him fast enough; but now when -I have such a letter for him as must bring me a handsome largess, oh, to -be sure he’s no where to be found. But I’ll find him if I go to— - -_Prince._ How now? Who’s there? - -_Laz._ The Prince!—Mum! (_hides the letter and turns to go_). - -_Prince._ Who is it, I say? - -_Ar._ A servant, my lord, of Don Cesar’s, looking for his master, I -suppose. - -_Prince._ Call him back; perhaps he can tell us something of his master’s -melancholy. - -_Ar._ True, my lord. Lazaro! - -_Laz._ Eh? - -_Ar._ His Highness would speak with you. - -_Prince._ Come hither, sir. - -_Laz._ Oh, my lord, I do well enough here: if I were once to kiss your -Highness’ feet, I could not endure common shoe-leather for a month to -come. - -_Ar._ His humour must excuse him. - -_Prince._ You are Don Cesar’s servant, are you? - -_Laz._ Yes, one of your trinity; so please you. - -_Prince._ Of my trinity, how so? - -_Laz._ As thus; your Highness is one with Don Cesar; I am one with him; -ergo— - -_Prince._ Well, you are a droll knave. But stop, stop: whither away so -fast? - -_Laz._ Oh, my lord, I am sure you will have none of so poor an article as -myself, who am already the property of another too. - -_Prince._ Nay, I like your humour, so it be in season. But there is a -time for all things. I want you now to answer me seriously and not in -jest; and tell me the secret of your master’s melancholy, which I feel as -my own. But perhaps he is foolish who looks for truth in the well of a -jester’s mouth. - -_Laz._ But not so foolish as he who should throw it there. And therefore -since my master is no fool, it is unlikely he should have committed -his mystery to me. However, in my capacity of _Criado_, whose first -commandment it is, ‘Thou shalt reveal thy master’s weakness as thy own,’ -I will tell you what I have gathered from stray sighs and interjections -of his on the subject. There has lately come over from Spain a certain -game of great fashion and credit called Ombre. This game Don Cesar -learned; and, playing at it one day, and happening to hold Basto, -Malilla, Spadille, and Ace of Trumps in his hand, stood for the game; and -lost. On which he calls out ‘foul play,’ leaves the party, and goes home. -Well, at night, I being fast asleep in my room, comes he to me in his -shirt, wakes me up, and, dealing cards as it were with his hands, says, -‘If I let this trick go, I am embeasted for that, and besides put the -lead into the enemy’s hand; therefore I trump with one of my matadores, -and then I have four hearts, of which the ten-ace _must_ make, or else -let them give me back my nine cards as I had them before discarding.’ And -this I take it is the cause of his dejection.[1] - -_Prince._ The folly of asking you has been properly chastised by the -folly of your answer. You are right; Don Cesar would never have intrusted -with a grave secret one only fit for idle jest. - -_Laz._ Ah, they are always importing some nonsense or other from Spain. -God keep your Highness; I will take warning not to intrude my folly upon -you any more (until you try again to worm some truth out of me). - - [_Aside and exit._ - -_Prince._ A droll fellow! Were one in the humour, he might amuse. - -_Ar._ Oh, you will always find him in the same, whenever you are in the -mood. He cannot be sad. - -_Prince._ He cannot be very wise then. - -_Ar._ He is as God made him. Did you never hear any of his stories? - -_Prince._ I think not. - -_Ar._ He will hardly tell you one of himself that yet might amuse you. -He was one day playing at dice with me; lost all his money; and at last -pawned his very sword, which I would not return him, wishing to see -how he got on without. What does he but finds him up an old hilt, and -clapping on a piece of lath to that, sticks it in the scabbard. And so -wears it now. - -_Prince._ We will have some amusement of him by and by. - - Alas! in vain I hope with idle jest - To cool the flame that rages in my breast. - Go to Don Cesar: get him to reveal - The sorrows that he feeling I too feel. - I’ll to my sister; since, whether away, - Or present, Donna Anna needs must slay, - I will not starve with absence, but e’en die - Burn’d in the sovereign splendour of her eye. - - [_Exeunt severally._ - - -SCENE II.—_A Room in DON CESAR’S House._ - - _Enter CESAR and LAZARO meeting._ - -_Laz._ A letter, sir, Elvira just gave me. - -_Ces._ A letter! Give it me. How long have you had it? - -_Laz._ I looked for you first at the Prince’s. - -_Ces._ Where I was not? - -_Laz._ You know it! I am always looking for what cannot be found in time. -But if you like the letter I shall claim my largess for all that. - -_Ces._ Ah! what does she say? - -_Laz._ The folly, now, of a man with his watch in his hand asking other -people for the time of day! - -_Ces._ My heart fails me. Even if your news be good it comes late. - - [_He reads the letter._ - -_Laz._ So let my reward then—only let it come at last. - - _Ces._ O Lazaro, half drunk with my success, - I lose my wits when most I’ve need of them. - She writes to me, my lady writes to me - So sweetly, yea, so lovingly; - Methinks I want to tear my bosom open, - And lay this darling letter on my heart. - Where shall I shrine it? - - _Laz._ Oh, if that be all, - Keep it to patch your shoe with; I did so once - When some such loving lady writ to me, - And it did excellently; keeping tight - Her reputation, and my shoe together. - - _Ces._ O Lazaro! good Lazaro! take for this - The dress I wore at Florence. - - _Laz._ Bless you, sir. - - _Ces._ My letter! oh my lady! - - _Laz._ I bethink me - Upon remembrance, sir, as I may say, - The pockets of that dress were very large - And empty. - - _Ces._ They shall be well lined. Don Arias! - - _Enter DON ARIAS._ - - _Ar._ Ay, Cesar, Arias coming to complain - On his own score, and that of one far greater. - - _Ces._ A solemn preamble. But for the charge, - And him who heads it. - - _Ar._ The Prince, our common Lord, - Who much perplext and troubled too, Don Cesar, - About the melancholy that of late - (No need say more of that which best you know) - Has clouded over you, has askt of me - Whom he will have to be your bosom friend, - The cause of it.—Alas, ’tis very plain - I am not what he thinks.—Well, I am come, - Say not as friend, but simple messenger, - To ask it of yourself. - - _Ces._ You do yourself - And me wrong, Arias; perchance the Prince— - But yet say on. - - _Ar._ His Highness bids me say - That if your sadness rise from any sense - Of straiten’d power, whatever residue - Of princely rule he hitherto reserved, - He gives into your hands; as sov’reign lord - To govern his dominions as your own. - Thus far his Highness. For myself, Don Cesar, - Having no other realm to lord you of - Than a true heart, I’d have you think betimes, - That, deep as you are rooted in his love, - Nay, may be all the more for that, he feels - Your distaste to his service, and himself: - I’d have you think that all a subject’s merits, - However highly heap’d, however long, - Still are but heaps of sand, that some new tide - Of royal favour may wash clean away, - One little error cancelling perhaps - The whole account of life-long services. - Be warn’d by me; clear up your heavy brow, - And meet his kind looks with a look as kind, - Whatever cloud be on the heart within: - If not your friend, Don Cesar, as your servant - Let me implore you. - - _Ces._ Oh, Don Arias, - I kiss his Highness’ feet, and your kind hands - That bring his favours to me: and to each - Will answer separately. First, to him;— - Tell him I daily pray that Heav’n so keep - His life, that Time, on which his years are strung, - Forget the running count; and, secondly, - Assure him, Arias, the melancholy - He speaks of not a jot abates my love - Of him, nor my alacrity in his service; - Nay, that ’tis nothing but a little cloud - In which my books have wrapt me so of late - That, duty done, I scarce had time or spirit - Left to enjoy his gracious company: - Perhaps too, lest he surfeit of my love, - I might desire by timely abstinence - To whet his liking to a newer edge. - Thus much for him. For you, Don Arias, - Whose equal friendship claims to be repaid - In other coin, I will reveal to you - A secret scarcely to myself confest, - Which yet scarce needs your thanks, come at a moment - When my brimm’d heart had overflow’d in words, - Whether I would or no. Oh, Arias, - Wonder not then to see me in a moment - Flying from melancholy to mere joy, - Between whose poles he ever oscillates, - Whose heart is set in the same sphere with mine: - Which saying, all is said. I love, my friend; - How deeply, let this very reticence, - That dare not tell what most I feel, declare. - Yes, I have fixt my eyes upon a star; - Toward which to spread my wings ev’n against hope, - Argues a kind of honour. I aspired, - And (let not such a boast offend the ears, - That of themselves have open’d to my story,) - Not hopelessly: the heav’n to which I pray’d - Answer’d in only listening to my vows; - Such daring not defeated not disdain’d. - Two years I worshipp’d at a shrine of beauty, - That modesty’s cold hand kept stainless still; - Till wearied, if not moved by endless prayers, - She grants them; yea, on this most blessed day, - With this thrice blessed letter. You must see it, - That your felicitations by rebound - Double my own; the first victorious trophy - That proud ambition has so humbly won. - Oh Arias, ’tis much I have to tell, - And tell you too at once; being none of those - Who overmuch entreaty make the price - Of their unbosoming; who would, if they knew - In what the honour of their lady lies, - Name her at once, or seal their lips for ever. - But you are trusty and discreet: to you - I may commit my heart; beseeching you - To keep this love-song to yourself alone, - Assigning to the Prince, remember this, - My books sole cause of my abstraction. - Donna Anna de Castelvi— - (I can go on more freely now the name - Of her I worship bars my lips no more,) - Is she who so divides me from myself, - That what I say I scarcely know, although - I say but what I feel; the melancholy - You ask about, no gloomy sequestration - Out of the common world into a darker, - But into one a thousand times more bright; - And let no man believe he truly loves, - Who lives, or moves, or thinks, or hath his being - In any other atmosphere than Love’s, - Who is our absolute master; to recount - The endless bead-roll of whose smiles and tears - I’d have each sleepless night a century, - Much have I said—have much more yet to say! - But read her letter, Arias, the first seal - Of my success, the final one, I think, - Of my sure trust in you; come, share with me - My joy, my glory, my anxiety; - And above all things, once more, Arias, - Down to your secret’st heart this secret slip; - For every secret hangs in greater fear - Between the speaker’s mouth and hearer’s ear - Than any peril between cup and lip. - - _Ar._ You have good cause for joy. - - _Ces._ You will say so - When you have read the letter. - - _Ar._ You desire it. (_Reads._) - -‘To confess that one is loved is to confess that one loves too; for there -is no woman but loves to be loved. But alas, there is yet more. If to -cover my love I have pretended disdain, let the shame of now confessing -it excuse me. Come to me this evening and I will tell you what I can -scarce understand myself. Adieu, my love, adieu!’ Your hands are full -indeed of happy business. - - _Ces._ Enough: you know what you shall tell the Prince - In my behalf: if he be satisfied - I’ll wait on him directly. - - _Ar._ Trust to me. - - _Ces._ Let my sighs help thee forward, O thou sun, - What of thy race in heaven remains to run: - Oh do but think that Dafne in the west - Awaits thee, and anticipate thy rest! - - [_Exeunt CESAR and LAZARO._ - - _Ar._ Charged with two secrets, - One from my Prince, the other from my friend, - Each binding equally to silence, each - Equally the other’s revelation needing, - How shall I act, luckless embosomer - Of others’ bosoms! how decide between - Loyalty and love with least expense to both! - The Prince’s love is but this morning’s flower, - As yet unsunn’d on by his lady’s favour; - Cesar’s of two years’ growth, expanded now - Into full blossom by her smiles and tears; - The Prince too loves him whom his lady loves, - And were he told, might uncontested leave - The prize that one he loves already owns; - And so both reap the fruit, and make the excuse - Of broken silence, if it needs must break. - And yet I grope about, afraid to fall - Where ill-advised good-will may ruin all. - - [_Exit._ - - -SCENE III.—_A Corridor in the Palace._ - - _Enter PRINCE, DON FELIX, DONNA ANNA, and train._ - -_Prince._ I must show you the way. - -_Anna._ Your Highness must not do yourself so great indignity. - -_Prince._ To the bounds at least of my sister’s territory. - -_Anna._ Nay, my lord, that were undue courtesy. - -_Prince._ What courtesy, madam, can be undue from any man to any lady? - -_Anna._ When that lady is your subject, whom your very condescension -dazzles to her own discomfiture. - -_Prince._ What, as the morning star dazzles the sun whom he precedes as -petty harbinger? If I obey you ’tis that I fear my own extinction in your -rays. Adieu. - -_Anna._ God keep your Highness. - - [_Exit._ - -_Prince._ Don Felix, will you attend your sister? - -_Felix._ I only stay to thank your Highness, (both as subject and as -servant,) for all the honour that you do us; may Heaven so prolong your -life that even oblivion herself— - -_Prince._ Nay, truce to compliment: your sister will not of my company, -unless under your proxy. So farewell. (_Exit FELIX._) Is there a greater -nuisance than to have such windy nonsense stuff’d into one’s ears, when -delight is vanished from the eyes! - - _Enter ARIAS._ - -But, Don Arias! You have seen Cesar? - -_Ar._ Yes, my lord; but ere I tell you about him, would know how far -this last interview with Donna Anna has advanced your love. - - _Prince._ Oh Arias, Arias, my love for her - So blends with my solicitude for him, - I scarce can hold me clear between the two. - Yet let me tell you. In my sister’s room, - Whither I went, you know, upon our parting, - I saw my lady like a sovereign rose - Among the common flowers; or, if you will, - A star among the roses; or the star - Of stars, the morning star: yea, say at once - The sun himself among the host of heaven! - My eyes and ears were rapt with her; her lips - Not fairer than the words that came from them. - At length she rose to go: like the ev’ning star - Went with the ev’ning; which, how short, say love - Who’d spin each golden moment to a year, - Which year would then seem than a moment less. - - _Ar._ Is then, my lord, this passion so deep fixt? - - _Prince._ Nay, but of one day’s growth— - - _Ar._ I come in time then. - My lord, in one word, if you love Don Cesar, - Cease to love Donna Anna. - - _Prince._ Arias, - He who begins to hint at any danger - Is bound to tell it out—nothing, or all. - Why do you hesitate? - - _Ar._ Because, my lord, - But hinting this to you, I break the seal - Of secrecy to him. - - _Prince._ But it is broken; - And so— - - _Ar._ Oh, Cesar, pardon him who fails - His pledge to you to serve his Prince! My lord, - The cloud you long have seen on Cesar’s brow, - Is not, as he would have you think it, born - Of bookish studies only, but a cloud, - All bright within, though dark to all without, - Of love for one he has for two long years - Silently worshipt. - - _Prince._ Donna Anna! - - _Ar._ Ay. - - _Prince._ Cesar loves Donna Anna! be it so— - I love him, as you say, and would forgo - Much for his sake. But tell me, Arias, - Knows Anna of his passion? - - _Ar._ Yes, my lord, - And answers it with hers. - - _Prince._ Oh wretched fate! - Desperate ere jealous—jealous ere in love! - If Cesar but loved her, I could, methinks, - Have pardon’d, even have advanced his suit - By yielding up my own. But that _she_ loves, - Blows rivalry into full blaze again. - And yet I will not be so poor a thing - To whine for what is now beyond my reach, - Nor must the princely blood of Parma - Run jealous of a subject’s happiness. - They love each other then? - - _Ar._ I even now - Have seen a letter— - - _Prince._ Well? - - _Ar._ That Donna Anna - Has written him, and in such honey’d words— - - _Prince._ Why, is it not enough to know she loves him? - You told me so: my mind made up to that, - Why should a foolish letter fright it back? - And yet—yet, what last spark of mortal love - But must flame up before it dies for ever - To learn but what that foolish letter said! - Know you? - - _Ar._ I saw it. - - _Prince._ You saw it! and what said it? - - _Ar._ After a chaste confession of her love, - Bidding him be to-night under her lattice. - - _Prince._ Under her lattice, while his Prince is left - Abroad; they two to whisper love together, - While he gnaws hopeless jealousy alone. - But why, forsooth, am I to be the victim? - If I can quench my love for Cesar’s sake, - Why not he his for me? Tell me, Don Arias, - Does Cesar know my passion? - - _Ar._ How should he, - You having told the secret but to me? - - _Prince._ By the same means that I know his. - - _Ar._ My lord, - My loyalty might be spared that taunt. - - _Prince._ Ah, Arias, pardon me, I am put out, - But not with you, into whose faithful charge - I vest my love and honour confidently. - Enough, in what I am about to do - I mean no malice or ill play to Cesar: - ’Tis but an idle curiosity: - And surely ’tis but fair, that if his Prince - Leave him the lists to triumph in at leisure, - I may at least look on the game he wins. - You shall keep close to him, and tell me all - That passes between him and her I love. - - _Ar._ But having taunted me with my first step - In your behalf, my lord— - - _Prince._ Nay, sir, my will - At once absolves and authorizes you, - For what is told and what remains to tell. - - _Ar._ But, sir— - - _Prince._ No more— - - _Ar._ I must obey your bidding, - But yet— - - _Prince._ I may divert my jealousy, - If not avenge it. - - _Ar._ Ah! what straits do those - Who cannot keep their counsel fall into! - - _Prince._ All say so, and all blab, like me and you! - Look where he comes; let us retire awhile. - - [_PRINCE and ARIAS retire._ - - _Enter CESAR and LAZARO._ - - _Ces._ O Phœbus, swift across the skies - Thy blazing carriage post away; - Oh, drag with thee benighted day, - And let the dawning night arise! - Another sun shall mount the throne - When thou art sunk beneath the sea; - From whose effulgence, as thine own, - The affrighted host of stars shall flee. - - _Laz._ A pretty deal about your cares - Does that same Phœbus care or know; - He has to mind his own affairs, - Whether you shake your head or no. - You talk of hastening on the day? - Why heaven’s coachman is the Sun, - Who can’t be put out of his way - For you, sir, or for any one. - - _Ces._ The Prince! and something in my bosom tells me - All is not well. My lord, though my repentance - Does not, I trust, lag far behind my fault, - I scarce had dared to approach your Highness’ feet, - Had not my friend, Don Arias, been before - As harbinger of my apology. - - _Prince._ Cesar, indeed Don Arias has told me - The story of your sadness: and so well, - I feel it, and excuse it, as my own; - From like experience. I do not resent, - But would divert you from it. Books, my friend, - Truly are so seductive company, - We are apt to sit too long and late with them, - And drowse our minds in their society; - This must not be; the cause of the disease - Once known, the cure is easy; if ’tis books - Have hurt you, lay them by awhile, and try - Other society—less learn’d perhaps, - But cheerfuller—exchange the pent-up air - Of a close study for the breathing world. - Come, we’ll begin to-night; - Visit in disguise (as I have wish’d to do) - The city, its taverns, theatres, and streets, - Where music, masque, and dancing may divert - Your melancholy: what say you to this? - - _Ces._ Oh, my kind lord, whose single word of pardon - Has turn’d all leaden grief to golden joy, - Made me another man, or, if you will, - The better self I was— - - _Prince._ Why this is well; - To-night together then— - - _Ces._ Yet pardon me. - - _Prince._ How now? - - _Ces._ It almost would revive my pain - That you should spend yourself upon a cure - Your mere forgiveness has already wrought. - Let this day’s happiness suffice the day, - And its night also: ’twill be doubly sweet, - Unbought by your annoyance. - - _Prince._ Nay, my Cesar, - Fear not for that: after so long estrangement, - My pain would be the losing sight of you - On this first night of your recovery. - Lazaro! - - _Laz._ My lord? - - _Prince._ You too shall go with us. - - _Laz._ And not a trustier shall your Highness find - To guard your steps. - - _Prince._ What! you are valiant? - - _Laz._ As ever girded sword. - - _Prince._ Your weapon good too? - - _Laz._ He touches on the quick (_aside_). Yes, good enough, - My lord, for all my poor occasions. - Although when waiting on your Grace, indeed, - A sword like yours were better. - - _Prince._ You depreciate - Your own to enhance its value. Sharp is ’t? - - _Laz._ Ay, - Not a steel buckler but at the first blow - ’Twould splinter it in two. The sword I mean. (_Aside._) - - _Prince._ Well temper’d? - - _Laz._ As you bid it. - - _Prince._ And the device - Inscribed upon it? - - _Laz._ ‘Thou shalt do no murder’— - Having no love for homicide, _per se_, - Save on occasion. - - _Prince._ Your description - Makes me desire to see that sword. - - _Laz._ My lord! - - _Prince._ Indeed it does. Show it me. - - _Laz._ Oh, my lord, - I have a vow. - - _Ces._ (_aside_). Oh weariness! - - _Prince._ A vow? - - _Laz._ Ay, register’d in heaven! - Never to draw this weapon from her sheath - Except on mortal quarrel. If in such - Your Highness’ service challenge her, why, then - She shall declare herself. - - _Ces._ I’m desperate! - But yet one effort more. My lord, you see - (You cannot fail) how your mere word of grace - Has of itself brighten’d me up again; - I do beseech you— - - _Prince._ Pardon me, my Cesar, - Rather I see the cloud that ’gins to break - Is not entirely gone; nay, will return - If you be left alone—which must not be; - If not for your sake, Cesar, yet for mine, - Who feel for your disquiet as my own; - And since our hearts are knit so close together, - Yours cannot suffer but mine straightway feels - A common pain; seek we a common cure. - To-night I shall expect you. Until then, - Farewell. - - [_Exit._ - - _Ces._ Fortune! to see a fair occasion - So patiently pursued, so fairly won, - Lost at the very moment of success! - O Lazaro—what will my lady say? - - _Laz._ That I can’t guess. - - _Ces._ What will she do? - - _Laz._ Oh that - Is answer’d far more easily. She’ll stand - All night beside the window to no purpose. - - _Ces._ Why she must say my love was all pretence, - And her offended dignity vindicate, - Rejecting me for ever! Misery! - - _Laz._ Dear me, sir, what is now become of all - About, ‘Thou dawning night, benighted day.’ - ‘Thou coachman sun!’ etceteretera? - - _Ces._ Wilt thou be ever fool? - - _Laz._ If thou be not, - Listen—fool’s bolts, they say, are quickly shot— - Who secrets have and cannot hold ’em, - Shall surely rue the day they told ’em. - - [_Exeunt._ - - - - -ACT II - - -SCENE I.—_A Public Square in Parma. Night._ - - _Enter PRINCE, CESAR, FELIX, ARIAS, and LAZARO, disguised._ - - _Ar._ A lovely night! - - _Prince._ As Night we choose to call, - When Day’s whole sun is but distributed - Into ten thousand stars. - - _Fel._ Beside the moon, - Who lightly muffled like ourselves reveals - Her trembling silver. - - _Laz._ What! by way, you mean, - Of making up the account? - - _Ces._ (_aside_). To think, alas! - The first sweet vintage of my love thus lost, - And, as my lady must too surely think, - By my forgetfulness. (_Aloud._) My lord, indeed - The night wears on. May not the chiller air - That blows from the returning tide of day - Affect you? - - _Prince._ Nay, my state forbidding me - Much to be seen about the streets by day, - The night must serve my purpose. - - _Ces._ (_aside_). Patience then! - And I must try and draw my thoughts from her - I cannot reach. (_Aloud._) How does the lady Flora - Please you, my lord? - - _Prince._ The lady Flora? Oh, - What she of Milan? Too far off, I think, - For one’s regards to reach. - - _Laz._ Ah true, my lord; - What is the use of a mistress in the moon, - Unless one were the man there? - - _Ar._ Signora Laura - Has a fair figure. - - _Laz._ Yes, and asks a high one. - - _Felix._ A handsome hand. - - _Laz._ At scolding, yes. - - _Ar._ I think - She lives close by. - - _Laz._ But don’t you bid for her - Without fair trial first, my lord. Your women - Are like new plays, which self-complacent authors - Offer at some eight hundred royals each, - But which, when once they’re tried, you purchase dear - Eight hundred for a royal. - - _Ces._ (_aside_). Now, methinks, - Ev’n now my lady at the lattice stands - Looking for me in vain, and murmuring - ‘Why comes he not? I doubted I was late, - But he comes not at all!’ And then—Ah me, - I have forgotten to forget!— - (_Aloud_) Celia sings well, my lord? - - _Laz._ A pretty woman - Can no more sing amiss than a good horse - Be a bad colour. - - _Ces._ The old Roman law - To all the ugly women used to assign - The fortunes of the handsome, thinking those - Sufficiently endow’d with their good looks. - - _Laz._ Ah! and there Laura lives, the lass who said - She’d sell her house and buy a coach withal; - And when they ask’d her, where she’d live, quoth she, - ‘Why _in_ my coach!’ ‘But when night comes,’ say they, - ‘Where then?’—‘Why in the coach-house to be sure!’[2] - - _Ces._ Indeed, indeed, my lord, the night wears on, - And sure your sister lies awake foreboding - Some danger to your person. - Consider her anxiety! - - _Prince_ (_aside_). Nay, _yours_ - Lies nearer to my heart. - - _Ces._ My lord? - - _Prince._ I said - No matter for my sister, that was all; - She knows not I’m abroad. - - _Ces._ My hope is gone! - - _Laz._ There, yonder in that little house, there lives - A girl with whom it were impossible - To deal straightforwardly. - - _Prince._ But why? - - _Laz._ She’s crooked. - - _Ar._ And there a pretty girl enough, but guarded - By an old dragon aunt. - - _Laz._ O Lord, defend me - From all old women! - - _Prince._ How so, Lazaro? - - _Laz._ Oh, ever since the day I had to rue - The conjurer’s old woman. - - _Prince._ Who was she? - - _Laz._ Why, my lord, once upon a time - I fell in love with one who would not have me - Either for love or money: so at last - I go to a certain witch—tell him my story: - Whereon he bids me do this; cut a lock - From my love’s head and bring it to him. Well, - I watch’d my opportunity, and one day, - When she was fast asleep, adroitly lopp’d - A lovely forelock from what seem’d her hair, - But was an hair-loom rather from her wig - Descended from a head that once was young - As I thought her. For, giving it the witch, - To work his charm with, in the dead of night, - When I was waiting for my love to come, - Into my bed-room the dead woman stalk’d - To whom the lock of hair had once belong’d, - And claim’d me for her own. O Lord, how soon - ‘Sweetheart’ and ‘Deary’ chang’d to ‘Apage!’ - And flesh and blood to ice. - - _Ces._ (_aside_). Alas! what boots it trying to forget - That which the very effort makes remember? - Ev’n now, ev’n now, methinks once more I see her - Turn to the window, not expecting me, - But to abjure all expectation, - And, as she moves away, saying, (methinks - I hear her,) ‘Cesar, come when come you may, - You shall not find me here.’ ‘Nay, but my love, - Anna! my lady! hear me!’ Oh confusion, - Did they observe? - - _Prince_ (_aside to ARIAS_). How ill, Don Arias, - Poor Cesar hides his heart— - - _Ar._ Ev’n now he tries - The mask again. - - _Prince._ Indeed I pity him, - Losing one golden opportunity; - But may not I be pitied too, who never - Shall have so much as one to lose? - - _Ar._ Speak low; - You know her brother’s by. - - _Prince._ No matter; true - Nobility is slowest to suspect. - - _Musician_ (_sings within_). - - Ah happy bird, who can fly with the wind, - Leaving all anguish of absence behind; - Like thee could I fly, - Leaving others to sigh, - The lover I sigh for how soon would I find![3] - - _Ces._ Not an ill voice! - - _Fel._ Nay, very good. - - _Prince._ How sweetly - Sweet words, sweet air, sweet voice, atone together! - Arias, might we not on this sweet singer - Try Lazaro’s metal and mettle? you shall see. - Lazaro! - - _Laz._ My lord! - - _Prince._ I never go abroad - But this musician dogs me. - - _Laz._ Shall I tell him - Upon your Highness’s request, politely, - To move away? - - _Prince._ I doubt me, Lazaro, - He will not go for that, he’s obstinate. - - _Laz._ How then, my lord? - - _Prince._ Go up and strike him with your sword. - - _Laz._ But were it brave in me, back’d as I am, - To draw my sword on one poor piping bird? - If I must do it, let me challenge him - Alone to-morrow. - But let me warn him first. - - _Prince._ Do as I bid you, - Or I shall call you coward. - - _Ces._ Lazaro, - Obey his Highness. - - _Laz._ O good providence, - Temper the wind to a shorn lamb! - - _Musician_ (_within_). - - Ah happy bird, whom the wind and the rain, - And snare of the fowler, beset but in vain; - Oh, had I thy wing, - Leaving others to sing, - How soon would I be with my lover again! - - _Laz._ (_aloud within_). Pray God, poor man, if thou be innocent - Of any ill intention in thy chirping, - The blade I draw upon thee turn to wood! - A miracle! A miracle! (_Rushing in._) - - _Prince._ How now? - - _Laz._ The sword I lifted on an innocent man, - Has turn’d to wood at his assailant’s prayer! - Take it, my lord, lay ’t in your armoury - Among the chiefest relics of our time. - I freely give it you, upon condition - You give me any plain but solid weapon - To wear instead. - - _Prince._ You are well out of it. - It shall be so. - - _Ces._ My lord, indeed the dawn - Is almost breaking. - - _Prince._ Let it find us here. - But, my dear Cesar, tell me, are you the better - For this diversion? - - _Ces._ Oh, far cheerfuller. - Though with some little effort. - - _Prince._ And I too. - So love is like all other evils known; - With others’ sorrow we beguile our own. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE II.—_The Garden of DONNA ANNA’S House._ - - _DONNA ANNA and ELVIRA at a window. Dawn._ - - _Elv._ Yet once more to the window? - - _Anna._ Oh Elvira, - For the last time! now undeceived to know - How much deceived I was! - Alas, until I find myself despised, - Methought I was desired, till hated, loved; - Was ’t not enough to know himself beloved, - Without insulting her who told him so? - Was ’t not enough— - Oh wonder not, Elvira, at my passion; - Of all these men’s enchantments, none more potent - Than what might seem unlikeliest—their disdain. - - _Elv._ Indeed you have good cause for anger, madam: - But yet one trial more. - - _Anna._ And to what end? - I’ll not play Tantalus again for him. - Oh shameful insult! had I dream’d of it, - Would I have written him so tenderly? - Told my whole heart?—But, once in love, what woman - Can trust herself, alas, with pen and ink? - - _Elv._ Were he to come now after all, how then? - Would you reproach, or turn your back on him, - Or— - - _Anna._ Nay, I know not. Is ’t not possible, - He is detain’d, Elvira, by the Prince - Upon state business? - - _Elv._ You excuse him then! - - _Anna._ Oh, any thing to soothe me! - - _Elv._ Who excuses - Will quickly pardon. - - _Anna._ Ay, if he came now, - Now, as you say, Elvira, - And make excuses which I knew were false, - I _would_ believe them still. Would he were come - Only to try. Could I be so deceived! - - _Enter CESAR and LAZARO, below._ - - _Laz._ See you not day has dawn’d, sir? - - _Ces._ Mine, I doubt, - Is set for ever. Yet, in sheer despair, - I come to gaze upon the empty east! - But look! - - _Laz._ Well, sir? - - _Ces._ See you not through the twilight? - - _Laz._ Yea, sir; a woman: and when I say a woman, - I mean two women. - - _Ces._ Oh see if it be she. - - _Laz._ ’Twould make Elvira jealous, sir. - - _Ces._ Oh lady, - Is it you? - - _Anna._ Yes I, Don Cesar: who all night - Have waited on your pleasure, unsuspecting - What now too well I know. - My foolish passion, sir, is well revenged - By shamed repentance. Oh, you came at last, - Thinking belike, sir, with the morning star - Retrieve the waste of night; oh, you loved me, sir, - Or seem’d to do, till having won from me - Confession of a love I feel no more, - You turn it to disdain. Oh think not, sir, - That by one little deed in love, like law, - You gain the full possession of my heart - For ever; and for this idle interview, - Do you so profit by it as to learn - Courtesy to a lady; which when learn’d - Come and repeat to me. - - [_Retires from window._ - - _Ces._ And having now - Arraign’d me of the crime, why do you leave me - To plead my exculpation to the winds? - O Donna Anna, I call Heav’n to witness - ’Twas not my negligence, but my ill star - That envied me such ill-deserved delight. - If it be otherwise, - Or even you _suspect_ it otherwise, - Spurn me, not only now, but ever, from you. - Since better were it with a conscience clear - Rejected, than suspiciously received. - The Prince has kept me all the night with him - About the city streets: your brother, who - Was with us, can bear witness. Yet if still - You think me guilty, but come back to say so, - And let me plead once more, and you once more - Condemn, and yet once more, and all in vain, - If you will only but come back again! - - _Anna_ (_returning to the window_). And this is true? - - _Ces._ So help me Heav’n, it is! - Why, could you, Anna, in your heart believe - I could forget you? - - _Anna._ And, Don Cesar, you - That, were it so, I could forget my love? - But see, the sun above the mountain-tops - Begins to peep, and morn to welcome him - With all her smiles and tears. We must begone. - I shall another quick occasion find, - When I shall call, and you—not lag behind? - - _Ces._ Oh once more taken to your heart again, - My shame turns glory, and delight my pain. - Yet tell me— - - _Anna._ Well? - - _Ces._ Of your suspicions _one_ - Lingers within you? - - _Anna._ Ay, a legion, - That at your presence to their mistress’ pride - Turn traitors, and all fight on Cesar’s side! - - _Ces._ Farewell then, my divine implacable! - - _Anna._ Victim and idol of my eyes, farewell! - - [_Exeunt severally._ - -_Laz._ Well, and what has my mistress to say to me? Does she also play -the scornful lady? - -_Elv._ I? why? - -_Laz._ Because my mistress’ mistress does so to my master whose love I -follow in shadow. - -_Elv._ Oh, I did not understand. - - _Laz._ When he’s happy then I’m jolly; - When he’s sad I’m melancholy: - When he’s love-infected, I - With the self-same fever fretted, - Either am bound like him to fry, - Or if he chooses to forget it, - I must even take his cue, - And, Elvira, forget you. - Do you enact your lady. Now, - Begin. Be angry first— - - _Elv._ But how? - - _Laz._ Hide up, no matter how or why, - Behind the window-blind, while I - Underneath it caterwaul;— - - _Elv._ What are the odds I don’t reply? - - _Laz._ Just the odds that I don’t call. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE III.—_A Room in the Palace._ - -_The PRINCE and DON FELIX, discovered at the back of the stage._ - - _Fel._ Why is your Highness sad? - - _Prince._ Not sad, Don Felix: - Oh would it were some certain shape of sorrow - That I might grapple with, not a vague host - Of undefined emotions! Oh how oft - The patching up of but a single seam - Opens a hundred others! Lucky he, - Who can to disenchantment bare his eyes - Once and for all, and in oblivion - Shut up vain hope for ever! - - _Enter CESAR, ARIAS, and LAZARO, in front._ - -_Ces._ (_to ARIAS as they enter_). And so at last was satisfied. - -_Ar._ His Highness and Don Felix. - -_Ces._ I am sure that he who profits not by opportunity scarce covets it -enough. Taking advantage of the cleared heaven, I have here written my -lady, asking her when she will give me the meeting she promised; Lazaro, -take the letter: Don Felix here, you can easily deliver it. - -_Laz._ I’ll feign an errand, and so get into the house. - - [_Exit._ - -_Fel._ (_to PRINCE_). Cesar and Arias, my lord. - -_Prince._ I know their business. Oh what a tempest does every breeze from -that quarter raise in my bosom! Well, gentlemen? - -_Ar._ Cesar, my lord, was telling me— - -_Prince._ About his melancholy studies still? Pray tell me. - -_Ces._ Nay, my lord, all melancholy flies from the sunshine of your -presence. - -_Prince._ What then? - -_Ces._ I still distrust myself; Don Arias must, my lord, answer for me. - -_Prince._ Don Arias, then? - -_Ar._ (_aside_). Fresh confidence should bind me his anew. But comes too -late. - -_Ces._ (_aside to ARIAS_). Be careful what you say. - -_Ar._ Trust me. (_CESAR retires._) - -_Prince_ (_to ARIAS apart_). Well now, Don Arias. - -_Ar._ At first much enraged against him, at last she yielded to his -amorous excuses; and, finding Don Felix here, he has sent her a letter -beseeching another meeting. - -_Prince._ When? - -_Ar._ This moment. - -_Prince._ Who can doubt the upshot! I must contrive to thwart them. -(_Aloud._) But ere I hear your story, Arias, I must tell Don Felix what I -was about to do as these gentlemen came in and interrupted me: that his -sister was ill—had fainted—from some vexation or fright, as I think. - -_Fel._ Anna? - -_Prince._ So my sister told me. Had you not better see to her? - -_Fel._ With your leave, my lord. - - [_Exit._ - -_Prince_ (_aside_). And so, as I wished, prevent her answering, if not -getting, the letter. (_Aloud._) I will ask Nisida how it was. - - [_Exit._ - -_Ces._ What did you tell the Prince to draw this new trouble on me? - -_Ar._ Ay, even so. Blame him who has been even lying in your service. -Look you now, the Prince told me he had overheard the names ‘Don Felix’ -and ‘Donna Anna’ between us as we came in talking; and, tethered to that, -I was obliged to drag this fainting fit into the service. - -_Ces._ Oh, if Felix find Lazaro at his house! - -_Ar._ Fear not, anxiety will carry him home faster than a letter Lazaro. - - _Ces._ Alas! that the revival of my joy - Is the revival of a fresh annoy; - And that the remedy I long’d to seize - Must slay me faster than the old disease. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE IV.—_An apartment in DON FELIX’S House._ - -_DONNA ANNA and ELVIRA._ - - _Elv._ Well, have you finisht writing? - - _Anna._ I have written, - Not finisht writing. That could never be; - Each sentence, yea, each letter, as I write it, - Suggesting others still. I had hoped, Elvira, - To sum my story up in a few words; - Took pen and paper, both at the wrong end:— - Tried to begin, my mind so full I knew not - What to begin with; till, as one has seen - The fullest vessel hardly run, until - Some inner air should loose the lingering liquid, - So my charged heart waited till one long sigh - Set it a flowing. I wrote, erased, re-wrote, - Then, pregnant love still doubling thought on thought, - Doubled the page too hastily, and blotted - All that was writ before; until my letter, - Blotted, erased, re-written, and perplext, - At least is a fair transcript of my heart, - Well, the sum is, he is to come, Elvira, - To-night, when Felix, as I heard him say, - Goes to our country house on business; - And all will be more quiet. But here, read it. - - _Elv._ My lord! my lord!—the letter! - - _Enter FELIX._ - - _Anna_ (_hiding the letter_). Heavens! - - _Fel._ Too well - The traitorous colour flying from your cheeks - Betrays your illness and my cause of sorrow. - What is the matter? - - _Anna._ Nothing, brother. - - _Fel._ Nothing! - Your changing face and your solicitude - To assure me there is nothing, but assure me - How much there is. I have been told in fact, - And hurried home thus suddenly, - To hear it all. - - _Anna._ (_aside_). Alas! he knows my secret! - Felix, indeed, indeed, my love - Shall not dishonour you. - - _Fel._ Your love? - I’m more at loss than ever. But perhaps - You feign this to divert me from the truth. - What is the matter, truly? - - _Anna._ Be assured - I never will disgrace you. - - _Fel._ Ah, she rambles, - Quite unrecover’d yet. - - _Anna_ (_apart to ELVIRA_). What shall I do? - - _Elv._ (_apart_). Deny it all, there’s many a step between - Suspicion and assurance. - - _Fel._ You, Elvira, - (My sister cannot) tell me what has happen’d. - - _Elv._ Oh, nothing but a swoon, sir: - My mistress fainted: that is all: accounts - For all her paleness and discomfiture. - - _Fel._ ’Twas that I heard. - - _Elv._ I do assure you, sir, - We thought her dead—however she dissemble - Out of her love for you. - - _Fel._ ’Twas kind of her: - But yet not kindness, Anna, to delude me - Into a selfish ignorance of your pain. - Enough, you are better now? - - _Anna._ Indeed. - - _Fel._ That’s well. - But, by the way, what meant you by ‘_your love_,’ - And ‘_not dishonouring me_?’ - - _Anna._ ‘_My love_,’ and ‘_not_ - _Dishonouring_!’ did I say so? I must mean, - My senses still half-drown’d, my love for you - That would not have you pain’d. A true love, Felix, - Though a mistaken, may be, as you say, - Yet no dishonour. - - _Fel._ Still I have not heard - What caused this illness. - - _Anna_ (_aside_). He presses hard upon me, - But I’ll out-double him. (_Aloud._) The cause of it? - Why—sitting in this room, - I heard a noise in the street there: went to the window, - And saw a crowd of people, their swords out, fighting - Before the door; and (what will foolish fear - Not conjure up?) methought that one of them - Was you—and suddenly a mortal chill - Came over me, and—you must ask Elvira - For all the rest. - - _Elv._ (_aside_). Why ever have the trouble - Of coining lies when truth will pass as well? - - _Enter LAZARO._ - -_Laz._ So far so good. - -_Fel._ Lazaro? - -_Laz._ (_seeing FELIX_). It’s his ghost? for certainly I left his body at -the palace. - -_Anna._ My evil stars bear hard upon me! - -_Laz._ I’m done for, unless a good lie——(_Aloud._) Ruffian, rascal, scamp! - -_Fel._ How now? - -_Laz._ Murderer! villain! - -_Fel._ Softly, softly, breathe awhile! what’s the matter? - -_Laz._ Nothing, nothing, yet had I not exploded incidentally, or as it -were superficially, I had altogether burst. Oh the rascal! the slave! - -_Fel._ But tell me the matter. - -_Laz._ Oh the matter—indeed the matter—you may well ask it—indeed you -may—Oh the murderer! - -_Fel._ Come, come, tell us. - -_Laz._ Ay, well, look here, my lords and ladies, lend me your ears; I was -at cards: yes: for you must know, my lord, I sometimes like a bout as my -betters do: you understand this? - -_Fel._ Yes—well? - -_Laz._ Well, being at cards, as I say: ay, and playing pretty high too: -for I must confess that sometimes, like my betters—you understand? - -_Fel._ Go on—go on. - - _Laz._ Well, being, as I said, at cards, - And playing pretty high too—mark me that— - I get into discussion or dispute, - (Whichever you will call it) with a man, - If man he may be call’d who man was none— - Ye gods! to prostitute the name of man - On such as that!—call him a manikin, - A mandarin, a mandrake, - Rather than man—I mean in _soul_, mark you; - For in his outward man he was a man, - Ay, and a man of might. Nay, more than man, - A giant, one may say. Well, as I said, - This wretch and I got to high words, and then - (Whither high words so often lead) to blows; - Out came our swords. The rascal having seen - What a desperate fellow at my tool I was, - Takes him eleven others of his kidney, - Worse than himself, and all twelve set on me. - I seeing them come on, ejaculate, - ‘From all such rascals, single or in league, - Good Lord, deliver us,’ set upon all twelve - With that same sword, mark me, our gracious Prince - Gave me but yesternight, and, God be praised, - Disgraced not in the giving— - Beat the whole twelve of them back to a porch, - Where, after bandying a blow with each, - Each getting something to remember me by, - Back in a phalanx all came down on me, - And then dividing, sir, into two parties, - Twelve upon this side—do you see? and nine - On this—and three in front— - - _Fel._ But, Lazaro, - Why, twelve and nine are twenty-one—and three— - Why, your twelve men are grown to twenty-four! - How’s this? - - _Laz._ How’s this? why, counting in the shadows— - You see I count the shadows—twenty-four, - Shadows and all—you see![4] - - _Fel._ I see. - - _Laz._ Well, sir, - Had not that good sword which our gracious Prince - Gave me but yesterday broke in my hand, - I should have had to pay for mass, I promise you, - For every mother’s son of them! - - _Fel._ Indeed! - But, Lazaro, I see your sword’s entire: - How’s that? - - _Laz._ The most extraordinary part - Of all— - - _Fel._ Well, tell us. - - _Laz._ Why, I had first used - My dagger upon one: and when my sword - Snapt, with its stump, sir, daggerwise I fought, - As thus; and that with such tremendous fury, - That, smiting a steel buckler, I struck out - Such sparks from it, that, by the light of them, - Snatching up the fallen fragment of my sword, - I pieced the two together. - - _Fel._ But the dagger - You fought with first, and lost, you say—why, Lazaro, - ’Tis in your girdle. - - _Laz._ I account for that - Easily. Look, sir, I drew it, as I said, - And struck amain. The man I drew it on, - Seeing the coming blow, caught hold of it, - And struck it back on me; I, yet more skilful, - With God’s good help did so present myself - That, when he struck at me, my own dagger’s point - Return’d into its sheath, as here you see it. - Enough, I heard the cry of ‘Alguazils!’ - Ran off, and, entering the first open door, - Now ask for sanctuary at your feet. - - _Fel._ I think it is your trepidation - Makes you talk nonsense. - -_Anna._ Surely, my brother, this was the riot that so frighted me. - -_Fel._ And was I then the man, ‘if man it could be called who man was -none,’ that Lazaro fought with? - -_Anna._ I know not, I only know ’twas some one of a handsome presence -like yours. - -_Fel._ (_aside_). Perhaps his master—I much suspect it was Cesar that was -dicing, and afterward fighting; and his servant, to cover him, invents -this foolish story——(_Aloud._) I will look into the street and see if it -be clear. - - [_Exit._ - -_Elv._ Now say your say. - -_Anna_ (_giving LAZARO her letter_). And quickly, Lazaro; taking this -letter— - -_Laz._ (_giving CESAR’S_). And you this premium upon it. - -_Anna._ Bid him be sure to come to me this evening; I have much to say. -And thus much to you, Lazaro; your quarrel came in the nick of time to -account for a swoon I had occasion to feign. - -_Elv._ Quick! quick! he’s coming back. - - _Laz._ Madam, farewell. - - _Anna._ And if my plot succeed, - Feign’d quarrel shall to true love-making lead. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE V.—_A Room in the Palace._ - - _CESAR and ARIAS talking: to whom after a time enter LAZARO._ - -_Laz._ Oh, I have had rare work. - -_Ces._ The letter! (_takes it from LAZARO_) - -_Ar._ And how did all end? - -_Laz._ Well—as I am home at last safe and sound. - -_Ces._ Arias, you share my heart; even read my letter with me. (_They -read._) - -_Laz._ (_aside_). That my master should trust that babbler who let out -about my wooden sword to the Prince! my life upon ’t, he’ll do the same -to him; for he who sucks in gossip is the first to leak it. - - _Ar._ Sweetly she writes! - - _Ces._ How should it be but sweet, - Where modesty and wit and true love meet? - - _Ar._ And expects you this evening! - - _Ces._ Till which each minute is an hour, each hour - A day, a year, a century! - - _Laz._ And then - In sæcula sæculorum. Amen. - - _Ar._ The Prince! - - _Ces._ I dread his seeing me. - - _Ar._ But how? - - _Ces._ Lest, as already twice, he thwart me now. - - _Enter PRINCE._ - -_Prince._ Cesar here, when I am on fire to know the upshot of my plot -upon his letter! I must get quit of him. - -_Ces._ Good day, my lord. - -_Prince._ Well, any news abroad? - -_Ar._ Not that I know of, my lord. - -_Prince._ Cesar, there are despatches in my closet, have been lying there -since yesterday, should they not be seen to at once? - -_Ces._ My lord! (_Aside._) I foresaw it! - -_Prince._ Yes! I would have you look to them and report them to me -directly. - - _Ces._ (_aside_). Ah, this is better! (_Aloud._) I’ll see to them. - (_Aside._) And then, I trust, day’s work with daylight o’er, - Man, nor malicious star, shall cross me more. - - [_Exeunt CESAR and LAZARO._ - -_Prince._ And now about the letter? - -_Ar._ I only know, my lord, that though Felix got home first, Lazaro got -there somehow, somehow gave her the letter, and somehow got an answer. - -_Prince._ Hast seen it? - -_Ar._ Yes, my lord. - -_Prince._ _And_— - -_Ar._ She appoints another meeting this evening. - -_Prince._ And I must myself despatch his work, so as to leave him free -to-night! Oh Arias, what can I do more? - -_Ar._ Cannot your Highness go there yourself, and so at least stop -further advancement? - -_Prince._ True, true; and yet I know not; it might be too suspicious. I -must consider what shall be done; - - And what more subtle engine I may try - Against these lovers’ ingenuity. - - [_Exeunt._ - - - - -ACT III - - -SCENE I.—_A Room in the Palace._ - - _PRINCE and DON ARIAS._ - - _Ar._ How well the night went off! did not the music, - The lights, the dances, and the ladies’ eyes, - Divert your Grace’s sadness? - - _Prince._ Rather, Arias, - Doubled it. - Whithersoever Donna Anna moved, - My eyes, that ever follow’d hers along, - Saw them pursue Don Cesar through the crowd - And only rest on him; I cursed him then, - And then excused him, as the judge should do - Whose heart is yearning with the guilt he damns. - - _Ar._ Where will this passion end? - - _Prince._ I think in death, - Led by the fatal secret you have told me. - - _Ar._ I err’d, my lord; but all shall yet be well. - But hush! Don Cesar comes. - - _Prince._ Make out of him - How sits the wind of love. Behind this screen - I’ll listen. (_Hides._) - - _Enter CESAR._ - - _Ar._ Well, Don Cesar? - - _Ces._ Nay, _ill_, Don Cesar! - Misfortune on misfortune! ev’n good fortune - Forswears her nature but to scowl on me! - Led by her letter, as the shades of night - Were drawing in, I went—not now to stand - Under her lattice with the cold, cold moon - For company, but in the very room - My lady warms and lightens with her presence! - There when we two had just begun to whisper - The first sweet words of love, upon a sudden - As by some evil spirit prompted, her brother - Comes in, and on some frivolous pretext - Carries her to the palace. I suspect - He knows my purpose. - - _Ar._ Nay— - - _Prince_ (_listening_). He little thinks - His evil spirit is so near him now. - - _Ces._ Ay, and dead weary of these sicken’d hopes - And lost occasions, I have resolved to break - Through disappointment and impediment, - And turning secret love to open suit, - Secure at once her honour, and her brother’s, - And my own everlasting happiness, - By asking her fair hand, fore all the world! - - [_Exit._ - - _Ar._ You heard, my lord? - - _Prince_ (_advancing_). And if he ask her hand, - Felix will grant it as assuredly - As I would my own sister’s! Oh, Don Arias, - What now? - - _Ar._ Don Felix comes. - - _Prince._ There’s yet one way, - He comes in time—Felix! - - _Enter FELIX._ - - _Fel._ My lord! - - _Prince._ Come hither. - You came in time—were present in my thoughts - Before your coming. Hark you. I have long - Long’d to requite your many services, - By more substantial meed than empty breath, - Too oft, they say, the end of princes’ favour. - Much I design for you; but in mean time, - As some foretaste and earnest of my love, - A kinsman, a near kinsman of my own, - Has set his heart upon the lady Anna, - Your sister; fain would have her hand in marriage: - And I, with your good liking, - Have promised it to him. - - _Fel._ Oh, my good lord, - Your favour overpowers me! - - _Prince._ Much content - Both for his sake, so near of my own blood, - (His letters show how deep his passion is,) - And yours, if you approve it. - - _Fel._ Did I not, - Your will would be my law. - - _Prince._ Why this is well then. - We’ll talk it over at our leisure; meanwhile, - For certain reasons, let this contract be - Between ourselves alone—you taking care - To pledge your sister’s hand no other way. - - _Fel._ Oh, trust to me, my lord—Heav’n watch above - Your Highness! - - _Prince_ (_aside_). Oh mad end of foolish love! - - [_Exit._ - - _Fel._ I’ll straight away, - And tell my sister of the happiness - Awaits her. And may be shall learn of her - How my own suit prospers with Nisida, - The Prince’s sister, which his present favour - Now blows upon so fairly. Cesar! - - _Enter CESAR._ - - _Ces._ Well found at last. Oh, Felix! - - _Fel._ What is ’t now? - Your heart seems labouring. - - _Ces._ Yours must lighten it. - You know, Don Felix, how by blood and birth - I am a gentleman—not less, I trust, - In breeding and attainment; my estate - Sufficient for my birth—nurst by the Prince - In his own palace from my earliest years, - Until, howe’er unworthy of such honour, - Received into his inmost heart and council: - So far at least fitted for state affairs, - As ever given from my earliest youth - Rather to letters than to arms. Enough: - You know all this, and know, or ought to know, - How much I am your friend? - - _Fel._ I do believe it. - - _Ces._ Yea, Felix, and would fain that friendship knit - By one still closer tie—Have you not guess’d, - By many a sign more unmistakeable - Than formal declaration, that I love— - Presumptuously perhaps—but that I love - One of your house. Which saying all is said: - For she is all your house who calls you ‘Brother.’ - - _Fel._ Cesar, Heav’n knows how faithfully my heart - Answers to yours in all; how much I prize - The honour you would do me. Would to God - That I had seen the signs of love you talk of, - Pointing this way; there is, I do assure you, - No man in all the world to whom more gladly - I would ally my sister and myself; - But I did not. I grieve that it is so, - But dare not cancel what is now, too late, - Irrevocably agreed on with another. - - _Ces._ By this ‘too late,’ I think you only mean - To tantalize my too late declaration. - If that be your intent, I am well punisht - Already; be content with my contrition. - You say you love me; and would well desire - To see me wed your sister; seal at once - My happiness, nor chill the opening day, - Nor my love’s blossom, by a lingering ‘_Yea_.’ - - _Fel._ Indeed, indeed, my Cesar, not to revenge - Delay of speech, or insufficient token, - But with repeated sorrow I repeat, - My sister’s hand is pledged beyond recall, - And to another; whom, for certain reasons, - I dare not name, not even to herself, - As yet— - - _Ces._ If I survive, ’tis that fate knows - How much more terrible is life than death! - Don Felix, you have well revenged yourself - Upon my vain ambition, speech delay’d, - And signs that you would not articulate; - But let my fate be as it will, may hers, - Hers, yea, and his whose life you link to hers, - Be so indissolubly prosperous, - That only death forget to envy them! - Farewell. - - _Fel._ Farewell then: and remember, Cesar, - Let not this luckless business interrupt - Our long and loving intimacy. - - _Ces._ Nay. - It shall not, cannot, Felix, come what may. - - [_Exeunt severally._ - - _Enter PRINCE._ - - _Prince._ When in my love’s confusion and excess - I fancy many a fond unlikely chance, - Desire grows stronger, resolution less, - I linger more the more I would advance. - False to my nobler self, I madly seize - Upon a medicine alien to my ill; - And feeding still with that should cure disease, - At once my peace and reputation kill - By turns; as the conflicting passions fire, - And chase each other madly through my breast, - I worship and despise, blame and admire, - Weep and rejoice, and covet and detest. - Alas! a bitter bargain he must choose, - Who love with life, or life with love, must lose! - - _Enter LAZARO._ - -_Laz._ Where can my master be? I shall go crazy, I think, running from -room to room, and house to house, after him and his distracted wits. - -_Prince._ Lazaro! Well, what news abroad? - -_Laz._ Ah, my lord, there has been little of that under the sun this -long while, they say. For instance, the slasht doublets just come into -fashion, and which they call new; why ’twas I invented them years ago. - -_Prince._ You! how? - -_Laz._ Why, look you; once on a time when I was not so well off as now, -and my coat was out at elbows, the shirt came through: many saw and -admired— and so it has grown into a fashion. - -_Prince._ Who listens to you but carries away food for reflection! - - [_Exit._ - -_Laz._ Aha! you are somewhat surfeited with that already, I take it. - - So while the world her wonted journey keeps, - Lazarus chuckles while poor Dives weeps. - - _Enter CESAR._ - - _Ces._ Lazaro, I waited till the Prince was gone. - Listen to me. Don Felix has betroth’d - His sister to another, not to me; - He will not tell me whom, nor does it matter: - All ill alike. But out of this despair - I’ll pluck the crown that hope could never reach. - There is no time to lose; this very night - I’ll carry her away. - - _Laz._ Only beware - Telling Don Arias what you mean to do. - Is ’t possible you see not all along - Your secret playing on his faithless lips? - Here’s one last chance. - - _Ces._ True, true. - - _Laz._ You cannot lose - By secrecy—what gain by telling him? - - _Ces._ You may be right: and to clear up the cause - Of past mischance, and make the future safe, - I’ll take your counsel. - - _Laz._ Then hey for victory! - Meanwhile, sir, talk with all and trust in none, - And least of all in him is coming hither. - And then in ocean when the weary sun - Washes his swollen face, ‘there shall be done - A deed of dreadful note.’ - - _Enter ARIAS._ - - _Ar._ How now, Don Cesar? - - _Laz._ (_aside_). Here are you, be sure, - When aught is stirring. - - _Ar._ How speeds Love with you? - - _Laz._ (_aside_). The lighter, sir, now you are left behind. - - _Ces._ Arias, my friend! All’s lost! - The love I grew deep in my heart of hearts - Is wither’d at the moment of its blossom. - I went to Felix, ask’d his sister’s hand: - It was betroth’d, he told me, to another: - I was too late. All’s lost! It were in vain - Weeping for that I never can attain: - I will forget what I must needs forgo, - And turn to other— - - _Laz._ (_to ARIAS_). Pray, sir, pardon me; - But pri’thee say no more to him just now; - It brings on such a giddiness. - - _Ar._ Alas! - But can I be of service? - - _Laz._ Only, sir, - By saying nothing more. - - _Ar._ I am truly sorry. - - [_Exit._ - - _Laz._ That you can lie no longer in the matter. - Oh, the Lord speed you! - - _Ces._ O Love, if mortal anguish ever move thee, - At this last hour requite me with one smile - For all thy sorrows! let what I have suffer’d - Appease thy jealous godhead! I complain not - That you condemn my merits as too poor - For the great glory they aspire unto; - Yet who could brook to see a rival bear - The wreath that neither can deserve to wear! - - _Enter PRINCE and ARIAS._ - - _Prince_ (_to ARIAS_). Even so? - Good. That he may not think ’twas out of malice, - I made my business trench upon his love, - Now that his love’s but Love-in-idleness, - I’ll occupy him still. Cesar! - - _Ces._ My lord! - - _Prince._ I had like to have forgot. ’Tis Monday, is ’t not? - I have despatches both for Rome and Naples - We must see to them to-night. - - _Ces._ My lord! - - _Prince._ Bring hither - Your writing. - - _Ces._ (_apart_). Oh! the cup-full at my lips, - And dasht down, and for ever! - (_To LAZARO._) Villain, the victory you told me of! - - _Laz._ What fault of mine, sir? - - _Ces._ What fault? said you not - All now was well? - - _Laz._ Is ’t I who make it wrong? - - _Ces._ You meddled. - - _Prince._ Are you ready? - - _Ces._ Immediately. - Alas, alas! how shall my pen run clear - Of the thick fountain that is welling here! - - _Prince_ (_aside_). And I shall learn from you how that dark pair - Contrive to smile, Jealousy and Despair. - - [_Desk and papers brought in: exeunt ARIAS and LAZARO._ - - Now, are you ready? (_CESAR sits at the desk._) - - _Ces._ Ay, my lord. - - _Prince._ Begin then. - ‘I am secretly’— - - _Ces._ ‘Secretly’—driven to madness! - - _Prince._ ‘About the marriage’— - - _Ces._ ‘Marriage’—that never shall take place! - - _Prince._ ‘All is fair for you’— - - _Ces._ ‘For you’—though perdition to me! - - _Prince._ ‘Believe me’— - - _Ces._ I shall not survive it! - - _Prince._ ‘That Donna Anna of Castelvi’— - - _Ces._ ‘That Donna Anna’—I can write no more! - - _Prince._ ‘Is such in birth, beauty, and wit’— - - _Ces._ Oh, my lord, pardon me; but may I know - This letter’s destination? - - _Prince._ Eh? to Flanders. - Why do you ask? - - _Ces._ To Flanders! But, my lord, - Surely no Flemish courier leaves to-day, - Might not to-morrow— - - _Prince_ (_aside_). At the name of Anna - His colour changed. (_Aloud._) No matter. ’Tis begun, - And we’ll ev’n finish it. Where left I off? - - _Ces._ (_reading_). ‘Can write no more’— - - _Prince._ Eh? ‘Write no more?’ Did I - Say that? - - _Ces._ My lord? - - _Prince._ The letter. Give me it. - - _Ces._ (_aside_). Come what come may then, what is writ is writ! - -_Prince_ (_reading_). ‘I am secretly driven to madness about the marriage -that never shall take place. All is fair for you, though perdition to me. -Believe me I shall not survive it, that Donna Anna—I can write no more.’ - - Was this what I dictated? - - _Ces._ (_throwing himself at the PRINCE’S feet_). O my lord, - O noble Alexander! if the service - You have so often praised beyond desert - Deserve of you at all, snatch not from me - The only crown I ever ask’d for it, - To gild a less familiar brow withal. - This lady, Donna Anna, - Whom you are now devoting to another, - Is mine, my lord; mine, if a two years’ suit - Of unremitted love not unreturn’d - Should make her mine; which mine beyond dispute - Would long ere this have made her, had not I - How many a golden opportunity - Lost from my love to spend it on my Prince! - And this is my reward! Oh, knew I not - How the ill star that rules my destiny - Might of itself dispose the gracious Prince, - Who call’d me for his friend from infancy, - To act my bitterest enemy unawares, - I might believe some babbler— - - _Prince._ Nay, Don Cesar, - If in all these cross purposes of love - You recognise the secret hand of fate, - Accuse no mortal tongue, which could not reach - The stars that rule us all, wag as it would. - Enough. I am aggrieved, and not, I think, - Unjustly, that without my pleasure, nay, - Without my knowledge even, you, my subject, - And servant, (leaving the dear name of friend,) - Disposed so of yourself, and of a lady - Whose grace my court considers as its own. - Give me the pen: and, as you write so laxly, - I must myself report— - - _Ces._ My lord! - - _Prince._ The pen. (_He writes._) - - _Ces._ If in misfortune’s quiver there be left - One arrow, let it come! - - _Prince._ You could not write, - Don Cesar; but perhaps can seal this letter: - Tis for Don Felix; send it to him straight. - Or stay—I’d have it go by a sure hand: - Take it yourself directly. - - _Ces._ At one blow - My love and friendship laid for ever low! - - [_Exit._ - - _Enter FELIX and ARIAS._ - - _Ar._ The letter must be written. - - _Prince._ Oh, Don Felix, - I have this moment sent to you. No matter: - ’Twas but to say I have this instant heard - Your sister’s bridegroom is in Parma; nay, - Perhaps already at your house. - - _Fel._ Oh, my lord, - How shall I thank you for this gracious news? - - _Prince._ Nay, we will hear them from your sister’s lips. - To her at once. - - [_Exit FELIX._ - - And now, Don Arias, - You have to swear upon the holy cross - That hilts this sword, that neither Donna Anna - Know that I ever loved her, nor Don Cesar - I ever cross’d his love. - - _Ar._ Upon this cross - I swear it; and beseech you in return - Never, my lord, to tell Don Cesar who - Reveal’d his secret. - - _Prince._ Be it so. I promise. - And now to see whether indeed I dare - Compete with him whose lofty name I wear. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE II.—_A Room in FELIX’S House._ - - _ANNA and ELVIRA._ - - _Anna._ Beside the charge of my own love, Elvira, - Whose crosses, I believe, will slay me soon, - My brother has confided to me at last - His passion for the Princess Nisida; - And, for he knows that I am near her heart, - Would have me whisper it into her ears; - Which, were it such a passion as _I_ feel, - His eyes would have reveal’d her long ago. - However, I have told her, and have got - An answer such—But look! he comes. - - _Enter FELIX._ - - _Fel._ Oh, sister, - Might but your news be half as good as mine! - A largess for it, come. You are betroth’d, - By me, and by the Prince himself, to one - In all ways worthy of you, and who long - Has silently adored. - - _Anna_ (_aside_). Is it possible? - Cesar! (_Aloud._) Well, ask the largess that you will. - - _Fel._ The Princess— - - _Anna._ Well? - - _Fel._ What says she? - - _Anna._ All she could - At the first blush—nothing—and that means all: - Go to her, and press out the lingering Yes - That lives, they say, in silence. - - _Fel._ Oh, my sister! - But who comes here? - - _Enter CESAR and LAZARO._ - - _Ces._ (_giving the letter_). I, Felix. This must be - My warrant—from the Prince. Oh misery! - -_Fel._ I thank you, Cesar. (_Reads._) ‘Because happiness is the less -welcome when anticipated, I have hitherto withheld from you, that he to -whom I have engaged your sister’s hand, is—Don Cesar! in whom unites -all that man or woman can desire. If the man lives who can deserve such -glory, it is he. Farewell.’ - - _Ces._ Great Heav’n! - - _Fel._ Nay, read the letter. - - _Enter PRINCE, NISIDA, ARIAS, and Train._ - - _Prince._ He shall not need, - Myself am here to speak it. - - _Ces._ (_kneeling_). Oh, my lord! - - _Prince._ Rise, Cesar. If your service, as it did, - Ask’d for reward, I think you have it now; - Such as not my dominion alone, - But all the world beside, could not supply. - Madam, your hand; Don Cesar, yours. I come - To give away the bride: - And after must immediately away - To Flanders, where by Philip’s trumpet led, - I will wear Maestricht’s laurel round my brows; - Leaving meanwhile Don Felix Governor - Till my return—by this sign manual. - - [_Puts NISIDA’S hand in FELIX’S._ - - _Fel._ My lord, my lord! - - _Laz._ Elvira! - - _Elv._ Lazaro! - - _Laz._ I must be off. Our betters if we ape, - And they ape marriage, how shall we escape? - - _Ar._ And learn this moral. None commend - A secret ev’n to trustiest friend: - Which secret still in peril lies - Even in the breast of the most wise; - And at his blabbing who should groan - Who could not even keep his own? - -There are three other plays by Calderon, on this subject of keeping -one’s love secret; a policy, whose neglect is punisht by a policy -characteristically Spanish. 1. _Amigo, Amante, y Leal_: which has the -same Prince and Arias, only the Prince confides his love to his rival. 2. -_El Secreto a Voces_: where it is the ladies who shuffle the secret about -the men. And 3. _Basta Callar_, a more complicated intrigue than any. - - - - -GIL PEREZ, THE GALLICIAN - - - - -DRAMATIS PERSONÆ - - - GIL PEREZ. - - ISABEL _his Sister._ - - DON ALONSO ⎫ - ⎬ _his two Friends._ - MANUEL MENDEZ ⎭ - - PEDRO ⎫ - ⎬ _Servants in his house._ - CASILDA ⎭ - - DONNA JUANA _a Portuguese Lady._ - - JUAN BAPTISTA _a Lover of Isabel._ - - THE LORD HIGH ADMIRAL OF PORTUGAL. - - DONNA LEONOR _his Cousin._ - - A SHERIFF. - - A JUDGE. - - LEONARDO _a Traveller._ - - ALGUAZILS, OFFICERS, ATTENDANTS, FARMERS, etc. - - - - -ACT I - - -SCENE I.—_Outside GIL PEREZ’S House._ - - _Enter PEDRO running; GIL PEREZ after him with a drawn dagger; - and ISABEL and CASILDA interceding._ - - _Isab._ Fly, Pedro, fly! - - _Gil._ And what the use his flying - If I be after him? - - _Ped._ Hold him! hold him back, - Both of you! - - _Gil._ By the Lord, I’ll do for him. - - _Isab._ But why so savage with him? - - _Gil._ He must pay - The long arrear of mischief you’ve run up. - - _Isab._ I understand you not. - - _Gil._ I’ll kill him first, - And then explain. - - _Isab._ I, who dread not bodily violence, - Dread your injurious words. What have I done - That you should use me thus?—my enemy, - And not my brother. - - _Gil._ You say well your enemy, - Who, if you do as you have done so long, - Will one day bathe his sword in your heart’s blood, - And after in his own, and so wipe out - One scandal from the world. - - _Ped._ As the good soul - Who meddles to make peace between two brawlers - Oft gets the bloody nose, I’ll take the hint. - Farewell, fair Spain! for evermore farewell! - - _Gil._ Here! hark you, sir; - Before you go; you have escaped this time - By luck, not by desert. I give you warning, - Keep from my sight: for if I see your face - Fifty years hence, among the antipodes, - I’ll pay you off. - - _Ped._ Pray don’t disturb yourself; - I’ll take you at your word, and straight be off - To some old friends of mine—indeed relations— - In central Africa—the Ourang Outangs: - A colony so distant as I trust - Will satisfy us both. And so, good bye. - - [_Exit; CASILDA after him._ - - _Isab._ He’s gone, poor fellow. - And now perhaps, sir, as we are alone, - You’ll tell me why you do affront me thus. - - _Gil._ Sister—oh, would to God that I had none - To call by such a name at such expense! - And can you think that I have been so blind, - As well as dumb, not to be ware the tricks - Of the sly gentleman who follows you - So constantly, and who, if this goes on, - Will one day filch away, not your own only, - But the long garner’d honour of our house? - Why, I have seen it all from first to last, - But would not show my teeth till I could bite; - Because, in points like this, a man of honour - Speaks once, and once for all. - This once is now. I’ll speak my mind to you; - Which, if you cannot understand, to-morrow - I must repeat in quite another language. - I know your man—Juan Baptista—one - Not man enough for me, and so, I tell you, - Not for my sister. This should be enough, - Without his being, as he is, a Jew. - To get you from his reach I brought you here - To Salvatierra, deep amid the mountains, - And safe enough I thought; but even here - His cursèd letters reach you through the hands - Of that fine rascal I have just pack’d off. - There; I have told my story; take ’t to heart; - Dismiss your man at once, or, by the Lord, - If you and he persist, I’ll fire his house, - And save the Inquisition that much trouble. - - _Isab._ Your anger makes you blind—accusing me - Of things I never did. - - _Gil._ You never did! - - _Isab._ But so it is, poor women must submit - To such insinuations. - - _Gil._ Pray, was ’t I - Insinuated that letter then? - - _Isab._ Peace, peace! - I can explain it all, and shall, when fit. - What would you have of me? You are my brother, - And not my husband, sir; consider that: - And therefore, in fraternal kindness bound, - Should even take my word without ado. - You talk of honour: is not honour then - Slow to suspect—would rather be deceived - Itself than prematurely to accuse? - I am your sister, Perez, and I know - My duty towards you and myself. Enough— - Which, if you cannot understand, to-morrow - I must repeat in quite another language. - - [_Exit._ - - _Gil._ She says not ill; it better were indeed - Had I kept on the mask a little longer, - Till they had dropt theirs beyond all denial. - She’s right, and I was wrong; but from this time - I’ll steer another course. - - _Enter CASILDA._ - - _Cas._ A gentleman - (Of Portugal, he says,) is at the door, - And asks for you. - - _Gil._ Bid him come in. Away, - My troubles, for a while! - - [_Exit CASILDA._ - - _Enter MANUEL MENDEZ._ - - _Man._ ’Twas well, Gil Perez, - You sent so quickly, or my impetuosity - Had overrun your leave. - - _Gil._ What, Manuel Mendez! - Come to my arms. What! you in Salvatierra? - - _Man._ And, I assure you, at no small expense - Of risk and heart-ache. - - _Gil._ That’s unwelcome news. - - _Man._ Not when ’tis all forgotten in the joy - Of seeing you again. - - _Gil._ I shall not rest - Till I have heard; ill-manner’d though it be - To tax a man scarce winded from a journey - With such expense of breath. - - _Man._ Then listen, Gil. - You, I am sure, remember (time and absence - Cannot have washt so much from memory) - The pleasant time when you were last at Lisbon, - And graced my house by making it your home. - I need not tell of all we did and talk’d, - Save what concerns me now; of the fair lady - You knew me then enamour’d of, (how deeply - I need not say—being a Portuguese, - Which saying, all is said)—Donna Juana, - At whose mere name I tremble, as some seer - Smit with the sudden presence of his God. - Two years we lived in the security - Of mutual love, with so much jealousy - (Without which love is scarcely love at all) - As served to freshen up its sleeping surface, - But not to stir its depths. Ah, dangerous - To warm the viper, or, for idle sport, - Trust to the treacherous sea—sooner or later - They turn upon us; so these jealousies - I liked to toy with first turn’d upon me; - When suddenly a rich young cavalier, - Well graced with all that does and ought to please, - (For I would not revenge me with my tongue - Upon his name, but with my sword in’s blood,) - Demanded her in marriage of her father; - Who being poor, and bargains quickly made - ’Twixt avarice and wealth, quickly agreed. - The wedding day drew nigh that was to be - The day of funeral too—mixt dance and dirge, - And grave and bridal chamber both in one. - The guests were met; already night began - Loose the full tide of noisy merriment, - When I strode in; straight through the wedding throng - Up to the bride and bridegroom where they were, - And, seizing her with one hand, with the other - Struck him a corpse; and daring all, to die - Fighting, or fighting carry off my prize, - Carried her off; lifted her on a horse - I had outside; struck spur; and lightning-like - Away, until we reach’d the boundary - Of Portugal, and, safe on Spanish ground, - At last drew breath and bridle. Then on hither, - Where I was sure of refuge in the arms - Of my old friend Gil Perez; whom I pray - Not so much on the score of an old friendship, - So long and warm, but as a fugitive - Asking protection at his generous hands— - A plea the noble never hear in vain. - Nor for myself alone, but for my lady - Who comes with me, and whom I just have left - Under the poplars by the river-side, - Till I had told my news, and heard your answer. - A servant whom we met with on the way, - Pointed your house out—whither, travel-tired, - Press’d for my life, and deep in love with her - I bring, as curst by those I left behind, - And trusting him I come to— - - _Gil._ Tut, tut, tut! - Go on so, I’ll not answer you at all; - All this fine talk to me! from Manuel Mendez! - As if ’twere not enough to say ‘Friend Gil, - I’ve left a gentleman I slew behind, - And got a living lady with me, so - Am come to visit you.’ Why go about - With phrases and fine speeches? I shall answer - Quite unpolitely thus, ‘Friend Manuel, - This house of mine is yours—for months, for years, - For all your life, with all the service in ’t - That I or mine can do for you.’ So back, - And bring your lady, telling her from me - I stay behind because I am unapt - At such fine speeches as her lover makes. - - _Man._ Oh, let me thank you,— - - _Gil._ Nay, ’twere better far - Go to your lady; who may be ill at ease - Alone in a strange place. - - [_Exit MANUEL._ - - What, Isabel! (_She enters._) - Isabel, if my former love and care - Deserve of you at all, forget awhile - All difference, (for there’s a time for all,) - And help me now to honour an old friend - To whom I owe great hospitalities; - Manuel Mendez, who with his bride is come - To be my guest. - - _Isab._ I’ll do my best for you. - But hark! what noise? - - (_Shouts and fighting within._) - - _Gil._ A quarrel’s up somewhere. - - _Voice within._ Take him alive or dead. - - _Another voice._ He’ll slip us yet! - - _Isab._ Some one on horseback flying at full speed - From his pursuers. - - _Voices within._ Fire upon him! fire! - - (_Shots within._) - - _Isab._ Mercy, he’s dead! - - _Gil._ Not he; only his horse; - And see he’s up again, and gallantly - Flashing his sword around on his pursuers - Keeps them at bay, and fighting, fighting, still - Retreats— - - _Isab._ And to our house too— - - _Enter DON ALONSO._ - - _Alon._ Shelter! shelter! - In pity to a wretched man at last - Fordone! - - _Gil._ What, Don Alonso! - - _Alon._ But a moment, - To ask you cover my retreat, Gil Perez; - My life depends on reaching Portugal. - - _Gil._ Away then to the bridge you see below there. - God speed you. - - _Alon._ And keep you! - - [_Exit._ - - _Voices without._ This way! this way! - - _Gil._ But just in time! - - _Enter SHERIFF with Officers._ - - _Officer._ I’m sure he pass’d by here. - - _Gil._ Well, gentlemen, your business? - - _Sher._ Don Alonso— - Came he this way? - - _Gil._ He did, and he went that, - And must almost, unless I much mistake, - Be got to Portugal. For, by the Lord, sir, - His feet seem’d feather’d with the wind? - - _Sher._ Away then! - After him! - - _Gil._ Stop a moment! - - _Sher._ Stop! what mean you? - - _Gil._ Just what I say. Come, Mr. Sheriff, come, - You’ve done your duty; be content with that; - And don’t hunt gentlemen like wolves to death; - Justice is one thing, and fair play’s another, - All the world over. - - _Sher._ When I’ve got my man - I’ll answer you. - - _Gil._ Perhaps before. - - _Sher._ Why, sir, - Would you detain me? - - _Gil._ Why, if logic fails, - I must try other argument. - - _Sher._ As what, sir? - - _Gil._ Why, mathematical. As how? Look here. - You see me draw this line. Well then, ’fore God, - The man who passes it—dies. Q. E. D. - - _Sher._ Down with him! - - _Gil._ Back, I advise you. - - _Voices._ Down with him! - - _Gil._ Chicken-hearts! Curs! Oh, you will down with me, - Will you indeed? and this the way you do it? - - (_He fights with them._) - - _One._ Oh, I am slain. - - _Sher._ I’m wounded. - - _Gil._ Back with you! - - [_Exit, driving them in._ - - -SCENE II.—_The River-side._ - - _Enter JUANA and MANUEL._ - - _Jua._ Oh never did I owe more to your love, - Than for this quick return. - - _Man._ O my Juana, - The love such beauty as your own inspires, - Surmounts impossibilities. However, - I needed not go on to Salvatierra, - Lighting on what I look’d for by the way, - Among the mountains; where my friend Gil Perez - (Whose honour I insult if I declare it) - Has pitcht his tent, with hospitality - Prophetic of our coming; - So peaceably our love may fold its wings - Under the shadow of my friend’s. - - _Jua._ Oh, Manuel, - She who has left home, country, friends, and fame, - And would contentedly leave life, for you, - Desires no other temple of her love - Than a bleak rock, whose unchanged stedfastness - Shall not out-wear her own. - - _Alon._ (_within_). I can no more! - - _Jua._ Listen! What noise is that? - - _Man._ A cavalier - Still with his sword in his exhausted hand. - He falls! - - _Enter ALONZO, who falls at the side._ - - _Alon._ They e’en must have me. - - _Man._ Courage, sir. - Wounded? (_Voices within._) - - _Alon._ Hark! the bloodhounds are close by; - And worse, they must have slain Gil Perez first. - Who else— - - _Enter GIL._ - - _Gil._ Confound the rogues, they’ve got the bridge - And the way to ’t, and heav’n itself, I think, - To fight upon their side. - - _Man._ Gil, what is this? - - _Gil._ Trying to help a friend out of a ditch, - I’ve tumbled in myself. - - _Man._ Come, we are two - In hand, and one in heart; at least can fight - And die together. - - _Alon._ Nay, add me; - The cause— - - _Gil._ There’s but a moment. Manuel, - I charge you by your friendship, - Draw not your sword to-day. - - _Man._ Not I my sword - When theirs are on you? - - _Jua._ (_clinging to MANUEL_). Heav’ns! - - _Voices, within._ This way! This way! - - _Man._ They’re coming. - - _Gil_ (_to ALONSO_). Listen! you can swim? - - _Alon._ Alas— - - _Gil._ I mean upon my shoulders. Manuel, - We two shall cross to Portugal, - Where follow us they may, but cannot seize us. - Meanwhile I leave you master of my house - And honour, centred (no time to say more) - In Isabel, my sister. Swear to me - That you will see to this. - - _Man._ I swear it, Gil. - - _Gil._ Enough, your hand! Adieu! Now courage, sir! - - (_Takes ALONSO on his shoulders and plunges into the river._) - - _Jua._ The man swims like a dolphin. - - _Gil_ (_within_). Manuel, - Remember! - - _Man._ How he wrestles with the flood! - And now is half-way over. - - _Gil_ (_within_). Manuel, - Remember! I have trusted all to you. - - _Man._ Waste not your breath. I’ll do ’t. - - _Gil_ (_within_). Adieu! - - _Man._ Adieu! - - [_Exit MANUEL with JUANA._ - - -SCENE III.—_The Portuguese bank of the River._ - - _Enter the ADMIRAL of Portugal and DONNA LEONOR as from hunting._ - - _Adm._ Since summer’s fiery Sirius, fair cousin, - Neither from place nor power in heaven declines, - Will you not rest? - - _Leonor._ Ah, what a noble sport - Is hunting! who so abject-spirited - As not to love its generous cruelty! - - _Adm._ It is indeed a noble imitation - Of noblest war. As when a white-tuskt boar - Holds out alone against the yelling pack, - Gores one, o’erthrows another, all the while - Bristling his back like to some ridge of spears: - While many a gallant hound, foil’d in his onset, - Tears his own flesh in disappointed rage, - Then to the charge again—he and his foe, - Each with redoubled fury firing up: - A chivalry that nature has implanted - Ev’n in the heart of beasts. - - _Leonor._ So in falconry, - That I love even better; when the heron - Mounts to the wandering spheres of air and fire, - Poised between which alternately she burns - And freezes, while two falcons, wheeling round, - Strive to out-mount her, tilting all along - The fair blue field of heaven for their lists; - Until out-ris’n and stricken, drencht in blood, - Plumb down she falls like to some crimson star; - A rivalry that nature has implanted - Ev’n in the breast of birds. - - _Enter PEDRO._ - -_Ped._ Which is the way, I wonder? What with fright and weariness, I must -rest awhile. Well, this is Portugal, where to be sure a poor Spanish pimp -may hope to escape ferocious honour. That I should lose a post where -others make their thousands at my first function! But who are these? Fine -folks too! Pray Heaven they be in want of an officer. - -_Adm._ A horse will soon carry you to the villa. Hark you, sir! (_To -PEDRO._) - -_Ped._ My lord! - -_Adm._ Who are you? - -_Ped._ Nay, how should I know? - -_Adm._ But are you one of my people? - -_Ped._ Yes, if you like it. As said Lord Somebody, who neither served -king, man, or God, but who entering the palace one day at supper-time, -and seeing all the chamberlains at work without their coats, whips off -his, and begins carrying up dishes. Suddenly in comes the major-domo, -who perceiving a stranger, asks if he be sworn of the service. ‘Not -yet,’ says he, ‘but if swearing is all that’s wanted, I’ll swear to what -you please.’ So ’tis with me. Make me your servant, and I’ll swear and -forswear anything. - -_Adm._ You are liberal of your humour. - -_Ped._ ’Tis all I have to be liberal of; and it would not be right to -spare that. - -_Gil_ (_within_). Hold on, hold on! - -_Leonor._ Who’s that? - -_Adm._ Look, some one with erect head and vigorous arms, buffeting the -wave before him. - -_Leonor._ With another on his shoulders too. - -_Adm._ (_to PEDRO_). Now, would you win an earnest of future favour, -plunge in to his assistance. - -_Ped._ I would, sir, but I’m a wretched swimmer. - -_Leonor._ They have reacht the shore at last. - - _Enter GIL PEREZ and ALONSO, drencht._ - -_Alon._ Thank Heaven for our escape! - -_Gil._ Ah, we’re well quit of it. - -_Ped._ Now, sir, if I can help. But Lord ha’ mercy! (_Sees GIL._) - -_Adm._ What! going just when you are wanted? - -_Ped._ I was born, my lord, with a tender heart; that seeing these poor -fellows so drencht, bleeds for them. That he should pursue me even to -Portugal! (_Is creeping away._) - -_Adm._ What! only just come, and going? - -_Ped._ Oh, my lord, a sudden call. Excuse me. - - [_Exit._ - -_Adm._ ’Tis an idiot. But let me help you. - -_Alon._ My life is in your hand. - -_Adm._ In my hand? How is that? - -_Alon._ You shall hear, if I may first know to whom I tell my story. -Misfortune forces me to be cautious. - -_Adm._ You are right; but need fear nothing from the Lord High Admiral of -Portugal, who now speaks to you, and pledges himself to protect you so -long as you stand on his estate. - - _Alon._ Enough, my lord. - My name is Don Alonso de Tordoya, - Not un-illustrious in Spain. I love - A noble lady; whom going to visit, - When this same westering sun was young in heav’n, - I found a rival with her. I rush’d out, - Bidding him follow with his sword; he follow’d; - We fought, and with two passes in his side - I left him dead: the cry was after us; - The officers of justice at my heels. - No time to lose; I leap’d upon a horse, - And rode, until a shot, aim’d at his rider, - Kill’d him; then, taking to my feet, fled on, - Till, coming to a country house, I saw, - To my great joy, my friend— - - _Gil._ Here enter I; - Who, seeing Don Alonso so hard set, - Offer’d my services to keep them back - Till he was safe in Portugal. - That country house of mine—a pleasure house - Some call it, though I’ve found but little there— - Stands in a narrow mountain gorge, through which - He and the bloodhounds after him must pass - To reach the river; as he says, he came, - And saw, and fled; had scarce got fifty yards, - Up comes the Sheriff with his yelling pack - Panting and blowing. First most courteously - I begg’d them spare themselves as well as him - Further pursuit, but all in vain; push on - They would; whereon I was obliged to draw; - Disabled four or five, Heav’n help their souls! - Till, having done as much as he to figure - In justice’s black book, like him I fled - After him to the river; where on finding - The bridge occupied by the enemy, - Catching my sword between my teeth, and him - Upon my shoulders, I so dash’d in, - And, at last, over; where now, thanks to Heav’n, - We meet your Excellency, who vouchsafes - Your shelter and protection. - - _Adm._ Twas my word, - And I’ll abide by ’t. - - _Alon._ I have need - Of all assurance, for the man I slew - Was of great note. - - _Adm._ His name? - - _Alon._ Prefacing that he was a cavalier - Of wholly noble parts and estimation, - And that ’tis no disparagement to valour - To be unfortunate, I may repeat it,— - Don Diego d’Alvarado. - - _Adm._ Wretched man! - My cousin! you have slain him! - - _Leonor._ You have slain - My brother, traitor! - - _Gil._ Oh, I see my sword - Must e’en be out again. - - _Alon._ Your Excellency - Will pause before he draws his sword on one - Surrender’d at his feet. My lord, remember - I slew Don Diego in the face of day, - In fair and open duel. And, beside, - Is not your Excellency’s honour pledged - To my security? - - _Gil._ Beside all which, - I say that if all Portugal, and all - Within it, admiralty and army too, - Combine, you shall not touch him while I live. - - _Adm._ I know not what to do; upon one side - My promise, on the other the just call - Of retribution for my kinsman’s death. - I must adjudge between them. Don Alonso, - The word of Honour is inviolable, - But not less so her universal law. - So long as you stand upon ground of mine - I hold your person sacred: for so far - My promise holds; but set your foot beyond - E’en but an inch—remember, death awaits you. - And so farewell. - - _Leonor._ Nay, hold! though you have pledged - Your promise— - - _Adm._ What I pledge is pledged for you, - As for myself; content you. - - [_Exeunt ADMIRAL and LEONOR._ - - _Alon._ Well, friend Gil, - What say you to all this? - - _Gil._ Why then, I say, - At least ’tis better than it was. To-day - The mouse, shut in the cupboard, there must stay: - But will jump out to-morrow—if she may. - - [_Exeunt._ - - - - -ACT II - - -SCENE I.—_A Wood near San Lucar in Andalusia._ - - _Enter MANUEL and JUANA as travelling._ - - _Man._ Misfortune on misfortune! - - _Jua._ Ay, they call - One to another. - - _Man._ Ah, my love! - That you should wander thus about with me - And find no home! Gallicia, that I thought - Should be our port, unkindly storm’d us out - To Salvatierra, whence before the gale - We drive to Andalusia. - - _Jua._ Manuel, - My home is ever where you are. - - _Man._ Oh how - Requite such love! but you shall rest awhile - Till I and the poor fellow we pick’d up - Have found fit resting-place in San Lucar. - Pedro! - - _Enter PEDRO._ - - _Ped._ Sir! - - _Man._ Come you with me; - While you, Juana, underneath those trees— - - _Jua._ Weep your departure. - - [_Exit JUANA._ - - _Man._ It shall not be long. - Although her grief blindly anticipates - A longer separation than she knows! - - _Ped._ Alas, and how is that? and how can you - Foredoom such pain to one who loves you so? - Pardon me who am but your servant, sir, - And that but these two days, for saying it. - - _Man._ Ah, Pedro, ’tis not I who wills all this, - But fate; that, stronger than all human will, - Drove me from Portugal to Gallicia, - Thence hither; where my fate still urging on, - I must to sea, joining the armament - That sails to plant the banner of the church - Over the golden turrets of the north: - Leaving my lady—not, as you surmise, - Deserted and dishonour’d here behind, - But in some holy house at San Lucar, - With all the little substance I possess, - Till I return. For to a soldier - His sword is property enough. (_Drums within._) - - _Ped._ And hark - The drum that answers you— - - _Man._ No doubt a troop - Recruiting for this war. - - _Ped._ See, they are coming. - - _Man._ I’ll take occasion by the forelock then. - Pedro, go, tell the Ensign of the troop - Two men would join his ranks. I’ll to Juana. - - [_Exit._ - - _Enter GIL PEREZ with soldiers._ - -_Ped._ This one looks affable. Pray, sir, can you courteously inform me -which is the Ensign? - -_Soldier._ There—he with the red sash. - -_Ped._ What, he with the lofty presence and broad shoulders? - -_Soldier._ Ay! - -_Gil_ (_to the soldiers_). Well then, my lads, we shall agree together -very well, eh? - -_Soldiers._ Long live our noble Ensign! - - [_Exeunt soldiers._ - -_Ped._ Now’s the time! - -_Gil_ (_to himself_). ’Fore heaven, this soldiering would be pleasant -enough did not that trouble follow and plague me. - -_Ped._ Sir! - -_Gil._ Leaving Isabel at such a risk— - -_Ped._ Sir Ensign! - -_Gil._ That as fast as I gain honour here I run the chance of losing more -at home. - -_Ped._ Noble Sir Ensign! - -_Gil._ One good thing, however, my good Manuel keeps guard for me. - -_Ped._ He must surely be deaf this side—I’ll try the other. Noble Ensign! - -_Gil_ (_turning round_). Who is that? - -_Ped._ (_recognising him gradually_). A soldier—no, I only mean one who -would be—no soldier. If I said I wish’d to be a soldier, sir, I lied. - -_Gil._ Rascal! you here? did I not warn you whenever and wherever— - -_Ped._ Oh yes, yes, but how should I ever expect to find you here a -soldiering? - -_Gil_ (_setting upon him_). I’ll teach you I _am_ here, scoundrel, to -whom I owe half my trouble. - -_Ped._ Help! murder! help! - - _Enter MANUEL._ - -_Man._ A soldier set upon my servant! stop, sir! how do you dare—Gil -Perez! - -_Gil._ Manuel! - -_Man._ Why, did I not leave you in Portugal? - -_Gil._ And I you at Salvatierra, engaged to me by solemn promise and old -love to guard my honour there? - -_Man._ We both have cause for wonder. I will tell you all; but first we -must be alone. - -_Gil._ Ay, another wonder; this fellow yours? - -_Man._ In travelling hither we found him by the way, and took him. - -_Gil._ Well, this saves your life for this time, sir: but, remember, you -will not always have a friend at hand to do so much for you. - -_Ped._ I know that; I only wish you would be so gracious as to tell me -where you are next bound, that I may take good care not to go thither. -But I know one place at least to which you cannot follow me—my own -estate—and thither I set off immediately. - - [_Exit._ - - _Gil._ We are alone. Come, I will tell you first - My story. As you say you saw us last, - Alonso and myself, in Portugal; - Such an escape as (so the wise men say) - Is from the frying-pan into the fire. - We landing from the river on the estate - Of that great potentate the High Admiral. - Whose cousin, it turn’d out, was the very man - Alonso slew; whereat the Admiral, - Who had, before he knew this, promised us - Protection, gave us truly such protection - As the cat gives the mouse that she thinks safe - Under her paw. But we escaped from her, - And after much adventures came at last - To San Lucar here, where the Duke, who now - Is general of the war that our good king - Wages with England, courteously received us; - Gave Don Alonso a regiment; made me - An Ensign in it as you see; enough— - I know you will not wish a longer story - From one whose heart, until you tell him yours, - Hangs from a hair. - - _Man._ To take the story up then - Where you did, Perez—scarcely had you plunged - Into the river, than the sheriff’s rout - Came after you; but, seeing all was lost, - Went angry to their homes, and I to yours; - Where I received such hospitality - As our old friendship—But I falter here, - Scarce knowing how to tell— - Nay, almost doubting if to tell at all, - Or to conceal, what to conceal and tell - At once were best. You made me promise, Gil, - At parting—yea, with those last words hard wrung - Out of your breathless struggle with the flood— - That I would watch the honour of your house. - I did so: and it is because I did so - That I was forced to leave it. - - _Gil._ Manuel, - Your words are slaying me by syllables. - But tell me all—How was ’t? - - _Man._ One Juan Baptista - Courted your sister. - - _Gil._ Well? - - _Man._ And came at last - To such a boldness, that one night he stole - Into the house. - - _Gil._ Manuel! - - _Man._ I, who was watching, - Ran from my chamber, found a muffled man; - Threw myself on him; he, alerter yet, - Leap’d from the window, and I after him - Into the street, where two he’d posted there - Came to his rescue; one of them I slew, - The other wounded, while the rogue himself - Fled and escaped. What could I do, my friend, - A foreigner, charg’d with a homicide - In a strange country, with Juana too - Involved with me? If I were wrong to fly, - I did so thinking how yourself would act - In a like case. - - _Gil._ ’Tis true, I cannot blame you. - Ah! he said truer may be than he meant, - Who liken’d a true friend to a true mirror, - That shows one all oneself indeed, but all - Reversed; that when I look into your breast - To see my honour, I but see disgrace - Reflected there. I must begone at once - To Salvatierra; for to leave my name - In danger is to let it run to shame. - - _Enter ALONSO._ - - Oh, Don Alonso, you are come in time. - If aught that I have ever done for you - Deserve return, requite me, I beseech you, - By giving Manuel here the Ensigncy - I must throw up. - - _Alon._ But why? - - _Gil._ I must at once - To Salvatierra, where my honour lies - In the utmost peril. - - _Alon._ But— - - _Gil._ I am resolved. - - _Alon._ I fain might try dissuade you, but I know - Your honour will not call in vain. Enough: - Be ’t as you will—on one condition. - - _Gil._ Well? - - _Alon._ That I may go with you, and share your risk, - Who more than shared, and conquer’d mine. - - _Man._ Nay, sir, - If any one do that it must be I, - His older friend, who bringing this ill news - Must see him safely through it. - - _Alon._ But ’twas I - Who drew him from his home, where, till I came, - He lived in peace and quiet, but where now - This outrage has grown up in his forced absence. - And surely, the world over, ’tis ill manners - For one who, having drawn a friend from home, - Lets him return alone. - - _Man._ Well, be you courteous, - I’ll not be cowardly. - - _Gil._ Oh, this rivalry - Proves the nobility of both! But, friends, - Neither must go with me; you both are here - Fled in like peril of your lives from home, - And how could I avail me of your love - At such a price? Nay, I may want you both - In greater risks hereafter; and whom look to, - If you be lost? - - _Alon._ True, but if one of us - Went with you now, the other— - - _Man._ And that one - Must be myself. - - _Alon._ You see, sir, one _will_ go. - Do you choose which. - - _Man._ Content. - - _Gil._ How shall I choose, - When to choose one must needs the other hurt? - But if it needs must be— - I say that Don Alonso, so engaged - In high and even holy business here, - Must not forgo ’t for mine. If one will come, - Let it be Manuel. - - _Alon._ I live to hear - This insult from your lips! But I’ll have vengeance; - Neither shall go unless you take with you - Thus much at least to compensate - For what you leave. These jewels may assist you - Where my sword cannot. (_Giving jewels._) - - _Gil._ I accept them, sir, - As freely as they’re given. Come, embrace me. - And now to punish an unworthy sister, - And that ill traitor, from whose heart I swear - My bleeding honour with this sword to tear. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE II.—_Outside GIL PEREZ’S House at Salvatierra; as in ACT I. SCENE -I._ - - _Enter ISABEL and CASILDA._ - -_Isab._ What! Donna Leonor d’Alvarado, come to Salvatierra? - -_Cas._ Yes. - -_Isab._ And for what purpose? - -_Cas._ They say, to avenge her brother’s death. I myself have seen her -conferring with Juan Baptista. - -_Isab._ And what do you infer from that? - -_Cas._ He is, they say, chief witness against Don Alonso and your -brother, for this murder. - -_Isab._ Against my brother too! O Casilda, is it not shameful that Juan -Baptista should revenge with slanders behind my brother’s back whom he -dares not meet face to face! Nay, that a traitor be revenged at all on -him he has betrayed! thriving here at home while my brother is banisht! - -_Cas._ But there’s something else. He charges your brother’s friend -Manuel with murdering his men. - -_Isab._ In proving which, my honour must be publicly canvassed and -compromised! - - _Enter PEDRO._ - -_Ped._ Oh, what a long way it has seemed; as it will when fear fetters -one’s legs. Oh, permit me, madam, since fate has sent me back to your -feet, to kiss but the little toe, the pink, the pearl, the petty Benjamin -of those ten toes. But above all, tell me, for Heaven’s sake, is my -master here? - -_Isab._ No, Pedro, you at least are safe. He, alas, is far away. - -_Ped._ So one might think; but yet on the other hand I’d swear he must be -here. - -_Isab._ Pedro! - -_Ped._ Oh yes, his sole vocation now is to dodge my steps like some -avenging ghost of _Capa and Espada_. - - _Enter JUAN BAPTISTA._ - - _Bapt._ (_speaking to himself_). If they condemn him - To death, as, on my evidence alone, - They must, he’ll not return to plague me more - At Salvatierra. But, fair Isabel, - How blest am I on whom the star of beauty, - Bright rival of the sun, - Beams out such rays of love! - - _Isab._ Stand off! Away! - Not rays of love, whatever heretofore - I and my beauty may have beam’d, Baptista, - But now, if rays at all, lightnings of rage - And indignation from my heart and eyes. - Approach them at your peril! What, false traitor, - You come to court me with my brother’s blood - Upon you, shed too in no manly duel, - Face to face, hand to hand, in the open field, - But like a murderer, - Behind his back stabbing him dead with slander— - Never! - - [_Exit._ - - _Bapt._ But, Isabel! - - _Cas._ Your day is over. - - [_Exit._ - -_Bapt._ And that I should lose her by the very means I hoped to win her -with! - -_Ped._ Let not this prevent your memory acknowledging one who has -suffered banishment, and lives in terror of his life, on your account. - -_Bapt._ Pedro! - -_Ped._ And at your service. - -_Bapt._ Ah, would you were! - -_Ped._ Try me. - -_Bapt._ But are you still Isabel’s servant? - -_Ped._ I trust so. - -_Bapt._ Oh, good Pedro, I would fain explain to her, and wipe out (as I -easily can) the offence she has taken against me; and if you will but -be my friend, and leave the door ajar to-night, that I may tell her the -whole story, I’ll pay you well for it. - -_Ped._ Well, I think there can be no danger in that. Why, if you should -happen to call loudly outside the door to-night, and I let you in, -forgetting to ask who it is—surely I shall not be to blame. - -_Bapt._ Tis well; the sun is already setting; go you to your post, and I -shall be at mine immediately. - - [_Exeunt severally._ - - -SCENE III.—_A Room in GIL PEREZ’S House._ - - _Enter ISABEL and CASILDA._ - - _Isab._ Casilda, now the flaming sun has set, - See to the doors; and you and Ines there - Sing to me—’twill beguile my melancholy. - No merry song, however; something sad - As my own fancies. (_They sing within._) - Hark! what noise is that? - One calling at the door at such an hour!— - Again!—Bid Pedro see— - Why, what is it that makes me tremble so? - From head to foot— - - _Enter PEDRO hurriedly._ - - _Ped._ O madam! - - _Isab._ Well? - - _Ped._ O madam— - Opening the door—only to ask—a man - All muffled up ran by me——(_Aside._) ’Tis all right. - - _Enter GIL PEREZ, cloakt._ - - _Isab._ Who’s this? - - _Gil_ (_discovering himself_). I, Isabel. - - _Isab._ Oh heavens! - - _Gil._ Well, sister. - What troubles you? - - _Ped._ Oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord! - - (_Hides._) - - _Isab._ O Gil, how have you dared to venture here, - Your very life at stake! - - _Gil._ Small risk to one - Whom your ill doings have half kill’d already. - - _Isab._ I do not understand you— - - _Gil._ You need not: - I come not to explain, but to avenge; - And, mark my words, what I have come to do, - I’ll do. - - _Isab._ Alas! is it my fault then, brother, - That traitors of their gold can make them wings - To fly into my house? - - _Gil._ Be not afraid; - I shall not judge of you or any one - Unheard, as others seem to judge of me. - What is the matter? - - _Isab._ Nay, I only know - You are accused of aiding, how I know not, - In Don Diego’s death—on evidence, - As ’tis believed, the Judge (who now is here, - Inflamed by Donna Leonor) declares - Sufficient to convict you of your life - And property—Alas, alas, my brother! - - _Gil._ You shall away with me; for ’tis not well - To leave you here alone and unprotected. - But I must see first what this Judge has got - To say against me. - - _Isab._ But how get at it? - - _Gil._ Why from the fountain-head. But, by the Lord, - If I must fly or die for ’t, - I’ll not do so for nothing, I’ll begin - My vengeance on this rascal. - - (_Pulling out PEDRO._) - - _Ped._ Oh begin - On some one else and sum up all on me! - - _Gil._ How come you here? - - _Ped._ Oh, I will tell the truth - And nothing but the truth. - - _Gil._ Well! - - _Ped._ Being assured - That you were coming hither— - - _Gil._ Well? - - _Ped._ I came - Before. - - _Gil._ And why, when— - - _Ped._ That by doing so - You should not see my face, (which you declared, - Seeing again, you’d kill me,) but my back, - Which as you never swore at— - - _Gil_ (_striking him_). Villain, die! - - _Ped._ (_falling as dead_). Oh! I am slain! - - _Gil._ Come, Isabel ’tis I - Must bear you on my shoulders through the flames - That rise all round. - - [_Exeunt GIL and ISABEL._ - - _Ped._ (_rising_). Oh, angel of sham death, - How much I owe your out-spread wings to-day, - Under whose shadow—Yo escaparè. - - [_Exit._ - - -SCENE IV.—_An open Gallery in the Judge’s House at Salvatierra._ - - _Enter Judge, and attendants, with lights, etc._ - - _Judge._ Here in this gallery where the air is cool - Set out my desk and papers. - I must examine all these depositions. - - _1st Attendant._ Tis done, my lord. - - _2nd Attendant._ My lord, a stranger asks - Admittance—upon something, as he says, - Important to the matter now in hand. - - _Judge._ Admit him, then. - - _Gil_ (_without_). Manuel, keep the door; - And, till my lord and I have had our talk, - Let no one enter. - - _Man._ (_without_). Trust me. - - _Enter GIL._ - - _Gil._ First permit me - To kiss your lordship’s hand. And secondly, - Having important matter to disclose - About this business, I would tell it you - Alone— - - _Judge_ (_to attendants_). Retire! - - [_Exeunt attendants._ - - _Gil._ And with your lordship’s leave - Will take a chair. - - _Judge._ Sit, sir. - - _Gil._ May I presume - To ask your lordship how Gallicia - Agrees with you? - - _Judge._ I thank you, very well. - - _Gil._ I’m very glad of that. Humph—as I take it, - Your lordship is come down into these parts - On a great trial? - - _Judge._ Yes, the case is this; - A certain Don Alonso de Tordoya, - And one Gil Perez of this place, are charged - With slaying Don Diego d’Alvarado. - - _Gil._ Slaying? - - _Judge._ In duel, sir. - - _Gil._ I marvel much - They should have dragg’d your lordship from the city - And from the court that you so much adorn, - Into this beggarly place, to try a cause - That happens almost every day in Spain. - - _Judge._ True, sir, but this is not by any means - The whole, or kernel, of the case. These men, - Beside, and after, the said homicide, - Resisted the king’s officers; this Perez - Especially—a notable ruffian - Who lives among these hills a lawless life - Of violence and murder—struck the Sheriff, - And—but I’m scarce entitled to say more - To one whose very name I know not. - - _Gil._ Oh! - My name is quickly told, if that be all. - - _Judge._ What is it then? - - _Gil._ Gil Perez. - - _Judge._ Ho! without! - - _Man._ (_appearing at the door_). My lord! - - _Judge._ And who are you? - - _Gil._ A friend of mine. - - _Man._ Who will take care that no one else comes in, - Till you have done. - - [_Exit._ - - _Gil._ Your lordship sees how ’tis— - Be not alarm’d—pray take your chair again— - I’ve much to say to you. - - _Judge_ (_aside_). Better submit. - This desperate man may have a score beside— - Well, sir, your business with me? - - _Gil._ Why, my lord, - I for these many days have been, so please you, - Away from home; suddenly coming back, - My friends here tell me of a mortal suit - Your lordship has against me; when I ask - For the particulars, some say one thing, - And some another. I, who naturally - Am somewhat interested in the truth, - Think it the wisest course to come at once - Straight to headquarters. - - _Judge._ This is strange proceeding. - - _Gil._ Oh, if your lordship scruple telling me, - These papers will not. I’d not for the world - Annoy your lordship. - - (_Takes the papers._) - - _Judge._ What are you about, sir? - - _Gil._ Conning my brief. - - _Judge._ But, sir— - - _Gil._ Now pray, my lord, - Resume your seat; let me not ask you this - So very often. (_Reading._) Ah—the bare indictment - I know in a rough way, no need read that: - But for the evidence. Ah, here it is. - Humph; the first witness called, Andrew Ximenes: - ‘Andrew Ximenes, being duly sworn, - Deposeth thus: that he was cutting wood, - When the two gentlemen came out to fight; - And stood to watch them; that, after some passes, - Don Diego fell; and the officers of justice - Then coming up, the other leap’d on horse, - And fled: but being brought to ground by a shot - That kill’d his horse, then ran, until he reach’d - Gil Perez’s house,’—here enter I,—‘who first - Courteously ask’d the Sheriff to desist - Hunting the gentleman; but when the Sheriff - Persisted, drew on him and on his people, - And fought them back; but how and when exactly - The wound was given, deponent cannot say. - And all this he deposeth upon oath, - Andrew Ximenes—’ And he says the truth; - Andrew is a good, honourable fellow. - Now for the second, Gil Parrado; humph. - Parrado, duly sworn, deposeth thus; - ‘That, hearing a commotion, he ran out - And got in time to see’—here enter I— - ‘Gil Perez fighting with the officers, - Then on a sudden running to the river - Plunge in. And that is all he knows of it.’ - How short and sweet! - ‘Next and third witness, Juan Baptista,’—ay, - Now for this exemplary Christian— - Juan Baptista sworn, deposeth thus: - ‘That, as luck fell, he was behind a tree - When the two gentlemen came out to fight; - That they fought fairly hand to hand, until’— - Here enter I—‘Gil Perez suddenly - Rush’d from a thicket by, and join’d himself - With Don Alonso, and the two together - Maliciously and treacherously slew - Don Diego.’ Pray, my lord, what is the worth - Of such a witness, who himself admits - He stood behind a tree watching two men - Set on a third, and slay him, and yet never - Ran to his help? Well—humph—‘And after this, - Saw Don Alonso jump upon a horse - And fly, while Perez drew his sword upon - The officers of justice, and slew one, - And maim’d another.’ Give me leave, my lord, - To take this leaf. (_Tears it out._) - I’ll bring it back to you - When I have made this rascal Jew confess - (If ever Jews confess) what he _did_ see, - If any thing; but fair that if a judge - Decide on evidence, that evidence - At least be true; that he should hear moreover - Both sides, accused as well as his accuser. - As to that Sheriff’s wounds—the only count - To which I own—I never sought the fray; - The fray sought me, as I stood innocently - At my own door; and pray what man of honour— - What would your lordship’s sober self have done - In such a case? - - _Judge._ Within! within there! ho! - Perez himself is here! the culprit! Seize him! - - _Man_ (_appearing_). Ay, do, if you can catch him. - - _Gil._ Manuel, - Let them come up; I have no more to say. - And you and I, who walk’d in by the door, - Can jump out of the window. - - _Voices_ (within). Seize him! Seize him! - - _Judge._ One word, Gil Perez; if you yield at once, - I’ll be your friend. - - _Gil._ I make no friends of lawyers, - And never trust their promises. - - _Judge._ If not, - As sure as Heav’n, I’ll bring you to the scaffold. - - _Gil._ If you can catch me. - - _Judge._ Cannot I? - - _Gil._ Well, try. - - _Judge._ Ho there! upon him; and if he resist, - Cut him down! - - _Man._ Now then, Gil! - - _Gil._ Now, Manuel! - Out with the lights! or wanting them, we two - Will strike them, knaves, in plenty out of you. - - (_Confusion and Melée, in which GIL and MANUEL escape._) - - - - -ACT III - - -SCENE I.—_On a Mountain by Salvatierra._ - - _Enter GIL PEREZ, MANUEL, ISABEL, and JUANA._ - - _Gil._ This mountain then, upon whose wrinkled edge - The weary moon reclines, must be our fort; - Where, in some green and shady spot of it, - (Hung round with savage, inaccessible rocks,) - While Isabel and your Juana rest, - You and I, Manuel, will steal into - The little village nestled there below, - And of such travellers as come this way, - Demand (our own all gone) a scanty living, - By fair entreaty, not by violence; - Until, pursuit giv’n up, we may retreat - Elsewhere, to live upon what little means - Injustice leaves us. - - _Man._ Gil, ’tis nothing new - For criminals to hide - Ev’n where they did the crime, where vengeance least - Expects to find them, and hunts round in vain. - And even should they light upon the place, - Surely we two, back’d by these friendly rocks, - Can keep at bay the rabble that we foil’d - On level ground. - - _Isab._ I have listen’d to you both, - And take it ill you reckon on yourselves - Alone; when I, who though a woman, having yet - Your blood, Gil Perez, running in my veins, - And something of your spirit in my heart, - Am at your side. - - _Jua._ And I, who, like a coward, - Chime in at last; yet, if with little power, - With right good will indeed. - - _Gil._ Well spoken both! - But I maintain it as a golden law, - Women be women ever; keep you quiet, - And comforting yourselves as best you may, - While Manuel and I, as becomes men, - Provide for you in all. - - _Isab._ Well, we at least, - If fit for nothing else, can pray for you. - - [_Exeunt ISABEL and JUANA._ - - _Gil._ Now they are gone, I want to talk with you - On a grave matter, Manuel, ’Tis this. - Among those depositions at the Judge’s, - One rascal, and a rascal too whose gold - Makes weigh his witness against honesty, - Declared on oath he saw me, me, Gil Perez, - Abetting Don Alonso treacherously - To slay Don Diego. - - _Man._ Who was this? - - _Gil._ Why one - Who has not this alone to answer for, - As you will know when I name—Juan Baptista. - - _Man._ A coward, who, as all such villains do, - Flies to the tongue for vengeance, not the sword; - Behind one’s back too— - Why, let us go at once, and in broad day - Before all eyes, before the very Judge’s - He lied to, drag the rascal from his house, - And make him eat his words in the very place - He spit them forth in. - - _Gil._ All this we will do, - But at some better opportunity, - And fitter place. I’ve heard my grandsire say, - ‘If you begin the fray, why then - You must abide the how and when; - But who’s drawn into it, I trow, - May suit himself with when and how.’ - But footsteps! Hark!— - Now to commence our calling, as new members - Of the most courteous cut-purse company. - - _Enter LEONARDO, travelling._ - - _Leon._ (_speaking as he enters_). Lead on the horses, Mendo, ’tis so - pleasant - Under the shadow of these wooded rocks, - I’ll walk some way alone. - - _Gil._ Your servant, sir. - - _Leon._ Sir, God be with you! - - _Gil._ Travelling all alone? - And whither, may I ask? - - _Leon._ To Lisbon, sir. - - _Gil._ And whence? - - _Leon._ I started at the break of day - From Salvatierra. - - _Gil._ Ay? Then you can tell - What news is stirring there. - - _Leon._ Oh nothing, sir. - Unless perhaps the exploits of a fellow - The terror of that country; one Gil Perez, - I think; who, when justice was at his heels - After some crime or other I forget, - Wounded the Sheriff, kill’d his officer, - And then was impudent enough to walk - Into the very Judge’s house, and there, - Before his very eyes, snatch up and read - The depositions drawn up against him. - - _Gil._ A very curious story, that! - - _Leon._ And then, - Though half the place was up in arms on him, - He, and another who is, as I hear, - Much such another rascal as himself, - Broke through them all and got away scot free! - But they are after him. - - _Gil._ This is the news? - - _Leon._ All that I know of. - - _Gil._ Well—before you go, - I’ll ask you, sir, who by your speech and bearing - Seem a good fellow, if a friend of yours - Came flying for his life, the Philistines - Close on his heels, and fell before your feet, - At your own door, exhausted, and beseeching - Help and protection of you—let me ask - What would you do? - - _Leon._ What do? why, give it him. - - _Gil._ You would? and would you, in so doing, - Deserve the name of rascal for your pains? - - _Leon._ No, certainly. - - _Gil._ And when a writ was out - Against you for so doing, charging you - With murder, threatening death and confiscation, - Would you be more a rascal for demanding - Such needful information of the Judge - As he alone could give of evidence - Which you suspected, and found false? - - _Leon._ No, truly. - - _Gil._ One question more. If, damn’d by such false witness, - You were found guilty, all your property - Confiscated, yourself condemn’d to die, - Might not you fly the misdirected sword - Of justice, and of those who well could spare - Beg a poor tithe of what she robb’d you wholly, - And be no rascal still? - - _Leon._ Oh clearly, clearly. - - _Gil._ This granted then, look to the inference. - I am Gil Perez; I who struck the Sheriff, - And kill’d his man, and read the Judge’s papers, - And flying hither, shorn of house and home, - Ask you for that of which the law robs me; - Which, having plenty, if you will not give, - By your own free admission I may take, - And be no rascal still. - - _Leon._ You need not use - My argument against me; I respect - And pity you, Gil Perez; take this chain; - If it be not enough, I pledge my word - I’ll bring you more hereafter. - - _Gil._ All you say - Tells of a generous heart. But ere I take - Your present, tell me—do you give it me - For fear, alone, and in my power, may be, - Or of good will? - - _Leon._ Good will! I swear to you, - Gil Perez, I would even do the same - Had I a squadron at my side. - - _Gil._ As such - I take it, then. For when my life must pay, - As soon or late it must, the penalty - Of hungry vengeance, I shall lay it down - Contented in my conscience, and report - That I but took from those who had to give, - And freely gave; the only retribution - My evil star allow’d me. - - _Leon._ True enough. - Is there aught else that I can do for you? - - _Gil._ Nothing. - - _Leon._ Farewell—and may a better fate - Await you. - - _Gil._ Farewell—shall I see you safe - Over the mountain? - - _Leon._ Not a step—adieu. - - [_Exit._ - - _Man._ Sure never robbery was known to wear - So fair a face. - - _Gil._ Tut, tut, you’re not to call it - Robbery, but preferment, Manuel. - But who are these? - - _Enter two Farmers._ - - _1st Farm._ I tell you I have bought the stock of vines - Upon his farm. - - _2nd Farm._ What, Gil’s? - - _1st Farm._ Yes; sold, you know, - To pay the costs of prosecution, - Judges and Alguazils and such; and I - Am carrying them the money. - - _Man._ Fair game this. - - _Gil._ I know him, a near neighbour. Well, friend Antony, - How goes it with you? - - _1st Farm._ What! Gil Perez! you! - When the whole country’s after you? - - _Gil._ And if they catch me nobody’s the worse - Except myself. But till they catch and kill me, - (When I shall want, you know, no more to live on,) - I’ve not a stiver; clipt of the estate - Whose price you carry in your pocket there. - Now, I’d not starve; but, on the other hand, - Would not wrong any one to keep me from ’t: - How shall we settle that? - - _1st Farm._ Oh easily— - Take this—and this (_offers money_)—I had better give it up - At once, for fear. (_Aside._) - - _Gil._ But do you give me this - Of free good will? - - _1st Farm._ Why as to that, Gil Perez, - My will is good to serve you; but, you see, - I am not very rich. - - _Gil._ You mean by that - You would not give this money could you help it? - - _1st Farm._ Why certainly. - - _Gil._ Then keep it and begone - In peace. - - _1st Farm._ Gil Perez! - - _Gil._ I’ll not have it said - I robb’d—not shamed to beg in my distress. - - _2nd Farm._ And I pray, Gil, and he who likes may hear me, - God keep you from your enemies. I have here - Six pieces that my wife knows nothing of; - You’re welcome. - - _Gil._ Not a penny; go your ways, - Or night will reach you ere you reach your homes. - - [_Exeunt Farmers._ - - _Man._ Gil, while you talk’d with them, I’ve heard a sound - As of pursuit—listen!—and many too. - - _Gil._ Let us up higher then! - - _Man._ Beware, the trees - Will whisper of our whereabout. - - _Gil._ Then here - Behind the rocks that tell no tales. - - _Man._ Quick, quick! (_They hide._) - - _Enter DONNA LEONOR, JUAN BAPTISTA, Judge, Alguazils, etc._ - - _Bapt._ Here, madam, till the scorching sun be sunk, - Tarry awhile. - - _Leonor._ My cousin’s grievous sickness - Calls me with all speed homeward. - - _Judge._ And as yet - No vestige of these ruffians, whom to find - And bring to justice, madam, in your cause, - I’ll peril my own life. - - _Gil._ Hist, Manuel! - - _Man._ Ay, but speak lower. - - _Gil._ When better than now - Can I avenge Alonso and myself, - When judge, accus’d, accuser, and false witness, - Are all together? - - _Man._ Wait awhile. - - _Gil._ But— - - _Man._ See, - Fresh comers. - - _Gil._ I shall lose the golden moment. - - _Enter some, dragging along PEDRO._ - -_Judge._ A prisoner? - -_1st Man._ One of Gil Perez’s knaves, my lord, whom we have just now -caught creeping over to Portugal. The very day Perez swam over there this -fellow was missed from Salvatierra, and returned on the very evening of -his return. - -_Judge._ Very suspicious indeed. - -_Pedro._ Very, my lord, I grant it. Yes, wherever I go, to Portugal, -Flanders, Germany, China, Japan, ’tis all the same. I am sure to find him -there. - -_Judge._ You know then where he is now? - -_Ped._ Oh, doubtless close at hand: he must be, I being here; he is such -a constant master, that if you put me in prison he’ll soon surrender only -to follow me there. - -_Judge._ Point out the place, then. - -_Ped._ Would to Heav’n I could, for were he clapt up safe I’d not follow -_him_, I promise you. Indeed, my lord, I live in terror of my life from -him. - - Flying from him it was I fled from home - To Portugal; where the first man I saw - Was he I thought I’d left at Salvatierra: - Flying to Andalusia, the first face - I saw was his I left in Portugal: - Till, rushing homeward in despair, the man - I thought I’d left behind in Andalusia, - Met me at once, and having knockt me down, - Left me for dead. Well, I got up at last, - And fled again: but, scarcely got a mile, - Your people seize me on suspicion - Of knowing where he hides, and so far justly, - That carrying me by way of a decoy, - I’ll lay my life he soon were in the trap. - -_Judge._ Your folly, or your cunning, sir, shall not mislead us; tell me -where your master is at once, or the wooden horse— - -_Ped._ Alas, I’m a bad rider. - -_Judge._ Take him to the village and keep him close. By his looks I doubt -not, spite of this affected simplicity, he’s a desperate ruffian. - -_Ped._ I seem such a desperate fellow to him. Dear me, of the four men -here let one depart, and leave three, and one of the three leave two, and -one of the two one; and that one leave half himself; and that half his -half; and that quarter his half, till it comes to _nil_: it would still -be nilly willy with me. - - [_Exit, guarded by Alguazils._ - - _Gil._ Manuel, - The Alguazils are gone. - - _Man._ Now for it then. - - _Gil_ (_appearing_). God save this noble company! - - _All._ Gil Perez! - - _Gil._ Be not alarm’d; I have but a few words - To say to one of you, this Juan Baptista. - - _Judge._ Holloa! my guards! - - _Man._ Judge, never strain your throat, - Unless you would be answer’d by such guards - As waited on you yesterday. - - _Judge._ Is this the way that I, and, in my person, - That justice is insulted? - - _Gil._ Nay, my lord, - You least of all should tax a criminal - Who so punctiliously respects yourself, - And the realm’s Justice in your belly lodged, - That not to waste you in a vain pursuit, - He waits on you himself. - - _Judge._ Impudent man! - And this before that most illustrious lady - Your treachery has render’d brotherless; - And who with daily prayers— - - _Gil._ And ’tis for this— - That she may hear my vindication - Ev’n from the very lips that made the charge, - And cease an unjust persecution, - Unworthy of her noble name and blood, - That I am here. For, madam, if I prove - That Don Alonso in fair duel slew - Your brother, and without my treacherous help, - Or any man’s, would you pursue us still? - - _Leonor._ No, sir; for though the laws of duel are - For men alone, I know enough of them - To pardon all that was in honour done, - Ev’n to my cost. Prove what you say you will, - And Don Alonso may take sanctuary - In my own house against myself and all. - - _Gil._ ’Tis nobly said. On this I take my stand: - And since ’tis general and accepted law - That what a witness first shall swear, and then - Forswear, stand for no evidence at all, - Stand forth, Juan Baptista; - Here is your deposition; I will read it - Before the very Judge you swore it to, - And before this great lady, and do you - Substantiate or deny it point by point. - - _Judge._ Audacity! - - _Gil_ (_reading_). In the first place you swear, - That, ‘As luck fell, you were behind a tree - When the two gentlemen came out to fight.’ - Say, is this true? - - _Bapt._ It is. - - _Gil._ ‘And that they fought - Hand to hand fairly, until suddenly - Gil Perez, rushing from a thicket, sided - With Don Alonso.’ Now, bethink you well; - Is this the truth, Baptista? - - _Bapt._ Yes. I swear it. - - _Gil._ Infamous liar! (_Shoots him with a pistol._) - - _Bapt_ (_falling_). Heav’n have mercy on me! - - _Gil._ My lord, you must another murder add - To my black catalogue. Come, Manuel, - We must away while we have time. Farewell. - - [_Exeunt GIL and MANUEL._ - - _Judge._ By the most sacred person of my king, - I swear to punish this audacity, - If it should cost my life. - - _Bapt._ Oh, listen, lady; - While I have breath to speak. I’m justly slain. - I tried to swear Gil Perez’s life away - To gain his sister; he has told you true: - In fair and open duel, hand to hand, - Was Don Diego slain. Oh let my death - Atone for this, and my last dying words - Attest it. - - (_Dies._) - - _Enter the Alguazils with PEDRO._ - -_Alg._ We heard a pistol, and returned, my lord, to see. - -_Judge._ It was Gil Perez; that is his work. (_Pointing to BAPTISTA._) - -_Ped._ There, said I not the truth? - -_Judge._ He must not escape; after him! As to this fellow here, who is -plainly in his secrets, let two Alguazils keep guard upon him here, lest -he do further mischief; the rest come with me. - -_Ped._ What crime have I committed? Did I not tell you, my lord, he would -come, and did he not come? - -_Judge._ Peace, traitor! Come, madam. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE II.—_Another Pass in the same Mountain._ - - _Firing and shouting heard; after which, enter - ISABEL and JUANA on a platform of rock above the stage._ - - _Isab._ That arquebuss! of which only the thunder - Has reach’d us of perhaps some deadly bolt - On one of those we love! - Why tarry they so long? What think you, Juana? - - _Jua._ Oh what, but share your fears! - - _Isab._ Let us descend, - And learn the truth at once; better at once - To die, than by this torture. - - (_As they are about to descend, enter to them - suddenly GIL PEREZ and MANUEL._) - - _Gil._ Wait! - - _Isab._ My brother! - - _Jua._ Manuel! - - _Gil._ They are coming; hide we here; - There is no time— - - _Enter Judge, LEONOR, Alguazils, etc._ - - _Judge._ After them! after them! - By Heav’n, this mountain-top shall be the scaffold - On which the wretch shall expiate his crimes. - Two thousand scudi for the man who brings, - Dead or alive, Gil Perez! - - _Gil_ (_appearing above_). By the Lord, - You rate me cheap, my lord; I’ll set you higher— - I say four thousand scudi for the Judge, - Alive or stuff’d! - - _Judge._ There he is! Fire! - - (_Alguazil fires and wounds GIL._) - - _Gil_ (_falling_). God help me! - - _Judge._ Yield. - - _Gil_ (_struggling_). I’ve an arm left yet. - - _Alg._ He’ll fight when dead. - - _Judge._ Away with him! - (_Judge and Alguazils carry off GIL._) - - _Man._ (_struggling with JUANA_). Leave hold of me, - I say. - - _Jua._ Oh! Manuel! - - _Isab._ Oh! my brother! - - _Man._ Let me go, - Or I will dash you headlong with myself. - - (_He rushes down, ISABEL and JUANA after him._) - - -SCENE III.—_Same as SCENE I._ - -_PEDRO discovered guarded by two Alguazils._ - -_Ped._ Shots and shouting! They must be at work. Perhaps you gentlemen -will wait, while I go and see. - -_Alg._ Be quiet, or two bullets— - -_Ped._ Oh, one would be enough, thank you. Well, if I mustn’t go, will -you two gentlemen? and leave me to wait for you? I’m quite indifferent. - -_Alg._ We leave you not an instant or an inch. - -_Ped._ Were ever guards half so polite! Sure, I must be a holiday to be -so strictly kept. - -_Alg._ Hark! They are coming. - - _Enter Judge and Alguazils with GIL, a cloak thrown over him._ - -_Judge._ Where is the other prisoner? - -_Alg._ Here, my lord. - -_Judge._ March on with us. - -_Alg. 2._ My lord, this man will faint with loss of blood and weariness. - -_Judge._ Halt then, and let him breathe awhile. - - (_They uncover GIL, and PEDRO sees him._) - -_Ped._ I might have guessed it! Let me be in the bilboes, on the very -scaffold, he must be with me: he will die on purpose to lie in the same -grave with me, I think! - -_Gil._ Whose voice is that? - -_Ped._ Nobody’s. - -_Gil._ Pedro? Courage, my poor boy. My day is over. Oh, vanity of mortal -strength! - -_Judge._ But who are these? - - _Enter DONNA LEONOR, with ISABEL, JUANA, and Servants._ - - _Leonor._ I, Donna Leonor, who, falling in - With these sad ladies, do repent me much, - That, misdirected by a lying tongue, - I have pursued this gentleman—I doubt - To death—if not, I charge you from this moment - Leave him at liberty. - - _Isab._ Or else— - - _Enter suddenly MANUEL and DON ALONSO, and Followers._ - - _Alon._ Or else, - Look to it. - - _Gil._ Don Alonso! whom I thought - Far off upon the seas? - - _Alon._ And should have been, - But when my foot was on the very plank - That rock’d upon the foam along the beach, - I, who could never get you from my heart, - And knew that you had come to peril hither, - Could but return once more to him who saved - My life, though he had waved me from his side. - Enough; I am in time. I tell you, sir, - Give up this man at once. (_To the Judge._) - - _Judge._ Not for you all! - - _Alon._ Then at him and his people! - - (_ALONZO, MANUEL, and their people rush on the Judge, - Alguazils, etc., disarm them, and beat them out._) - - _Alon._ (_embracing GIL_). My friend is free. - - _Gil._ And what first use shall make - Of freedom? - - _Ped._ Why, turn Friar; you can then - Be free and easy too, and leave me so. - Oh, sir, have I not had enough of terror, - Exile, and hunger, to deserve your pardon? - Plead for me, Don Alonso. - - _Alon._ Gil— - - _Gil._ Nay, nay, - What could you seem about to ask of me - But granted ere ’twas said? Go. I forgive you. - With which magnanimous forbearance now - Gil Perez, the Gallician, makes his bow. - - [_Exeunt._ - -‘Thus ends,’ says Calderon, ‘the first part of the _hozanas notables_ of -Luis Perez,’ whose name I have, for sundry reasons, (and without offence -to the hero, I hope,) changed to _Gil_. He was ‘a notorious robber,’ says -Mr. Ticknor, a kind of Spanish Rob Roy perhaps; at all events, one whose -historical reality is intimated by greater distinctness of character -than is usual in these plays. Of such gentry examples are never wanting -in Spain, where so little alters to this day; witness the career of the -famous José Maria, quite lately ended; who, I read in a book of Travels, -was, like Gil, a farmer, for his first calling; a most merciful robber -when he took to his second; and who performed Gil’s feat of confronting, -if not a Judge, a Prime Minister in his own den. - -Gil perhaps had better have ‘played his pranks’ (as Fuller says of Robin -Hood) in prose; but he was a lawless fellow, and blank verse lay in -his way. Those who think his style altogether too heroic for a country -robber, will at least find my version more than excused by the original. - - - - -THREE JUDGMENTS AT A BLOW - - - - -DRAMATIS PERSONÆ - - - PEDRO IV. _King of Arragon._ - - DON MENDO TORELLAS _his Minister._ - - DONNA VIOLANTE _Mendo’s Daughter._ - - ELVIRA _her Maid._ - - DON LOPE DE URREA. - - DONNA BLANCA _his Wife._ - - DON LOPE _their Son._ - - BEATRICE _their Servant._ - - DON GUILLEN _a Friend of Don Lope’s._ - - VICENTE _Young Lope’s Servant._ - - ROBBERS, OFFICERS, ROYAL SUITE, etc. - - - - -ACT I - - -SCENE I.—_A Mountain Pass near Saragossa._ - -_Shot within. Then enter DON MENDO and VIOLANTE pursued by Robbers, among -whom is VICENTE._ - - _Men._ Villains, let steel or bullet do their worst, - I’ll die ere yield. - - _Viol._ Heaven help us! - - _Robber I._ Fool, to strive - Against such odds—upon their own ground too, - Red with the blood of hundreds like yourselves. - - _Vic._ Come, sir, no more ado; - But quietly give my young madam up, - Nice picking for our captain. - - _Men._ Not while a drop of blood is in my body. - - _Robbers._ Here’s at you then! - - _Viol._ My father! - - (_As the Robbers attack MENDO, enter DON LOPE._) - - _Lope._ How now? whom have you here? - - _Vic._ Oh, noble captain, - We found this lady resting from the sun - Under the trees, with a small retinue, - Who of course fled. - All but this ancient gentleman, who still - Holds out against us. - - _Lope_ (_to MENDO_). What can you expect - Against such numbers? - - _Men._ Not my life, but death. - You come in time— - Upon my knees I do beseech of you (_kneels_) - No other mercy save of instant death - To _both_ of us. - - _Lope._ Arise! you are the first - Has moved me to the mercy you decline. - This lady is—your wife? - - _Men._ My only daughter! - - _Viol._ In spirit as in blood. If by his death - You think to make you masters of my life, - Default of other weapon, with these hands - I’ll cease the breath of life, or down these rocks - Dash myself headlong. - - _Lope._ Lady, calm yourself; - Your beauty has subdued an angry devil - One like yourself first raised within my soul. - Your road lies whither, sir? - - _Men._ To Saragossa. - Where if I could requite— - - _Lope._ Your name? - - _Men._ Don Mendo - Torellas, after a long embassage - To Paris, Rome, and Naples, summon’d back - By Pedro, King of Arragon—with whom - If ’t be (as oft) some youthful petulance, - Calling for justice or revenge at home, - Drives you abroad to these unlawful courses, - I pledge my word— - - _Lope._ Alas, sir, I might hail - Your offer could I hope that your deserts, - However great, might cancel my account - Of ill-deserving. But indeed my crimes - Have gather’d so in number, and in weight, - And condemnation—committed, some of them, - To stave away the very punishment - They must increase at last; others, again, - In the sheer desperation of forgiveness - That all had heap’d upon me— - - _Men._ Nay, nay, nay; - Despair not; trust to my good offices; - In pledge of which here, now, before we part, - I swear to make your pardon the first boon - I’ll ask for or accept at the King’s hand. - Your name? - - _Lope._ However desperate, and ashamed - To tell it, you shall hear it—and my story. - Retire! - - (_To the Robbers, who exeunt._) - - Don Mendo, I am Lope, son - Of Lope de Urrea, of some desert, - At least in virtue of my blood. - - _Men._ Indeed! - Urrea and myself were, I assure you, - Intimate friends of old,—another tie, - If wanting one, to bind me to your service. - - _Lope._ I scarce can hope it, sir; if I, his son, - Have so disgraced him with my evil ways, - And so impoverisht him with my expenses, - Were you his friend, you scarcely can be mine. - And yet, were I to tell you all, perhaps - I were not all to blame. - - _Men._ Come, tell me all; - ’Tis fit that I should hear it. - - _Viol._ I begin - To breathe again. - - _Lope._ Then listen, sir. My father in his youth, - As you perhaps may know, but _why_ I know not, - Held off from marriage; till, bethinking him, - Or warn’d by others, what a shame it were - So proud a name should die for want of wearer, - In his late years he took to wife a lady - Of blameless reputation, and descent - As noble as his own, but so unequal - In years, that she had scarcely told fifteen - When age his head had whiten’d with such snows - As froze his better judgment. - - _Men._ Ay, I know - Too well—too well! (_Aside._) - - _Lope._ Long she repell’d his suit, - Feeling how ill ill-sorted years agree; - But, at the last, before her father’s will - She sacrificed her own. Oh sacrifice - That little lacks of slaughter! So, my father - Averse from wedlock’s self, and she from him, - Think what a wedlock this must be, and what - The issue that was like to come of it! - While other sons cement their parents’ love, - My birth made but a wider breach in mine, - Just in proportion as my mother loved - Her boy, my father hated him—yes, hated, - Even when I was lisping at his knees - That little language charms all fathers’ hearts. - Neglecting me himself, as I grew up - He neither taught, nor got me taught, to curb - A violent nature, which by love or lash - May even be corrected in a wolf: - Till, as I grew, and found myself at large, - Spoilt both by mother’s love and father’s hate - I took to evil company, gave rein - To every passion as it rose within, - Wine, dice, and women—what a precipice - To build the fabric of a life upon! - Which, when my father - Saw tottering to its fall, he strove to train - The tree that he had suffer’d to take root - In vice, and grow up crooked—all too late! - Though not revolting to be ruled by him, - I could not rule myself. And so we lived - Both in one house, but wholly apart in soul, - Only alike in being equally - My mother’s misery. Alas, my mother! - My heart is with her still! Why, think, Don Mendo, - That, would she see me, I must creep at night - Muffled, a tip-toe, like a thief, to her, - Lest he should know of it! Why, what a thing - That such a holy face as filial love - Must wear the mask of theft! But to sum up - The story of my sorrows and my sins - That have made me a criminal, and him - Almost a beggar;— - In the full hey-day of my wilfulness - There lived a lady near, in whom methought - Those ancient enemies, wit, modesty, - And beauty, all were reconciled; to her, - Casting my coarser pleasures in the rear, - I did devote myself—first with mute signs, - Which by and by began to breathe in sighs, - And by and by in passionate words that love - Toss’d up all shapeless, but all glowing hot, - Up from my burning bosom, and which first - Upon her willing ears fell unreproved, - Then on her heart, which by degrees they wore - More than I used to say her senseless threshold - Wore by the nightly pressure of my feet. - She heard my story, pitied me - With her sweet eyes; and my unruly passion, - Flusht with the promise of first victory, - Push’d headlong to the last; not knowing, fool! - How in love’s world the shadow of disappointment - Exactly dogs the substance of success. - In fine, one night I stole into her house, - Into her chamber; and with every vow - Of marriage on my tongue; as easy then - To utter, as thereafter to forswear, - When in the very jewel I coveted - Very compliance seem’d to make a flaw - That made me careless of it when possess’d. - From day to day I put our marriage off - With false pretence, which she at last suspecting - Falsely continued seeming to believe, - Till she had got a brother to her side, - (A desperate man then out-law’d, like myself, - For homicide,) who, to avenge her shame, - With other two waylaid me on a night - When as before I unsuspectingly - Crept to her house; and set upon me so, - All three at once, I just had time to parry - Their thrusts, and draw a pistol, which till then - They had not seen, when— - - _Voices_ (_within_). Fly! Away! Away! - - _Enter VICENTE._ - - _Lope._ What is the matter now? - - _Vic._ Captain! - - _Lope._ Well, speak. - - _Vic._ We must be off; the lady’s retinue - Who fled have roused the soldiery, and with them - Are close upon our heels. We’ve not a moment. - - _Lope._ Then up the mountain! - - _Men._ Whither I will see - They shall not follow you; and take my word - I’ll not forget my promise. - - _Lope._ I accept it. - - _Men._ Only, before we part, give me some token, - The messenger I send may travel with - Safe through your people’s hands. - - _Lope_ (_giving a dagger_). This then. - - _Men._ A dagger? - An evil-omen’d pass-word. - - _Lope._ Ah, Don Mendo, - What has a wretched robber got to give - Unless some implement of death! And see, - The wicked weapon cannot reach your hand, - But it must bite its master’s. (_His hand bleeding._) - Ill-omen’d as you say! - - _Voices_ (_within_). Away! Away! - - _Vic._ They’re close upon us! - - _Viol._ O quick! begone! My life hangs on a thread - While yours is in this peril. - - _Lope._ That alone - Should make me fly to save it. Farewell, lady. - Farewell, Don Mendo. - - _Men. and Viol._ Farewell! - - _Lope._ What strange things - One sun between his rise and setting brings! - - [_Exit._ - - _Men._ Let us anticipate, and so detain - The soldiers. That one turn of Fortune’s wheel - Years of half-buried memory should reveal! - - _Viol._ Could I believe that crime should ever be - So amiable! How fancy with us plays, - And with one touch colours our future days! - - [_Exeunt severally._ - - -SCENE II.—_An Audience Hall in the Palace of PEDRO, King of Arragon._ - - _Enter DON LOPE DE URREA and DON GUILLEN._ - - _Guil._ Such bosom friends, sir, as from infancy - Your son and I have been, I were ashamed, - You being in such trouble, not to offer - My help and consolation. Tell me aught - That I can serve you in. - - _Urr._ Believe me, sir, - My heart most deeply thanks your courtesy. - When came you to the city? - - _Guil._ Yesterday, - From Naples. - - _Urr._ Naples? - - _Guil._ To advance a suit - I have in Arragon. - - _Urr._ I too am here - For some such purpose; to beseech the King - A boon I doubt that he will never grant. - - _Guil._ Ev’n now his Highness comes. - - _Enter KING PEDRO and Train._ - - _Urr._ So please your Majesty, listen to one, - Of whom already you have largely heard— - Don Lope de Urrea. - - _King._ Oh! Don Lope! - - _Urr._ I come not hither to repeat in words - The purport of so many past petitions, - My sorrows now put on a better face - Before your Highness’ presence. I beseech you - To hear me patiently. - - _King._ Speak, Urrea, speak! - - _Urr._ Speak if I can, whose sorrow rising still - Clouds its own utterance. My liege, my son, - Don Lope, loved a lady here; seduced her - By no feign’d vows of marriage, but compell’d - By me, who would not listen to a suit - Without my leave contracted, put it off - From day to day, until the lady, tired - Of a delay that argued treachery, - Engaged her brother in the quarrel; who - With two companions set upon my son - One night to murder him. The lad, whose metal - Would never brook affront, nor cared for odds, - Drew on all three; slew one—a homicide - That nature’s common law of self-defence - Permits. The others fled, and set on him - The officers of justice, one of whom - In his escape he struck— - A self-defence against your laws I own - Not so to be excused—then fled himself - Up to the mountains. I must needs confess - He better had deserved an after-pardon - By lawful service in your camp abroad - Than aggravating old offence at home, - By lawless plunder; but your Highness knows - It is an ancient law of honour here - In Arragon, that none of noble blood - In mortal quarrel quit his native ground. - But to return. The woman, twice aggrieved, - Her honour and her brother lost at once, - (For him it was my son slew of the three,) - Now seeks to bring her sorrows into port: - And pitying my grey hairs and misery, - Consents to acquit my son on either count, - Providing I supply her wherewithal - To hide her shame within some holy house; - Which, straiten’d as I am, (that, by my troth, - I scarce, my liege, can find my daily bread,) - I have engaged to do; not only this, - But, in addition to the sum in hand, - A yearly income—which to do, I now - Am crept into my house’s poorest rooms, - And, (to such straits may come nobility!) - Have let for hire what should become my rank - And dignity to an old friend, Don Mendo - Torellas, who I hear returns to-day - To Saragossa. It remains, my liege, - That, being by the plaintiff’s self absolved, - My son your royal pardon only needs; - Which if not he nor I merit ourselves, - Yet let the merits of a long ancestry, - Who swell your glorious annals with their names - Writ in their blood, plead for us not in vain; - Pity the snows of age that misery - Now thaws in torrents from my eyes; yet more, - Pity a noble lady—my wife—his mother— - Who sits bow’d down with sorrow and disgrace - In her starved house. - - _King._ This is a case, Don Lope, - For my Chief Justice, not for me. - - _Urr._ Alas! - How little hope has he who, looking up - To dove-eyed mercy, sees but in her place - Severely-sworded justice! - - _King._ Is ’t not fit - That the tribunal which arraign’d the crime - Pronounce the pardon also? - - _Urr._ Were it so, - I know not where to look for that tribunal, - Or only find it speechless, since the death - Of Don Alfonso. - - _King._ His successor’s name - This day will be announced to Arragon. - - _Urr._ Yet let a father’s tears— - - _King._ They might indeed - The marble heart of justice make to bleed. - - [_Exeunt KING, DON GUILLEN, and Train._ - - _Urr._ And thus to satisfy the exigence - Of public estimation, one is forced - To sacrifice entreaty and estate - For an ill son. - Yet had but this petition been inflamed - With love, that love of his had lit in me, - My prayer had surely prosper’d. But ’tis done, - Fruitless or not: _well_ done, for Blanca’s sake; - Poor Blanca, though indeed she knows it not, - And scarcely would believe it— - But who comes here?—the friend of better days, - Don Mendo! I would hide me from his eye, - But, oh indignity, his ancient friend, - Equal in birth and honour to himself, - Must now, reduced to ’t by a shameless son, - Become his tavern-keeper! For the present - I may hold back—the King too! come to meet - And do him honour. - - _Enter, meeting, KING, with Train, and DON MENDO._ - - _Men._ My royal master, let me at your feet - Now and for ever— - - _King._ Rise, Don Mendo, rise, - Chief Justice of all Arragon. - - _Men._ My liege, - How shall I rise with such a weight of honour - And solemnest responsibility, - As you have laid upon my neck! - - _King._ ’Tis long - Since we have met. How fare you? - - _Men._ How but well, - On whom your royal favour shines so fair! - - _King._ Enough. You must be weary. For to-day - Go rest yourself, Chief Justice. And to-morrow - We’ll talk together. I have much to tell, - And much to ask of you. - - _Men._ Your Highness knows - How all my powers are at your sole command, - And only well employ’d in doing it. - - [_Exit KING with Train._ - - _Urr._ If it be true that true nobility - Slowly forgets what once it has esteem’d, - I think Don Mendo will not turn away - From Lope de Urrea. - - _Men._ My old friend! - I must forget myself, as well as honour, - When I forget the debt I owe your love. - - _Urr._ For old acquaintance then I kiss your hand; - And on two other counts. First, as your host, - You know, on your arrival; be assured - That I shall do my best to entertain you: - And, secondly, congratulating you - On your new dignity, which you hardly don - Before I am your suitor. - - _Men._ Oh Don Lope, - How gladly shall I serve you! - - _Urr._ This memorial - I had presented to the King, and he - Referr’d to his Chief Justice. - - _Men._ Oh trust to me, - And to my loyal friendship in the cause. - - _Urr._ A son of mine, Don Mendo,— - - _Men._ Nay, no more— - I am apprized of all. - - _Urr._ I know that men - Think my heart harden’d toward my only son. - It might have been so; not, though, till my son’s - Was flint to me. O Mendo, by his means - My peace of mind, estate, and good repute - Are gone for ever! - - _Men._ Nay, be comforted: - I fill a post where friendship well can grant - What friendship fairly asks. Think from this hour - That all is ended. Not for your sake only, - But for your son’s; to whom (you soon shall hear - The whole strange history) I owe my life, - And sure shall not be slack to save his own. - All will be well. Come, let us to your house, - Whither, on coming to salute the King, - I sent my daughter forward. - - _Urr._ I rejoice - To think how my poor Blanca will rejoice - To do her honour. You remember Blanca? - - _Men._ Remember her indeed, and shall delight - To see her once again. (_Aside._) O lying tongue, - To say so, when the heart beneath would fain - We had not met, or might not meet again! - - -SCENE III.—_A Room in URREA’S House._ - - _Enter BLANCA and VIOLANTE in travelling dress, meeting._ - - _Blan._ How happy am I that so fair a guest - Honours my house by making it her own, - And me her servant! - To welcome and to wait on Violante - I have thus far intruded. - - _Viol._ Nay, Donna Blanca, - Mine is the honour and the happiness, - Who, coming thus to Arragon a stranger, - Find such a home and hostess. Pardon me - That I detain you in this ante-room, - My own not ready yet. - - _Blan._ You come indeed - Before your people look’d for you. - - _Viol._ But not - Before my wishes, lady, I assure you: - Not minding on the mountains to encounter - Another such a risk. - - _Blan._ There was a first then? - - _Viol._ So great that I assure you—and too truly, (_aside_)— - My heart yet beats with it. - - _Blan._ How was ’t? - - _Viol._ Why, thus: - In wishing to escape the noon-day sun, - That seem’d to make both air and land breathe fire, - I lighted from my litter in a spot - That one might almost think the flowers had chosen - To tourney in, so green and smooth the sward - On which they did oppose their varied crests, - So fortified above with closing leaves, - And all encompass’d by a babbling stream. - There we sat down to rest; when suddenly - A company of robbers broke upon us, - And would have done their worst, had not as suddenly - A young and gallant gentleman, their captain, - Arrested them, and kindly—but how now? - Why weep you, Donna Blanca? - - _Blan._ Weeping, yes, - My sorrows with your own—But to your tale. - - _Viol._ Nay, why should I pursue it if my trouble - Awake the memory of yours? - - _Blan._ Your father, - Saw he this youth, this robber cavalier - Who graced disgrace so handsomely? - - _Viol._ Indeed, - And owes his life and honour to him. - - _Blan._ Oh! - He had aton’d for many a foregone crime - By adding that one more! But I talk wild; - Pardon me, Violante. - I have an anguish ever in my breast - At times will rise, and sting me into madness; - Perhaps you will not wonder when you hear - This robber was my son, my only son, - Whose wicked ways have driv’n him where he is, - From home, and law, and love! - - _Viol._ Forgive me, lady, - I mind me now—he told us— - But I was too confused and terrified - To heed to names. Else credit me— - - _Enter URREA and MENDO._ - - _Urr._ Largess! a largess, wife! for bringing you - Joy and good fortune to our house, from which - They have so long been banisht. - - _Blan._ Long indeed! - - _Urr._ So long, methinks, that coming all at once - They make me lose my manners. (_To VIOLANTE._) This fair hand - Must, as I think it will, my pardon sign; - Inheriting such faculty. Oh, Blanca, - I must not let one ignorant moment slip— - You know not half our joy. - Don Mendo, my old friend, and our now guest, - Graced at the very threshold by the King - With the Chief-Justiceship of Arragon, - Points his stern office with an act of mercy, - By pardoning your Lope—whom we now - Shall have once more with us, I trust, for ever. - Oh join with me in thanking him! - - _Blan._ I am glad, - Don Mendo, that we meet under a roof - Where I can do you honour. For my son, - I must suppose from what your daughter says, - You would, without our further prayer or thanks, - Have done as you have done. - - _Mend._ Too true—I know— - And you still better, lady—that, all done, - I am your debtor still. - - _Enter ELVIRA._ - - _Elv._ Madam, your room is ready. - - _Viol._ May I then - Retire? - - _Blan._ If I may wait upon you thither. - - _Urr._ Nay, nay, ’tis I that as a grey-hair’d page - Must do that office. - - _Mend._ Granted, on condition - That I may do as much for Donna Blanca. - - _Viol._ As master of the house, I must submit - Without condition. - - [_Exeunt VIOLANTE and URREA._ - - _Blan._ You were going, sir?— - - _Mend._ To wait upon you, Blanca. - - _Blan._ Nay, Don Mendo, - Least need of that. - - _Mend._ Oh, Blanca, Heaven knows - How much I have desired to talk with you! - - _Blan._ And to what purpose, sir? - No longer in your power—perhaps, nor will— - To do as well as talk. - - _Mend._ If but to say - How to my heart it goes seeing you still - As sad as when I left you years ago. - - _Blan._ ‘As sad?—as when you left me years ago’— - I understand you not—am not aware - I ever saw you till to-day. - - _Mend._ Ah, Blanca, - Have pity! - - _Blan._ Nay, Don Mendo, let us cease - A conversation, uselessly begun, - To end in nothing. If your memory, - Out of some dreamt-of fragments of the past, - Attach to me, the past is dead in time; - Let it be buried in oblivion. - - _Mend._ Oh, with what courage, Blanca, do you wield - Your ready woman’s wit! - - _Blan._ I know not why - You should say that. - - _Mend._ But _I_ know. - - _Blan._ If ’t be so, - Agree with me to say no more of it. - - _Mend._ But how? - - _Blan._ By simple silence. - - _Mend._ How be silent - Under such pain? - - _Blan._ By simple suffering. - - _Mend._ Oh, Blanca, how learn that? - - _Blan._ Of me—and thus. - Beatrice! - - _Enter BEATRICE._ - - _Beat._ Madam? - - _Blan._ Light Don Mendo to - His chamber. Thus be further trouble sped. - - _Mend._ Nay, rather coals of fire heap’d on my head! - - [_Exeunt severally._ - - - - -ACT II - - -SCENE I.—_A Room in URREA’S House._ - - _Enter URREA and BLANCA on one side, and LOPE and VICENTE - on the other._ - - _Lope._ Thrice blessed be the day, that brings me back - In all humility and love, my father, - To kiss your feet once more. - - _Urr._ Rise up, my son, - As welcome to your parents as long lookt for. - Rise and embrace me. - - _Lope._ Till I have your hand - I scarcely dare. - - _Urr._ Then take it, Lope—there— - And may God make thee virtuous as thy father - Can pray for thee. Thy mother too— - - _Lope._ O madam, - I scarcely dare with anguish and repentance - Lift up my eyes to those I have made weep - So many bitter tears— - - _Blan._ You see, my son, - You keep them weeping still—not bitter tears, - But tears of joy—Oh, welcome home again! - - _Vic._ Where is there any room for a poor devil - Who has done penance upon rock and water - This many a day, and much repents him of - His former sins? - - _Urr._ What you alive too? - - _Vic._ Yes, sir, - This saddle’s pad, (_showing LOPE_,) or, if you like, the beast - That bears the saddle—or, by another rule,— - That where the cat jumps also goes her tail. - - _Lope_ (_to his father_). You see, sir, in such godly company - I must repent. - - _Vic._ Why, devil take ’t— - - _Urr._ What, swearing? - - _Vic._ But some poor relic of our former life - That yet will stick. Madam, permit me, - If not to kiss your hand, nor ev’n your feet, - At least the happy ground on which they walk. - - _Blan._ Rise, rise. How can I less than welcome one - Who has so loyally stood by my son, - Through evil and through good. - - _Vic._ A monument - As one might say, madam, _ad perpetuam_ - _Fidelis Amicitiæ Memoriam_. - - _Enter BEATRICE._ - - _Beat._ What! is my master home? Then, by the saints, - Saving your presence, and before your faces, - I must embrace him. - - _Lope._ Thanks, good Beatrice. - - _Urr._ You see how all rejoice to see you, Lope, - But none so more than I; believe ’t. But now - ’Tis time you wait on Mendo, and acknowledge - The kindness he has done us. See, Beatrice, - If he be in his room, or busy there. - - [_Exit BEATRICE._ - - Meanwhile, my son, I crave one patient hearing - To what I have to say. - - _Vic._ Now for a lecture. - - _Lope._ Silence, sir! Coming here, we must expect - And bear such things. Pray speak, sir. - - _Urr._ You see, Lope, - (And doubtless must have heard of it before,) - In what a plight we are: my property, - What yet remains of it, embroil’d and hamper’d, - And all so little, that this last expense, - Of getting (as I have) your Estifania, - Who has already cost us all so much, - Into a convent; to do this, I say, - I have been forced to let my house for hire - To my old friend; yea, almost, I assure you, - To beg from door to door. Enough of that: - ’Tis done; and you are now at last restor’d - To home, and station—wealth I cannot say— - But all is well that ends well. All I ask, - (And ’tis with tears and with a broken voice - I ask it: I would ask it on my knees - If these white hairs forbade not such descent,) - That from this day, in pity to us all— - Perhaps in gratitude—you would repent - Your past excess; yea, surfeited with that, - Would henceforth tame your headlong passions down - Into a quiet current. Help me, son, - Restore the shaken credit of our house, - And show—let us _both_ show—that misery - Has taught us not in vain. Let us be friends - Henceforth; no rivalry of love or hate - Between us; each doing what in him lies - To make what may remain of life to each - Happy and honourable. On my part - I stake a father’s love and tenderness; - And will not you as freely on your side - Wager your filial obedience? - Your father asks, implores you. Oh, consider - You may not always have a friend in need - To rescue you as now: nay, disappoint - His mercy and again provoke the laws - He now remits, that friend may turn to foe - And sacrifice the life he vainly spared. - - _Vic._ There only wants, ‘in sæcula sæculorum,’ - To finish off with. - - _Lope._ Sir, I promise you - Amendment, that shall make the past a foil - To set the future off. - - _Enter MENDO._ - - _Men._ I come in time - To vouch fulfilment of so fair a vow. - - _Lope._ Oh, sir— - - _Men._ I knew you on your road to me; - Your errand too; and thus much have forestall’d - Of needless courtesy. - - _Lope._ Pray God, reward you - With such advancement in your prince’s love - As envy, the court Hydra, shall not hiss, - But general love and acclamation - Write in gold letters in our history, - For ages and for ages. Sir, your hand! - - _Men._ My heart, my heart, you shame me by your thanks, - For service that the veriest churl had paid - For what you did me, Lope. - Why, I’m your debtor still. But now, enough! - I cannot steal more time from business; - The King expects me. - - _Urr._ I too must abroad. - - _Lope._ Would I could wait on both—but, as it is, - I think my father’s self would waive his right, - In favour of our common benefactor. - - _Urr._ Indeed, indeed, I do rejoice you should. - - [_Exit with BLANCA._ - - _Men._ And I, not knowing if your choice be right, - Know that I would not lose you for a moment, - So glad your presence makes me. - - [_Exit with LOPE._ - -_Vic._[5] Beatrice! Beatrice! - -_Beat._ Well? - -_Vic._ Think you not, now that our principals are fairly out of the way, -you owe me a kiss on my arrival? - -_Beat._ Ay, hot from the oven. - -_Vic._ Ah Beatrice! if you only knew what heartaches you’ve cost me. - -_Beat._ You indeed, robbing and murdering, and I don’t know what beside, -up in the mountains! and then my new madam that’s come with you, Donna -Violante; with her fine Elvira—I know, sir, when your master was courting -his mistress, you— - -_Vic._ Now, my own Beatrice, if you could only know what you are talking -of as well as I, how little jealousy could such a creature as that give -you! - -_Beat._ Well—but why? - -_Vic._ Not a woman at all, neither maid nor mermaid—Why, didn’t I catch -her with all those fine locks of hers clean off her head? - -_Beat._ Clean off her head? - -_Vic._ The woman’s bald. - -_Beat._ Bald? - -_Vic._ As my hand! besides, all the fine white _chevaux-de-frise_ that -ornaments her gums. - -_Beat._ Well? - -_Vic._ All sham. - -_Beat._ What, my fine madam there false teeth? - -_Vic._ Oh, and half a dozen villainous things I could tell you, did it -become a gentleman to tell tales of ladies. But see, here is master -coming back. - -_Beat._ Good-bye then, for the present, Vicente. False teeth and a wig! - - [_Exit._ - - _Enter DON LOPE._ - -_Lope._ Vicente, have you by any chance seen Violante? - -_Vic._ Not that I know of, sir; she may however have passed without my -knowing her. - -_Lope._ Vicente still! As if it were possible one who had once seen such -beauty could ever forget it. - -_Vic._ Why, sir, if her maid Elvira happened to be by her side— - -_Lope._ Fool! - -_Vic._ Pray is it impossible in the system of things that the maid should -be handsomer than the mistress? - -_Lope._ Oh could I but see her! - -_Vic._ Take care, take care, sir. Beware of raising the old devil—and -now we are but just out of the frying-pan— - -_Lope._ Beware _you_, sir! I tell you I ill liked my father’s lecture; -do not you read me another. It were best that no one crossed me, or by -heaven!—But who comes here? - -_Vic._ Don Guillen de Azagra. - - _Enter DON GUILLEN._ - - _Lope._ What? - Ask what reward you will of me, Vicente. - Don Guillen de Azagra back again! - - _Guil._ And could not wait a moment, hearing you - Were also back, Don Lope, till I found you, - As well to give you welcome as receive it. - - _Lope._ Our old affection asks for nothing less - On both sides. Oh, you are welcome! - - _Guil._ Well can he come, who comes half dead between - Dead hope and quickening passion! - - _Lope._ How is that? - - _Guil._ Why, you remember how three years ago - I went to Naples—to the wars there? - - _Lope._ Yes, - We parted, I remember, sadly enough - On both sides, in the Plaza del Aseo; - Unconsciously divining the sad days - That were about to dawn on one of us. - - _Guil._ Nay, upon both. I am no stranger, Lope, - To your misfortunes; and Heaven knows I felt them! - But they are over, Heaven be thankt! mine yet - Are sadly acting. You can help me now, - If not to conquer, to relieve them. - - _Lope._ Ay, - And will strain every nerve for you. But first - Must hear your story. - - _Guil._ Well—I went to Naples, - Where, as you know, our King by force of arms - Was eager to revenge the shameful death - Of Norandino, whom the King of Naples - Had on the scaffold treacherously murder’d. - Of which, and Naples too, I say no more - Than this; that, entering the city, - I saw a lady in whom the universe - Of beauty seem’d to centre; as it might be - The sun’s whole light into a single beam, - The heavenly dawn into one drop of dew, - Or the whole breathing spring into one rose. - You will believe I loved not without cause, - When you have heard the lady that I speak of - Is— - - _Vic._ Donna Violante - - _Lope._ Knave and fool! - -_Vic._ Why so, sir! only for telling you I saw the lady coming this way; -but, I suppose, seeing people here, she has turned back. - -_Lope._ Will you retire awhile, Don Guillen? this lady is my father’s -guest. - -_Guil._ (_aside_). Beside, she might be angry finding me here. - - [_Exit._ - -_Lope._ ’Fore Heaven, my mind misgave me it was she he spoke of! - -_Vic._ Well, you have got the weather-gage. Tackle her now. - - _Enter VIOLANTE and ELVIRA._ - - _Lope._ Nay, lady, turn not back. What you, the sun - I see by, to abridge my little day - By enviously returning to the west - As soon as risen, and prematurely drawing - The veil of night over the blush of dawn! - Oh, let me not believe I fright you now, - As yesterday I did, fair Violante, - Arm’d among savage rocks with savage men, - From whose rude company your eyes alone - Have charm’d me, and subdued for the first time - A fierce, unbridled will. - - _Viol._ It were not strange, - Don Lope, if my bosom trembled still - With that first apparition. But in truth - I had not hesitated, - Had I not seen, or fancied, at your side - Another stranger. - - _Lope._ Oh, a friend; and one - Who spoke with me of _you_; nay, who retired - Only for fear of drawing new disdain - Upon old love: and left me here indeed, - To speak in his behalf. - - _Viol._ Alas, Elvira, - Was ’t not Don Guillen? - - _Elv._ Yes. - - _Viol._ Don Lope plead - Another’s, and Don Guillen’s love! - - (_She is going._) - - _Lope._ At least - Let me attend you to my mother’s door. - - _Viol._ Nay, stay, sir. - - _Lope._ Stay! and lose my life in losing - This happy opportunity! - - _Viol._ Are life - And opportunity the same? - - _Lope._ So far, - That neither lost ever returns again. - - _Viol._ If you have aught to tell me, tell it here - Before I go. - - _Lope._ Only to ask if you - Confess yourself no debtor to a heart - That long has sigh’d for you? - - _Viol._ You, sir, are then - Pleading another’s cause? - - _Lope._ I might be shy - To plead in my own person—a reserve - That love oft feels—and pardons. - - _Viol._ ’Tis in vain. - I will not own to an account of sighs - Drawn up against me without my consent; - So tell your friend; and tell him he mistakes - The way to payment making you, of all, - His agent in the cause. - - _Lope._ Nay, nay, but wait. - - _Viol._ No more—Adieu! - - [_Exit._ - - _Lope._ She thought I only used - Another’s suit as cover to my own, - And cunningly my seeming cunning turns - Against myself. But I will after her; - If Don Guillen come back, tell him, Vicente, - I’ll wait upon him straight. - - [_Exit._ - -_Vic._ Madam Elvira! - -_Elv._ Well, Monsieur Cut-throat? - -_Vic._ Well, you are not scared at my face now? - -_Elv._ I don’t know that—your face remains as it was. - -_Vic._ Come, come, my queen, do me a little favour. - -_Elv._ Well, what is that? - -_Vic._ Just only die for love of me; I always make a point of never -asking impossibilities of any woman. - -_Elv._ Love is out of the question! I perhaps might _like_ you, did I -not know the lengths you go with that monkey Beatrice. - -_Vic._ With whom? - -_Elv._ I say with Beatrice. Bystanders see as much, sir, as players. - -_Vic._ I with Beatrice! Lord! lord! if you only knew half what I know, -Elvira, you’d not be jealous of her. - -_Elv._ Why, what do you know of her? - -_Vic._ A woman who, could she breed at all, would breed foxes and -stoats—a tolerable outside, but only, only go near her—Foh! such a -breath! beside other peculiarities I don’t mention out of respect to the -sex. But this I tell you, one of those sparkling eyes of hers is glass, -and her right leg a wooden one. - -_Elv._ Nonsense! - -_Vic._ Only you look, and, see if she don’t limp on one side, and squint -on the other. - -_Don Guillen_ (_entering at one side_). I can wait no longer. - -_Don Lope_ (_entering at the other_). It is no use; she is shut up with -my mother. Now for Don Guillen. - -_Elv._ They are back. - -_Vic._ We’ll settle our little matter by and by. - -_Elv._ Glass eyes and wooden legs! - - [_Exit._ - - _Lope_ (_To DON GUILLEN_). Forgive my leaving you so long; I have been - Waiting on one who is my father’s guest, - The lady Violante. - - _Guil._ So sweet duty - Needs no excuse. - - _Lope._ Now to pursue your story— - - _Guil._ Ah—where did I leave off? - - _Lope._ About the truce - Making at Naples, when you saw a lady— - - _Guil._ Ay, but I must remember one thing, Lope, - Most memorable of all. The ambassador - Empower’d to treat on our good King’s behalf - Was Mendo de Torellas, whose great wisdom - And justice, both grown grey in state affairs, - Well fitted him for such authority; - Which telling you, and telling you beside, - That when the treaty made, and he left Naples, - I left it too, still following in his wake - The track of a fair star who went with him - To Saragossa, to this very house— - Telling you this, I tell you all—tell who - My lady is—his daughter—Violante, - Before whose shrine my life and soul together - Are but poor offerings to consecrate. - - _Vic._ (_aside_). A pretty market we have brought our pigs to! - Who’ll bet upon the winner? - - _Lope._ (_aside_). Oh confusion! - But let us drain the cup at once.—Don Guillen, - Your admiration and devotedness - Needed the addition of no name to point - Their object out. But tell me, - Ere I advise with you, how far your prayer - Is answer’d by your deity. - - _Guil._ Alas! - Two words will tell— - - _Lope._ And those? - - _Guil._ Love unreturn’d! - Or worse, return’d with hate. - - _Vic._ (_aside_). Come, that looks better. - - _Guil._ My love for her has now no hope, Don Lope, - But in your love for me. She is your guest, - And I as such, beside my joy in you, - May catch a ray of her—may win you even - To plead for me in such another strain - As has not yet wearied her ears in vain; - Or might you not ev’n now, as she returns, - Give her a letter from me; lest if first - She see, or hear from others of my coming, - She may condemn my zeal for persecution, - And make it matter of renew’d disdain. - I’ll write the letter now, and bring it you - Ere she be back. - - [_Exit._ - - _Vic._ (_to LOPE_). Good-bye, sir. - - _Lope._ Whither now, - Vicente? - - _Vic._ To the mountains—I am sure - You’ll soon be after me. - - _Lope._ I understand— - But stay awhile. - True, I love Violante, and resent - Don Guillen’s rivalry: but he’s my friend— - Confides to me a passion myself own, - And cannot blame. - Wait we awhile, Vicente, and perhaps - A way will open through the labyrinth - Without our breaking through. - - _Vic._ How glad I am - To see you take ’t so patiently? Now, sir, - Would you be ruled— - - _Lope._ What then? - - _Vic._ Why simply, sir, - Forget the lady—but a few days’ flame, - And then— - - _Lope._ Impossible! - - _Vic._ What’s to be done then? - - _Lope._ I know not—But she comes. - - _Enter VIOLANTE._ - - _Viol._ Still here, Don Lope! - - _Lope._ Ah, what in nature will its centre leave, - Or, forced away, recoils not faster still? - So rivers yearn along their murmuring beds - Until they reach the sea; the pebble thrown - Ever so high, still faster falls to earth; - Wind follows wind, and not a flame struck out - Of heavy wood or flint, but it aspires - Upward at once and to its proper sphere. - - _Viol._ All good philosophy, could I but see - How to apply it here. - - _Lope._ And yet, how easy! - Your beauty being that to which my soul - Ever flies fastest, and most slowly leaves. - - _Viol._ Surely this sudden rapture scarce agrees - With what I heard before. - - _Lope._ How, Violante? - - _Viol._ Have you not haply changed parts in the farce, - And risen from second character to first? - - _Lope._ My second did not please you—come what will, - Casting feign’d speech and character aside, - I’ll e’en speak for myself in my own person. - Listen to me—Don Guillen— - - _Guil._ (_listening at the side_). Just a moment - To hear him plead my cause. - - _Lope._ Following your beauty, as a flower the sun, - Has come from Italy to Arragon, - And, as my friend, by me entreats of you - To let him plead his suit. - - _Guil._ Would I could stay - To hear the noble Lope plead my cause, - But summon’d hence— - - [_Exit._ - - _Viol._ Ill does your second part - Excuse your ill performance of the first; - One failure might be pardon’d, but two such - Are scarce to be excused. - - _Lope._ Oh, tell me then - Which chiefly needs apology! - - _Viol._ I will. - First for your friend Don Guillen; bid him cease - All compliment and courtship, knowing well - How all has been rejected hitherto, - And will hereafter, to the ruthless winds. - - _Lope._ And on the second count—my own? - - _Viol._ How easily - Out of his answer you may draw your own! - - _Lope._ Alas! - - _Viol._ For when the judge has to pronounce - Sentence on two defendants, like yourselves, - Whose charge is both alike, and bids the one - Report his condemnation to the other; - ’Tis plain— - - _Lope._ That both must suffer? - - _Viol._ Nay, if so - The judge had made one sentence serve for both. - - _Lope._ Great heavens! - - _Guil._ (_listening at the side_). The man dismiss’d, I’ll hear the - rest. - - _Viol._ Oh, let it be enough to tell you now - The heart that once indeed was adamant, - Resisting all impression—but at last - Ev’n adamant you know— - - _Guil._ Oh, she relents! - - _Lope._ Oh, let me kiss those white hands for those words! - - _Guil._ Excellent friend! he could not plead more warmly - Were ’t for himself. - - _Lope._ Oh for some little token - To vouch, when you have vanisht from my eyes, - That all was not a dream! - - _Viol._ (_giving him a rose_). This rose, whose hue - Is of the same that should my check imbue! - - [_Exit._ - - _Enter GUILLEN._ - - _Guil._ Oh how thrice welcome is my lady’s favour, - Sent to me by the hand of such a friend! - How but in such an attitude as this - Dare I receive it? (_Kneels._) - - _Lope._ Rise, Don Guillen, rise: - Flowers are but fading favours that a breath - Can change and wither. - - _Guil._ What mean you by this? - - _Lope._ Only that though the flower in my hands - Is fresh from Violante’s, I must tell you - It must not pass to yours. - - _Guil._ Did not I hear you - Pleading my cause? - - _Lope._ You might— - - _Guil._ And afterwards, - When I came back again, herself confess - That, marble as she had been to my vows, - She now relented tow’rd me! - - _Lope._ If you did, - ’Twould much disprove the listener’s adage. - - _Guil._ How? - - _Lope._ You set your ears to such a lucky tune, - As took in all the words that made for you, - But not the rest that did complete the measure. - - _Guil._ But did not Violante, when you urged her - In my behalf, say she relented? - - _Lope._ Yes. - - _Guil._ To whom then? - - _Lope._ To myself. - - _Vic._ The cat’s unbagg’d! - - _Guil._ To you! - - _Lope._ To me. - - _Guil._ Don Lope, you must see - That ev’n my friendship for you scarce can stomach - Such words—or credit them. - - _Lope._ Let him beware - Who doubts my words, stomach them as he can. - - _Guil._ But ’tis a jest: - Bearing my happy fortune in your hands, - You only, as old love has leave to do, - Tantalize ere you give it me. Enough, - Give me the rose. - - _Lope._ I cannot, being just - Given to me, and for me. - - _Guil._ His it is - Whose right it is, and that is mine; and I - Will have it. - - _Lope._ If you can. - - _Guil._ Then follow me, - Where (not in your own house) I may chastise - The friendship that must needs have play’d me false - One way or other. - - [_Exit._ - - _Lope._ Lead the way then, sir. - - _Enter hurriedly DONNA BLANCA and VIOLANTE - from opposite sides._ - - _Viol._ Don Lope, what is this? - - _Lope._ Nothing, Violante. - - _Viol._ I heard your angry voices in my room, - And could not help— - - _Blan._ And I too. O my son, - Scarce home with us, and all undone already! - Where are you going? - - _Lope._ No where; nothing; leave me. - - _Viol._ Tell me the quarrel—Oh! I dread to hear. - - _Lope._ What quarrel, lady? let me go: your fears - Deceive you. - - _Blan._ Lope, not an hour of peace - When you are here! - - _Lope._ Nay, madam, why accuse me, - Before you know the cause? - - _Enter URREA._ - - _Urr._ How now?—disputing? - Blanca and Violante too? What is it? - - _Blan._ Oh, nothing! (I must keep it from his father.) - Nothing—he quarrell’d with Vicente here, - And would have beat him—and we interposed; - Indeed, no more. - - _Vic._ The blame is sure to fall - Upon my shoulders. - - _Urr._ Is ’t not very strange, - Your disposition, Lope? never at peace - With others or yourself. - - _Lope._ ’Tis nothing, sir. - - _Vic._ He quarrell’d with me, sir, about some money - He thought he ought to have, and couldn’t find - In his breeches’ pocket. - - _Urr._ Go, go—get you gone, knave. - - _Vic._ Always fair words from you at any rate. (_Aside._) - - _Urr._ And for such trifles, Lope, you disturb - My house, affright your mother and her guest - With your mad passion. - - _Lope._ I can only, sir, - Answer such charge by silence, and retire.— - Now for Don Guillen. (_Aside._) - - [_Exit._ - - _Blan._ Oh let him not go! - - _Urr._ Why not? ’tis a good riddance. Violante, - You must excuse this most unseemly riot - Close to your chamber. My unruly son, - When his mad passion’s roused, neither respects - Person or place. - - _Viol._ Nay, sir, I pardon him. - And should, for I’m the cause! (_Aside._) - - _Blan._ Ah, wretched I, - Who by the very means I would prevent - His going forth, have oped the door to him. - - (_Noise within of swords, and the voices of - LOPE and GUILLEN fighting._) - - _Urr._ What noise is that again? - - _Enter ELVIRA._ - - _Elv._ ’Tis in the street. - - _Enter BEATRICE._ - - _Beat._ Oh, my young master fighting—run, sir, run! - - _Urr._ And ’tis for this I’ve sacrificed myself! - - _Enter fighting LOPE and GUILLEN; - Gentlemen and others trying to part them._ - - _Urr._ (_going between them_). Hold, Lope! Hold, - Don Guillen! - - _Voices._ Part them! part them! - - _Guil._ Traitor! - - _Lope._ Traitor!—I say that he’s the traitor - Whoever— - - _Urr._ Madman, can you not forbear - When your grey-headed father holds your sword! - - _Lope._ And in so doing robs me of the honour - I never got from him. - - _Urr._ Oh! ruffian! - But if this graceless son will not respect - His father, my white hairs appeal to you, - Don Guillen. - - _Guil._ And shall not appeal in vain— - Out of respect, sir, for your age and name, - And for these gentlemen who interpose, - I shall refer the issue of this quarrel - To other time and place. - - _Lope._ A good excuse - For fear to hide in. - - _Guil._ Fear! - - _Urr._ Madman! again! - That the respect his rival shows to me - Should make my son despise him. By these heavens - This staff shall teach you better. - - _Lope._ Strike me not! - Beware—beware! - - _Urr._ Why, art thou not ashamed— - - _Lope._ Yes, of respect for you that’s fear of me. - - _Guil._ Whoever says or thinks what I have done - Is out of fear of you, I say— - - _Urr._ He lies! - I’ll top your sentence for you. - - _Lope._ Then take thou - The answer! - - (_Strikes URREA, who falls: confusion._) - - _A voice._ What have you done? - - _Another._ Help, help! - - _Voices._ After him, after him!—the parricide! - - (_LOPE rushes out and the people after him._) - - _Guil._ I know not how to leave the poor old man— - Come, let me help you, sir. - - _Urr._ Parricide! - May outraged Heaven that has seen thy crime, - Witness my curse, and blast thee! Every sword - That every pious hand against thee draws, - Caught up into the glittering elements, - Turn thunderbolt, (as every weapon shall - Drawn in God’s cause,) and smite thee to the centre! - That sacrilegious hand which thou hast raised - Against this snow-white head—how shall it show - Before Heaven’s judgment bar; yea, how can Heaven - Ev’n now behold this deed, nor quench its sun, - Veil its pure infinite blue with awful cloud, - And with a terrified eclipse of things - Confound the air you breathe, the light you see, - The ground you walk on! - - _Guil._ Pray sir, compose yourself— - Your cloak—your staff— - - _Urr._ My staff! what use is that, - When it is steel that must avenge my wrong? - Yet give it me—fit instrument - Wherewith to chastise a rebellious child— - Ay, and he did not use his sword on me, - Mark that, nor I on him—give me my staff. - Alas, alas! and I with no strength left - To wield it, only as I halt along, - Feeling about with it to find a grave, - And knocking at deaf earth to let me in.[6] - - _Guil._ Nay, calm yourself, - The population of the place is up - After the criminal. - - _Urr._ And to what purpose? - They cannot wipe away my shame by that. - Let the whole city turn its myriad eyes - Upon me, and behold a man disgraced— - Disgraced by him to whom he gave a being. - I say, behold me all—the wretched man - By his own flesh and blood insulted, and - On his own flesh and blood crying Revenge! - Revenge! revenge! revenge! - Not to the heavens only, nor to Him - Who sits in judgment there, do I appeal, - But to the powers of earth. Give me my hat, - I’ll to the King forthwith. - - _Vic._ Consider, sir; - You would not enter in the palace gates - So suddenly, and in this plight? - - _Urr._ Why not, - Whose voice should over-leap the firmament, - And without any preparation enter - The palace-doors of God— - King Pedro! King of Arragon! Christian king! - Whom fools the Cruel call, and Just the wise, - I call on you, King Pedro[7]— - - _King_ (_entering with MENDO and Train_). Who calls the King? - - _Urr._ A wretch who, falling at your feet, implores - Your royal justice. - - _King._ I remember you; - Don Lope de Urrea, whose son I pardon’d. - What would you of me? - - _Urr._ That you would, my King, - Unpardon him you pardon’d; draw on him - The disappointed sword of justice down. - That son—_my_ son—if he indeed be mine— - (Oh, Blanca, pure as the first blush of day, - Pardon me such a word!) has, after all - My pain and sacrifice in his behalf; - Has, in defiance of the laws of man - And God, and of that great commandment, which, - Though fourth on the two tables, yet comes first - After God’s jealous honour is secured, - Has struck me—struck his father—in a fray - Wherein that father tried to save his life. - I have no vindication; _will_ have none, - But at your hands and by your laws; unless, - If you deny me that, I do appeal - Unto the King of kings to do me justice; - Which I will have, that heaven and earth may know - How a bad son begets a ruthless sire! - - _King._ Mendo! - - _Men._ My liege. - - _King._ I must again refer - This cause to you. (_To URREA._) Where is your son? - - _Urr._ Fled! fled! - - _King_ (_to MENDO_). After him then, use all the powers I own - To bring the wretch to justice. See me not - Till that be done. - - _Men._ I’ll do my best, my liege. - - _King._ I have it most at heart. In all the rolls - Of history, I know of no like quarrel: - And the first judgment on it shall be done - By the Fourth Pedro, King of Arragon. - - [_Exeunt severally._ - - - - -ACT III - - -SCENE I.—_A Wild Place._ - - _Enter MENDO and Officers of Justice armed._ - -_1st Officer._ Here, my lord, where the Ebro, swollen with her mountain -streams, runs swiftest, he will try to escape. - -_Men._ Hunt for him then, leaving neither rock nor thicket unexplored. -(_They disperse._) - - Oh, what a fate is mine, - Having to seek what most I dread to find, - Once thought the curse of jealousy alone! - The iron King will see my face no more - Unless I bring Don Lope to his feet: - Whom, on the other hand, the gratitude - And love I bear him fain would save from justice. - Oh, how— - - _Enter some, fighting with DON LOPE._ - - _Lope._ I know I cannot save my life, - But I will sell it dear. - - _Men._ Hold off! the King - Will have him taken, but not slain. And I, - If I can save him now, shall find a mean - To do it afterwards— - Don Lope! - - _Lope._ I should know that voice, the face - I cannot, blind with fury, dust, and blood. - Or was ’t the echo of some inner voice, - Some far off thunder of the memory, - That moves me more than all these fellows’ swords? - Is it Don Mendo? - - _Men._ Who demands of you - Your sword, and that you yield in the King’s name. - - _Lope._ I yield? - - _Men._ Ay, sir, what can you do beside? - - _Lope._ Slaying be slain. And yet my heart relents - Before your voice; and now I see your face - My eyes dissolve in tears. Why, how is this? - What charm is on my sword? - - _Men._ ’Tis but the effect - And countenance of justice that inspires - Involuntary awe in the offender. - - _Lope._ Not that. Delinquent as I am, I could, - With no more awe of justice than a mad dog, - Bite right and left among her officers; - But ’tis yourself alone: to you alone - Do I submit myself; yield up my sword - Already running with your people’s blood, - And at your feet— - - _Men._ Rise, Lope. Heaven knows - How gladly would your judge change place with you - The criminal; far happier to endure - Your peril than my own anxiety. - But do not you despair, however stern - Tow’rds you I carry me before the world. - The King is so enraged— - - _Lope._ What, he has heard! - - _Men._ Your father cried for vengeance at his feet. - - _Lope._ Where is my sword? - - _Men._ In vain. ’Tis in my hand. - - _Lope._ Where somehow it affrights me—as before - When giving you my dagger, it turn’d on me - With my own blood. - - _Mendo._ Ho there! - Cover Don Lope’s face, and carry him - To prison after me. (_Aside._) Hark, in your ear, - Conduct him swiftly, and with all secrecy, - To my own house—in by the private door, - Without his knowing whither, - And bid my people watch and wait on him. - I’ll to the King—Alas, what agony, - I know not what, grows on me more and more! - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE II.—_A Room in the Palace._ - - _Enter KING._ - - _King._ Don Mendo comes not back, and must not come, - Till he have done his errand. I myself - Can have no rest till justice have her due. - A son to strike his father in my realm - Unawed, and then unpunisht! - But by great Heaven the law shall be avenged - So long as I shall reign in Arragon. - Don Mendo! - - _Enter MENDO._ - - _Mendo._ Let me kiss your Highness’ hand. - - _King._ Welcome, thou other Atlas of my realm, - Who sharest the weight with me. For I doubt not, - Coming thus readily into my presence, - You bring Don Lope with you. - - _Men._ Yes, my liege; - Fast prisoner in my house, that none may see - Or talk with him. - - _King._ Among your services - You have not done a better. - The crime is strange, ’tis fit the sentence on it - Be memorably just. - - _Men._ Most true, my liege, - Who I am sure will not be warp’d away - By the side current of a first report, - But on the whole broad stream of evidence - Move to conclusion. I do _know_ this charge - Is not so grave as was at first reported. - - _King._ But is not thus much clear—that a son smote - His father? - - _Men._ Yes, my liege. - - _King._ And can a charge - Be weightier? - - _Men._ I confess the naked fact, - But ’tis the special cause and circumstance - That give the special colour to the crime. - - _King._ I shall be glad to have my kingdom freed - From the dishonour of so foul a deed - By any extenuation. - - _Men._ Then I think - Your Majesty shall find it here. ’Tis thus: - Don Lope, on what ground I do not know, - Fights with Don Guillen—in the midst o’ the fray, - Comes old Urrea, at the very point - When Guillen was about to give the lie - To his opponent—which the old man, enraged - At such unseemly riot in his house, - Gives for him; calls his son a fouler name - Than gentleman can bear, and in the scuffle - Receives a blow that in his son’s blind rage - Was aim’d abroad—in the first heat of passion - Throws himself at your feet, and calls for vengeance, - Which, as I hear, he now repents him of. - He’s old and testy—age’s common fault— - And, were not this enough to lame swift justice, - There’s an old law in Arragon, my liege, - That in our courts father and son shall not - Be heard in evidence against each other; - In which provision I would fain persuade you - Bury this quarrel. - - _King._ And this seems just to you? - - _Men._ It does, my liege. - - _King._ Then not to me, Don Mendo, - Who will examine, sentence, and record, - Whether in such a scandal to the realm - The son be guilty of impiety, - Or the sire idle to accuse him of ’t. - Therefore I charge you have Urrea too - From home to-night, and guarded close alone; - It much imports the business. - - _Men._ I will, my liege. - - [_Exeunt severally._ - - -SCENE III.—_A Corridor in URREA’S House, with three doors in front._ - - _Enter from a side door VIOLANTE and ELVIRA._ - -_Viol._ Ask me no more, Elvira; I cannot answer when my thoughts are all -locked up where Lope lies. - -_Elv._ And know you where that is? Nearer than you think; there, in my -lord your father’s room. - -_Viol._ There! Oh, could I but save him! - -_Elv._ You can at least comfort him. - -_Viol._ Something must be done. Either I will save his life, Elvira, or -die with him. Have you the key? - -_Elv._ I have one; my lord has the master-key. - -_Viol._ Yours will do, give it me. I am desperate, Elvira, and in his -danger drown my maiden shame; see him I will at least. Do you rest here -and give me a warning if a footstep come. (_She enters centre door._) - - -SCENE IV.—_An inner Chamber in URREA’S House._ - -_LOPE discovered._ - - _Lope._ Whither then have they brought me? Ah, Violante, - Your beauty costs me dear! And even now - I count the little I have yet to live - Minute by minute, like one last sweet draught, - But for your sake. Nay, ’tis not life I care for, - But only Violante. - - _Violante_ (_entering unseen_). Oh, his face - Is bathed in his own blood; he has been wounded. - Don Lope! - - _Lope._ Who is it calls on a name - I thought all tongues had buried in its shame? - - _Viol._ One who yet—pities you. - - _Lope_ (_turning and seeing her_). Am I then dead, - And thou some living spirit come to meet me - Upon the threshold of another world; - Or some dead image that my living brain - Draws from remembrance on the viewless air, - And gives the voice I love to? Oh, being here, - Whatever thou may’st be, torment me not - By vanishing at once. - - _Viol._ No spirit, Lope, - And no delusive image of the brain; - But one who, wretched in your wretchedness, - And partner of the crime you suffer for, - All risk of shame and danger cast away, - Has come—but hark!—I may have but a moment— - The door I came by will be left unlockt - To-night, and you must fly. - - _Lope._ Oh, I have heard - Of a fair flower of such strange quality, - It makes a wound where there was none before, - And heals what wound there was. Oh, Violante, - You who first made an unscathed heart to bleed, - Now save a desperate life! - - _Viol._ And I have heard - Of two yet stranger flowers that, severally, - Each in its heart a deadly poison holds, - Which, if they join, turns to a sovereign balm. - And so with us, who in our bosoms bear - A passion which destroys us when apart, - But when together— - - _Elvira_ (_calling within_). Madam! madam! your father! - - _Viol._ Farewell! - - _Lope._ But you return? - - _Viol._ To set you free. - - _Lope._ That as it may; only return to me. - - [_Exit VIOLANTE, leaving LOPE._ - - -SCENE V.—_Same as SCENE III._ - -_ELVIRA waiting. Enter VIOLANTE from centre door._ - -_Viol._ Quick! lock the door, Elvira, and away with me on wings. My -father must not find me here. - -_Elv._ Nay, you need not be frightened, he has gone to my lady Blanca’s -room by the way. - -_Viol._ No matter, he must not find me; I would learn too what is -stirring in the business. - - Oh, would I ever drag my purpose through, - I must be desperate and cautious too. - - [_Exit._ - -_Elv._ (_locking the door_). Well, that’s all safe, and now myself to -hear what news is stirring. - -_Vicente_ (_talking as he enters_). In the devil’s name was there ever -such a clutter made about a blow? People all up in arms, and running -here and there, and up and down, and every where, as if the great Tom of -Velilla was a ringing. - -_Elv._ Vicente! what’s the matter? - -_Vic._ Oh, a very great matter, Elvira. I am very much put out indeed. - -_Elv._ What about, and with whom? - -_Vic._ With all the world, and my two masters, the young and old one, -especially. - -_Elv._ But about what? - -_Vic._ With the young one for being so ready with his fists, and the -old one bawling out upon it to heaven and earth, and then Madam Blanca, -she must join in the chorus too; and then your grand Don Mendo there, -with whom seizing’s so much in season, he has seized my master, and my -master’s father, and Don Guillen, and clapt them all up in prison. Then -I’ve a quarrel with the King! - -_Elv._ With the King! You must be drunk, Vicente. - -_Vic._ I only wish I was. - -_Elv._ But what has the King done? - -_Vic._ Why let me be beaten at least fifty thousand times, without caring -a jot: and now forsooth, because an old fellow gets a little push, his -eyes flash axe and gibbet. Then, Elvira, I’m very angry with you. - -_Elv._ And why with me? - -_Vic._ Because, desperately in love with me as you are, you never -serenade me, nor write me a billet-doux, nor ask me for a kiss of my fair -hand. - -_Elv._ Have I not told you, sir, I leave that all to Beatrice? - -_Vic._ And have I not told you, Beatrice may go hang for me? - -_Elv._ Oh, Vicente, could I believe you! - -_Vic._ Come, give me a kiss on credit of it; in case I lie, I’ll pay you -back. - -_Elv._ Well, for this once. - - _Enter BEATRICE._ - -_Beat._ The saints be praised, I’ve found you at last! - -_Vic._ Beatrice! - -_Elv._ Well, what’s the matter? - -_Vic._ You’ll soon see. - -_Beat._ Oh, pray proceed, proceed, good folks, Never mind me: you’ve -business—don’t interrupt it—I’ve seen quite enough, besides being quite -indifferent who wears my cast-off shoes. - -_Elv._ I beg to say, madam, I wear no shoes except my own, and if I -_were_ reduced to other people’s, certainly should not choose those that -are made for a wooden leg. - -_Beat._ A wooden leg? pray, madam, what has a wooden leg to do with me? - -_Elv._ Oh, madam, I must refer you to your own feelings. - -_Beat._ I tell you, madam, these hands should tear your hair up by the -roots, if it had roots to tear. - -_Vic._ Now for her turn. - -_Elv._ Why, does she mean to insinuate my hair is as false as that left -eye of hers? - -_Beat._ Do you mean to insinuate my left eye is false? - -_Elv._ Ay; and say it to your teeth. - -_Beat._ More, madam, than I ever could say to yours, unless, indeed, -you’ve _paid_, madam, for the set you wear. - -_Elv._ Have you the face to say my teeth are false? - -_Beat._ Have _you_ the face to say my eye’s of glass? - -_Elv._ I’ll teach you to say I wear a wig. - -_Beat._ Would that my leg _were_ wood just for the occasion. - -_Vic._ Ladies, ladies, first consider where we are. - -_Beat._ Oh ho! I think I begin to understand. - -_Elv._ Oh, and so methinks do I. - - _Beat._ It is this wretch— ⎫ - ⎪ - _Elv._ This knave— ⎪ - ⎪ - _Beat._ This rascal— ⎬ Spoken together. - ⎪ - _Elv._ This vagabond— ⎪ - ⎪ - _Beat._ Has told all these lies. ⎪ - ⎪ - _Elv._ Has done all this mischief. ⎭ - - (_They set upon and pinch him, etc._) - -_Vic._ Ladies, ladies—Mercy! oh! ladies! just listen! - -_Elv._ Listen indeed! If it were not that I hear people coming— - -_Vic._ Heaven be praised for it! - -_Beat._ We will defer the execution then—And in the mean while shall we -two sign a treaty of peace? - - _Elv._ My hand to it—Agreed! - - _Beat._ Adieu! - - _Elv._ Adieu! - - [_Exeunt BEATRICE and ELVIRA._ - - _Vic._ The devil that seized the swine sure has seized you, - And all your pinches make me tenfold writhe - Because you never gave the king his tithe. - - [_Exit._ - - -SCENE VI.—_DONNA BLANCA’S Apartment: it is dark._ - - _Enter the KING disguised, and BLANCA following him._ - - _Blan._ Who is this man, - That in the gathering dusk enters our house, - Enmaskt and muffled thus? what is ’t you want? - To croak new evil in my ears? for none - But ravens now come near us—Such a silence - Is not the less ill-omen’d. Beatrice! - A light! my blood runs cold—Answer me, man, - What want you with me? - - _King._ Let us be alone, - And I will tell you. - - _Blan._ Leave us, Beatrice— - I’ll dare the worst—And now reveal yourself. - - _King._ Not till the door be lockt. - - _Blan._ Help, help! - - _King._ Be still. - - _Blan._ What would you? and who are you then? - - _King_ (_discovering himself_). The King! - - _Blan._ The King! - - _King._ Do you not know me? - - _Blan._ Yea, my liege, - Now the black cloud has fallen from the sun; - But cannot guess why, at an hour like this, - And thus disguised—Oh, let me know at once - Whether in mercy or new wrath you come - To this most wretched house! - - _King._ In neither, Blanca; - But in the execution of the trust - That Heaven has given to kings. - - _Blan._ And how, my liege, - Fall I beneath your royal vigilance? - - _King._ You soon shall hear: but, Blanca, first take breath, - And still your heart to its accustom’d tune, - For I must have you all yourself to answer - What I must ask of you. Listen to me. - Your son, in the full eye of God and man, - Has struck his father—who as publicly - Has cried to me for vengeance—such a feud - Coming at length to such unnatural close, - Men ’gin to turn suspicious eyes on you,— - You, Blanca, so mixt up in such a cause - As in the annals of all human crime - Is not recorded. Men begin to ask - Can these indeed be truly son and sire? - This is the question, and to sift it home, - I am myself come hither to sift you - By my own mouth. Open your heart to me, - Relying on the honour of a king - That nothing you reveal to me to-night - Shall ever turn against your good repute. - We are alone, none to way-lay the words - That travel from your lips; speak out at once; - Or, by the heavens, Blanca,— - - _Blan._ Oh, my liege, - Not in one breath - Turn royal mercy into needless threat; - Though it be true my bosom has so long - This secret kept close prisoner, and hop’d - To have it buried with me in my grave, - Yet if I peril my own name and theirs - By such a silence, I’ll not leave to rumour - Another hour’s suspicion; but reveal - To you, my liege, yea, and to heaven and earth, - My most disastrous story. - - _King._ I attend. - - _Blan._ My father, though of lineage high and clear - As the sun’s self, was poor; and knowing well - How in this world honour fares ill alone, - Betroth’d the beauty of my earliest years - (The only dowry that I brought with me) - To Lope de Urrea, whose estate - Was to supply the much he miss’d of youth. - We married—like December wed to May, - Or flower of earliest summer set in snow; - Yet heaven witness that I honour’d, ay, - And loved him; though with little cause of love, - And ever cold returns; but I went on - Doing my duty toward him, hoping still - To have a son to fill the gaping void - That lay between us—yea, I pray’d for one - So earnestly, that God, who has ordain’d - That we should ask at once for all and nothing - Of him who best knows what is best for us, - Denied me what I wrongly coveted. - Well, let me turn the leaf on which are written - The troubles of those ill-assorted years, - And to my tale. I had a younger sister, - Whom to console me in my wretched home, - I took to live with me—of whose fair youth - A gentleman enamour’d—Oh, my liege, - Ask not his name—yet why should I conceal it, - Whose honour may not leave a single chink - For doubt to nestle in?—Sir, ’twas Don Mendo, - Your minister; who, when his idle suit - Prosper’d not in my sister’s ear, found means, - Feeing one of the household to his purpose, - To get admittance to her room by night; - Where, swearing marriage soon should sanction love, - He went away the victor of an honour - That like a villain he had come to steal; - Then, but a few weeks after, (so men quit - All obligation save of their desire,) - Married another, and growing great at court, - Went on your father’s bidding into France - Ambassador, and from that hour to this - Knows not the tragic issue of his crime. - I, who perceived my sister’s altered looks, - And how in mind and body she fared ill, - With menace and persuasion wrung from her - The secret I have told you, and of which - She bore within her bosom such a witness - As doubly prey’d upon her life. Enough; - She was my sister, why reproach her then, - And to no purpose now the deed was done? - Only I wonder’d at mysterious Heaven, - Which her misfortune made to double mine, - Who had been pining for the very boon - That was her shame and sorrow; till at last, - Out of the tangle of this double grief - I drew a thread to extricate us both, - By giving forth myself about to bear - The child whose birth my sister should conceal. - ’Twas done—the day came on—I feign’d the pain - She felt, and on my bosom as my own - Cherish’d the crying infant she had borne, - And died in bearing—for even so it was; - I and another matron (who alone - Was partner in the plot) - Assigning other illness for her death. - This is my story, sir—this is the crime, - Of which the guilt being wholly mine, be mine - The punishment; I pleading on my knees - My love both to my husband and my sister - As some excuse. Pedro of Arragon, - Whom people call the Just, be just to me: - I do not ask for mercy, but for justice, - And that, whatever be my punishment, - It may be told of me, and put on record, - That, howsoever and with what design - I might deceive my husband and the world, - At least I have not shamed my birth and honour. - - _King_ (_apart_). Thus much at least is well; the blackest part - Of this unnatural feud is washt away - By this confession, though it swell the list - Of knotted doubts that Justice must resolve; - As thus:—Don Lope has reviled and struck - One whom himself and all the world believe - His father—a belief that I am pledged - Not to disprove. Don Mendo has traduced - A noble lady to her death; and Blanca - Contrived an ill imposture on her lord: - Two secret and one public misdemeanour, - To which I must adjudge due punishment.— - Blanca, enough at present, you have done - Your duty; Fare you well. - - _Blan._ Heaven keep your Highness! - - _Don Mendo_ (_knocking within_). Open the door. - - _King._ Who calls? - - _Blan._ I know not, sir. - - _King._ Open it, then, but on your life reveal not - That I am here. - - (_KING hides, BLANCA opens the door._) - - _Blan._ Who is it calls? - - _Enter MENDO._ - - _Men._ I, Blanca. - - _Blan._ Your errand? - - _Men._ Only, Blanca, to beseech you - Fear not, whatever you may hear or see - Against your son. His cause is in my hands, - His person in my keeping; being so, - Who shall arraign my dealings with him? - - _King_ (_coming forth_). I. - - _Men._ My liege, if you— - - _King._ Enough; give me the key - Of Lope’s prison. - - _Men._ This it is, my liege: - Only— - - _King._ I know enough. Blanca, retire. - Mendo, abide you here. To-night shall show - If I be worthy of my name or no. - - [_Exit._ - - _Men._ What is the matter, Blanca? - - _Blan._ Your misdeeds, - And mine, Don Mendo, which just Heaven now - Revenges with one blow on both of us. - After the King! nor leave him till he swear - To spare my Lope, who, I swear to you, - Is not my son, but yours, and my poor Laura’s! - - _Men._ Merciful Heavens! But I will save his life - Come what come may to me. - - _Blan._ Away, away, then! - - [_Exeunt severally._ - - -SCENE VII.—_Same as SCENE III._ - - _Enter VIOLANTE and Elvira at a side door._ - -_Elv._ Consider, madam. - -_Viol._ No! - -_Elv._ But think— - -_Viol._ I tell you it must be done. - -_Elv._ They will accuse your father. - -_Viol._ Let them; I tell you it must be done, and _now_; I ask’d you not -for advice, but to obey me. Unlock the door. - -_Elv._ Oh how I tremble! Hark! - -_Viol._ A moment! They must not find him passing out—the attempt and not -the deed confounding us.[8] Listen! - -_Elv._ (_listening at a side door_). I can hear nothing distinct, only a -confused murmur of voices. - -_Viol._ Let me—hush!—Hark! they are approaching! - - _Enter MENDO._ - - _Men._ Anguish, oh! anguish! - - _Viol._ My father! - - _Men._ Ay, indeed, - And a most wretched one. - - _Viol._ What is it, sir? - Tell me at once. - - _Men._ I know not. Oh, ’tis false! - I know too well, and you must know it too. - My daughter, the poor prisoner who lies there - Is my own son, not Blanca’s, not Urrea’s, - But my own son, your brother, Violante! - - _Viol._ My brother! - - _Men._ Ay, your brother, my own son, - Whom we must save! - - _Viol._ Alas, sir, I was here - On the same errand, ere I knew—but hark! - All’s quiet now. (_A groan within._) - - _Men._ Listen! What groan was that? - - _Viol._ My hand shakes so, I cannot— - - _Lope_ (_within_). Mercy, O God! - - _Men._ The key, the key!—but hark! they call again - At either door; we must unlock. - - (_They unlock the side doors.—Enter through one BLANCA - and BEATRICE, through the other URREA and VICENTE._) - - _Urr._ Don Mendo, - The King desires me from your mouth to learn - His sentence on my son. - - _Blan._ Oh, Violante! - - _Men._ From me! from me! to whom the King as yet - Has not deliver’d it.— - But what is this? Oh, God! - - (_The centre door opens and DON LOPE is discovered, - garrotted, with a paper in his hand, and lights - at each side._) - - _Urr._ A sight to turn - Rancour into remorse. - - _Men._ In his cold hand - He holds a scroll, the sentence, it may be, - The King referr’d you to. Read it, Urrea; - I cannot. Oh, my son, the chastisement - That I alone have merited has come - Upon us both, and doubled the remorse - That I must feel—and stifle! - - _Urr._ (_reading_). “He that reviles and strikes whom he believes - His father, let him die for ’t; and let those - Who have disgraced a noble name, or join’d - An ill imposture, see his doom; and show - Three judgments summ’d up in a single blow.” - - - - -THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA - - - - -DRAMATIS PERSONÆ - - - KING PHILIP II. - - DON LOPE DE FIGUEROA. - - DON ALVARO DE ATAIDE. - - PEDRO CRESPO _a Farmer of Zalamea._ - - JUAN _his Son._ - - ISABEL _his Daughter._ - - INES _his Niece._ - - DON MENDO _a poor Hidalgo._ - - NUÑO _his Servant._ - - REBOLLEDO _a Soldier._ - - CHISPA _his Mistress._ - - A SERGEANT, A NOTARY, SOLDIERS, LABOURERS, CONSTABLES, - ROYAL SUITE, etc. - - - - -ACT I - - -SCENE I.—_Country near Zalamea._ - - _Enter REBOLLEDO, CHISPA, and Soldiers._ - -_Reb._ Confound, say I, these forced marches from place to place, without -halt or bait; what say you, friends? - -_All._ Amen! - -_Reb._ To be trailed over the country like a pack of gipsies, after a -little scrap of flag upon a pole, eh? - -_1st Soldier._ Rebolledo’s off! - -_Reb._ And that infernal drum which has at last been good enough to stop -a moment stunning us. - -_2nd Sold._ Come, come, Rebolledo, don’t storm: we shall soon be at -Zalamea. - -_Reb._ And where will be the good of that if I’m dead before I get -there? And if not, ’twill only be from bad to worse: for if we all -reach the place alive, as sure as death up comes Mr. Mayor to persuade -the Commissary we had better march on to the next town. At first Mr. -Commissary replies very virtuously, ‘Impossible! the men are fagged to -death.’ But after a little pocket persuasion, then it’s all ‘Gentlemen, -I’m very sorry: but orders have come for us to march forward, and -immediately’—and away we have to trot, foot weary, dust bedraggled, and -starved as we are. Well, I swear if I do get alive to Zalamea to-day, -I’ll not leave it on this side o’ sun-rise for love, lash, or money. It -won’t be the first time in my life I’ve given ’em the slip. - -_1st Sold._ Nor the first time a poor fellow has had the slip given him -for doing so. And more likely than ever now that Don Lope de Figueroa has -taken the command, a fine brave fellow they say, but a devil of a Tartar, -who’ll have every inch of duty done, or take the change out of his own -son, without waiting for trial either.[9] - -_Reb._ Listen to this now, gentlemen! By Heaven, I’ll be beforehand with -him. - -_2nd Sold._ Come, come, a soldier shouldn’t talk so. - -_Reb._ I tell you it isn’t for myself I care so much, as for this poor -little thing that follows me. - -_Chis._ Signor Rebolledo, don’t you fret about me; you know I was born -with a beard on my heart if not on my chin, if ever girl was; and your -fearing for me is as bad as if I was afeard myself. Why, when I came -along with you I made up my mind to hardship and danger for honour’s -sake; else if I’d wanted to live in clover, I never should have left the -Alderman who kept such a table as all Aldermen don’t, I promise you. -Well, what’s the odds? I chose to leave him and follow the drum, and -here I am, and if I don’t flinch, why should you? - -_Reb._ ’Fore Heaven, you’re the crown of womankind! - -_Soldiers._ So she is, so she is, Viva la Chispa! - -_Reb._ And so she is, and one cheer more for her, hurrah! especially if -she’ll give us a song to lighten the way. - -_Chis._ The castanet shall answer for me. - -_Reb._ I’ll join in—and do you, comrades, bear a hand in the chorus. - -_Soldiers._ Fire away! - -_Chispa sings._ - - I. - - Titiri tiri, marching is weary, - Weary, weary, and long is the way: - Titiri tiri, hither, my deary, - What meat have you got for the soldier to-day? - ‘Meat have I none, my merry men,’ - Titiri tiri, then kill the old hen. - ‘Alas and a day! the old hen is dead!’ - Then give us a cake from the oven instead, - Titiri titiri titiri tiri, - Give us a cake from the oven instead. - - II. - - Admiral, admiral, where have you been-a? - ‘I’ve been fighting where the waves roar.’ - Ensign, ensign, what have you seen-a? - ‘Glory and honour and gunshot galore; - Fighting the Moors in column and line, - Poor fellows, they never hurt me or mine— - Titiri titiri titiri tina’— - -_1st Sold._ Look, look, comrades—what between singing and grumbling we -never noticed yonder church among the trees. - -_Reb._ Is that Zalamea? - -_Chis._ Yes, that it is, I know the steeple. Hurrah! we’ll finish the -song when we get into quarters, or have another as good; for you know I -have ’em of all sorts and sizes. - -_Reb._ Halt a moment, here’s the sergeant. - -_2nd Sold._ And the captain too. - - _Enter Captain and Sergeant._ - -_Capt._ Good news, gentlemen, no more marching for to-day at least; we -halt at Zalamea till Don Lope joins with the rest of the regiment from -Llerena. So who knows but you may have a several days’ rest here? - -_Reb. and Solds._ Huzzah for our captain! - -_Capt._ Your quarters are ready, and the Commissary will give every one -his billet on marching in. - -_Chis._ (_singing_). Now then for - - Titiri tiri, hither, my deary, - Heat the oven and kill the old hen. - - [_Exit with Soldiers._ - -_Capt._ Well, Mr. Sergeant, have you my billet? - -_Serg._ Yes, sir. - -_Capt._ And where am I to put up? - -_Serg._ With the richest man in Zalamea, a farmer, as proud as Lucifer’s -heir-apparent. - -_Capt._ Ah, the old story of an upstart. - -_Serg._ However, sir, you have the best quarters in the place, including -his daughter, who is, they say, the prettiest woman in Zalamea. - -_Capt._ Pooh! a pretty peasant! splay hands and feet. - -_Serg._ Shame! shame! - -_Capt._ Isn’t it true, puppy? - -_Serg._ What would a man on march have better than a pretty country lass -to toy with? - -_Capt._ Well, I never saw one I cared for, even on march. I can’t call -a woman a woman unless she’s clean about the hands and fetlocks, and -otherwise well appointed—a lady in short. - -_Serg._ Well, any one for me who’ll let me kiss her. Come, sir, let us be -going, for if you won’t be at her, I will. - -_Capt._ Look, look, yonder! - -_Serg._ Why, it must be Don Quixote himself with his very Rosinante too, -that Michel Cervantes writes of. - -_Capt._ And his Sancho at his side. Well, carry you my kit on before to -quarters, and then come and tell me when all’s ready. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE II.—_Zalamea, before CRESPO’S House._ - - _Enter DON MENDO and NUÑO._ - -_Men._ How’s the gray horse? - -_Nuñ._ You may as well call him the _Dun_; so screw’d he can’t move a leg. - -_Men._ Did you have him walk’d gently about? - -_Nuñ._ Walk’d about! when it’s corn he wants, poor devil! - -_Men._ And the dogs? - -_Nuñ._ Ah, now, they might do if you’d give them the horse to eat. - -_Men._ Enough, enough—it has struck three. My gloves and tooth-pick! - -_Nuñ._ That sinecure tooth-pick! - -_Men._ I tell you I would brain anybody who insinuated to me I had not -dined—and on game too. But tell me, Nuño, haven’t the soldiers come into -Zalamea this afternoon? - -_Nuñ._ Yes, sir. - -_Men._ What a nuisance for the commonalty who have to quarter them! - -_Nuñ._ But worse for those who haven’t. - -_Men._ What do you mean, sir? - -_Nuñ._ I mean the squires. Ah, sir; if the soldiers aren’t billeted on -them, do you know why? - -_Men._ Well, why? - -_Nuñ._ For fear of being starved—which would be a bad job for the king’s -service. - -_Men._ God rest my father’s soul, says I, who left me a pedigree and -patent all blazon’d in gold and azure, that exempts me from such -impositions. - -_Nuñ._ I wish he’d left you the gold in a more available shape, however. - -_Men._ Though indeed when I come to think of it, I don’t know if I owe -him any thanks; considering that unless he had consented to beget me an -Hidalgo at once, I wouldn’t have been born at all, for him or any one. - -_Nuñ._ Humph! Could you have help’d it? - -_Men._ Easily. - -_Nuñ._ How, sir? - -_Men._ You must know that every one that is born is the essence of the -food his parents eat. - -_Nuñ._ Oh! Your parents did eat then, sir? You have not inherited _that_ -of them, at all events. - -_Men._ Which forthwith converts itself into proper flesh and blood—ergo, -if my father had been an eater of onions, for instance, he would have -begotten me with a strong breath; on which I should have said to him, -‘Hold, I must come of no such nastiness as that, I promise you.’ - -_Nuñ._ Ah, now I see the old saying is true. - -_Men._ What is that? - -_Nuñ._ That hunger sharpens wit. - -_Men._ Knave, do you insinuate— - -_Nuñ._ I only know it is now three o’clock, and we have neither of us yet -had any thing but our own spittle to chew. - -_Men._ Perhaps so, but there are distinctions of rank. An Hidalgo, sir, -has no belly. - -_Nuñ._ Oh Lord! that I were an Hidalgo! - -_Men._ Possibly; servants must learn moderation in all things. But let me -hear no more of the matter; we are under Isabel’s window. - -_Nuñ._ There again—If you are so devoted an admirer, why on earth, sir, -don’t you ask her in marriage of her father? by doing which you would -kill two birds with one stone; get yourself something to eat, and his -grandchildren squires. - -_Men._ Hold your tongue, sir, it is impious. Am I, an Hidalgo with such -a pedigree, to demean myself with a plebeian connexion just for money’s -sake? - -_Nuñ._ Well, I’ve always heard say a mean father-in-law is best; better -stumble on a pebble than run your head against a post. But, however, if -you don’t mean marriage, sir, what do you mean? - -_Men._ And pray, sir, can’t I dispose of her in a convent in case I get -tired of her? But go directly, and tell me if you can get a sight of her. - -_Nuñ._ I’m afraid lest her father should get a sight of me. - -_Men._ And what if he do, being my man? Go and do as I bid you. - -_Nuñ._ (_after going to look_). Come, sir, you owe one meal at least -now—she’s at the window with her cousin. - -_Men._ Go again, and tell her something about her window being another -East, and she a second Sun dawning from it in the afternoon. - - (_ISABEL and INES come to the window._) - -_Ines._ For heaven’s sake, cousin, let’s stand here and see the soldiers -march in. - -_Isab._ Not I, while that man is in the way, Ines; you know how I hate -the sight of him. - -_Ines._ With all his devotion to you! - -_Isab._ I wish he would spare himself and me the trouble. - -_Ines._ I think you are wrong to take it as an affront. - -_Isab._ How would you have me take it? - -_Ines._ Why, as a compliment. - -_Isab._ What, when I hate the man? - -_Men._ Ah! ’pon the honour of an Hidalgo, (which is a sacred oath,) I -could have sworn that till this moment the sun had not risen. But why -should I wonder? when indeed a second Aurora— - -_Isab._ Signor Don Mendo, how often have I told you not to waste your -time playing these fool’s antics before my window day after day! - -_Men._ If a pretty woman only knew, la! how anger improved its beauty! -her complexion needs no other paint than indignation. Go on, go on, -lovely one, grow angrier, and lovelier still. - -_Isab._ You shan’t have even that consolation; come, Ines. - - [_Exit._ - -_Ines._ Beware of the portcullis, sir knight. - - (_Shuts down the blind in his face._) - -_Men._ Ines, beauty must be ever victorious, whether advancing or in -retreat. - - _Enter CRESPO._ - -_Cres._ That I can never go in or out of my house without that squireen -haunting it! - -_Nuñ._ Pedro Crespo, sir! - -_Men._ Oh—ah—let us turn another way; ’tis an ill-conditioned fellow. - - _As he turns, enter JUAN._ - -_Juan._ That I never can come home but this ghost of an Hidalgo is there -to spoil my appetite. - -_Nuñ._ His son, sir! - -_Men._ He’s worse. (_Turning back._) Oh, Pedro Crespo, good day, Crespo, -good man, good day. - - [_Exit with NUÑO._ - -_Cres._ Good day indeed; I’ll make it bad day one of these days with you, -if you don’t take care. But how now, Juanito, my boy? - -_Juan._ I was looking for you, sir, but could not find you; where have -you been? - -_Cres._ - - To the barn, where high and dry, - The jolly sheaves of corn do lie, - Which the sun, arch-chemist old, - Turn’d from black earth into gold, - And the swinging flail one day - On the barn-floor shall assay, - Separating the pure ore - From the drossy chaff away. - This I’ve been about—And now, - Juanito, what hast thou? - -_Juan._ Alas, sir, I can’t answer in so good rhyme or reason. I have -been playing at fives, and lost every bout. - -_Cres._ What signifies if you paid? - -_Juan._ But I could not, and have come to you for the money. - -_Cres._ - - Before I give it you, listen to me. - There are things two - Thou never must do; - Swear to more than thou knowest, - Play for more than thou owest; - And never mind cost, - So credit’s not lost. - -_Juan._ Good advice, sir, no doubt, that I shall lay by for its own sake -as well as for yours. Meanwhile, I have also heard say, - - Preach not to a beggar till - The beggar’s empty hide you fill. - -_Cres._ ’Fore Heaven, thou pay’st me in my own coin. But— - - _Enter Sergeant._ - -_Serg._ Pray, does one Pedro Crespo live hereabout? - -_Cres._ Have you any commands for him, if he does? - -_Serg._ Yes, to tell him of the arrival of Don Alvaro de Ataide, captain -of the troop that has just marcht into Zalamea, and quartered upon him. - -_Cres._ Say no more; my house and all I have is ever at the service of -the king, and of all who have authority under him. If you will leave his -things here, I will see his room is got ready directly; and do you tell -his Honour that, come when he will, he shall find me and mine at his -service. - -_Serg._ Good—he will be here directly. - - [_Exit._ - -_Juan._ I wonder, father, that, rich as you are, you still submit -yourself to these nuisances. - -_Cres._ Why, boy, how could I help them? - -_Juan._ You know; by buying a patent of Gentility. - -_Cres._ A patent of Gentility! upon thy life now dost think there’s a -soul who doesn’t know that I’m no gentleman at all, but just a plain -farmer? What’s the use of my buying a patent of Gentility, if I can’t buy -the gentle blood along with it! will any one think me a bit more of a -gentleman for buying fifty patents? Not a whit; I should only prove I was -worth so many thousand royals, not that I had gentle blood in my veins, -which can’t be bought at any price. If a fellow’s been bald ever so long, -and buys him a fine wig, and claps it on; will his neighbours think it -is his own hair a bit the more? No, they will say, ‘So and so has a fine -wig; and, what’s more, he must have paid handsomely for it too.’ But they -know his bald pate is safe under it all the while. That’s all he gets by -it. - -_Juan._ Nay, sir, he gets to look younger and handsomer, and keeps off -sun and cold. - -_Cres._ Tut! I’ll have none of your wig honour at any price. My -grandfather was a farmer, so was my father, so is yours, and so shall you -be after him. Go, call your sister. - - _Enter ISABEL and INES._ - -Oh, here she is. Daughter, our gracious king (whose life God save these -thousand years!) is on his way to be crowned at Lisbon; thither the -troops are marching from all quarters, and among others that fine veteran -Flanders regiment, commanded by the famous Don Lope de Figueroa, will -march into Zalamea, and be quartered here to-day; some of the soldiers -in my house. Is it not as well you should be out of the way? - -_Isab._ Sir, ’twas upon this very errand I came to you, knowing what -nonsense I shall have to hear if I stay below. My cousin and I can go up -to the garret, and there keep so close, the very sun shall not know of -our whereabout. - -_Cres._ That’s my good girl. Juanito, you wait here to receive them in -case they come while I am out looking after their entertainment. - -_Isab._ Come, Ines. - - _Ines._ Very well— - Though I’ve heard in a song what folly ’twould be - To try keep in a loft what won’t keep on the tree. - - [_Exeunt._ - - _Enter Captain and Sergeant._ - -_Serg._ This is the house, sir. - -_Capt._ Is my kit come? - -_Serg._ Yes, sir, and (_aside_) I’ll be the first to take an inventory of -the pretty daughter. - - [_Exit._ - -_Juan._ Welcome, sir, to our house; we count it a great honour to have -such a cavalier as yourself for a guest, I assure you. (_Aside._) What a -fine fellow! what an air! I long to try the uniform, somehow. - -_Capt._ Thank you, my lad. - -_Juan._ You must forgive our poor house, which we devoutly wish was a -palace for your sake. My father is gone after your supper, sir; may I go -and see that your chamber is got ready for you? - -_Capt._ Thank you, thank you. - -_Juan._ Your servant, sir. - - [_Exit._ - - _Enter Sergeant._ - -_Capt._ Well, sergeant, where’s the Dulcinea you told me of? - -_Serg._ Deuce, take me, sir, if I haven’t been looking everywhere in -parlour, bed-room, kitchen, and scullery, up-stairs and down-stairs, and -can’t find her out. - -_Capt._ Oh, no doubt the old fellow has hid her away for fear of us. - -_Serg._ Yes, I ask’d a serving wench, and she confess’d her master had -lock’d the girl up in the attic, with strict orders not even to look out -so long as we were in the place. - -_Capt._ Ah! these clodpoles are all so jealous of the service. And what -is the upshot? Why, I, who didn’t care a pin to see her before, shall -never rest till I get at her now. - -_Serg._ But how, without a blow-up? - -_Capt._ Let me see; how shall we manage it? - -_Serg._ The more difficult the enterprise, the more glory in success, you -know, in love as in war. - -_Capt._ I have it! - -_Serg._ Well, sir? - -_Capt._ You shall pretend—but no, here comes one will serve my turn -better. - - _Enter REBOLLEDO and CHISPA._ - -_Reb._ (_to CHISPA_). There he is; now if I can get him into a good -humour— - -_Chis._ Speak up then, like a man. - -_Reb._ I wish I’d some of your courage; but don’t you leave me while I -tackle him. Please your Honour— - -_Capt._ (_to Sergeant_). I tell you I’ve my eye on Rebolledo to do him a -good turn; I like his spirit. - -_Serg._ Ah, he’s one of a thousand. - -_Reb._ (_aside_). Here’s luck! Please your Honour— - -_Capt._ Oh, Rebolledo—Well, Rebolledo, what is it? - -_Reb._ You may know I am a gentleman who has, by ill luck, lost all his -estate; all that ever I had, have, shall have, may have, or can have, -through all the conjugation of the verb ‘_to have_.’ And I want your -Honour— - -_Capt._ Well? - -_Reb._ To desire the ensign to appoint me roulette-master to the -regiment, so I may pay my liabilities like a man of honour. - -_Capt._ Quite right, quite right; I will see it done. - -_Chis._ Oh, brave captain! Oh, if I only live to hear them all call me -Madam Roulette! - -_Reb._ Shall I go at once and tell him? - -_Capt._ Wait. I want you first to help me in a little plan I have. - -_Reb._ Out with it, noble captain. Slow said slow sped, you know. - -_Capt._ You are a good fellow; listen. I want to get into that attic -there, for a particular purpose. - -_Reb._ And why doesn’t your Honour go up at once? - -_Capt._ I don’t like to do it in a strange house without an excuse. Now -look here; you and I will pretend to quarrel; I get angry and draw my -sword, and you run away up-stairs, and I after you, to the attic, that’s -all; I’ll manage the rest. - -_Chis._ Ah, we get on famously. - -_Reb._ I understand. When are we to begin? - -_Capt._ Now directly. - -_Reb._ Very good. (_In a loud voice._) This is the reward of my -services—a rascal, a pitiful scoundrel, is preferred, when a man of -honour—a man who has seen service— - -_Chis._ Halloa! Rebolledo up! All is not so well. - -_Reb._ Who has led you to victory— - -_Capt._ This language to me, sir! - -_Reb._ Yes, to you, who have so grossly insulted and defrauded— - -_Capt._ Silence! and think yourself lucky if I take no further notice of -your insolence. - -_Reb._ If I restrain myself, it is only because you are my captain, and -as such—but ’fore God, if my cane were in my hand— - -_Chis._ (_advancing_). Hold! Hold! - -_Capt._ I’ll show you, sir, how to talk to me in this way. (_Draws his -sword._) - -_Reb._ It is before your commission, not you, I retreat. - -_Capt._ That shan’t save you, rascal! (_Pursues REBOLLEDO out._) - -_Chis._ Oh, I shan’t be Madam Roulette after all. Murder! murder! - - [_Exit, calling._ - - -SCENE III.—_ISABEL’S Garret. ISABEL and INES._ - -_Isab._ What noise is that on the stairs? - - _Enter REBOLLEDO._ - -_Reb._ Sanctuary! Sanctuary! - -_Isab._ Who are you, sir? - - _Enter Captain._ - -_Capt._ Where is the rascal? - -_Isab._ A moment, sir! This poor man has flown to our feet for -protection; I appeal to you for it; and no man, and least of all an -officer, will refuse that to any woman. - -_Capt._ I swear no other arm than that of beauty, and beauty such as -yours, could have withheld me. (_To REBOLLEDO._) You may thank the deity -that has saved you, rascal. - -_Isab._ And I thank you, sir. - -_Capt._ And yet ungratefully slay me with your eyes in return for sparing -him with my sword. - -_Isab._ Oh, sir, do not mar the grace of a good deed by poor compliment, -and so make me less mindful of the real thanks I owe you. - -_Capt._ Wit and modesty kiss each other, as well they may, in that lovely -face. (_Kneels._) - -_Isab._ Heavens! my father! - - _Enter CRESPO and JUAN with swords._ - -_Cres._ How is this, sir? I am alarmed by cries of murder in my house—am -told you have pursued a poor man up to my daughter’s room; and, when I -get here expecting to find you killing a man, I find you courting a woman. - -_Capt._ We are all born subjects to some dominion—soldiers especially to -beauty. My sword, though justly raised against this man, as justly fell -at this lady’s bidding. - -_Cres._ No lady, sir, if you please; but a plain peasant girl—my -daughter. - -_Juan_ (_aside_). All a trick to get at her. My blood boils. (_Aloud to -Captain._) I think, sir, you might have seen enough of my father’s desire -to serve you to prevent your requiting him by such an affront as this. - -_Cres._ And, pray, who bid thee meddle, boy? Affront! what affront? The -soldier affronted his captain; and if the captain has spared him for thy -sister’s sake, pray what hast thou to say against it? - -_Capt._ I think, young man, you had best consider before you impute ill -intention to an officer. - -_Juan._ I know what I know. - -_Cres._ What! you will go on, will you? - -_Capt._ It is out of regard for you I do not chastise him. - -_Cres._ Wait a bit; if that were wanting, ’twould be from his father, not -from you. - -_Juan._ And, what’s more, I wouldn’t endure it from any one but my father. - -_Capt._ You would not? - -_Juan._ No! death rather than such dishonour! - -_Capt._ What, pray, is a clodpole’s idea of honour? - -_Juan._ The same as a captain’s—no clodpole no captain, I can tell you. - -_Capt._ ’Fore Heaven, I must punish this insolence. (_About to strike -him._) - -_Cres._ You must do it through me, then. - -_Reb._ Eyes right!—Don Lope! - -_Capt._ Don Lope! - - _Enter DON LOPE._ - -_Lope._ How now? A riot the very first thing I find on joining the -regiment? What is it all about? - -_Capt._ (_aside_). Awkward enough! - -_Cres._ (_aside_). By the lord, the boy would have held his own with the -best of ’em. - -_Lope._ Well! No one answer me? ’Fore God, I’ll pitch the whole house, -men, women, and children, out of windows, if you don’t tell me at once. -Here have I had to trail up your accursed stairs, and then no one will -tell me what for. - -_Cres._ Nothing, nothing at all, sir. - -_Lope._ Nothing? that would be the worst excuse of all: but swords aren’t -drawn for nothing; come, the truth? - -_Capt._ Well, the simple fact is this, Don Lope; I am quartered upon this -house; and one of my soldiers— - -_Lope._ Well, sir, go on. - -_Capt._ Insulted me so grossly I was obliged to draw my sword on him. He -ran up here where it seems these two girls live; and I, not knowing there -was any harm, after him; at which these men, their father or brother, or -some such thing, take affront. This is the whole business. - -_Lope._ I am just come in time then to settle it. First, who is the -soldier that began it with an act of insubordination? - -_Reb._ What, am I to pay the piper? - -_Isab._ (_pointing to REB._). This, sir, was the man who ran up first. - -_Lope._ This? handcuff him! - -_Reb._ Me! my lord? - -_Capt._ (_aside to REB._). Don’t blab, I’ll bear you harmless. - -_Reb._ Oh, I dare say, after being marcht off with my hands behind me -like a coward. Noble commander, ’twas the captain’s own doing; he made -me pretend a quarrel, that he might get up here to see the women. - -_Cres._ I _had_ some cause for quarrel, you see. - -_Lope._ Not enough to peril the peace of the town for. Halloa there! beat -all to quarters on pain of death. And, to prevent further ill blood here, -do you (_to the Captain_) quarter yourself elsewhere till we march. I’ll -stop here. - -_Capt._ I shall of course obey you, sir. - -_Cres._ (_to ISABEL_). Get you in. (_Exeunt ISAB. and INES._) I really -ought to thank you heartily for coming just as you did, sir; else, I’d -done for myself. - -_Lope._ How so? - -_Cres._ I should have killed this popinjay. - -_Lope._ What, sir, a captain in his Majesty’s service? - -_Cres._ Ay, a general, if he insulted me. - -_Lope._ I tell you, whoever lays his little finger on the humblest -private in the regiment, I’ll hang him. - -_Cres._ And I tell you, whoever points his little finger at my honour, -I’ll cut him down before hanging. - -_Lope._ Know you not, you are bound by your allegiance to submit? - -_Cres._ To all cost of property, yes; but of honour, no, no, no! My goods -and chattels, ay, and my life—are the king’s; but my honour is my own -soul’s, and that is—God Almighty’s! - -_Lope._ ’Fore God, there’s some truth in what you say. - -_Cres._ ’Fore God, there ought to be, for I’ve been some years saying it. - -_Lope._ Well, well. I’ve come a long way, and this leg of mine (which I -wish the devil who gave it would carry away with him!) cries for rest. - -_Cres._ And who prevents its taking some? the same devil I suppose, who -gave you your leg, gave me a bed (which I don’t want him to take away -again, however) on which your leg may lie if it like. - -_Lope._ But did the devil, when he was about it, make your bed as well as -give it? - -_Cres._ To be sure he did. - -_Lope._ Then I’ll unmake it—Heaven knows I’m weary enough. - -_Cres._ Heaven rest you then. - -_Lope._ (_aside_). Devil or saint alike he echoes me. - -_Cres._ (_aside_). I and Don Lope never shall agree. - - - - -ACT II - - -SCENE I.—_In Zalamea._ - - _Enter DON MENDO and NUÑO._ - -_Men._ Who told you all this? - -_Nuñ._ Ginesa, her wench. - -_Men._ That, whether that riot in the house were by accident or design, -the captain has ended by being really in love with Isabel. - -_Nuñ._ So as he has as little of comfort in his quarters as we of eatable -in ours—ever under her window, sending her messages and tokens by a nasty -little soldier of his. - -_Men._ Enough, enough of your poisoned news. - -_Nuñ._ Especially on an empty stomach. - -_Men._ Be serious, Nuño. And how does Isabel answer him? - -_Nuñ._ As she does you. Bless you, she’s meat for your masters. - -_Men._ Rascal! This to me! (_Strikes him._) - -_Nuñ._ There! two of my teeth you’ve knockt out, I believe: to be sure -they weren’t of much use in your service. - -_Men._ By Heaven, I’ll do so to that captain, if— - -_Nuñ._ Take care, he’s coming, sir. - -_Men._ (_aside to NUÑO_). This duel shall be _now_—though night be -advancing on—before discretion come to counsel milder means. Come, and -help me arm. - -_Nuñ._ Lord bless me, sir, what arms have you got except the coat over -the door? - -_Men._ In my armoury I doubt not are some pieces of my ancestors that -will fit their descendant. - - [_Exeunt._ - - _Enter Captain, Sergeant, and REBOLLEDO._ - -_Capt._ I tell you my love is not a fancy; but a passion, a tempest, a -volcano. - -_Serg._ What a pity it is you ever set eyes on the girl! - -_Capt._ What answer did the servant give you? - -_Serg._ Nay, sir, I have told you. - -_Capt._ That a country wench should stand upon her virtue as if she were -a lady! - -_Serg._ This sort of girls, captain, don’t understand gentlemen’s ways. -If a strapping lout in their own line of life courted them in their own -way, they’d hear and answer quick enough. Besides, you really expect too -much, that a decent woman should listen after one day’s courtship to a -lover who is perhaps to leave her to-morrow. - -_Capt._ And to-day’s sun setting! - -_Serg._ Your own love too, but from one glance— - -_Capt._ Is not one spark enough for gunpowder? - -_Serg._ You too, who would have it no country girl could be worth a day’s -courtship! - -_Capt._ Alas, ’twas that was my ruin—running unawares upon a rock. I -thought only to see a splay-footed gawky, and found a goddess. Ah, -Rebolledo, could you but get me one more sight of her! - -_Reb._ Well, captain, you have done me one good turn, and though you had -like to run me into danger, I don’t mind venturing again for you. - -_Capt._ But how? how? - -_Reb._ Well, now, look here. We’ve a man in the regiment with a fair -voice, and my little Chispa—no one like her for a flash song. Let’s -serenade at the girl’s window; she must, in courtesy or curiosity, look -out; and then— - -_Capt._ But Don Lope is there, and we mustn’t wake him. - -_Reb._ Don Lope? When does he ever get asleep with that leg of his, poor -fellow? Besides, you can mix along with us in disguise, so as at least -_you_ won’t come into question. - -_Capt._ Well, there is but this chance, if it be but a faint one; for if -we should march to-morrow!—come, let us set about it; it being, as you -say, between ourselves that I have any thing to do with it. - - [_Exeunt Captain and Sergeant._ - - _Enter CHISPA._ - -_Chis._ He’s got it, at any rate. - -_Reb._ What’s the matter now, Chispa? - -_Chis._ Oh, I mark’d his face for him. - -_Reb._ What, a row? - -_Chis._ A fellow there who began to ask questions as to my fair play -at roulette—when I was all as fair as day too—I answered him with this. -(_Showing a knife._) Well, he’s gone to the barber’s to get it dressed. - -_Reb._ You still stand kicking when I want to get to the fair. I wanted -you with your castanets, not your knife. - -_Chis._ Pooh! one’s as handy as the other. What’s up now? - -_Reb._ Come with me to quarters; I’ll tell you as we go along. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE II.—_A trellis of Vines in CRESPO’S garden._ - - _Enter CRESPO and DON LOPE._ - -_Cres._ Lay the table here. (_To LOPE._) You’ll relish your supper here -in the cool, sir. These hot August days at least bring their cool nights -by way of excuse. - -_Lope._ A mighty pleasant parlour this! - -_Cres._ Oh, a little strip my daughter amuses herself with; sit down, -sir. In place of the fine voices and instruments you are used to, you -must put up with only the breeze playing on the vine leaves in concert -with the little fountain yonder. Even the birds (our only musicians) are -gone to bed, and wouldn’t sing any the more if I were to wake them. Come, -sit down, sir, and try to ease that poor leg of yours. - -_Lope._ I wish to heaven I could. - -_Cres._ Amen! - -_Lope._ Well, I can at least bear it. Sit down, Crespo. - -_Cres._ Thank you, sir. (_Hesitating._) - -_Lope._ Sit down, sit down, pray. - -_Cres._ Since you bid me then, you must excuse my ill manners. (_Sits._) - -_Lope._ Humph! Do you know, I am thinking, Crespo, that yesterday’s riot -rather overset your good ones. - -_Cres._ Ay? - -_Lope._ Why how else is it that you, whom I can scarce get to sit down at -all to-day, yesterday plump’d yourself down at once, and in the big chair -too? - -_Cres._ Simply because yesterday you _didn’t_ ask me. To-day you are -courteous, and I am shy. - -_Lope._ Yesterday you were all thistle and hedgehog; to-day as soft as -silk. - -_Cres._ It is only because you yourself were so. I always answer in the -key I’m spoken to; yesterday you were all out of tune, and so was I. It -is my principle to swear with the swearer, and pray with the saint; all -things to all men. So much so as I declare to you your bad leg kept me -awake all night. And, by the by, I wish, now we are about it, you would -tell me which of your legs it is that ails you: for, not knowing, I was -obliged to make sure by swearing at both of mine: and one at a time is -quite enough. - -_Lope._ Well, Pedro, you will perhaps think I have some reason for my -tetchiness, when I tell you that for thirty years during which I have -served in the Flemish wars through summer’s sun, and winter’s frost, and -enemy’s bullets, I have never known what it is to be an hour without pain. - -_Cres._ God give you patience to bear it! - -_Lope._ Pish! can’t I give it myself? - -_Cres._ Well, let him leave you alone then! - -_Lope._ Devil take patience! - -_Cres._ Ah, let him! he wants it; only it’s too good a job for him. - - _Enter JUAN with Table, etc._ - -_Juan._ Supper, sir! - -_Lope._ But what are my people about, not to see to all this? - -_Cres._ Pardon my having been so bold to tell them I and my family would -wait upon you, so, as I hope, you shall want for nothing. - -_Lope._ On one condition then, that as you have no fear of your company -now, your daughter may join us at supper. - -_Cres._ Juan, bid your sister come directly. - - [_Exit JUAN._ - -_Lope._ My poor health may quiet all suspicion on that score, I think. - -_Cres._ Sir, if you were as lusty as I wish you, I should have no fear. -I bid my daughter keep above while the regiment was here because of the -nonsense soldiers usually talk to girls. If all were gentlemen like you, -I should be the first to make her wait on them. - -_Lope_ (_aside_). The cautious old fellow! - - _Enter JUAN, ISABEL, and INES._ - -_Isab._ (_to CRESPO_). Your pleasure, sir? - -_Cres._ It is Don Lope’s, who honours you by bidding you to sup with him. - -_Lope_ (_aside_). What a fair creature!—Nay, ’tis I that honour myself by -the invitation. - -_Isab._ Let me wait upon you. - -_Lope._ Indeed no, unless waiting upon me mean supping with me. - -_Cres._ Sit down, sit down, girl, as Don Lope desires you. - - [_They sit at table. Guitar heard within._ - -_Lope._ Music too! - -_Cres._ None of ours. It must be some of your soldiers, Don Lope. - -_Lope._ Ah, Crespo, the troubles and dangers of war must have a little to -sweeten them betimes. The uniform sits very tight, and must be let out -every now and then. - -_Juan._ Yet ’tis a fine life, sir. - -_Lope._ Do you think you would like to follow it? - -_Juan._ If I might at your Excellency’s side. - - SONG (_within_). - - Ah for the red spring rose, - Down in the garden growing, - Fading as fast as it blows, - Who shall arrest its going? - Peep from thy window and tell, - Fairest of flowers, Isabel. - -_Lope_ (_aside_). Pebbles thrown up at the window too! But I’ll say -nothing, for all sakes. (_Aloud._) What foolery! - -_Cres._ Boys! Boys! (_Aside._) To call her very name too! If it weren’t -for Don Lope— - -_Juan_ (_going_). I’ll teach them— - -_Cres._ Holloa, lad, whither away? - -_Juan._ To see for a dish— - -_Cres._ They’ll see after that. Sit still where thou art. - - SONG (_within_). - - Wither it would, but the bee - Over the blossom hovers, - And the sweet life ere it flee - With as sweet art recovers, - Sweetest at night in his cell, - Fairest of flowers, Isabel. - -_Isab._ (_aside_). How have I deserved this? - -_Lope_ (_knocking over his chair_). This is not to be borne! - -_Cres._ (_upsetting the table_). No more it is! - -_Lope._ I meant my leg. - -_Cres._ And I mine. - -_Lope._ I can eat no more, and will to bed. - -_Cres._ Very good: so will I. - -_Lope._ Good-night, good-night, to you all. - -_All._ Good-night, sir. - -_Lope_ (_aside_). I’ll see to them. - - [_Exit._ - -_Cres._ (_aside_). I’ll shut the girls up, and then look after ’em. -(_Aloud._) Come, to bed. (_To JUAN_) Holloa, lad, again! This is the way -to thy room, is it not? - - [_Exeunt severally._ - - -SCENE III.—_Outside CRESPO’S House._ - -_The Captain, Sergeant, REBOLLEDO, CHISPA, etc., with guitars. At one -corner, MENDO in old armour, with NUÑO, observing them. It is dark._ - -_Men._ (_aside to NUÑO_). You see this? - -_Nuñ._ And hear it. - -_Men._ I am bloodily minded to charge into them at once, and disperse -them into chaos; but I will see if she is guilty of answering them by a -sign. - -_Capt._ No glance from the window yet! - -_Reb._ Who’d stir for a sentimental love song? Come, Chispa, you can give -us one that would make her look out of the grave. - -_Chis._ Here am I on my pedestal. Now for it. (_She sings._) - - There once was a certain Sampayo - Of Andalusia the fair; - A Major he was in the service, - And a very fine coat did he wear. - And one night, as to-night it might happen, - That as he was going his round, - With the Garlo half drunk in a tavern— - -_Reb._ _Asonante_ to ‘_happen_’ you know. - -_Chis._ Don’t put me out, Rebolledo——(_Sings._) - - With the Garlo half drunk in a tavern - His lovely Chillona he found. - - CHORUS. - - With the Garlo half drunk in a tavern - His lovely Chillona he found. - - SECOND STANZA. - - Now this Garlo, as chronicles tell us, - Although rather giv’n to strong drinks, - Was one of those terrible fellows - Is down on a man ere he winks. - And so while the Major all weeping - Upbraided his lady unkind, - The Garlo behind him came creeping - And laid on the Major behind. - - CHORUS. - - The Garlo, etc. - - (_During Chorus, DON LOPE and CRESPO have entered at - different sides with swords, and begin to lay about them._) - - _Cres._ What something in this way, perhaps! ⎫ - ⎬ Together. - _Lope._ After this fashion, may-be! ⎭ - - (_The soldiers are driven off._) - -_Lope._ Well, we’re quit of them, except one. But I’ll soon settle him. - -_Cres._ One still hanging about. Off with you! - -_Lope._ Off with _you_, rascal! (_They fight._) By Heaven, he fights well! - -_Cres._ By Heaven, a handy chap at his tool! - - _Enter JUAN with sword and torch._ - -_Juan._ Where is Don Lope? - -_Lope._ Crespo! - -_Cres._ Don Lope! - -_Lope._ To be sure, didn’t you say you were going to bed? - -_Cres._ And didn’t you? - -_Lope._ This was my quarrel, not yours. - -_Cres._ Very well, and I come out to help you in it. - - _Re-enter Captain and Soldiers with swords._ - -_1st Sold._ We’ll soon settle them. - -_Capt._ Don Lope! - -_Lope._ Yes, Don Lope. What is all this, sir? - -_Capt._ The soldiers were singing and playing in the street, sir, doing -no offence to any one, but were set upon by some of the town’s people, -and I came to stop the riot. - -_Lope._ You have done well, Don Alvaro, I know your prudence; however, as -there is a grudge on both sides, I shall not visit the town’s people this -time with further severity; but, for the sake of all parties, order the -regiment to march from Zalamea to-morrow—nay, to-day, for it is now dawn. -See to it, sir: and let me hear of no such disgraceful riots hereafter. - -_Capt._ I shall obey your orders, sir. - - [_Exit with soldiers, etc._ - -_Cres._ (_aside_). Don Lope is a fine fellow! we shall cog together after -all. - -_Lope_ (_to CRESPO and JUAN_). You two keep with me, and don’t be found -alone. - - [_Exeunt._ - - _Re-enter MENDO, and NUÑO wounded._ - -_Men._ ’Tis only a scratch. - -_Nuñ._ A scratch? Well, I could well have spared that. - -_Men._ Ah, what is it compared to the wound in my heart! - -_Nuñ._ I would gladly exchange for all that. - -_Men._ Well, he did lay upon your head handsomely, didn’t he? - -_Nuñ._ Ah, and on my tail too; while you, under that great shield of -yours,— (_Drum._) - -_Men._ Hark! what’s that? - -_Nuñ._ The soldiers’ reveille. I heard say they were to leave Zalamea -to-day. - -_Men._ I am glad of it, since they’ll carry that detestable captain off -with them at all events. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE IV.—_Outside Zalamea._ - - _Enter Captain, Sergeant, REBOLLEDO, and CHISPA._ - -_Capt._ March you on, Sergeant, with the troop. I shall lie here till -sun-down, and then steal back to Zalamea for one last chance. - -_Serg._ If you are resolved on this, sir, you had better do it well -attended, for these bumpkins are dangerous, once affronted. - -_Reb._ Where, however, (and you ought to tip me for my news,) you have -one worst enemy the less. - -_Capt._ Who’s that? - -_Reb._ Isabel’s brother. Don Lope and the lad took a fancy to each other -and have persuaded the old father to let him go for a soldier; and I have -only just met him as proud as a peacock, with all the sinew of the swain -and the spirit of the soldier already about him. - -_Capt._ All works well; there is now only the old father at home, who can -easily be disposed of. It only needs that he who brought me this good -news help me to use it. - -_Reb._ Me do you mean, sir? So I will, to the best of my power. - -_Capt._ Good; you shall go with me. - -_Serg._ But if Don Lope should happen on you? - -_Capt._ He is himself obliged to set off to Guadalupe this evening, as -the king is already on the road. This I heard from himself when I went -to take his orders. Come with me, Sergeant, and settle about the troops -marching, and then for my own campaign. - - [_Exeunt Captain and Sergeant._ - -_Chis._ And what am I to do, Rebolledo, meanwhile? I shan’t be safe alone -with that fellow whose face I sent to be stitcht by the barber. - -_Reb._ Ah, how to manage about that? You wouldn’t dare go with us? - -_Chis._ Not in petticoats; but in the clothes of that run-away stable -boy? I can step into them free of expense. - -_Reb._ That’s a brave girl. - -_Chis._ (_singing_). - - And now who shall say - The love of a soldier’s wife lasts but a day? - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE V.—_CRESPO’S Garden Porch._ - -_DON LOPE, CRESPO, JUAN._ - -_Lope._ I have much to thank you for, Crespo, but for nothing so much as -for giving me your son for a soldier. I do thank you for that with all my -heart. - -_Cres._ I am proud he should be your servant. - -_Lope._ The king’s! the king’s—_my_ friend. I took a fancy to him from -the first for his spirit and affection to the service. - -_Juan._ And I will follow you to the world’s end, ] sir. - -_Cres._ Though you must make allowance for his awkwardness at first, -sir, remembering he has only had ploughmen for teachers, and plough and -pitchforks for books. - -_Lope._ He needs no apology. And now the sun’s heat abates towards his -setting, I will be off. - -_Juan._ I will see for the litter. - - [_Exit._ - - _Enter ISABEL and INES._ - -_Isab._ You must not go, sir, without our adieu. - -_Lope._ I would not have done so; nor without asking pardon for much -that is past, and even for what I am now about to do. But remember, fair -Isabel, ’tis not the price of the gift, but the good will of the giver -makes its value. This brooch, though of diamond, becomes poor in your -hands, and yet I would fain have you wear it in memory of Don Lope. - -_Isab._ I take it ill you should wish to repay us for an entertainment— - -_Lope._ No, no, no repayment; that were impossible if I wished it. A free -keepsake of regard. - -_Isab._ As such I receive it then, sir. Ah, may I make bold to commit my -brother to your kindness? - -_Lope._ Indeed, indeed, you may rely on me. - - _Enter JUAN._ - -_Juan._ The litter is ready. - -_Lope._ Adieu, then, all. - -_All._ Adieu, adieu, sir. - -_Lope._ Ha, Peter! who, judging from our first meeting, could have -prophesied we should part such good friends? - -_Cres._ I could, sir, had I but known— - -_Lope_ (_going_). Well? - -_Cres._ That you were at once as good as crazy. (_Exit LOPE._) And now, -Juan, before going, let me give thee a word of advice in presence of thy -sister and cousin; thou and thy horse will easily overtake Don Lope, -advice and all. By God’s grace, boy, thou comest of honourable if of -humble stock; bear both in mind, so as neither to be daunted from trying -to rise, nor puffed up so as to be sure to fall. How many have done away -the memory of a defect by carrying themselves modestly; while others -again have gotten a blemish only by being too proud of being born without -one. There is a just humility that will maintain thine own dignity, and -yet make thee insensible to many a rub that galls the proud spirit. Be -courteous in thy manner, and liberal of thy purse; for ’tis the hand to -the bonnet and in the pocket that makes friends in this world; of which -to gain one good, all the gold the sun breeds in India, or the universal -sea sucks down, were a cheap purchase. Speak no evil of women; I tell -thee the meanest of them deserves our respect; for of women do we not all -come? Quarrel with no one but with good cause; by the Lord, over and over -again, when I see masters and schools of arms among us, I say to myself, -‘This is not the thing we want at all, _How to fight_, but _Why to -fight_? that is the lesson we want to learn.’ And I verily believe if but -one master of the _Why to fight_ advertised among us he would carry off -all the scholars. Well—enough—You have not (as you once said to me) my -advice this time on an empty stomach—a fair outfit of clothes and money—a -good horse—and a good sword—these, together with Don Lope’s countenance, -and my blessing—I trust in God to live to see thee home again with honour -and advancement on thy back. My son, God bless thee! There—And now go—for -I am beginning to play the woman. - -_Juan._ Your words will live in my heart, sir, so long as it lives. (_He -kisses his father’s hand._) Sister! (_He embraces her._) - -_Isab._ Would I could hold you back in my arms! - -_Juan._ Adieu, cousin! - -_Ines._ I can’t speak. - -_Cres._ Be off, else I shall never let thee go—and my word is given! - -_Juan._ God bless you all! - - [_Exit._ - -_Isab._ Oh, you never should have let him go, sir. - -_Cres._ (_aside_). I shall do better now. (_Aloud._) Pooh, why, what -the deuce could I have done with him at home here all his life—a lout—a -scape-grace perhaps. Let him go serve his king. - -_Isab._ Leaving us by night too! - -_Cres._ Better than by day, child, at this season—Pooh!——(_Aside._) I must -hold up before them. - -_Isab._ Come, sir, let us in. - -_Ines._ No, no, cousin, e’en let us have a little fresh air now the -soldiers are gone. - -_Cres._ True—and here I may watch my Juan along the white, white road. -Let us sit. (_They sit._) - -_Isab._ Is not this the day, sir, when the Town Council elects its -officers? - -_Cres._ Ay, indeed, in August—so it is. And indeed this very day. - - (_As they talk together, the Captain, Sergeant, REBOLLEDO, - and CHISPA steal in._) - -_Capt._ (_whispering_). ’Tis she! you know our plan; I seize her, and you -look to the others. - -_Isab._ What noise is that? - -_Ines._ Who are these? - - (_The Captain seizes and carries off ISABEL—the - Sergeant and REBOLLEDO seize CRESPO._) - -_Isab._ (_within_). My father! My father! - -_Cres._ Villains! A sword! A sword! - -_Reb._ Kill him at once. - -_Serg._ No, no. - -_Reb._ We must carry him off with us then, or his cries will rouse the -town. - - [_Exeunt, carrying CRESPO._ - - - - -ACT III - - -SCENE I.—_A Wood near Zalamea. It is dark._ - - _Enter ISABEL._ - -_Isab._ Oh never, never might the light of day arise and show me to -myself in my shame! Oh, fleeting morning star, mightest thou never yield -to the dawn that even now presses on thy azure skirts! And thou, great -Orb of all, do thou stay down in the cold ocean foam; let night for once -advance her trembling empire into thine! For once assert thy voluntary -power to hear and pity human misery and prayer, nor hasten up to proclaim -the vilest deed that Heaven, in revenge on man, has written on his guilty -annals! Alas! even as I speak, thou liftest thy bright, inexorable -face above the hills! Oh! horror! What shall I do? whither turn my -tottering feet? Back to my own home? and to my aged father, whose only -joy it was to see his own spotless honour spotlessly reflected in mine, -which now—And yet if I return not, I leave calumny to make my innocence -accomplice in my own shame! Oh that I had stayed to be slain by Juan over -my slaughtered honour! But I dared not meet his eyes even to die by his -hand. Alas!—Hark! What is that noise? - -_Crespo_ (_within_). Oh in pity slay me at once! - -_Isab._ One calling for death like myself? - -_Cres._ Whoever thou art— - -_Isab._ That voice! - - [_Exit._ - - -SCENE II.—_Another place in the Wood. CRESPO tied to a tree._ - - _Enter to him ISABEL._ - -_Isab._ My father! - -_Cres._ Isabel! Unbind these cords, my child. - -_Isab._ I dare not—I dare not yet, lest you kill before you hear my -story—and you must hear that. - -_Cres._ No more, no more! Misery needs no remembrancer. - -_Isab._ It must be. - -_Cres._ Alas! Alas! - -_Isab._ Listen for the last time. You know how, sitting last night -under the shelter of those white hairs in which my maiden youth had -grown, those wretches, whose only law is force, stole upon us. He who -had feigned that quarrel in our house, seizing and tearing me from your -bosom as a lamb from the fold, carried me off; my own cries stifled, -yours dying away behind me, and yet ringing in my ears like the sound of -a trumpet that has ceased!—till here, where out of reach of pursuit,—all -dark—the very moon lost from heaven—the wretch began with passionate -lies to excuse his violence by his love—his love!—I implored, wept, -threatened, all in vain—the villain—But my tongue will not utter what -I must weep in silence and ashes for ever! Yet let these quivering -hands and heaving bosom, yea, the very tongue that cannot speak, speak -loudliest! Amid my shrieks, entreaties, imprecations, the night began to -wear away and dawn to creep into the forest. I heard a rustling in the -leaves; it was my brother—who in the twilight understood all without a -word—drew the sword you had but just given him—they fought—and I, blind -with terror, shame, and anguish, fled till—till at last I fell before -your feet, my father, to tell you my story before I die! And now I undo -the cords that keep your hands from my wretched life. So—it is done! and -I kneel before you—your daughter—your disgrace and my own. Avenge us -both; and revive your dead honour in the blood of her you gave life to! - -_Cres._ Rise, Isabel; rise, my child. God has chosen thus to temper the -cup that prosperity might else have made too sweet. It is thus he writes -instruction in our hearts: let us bow down in all humility to receive it. -Come, we will home, my Isabel, lean on me. (_Aside._) ’Fore Heaven, an’ I -catch that captain! (_Aloud._) Come, my girl! Courage! so. - -_Voice_ (_within_). Crespo! Peter Crespo! - -_Cres._ Hark! - -_Voice._ Peter! Peter Crespo! - -_Cres._ Who calls? - - _Enter Notary._ - -_Not._ Peter Crespo! Oh, here you are at last! - -_Cres._ Well? - -_Not._ Oh, I’ve had a rare chase. Come—a largess for my news! The -corporation have elected you Mayor. - -_Cres._ Me! - -_Not._ Indeed. And already you are wanted in your office. The king is -expected almost directly through the town; and, beside that, the captain -who disturbed us all so yesterday has been brought back wounded—mortally, -it is thought—but no one knows by whom. - -_Cres._ (_to himself_). And so when I was meditating revenge, God himself -puts the rod of justice into my hands! How shall I dare myself outrage -the law when I am made its keeper? (_Aloud._) Well, sir, I am very -grateful to my fellow-townsmen for their confidence. - -_Not._ They are even now assembled at the town-hall, to commit the wand -to your hands; and indeed, as I said, want you instantly. - -_Cres._ Come then. - -_Isab._ Oh, my father! - -_Cres._ Ay, who can now see that justice is done you. Courage! Come. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE III.—_A room in Zalamea._ - - _Enter the Captain wounded, and Sergeant._ - -_Capt._ It was but a scratch after all. Why on earth bring me back to -this confounded place? - -_Serg._ Who could have known it was but a scratch till ’twas cured? Would -you have liked to be left to bleed to death in the wood? - -_Capt._ Well, it is cured however: and now to get clear away before the -affair gets wind. Are the others here? - -_Serg._ Yes, sir. - -_Capt._ Let us be off then before these fellows know; else we shall have -to fight for it. - - _Enter REBOLLEDO._ - -_Reb._ Oh, sir, the magistrates are coming! - -_Capt._ Well, what’s that to me? - -_Reb._ I only say they are at the door. - -_Capt._ All the better. It will be their duty to prevent any riot the -people might make if they knew of our being here. - -_Reb._ They know, and are humming about it through the town. - -_Capt._ I thought so. The magistrates must interfere, and then refer the -cause to a court martial, where, though the affair is awkward, I shall -manage to come off. - -_Cres._ (_within_). Shut the doors; any soldier trying to pass, cut him -down! - - _Enter CRESPO, with the wand of office in his hand, - Constables, Notary, etc._ - -_Capt._ Who is it dares give such an order? - -_Cres._ And why not? - -_Capt._ Crespo! Well, sir. The stick you are so proud of has no -jurisdiction over a soldier. - -_Cres._ For the love of Heaven don’t discompose yourself, captain; I am -only come to have a few words with you, and, if you please, alone. - -_Capt._ Well then, (_to soldiers, etc._) retire awhile. - -_Cres._ (_to his people._) And you—but hark ye; remember my orders. - - [_Exeunt Notary, Constables, etc._ - -_Cres._ And now, sir, that I have used my authority to make you listen, -I will lay it by, and talk to you as man to man. (_He lays down the -wand._) We are alone, Don Alvaro, and can each of us vent what is -swelling in his bosom; in mine at least, till it is like to burst! - -_Capt._ Well, sir? - -_Cres._ Till last night (let me say it without offence) I knew not, -except perhaps my humble birth, a single thing fortune had left me to -desire. Of such estate as no other farmer in the district; honoured and -esteemed (as now appears) by my fellow-townsmen, who neither envied -me my wealth, nor taunted me as an upstart; and this even in a little -community, whose usual, if not worst, fault it is to canvass each -other’s weaknesses. I had a daughter too—virtuously and modestly brought -up, thanks to her whom heaven now holds! Whether fair, let what has -passed—But I will leave what I may to silence—would to God I could leave -all, and I should not now be coming on this errand to you! But it may -not be:—you must help time to redress a wound so great, as, in spite of -myself, makes cry a heart not used to overflow. I must have redress. -And how? The injury is done—by you: I might easily revenge myself for -so public and shameful an outrage, but I would have retribution, not -revenge. And so, looking about, and considering the matter on all sides, -I see but one way which perhaps will not be amiss for either of us. It -is this. You shall forthwith take all my substance, without reserve of -a single farthing for myself or my son, only what you choose to allow -us; you shall even brand us on back or forehead, and sell us like slaves -or mules by way of adding to the fortune I offer you—all this, and what -you will beside, if only you will with it take my daughter to wife, -and restore the honour you have robbed. You will not surely eclipse -your own in so doing; your children will still be your children if my -grandchildren; and ’tis an old saying in Castile, you know, that, “’Tis -the horse redeems the saddle.” This is what I have to propose. Behold, -(_he kneels_,) upon my knees I ask it—upon my knees, and weeping such -tears as only a father’s anguish melts from his frozen locks! And what is -my demand? But that you should restore what you have robbed; so fatal for -us to lose, so easy for you to restore; which I could myself now wrest -from you by the hand of the law, but which I rather implore of you as a -mercy on my knees! - -_Capt._ You have done at last? Tiresome old man! You may think yourself -lucky I do not add your death, and that of your son, to what you call -your dishonour. ’Tis your daughter saves you both; let that be enough for -all. As to the wrong you talk of, if you would avenge it by force, I have -little to fear. As to your magistrate’s stick there, it does not reach my -profession at all. - -_Cres._ Once more I implore you— - -_Capt._ Have done—have done! - -_Cres._ Will not these tears— - -_Capt._ Who cares for the tears of a woman, a child, or an old man? - -_Cres._ No pity? - -_Capt._ I tell you I spare your life, and your son’s: pity enough. - -_Cres._ Upon my knees, asking back my own at your hands that robbed me? - -_Capt._ Nonsense! - -_Cres._ Who could extort it if I chose. - -_Capt._ I tell you you could not. - -_Cres._ There is no remedy then? - -_Capt._ Except silence, which I recommend you as the best. - -_Cres._ You are resolved? - -_Capt._ I am. - -_Cres._ (_rising and resuming his wand_). Then, by God, you shall pay for -it! Ho there! - - _Enter Constables, etc._ - -_Capt._ What are these fellows about? - -_Cres._ Take this captain to prison. - -_Capt._ To prison! you can’t do it. - -_Cres._ We’ll see. - -_Capt._ Am I a bonâ fide officer or not? - -_Cres._ And am I a straw magistrate or not? Away with him! - -_Capt._ The king shall hear of this. - -_Cres._ He shall—doubt it not—perhaps to-day; and shall judge between us. -By the by, you had best deliver up your sword before you go. - -_Capt._ My sword! - -_Cres._ Under arrest, you know. - -_Capt._ Well—take it with due respect then. - -_Cres._ Oh yes, and you too. Hark ye, (_to Constable, etc._) carry the -captain with due respect to Bridewell; and there with due respect clap -on him a chain and hand-cuffs; and not only him, but all that were with -him, (all with due respect,) respectfully taking care they communicate -not together. For I mean with all due respect to examine them on the -business, and if I get sufficient evidence, with the most infinite -respect of all, I’ll wring you by the neck till you’re dead, by God! - -_Capt._ Set a beggar on horseback! - - [_They carry him off._ - - _Enter Notary and others with REBOLLEDO, and CHISPA in boy’s - dress._ - -_Not._ This fellow and the page are all we could get hold of. The other -got off. - -_Cres._ Ah, this is the rascal who sung. I’ll make him sing on t’other -side of his mouth. - -_Reb._ Why, is singing a crime, sir? - -_Cres._ So little that I’ve an instrument shall make you do it as you -never did before. Will you confess? - -_Reb._ What am I to confess? - -_Cres._ What passed last night. - -_Reb._ Your daughter can tell you that better than I. - -_Cres._ Villain, you shall die for it! - - [_Exit._ - -_Chis._ Deny all, Rebolledo, and you shall be the hero of a ballad I’ll -sing. - -_Not._ And you too were of the singing party? - -_Chis._ Ah, ah, and if I was, you can’t put me to the question. - -_Not._ And why not, pray? - -_Chis._ The law forbids you. - -_Not._ Oh, indeed, the law? How so pray? - -_Chis._ Because I’m in the way ladies like to be who love Rebolledo. - - [_Exeunt, carried off, etc._ - - -SCENE IV.—_A Room in CRESPO’S House._ - - _Enter JUAN pursuing ISABEL with a dagger._ - -_Isab._ Help, help, help! - - [_Exit._ - -_Juan._ You must not live! - - _Enter CRESPO, who arrests him._ - -_Cres._ Hold! What is this? - -_Juan._ My father! To avenge our shame— - -_Cres._ Which is to be avenged by other means, and not by you. How come -you here? - -_Juan._ Sent back by Don Lope last night, to see after some missing -soldiers, on approaching the town I heard some cries— - -_Cres._ And drew your sword on your officer, whom you wounded, and are -now under arrest from me for doing it. - -_Juan._ Father! - -_Cres._ And Mayor of Zalamea. Within there! - - _Enter Constables._ - -Take him to prison. - -_Juan._ Your own son, sir? - -_Cres._ Ay, sir, my own father, if he transgressed the law I am made -guardian of. Off with him! (_They carry off JUAN._) So I shall keep him -out of harm’s way at least. And now for a little rest. (_He lays by his -wand._) - -_Lope._ (_calling within_). Stop! Stop! - -_Cres._ Who’s that calling without? Don Lope! - - _Enter LOPE._ - -_Lope._ Ay, Peter, and on a very confounded business too. But at least I -would not put up any where but at your friendly house. - -_Cres._ You are too good. But, indeed, what makes you back, sir, so -suddenly? - -_Lope._ A most disgraceful affair; the greatest insult to the service! -One of my soldiers overtook me on the road, flying at full speed, and -told me—Oh, the rascal! - -_Cres._ Well, sir? - -_Lope._ That some little pettifogging mayor of the place had got hold -of a captain in my regiment, and put him in prison! In prison! ’Fore -Heaven, I never really felt this confounded leg of mine till to-day, that -it prevented me jumping on horseback at once to punish this trumpery -Jack-in-office as he deserves. But here I am, and, by the Lord, I’ll -thrash him within an inch of his life! - -_Cres._ You will? - -_Lope._ Will I! - -_Cres._ But will he stand your thrashing? - -_Lope._ Stand it or not, he shall have it. - -_Cres._ Besides, might your captain happen to deserve what he met with? - -_Lope._ And, if he did, _I_ am his judge, not a trumpery mayor. - -_Cres._ This mayor is an odd sort of customer to deal with, I assure you. - -_Lope._ Some obstinate clodpole, I suppose. - -_Cres._ So obstinate, that if he’s made up his mind to hang your captain, -he’ll do it. - -_Lope._ Will he? I’ll see to that. And if you wish to see too, only tell -me where I can find him. - -_Cres._ Oh, close here. - -_Lope._ You know him? - -_Cres._ Very well, I believe. - -_Lope._ And who is it? - -_Cres._ Peter Crespo. (_Takes his wand._) - -_Lope._ By God, I suspected it. - -_Cres._ By God, you were right. - -_Lope._ Well, Crespo, what’s said is said. - -_Cres._ And, Don Lope, what’s done is done. - -_Lope._ I tell you, I want my captain. - -_Cres._ And I tell you, I’ve got him. - -_Lope._ Do you know he is the king’s officer? - -_Cres._ Do you know he ravished my daughter? - -_Lope._ That you are out-stripping your authority in meddling with him? - -_Cres._ Not more than he his in meddling with me. - -_Lope._ Do you know my authority supersedes yours? - -_Cres._ Do you know I tried first to get him to do me justice with no -authority at all, but the offer of all my estate? - -_Lope._ I tell you, _I’ll_ settle the business for you. - -_Cres._ And I tell you I never leave to another what I can do for myself. - -_Lope._ I tell you once more and for all, I must have my man. - -_Cres._ And I tell you once more and for all, you shall—when you have -cleared him of the depositions. - -_Lope._ The depositions! What are they? - -_Cres._ Oh, only a few sheets of parchment tagged together with the -evidence of his own soldiers against him. - -_Lope._ Pooh! I’ll go myself, and take him from the prison. - -_Cres._ Do, if you like an arquebuss ball through your body. - -_Lope._ I am accustomed to that. But I’ll make sure. Within there! - - _Enter Orderly._ - -Have the regiment to the market-place directly under arms, I’ll see if -I’m to have my prisoner or not. - - [_Exit._ - -_Cres._ And I—Hark ye! - - [_Exit, whispering to a Constable._ - - -SCENE V.—_Before the Prison in Zalamea. A Street in the centre._ - - _Enter on one side DON LOPE with Troops; at the other, - before the Prison, Labourers, Constables, etc. armed: - and afterward, CRESPO._ - -_Lope._ Soldiers, there is the prison where your captain lies. If he be -not given up instantly at my last asking, set fire to the prison; and, if -further resistance be made, to the whole town. - -_Cres._ Friends and fellow-townsmen, there is the prison where lies a -rascal capitally convicted— - -_Lope._ They grow stronger and stronger. Forward, men, forward! (_As -the Soldiers are about to advance, trumpets and shouts of ‘God save the -King,’ within._) - -_Lope._ The king! - -_All._ The king! - - _Enter KING PHILIP II. through centre Street, with Train, etc. - Shouting, Trumpets, etc._ - -_King._ What is all this? - -_Lope._ ’Tis well your Majesty came so suddenly, or you would have had -one of your whole towns by way of bonfire on your progress. - -_King._ What has happened? - -_Lope._ The mayor of this place has had the impudence to seize a captain -in your Majesty’s service, clap him in prison, and refuses to surrender -him to me, his commander. - -_King._ Where is this mayor? - -_Cres._ Here, so please your Majesty. - -_King._ Well, Mr. Mayor, what have you to offer in defence? - -_Cres._ These papers, my Liege: in which this same captain is clearly -proved guilty, on the evidence of his own soldiers, of carrying off and -violating a maiden in a desolate place, and refusing her the satisfaction -of marriage though peaceably entreated to it by her father with the -endowment of all his substance. - -_Lope._ This same mayor, my Liege, is the girl’s father. - -_Cres._ What has that to do with it? If another man had come to me -under like circumstances, should I not have done him like justice? To -be sure. And therefore, why not do for my own daughter what I should -do for another’s? Besides, I have just done justice against my own son -for striking his captain; why should I be suspected of straining it in -my daughter’s favour? But here is the process; let his Majesty see for -himself if the case be made out. The witnesses are at hand too; and -if they or any one can prove I have suborned any evidence, or any way -acted with partiality to myself, or malice to the captain, let them come -forward, and let my life pay for it instead of his. - -_King_ (_after reading the papers_). I see not but the charge is -substantiated: and ’tis indeed a heavy one. Is there any one here to deny -these depositions? (_Silence._) But, be the crime proved, _you_ have no -authority to judge or punish it. You must let the prisoner go. - -_Cres._ You must send for him then, please your Majesty. In little towns -like this, where public officers are few, the deliberative is forced -sometimes to be the executive also. - -_King._ What do you mean? - -_Cres._ Your Majesty will see. (_The prison gates open, and the Captain -is seen within, garrotted in a chair._) - -_King._ And you have dared, sir!— - -_Cres._ Your Majesty said the sentence was just; and what is well said -cannot be ill done. - -_King._ Could you not have left it for my imperial Court to execute? - -_Cres._ All your Majesty’s justice is only one great body with many -hands; if a thing be to be done, what matter by which? Or what matter -erring in the inch, if one be right in the ell? - -_King._ At least you might have beheaded him, as an officer and a -gentleman. - -_Cres._ Please your Majesty, we have so few Hidalgos hereabout, that our -executioner is out of practice at beheading. And this, after all, depends -on the dead gentleman’s taste; if he don’t complain, I don’t think any -one else need for him. - -_King._ Don Lope, the thing is done; and, if unusually, not -unjustly—Come, order all your soldiers away with me toward Portugal; -where I must be with all despatch. For you——(_to CRESPO_) what is your -name? - -_Cres._ Peter Crespo, please your Majesty. - -_King._ Peter Crespo, then, I appoint you perpetual Mayor of Zalamea. And -so farewell. - - [_Exit with Train._ - -_Cres._ (_kneeling_). God save your Highness! - -_Lope._ Friend Peter, his Highness came just in time. - -_Cres._ For your captain, do you mean? - -_Lope._ Come now—confess, wouldn’t it have been better to have given up -the prisoner, who, at my instance, would have married your daughter, -saved her reputation, and made her wife of an Hidalgo? - -_Cres._ Thank you, Don Lope, she has chosen to enter a convent and be the -bride of one who is no respecter of Hidalgos. - -_Lope._ Well, well, you will at least give me up the other prisoners, I -suppose? - -_Cres._ Bring them out. (_JUAN, REBOLLEDO, CHISPA, brought out._) - -_Lope._ Your son too! - -_Cres._ Yes, ’twas he wounded his captain, and I must punish him. - -_Lope._ Come, come, you have done enough—at least give _him_ up to his -commander. - -_Cres._ Eh? well, perhaps so; I’ll leave his punishment to you. - - With which now this true story ends— - Pardon its many errors, friends. - -Mr. Ticknor thinks Calderon took the hint of this play from Lope de -Vega’s ‘Wise Man at Home’; and he quotes (though without noticing this -coincidence) a reply of Lope’s hero to some one advising him to assume -upon his wealth, that is much of a piece with Crespo’s answer to Juan on -a like score in the first act of this piece. Only that in Lope the answer -_is_ an answer: which, as Juan says, in Calderon it is not; so likely to -happen with a borrowed answer. - -This is Mr. Ticknor’s version from the older play: - - He that was born to live in humble state - Makes but an awkward knight, do what you will. - My father means to die as he has lived, - The same plain collier that he always was; - And I too must an honest ploughman die. - ’Tis but a single step or up or down; - For men there must be that will plough or dig, - And when the vase has once been filled, be sure - ’Twill always savour of what first it held. - -I must observe of the beginning of Act III., that in this translation -Isabel’s speech is intentionally reduced to prose, not only in measure -of words, but in some degree of idea also. It would have been far easier -to make at least verse of almost the most elevated and purely beautiful -piece of Calderon’s poetry I know; a speech (the beginning of it) worthy -of the Greek Antigone, which, after two Acts of homely talk, Calderon has -put into his _Labradora’s_ mouth. This, admitting for all culmination of -passion, and Spanish passion, must excuse my tempering it to the key in -which (measure only kept) Calderon himself sets out. - - - - -BEWARE OF SMOOTH WATER - - - - -DRAMATIS PERSONÆ - - - DON ALONSO - - DONNA CLARA ⎫ - ⎬ _his Daughters._ - DONNA EUGENIA ⎭ - - DON TORRIBIO _his Nephew._ - - MARI NUÑO ⎫ - ⎪ - BRIGIDA ⎬ _his Servants._ - ⎪ - OTAÑEZ ⎭ - - DON FELIX ⎫ - ⎪ - DON JUAN ⎬ _Gallants._ - ⎪ - DON PEDRO ⎭ - - HERNANDO _Don Felix’s Servant._ - - - - -ACT I - - -SCENE I.—_A Room in DON ALONSO’S House at Madrid._ - - _Enter ALONSO and OTAÑEZ, meeting._ - - _Otañ._ My own dear master! - - _Alon._ Welcome, good Otañez, - My old and trusty servant! - - _Otañ._ Have I lived - To see what I so long have longed to see, - My dear old master home again! - - _Alon._ You could not - Long for ’t, Otañez, more than I myself. - What wonder, when my daughters, who, you know, - Are the two halves that make up my whole heart, - Silently called me home, and silently - (For maiden duty still gagged filial love) - Out of the country shade where both have grown, - Urged me to draw the blossom of their youth - Where it might ripen in its proper day. - - _Otañ._ Indeed, indeed, sir. Oh that my dear lady - Were but alive to see this happy hour! - - _Alon._ Nay, good Otañez, mar it not recalling - What, ever sleeping in the memory, - Needs but a word to waken into tears. - God have her in his keeping! He best knows - How I have suffered since the king, my master, - Despatching me with charge to Mexico, - I parted from her ne’er to see her more; - And now come back to find her gone for ever! - You know ’twas not the long and roaring seas - Frighted her for herself, but these two girls— - For them she stayed—and full of years and honour - Died, when God willed! and I have hastened home - Well as I may, to take into my hands - The charge death slipped from hers. - - _Otañ._ Your own good self! - Though were there ever father, who could well - Have left that charge to others, it was you, - Your daughters so religiously brought up - In convent with their aunt at Alcalá. - Well, you are come, and God be praised for it! - And, at your bidding, here are they, and I, - And good old Mari Nuño—all come up - To meet you at Madrid. I could not wait - The coach’s slower pace, but must spur on - To kiss my old master’s hand. - - _Alon._ Myself had gone - To meet them; but despatches of the king’s - Prevented me. They’re well? - - _Voices_ (_within_). Make way there—way! - - _Otañ._ And lovely as the dawn. And hark! are here - To answer for themselves. - - _Enter CLARA, EUGENIA, MARI NUÑO, as from travel._ - - _Clara_ (_kneeling_). Sir, and my father—by my daily prayers - Heaven, won at last in suffering me to kiss - These honoured hands, leaves me no more to ask, - Than at these honoured feet to die, - With its eternal blessing afterward. - - _Eug._ And I, my father, grateful as I am - To Heaven, for coming to your feet once more, - Have yet this more to ask—to live with you - For many, many happy years to come! - - _Alon._ Oh, not in vain did nature fix the heart - In the mid bosom, like a sun to move - Each circling arm with equal love around! - Come to them—one to each—and take from me - Your lives anew. God bless you! - Come, we are here together in Madrid, - And in the sphere where you were born to move. - This is the house that is to be your own - Until some happy lover calls you his; - Till which I must be father, lover, husband, - In one. Brigida! - - _Enter BRIGIDA._ - - _Brig._ Sir? - - _Alon._ My daughters’ rooms - Are ready? - - _Brig._ Ay, sir, as the sky itself - For the sun’s coming. - - _Alon._ Go and see them then, - And tell me how you like what I have bought, - And fitted up for your reception. - - _Clara._ I thank you, sir, and bless this happy day, - Though leaving my loved convent far away. - - _Eug._ (_aside_). And I twice bless it, that no longer hid - In a dull cell; I come to see Madrid. - - [_Exeunt CLARA and EUGENIA._ - - _Mari Nuño._ Now the young ladies, sir, have had their turn, - Shall not I kiss your hand? - - _Alon._ Oh, welcome too, - Good Mari Nuño; who have been so long - A mother to them both. And, by the by, - Good Mari Nuño, now we are alone, - I’d hear from you, who know them both so well, - Their several characters and dispositions, - And not as ’twere, come blindfold to the charge - That Heaven has laid upon me. - - _Mari._ You say well, sir. - Well, I might say at once, and truly too, - That nothing need be said in further praise - But that they are your daughters. But to pass, - Lest you should think I flatter, - From general to individual, - And to begin with the eldest, Donna Clara; - Eldest in years and in discretion too, - Indeed the very pearl of prudence, sir, - And maidenly reserve; her eyes still fixt - On earth in modesty, or heaven in prayer; - As gentle as a lamb, almost as silent; - And never known to say an angry word: - And, such her love of holy quietude, - Unless at your desire, would never leave - Her cloister and her missal. She’s, in short, - An angel upon earth, whom to be near - And wait on, one would sell oneself a slave. - So much for her. Donna Eugenia, - Though unexceptionable in heart and head, - As, God forgive me, any child of yours - Must be, is different,—not for me to say - Better or worse,—but very different: - Of a quick spirit, loving no control; - Indeed, as forward as the other shy; - Quick to retort, and sharply; so to speak, - Might sometimes try the patience of a saint; - Longing to leave a convent for the world, - To see and to be seen; makes verses too; - Would not object, I think, to have them made - (Or love, may be) to her—you understand; - Not that I mean to say— - - _Alon._ Enough, enough. - Thanks for your caution as your commendation: - How could I fortify against weak points - Unless I knew of them? And, to this end, - Although Eugenia be the younger sister, - I’ll see her married first; husband and children - The best specific for superfluous youth: - And to say truth, good Mari, the very day - Of my arrival hither, I despatch’d - A letter to my elder brother’s son, - Who still maintains our dwindled patrimony - Up in the mountains, which I would reclaim, - Or keep it rather in its lawful line, - By an alliance with a child of mine, - All falls out luckily. Eugenia - Wedded to him shall make herself secure, - And the two stems of Cuadradillos so - Unite and once more flourish, at a blow. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE II.—_A Room in DON FELIX’S House._ - -_DON FELIX, and HERNANDO dressing him._ - -_Hern._ Such fine ladies, sir, come to be our neighbours. - -_Fel._ So they ought to be, such a noise as they made in coming. - -_Hern._ One of them already betrothed, however. - -_Fel._ So let her, and married too, if she would only let me sleep quiet. -But what kind of folks are they? - -_Hern._ Oh, tip-top. Daughters of the rich old Indian has bought the -house and gardens opposite, and who will give them all his wealth when -they marry, which they say he has brought them to Madrid expressly to do. - -_Fel._ But are they handsome? - -_Hern._ I thought so, sir, as I saw them alighting. - -_Fel._ Rich and handsome then? - -_Hern._ Yes, sir. - -_Fel._ Two good points in a woman, at all events, of which I might -profit, such opportunities as I have. - -_Hern._ Have a care, sir, for the old servant who told me this, told me -also that the papa is a stout fiery old fellow, who’d stick the Great -Turk himself if he caught him trifling with his daughters. - -_Fel._ That again is not so well; for though I’m not the Great Turk, I’ve -no mind to share that part of his fortune. But of the two girls, what -said your old servant? who, as such, I suppose told you all that was -amiss in them at least. - -_Hern._ Well, you shall judge. One, the oldest, is very discreet. - -_Fel._ Ah, I told you so. - -_Hern._ The other lively. - -_Fel._ Come, that sounds better. One can tackle her hand to hand, but the -grave one one can only take a long shot at with the eyes. - -_Hern._ Whichever it be, I should like to see you yourself hit one of -these days, sir. - -_Fel._ Me? The woman is not yet cast who will do that. If I meddle with -these it is only because they lie so handy. - -_Hern._ And handsome as well as handy! - -_Fel._ Pooh! I wouldn’t climb a wall to pluck the finest fruit in the -world. But hark! some one’s at the door. See who ’tis. - - _Enter DON JUAN in travelling dress._ - -_Juan._ I, Felix, who seeing your door open, could not but walk in -without further ado. - -_Fel._ You know that it and my heart are ever open to you. Welcome, -welcome, Don Juan! all the more welcome for being unexpected: for though -I had heard we might one day have you back, I did not think to see you -yet. - -_Juan._ Why, the truth is I got my pardon sooner than I expected. - -_Fel._ Though not than I prayed for. But tell me all about it. - -_Juan._ You know I was obliged to fly to Italy after that unlucky duel. -Well, there the great duke of Terranova, who (as good luck would have it) -was then going ambassador to Hungary, took a fancy to me, and carried me -with him; and, pleased with what service I did him, interested himself in -my fortunes, and one good day, when I was least expecting it, with his -own hand put my pardon into mine. - -_Fel._ A pardon that never should have needed asking, all of an unlucky -quarrel at cards. - -_Juan._ So you and the world suppose, Felix: but in truth there was -something more behind. - -_Fel._ Ah? - -_Juan._ Why the truth is, I was courting a fair lady, and with fair hope -of success, though she would not confess it, urging that her father being -away at the time, her mother would not consent in his absence. Suddenly -I found I had a rival, and took occasion of a casual dispute at cards to -wipe out the score of jealousy; which I did with a vengeance to both of -us, he being killed on the spot, and I, forced to fly the country, must, -I doubt, ere this, have died out of my lady’s memory, where only I cared -to live. - -_Fel._ Ay, you know well enough that in Madrid Oblivion lies in the very -lap of Remembrance, whether of love or loathing. I thank my stars I never -pinned my faith on woman yet. - -_Juan._ Still the same sceptic? - -_Fel._ Ay, they are fine things, but my own heart’s ease is finer still; -and if one party must be deceived, I hold it right in self-defence it -should not be I. But come; that you may not infect me with your faith, -nor I you with my heresy, tell me about your journey. - -_Juan._ How could it be otherwise than a pleasant one, such pageants as I -had to entertain me by the way? - -_Fel._ Oh, you mean our royal master’s nuptials? - -_Juan._ Ay! - -_Fel._ I must hear all about them, Juan; even now, upon the spot. - -_Juan._ Well then, you know at least, without my telling you, how great a -debt Germany has owed us— - - _Enter DON PEDRO hastily._ - -_Ped._ My dear Don Felix! - -_Fel._ Don Pedro! By my faith, my door must be the door of heaven, -I think; for all the good keep coming in by ’t. But how comes your -University term so soon over? - -_Ped._ Alas, it’s _not_ over, but— - -_Fel._ Well? - -_Ped._ I’ll tell you. - -_Juan._ If I be in your way— - -_Ped._ No, no, sir, if you are Felix’s friend you command my confidence. -My story is easily told. A lady I am courting in Alcalá is suddenly come -up to Madrid, and I am come after her. And to escape my father’s wrath at -playing truant, I must beg sanctuary in your house awhile. - -_Fel._ And this once will owe me thanks for your entertainment, since I -have Don Juan’s company to offer you. - -_Juan._ Nay, ’tis I have to thank you for Don Pedro’s. - -_Fel._ Only remember, both of you, that however you may amuse one -another, you are not to entertain me with your several hearts and darts. -Hernando, get us something to eat; and till it comes you shall set off -rationally at least, Juan, with the account of the royal nuptials you -were beginning just as Don Pedro came in. - -_Juan._ On condition you afterwards recount to me your rejoicings in -Madrid meanwhile. - -_Fel._ Agreed. - -_Ped._ I come in happy time to hear you both. - - _Juan._ You know, as I was saying, what a debt - Germany has owed us since our fair Maria - Her title of the Royal Child of Spain - Set in the crown of Hungary—a debt - They only could repay us as they do, - Returning us one of the self-same stock, - So like herself in beauty and desert, - We seem but taking what we gave away. - If into Austria’s royal hand we gave - Our royal rose, she now returns us one - Sprung of the self-same stem, as fair, as sweet— - In maiden graces; and if double-dyed - In the imperial purple, yet so fresh, - She scarce has drunk the dawns of fourteen Aprils. - The marriage contract signed, the marriage self - Delayed, too long for loyal Spain’s desire, - That like the bridegroom for her coming burned, - (But happiness were hardly happiness - Limped it not late,) till her defective years - Reached their due blossom—Ah, happy defect, - That every unconditioned hour amends! - At last arose the day—the day of days— - When from her royal eyrie in the North - The imperial eaglet flew. Young Ferdinand, - King of Bohemia and Hungary - Elect, who not in vain Rome’s holy hand - Awaits to bind the laurel round his brow, - As proxy for our king espoused her first, - And then, all lover-like, as far as Trent - Escorted her, with such an equipage - As when the lords and princes of three realms - Out-do each other in magnificence - Of gold and jewel, ransackt from the depths - Of earth and sea, to glitter in the eye - Of Him who sees and lights up all from heaven. - So, like a splendid star that trails her light - Far after her, she crossed fair Italy, - When Doria, Genoa’s great Admiral, - Always so well-affected to our crown, - Took charge of her sea-conduct; which awhile, - Till winds and seas were fair, she waited for - In Milan; till, resolved on embarkation, - The sea, that could not daunt her with his rage, - Soon as her foot was on his yellow shore, - Call’d up his Tritons and his Nereids - Who love and make a calm, to smooth his face - And still his heaving breast; on whose blue flood - The golden galley in defiance burn’d, - Her crew in wedding pearl and silver drest; - Her silken sail and cordage, fluttering - With myriad flags and streamers of all dye, - Sway’d like a hanging garden over-head, - Amid whose blossoms stood the royal bride, - A fairer Venus than did ever float - Over the seas to her dominions - Arm’d with the arrows of diviner love. - Then to the sound of trump and clarion - The royal galley, and with her forty more - That follow’d in her wake as on their queen, - Weigh’d, shook out sail, and dipp’d all oars at once, - Making the flood clap hands in acclamation; - And so with all their streamers, as ’twere spring - Floating away to other hemispheres, - Put out to sea; and touching not the isles - That gem the midway deep—not from distrust - Of friendly France in whose crown they are set, - And who (as mighty states contend in peace - With courtesies as with hard blows in war) - Swell’d the triumphal tide with pageantries - I may not stop to tell—but borne upon, - And (as I think) bearing, fair wind and wave, - The moving city on its moving base - With sail and oar enter’d the Spanish Main, - Which, flashing emerald and diamond, - Leap’d round the golden prow that clove between, - And kiss’d the happy shore that first declined - To meet its mistress. Happy Denia, - That in her golden sand holds pearly-like - The first impression of that royal foot! - I will not tell—let Felix, who was here, - And has new breath—how, landed happily, - Our loyal Spain—yea, with what double welcome— - Received the niece and consort of our king, - Whom, one and both, and both in one, may Heaven - Bless with fair issue, and all happiness, - For years and years to come! - - _Enter HERNANDO._ - -_Hern._ Sir, sir! - -_Fel._ Well? - -_Hern._ Your two new neighbours—just come to the window. - -_Fel._ Gentlemen, we must waive my story then, for as the proverb goes, -‘_My Lady first._’ (_He looks out._) By Heaven, they are divine! - -_Juan._ Let me see. (_Aside._) By Heaven, ’tis she! - -_Ped._ Come, it is my turn now. (_Aside._) Eugenia! I must keep it to -myself. - -_Fel._ I scarce know which is handsomest. - -_Juan._ Humph! both pretty girls enough. - -_Ped._ Yes, very well. - -_Fel._ Listen, gentlemen; whether handsome, or pretty, or very well, or -all three, you must not stare at them from my window so vehemently; being -the daughters of a friend of mine, and only just come to Madrid. - -_Juan_ (_aside_). That the first thing I should see on returning to -Madrid, is she for whose love I left it! - -_Ped._ (_aside_). That the first thing I see here is what I came for the -very purpose of seeing! - -_Hernando_ (_entering_). Table is served, sir. - -_Fel._ To table, then. I know not how it is with you, gentlemen, but for -myself, my appetite is stronger than my love. - -_Juan_ (_aside to FELIX_). You jest as usual; but I assure you it is one -of those very ladies on whom my fortune turns! - - [_Exit._ - -_Fel._ Adieu to one then. - -_Ped._ All this is fun to you, Felix; but believe me, one of those ladies -is she I have followed from Alcalá. - - [_Exit._ - -_Fel._ Adieu to both then—unless indeed you are both of you in love with -the same. But, thank God, - - I that am in love with neither, - Need not plague myself for either. - The least expense of rhyme or care - That man can upon woman spare. - -But they are very handsome nevertheless. - - [_Exit._ - - -SCENE III.—_An Apartment in DON ALONSO’S House._ - - _Enter CLARA and EUGENIA._ - - _Clara._ Is ’t not a pretty house, Eugenia, - And all about it? - - _Eug._ I dare say you think so. - - _Clara._ But do not you then? - - _Eug._ No—to me it seems - A sort of out-court and repository, - Fit but for old Hidalgos and Duennas, - Too stale and wither’d for the blooming world, - To wear away in. - - _Clara._ I like its quietude; - This pretty garden too. - - _Eug._ A pretty thing - To come for to Madrid—a pretty garden! - I tell you were it fuller of all flowers - Than is a Dutchman’s in his tulip-time, - I want the lively street whose flowers are shops, - Carriages, soldiers, ladies, cavaliers, - Plenty of dust in summer, dirt in winter, - And where a woman sitting at her blind - Sees all that passes. Then this furniture! - - _Clara._ Well—surely velvet curtains, sofas, chairs, - Rich Indian carpets, beds of Damascene, - Chandeliers, gilded mirrors, pictures too— - What would you have, Eugenia? - - _Eug._ All very well, - But, after all, no marvellous result - Of ten years spent in golden India. - Why, one has heard how fine a thing it is - To be my Lord Mayor’s daughter; what must be, - Methought, to own a dowry from Peru! - And when you talk about the furniture, - Pictures, chairs, carpets, mirrors, and all that— - The best of all is wanting. - - _Clara._ What is that? - - _Eug._ Why, a coach, woman! Heaven and earth, a coach! - What use is all the money-bonds and gold - He has been boasting of in all his letters, - Unless, now come at last, he plays the part - We’ve heard so long rehearsing? - - _Clara._ Not to spare - Your father even, Eugenia! For shame! - ’Tis time to tie your roving tongue indeed. - Consider, too, we are not in the country, - Where tongue and eyes, Eugenia, may run wild - Without offence to uncensorious woods; - But in a city, with its myriad eyes - Inquisitively turn’d to watch, and tongues - As free and more malicious than yours - To tell—where honour’s monument is wax, - And shame’s of brass. I know, Eugenia, - High spirits are not in themselves a crime; - But if to men they _seem_ so?—that’s the question. - For it is almost better to do ill - With a good outward grace than well without; - Especially a woman; most of all - One not yet married; whose reputation - One breath of scandal, like a flake of snow, - May melt away; one of those tenderest flowers - Whose leaves ev’n the warm breath of flattery - Withers as fast as envy’s bitterest wind, - That surely follows short-lived summer praise. - Ev’n those who praise your beauty, grace, or wit, - Will be the first, if you presume on them, - To pull the idol down themselves set up, - Beginning with malicious whispers first, - Until they join the storm themselves have raised. - And most if one be given oneself to laugh - And to make laugh: the world will doubly yearn - To turn one’s idle giggle into tears. - I say this all by way of warning, sister, - Now we are launcht upon this dangerous sea. - Consider of it. - - _Eug._ ‘Which that all may do - May Heaven—’ Come, Clara, if the sermon’s done, - Pray finish it officially at once, - And let us out of church. These homilies - In favour of defunct proprieties, - Remind one of old ruff and armour worn - By Don Punctilio and Lady Etiquette - A hundred years ago, and past with them - And all their tedious ancestors for ever. - I am alive, young, handsome, witty, rich, - And come to town, and mean to have my fling, - Not caring what malicious people say, - If nothing true to say against my honour. - And so with all sail set, and streamers flying, - (A coach shall be my ship, and I will have it!) - I mean to glide along the glittering streets - And down the Prado, as I go along - Capturing what eyes and hearts I find by the way, - Heedless of every little breath of scandal - That such as you turn back affrighted by. - I’ll know the saints’ days better than the saints - Themselves; the holidays and festivals - Better than over-done apprentices. - If a true lover comes whom I can like - As he loves me, I shall not turn away: - As for the rest who flutter round in love, - Not with myself, but with my father’s wealth, - Or with themselves, or any thing but me, - You shall see, Clara, how I’ll play with them, - Till, having kept them on my string awhile - For my own sport, I’ll e’en turn them adrift - And let them go, the laugh all on my side. - And therefore when you see— - - _Clara._ How shall I dare - To see what even now I quake to hear! - - _Enter ALONSO._ - -_Alon._ Clara! Eugenia! - -_Both._ Sir? - -_Alon._ Good news, good news, my girls! What think you? My nephew, Don -Torribio Cuadradillos, my elder brother’s elder son, head of our family -and inheritor of the estate, is coming to visit me; will be here indeed -almost directly. What think you now? - -_Eug._ (_aside_). One might have thought, from such a flourish of -trumpets, the king was coming at least. - -_Alon._ Mari Nuño! - -_Mari_ (_entering_). Sir? - -_Alon._ Let a chamber be got ready for my nephew, Don Torribio, directly. -Brigida! - -_Brig._ (_entering_). Sir? - -_Alon._ See that linen be taken up into Don Torribio’s room. Otañez, have -dinner ready for my nephew, Don Torribio, directly he arrives. And you -two, (_to his daughters_,) I expect you will pay him all attention; as -head of the family, consider. Ay, and if he _should_ take a fancy to one -of you—I know not he will—but if he should, I say, whichever it be, she -will take precedence of her sister for ever. (_Aside._) This I throw out -as a bait for Eugenia. - -_Eug._ It must be Clara, then, sir, for she is oldest you know. - -_Clara._ Not in discretion and all wife-like qualities, Eugenia. - -_Eug._ Clara! - -_Alon._ Hark! in the court! - -_Don Torribio_ (_speaking loud within_). Hoy! good man there! Can you -tell me if my uncle lives hereabout? - -_Alon._ ’Tis my nephew, surely! - -_Torr._ (_within_). Why, fellow, I mean of course Don Alonso—who has two -daughters, by the token I’m to marry one of ’em. - -_Alon._ ’Tis he! I will go and receive him. - - [_Exit._ - -_Torr._ (_within_). Very well then. Hold my stirrup, Lorenzo. - -_Eug._ What a figure! - - _Enter ALONSO and TORRIBIO._ - -_Alon._ My nephew, Don Torribio, giving thanks to Heaven for your safe -arrival at my house, I hasten to welcome you as its head. - -_Torr._ Ay, uncle, and a head taller, I promise you, than almost any body -in the parish. - -_Alon._ Let me introduce your cousins to you, who are so anxious for your -acquaintance. - -_Torr._ Ah, that’s proper of ’em, isn’t it? - -_Both._ Welcome, sir. - -_Alon._ And how are you, nephew? - -_Torr._ Very tired, I promise you: for the way is long and my horse a -rough goer, so as I’ve lost leather. - -_Alon._ Sit down, and rest till they bring dinner. - -_Torr._ Sitting an’t the way to mend it. But, however——(_Sits._) Nay, -though I be head of the house, I an’t proud—you can all of you sit down -too. - -_Clara_ (_aside_). Amiable humility! - -_Eug._ (_aside_). No wonder the house is crazy if this be its head! - -_Torr._ Well, now I come to look at you, cousins, I may say you are both -of you handsome girls, indeed; which’ll put me to some trouble. - -_Clara._ How so, cousin? - -_Torr._ Why, didn’t you ever hear that if you put an ass between two -bundles of hay, he’ll die without knowing which to begin on, eh? - -_Alon._ His father’s pleasant humour! - -_Clara._ A courteous comparison! - -_Eug._ (_aside_). Which holds as far as the ass at least. - -_Torr._ Well, there’s a remedy. I say, uncle, mustn’t cousins get a -dispensation before they marry? - -_Alon._ Yes, nephew. - -_Torr._ Well then, when you’re about it, you can get two dispensations, -and I can marry both my cousins. Aha! Well, but, uncle, how are you? I -had forgot to ask you that. - -_Alon._ Quite well, in seeing you in my house at last, and to reap, I -trust, the fruits of all my travel. - -_Torr._ Ah, you may say that. Oh, cousins, if you could only see my -pedigree and patent, in a crimson velvet case; and all my forefathers -painted in a row—I have it in my saddle bags, and if you’ll wait a minute— - - _Enter MARI NUÑO._ - -_Mari._ Dinner’s ready. - -_Torr._ (_looking at MARI_). Lord a’mercy, uncle, what’s this? something -you brought from India, belike; does it speak? - -_Alon._ Nay, nephew, ’tis our Duenna. - -_Torr._ A what? - -_Alon._ A Duenna. - -_Torr._ A tame one? - -_Alon._ Come, come, she tells us dinner’s ready. - -_Torr._ Yes, if you believe her; but I’ve heard say, Duennas always lie. -However, I’ll go and see for myself. - - [_Exit._ - -_Clara._ What a cousin! - -_Eug._ What a lover! - -_Mari._ Foh! I wonder how the watch came to let the plague into the city! - - [_Exit._ - -_Alon._ You are silent, both of you? - -_Both._ Not I, sir. - - _Alon._ I understand you; Don Torribio - Pleases you not—Well, he’s a little rough; - But wait a little; see what a town life - Will do for him; all come up so at first, - The finest diamonds, you know, the roughest— - Oh, I rejoice my ancestor’s estate - Shall to my grandchildren revert again! - For this I tell you—one, I care not which, - But one of you, shall marry Don Torribio: - And let not her your cousin does not choose, - For one more courtly think herself reserved; - By Heaven she shall marry, if e’er marry, - One to the full as rough and country-like. - What, I to see my wealth, so hardly won, - Squander’d away by some fine town gallant, - In silks and satins! see my son-in-law - Spend an estate upon a hat and feather! - I tell you I’ll not have it. One of you - Must marry Don Torribio. - - [_Exit._ - - _Clara._ I’ll die first. - - _Eug._ And I’ll live an old maid—which much is worst. - - - - -ACT II - - -SCENE I.—_A Room in DON FELIX’S House._ - -_FELIX and HERNANDO; to whom enter JUAN._ - - _Fel._ Well, Juan, and how slept you? - - _Juan._ As one must - In your house, Felix; had not such a thought - No house can quiet woke me long ere dawn. - - _Fel._ Indeed! How so? - - _Juan._ Felix, the strangest thing - But now we are alone I’ll tell you all. - Last night—the very moment that I saw - That angel at the window, as at Heaven’s gate— - The fire that I myself had thought half dead - Under the ashes of so long an absence, - Sprung up anew into full blaze. Alas! - But one brief moment did she dawn on us, - Then set, to rise no more all the evening, - Watch as I would. But day is come again, - And as I think, Felix, the holiday - When our new Queen shall make her solemn entry - Into Madrid; and she, my other Queen, - Will needs be up—be up and out betimes; - So I forestall the sun in looking for her, - And now will to the door beneath her window - Better to watch her rising. - But, as you love me, not a word of this - Breathe to Don Pedro. - - [_Exit._ - - _Fel._ And does he think - Because his memory of her is quick, - Hers is of him? Aha! - - _Hern._ Nay, if he like it, - ‘Oh, let him be deceived!’ - - _Fel._ ’Twas wisely said - By him who self-deception used to call - The cheapest and the dearest thing of all. - Ha! here’s the other swain! and now to see - How he has prosper’d. I begin to think - My house is turn’d into a Lazar-house - Of crazy lovers. - - _Enter PEDRO._ - - Good day, Don Pedro. - - _Ped._ As it needs must be - To one who hails it in your house, and opposite - My lady’s! Oh, you cannot think, my Felix, - With what a blessed conscience of all this - I woke this morning! I can scarce believe ’t. - Why, in your house, I shall have chance on chance, - Nay, certainty of seeing her—_to-day_ - Most certainly. But I’ll go post myself - Before the door; she will be out betimes - To mass. - - _Fel._ Well, you will find Don Juan there. - - _Ped._ Eh? Well, so much the better, I can do ’t - With less suspicion, nay, with none at all - If you will go with us. Only, Don Felix, - Breathe not a word to him about my love. - - _As he is going, re-enter JUAN._ - - _Fel._ Juan again? - - _Juan._ I only came to ask - What church we go to? (_Aside to FELIX._) Let us keep at home. - - _Fel._ Don Pedro, what say you? - - _Ped._ Oh, where you please. - (_Aside._) Stir not! - - _Fel._ (_aside_). How easy to oblige two friends - Who ask the same, albeit with divers ends! - (_Aloud._) What, are your worships both in love, perhaps, - As Spanish cavaliers are bound to be, - And think I’ve nothing else to do, forsooth, - Than follow each upon his wildgoose chase? - Forgetting I may take ’t into my head - To fall in love myself—perhaps with one, - Or both, of those fair ladies chance has brought - Before my windows. Now I think upon ’t, - I am, or mean to be, in love with one; - And, to decide with which, I’ll e’en wait here - Till they both sally forth to church themselves. - So, gentlemen, would you my company, - I must not go with you, you stay with me. - - _Ped._ Willingly. - - _Juan._ Oh, most willingly! (_Aside to FELIX._) How well - You managed it. - - _Ped._ (_aside to FELIX_). ’Tis just as I could wish. - - _Fel._ (_aside_). And just as I, if thereby I shall learn - Whether they love the same; and, if the same, - Whether the one—But come, come! ’tis too late - For wary me to wear love’s cap and bells. - - _Juan._ Since we must do your bidding on this score, - We’ll e’en make you do ours upon another, - And make you tell us, as you promised both, - And _owe_ to me—what, when our Queen was landed, - You fine folks of Madrid did in her honour. - - _Ped._ Ay, if you needs will fetter our free time, - Help us at least to pass it by the story - You had begun. - - _Fel._ Well then, to pick it up - Where Juan left it for us, on the shore. - There, when our Queen was landed, as I hear, - The Countess Medellin, her Chamberlain, - Of the Cordona family, received her, - And the Lord Admiral on the king’s part, - With pomp that needed no excuse of haste - And such a retinue (for who claims not - To be the kinsman, friend, or follower, - Of such a name?) as I believe Castile - Was almost drain’d to follow in his wake. - Oh, noble house! in whom the chivalry - Of courage, blameless worth, and loyalty, - Is nature’s patent of inheritance - From generation to generation! - And so through ringing Spain, town after town, - And every town a triumph, on they pass’d. - Madrid meanwhile— - - _Juan._ Stop, stop! They’re coming out! - - _Ped._ Where! Let me see. - - _Juan._ The servant only. - - _Fel._ Nay, - They’ll follow soon. - - _Juan._ Till when, on with your story. - - _Fel._ Madrid then, sharing in the general joy - Of her king’s marriage, and with one whose mother - Herself had nurst—though, as you said, half sick - Of hope deferr’d, had, at the loyal call, - That never fails in Spain, drawn to her heart - The life-blood of the realm’s nobility - To do her honour; not only when she came, - But, in anticipation of her coming, - With such prelusive pomps, as if you turn - Far up time’s stream as history can go, - In hymeneals less august than these, - You shall find practised—torchèd troop and masque, - With solemn and preliminary dance, - Epithalamium and sacrifice, - Invoking Hymen’s blessing. So Madrid, - Breathing new Christian life in Pagan pomp, - With such epithalamium as all Spain - Raised up to Heaven, into sweet thunder tun’d - Beyond all science by a people’s love, - Began her pageant. First, the nightly masque, - So fair as I have never seen the like, - Nor shall again; nor which, unless you draw - On your imagination for the type - Of what I tell, can I depict to you; - When, to the sound of trumpet and recorder, - The chiming poles of Spain and Germany - Beginning, drew the purple mountain down, - Glittering with veins of ore and silver trees, - All flower’d with plumes, and taper-starr’d above, - With monster and volcano breathing fire, - While to and fro torch-bearing maskers ran - Like meteors; all so illuminating night, - That the succeeding sun hid pale in cloud, - And wept with envy, till he dawn’d at length - Upon the famous Amphitheatre, - Which, in its masonry out-doing all - That Rome of a like kind in ruin shows, - This day out-did itself, - In number, rank, and glory of spectators, - Magnificence of retinue, multitude, - Size, beauty, and courage, of the noble beasts - Who came to dye its yellow dust with blood; - As each horn’d hero of the cloven hoof, - Broad-chested, and thick-neckt, and wrinkle-brow’d, - Rush’d roaring in, and tore the ground with ’s foot, - As saying, ‘Lo! this grave is yours or mine!’ - While that yet nobler beast, noblest of all, - Who knights the very knighthood that he carries, - Proud in submission to a nobler will, - Spurn’d all his threats, and, touch’d by the light spur, - His rider glittering like a god aloft, - Turn’d onset into death. Fight follow’d fight, - Till darkness came at last, sending Madrid - Already surfeited with joy, to dream - Of greater, not unanxious that the crown - And centre of the centre of the world - Should not fall short of less renowned cities - In splendour of so great a celebration; - While too the hundreds of a hundred nations, - In wonder or in envy cramm’d her streets; - Until her darling come at last, whose spouse - Shall lay his own two empires at her feet, - And crown her thrice; as Niece, and Spouse, and Queen. - - _Juan._ A charming story, finisht just in time, - For look! (_They look out._) - - _Fel._ That is the father, Don Alonso. - - _Juan._ Indeed! - - _Ped._ (_aside_). That’s he then! But that strange man with him, - Who’s he? - - _Hern._ Oh, I can tell you that; - His nephew, an Asturian gentleman, - Betroth’d to one of the daughters. - - _Juan_ (_aside_). Not to mine! - - _Ped._ (_aside_). Not my Eugenia, or by Heaven— - But we shall scarcely see them, Felix, here, - Wrapt in their mantles too. - - _Fel._ And I would pay - My compliment to Don Alonso. - - _Juan._ Come, - Let us go down with you into the street. - (_Aside._) Oh love, that in her memory survive - One thought of me, not dead if scarce alive! - - _Ped._ (_aside._) Oh, may her bosom whisper her ’tis still - Her eyes that draw me after where they will! - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE II.—_Street between the Houses of ALONSO and FELIX._ - -_ALONSO and TORRIBIO waiting._ - -_Alon._ If you really affect Eugenia, nephew——(_aside_) as I wished,—I -will communicate with her after church, and if all be well (as I cannot -doubt) get a dispensation forthwith. But they are coming. - - _Enter from ALONSO’S door CLARA, EUGENIA in mantles, - the latter with a handkerchief in her hand; MARI NUÑO, - BRIGIDA, and OTAÑEZ behind; and at the same time FELIX, - JUAN, and PEDRO opposite._ - -_Clara._ Cover your face, Eugenia. People in the street. - -_Eug._ Well, I’m not ashamed of it. (_Aside._) Don Pedro! and Don Juan! - -_Fel._ (_whispers_). Which is it, Don Juan? - -_Juan._ She with the handkerchief in her hand. I’ll go wait for her at -the church. - - [_Exit._ - -_Ped._ (_to FELIX_). That is she with the white kerchief in her hand. -I’ll follow them. - -_Fel._ (_aside_). The same, then! - -_Clara._ Eugenia, lend me your handkerchief, it is hot. (_Takes the -handkerchief and uncovers her face towards FELIX._) And let us go, and do -not you look behind you. - -_Fel._ And she I most admired. - - [_Exeunt CLARA, EUGENIA, etc., PEDRO after them._ - -_Torr._ Uncle, what are these fellows hanging about our doors for? - -_Alon._ Nay, ’tis the public street, you know. - -_Torr._ What, my cousins’ street? - -_Alon._ To be sure. - -_Torr._ I’ll not suffer any one I don’t like to hang about it, however, -and least of all these perfumery puppies. - -_Alon._ But if they happen to live here, nephew? - -_Torr._ Don’t let ’em live here, then. - -_Alon._ But if they own houses? - -_Torr._ They mustn’t own houses, then. - -_Fel._ Don Alonso, permit me to kiss your hand on your arrival among us. -I ought indeed first to have waited upon you in your own house; but this -happy chance makes me anticipate etiquette. - -_Torr._ Coxcomb! - -_Alon._ Thank you, sir; had I known you intended me such a favour, I -should have anticipated your anticipation by waiting upon you. Give me -leave to present to you my nephew, Don Torribio de Cuadradillos, who will -also be proud of your acquaintance. - -_Torr._ No such thing, I shan’t at all. - -_Alon._ Nephew, nephew! - -_Fel._ I trust you are well, sir? - -_Torr._ Oh, so, so, thank ye, for the matter of that, neither well nor -ill, but mixt-like. (_ALONSO salutes FELIX and exit with TORRIBIO._) - - _Fel._ Now then, I know both face, and dress, and name, - And that my rival friends both love the same; - The same too that myself of the fair pair - Thought yester-eve the fairest of the fair: - Was ’t not enough for my two friends that they - Turn enemies—must I too join the fray? - Oh, how at once to reconcile all three, - Those two with one another, and with me! - - _Re-enter JUAN hastily._ - - _Juan._ On seeing me, my friend, her colour chang’d: - She loves me still, Don Felix! I am sure - She loves me! Is not the face—we know it is, - The tell-tale index of the heart within? - Oh happiness! at once within your house, - And next my lady’s! What is now to do - But catch the ball good fortune throws at us! - You know her father, you will visit him - Of course, and then—and then—what easier? - Draw me in with you, or after you—or perhaps - A letter first—ay, and then afterward— - But why so dumb? - - _Fel._ I scarce know how to answer. - Juan, you know I am too much your friend - To do you any spite? - - _Juan._ How could I dream it? - - _Enter PEDRO hastily._ - - _Ped._ Oh, Felix, if my love— - - _Fel._ (_aside_). The other now! - He must be stopt. A moment, gentlemen, - Before you speak, and let me tell you first - A case of conscience you must solve for me. - You both have mighty matters, I doubt not, - To tell me, such a warm young gentlemen - Are never at a loss for in Madrid; - But I may have my difficulties too. - (_Aside._) The same will serve for both. - - _Ped._ Well, let us hear. - - _Fel._ Suppose some friend of yours, dear as you will, - Loving your neighbour’s daughter——(such a case - Will do as well as any)—ask’d of you - To smuggle him, his letters, or himself, - Into that neighbour’s house, there secretly - To ply a stolen love; what would you do? - - _Ped._ Do it of course! - - _Juan._ Why not? - - _Fel._ Well, I would not. - - _Ped._ But why? - - _Fel._ Because, however it turn’d out, - I must do ill; if one friend’s love succeeded - I had play’d traitor to the other still; - If unsuccessful, not that cost alone, - But also, without counter-profiting, - Him whom I sacrificed so much to serve. - - _Ped._ If that be your determination, - I have no more to say. - - [_Exit._ - - _Juan._ Nor I: farewell; - I must find other means. - - [_Exit._ - - _Fel._ Of all the plagues, - For one with no love profit of his own - Thus to be pester’d with two lovers’ pains! - And yet, what, after all, between the two— - Between the _three_, perhaps, am I to do? - Fore Heaven, I think ’twill be the only way - To get her to untie who drew the knot; - No woman ever at a loss - To mend or mar a matter as she wills. - Yet ’tis an awkward thing to ask a lady, - ‘Pray, madam, which of these two sighing swains - Do you like best? or both? or neither, madam?’ - Were not a letter best? But then who take it? - Since to commit her letter, would so far - Commit her honour to another’s hands? - By Heaven, I think I’ve nothing left to do, - But ev’n to write it, and to take it too; - A ticklish business—but may fair intent - And prudent conduct lead to good event! - - [_Exit._ - - -SCENE III.—_An Apartment in DON ALONSO’S House._ - - _Enter CLARA, EUGENIA, MARI NUÑO, etc._ - -_Clara._ Here, take my mantle, Mari. Oh, I wish we had a chaplain of our -own in the house, not to go abroad through the crowded streets! - -_Eug._ And I, that church were a league of crowded street off, and we -obliged to go to it daily. - -_Mari._ I agree with Señora Clara. - -_Brigida._ And I with Señora Eugenia. - -_Mari._ And why, pray? - -_Brig._ Oh, madam, I know who it is deals most in sheep’s eyes. - - _Enter DON ALONSO._ - -_Alon._ (_talking to himself as he enters_). How lucky he should have -pitcht on the very one I wanted! (_Aloud._) Oh, Eugenia, I would speak -with you. Nay, retire not, Clara, for I want you to pardon me for the -very thing Eugenia is to thank me for. - -_Clara._ A riddle, sir. I pardon you? - -_Alon._ Listen, both of you. Your cousin Don Torribio has declared his -love for Eugenia: and though I could have wished to marry you, Clara, -first, and to the head of our house too, yet my regret at your missing -it is almost cancelled by the joy of your sister’s acceptance. - -_Clara._ And so with me, believe me, sir. I am well content to be -slighted so long as she is happy: which may she be with my cousin these -thousand years to come. (_Aside._) Oh, providential rejection! - - [_Exit._ - -_Torribio_ (_peeping in_). Ah! what a wry face she makes! - -_Alon._ And you, Eugenia, what say you? - -_Eug._ (_aside_). Alas! surprise on surprise! (_Aloud._) Nay, sir, you -know, I hope, that I am ever ready to obey you. - -_Alon._ I looked for nothing else of you. - -_Torr._ Nor I. - -_Alon._ Your cousin is waiting your answer in his chamber. I will tell -him the good news, and bring him to you. - - [_Exit._ - -_Eug._ Only let him come! Alas! - -_Torr._ (_entering_). How lightly steps a favour’d lover forth! Give you -joy, cousin. - -_Eug._ The wretch! - -_Torr._ Being selected by the head of your house. - -_Eug._ Sir, one word, I wouldn’t marry you if it should cost me my life. - -_Torr._ Ah, you are witty, cousin, I know. - -_Eug._ Not to you, sir. And now especially, I mean to tell you sober -truth, and abide by it, so you had better listen. I tell you once again, -and once for all, I wouldn’t marry you to save my life! - -_Torr._ Cousin! After what I heard you tell your father? - -_Eug._ What I said then was out of duty to him; and what I now say is out -of detestation of you. - -_Torr._ I’ll go and tell him this, I declare I will. - -_Eug._ Do, and I’ll deny it. But I mean it all the same, and swear it. - -_Torr._ Woman, am I not your cousin? - -_Eug._ Yes. - -_Torr._ And head of the family? - -_Eug._ I dare say. - -_Torr._ An Hidalgo? - -_Eug._ Yes. - -_Torr._ Young? - -_Eug._ Yes. - -_Torr._ Gallant? - -_Eug._ Very. - -_Torr._ And disposed to you? - -_Eug._ Very possibly. - -_Torr._ What do you mean then? - -_Eug._ Whatever you choose, so long as you believe I mean what I say. -I’ll never marry you. You might be all you say, and fifty other things -beside, but I’ll never marry any man without a capacity. - -_Torr._ Capacity! without a Capacity! I who have the family estate, and -my ancestors painted in a row on the patent in my saddle-bags! I who— - - _Enter ALONSO._ - -_Alon._ Well, nephew, here you are at last; I’ve been hunting every where -to tell you the good news. - -_Torr._ And what may that be, pray? - -_Alon._ That your cousin Eugenia cordially accepts your offer, and— - -_Torr._ Oh, indeed, does she so? I tell you she’s a very odd way of doing -it then. Oh uncle, she has said that to me I wouldn’t say to my gelding. - -_Alon._ To you? - -_Torr._ Ay, to me—here—on this spot—just now. - -_Alon._ But what? - -_Torr._ What? why, that I had no Capacity! But I’ll soon settle that; I -either have a Capacity or not—If I have, she lies; if not, I desire you -to buy me one directly, whatever it may cost. - -_Alon._ What infatuation! - -_Torr._ What, it costs so much, does it? I don’t care, I’ll not have it -thrown in my teeth by her or any woman; and if you won’t, I’ll go and buy -a Capacity, and bring it back with me, let it cost—ay, and weigh—what it -will. - - [_Exit._ - -_Alon._ Nephew, nephew! Stop him there! - - _Enter CLARA and EUGENIA._ - -_Clara._ What is the matter, sir? - -_Alon._ Oh, graceless girl, what have you been saying to your cousin? - -_Eug._ I sir? Nothing. - -_Alon._ Oh! if you deceive me! But I must first stop his running after a -Capacity! - - [_Exit._ - -_Eug._ What can I have done? - -_Clara._ Nay, attempt not dissimulation with me, who know how you would -risk even your advancement for a sarcasm. - -_Eug._ It was all for your sake, if I did, Clara. - -_Clara._ For my sake! oh, indeed, you think I can have no lovers but what -you reject? Poor little fool! I could have enough if I chose to lay out -for them as some do; but many will pluck at an apple who will retire from -a fortress. - -_Eug._ Hark! they are coming back; I dare not face them both as yet. - - [_Exit._ - - _Enter DON FELIX._ - - _Fel._ Permit me, madam— - - _Clara._ Who is this? - - _Fel._ One, madam, - Who dares to ask one word with you. - - _Clara._ With me? - - _Fel._ Indeed with you. - - _Clara._ You cannot, sir, mean me. - - _Fel._ Once more, and once for all, with you indeed; - Let me presume to say so, knowing well - I say so in respect, not in presumption. - - _Eug._ (_peeping_). Why, whom has my staid sister got with her? - - _Clara._ With me! My very silence and surprise - Bid you retire at once. - - _Fel._ Which I will do - When you will let this silence speak to you - With less offence perhaps than could my tongue. - - (_Offering her a letter._) - - _Eug._ Oh, if he would but try if fort or apple! - - _Clara._ A letter too!—for me! - - _Fel._ And, madam, one - It most imports your honour you should read. - For, that being once in question, I make light - That my friends’ lives, Don Juan and Don Pedro, - Are in the balance too. - - _Eug._ Don Juan! Don Pedro! - - _Clara._ What, sir, is this to me, who neither know - Don Juan, nor Don Pedro, nor yourself? - - _Fel._ Having then done my duty to my friends, - And (once again I say ’t) to yourself, madam, - Albeit in vain—I’ll not offend you more - By my vain presence. (_Going._) - - _Clara._ Nay, a moment—wait. - I must clear up this mystery. Indeed, - I would not be discourteous or ungrateful: - But ere I thank you for your courtesy, - Know you to whom you do it? - - _Fel._ To Donna Eugenia. - - _Clara._ Well, sir? - - _Eug._ Oh, the hypocrite! - - _Fel._ You are the lady? - - _Clara._ Enough—give me the letter, and adieu. - - _Eug._ I can forbear no longer. (_Coming out._) Sister, stop! - Oh! what to do!—the letter— - - _Clara._ Well? - - _Eug._ I tell you - My father and my cousin are coming up, - And if they see— - - _Clara._ Well, if they see? what then! - I wish them both to see and hear it all. - (_Calling._) Sir! Father! Cousin! Otañez! - - _Alon._ (_within_). Clara’s voice? - - _Fel._ What to do now? - - _Eug._ Alas, to tell the truth, - When I but wish’d to lie! - - _Clara_ (_calling_). This way, sir, here! - - _Eug._ Will you expose us both? In here! in here! - - [_She hides FELIX behind arras._ - - _Enter ALONSO, TORRIBIO, MARI NUÑO, OTAÑEZ, etc._ - -_Alon._ What is the matter? - -_Clara._ There is some one in the house, sir. A man—I saw him stealing -along the corridor, towards the garret. - -_Brigida._ It must be a robber. - -_Alon._ A robber? - -_Mari._ What more likely in a rich Indian’s house? - -_Alon._ I’ll search the house. - -_Torr._ I’ll lead the forlorn hope, though that garret were Maestricht -itself. Now, cousin, you shall see if I’ve a Capacity or not. - - [_Exeunt ALONSO and the men._ - -_Clara._ Do you two watch in the passage. (_Exeunt MARI NUÑO and -BRIGIDA._) And now, sir, the door is open, give me the letter and begone. - -_Fel._ Adieu, madam, neglect not its advice. - -_Eug._ Alas, alas, she has it! - -_Fel._ She’s all too fair! come, honour, come, and shame False love from -poaching upon friendship’s game! - - [_Exit._ - - _Re-enter ALONSO, etc._ - -_Alon._ We can see nothing of him, daughter. - -_Clara._ Nay, sir, he probably made off when the alarm was given. Take no -more trouble. - -_Alon._ Nay, we’ll search the whole house. - -_Torr._ What do you say to my Capacity now, cousin? - - [_Exeunt ALONSO, TORRIBIO, etc._ - -_Clara._ You see, Eugenia, in what your enterprises end. At the first -crack, you faint and surrender. I have done all this to show you the -difference between talking and doing. And now go; I have got the letter, -and want to read it. - -_Eug._ And so do I! but— - -_Clara._ Go! I am mistress now. (_Exit EUGENIA._) May they not have -written to me under cover of her name? let me see. (_Reads._) ‘Let not -him offend honour by the very means he takes to secure it; at least let -his good intention excuse his ill seeming. Don Juan, more than ever -enamoured of you, hangs about your doors; Don Pedro follows every step -you take; they are both in my house; it is impossible but the secret must -soon escape both, who must then refer their rivalry to the sword, and all -to the scandal of your name. You can, by simply disowning both, secure -their lives, your own reputation, and my peace of mind as their friend -and host. Adieu!’ - - Oh what perplexing thoughts this little letter - Buzzes about my brain, both what it says, - And leaves unsaid!—oh, can it be for me? - And is the quiet nun really belov’d - Under the cover of an idle flirt? - Or is it but for her—the vain, pert thing, - Who thinks her eye slays all it looks upon? - If it be so, and she, not I, is lov’d, - I yet may be reveng’d— - - _Eug._ (_entering_). On whom? - - _Clara._ Eugenia! - This letter that has fallen to my hands, - But meant for you— - - _Eug._ Oh, I know all about it. - - _Clara._ Know all about it! know then that two men - Are even now following your steps like dogs - To tear your reputation between them, - And then each other for that worthless sake, - And yet— - - _Eug._ A moment, you shall see at once - How easily I shall secure myself, - And them, and supersede your kind intentions. - Signor Don Pedro! (_Calls at the window._) - - _Clara._ What are you about? - - _Eug._ Listen and you will hear. - - _Clara._ You dare not do it! - - _Eug._ My father’s safely lockt up in his room, - (Thanks to the gout your false alarm has brought.) - My cousin gone to buy capacities, - And now’s my time. (_Calling at the window._) - - Don Pedro! Signor Don Pedro! - - _Ped._ (_coming below to the window_). - He well may wait to have his name thrice call’d - When such a goddess— - - _Eug._ Listen, sir, to me. - It is because, I say, _because_ this room, - Away from father’s and duenna’s ears, - Allows some harmless speech, it also bars - All nearer access than the ears and eyes - Of father or duenna both could do. - But, seeing harm of harmless trifling come, - I now entreat, implore, command you, sir, - To leave this window and my threshold clear, - Now and for ever! - - _Ped._ Hear me— - - _Eug._ Pardon me, - I cannot. - - _Ped._ But this once— - - _Eug._ If you persist - I must be rude. - - _Ped._ Oh, how do worse than— - - _Eug._ (_shutting the blinds down_). Thus! - - _Clara._ And to your other gallant? - - _Eug._ Why not think - If he were here, I’d do the same to him? - Oh, Clara, be assured my levities - Are but the dust on youth’s butterfly wing, - Though prudes and sinners too take fright at them; - Like that benighted traveller, you know, - Who, frighted by a shallow brook that jump’d - And bubbled at his right, swerved to the left - And tumbled into one that lay quite still, - But deep enough to drown him for his pains. - - [_Exit._ - - _Clara._ What, did she hear what to myself I said? - Or saw my colour change from white to red? - Or only guess’d me waiting for the prey - Her idle chatter ought to fright away? - If chance have done more than all prudence could, - Prudence at least may make occasion good. - And if these lovers by mistake should woo, - Why (by mistake) should I not listen too? - And teach the teacher, to her proper cost, - Those waters are least deep that prattle most. - - - - -ACT III - - -SCENE I.—_Room in ALONSO’S House._ - -_CLARA and MARI NUÑO._ - -_Clara._ It is so, indeed. - -_Mari._ You know you can always rely on my old love to you. But indeed I -cannot but wonder at your sister’s forwardness. - -_Clara._ Yes; to think of two cavaliers after her at once! I look upon -it as my duty to set all to right; to do this I must once more speak to -him who warned me of it; and I want you to give him this letter—in _her_ -name, remember—this will bring him here to-night, and I shall undeceive -him for ever. But hark! some one— - - _TORRIBIO is about to enter._ - -_Mari._ ’Tis that wretch. Stay, sir, no man comes in here. - -_Torr._ Away, troublesome duenna. - -_Mari._ It’s not decent, I tell you. - -_Torr._ An’t my cousin decent; and an’t I? - -_Clara._ What is the matter? - -_Torr._ This old woman won’t let me come in. - -_Clara._ She is right, unless my father be with you. - -_Torr._ Oh, I understand— - - Those that are out - Still will pout. - -_Clara._ Well, since she who is in, and may grin, is not here, you have -no business neither. For me, what grudge I have against you, be assured I -can and will repay. Mari, remember. - - [_Exit._ - -_Mari._ Hark! some one at the door. - - [_Exit._ - - _Torr._ By heaven and earth, I do begin suspect! - I say again I do begin suspect!— - And valour rises with suspicion— - I shall ere long be very terrible. - Ancestors! Head of house! Capacity! - For passing through the house—let me not say it, - Till I have told my tongue it lies to say it— - In passing through the passage, what saw I - Within Eugenia’s room, behind her bed! - I saw—— - - (_Re-enter MARI NUÑO with a letter._) - - _Mari._ A letter, madam,—Where is she? - - _Torr._ Woman, she was, but is not. A letter too? - Give it me. - - _Mari._ You too! - - _Torr._ Give it me, or dread - My dreadful vengeance on your wither’d head. - - _Mari._ Leave hold of it.— - - _Torr._ I’ll not! The more you pull, - The more— - - _Mari._ Then take that on your empty skull! - - (_Deals him a blow, and calls._) - - Help! Help! - - _Torr._ You crying, when two teeth are out— - - _Mari._ ‘As swelling prologues of’—Help! murder! murder! - - _Enter EUGENIA, CLARA, ALONSO, BRIGIDA, etc._ - -_Alon._ What is the matter now? - -_Mari._ Don Torribio, sir, because I wouldn’t let him have my young -lady’s letter, has laid violent hands on me. - -_Torr._ I? - -_All._ Don Torribio! - -_Torr._ I tell you— - -_Alon._ Indeed, nephew, your choleric jealousy carries you too far. A -respectable female in my house! - -_Torr._ I tell you that it is _me_ who— - -_Alon._ I know—enough—make not the matter worse by worse excuses. Give me -the letter has been the cause of such unseemly conduct. - -_Eug._ (_aside_). If it should be from one of them! - -_Clara_ (_aside to EUGENIA_). Nothing I hope from your gallants. - -_Alon._ (_reads_). ‘My dear nieces, this being the day of the Queen’s -public entry, I have engaged a balcony, and will send my coach for you -directly to come and see it with me.’ This, you see, nephew, is all your -suspicions amount to! My cousin, Donna Violante, inviting my daughters -to witness this august ceremony! If you still suspect; here, take it, and -read it for yourself. - -_Torr._ (_after looking at the letter_). I tell you what, uncle, if they -wait till I’ve read it, they’ll not see the sight at all. - -_Alon._ Why so? - -_Torr._ Because I can’t read. - -_Alon._ That this should be! - -_Torr._ But that’s no matter neither. They can teach me before they go. - -_Alon._ What, when it’s to-day? almost directly? - -_Torr._ Can’t it be put off? - -_Alon._ ’Tis useless saying more. Daughters, such a ceremony happens, -perhaps, but once in a life; you must see it. On with your mantles, -whether Don Torribio approve or not. I am lame, you see, and must keep at -home; to hear about it all from you on your return. - -_Clara._ At your pleasure, sir. - -_Eug._ Shall I stay with you, sir, while Clara— - -_Alon._ No, no. Both of you go. - -_Clara._ (_aside to MARI, while putting on her mantle_). Remember the -letter! - -_Mari._ Trust to me. - -_Eug._ (_aside_). I wonder if they will be there! - - [_Exeunt all but TORRIBIO._ - - _Torr._ Whether the Queen enter to-day, - To-morrow, or keep quite away, - Let those go see who have a mind; - I am resolved to stay behind: - And now all gone, and coast quite clear, - Clear up the secret I suspect and fear. - - [_Exit._ - - -SCENE II.—_A Room in FELIX’S House._ - -_FELIX and HERNANDO._ - -_Hern._ Not going to see the Entry, sir? - -_Fel._ What use going to a festival if one has no spirits for it? - -_Hern._ Humph, what makes you out of spirits? - -_Fel._ Why should you ask? - -_Hern._ Nay, then, you have already answer’d me. You are in love. - -_Fel._ I scarce know whether you are right or wrong, Hernando. I have -indeed seen a lady whose very beauty forbids all hope of my attaining it. - -_Hern._ How so, sir? - -_Fel._ She who has enslaved Don Juan and Don Pedro has fetter’d me, at -last! I should care little for their rivalry, had not each made me keeper -of his love, so that—Hark! - -_Mari Nuño_ (_within_). Don Felix! - -_Fel._ Who is that? - -_Hern._ Some one calling you. - -_Mari._ (_within_). Señor Don Felix! - -_Fel._ Well? - -_Mari._ (_within_). From Donna Eugenia! - - [_A letter is thrown in at the window._ - -_Fel._ From Eugenia! (_Reads._) ‘Grateful to you for your advice, I have -already begun to follow it; but, in order to that, I must see you once -again, this evening! Adieu!’ Here’s a dilemma! For if— - -_Hern._ Don Juan! - - _Enter JUAN._ - - _Juan_ (_aside_). What was that? - - _Fel._ Don Juan back, - When such a festival— - - _Juan._ And you? Oh, Felix, - I know not how to speak or hold my tongue! - - _Fel._ A riddle! How is that? - - _Juan._ Why, if I speak - I needs must anger you; if not, myself. - - _Fel._ I do not understand it yet. - - _Juan._ Nor I; - Yet if you give me leave (as leave they give - To children and to fools to say their mind) - I’ll say mine. - - _Fel._ Surely say it. - - _Juan._ Tell me then— - That letter I saw flying in at the window - As I came up, what was it? - - _Fel._ That of all - That you could ask, Juan, I cannot answer— - Must not—relying on our old regard - For fair construction. - - _Juan._ I believe it, Felix: - Yet seeing that you first excused yourself - From helping on my suit, upon the score - Of other obligation; and that now, - Ev’n now, but a few wretched minutes back, - Eugenia herself, in the public street, - Forbad me from her carriage angrily - From following her more—What can I think - But that she loves another? when besides, - Coming back suddenly, I hear her name - Whisper’d—oh what so loud as an ill whisper!— - By you, and see a letter too thrown in, - Which on my coming up confused you hide, - And will not say from whom—I say, Don Felix, - What can I think? - - _Fel._ (_aside_). And I, what can I do? - Who, even if I may excuse myself, - Must needs embroil Don Pedro! - - _Juan._ Answer me. - - _Fel._ Have I not answer’d you sufficiently, - In saying that my old and well-tried love - Should well excuse my silence? - - _Juan._ I confess - Your love, old and well-tried as you profess; - And on that very score ask of you, Felix, - What you would do if one as true and tried - In a like case seal’d up his lips to you. - - _Fel._ Leave them unlockt in fullest confidence. - - _Juan._ Alas! how much, much easier to give - Than follow ev’n the counsel one implores! - Felix, in pity I entreat of you, - Show me that letter! - - _Fel._ Gladly should you see it - If no one but myself were implicate. - - _Juan._ There _is_ then some one else? - - _Fel._ There is. - - _Juan._ Who else? - - _Fel._ That’s what I cannot tell you. - - _Juan._ Dare not trust - A friend as true to you as you to him? - - _Fel._ In anything but this. - - _Juan._ What can this do - But aggravate my worst suspicions? - - _Fel._ I cannot help it. - - _Juan._ I must tell you then - My friendship for you, Felix, may defer, - But not forgo, the reading of that letter. - - _Fel._ I am sorry, sir, your friendship must abide - In ignorance till doomsday. - - _Juan._ You’ll not show it? - - _Fel._ No, never. - - _Juan._ Follow me, sir. - - _Fel._ Where you please. - - _As they are going out, enter PEDRO._ - - _Ped._ How now? Don Juan and Felix quarrelling? - - _Fel._ Nay, only walking out. - - _Ped._ What, walking out, - With hands upon your swords and inflam’d faces? - You shall not go. - - _Hern._ That’s right, sir, keep them back, - They were about— - - _Fel._ Peace, rascal! - - _Ped._ Friends may quarrel, - But surely not to such extremity - But that a third may piece the quarrel up - Without the sword. The cause of your dispute? - - _Fel._ I must be silent. - - _Juan._ And so must not I; - Who will not have it thought - That I forgot my manners as a guest - For any idle reason. You, Don Pedro, - Though lately known to me, are a gentleman, - And you shall hear my story. - - _Fel._ Not a word, - Or else— - - _Ped._ Nay, Felix— - - _Juan._ I will speak it out! - Don Pedro, I confided to Don Felix, - My friend and host, the love I long have borne - For one with whom he could advance my suit, - And promised so to do it; but instead, - Yea, under the very mask of doing it, - Has urged his own; has even now received - A letter through that ready window thrown, - He dares not show me; and to make all sure, - I heard him whispering as I came upstairs, - The very name of my Eugenia— - - _Ped._ Hold! - This is my quarrel. - He who pretends to love Eugenia - Must answer it to me. - - _Juan._ Two rivals, then! - - _Fel._ Two enemies grown out of two old friends - By the very means I used to keep them so! - - _Juan._ Keep them, indeed! - - _Ped._ When with base treachery— - - _Juan._ Hypocrisy— - - _Ped._ Under the name of friend— - - _Juan._ A pretty friend— - - _Ped._ You robb’d me— - - _Juan_ (_turning to PEDRO_). You! Dare _you_ - Pretend— - - _Ped._ (_to JUAN_). Dare _I!_ Dare _you_, sir? - - _Fel._ Peace, I say, - And hear me speak! - - _Juan_ (_to FELIX_). The time is past for that. - Follow me, sir. - - _Ped._ No, _me_. - - _Fel._ One, or the other, or together both, - I’ll either lead or follow, nothing loath! - - [_Exeunt wrangling._ - - -SCENE III.—_ALONSO sitting._ - - _Enter TORRIBIO._ - -_Torr._ Oh, uncle! - -_Alon._ Well, what now? - -_Torr._ Oh, such a thing! I suspected it! - -_Alon._ Well, tell me. - -_Torr._ Such a thing! - -_Alon._ Speak, man. - -_Torr._ When we were searching the house for the man cousin Clara told us -of— - -_Alon._ Well? - -_Torr._ Passing by cousin Eugenia’s room, I saw— I have not breath to say -it! - -_Alon._ Speak, sir. - -_Torr._ Those men in the house—those dandies about the door—I know how -they get in now—when I found in my cousin’s room—behind her very bed— - -_Alon._ Don Torribio! - -_Torr._ The very ladder they climb up by! - -_Alon._ A ladder? - -_Torr._ Ah, and a very strong one too, all of iron and cord. - -_Alon._ If this were true— - -_Torr._ Wait till I show it you, then. - - [_Exit._ - -_Alon._ Not in vain did Mari Nuño warn me of her dangerous disposition! -If he have such a proof of her incontinence how will he marry her? - - _Re-enter TORRIBIO with a fardingale._ - -_Torr._ There, uncle, there it is, hoops, and steps, and all! - -_Alon._ This a ladder? - -_Torr._ Ah, that, if it were all let out, would scale the tower of Babel, -I believe. - -_Alon._ I can scarce control my rage. Fool! this is a fardingale, not a -ladder. - -_Torr._ A what-ingale? - -_Alon._ A fardingale, fool![10] - -_Torr._ Why, that’s worse than the ladder! - -_Alon._ You will fairly drive me out of my senses! Go, sir, directly, and -put it back where you took it from, and for Heaven’s sake, no more of -such folly! - - [_Exit._ - -_Torr._ Well—to think of this! and my cousin that looked so nice too! - -_Voices_ (_within_). Coach there! coach! - - _Enter MARI NUÑO._ - -_Mari._ They are come back. I must get lights. Who’s this? - -_Torr._ Nobody. - -_Mari._ What are you doing with that fardingale; and where did you get -it? - -_Torr._ Nothing, and nowhere. - -_Mari._ Come, give it me at once, lest I give you the fellow of the cuff -I gave you before. - -_Torr._ For fear of which, take that upon your wrinkled chaps. (_Strikes -her, and calls out._) Help! help! Murder! murder! Help! - - _Enter ALONSO, CLARA, EUGENIA, etc. in mantles._ - -_Alon._ What now? - -_Torr._ Mari Nuño there, only because I wished her good night, laid -violent hands on me. - -_Mari._ Oh the wretch! he wanted to make love to me—and worse—declaring -he would none of any who used such a thing as this. (_Showing -fardingale._) - -_Alon._ Let us hear no more of such folly. There is something else to-day -to tell of. Well, (_to his daughters_,) you have seen this procession? - -_Eug._ Ay, sir; the greatest sight, I believe, that Spain has seen since -she was greatest of nations. - -_Alon._ I, who could not go myself, am to see it, you know, in your -recital. - -_Eug._ As best we can, sir. - -_Clara_ (_aside to MARI NUÑO_). Have you seen Don Felix? - -_Mari_ (_aside_). Enough, he will be here. But when? - -_Clara._ When the story is done, and all weary are gone to bed. - -_Mari._ Good. - - [_Exit; the rest sit down._ - - _Clara._ Begin you then, Eugenia, I will chime in. - - _Eug._ This being the long-expected day - When our fair Spain and fairest Mariana - Should quicken longing hope to perfect joy, - Madrid awoke, and dress’d her squares and streets - In all their glory; through all which we pass’d - Up to the Prado, where the city’s self, - In white and pearl array’d, by ancient usage, - Waited in person to receive the bride - By a triumphal arch that rose heaven-high, - The first of four all named and hung about - With emblems of the four parts of the world, - (Each with a separate element distinct,) - Of which our sovereign lord was now to lay - The four crowns at his sovereign lady’s feet. - - _Clara._ And this first arch was Europe; typified - By the wide Air, which temperatest she breathes, - And which again, for double cognizance, - Wore the imperial eagle for its crest; - With many another airy symbol more, - And living statues supplementary - Of Leon and Castile, each with its crown, - Austria, the cradle of the royal bride, - And Rome, the mistress of the faith of all. - - _Eug._ Here then, when done the customary rite - Of kissing hands and due obeisance, - Drum, trumpet, and artillery thundering, - With that yet lordliest salute of all, - A people’s universal acclamation; - (And never in the world were subjects yet - So proud, and bow’d, and with so good a cause;) - Under a golden canopy she moved - Tow’rd San Geronimo, whose second arch, - Of no less altitude and magnificence, - Deckt with the sixty crowns of Asia, - Received her next, wearing for cognizance - Earth, of which Asia is the largest piece; - Which Earth again carried a lion’s mane, - As proclamation of her noblest growth. - - _Clara._ Thence passing on, came to where Africa, - Her waste of arid desert embleming - By Fire, whose incarnation, the Sun, - Burn’d on this arch as in his house in heaven, - Bore record of the trophies two great Queens - Upon the torrid continent had won, - Who, one with holy policy at home, - The other in Granada by the sword, - Extirpated deadly Mahometism. - - _Eug._ Last, to the Holy Virgin dedicate, - From whose cathedral by the holy choir - Chaunted Te Deum, rose in splendid arch - America, wearing for her device - The silver image of the Ocean, - That roll’d the holy cross to the New World. - And so all pass’d to the Escurial, - In front of which, in two triumphal cars, - Two living statues were—one Mercury, - Who, as divine ambassador, thus far - Had brought the royal bride propitiously; - The other, Hymen, who took up the charge - Mercury left, and with unquenching torch, - While cannon, trumpet, choir, and people’s voice - Thunder’d her praises, took the palfrey’s rein, - Who gloried in the beauty that he bore, - And brought and left her at her palace door. - -_Alon._ Well done, well done, both of you, in whose lively antiphony I -have seen it all as well as if I had been there. - -_Torr._ Well, for my part I neither wanted to see it nor hear of it. - -_Alon._ No? why so, nephew? - -_Torr._ Lord, I’ve seen twice as good as that down in my country many a -time, all the boys and girls dancing, and the mayor, and the priest, and— - -_Alon._ Peace, peace. Come, Brigida, light me to my room, I am sleepy. - -_Eug._ And I; with sight-seeing, and sight-telling, I suppose. (_Aside._) -And with a heavy heart, alas! - - [_Exeunt ALONSO, EUGENIA, and BRIGIDA._ - -_Clara._ Will not you to bed too, sir? - -_Torr._ Not till I’ve had my supper, I promise you. Oh, I don’t care for -all your sour looks, not I, nor your threats of revenge neither. - -_Clara._ You don’t? - -_Torr._ No, I defy you. - -_Clara._ Not if I were to prove to you that she you slighted me for loves -another? - -_Torr._ Oh, cousin Clara! - -_Clara._ Shall I prove it to you? - -_Torr._ Oh, if my ancestors could hear this, what would they say? - -_Clara._ I don’t know. But you may hear if you like what she says to your -rival. - -_Torr._ Ha! - -_Clara._ Go into this balcony, and you will hear her talking to him in -the street. - -_Torr._ I knew! I guessed! the ladder! (_He goes into the balcony and she -shuts him in._) - -_Clara._ There cool yourself in the night till I let you out. And now to -have _you_ safe too. (_Locks EUGENIA’S door._) And now, all safe, for the -first time in my life Love and I meet in fair field. Mari Nuño! (_Enter -MARI._) Where is the Cavalier? - -_Mari._ Waiting in my chamber. - -_Clara._ Bring him. You understand it is all for Eugenia’s good? - -_Mari._ I understand. - - [_Exit, and returns with FELIX._ - -_Fel._ I fly, madam, to your feet. (_Kneels._) - -_Clara._ Rise, sir, ’tis about your letter I sent to you. - -_Fel._ Alas, madam, all is worse than ever! - -_Clara._ What has happened? - -_Fel._ Not only did my two friends fall out with each other, as I -expected, but with me for the very good services I was doing them; -insulted me till I could withhold my sword no longer; we went out to -fight; were seen, pursued, and disperst by the alguazils. I returned home -to await them, but as yet know nothing more of them. - -_Clara._ Alas, sir, what do I not owe you for your care on my behalf? - -_Fel._ More perhaps than you imagine. - -_Clara._ Tell me all at least, that I may at least know my debt, if -unable to repay it. - -_Fel._ Alas, I dare not say what is said in not saying. - -_Clara._ Said, and not said? I do not understand. - -_Fel._ I, alas, too well! - -_Clara._ Explain to me then, sir. - -_Fel._ No, madam. If what I feel is so much on my friends’ account, it is -still more for their sakes that I keep it unsaid. - -_Clara._ Hark! what noise is that? Mari Nuño, what is the matter? - - _Enter MARI NUÑO._ - -_Mari._ Oh, madam, some one is getting over the garden wall! Your father -has heard the noise; and is got up with his sword. - -_Clara._ If he should find you! - -_Fel._ He need not. This balcony— - -_Clara._ No, no! - -_Torribio_ (_within_). Thieves! Murder! Help! (_He opens the balcony; -TORRIBIO falls forward on him, pushed in by JUAN with his sword drawn._) - - _Torr._ Murder! Murder! ⎫ - ⎪ - _Juan_ (_to FELIX_). Thou too here, traitor! ⎬ All at once. - ⎪ - _Fel._ (_drawing his sword_). Who are these? ⎭ - - (_Confusion, in which enter ALONSO with drawn sword, - OTAÑEZ, BRIGIDA, etc._) - -_Alon._ Two! Torribio, to my side! - -_Fel._ Wait! wait! Let me explain. - -_Alon._ Don Felix! - -_Fel._ Listen to me, all of you, I say! I was sent for to prevent, not to -do, mischief, by Donna Eugenia herself— - - _Enter EUGENIA._ - -_Eug._ By _me_, sir! - -_Clara._ Hold, hold, Eugenia! - -_Eug._ I will _not_ hold when my name is in question without my—Sent for -by me, sir! - -_Fel._ Not by you, madam; by Donna Eugenia, (_pointing to CLARA_) to -prevent— - -_Alon. and Eug._ Clara! - -_Torr._ Ah, ’twas she put me to freeze in the balcony, too. - -_Clara_ (_to FELIX_). Sir, you come here to save another from peril. -Leave me not in it. - -_Fel._ _I_ leave you, madam, who would lay down my life for you! and all -the rather if you are _not_ Donna Eugenia. - -_Alon._ None but her father or her husband must do that. - -_Fel._ Then let me claim to do it as the latter. (_Kneels to CLARA._) - -_Alon._ But Clara? - -_Clara._ Sir, I am ready to obey my father—and my husband. - -_Eug._ And I, sir. And to prove my duty, let me marry my cousin at once, -and retire with him to the mountains. - -_Torr._ Marry me! No, indeed! No Capacities, and ladders, -and—what-d’ye-call-’ems—for me. I’ll e’en go back as I came, with my -ancestors safe in my saddle-bags, I will. - -_Juan_ (_to ALONSO_). Permit me, sir. I am Don Juan de Mendoza; a name at -least not unknown to you. I have loved your daughter long; and might have -had perchance favourable acceptation from her mother long ago, had not -you yourself been abroad at the time. - -_Alon._ I now remember to have heard something of the kind. What say you, -Eugenia? - - _Eug._ I am ready to obey my father—and my husband. - With which at last our comedy shall close, - Asking indulgence both of friends and foes. - - _Clara._ And ere we part our text for envoy give,— - Beware of all smooth waters while you live! - -This Comedy seems an Occasional Piece, to celebrate the marriage of -Philip IV. with Anna Maria of Austria, and the pageants that Calderon -himself was summoned to devise and manage. This marriage was in 1649; -when Calderon, as old as the century, was in his prime; and I think the -airy lightness of the dialogue, the play of character, the easy intrigue, -and the happily introduced wedding rhapsodies, make it one of the most -agreeable of his comedies. - -As I purposely reduced the swell of Isabel’s speech in the last play, I -must confess that the present version of these wedding pageants, though -not unauthorised by the original, had perhaps better have been taken in -a lighter tone to chime in with so much common dialogue. But they were -done first, to see what could be made of them: and, as little dramatic -interest is concerned, are left as they were; at least not the less like -so much in Calderon, where love and loyalty are concerned; and to be -excused by the reader as speeches _spouted_ by boys on holiday occasions. - - - - -THE MIGHTY MAGICIAN - -TAKEN FROM CALDERON’S - -EL MAGICO PRODIGIOSO - - - - -DRAMATIS PERSONÆ - - - AURELIO _Viceroy of Antioch._ - - LELIO _his Son._ - - FABIO _a chief Officer in Antioch._ - - FLORO _his Son._ - - LISANDRO _an aged Christian._ - - JUSTINA _his Daughter._ - - LIVIA _their Servant._ - - CIPRIANO _a Professor of Learning._ - - EUSEBIO ⎫ - ⎬ _his Scholars._ - JULIAN ⎭ - - LUCIFER _the Evil Spirit._ - - CITIZENS, SOLDIERS, etc. - - - - -ACT I - - -SCENE I.—_A retired Grove near Antioch._ - - _Enter CIPRIANO, EUSEBIO, and JULIAN, with books._ - - _Cipr._ This is the place, this the sequester’d spot - Where, in the flower about and leaf above, - I find the shade and quiet that I love, - And oft resort to rest a wearied wing; - And here, good lads, leave me alone, but not - Lonely, companion’d with the books you bring: - That while the city from all open doors - Abroad her gaping population pours, - To swell the triumph of the pomp divine - That with procession, sacrifice, and song - Convoys her tutelary Zeus along - For installation in his splendid shrine; - I, flying from the hubbub of the throng - That overflows her thoroughfares and streets, - And here but faintly touches and retreats, - In solitary meditation may - Discount at ease my summer holiday. - You to the city back, and take your fill - Of festival, and all that with the time’s, - And your own youth’s, triumphant temper chimes; - Leaving me here alone to mine; until - Yon golden idol reaching overhead, - Dragg’d from his height, and bleeding out his fires - Along the threshold of the west, expires, - And drops into the sea’s sepulchral lead. - - _Eusebio._ Nay, sir, think once again, and go with us, - Or, if you will, without us; only, go; - Lest Antioch herself as well as we - Cry out upon a maim’d solemnity. - - _Julian._ Oh, how I wish I had not brought the books, - Which you have ever at command—indeed, - Without them, all within them carry—here— - Garner’d—aloft— - - _Euseb._ In truth, if stay you will, - I scarcely care to go myself. - - _Cipr._ Nay, nay, - Good lads, good boys, all thanks, and all the more, - If you but leave it simply as I say. - You have been somewhat over-tax’d of late, - And want some holiday. - - _Julian._ Well, sir, and you? - - _Cipr._ Oh, I am of that tougher age and stuff - Whose relaxation is its work. Besides, - Think you the poor Professor needs no time - For solitary tillage of his brains, - Before such shrewd ingatherers as you - Come on him for their harvest unawares? - Away, away! and like good citizens - Help swell the general joy with two such faces - As such as mine would only help to cloud. - - _Euseb._ Nay, sir— - - _Cipr._ But I say, Yea, sir! and my scholars - By yea and nay as I would have them do. - - _Euseb._ Well, then, farewell, sir. - - _Cipr._ Farewell, both of you. - - [_Exeunt EUSEBIO and JULIAN._ - - Away with them, light heart and wingèd heel, - Soon leaving drowsy Pallas and her dull - Professor out of sight, and out of mind. - And yet not so perhaps; and, were it so, - Why, better with the frolic herd forgetting - All in the youth and sunshine of the day - Than ruminating in the shade apart. - Well, each his way and humour; some to lie - Like Nature’s sickly children in her lap, - While all the stronger brethren are at play; - When ev’n the mighty Mother’s self would seem - Drest out in all her festival attire - In honour of the universal Sire - Whom Antioch as for her own to-day - Propitiates. Hark, the music!—Speed, good lads, - Or you will be too late. Ah, needless caution! - Ev’n now already half way down the hill, - Spurr’d by the very blood within their veins, - They catch up others, who catching from them - The fire they re-inflame, the flying troop - Consuming fast to distance in a cloud - Of dust themselves have kindled, whirls away - Where the shrill music blown above the walls - Tells of the solemn work begun within. - Why, ev’n the shrieking pipe that pierces here, - Shows me enough of all the long procession - Of white-robed priest and chanting chorister, - The milkwhite victim crown’d, and high aloft - The chariot of the nodding deity, - Whose brazen eyes that, as their sockets see, - Stare at his loyal votaries. Ah, me!— - Well, here too happier, if not wiser, those - Who, with the heart of unsuspicious youth, - Take up tradition from their fathers’ hands - To pass it on to others in their turn; - But leaving me behind them in the race - With less indeed than little appetite - For ceremonies, and to gods, like these, - That, let the rabble shout for as they please, - Another sort begin to shake their heads at, - And heaven to rumble with uneasily - As flinging out some antiquated gear. - So wide, since subtle Greece the pebble flung - Into the sleeping pool of superstition, - Its undulation spreads to other shores, - And saps at the foundation of our schools. - —Why, this last Roman, Caius Plinius— - Who drawing nature’s growth and history - Down to her root and first cause—What says he?— - Ev’n at the very threshold of his book - A definition laying, over which - The clumsy mimic idols of our shrines - Stumble and break to pieces—oh, here it is— - ‘_Quapropter effigiem Dei formamque quærere_, - _Imbecillitatis humanæ reor_’— - ‘All visible effigies of God - But types of human imbecility.’— - But what has Antioch to say to that, - Who at such cost of marble and of gold - Has built the very temple into which - She drags her tutelary Zeus to-day?— - Zeus veritable God, this effigy - Is none of him at all! But then, alas! - This same _Quapropter_ follows a premiss - That elbows out Zeus with his effigy. - For—as I gather from his foreign word— - Wherever, or Whatever, Deity— - _Si modo est alius_—if distinct at all - From universal Nature—it must be - One all-informing, individual Whole, - All eye, all ear, all self, all sense, all soul— - Whereas this Zeus of ours, though Chief indeed— - Nay, _because_ chief of other gods than he, - Comes from this Roman’s hand no God at all!— - This is a knotty question. - - _Lucifer_ (_without_). Nor while I - Tangle, for you, good doctor, to untie. - - _Cipr._ What! The poor bird scarce settled on the bough, - Before the fowler after him! How now? - Who’s there? - - _Lucifer_ (_entering habited as a Merchant_). A stranger; therefore - pardon him, - Who somehow parted from his company, - And lost in his own thoughts (a company - You know one cannot lose so easily) - Has lost his way to Antioch. - - _Cipr._ Antioch! - Whose high white towers and temples ev’n from here - Challenge the sight, and scarce a random line - Traced by a wandering foot along the grass - But thither leads for centre. - - _Luc._ The old story, - Of losing what one should have found on earth - By staring after something in the clouds— - Is it not so? - - _Cipr._ To-day too, when so many - Are flocking thither to the festival, - Whose current might have told—and taken—you - The way you wish’d to go. - - _Luc._ To say the truth, - My lagging here behind as much I think - From a distaste for that same festival - (Of which they told us as we came along) - As inadvertency—my way of life - Busied enough, if not too much, with men - To care for them in crowd on holidays, - When business stands, and neither they nor I - Gaping about can profit one another; - And therefore, by your leave—but only so— - I fain would linger in this quiet place - Till evening, under whose dusky cloak - I may creep unobserved to Antioch. - - _Cipr._ (_aside_) Humane address, at least. And why should I - Grudge him the quiet I myself desire?— - (_Aloud_) Nay, this is public ground—for you, as me, - To use it at your pleasure. - - _Luc._ Still with yours— - Whom by your sober suit and composed looks, - And by this still society of books, - I take to be a scholar— - - _Cipr._ And if so? - - _Luc._ Ill brooking idle company. - - _Cipr._ Perhaps; - But that no wiser traveller need be— - And, if I judge of you as you of me, - Though with no book hung out for sign before, - Perchance a scholar too. - - _Luc._ If so, more read - In men than books, as travellers are wont. - But, if myself but little of a bookman, - Addicted much to scholars’ company, - Of whom I meet with many on my travels, - And who, you know, themselves are living books. - - _Cipr._ And you have travell’d much? - - _Luc._ Ay, little else, - One may say, since I came into the world - Than going up and down it: visiting - As many men and cities as Ulysses, - From first his leaving Troy without her crown, - Along the charmèd coasts he pass’d, with all - The Polyphemes and Circes in the way, - Right to the Pillars where his ship went down. - Nay, and yet further, where the dark Phœnician - Digs the pale metal which the sun scarce deigns - With a slant glance to ripen in earth’s veins: - Or back again so close beneath his own - Proper dominion, that the very mould - Beneath he kindles into proper gold, - And strikes a living Iris into stone. - - _Cipr._ One place, however, where Ulysses was, - I think you have not been to—where he saw - Those he left dead upon the field of Troy - Come one by one to lap the bowl of blood - Set for them in the fields of Asphodel. - - _Luc._ Humph!—as to that, a voyage which if all - Must take, less need to brag of; or perchance - Ulysses, or his poet, apt to err - About the people and their doings there— - But let the wonders in the world below - Be what they may; enough in that above - For any sober curiosity, - Without one’s diving down before one’s time: - Not only countries now as long ago - Known, till’d, inhabited, and civilized; - As Egypt, Greece, and Rome, with all their arts, - Trades, customs, polities, and history: - But deep in yet scarce navigated seas, - Countries uncouth, with their peculiar growths - Of vegetation or of life; where men - Are savage as the soil they never till; - Or never were, or were so long ago, - Their very story blotted from the page - Of earth they wrote it on; unless perchance - From riot-running nature’s overgrowth - Of swarming vegetation, peeps some scarce - Decypherable monument, which yet, - To those who find the key, perchance has told - Stories of men, more mighty men, of old, - Or of the gods themselves who walk’d the world - When with the dews of first creation wet. - - _Cipr._ Oh knowledge from the fountain freshly drawn - Without the tedious go-between of books! - But with fresh soul and senses unimpair’d - What from the pale reflexion of report - We catch at second hand, and much beside - That in our solitary cells we miss. - - _Luc._ Ay, truly we that travel see strange things, - Though said to tell of stranger; some of us, - Deceived ourselves, or seeking to deceive, - With prodigies and monsters which the world, - As wide and full of wonders as it is, - Never yet saw, I think, nor ever will: - Which yet your scholars use for clay and straw - Of which to build your mighty folios— - For instance, this same bulky Roman here, - Whose leaf you turn’d, I doubt impatiently, - When my intrusion rustled in the leaves— - - _Cipr._ Hah! But how knew you— - - _Luc._ Nay, if some stray words - Of old familiar Latin met my ear - As I stood hesitating. - - _Cipr._ (_holding up the book_). This at least - You read then? - - _Luc._ One might say before ’twas written. - - _Cipr._ But how so? - - _Luc._ Oh, this same sufficient Roman, - What is he but another of the many - Who having seen a little and heard more - That others pick’d as loosely up before, - Constructs his little bird’s-nest universe - Of shreds and particles of false and true - Cemented with some thin philosophy, - All filch’d from others, as from him to be - By the next pilfering philosopher, - Till blown away before the rising wind - Of true discovery, or dropt to nothing - After succeeding seasons of neglect. - - _Cipr._ (_aside_) A strange man this—sharp wit and biting word. - (_Aloud_) Yet surely Man, after so many ages - Of patient observation of the world - He lives in, is entitled by the wit - Vouchsafed him by the Maker of the world - To draw into some comprehensive whole - The stray particulars. - - _Luc._ Ay, and forsooth, - Not only the material world he lives in; - But, having of this undigested heap - Composed a World, must make its Maker too, - Of abstract attributes, of each of which - Still more unsure than of the palpable, - Forthwith he draws to some consistent One - The accumulated ignorance of each - In so compact a plausibility - As light to carry as it was to build. - - _Cipr._ But, since (I know not how) you hit upon - The question I was trying when you came; - And, spite of your disclaiming scholarship, - Seem versed in that which occupies the best— - If Pliny blunder with his single God, - As in our twilight reason well he may, - Confess however that a Deity - Plural and self-discordant, as he says, - Is yet more like frail man’s imagination, - Who, for his own necessities and lusts, - Splits up and mangles the Divine idea - To pieces, as he wants a piece of each; - Not only gods for all the elements - Divided into land, and sea, and sky; - But gods of health, wealth, love, and fortune; nay, - Of war and murder, rape and robbery; - Men of their own worse nature making gods - To serve the very vices that suggest them, - Which yet upon their fellow-men they visit - (Else were an end of human polity) - With chain and fine and banishment and death. - So that unless man made such gods as these, - Then are these gods worse than the man they made. - And for the attributes, which though indeed - You gibe at us for canvassing, yourself - Must grant—as whether one or manifold, - Deity in its simplest definition - Must be at least eternal— - - _Luc._ Well?— - - _Cipr._ Yet those - Who stuff Olympus are so little that, - That Zeus himself, the sovereign of all, - Barely escaped devouring at his birth - By his own father, who anticipated - And found some such hard measure for himself; - And as for Zeus’ own progeny—some born - Of so much baser matter than his brain, - As from his eggs, which the all-mighty swan - Impregnated, and mortal Leda laid; - And whose two chicken-deities once hatcht - Now live and die on each alternate day. - - _Luc._ Ay, but if much of this be allegory - In which the wisdom of antiquity - Veils the pure Deity from eyes profane— - - _Cipr._ —Deity taking arms against itself - Under Troy walls, wounding and wounded—ay, - And, trailing heavenly ichor from their wounds, - So help’d by others from the field to one - Who knew the leech’s art themselves did not. - - _Luc._ Softly—if not to swear to allegory, - Still less to all the poets sing of heaven, - High up Parnassus as they think to sit. - - _Cipr._ But these same poets, therefore sacred call’d, - They are who these same allegories spin - Which time and fond tradition consecrate; - What might have been of the divine within - So overgrown with folly and with sin - As but a spark of God would such impure - Assimilation with himself abjure, - Which yet with all the nostril that he may - Zeus snuffs from Antioch’s sacrifice to-day. - Besides, beyond the reach of allegory - The gods themselves in their own oracles - Doubly themselves convict— - As when they urge two nations on to war, - By promising the victory to each; - Whereby on one side their omniscience - Suffers, as their all-goodness on the other. - - _Luc._ What if such seeming contradictions aim - Where human understanding cannot reach? - But granting for the sake of argument, - And for that only, what you now premise; - What follows? - - _Cipr._ Why, that if, as Pliny writes, - Deity by its very definition - Be one, eternal, absolute, all wise, - All good, omnipotent, all ear, all eyes, - Incapable of disintegration— - If this be Deity indeed— - - _Luc._ Then what? - - _Cipr._ Simply—that we in Antioch know him not. - - _Luc._ Rash leap to necessary non-conclusion - From a premiss that quarrels with itself - More than the deity it would impugn; - For if one God eternal and all wise, - Omnipotent to do as to devise, - Whence this disorder and discordance in— - Not only this material universe, - That seems created only to be rack’d - By the rebellion of its elements, - In earthquake and tempestuous anarchy— - But also in the human microcosm - You say created to reflect it all? - For Deity, all goodness as all wise, - Why create man the thing of lust and lies - You say reflects himself in his false god?— - By modern oracle no more convicted - Of falsehood, than by that first oracle - Which first creation settled in man’s heart. - No, if you must define, premise, conclude, - Away with all the coward squeamishness - That dares not face the universe it questions; - Blinking the evil and antagonism - Into its very constitution breathed - By him who, but himself to quarrel with, - Quarrels as might the many with each other. - Or would you be yourself one with yourself, - Catch hold of such as Epicurus’ skirt, - Who, desperately confounded this confusion - Of matter, spirit, good and evil, yea, - Godhead itself, into a universe - That is created, roll’d along, and ruled, - By no more wise direction than blind Chance. - Trouble yourself no more with disquisition - That by sad, slow, and unprogressive steps - Of wasted soul and body lead to nothing: - And only sure of life’s short breathing-while, - And knowing that the gods who threaten us - With after-vengeance of the very crimes - They revel in themselves, are nothing more - Than the mere coinage of our proper brain - To cheat us of our scanty pleasure here - With terror of a harsh account hereafter;— - Eat, drink, be merry; crown yourselves with flowers - About as lasting as the heads they garland; - And snatching what you can of life’s poor feast, - When summon’d to depart, with no ill grace, - Like a too greedy guest, cling to the table - Whither the generations that succeed - Press forward famish’d for their turn to feed. - Nay, or before your time self-surfeited, - Wait not for nature’s signal to be gone, - But with the potion of the spotted weed, - That peradventure wild beside your door - For some such friendly purpose cheaply grows, - Anticipate too tardy nature’s call: - Ev’n as one last great Roman of them all - Dismiss’d himself betimes into the sum - Of universe; not nothing to become; - For that can never cease that was before; - But not that sad Lucretius any more. - - _Cipr._ Oh, were it not that sometimes through the dark, - That walls us all about, a random ray - Breaks in to tell one of a better day - Beyond— - - _Enter LELIO and FLORO, as about to fight._ - - _Lelio._ Enough—these branches that exclude the sun - Defy all other inquisition. - No need of further way. - - _Floro._ Nor further word; - Draw, sir, at once— - - _Lelio._ Nay, parry that yourself - Which waited not your summons to be drawn. - - _Cipr._ Lelio, and Floro? - - _Floro._ What, will the leaves blab? - - _Lelio._ And with their arms arrest a just revenge? - - _Cipr._ And well indeed may trees begin to talk, - When men as you go babbling. - - _Floro._ Whoso speaks - And loves his life, hold back. - - _Lelio._ I know the voice, - But dazzled with the darkness—Cipriano? - - _Cipr._ Ay; Cipriano, sure enough; as you - Lelio and Floro. - - _Floro._ Well, let that suffice, - And leave us as you find us. - - _Cipr._ No, not yet— - - _Floro._ Not yet! - - _Lelio._ Good Cipriano— - - _Cipr._ Till I know - How it has come to pass that two such friends, - Each of the noblest blood in Antioch, - Are here to shed it by each other’s hands. - - _Lelio._ Sudden surprise, and old respect for you, - Suspend my sword a moment, Cipriano, - That else— - - _Floro._ Stand back, stand back! You are a scholar, - And better versed in logic than the laws - Of honour; and perhaps have yet to learn - That when two noblemen have drawn the sword, - One only must return it to the sheath. - - _Lelio._ ’Tis so indeed—once more, stand off. - - _Cipr._ And once more - Back, both of you, say I; if of your lives - Regardless, not of mine, which thus, unarm’d, - I fling between your swords— - Lelio, I look to you—Floro, as ever - Somewhat hot-headed and thrasonical— - Or do you hold with him the scholar’s gown - Has smother’d all the native soldiery - That saucy so-call’d honour to itself - Alone mis-arrogates? You are deceived: - I am like you by birth a gentleman, - Under like obligation to the laws - Of that true honour, which my books indeed - May help distinguish from its counterfeit, - But, older as I am, have yet not chill’d - From catching fire at any just affront— - And let me tell you this too—those same books, - Ancient and modern, tell of many a hand - That, turning most assiduously the leaf, - When the time came, could wield as well the sword. - I am unarm’d: but you, with all your swords, - I say you shall not turn them on each other - Till you have told me what the quarrel is; - Which after hearing if I own for one - That honour may not settle with good word, - I pledge my own to leave it to the sword. - Now, Lelio!— - - _Lelio._ One answer does for both: - He loves where I love. - - _Floro._ No—I thus much more— - He dares to love where I had loved before; - Betrayed friendship adding to the score - Of upstart love. - - _Lelio._ You hear him, Cipriano? - And after such a challenge— - - _Cipr._ Yet a moment. - As there are kinds of honour, so of love— - And ladies— - - _Lelio._ Cipriano, Cipriano! - One friend my foe for daring love where I, - Let not another, daring doubt that he - Honours himself in so dishonouring me— - - _Floro._ Slanting your sharp divisions on a jewel - That if the sun turn’d all his beams upon - He could not find, or make, a flaw— - - _Cipr._ Nor I then, - With far less searching scrutiny than Phœbus— - I am to understand then, such a fair - Jewel as either would in wedlock wear. - - _Floro._ And rather die than let another dare. - - _Cipr._ Enough, enough! of Lelio’s strange logic, - And Floro’s more intelligible rant, - And back to sober metaphor. Which of you - Has this fair jewel turn’d her light upon? - - _Floro_ (_after a pause_). Why, who would boast— - - _Lelio._ Indeed, how could she be - The very pearl of chastity she is, - Turn’d she her glances either left or right? - - _Cipr._ Which therefore each, as he obliquely steals, - Counts on as given him only— - - _Floro._ To have done - With metaphor and logic, what you will, - So as we fall to work; - Or if you must have reason, this, I say, - Resolves itself to a short syllogism— - Whether she give or we presume upon— - If one of us devote himself to win her, - How dares another cross him? - - _Cipr._ But if she - Not only turn to neither, but still worse, - Or better, turn from both? - - _Lelio._ But love by long devotion may be won, - That only one should offer— - - _Floro._ And that one - Who first— - - _Lelio._ Who first!— - - _Cipr._ And all this while, forsooth, - The lady, of whose purity one test - Is her unblemisht unpublicity, - Is made a target for the common tongue - Of Antioch to shoot reproaches at - For stirring up two noblemen to blood. - From which she only can escape, forsooth, - By choosing one of two she cares not for - At once; or else, to mend the matter, when - He comes to claim her by the other’s blood. - - _Lelio._ At least she will not hate him, live or dead, - Who staked his life upon her love. - - _Cipr._ Small good - To him who lost the stake; and he that won— - Will she begin to love whom not before - For laying unloved blood upon her door; - Or, if she ever loved at all, love more? - Is this fair logic, or of one who knows - No more of woman’s honour than of man’s? - Come, come, no more of beating round the bush. - You know how I have known and loved you both, - As brothers—say as sons—upon the score - Of some few years and some few books read more— - Though two such fiery fine young gentlemen, - Put up your swords and be good boys again, - Deferring to your ancient pedagogue; - If cold by time and studies, as you say, - Then fitter for a go-between in love, - And warm at least in loyalty to you. - These jewels—to take up the metaphor - Until you choose to drop it of yourselves,— - These jewels have their caskets, I suppose— - Kindred and circumstance, I mean— - - _Lelio._ Oh such - As by their honourable poverty - Do more than doubly set their jewel off! - - _Cipr._ Ev’n so? And may not one, who, you agree, - Proof-cold, against suspicion of the kind, - Be so far trusted, as, if not to see, - To hear, at least, of where, and how, enshrined? - - _Floro._ I know not what to answer. How say you? - - _Lelio._ Relying on your honour and tried love— - Justina, daughter of the old Lisandro. - - _Cipr._ I know them; her if scarcely, yet how far - Your praises short of her perfections are; - Him better, by some little service done - That rid him of a greater difficulty, - And would again unlock his door to me— - —And who knows also, if you both agree, - Her now closed lips; if but a sigh between - May tell which way the maiden heart may lean? - - _Floro._ Again, what say you, Lelio? - - _Lelio._ I, for one, - Content with that decision. - - _Floro._ Be it so. - - _Cipr._ Why, after all, behold how luckily - You stumbled on this rock in honour’s road, - That serves instead for Cupid’s stepping-stone. - And when the knightly courage of you both - Was all at fault to hammer out the way, - Who knows but some duenna-doctor may? - And will—if but like reasonable men, - Not angry boys, you promise to keep sheathed - Your swords, while from her father or herself - I gather, from a single sigh perhaps, - To which, if either, unaware she turns; - Provided, if to one, the other yield; - But if to neither, both shall quit the field. - What say you both to this? - - _Lelio._ Ay—I for one. - - _Floro._ And I; provided on the instant done. - - _Cipr._ No better time than now, when, as I think, - The city, with her solemn uproar busy, - Shuts her we have to do with close within. - But you must come along with me, for fear - Your hands go feeling for your swords again - If left together: and besides to know - The verdict soon as spoken. - - _Lelio._ Let us go. - - [_Exeunt._ - - _Lucifer_ (_re-appearing_). Ay, Cipriano, faster than you think; - For I will lend you wings to burn yourself - In the same taper they are singed withal.— - By the quick feelers of iniquity - That from hell’s mouth reach through this lower world, - And tremble to the lightest touch of mischief, - Warn’d of an active spirit hereabout - Of the true God inquisitive, and restless - Under the false by which I rule the world, - Here am I come to test it for myself. - And lo! two fools have put into my hand - The snare that, wanting most, I might have miss’d; - That shall not him alone en-mesh, but _her_ - Whom I have long and vainly from the ranks - Striv’n to seduce of Him, the woman-born, - Who is one day to bruise the serpent’s head— - So is it written; but meanwhile my hour - On earth is not accomplisht, and I fain - Of this detested race would hinder all - From joining in the triumph of my fall - Whom I may hinder; and of these, these twain; - Each other by each other snaring; yea, - Either at once the other’s snare and prey. - Oh, my good doctor, you must doubt, you must, - And take no more the good old gods on trust; - To Antioch then away; but not so fast - But I shall be before you, starting last. - - [_Exit._ - - -SCENE II.—_A room in LISANDRO’S house._ - - _Enter LISANDRO, JUSTINA, and LIVIA._ - - _Justina._ At length the day draws in. - - _Lisandro._ And in with it - The impious acclamation that all day, - Block up our doors and windows as we may, - Insults our faith, and doubly threatens it. - Is all made fast, Justina? - - _Just._ All shall be, sir, - When I have seen you safely to your rest. - - _Lis._ You know how edict after edict aim’d - By Rome against the little band of Christ— - And at a time like this, the people drunk - With idol-ecstasy— - - _Just._ Alas, alas! - - _Lis._ Oh, gladly would I scatter these last drops - That now so scarcely creep along my veins, - And these thin locks that tremble o’er the grave, - In such a martyrdom as swept to heav’n - The holy Paul who planted, and all those - Who water’d here the true and only faith, - Were ’t not for thee, for fear of thee, Justina, - Drawing you down at once into my doom, - Or leaving you behind, alone, to hide - From insult and suspicion worse than death— - I dare not think of it. Make fast; keep close; - And then, God’s will be done! You know we lie - Under a double danger. - - _Just._ How so, sir? - - _Lis._ Aurelio and Fabio, both, you know, - So potent in the city, and but now - Arm’d with a freshly whetted sword of vengeance - Against the faith, but double-edged on us, - Should they but know, as know they must, their sons - Haunting the doors of this suspected house. - - _Just._ Alas, alas! - That I should draw this danger on your head! - Which yet you know— - - _Lis._ I know, I know—God knows, - My darling daughter; but that chaste reserve - Serves but to quicken beauty with a charm - They find not in the wanton Venus here: - Drawn as they are by those withdrawing eyes - Irradiate from a mother’s, into whose - The very eyes of the Redeemer look’d, - And whom I dare not haste to join in heav’n - At cost of leaving thee defenceless here. - - _Just._ Sufficient for the day! And now the day - Is done. Come to your chamber—lean on me— - Livia and I will see that all is fast; - And, that all seen to, ere we sleep ourselves, - Come to your bedside for your blessing. Hark! - Knocking ev’n now! See to it, Livia. - - (_She leads out LISANDRO, and returns._) - - Oh, well I got my father to his chamber! - What is it?— - - _Livia._ One would see your father, madam. - - _Just._ At such an hour! He cannot, Livia; - You know, the poor old man is gone to rest— - Tell him— - - _Livia._ If not your father, then yourself, - On matter that he says concerns you both. - - _Just._ Me too!—Oh surely neither of the twain - We both so dread? - - _Livia._ No, madam; rather, one - I think that neither need have cause to fear,— - Cipriano. - - _Just._ Cipriano! The great scholar, - Who did my father service, as I think, - And now may mean another; and God knows - How much, or quickly, needed! - - _Livia._ So he says. - - _Just._ What shall I do! Will not to-morrow— - - _Cipriano_ (_entering_). Oh, lady, - You scarce can wonder more than I myself - At such a visit, and at such an hour, - Only let what I come to say excuse - The coming, and so much unmannerly. - - _Just._ My father is withdrawn, sir, for the night, - Never more wanting rest; I dare not rouse him, - And least of all with any troubled news. - Will not to-morrow— - - _Cipr._ What I have to say - Best told to-night, at once; and not the less - Since you alone, whom chiefly it concerns, - Are here to listen. - - _Just._ I!—Well, sir, relying - On your grave reputation as a scholar, - And on your foregone favour to my father, - If I should dare to listen— - - _Cipr._ And alone? - - _Just._ Livia, leave us. - - [_Exit LIVIA._ - - _Cipr._ Oh, lady—oh, Justina— - (Thus stammers the ambassador of love - In presence of its sovereign)— - You must—cannot but—know how many eyes - Those eyes have wounded— - - _Just._ Nay, sir,— - - _Cipr._ Nay, but hear. - I do not come for idle compliment, - Nor on my own behalf; but in a cause - On which hang life and death as well as love. - Two of the noblest youths in Antioch, - Lelio and Floro—Nay, but hear me out: - Mine, and till now almost from birth each other’s - Inseparable friends, now deadly foes - For love of you— - - _Just._ Oh, sir! - - _Cipr._ I have but now - Parted their swords in mortal quarrel cross’d. - - _Just._ Oh, that was well. - - _Cipr._ I think, for several sakes— - Their own, their fathers’, even Antioch’s, - That would not lose one of so choice a pair; - And, I am sure you think so, lady, yours, - So less than covetous of public talk, - And least of all at such a fearful cost. - - _Just._ Oh, for all sakes all thanks! - - _Cipr._ Yet little due - For what so lightly done, and it may be - So insufficiently; this feud not stopt— - Suspended only, on a single word— - Which now at this unseasonable hour - I stand awaiting from the only lips - That can allay the quarrel they have raised. - - _Just._ Alas, why force an answer from my lips - So long implied in silent disregard? - - _Cipr._ Yet, without which, like two fierce dogs, but more - Exasperated by the holding back, - They will look for it in each other’s blood. - - _Just._ And think, poor men, to find their answer there! - Oh, sir, you are the friend, the friend of both, - A famous scholar; with authority - And eloquence to press your friendship home. - Surely in words such as you have at will - You can persuade them, for all sakes—and yet - No matter mine perhaps—but, as you say, - Their fathers’, Antioch’s, their own— - - _Cipr._ Alas! - I doubt you know not in your maiden calm - How fast all love and logic such as that - Burns stubble up before a flame like this. - - _Just._ (_aside_). And none in heaven to help them! - - _Cipr._ All I can - But one condition hardly wringing out - Of peace, till my impartial embassy - Have ask’d on their behalf, which of the twain— - How shall I least offend?—you least disdain. - - _Just._ Disdain is not the word, sir; oh, no, no! - I know and honour both as noblemen - Of blood and station far above my own; - And of so suitable accomplishments. - Oh, there are many twice as fair as I, - And of their own conditions, who, with half - My wooing, long ere this had worn the wreath - Tied with a father’s blessing, and all Antioch - To follow them with Hymenæal home. - - _Cipr._ But if these fiery men, do what one will, - Will look no way but this?— - - _Just._ Oh, but they will; - Divert their eyes awhile, a little while, - Their hearts will follow; such a sudden passion - Can but have struck a shallow root—perhaps - Ere this had perish’d, had not rival pride - Between them blown it to this foolish height. - - _Cipr._ Disdain is not the word then. Well, to seek, - What still as wide as ever from assent— - Could you but find it in your heart to feel - If but a hair’s-breadth less—say disesteem - For one than for another— - - _Just._ No, no, no! - Even to save their lives I could not say - What is not—cannot—nay, and if it could - And I could say that was that is not—_can_ not— - How should that hair’s-breadth less of hope to one - Weigh with the other to desist his suit, - Both furious as you tell me? - - _Cipr._ And both are: - But ev’n that single hair thrown in by you - Will turn the scale that else the sword must do. - - _Just._ But surely must it not suffice for both - That they who drew the sword in groundless hope - Sheathe it in sure despair? Despair! Good God! - For a poor creature like myself, despair! - That men with souls to which a word like that - Lengthens to infinite significance, - Should pin it on a wretched woman’s sleeve! - But as men talk—I mean, so far as I - Can make them, as they say, despair of that - Of which, even for this world’s happiness, - Despair is better hope of better things— - Will not my saying—and as solemnly - As what one best may vouch for; that so far - As any hope of my poor liking goes, - Despair indeed they must—why should not this - Allay their wrath, and let relapsing love - In his old channel all the clearer run - For this slight interjection in the current? - Why should it not be so? - - _Cipr._ Alas, I know not: - For though as much they promised, yet I doubt - When each, however you reject him now, - Believes you might be won hereafter still, - Were not another to divide the field; - Each upon each charging the exigence - He will not see lies in himself alone, - Might draw the scarcely sheathèd sword at once; - Or stifled hate under a hollow truce - Blaze out anew at some straw’s provocation, - And I perhaps not by to put it out. - - _Just._ What can, what can be done then? - - _Cipr._ Oh Justina, - Pardon this iteration. Think once more, - Before your answer with its consequence - Travels upon my lip to destiny. - I know you more than maiden-wise reserved - To other importunities of love - Than those which ev’n the pure for pure confess; - Yet no cold statue, which, however fair, - Could not inflame so fierce a passion; but - A breathing woman with a beating heart, - Already touch’d with pity, you confess, - For these devoted men you cannot love. - Well, then—I will not hint at such a bower - As honourable wedlock would entwine - About your father’s age and your own youth, - Which ev’n for him—and much less for yourself— - You would not purchase with an empty hand. - But yet, with no more of your heart within - Than what you now confess to—pity—pity, - For generous youth wearing itself away - In thankless adoration at your door, - Neglecting noble opportunities; - Turning all love but yours to deadly hate— - Sedate, and wise, and modestly resolved, - Can you be, lady, of yourself so sure— - (And surely they will argue your disdain - As apt to yield as their devotion)— - That, all beside so honourably faced, - You, who now look with pity, and perhaps - With gratitude, upon their blundering zeal, - May not be won to turn an eye less loath - On one of them, and blessing one, save both? - - _Just._ Alas! I know it is impossible— - Not if they wasted all their youth in sighs, - And even slavish importunities, - I could but pity—pity all the more - That all the less what only they implore - To yield; so great a gulf between us lies. - - _Cipr._ What—is the throne pre-occupied? - - _Just._ If so, - By one that Antioch dreams little of. - But it grows late: and if we spoke till dawn, - I have no more to say. - - _Cipr._ Nor more will hear? - - _Just._ Alas, sir, to what purpose? When, all said, - Said too as you have said it— - And I have but the same hard answer still; - Unless to thank you once and once again, - And charge you with my thankless errand back, - But in such better terms, - As, if it cannot stop ill blood, at least - Shall stop blood-shedding ’tween these hapless men. - - _Cipr._ And shall the poor ambassador who fail’d - In the behalf of those who sent him here, - Hereafter dare to tell you how he sped - In making peace between them? - - _Just._ Oh, do but that, - And what poor human prayer can win from Heaven, - You shall not be the poorer. So, good-night! - - [_Exit._ - - _Cipr._ Good-night, good-night! Oh Lelio and Floro! - If ever friends well turn’d to deadly foes, - Wiser to fight than I to interpose. - - [_Exit._ - - _Lucifer_ (_passing from behind_). The shaft has hit the mark; and - by the care - Of hellish surgery shall fester there. - - [_Exit._ - - - - -ACT II - - -SCENE I.—_The sea-shore; a storm raging._ - - _Cipriano_ (_cavalierly drest_). Oh, mad, mad, mad ambition! to - the skies - Lifting to drop me deep as Hades down!— - What! Cipriano—what the once so wise - Cipriano—quit his wonted exercise - Among the sober walks of old renown, - To fly at love—to swell the wind with sighs - Vainer than learning—doff the scholar’s gown - For cap and feather, and such airy guise - In which triumphant love is wont to go, - But wins less acceptation in her eyes— - The only eyes in which I cared to show— - My heart beneath the borrow’d feather bleeding— - Than in the sable suit of long ago, - When heart-whole for another’s passion pleading. - She loves not Floro—loves not Lelio, - Whose quarrel sets the city’s throat agape, - And turns her reputation to reproof - With altercation of some dusky shape - Haunting the twilight underneath her roof— - Which each believes the other:—and, for me, - The guilty one of the distracted three, - She closest veils herself, or waves aloof - In scorn; or in such self-abasement sweet - As sinks me deep and deeper at her feet, - Bids me return—return for very shame - Back to my proper studies and good name, - Nor waste a life on one who, let me pine - To death, will never but in death be mine. - Oh, she says well—Oh, heart of stone and ice - Unworthy of the single sacrifice - Of one true heart’s devotion! Oh divine - Creature, whom all the glory and the worth - That ever ravaged or redeem’d the earth - Were scanty worship offer’d at your shrine! - Oh Cipriano, master-fool of all - The fools that unto thee for wisdom call; - Of supercilious Pallas first the mock, - And now blind Cupid’s scorn, and laughing-stock; - Who in fantastic arrogance at odds - With the Pantheon of your people’s gods - Ransack’d the heavens for one more pure and whole - To fill the empty temple of the soul, - Now caught by retribution in the mesh - Of one poor piece of perishable flesh— - What baser demon of the pit would buy - With all your ruin’d aspirations? - - _Lucifer_ (_within_). I!— - - _Cipr._ What! The very winds and waters - Hear, and answer to the cry - She is deaf to!—Better thrown - On distracted nature’s bosom - With some passion like my own - Torn and tortured: where the sun - In the elemental riot - Ere his daily reign half done, - Leaves half-quencht the tempest-drencht - Welkin scowling on the howling - Wilderness of waves that under - Slash of whirlwind, spur of lightning, - Roar of thunder, black’ning, whitening, - Fling them foaming on the shore— - Let confusion reign and roar!— - Lightnings, for your target take me! - Waves, upon the sharp rock break me, - Or into your monstrous hollow - Back regurgitating hurl; - Let the mad tornado whirl me - To the furthest airy circle - Dissipated of the sky, - Or the gaping earth down-swallow - To the centre!— - - _Lucifer_ (_entering_). By-and-bye. - - _Cipr._ Hark again! and in her monstrous - Labour, with a human cry - Nature yearning—what portentous - Glomeration of the storm - Darkly cast in human form, - Has she bolted!— - - _Luc._ As among - Flashes of the lightning flung - Beside you, in its thunder now - Aptly listen’d— - - _Cipr._ What art thou? - - _Luc._ One of a realm, though dimly in your charts - Discern’d, so vast that as from out of it - As from a fountain all the nations flow, - Back they shall ebb again; and sway’d by One - Who, without Oriental over-boast, - Because from him all kings their crowns derive, - Is rightfully saluted King of kings, - Whose reign is as his kingdom infinite, - Whose throne is heaven, and earth his footstool, and - Sun, moon, and stars his diadem and crown. - Who at the first disposal of his kingdom - And distribution into sea and land— - Me, who for splendour of my birth and grand - Capacities above my fellows shone, - Star of the Morning, Lucifer, alone— - Me he made captain of the host who stand - Clad as the morning star about his throne. - Enough for all ambition but my own; - Who discontented with the all but all - Of chiefest subject of Omnipotence - Rebell’d against my Maker; insolence - Avenged as soon as done on me and all - Who bolster’d up rebellion, by a fall - Far as from heaven to Hades. Madness, I know; - But worse than madness whining to repent - Under a rod that never will relent. - Therefore about the land and sea I go - Arm’d with the very instrument of hate - That blasted me: lightnings anticipate - My coming, and the thunder rolls behind; - Thus charter’d to enlarge among mankind, - And to recruit from human discontent - My ranks in spirit, not in number, spent. - Of whom, in spite of this brave gaberdine, - I recognize thee one: thee, by the line - Scarr’d on thy brow, though not so deep as mine; - Thee by the hollow circles of those eyes - Where the volcano smoulders but not dies: - Whose fiery torrent running down has scarr’d - The cheek that time had not so deeply marr’d. - Do not I read thee rightly? - - _Cipr._ But too well; - However come to read me— - - _Luc._ By the light - Of my own darkness reading yours—how deep! - But not, as mine is, irretrievable: - Who from the fulness of my own perdition - Would, as I may, revenge myself on him - By turning to fruition your despair— - What if I make you master at a blow, - Not only of the easy woman’s heart - You now despair of as impregnable, - And waiting but my word to let you in, - But lord of nature’s secret, and the lore - That shall not only with the knowledge, but - Possess you with the very power of him - You sought so far and vainly for before: - So far All-eyes, All-wise, Omnipotent— - If not to fashion, able yet to shake - That which the other took such pains to make— - As in the hubbub round us; I who blurr’d - The spotless page of nature at a word - With darkness and confusion, will anon - Clear it, to write another marvel on.— - By the word of power that binds - And loosens; by the word that finds - Nature’s heart through all her rinds, - Hearken, waters, fires, and winds; - Having had your roar, once more - Down with you, or get you gone. - - _Cipr._ With the clatter and confusion - Of the universe about me - Reeling—all within, without me,— - Dizzy, dazzled—if delusion, - Waking, dreaming, seeing, seeming— - Which I know not—only, lo! - Like some mighty madden’d beast - Bellowing in full career - Of fury, by a sudden blow - Stunn’d, and in a moment stopt - All the roar, or into slow - Death-ward-drawing murmur, leaving - Scarce the fallen carcase heaving, - With the fallen carcase dropt.— - Behold! the word scarce fallen from his lips, - Swift almost as a human smile may chase - A frown from some conciliated face, - The world to concord from confusion slips: - The winds that blew the battle up dead slain, - Or with their tatter’d standards swept amain - From heaven; the billows of the erected deep - Roll’d with their crests into the foaming plain; - While the scared earth begins abroad to peep - And smooth her ruffled locks, as from a rent - In the black centre of the firmament, - Revenging his unnatural eclipse, - The Lord of heaven from its ulterior blue - That widens round him as he pierces through - The folded darkness, from his sovereign height - Slays with a smile the dragon-gloom of night. - - _Luc._ All you have heard and witness’d hitherto - But a foretaste to quicken appetite - For that substantial after-feast of power - That I shall set you down to take your fill of: - When not the fleeting elements alone - Of wind, and fire, and water, floating wrack, - But this same solid frame of earth and stone, - Yea, with the mountain loaded on her back, - Reluctantly, shall answer to your spell - From a more adamantine heart stone-cold - Than her’s you curse for inaccessible. - What, you would prove it? Let the mountain there - Step out for witness. Listen, and behold. - Monster upshot of upheaving[11] - Earth, by fire and flood conceiving; - Shapeless ark of refuge, whither, - When came deluge creeping round, - Man retreated—to be drown’d— - Now your granite anchor, fast - In creation’s centre, cast, - Come with all your tackle cleaving - Down before the magic blast— - - _Cipr._ And the unwieldy vessel, lo! - Rib and deck of rock, and shroud - Of pine, top-gallanted with cloud, - All her forest-canvas squaring, - Down the undulating woodland - As she flounders to and fro - All before her tearing, bearing - Down upon us— - - _Luc._ Anchor, ho!— - Behold the ship in port! And what if freighted - With but one jewel, worthy welcome more - Than ever full-fraught Argosy awaited, - At last descried by desperate eyes ashore; - From the first moment of her topsail showing - Like a thin cobweb spun ’twixt sea and sky; - Then momently before a full wind blowing - Into her full proportions, till athwart - The seas that bound beneath her, by and bye - She sweeps full sail into the cheering port— - Strangest bark that ever plied - In despite of wind and tide, - At the captain’s magic summons - Down your granite ribs divide, - And show the jewel hid inside. - - _Cipr._ Justina!— - - _Luc._ Soft! The leap that looks so easy - Yet needs a longer stride than you can master. - - _Cipr._ Oh divine apparition, that I fain - Would all my life as in Elysium lose - Only by gazing after; and thus soon - As rolling cloud across the long’d-for moon, - The impitiable rocks enclose again!— - But was it she indeed? - - _Luc._ She that shall be, - And yours, by means that, bringing her to you, - Possess you of all nature, which in vain - You sigh’d for ere for nature’s masterpiece. - And thus much, as I told you, only sent - As foretaste of that great accomplishment, - Which if you will but try for, you can reach - By means which, if I practise, I can teach. - - _Cipr._ And at what cost? - - _Luc._ You that have flung so many years away - In learning and in love that came to nothing, - Think not to win the harvest in a day! - The God you search for works, you know, by means - (That your philosophers call second cause), - And we by means must underwork him— - - _Cipr._ Well!— - - _Luc._ To comprehend, and, after, to constrain - Whose mysteries you will not count as vain - A year in this same mountain lock’d with me?— - - _Cipr._ Where she is?— - - _Luc._ As I told you, where shall be - At least this mountain after a short labour - Has brought forth something better than a mouse; - And what then after a whole year’s gestation - Accomplish under our joint midwifery, - Under a bond by which you bind you mine - In fewer and no redder drops than needs - The leech of land or water when he bleeds? - Let us about—but first upon his base - The mountain we must study in replace, - That else might puzzle your geography. - Come, take your stand upon the deck with me, - Till with her precious cargo safe inside, - And all her forest-colours flying wide, - The mighty vessel put again to sea— - What, are you ready?—Wondrous smack, - As without a turn or tack - Hither come, so thither back, - And let subside the ruffled deep - Of earth to her primæval sleep.— - How steadily her course the good ship trims, - While Antioch far into the distance swims, - With all her follies bubbling in the wake; - Her scholars that more hum than honey make: - Muses so chaste as never of their kind - Would breed, and Cupid deaf as well as blind: - For Cipriano, wearied with the toil - Of so long working on a thankless soil, - At last embarking upon magic seas - In a more wondrous Argo than of old, - Sets sails with me for such Hesperides - As glow with more than dragon-guarded gold. - - [_Exeunt._ - - - - -ACT III - - -SCENE I.—_Before the mountain. CIPRIANO._ - - _Cipriano._ Now that at last in his eternal round - Hyperion, after skirting either pole, - Of his own race has set the flaming goal - In heaven of my probation under-ground: - Up from the mighty Titan with his feet - Touching the centre, and his forest-hair - Entangling with the stars; whose middle womb - Of two self-buried lives has been the tomb; - At last, my year’s apprenticeship complete, - I rise to try my cunning, and as one - Arm’d in the dark who challenges the sun. - You heavens, for me your azure brows with cloud - Contract, or to your inmost depth unshroud: - Thou sapphire-floating counterpart below, - Obsequious of my moon-like magic flow: - For me you mountains fall, you valleys rise, - With all your brooks and fountains far withdrawn; - You forests shudder underneath my sighs; - And whatsoever breathes in earth and skies; - You birds that on the bough salute the dawn; - And you wild creatures that through wood and glen - Do fly the hunter, or the hunter flies; - Yea, man himself, most terrible to men; - Troop to my word, about my footstep fawn; - Yea, ev’n you spirits that by viewless springs - Move and perplex the tangled web of things, - Wherever in the darkest crypt you lurk - Of nature, nature to my purpose work; - That not the dead material element, - But complicated with the life beyond - Up to pure spirit, shall my charm resent, - And take the motion of my magic wand; - And, once more shaken on her ancient throne, - In me old nature a new master own. - - _Lucifer._ But how is this, Cipriano, that misled - By hasty passion you affront the day - Ere master of the art of darkness? - - _Cipr._ Nay, - By that same blazing witness overhead - Standing in heaven to mark the time foretold, - Since first imprison’d in this mountain-hold - My magic so preluded with the dread - Preliminary kingdom of the dead, - That not alone the womb of general earth - Which Death has crowded thick with second birth, - But monuments with marble lips composed - To dream till doomsday, suddenly disclosed, - And woke their sleepers centuries too soon - To stare upon the old remember’d moon. - Wearied of darkness, I will see the day: - Sick of the dead, the living will assay: - And if the ghastly year I have gone through - Bear half its promised harvest, will requite - With a too warm good-morrow the long night - That one cold living heart consign’d me to. - - _Luc._ Justina! - - _Cipr._ Ay, Justina: now no more - Obsequiously sighing at the door - That never open’d, nor the heart of stone - On which so long I vainly broke my own; - But of her soul and body, when and how - I will, I claim the forfeit here and now. - - _Luc._ Enough: the hour is come; do thou design - The earth with circle, pentagram, and trine, - The wandering airs with incantation twine; - While through her sleep-enchanted sense I shake - The virgin constancy I cannot break. - - (_Clouds roll before the mountain, hiding CIPRIANO._) - - Thou nether realm of darkness and despair, - Whose fire-enthronèd emperor am I; - Where many-knotted till the word they lie, - Your subtlest spirits at the word untie, - And breathe them softly to this upper air; - With subtle soft insinuation fair - Of foul result encompass and attaint - The chastity of the rebellious saint - Who dares the Spirit of this world defy. - Spirits that do shapeless float - In darkness as in light the mote, - At my summons straightway take - Likeness of the fairest make, - And, her sleeping sense about - Seal’d from all the world without, - Through the bolted eyelids creep; - Entheatre the walls of sleep - With an Eden where the sheen - Of the leaf and flower between - All is freshest, yet with Eve’s - Apple peeping through the leaves; - Through whose magic mazes may - Melancholy fancy stray - Till she lose herself, or into - Softer passion melt away: - While the scent-seducing rose - Gazing at her as she goes - With her turning as she turns, - Into her his passion burns; - While the wind among the boughs - Whispers half-remember’d vows; - Nightingale interpreters - Into their passion translate hers; - And the murmurs of a stream - Down one current draw the dream. - While for hidden chorus, I - At her dreaming ear supply - Such a comment as her own - Heart to nature’s shall atone: - Till the secret influence - Of the genial season even - Holy blood that sets to heaven - Draws into the lower sense; - Till array’d in angel guise - Earthly memories surprise - Ev’n the virgin soul, and win - Holy pity’s self to sin. - - (_The clouds roll away, and discover JUSTINA asleep - in her chamber._) - - _Lucifer_ (_at her ear_). Come forth, come forth, Justina, come; - for scared - Winter is vanish’d, and victorious Spring - Has hung her garland on the boughs he bared: - Come forth; there is a time for everything. - - _Justina_ (_in her sleep_). That was my father’s voice—come, Livia— - My mantle—oh, not want it?—well then, come. - - _Luc._ Ay, come abroad, Justina; it is Spring; - The world is not with sunshine and with leaf - Renew’d to be the tomb of ceaseless grief; - Come forth: there is a time for everything. - - _Just._ How strange it is— - I think the garden never look’d so gay - As since my father died. - - _Luc._ Ev’n so: for now, - Returning with the summer wind, the hours - Dipp’d in the sun re-dress the grave with flowers, - And make new wreaths for the survivor’s brow; - Whose spirit not to share were to refuse - The power that all creating, all renews - With self-diffusive warmth, that, with the sun’s, - At this due season through creation runs, - Nor in the first creation more express’d - Than by the singing builder of the nest - That waves on this year’s leaf, or by the rose - That underneath them in his glory glows; - Life’s fountain, flower, and crown; without whose giving - Life itself were not, nor, without, worth living. - - _Chorus of Voices._ Life’s fountain, flower, and crown; without - whose giving - Life itself were not, nor, without, worth living. - - _Song._ - - Who that in his hour of glory - Walks the kingdom of the rose, - And misapprehends the story - Which through all the garden blows; - Which the southern air who brings - It touches, and the leafy strings - Lightly to the touch respond; - And nightingale to nightingale - Answering a bough beyond— - - _Chorus._ - - Nightingale to nightingale - Answering a bough beyond. - - _Just._ These serenaders—singing their old songs - Under one’s window— - - _Luc._ Ay, and if nature must decay or cease - Without it; what of nature’s masterpiece? - Not in her outward lustre only, but - Ev’n in the soul within the jewel shut; - What but a fruitless blossom; or a lute - Without the hand to touch it music-mute: - Incense that will not rise to heaven unfired; - By that same vernal spirit uninspired - That sends the blood up from the heart, and speaks - In the rekindled lustre of the cheeks? - - _Chorus._ Life’s fountain, flower, and crown; without whose giving - Life itself were not, nor, without, worth living. - - _Song._ - - Lo the golden Girasolé, - That to him by whom she burns, - Over heaven slowly, slowly, - As he travels ever turns; - And beneath the wat’ry main - When he sinks, would follow fain, - Follow fain from west to east, - And then from east to west again. - - _Chorus._ - - Follow would from west to east, - And then from east to west again. - - _Just._ He beckon’d us, and then again was gone; - Oh look! under the tree there, Livia— - Where he sits—reading—scholar-like indeed!— - With the dark hair that was so white upon - His shoulder—but how deadly pale his face!— - And, statue-still-like, the quaint evergreen - Up and about him creeps, as one has seen - Round some old marble in a lonely place. - - _Luc._ Ay, look on that—for, as the story runs, - Ages ago, when all the world was young, - That ivy was a nymph of Latium, - Whose name was Hedera: so passing fair - That all who saw fell doting on her; but - Herself so icy-cruel, that her heart - Froze dead all those her eyes had set on fire. - Whom the just God who walk’d that early world, - By right-revenging metamorphosis - Changed to a thing so abject-amorous, - She grovels on the ground to catch at any - Wither’d old trunk or sapling, in her way: - So little loved as loathed, for strangling those - Whom once her deadly-deathless arms enclose. - - _Song._ - - So for her who having lighted - In another heart the fire, - Then shall leave it unrequited - In its ashes to expire: - After her that sacrifice - Through the garden burns and cries; - In the sultry breathing air: - In the flowers that turn and stare— - ‘What has she to do among us, - Falsely wise and frozen fair?’ - - _Luc._ Listen, Justina, listen and beware. - - _Just._ Again! That voice too?—But you know my father - Is ill—is in his chamber— - How sultry ’tis—the street is full and close— - Let us get home—why do they stare at us? - And murmur something—‘Cipriano?—Where - Is Cipriano?—lost to us—some say, - And to himself,—self-slain—mad——Where is he?’ - Alas, alas, I know not— - - _Luc._ Come and see— - - _Justina_ (_waking_). Mercy upon me! Who is this? - - _Luc._ Justina, your good angel, - Who, moved by your relenting to the sighs - Of one who lost himself for your disdain, - Will lead you to the cavern where he lies - Subsisting on the memory of your eyes— - - _Just._ ’Twas all a dream!— - - _Luc._ That dreaming you fulfil. - - _Just._ Oh, no, with all my waking soul renounce. - - _Luc._ But, dreaming or awake, the soul is one, - And the deed purposed in Heaven’s eyes is done. - - _Just._ Oh Christ! I cannot argue—I can pray, - Christ Jesus, oh, my Saviour, Jesu Christ! - Let not hell snatch away from Thee the soul - Thou gavest Thy life to save!—Livia!—Livia! - - _Enter LIVIA._ - - Where is my father? where am I? Oh, I know— - In my own chamber—and my father—oh!— - But, Livia, who was it that but now - Was here—here in my very chamber— - - _Livia._ Madam? - - _Just._ You let none in? oh, no! I know it—but - Some one there was—here—now—as I cried out— - A dark, strange figure— - - _Livia._ My child, compose yourself; - No one has come, or gone, since you were laid - In your noon-slumber. This was but a dream. - The air is heavy; and the melancholy - You live alone with since your father’s death— - - _Just._ A dream, a dream indeed—oh Livia, - That leaves his pressure yet upon my arm— - And that without the immediate help of God - I had not overcome—Oh, but the soul, - The soul must be unsteady in the faith, - So to be shaken even by a dream. - Oh, were my father here! But he’s at rest— - I know he is—upon his Saviour’s breast; - And—who knows!—may have carried up my cries - Ev’n to His ear upon whose breast he lies! - Give me my mantle, Livia; I’ll to the church; - Where if but two or three are met in prayer - Together, He has promised to be there— - And I shall find Him. - - _Livia._ Oh, take care, take care! - You know the danger—in broad daylight too— - Or take me with you. - - _Just._ And endanger two? - Best serve us both by keeping close at home, - Praying for me as I will pray for you. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE II.—_Entrance to the mountain cavern._ - -_CIPRIANO, in a magician’s dress, with wand, etc._ - - What! do the powers of earth, and air, and hell, - Against their upstart emperor rebel? - Lo, in obedience to the rubric dark - The dusky cheek of earth with mystic mark - Of pentagram and circle I have lined, - And hung my fetters on the viewless wind, - And yet the star of stars, for whose ascent - I ransack all the lower firmament, - In unapparent darkness lags behind: - Whom once again with adjuration new - Of all the spirits whom these signs subdue, - Whether by land or water, night or day, - Whether awake or sleeping, yea or nay, - I summon now before me.— - - _Enter slowly a veiled Figure of JUSTINA._ - - _The Figure._ What dark spell - From the sequester’d sadness of my cell, - Through the still garden, through the giddy street, - And up the solitary mountain-side, - Leads me with sleep-involuntary feet?— - - _Cipr._ ’Tis she, as yet though clouded!—oh divine - Justina!— - - _The Figure._ Cipriano!— - - _Cipr._ At last here, - In such a chamber where ev’n Phœbus fails - To pierce, and baffled breezes tell no tales, - At last, to crown the labour of a year - Of solitary toil and darkness—here!— - And at a price beside—but none too dear— - Oh year-long night well borne for such a day! - Oh soul, for one such sense well sold away! - Oh Now that makes for all the past amends, - Oh moment that eternal life transcends - To such a point of ecstasy, that just - About to reap the wishes that requite - All woes— - - _The Figure_ (_unveiling a skull and vanishing as it speaks_). - - Behold, the World and its delight - Is dust and ashes, dust and ashes; dust— - - _Cipr._ (_flinging down his wand_). Lucifer! Lucifer! Lucifer!— - - _Luc._ My son! - - _Cipr._ Quick! With a word— - - _Luc._ How now?— - - _Cipr._ With a word—at once— - With all your might— - - _Luc._ Well, what with it?— - - _Cipr._ The charm— - Shatter it! shatter it, I say!—Is ’t done? - Is ’t vanish’d— - - _Luc._ What has thus unsensed you? - - _Cipr._ Oh!— - You know it—saw it—did it— - - _Luc._ Come—be a man: - What, scared with a mere death’s-head? - - _Cipr._ Death’s, indeed!— - - _Luc._ What was it more?— - - _Cipr._ Justina’s seeming self— - After what solitary labour wrought, - And after what re-iterated charms, - Step by step here in all her beauty brought - Within the very circle of these arms, - Then to death’s grisly lineaments resign’d - Slipp’d through them, and went wailing down the wind - ‘Ashes and dust and ashes’— - Nay, nay, pretend not that the fault was mine— - The written incantation line by line - I mutter’d, and the mystic figure drew; - You only are to blame—you only, you, - Cajoling me, or by your own cajoled, - Bringing me fleshless death for the warm life - For which my own eternal life is sold. - - _Luc._ You were too rash,—I warn’d you, and if not, - Who thinks at a first trial to succeed? - Another time— - - _Cipr._ No, no! No more of it! - What, have I so long dabbled with the dead, - That all I touch turns to corruption? - Was it indeed herself—her living self— - Till underneath my deadly contact slain; - Or having died during the terrible year - I have been living worse than dead with you, - What I beheld not she, but what she was, - Out of the tomb that only owns my spell - Drawn into momentary lifeliness - To mock me with the phantom of a beauty - Whose lineaments the mere impalpable air - Let in upon disfeatures—Was it she? - - _Luc._ She lives, and shall be yours. - - _Cipr._ Not if herself, - In more than all her living beauty breathing, - Come to efface that deadly counterfeit.— - Oh, what have I been doing all this while, - From which I wake as from a guilty dream, - But with my guilt’s accomplice at my side - To prove its terrible reality? - Where were my ears, my eyes, my senses? where - The mother-wit which serves the common boor, - Not to resent that black academy, - Mess-mating with dead men and living fiends, - And not to know no good could come of it?— - My better self—the good that in me grew - By nature, and by good instruction till’d, - Under your shadow turn’d to poisonous weed; - And ev’n the darker art you bribed me with, - To master, if by questionable ways, - The power I sigh’d for in my better days, - So little reaching to the promised height, - As sinking me beneath the lowest fiend, - Who, for the inestimable self I sold, - Pays the false self you made me with false gold! - - _Luc._ When will blind fury, falling foul of all, - Light where it should? Suppose a fault so far, - As knowledge working through unpractised hands - Might fail at first encounter; all men know - How a mere sand will check a vast machine; - And in these complicated processes - An agency so insignificant - As to be wholly overlook’d it was - At the last moment foil’d us. - - _Cipr._ But she lives! - Lives—from your clutches saved, and saved from mine— - Ev’n from that only shadow of my guilt - That could have touch’d her, saved—unguilty shame, - That now is left with all the guilt to me. - Oh that I knew a God in all the heavens - To thank, or ev’n of Tartarus—ev’n thee, - Thee would I bless, whatever power it be - That with that shadow saved her, and mock’d me - Back to my better senses. If not she, - What was it? - - _Luc._ What you saw. - - _Cipr._ A phantom? - - _Luc._ Well, - A phantom. - - _Cipr._ But how raised? - - _Luc._ What if by her? - She is a sorcerer as her father was. - - _Cipr._ A sorcerer! She a sorcerer! oh, black lie - To whiten your defeat! and, were it true, - Oh mighty doctor to be foil’d at last - By a mere woman!—If a sorcerer, - Then of a sort you deal not with, nor hell— - And ev’n Olympus likes the sport too well— - Raising a phantom not to draw me down - To deeper sin, but with its ghastly face - And hollow voice both telling of the tomb - They came from, warning me of what complexion - Were all the guilty wishes of this world. - But let the phantom go where gone it is— - Not of what mock’d me, but what saved herself, - By whatsoever means—ay, what was it, - That pitiful agency you told me of - So insignificant, as overlook’d - At the last moment thwarted us? - - _Luc._ What matter? - When now provided for, and which when told - You know not— - - _Cipr._ Which I will be told to know— - For as one ris’n from darkness tow’rd the light, - A veil seems clearing from before my sight— - She is a sorcerer, and of the kind - That old Lisandro died suspected of?— - Oh cunning doctor, to outwit yourself, - Outwitted as you have been, and shall be - By him who if your devilish magic fail’d - To teach its purposed mischief, - Thus on his teacher turns it back in full - To force him to confess the counter-power - That foil’d us both. - - (_He catches up his wand._) - - _Luc._ Poor creature that you are! - Did not the master from his scholars hold - One sleight of hand that masters all the rest, - What magic needed to compel the devil - To convict those who find him out too late? - Yet to increase your wrath by leaving it - Blind in the pit your guilt consigns you to, - I shall not answer— - - _Cipr._ Then if your own hell - Cannot enforce you; by that Unknown Power - That saved Justina from your fangs, although - Yourself you cannot master, if you know, - I charge you name him to me!— - - _Luc._ (_after a great flash of lightning, and thunder_). - Jesus Christ! - - _Cipr._ (_after a pause_). Ev’n so!—Christ Jesus—Jesus Christ—the same - That poor Lisandro died suspected of, - And I had heard and read of with the rest - But to despise, in spite of all the blood - By which the chosen few their faith confess’d— - The prophet-carpenter of Nazareth, - Poor, persecuted, buffeted, reviled, - Spit upon, crown’d with thorns, and crucified - With thieves—the Son of God—the Son of man, - Whose shape He took to teach them how to live, - And doff’d upon the cross to do away - The sin and death you and your devil-deities - Had heap’d on him from the beginning? - - _Luc._ Yea!— - - _Cipr._ Of the one sun of Deity one ray - That was before the world was, and that made - The world and all that is within it? - - _Luc._ Yea! - - _Cipr._ Eternal and Almighty then: and yet - Infinite Centre as he is of all - The all but infinite universe he made, - With eyes to see me plotting, and with ear - To hear one solitary creature pray, - From one dark corner of his kingdom? - - _Luc._ Yea! - - _Cipr._ All one, all when, all where, all good, all mighty, - All eye, all ear, all self-integrity— - Methinks this must be He of whom I read - In Greek and Roman sages dimly guess’d, - But never until now fully confess’d - In this poor carpenter of Nazareth, - With poor Justina for his confessor— - And now by thee—by thee—once and again - Spite of thyself—for answer me you must, - Convicted at the bar of your own thunder— - Is this the God for whom I sought so long - In mine own soul and those of other men, - Who from the world’s beginning till to-day - Groped or were lost in utter darkness? - - _Luc._ Yea! - - _Cipr._ Enough; and your confession shall be mine— - - _Luc._ And to like purpose; to believe, confess, - And tremble, in the everlasting fire - Prepared for all who Him against their will - Confess, and in their deeds deny Him— - - _Cipr._ Oh, - Like a flogg’d felon after full confession - Released at last! - - _Luc._ To bind you mine for ever. - - _Cipr._ Thine! What art thou? - - _Luc._ The god whom you must worship. - - _Cipr._ There is no God but one, whom you and I - Alike acknowledge, as in Jesus Christ - Reveal’d to man. What other god art thou? - - _Luc._ Antichrist! He that all confessing Christ - Confess; Satan, the Serpent, the first Tempter, - Who tempted the first Father of mankind - With the same offer to a like result - That I have tempted thee with; yea, had power - Even Him in His humanity to tempt, - Though Him in vain; the god of this world; if - False god, true devil; true angel as I was, - Son of the morning, Lucifer, who fell - (As first I told thee, had’st thou ears to hear) - For my rebellion down from heaven to hell - More terrible than any Tartarus, - Where over those who fell with me I reign. - Whom, though with them bound in the self-same chain - Of everlasting torment, God allows - To reach my hands out of my prison-house - On all who like me from their God rebel, - As thou hast done. - - _Cipr._ Not when for God I knew Him. - - _Luc._ Ay, but who but for pride and lust like mine - Had known Him sooner— - - _Cipr._ And had sooner known - But for thy lying gods that shut Him out. - - _Luc._ Which others much less wise saw through before. - - _Cipr._ All happy they then! But all guilty I, - Yet thus far guiltless of denying Him - Whom even thou confessest. - - _Luc._ But too late— - Already mine, if not so sworn before, - Yet by this bond— - - _Cipr._ For service unperform’d! - But unperform’d, or done, and payment due, - I fling myself and all my debt on Him - Who died to undertake them— - - _Luc._ He is the Saviour of the innocent, - Not of the guilty. - - _Cipr._ Who alone need saving! - - _Luc._ Damnation is the sinner’s just award, - And He is just. - - _Cipr._ And being just, will not - For wilful blindness tax the want of light: - And All-good as Almighty, and therefore - As merciful as just, will not renounce - Ev’n the worst sinner who confesses Him, - And testifies confession with his blood. - Which, not to waste a moment’s argument, - Too like the old logic that I lost my life in, - And hangs for ever dead upon the cross; - I will forthwith shout my confession, - Into the general ear of Antioch, - And from the evidence of thine own mouth, - Not thee alone, but all thy lying gods, - Convict; and you convicting before God, - Myself by man’s tribunal judged and damn’d, - Trust by my own blood mixing with the tide - That flow’d for me from the Redeemer’s side, - From those few damning drops to wash me free - That bound me thine for ever— - - _Lucifer_ (_seizing him_). Take my answer— - - _Cipriano_ (_escaping_). Oh, Saviour of Justina, save Thou me! - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE III.—_The Hall of Justice in Antioch._ - -_AURELIO, FABIO, SENATORS, etc., just risen from Council._ - - _Aurelio._ You have done well indeed; the very Church - These Christians flock’d to for safe blasphemy - Become the very net to catch them in. - How many, think you? - - _Fabio._ Not so many, sir, - As some that are of the most dangerous. - - _Aur._ Among the rest this girl, Lisandro’s daughter, - As you and I know, Fabio, to our cost: - But now convicted and condemn’d is safe - From troubling us or Antioch any more. - Come, such good service asks substantial thanks; - What shall it be? - - _Fabio._ No other, if you please, - Than my son Floro’s liberation, - Whom not without good reason for so long - You keep under the city’s lock and key. - - _Aur._ As my own Lelio, and for a like cause; - Who both distracted by her witchery - Turn’d from fast friends to deadly enemies, - And, in each other’s lives, so aim’d at ours. - But no more chance of further quarrel now - For one whom Death anticipates for bride - Ere they again gird weapon at their side, - Set them both free forthwith.— - - [_Exit FABIO._ - - This cursèd woman whose fair face and foul - Behaviour was the city’s talk and trouble, - Now proved a sorceress, is well condemn’d; - Not only for my sake and Fabio’s, - But for all Antioch, whose better youth - She might, like ours, have carried after her - Through lust and duel into blasphemy. - - _Re-enter FABIO with LELIO and FLORO._ - - _Lelio._ Once more, sir, at your feet— - - _Aur._ Up, both of you. - Floro and Lelio, you understand - What I have done was of no testy humour, - But for three several sakes— - Your own, your fathers’, and the city’s peace. - Henceforward, by this seasonable use - Of public law for private purpose check’d, - Your fiery blood to better service turn. - Take hands, be friends; the cause of quarrel gone— - - _Lelio._ The cause of quarrel gone!— - - _Aur._ Be satisfied; - You will know better by and bye; meanwhile - Taking upon my word that so it is; - Which were it not indeed, you were not here - To doubt. - - _Floro_ (_aside_). Oh flimsy respite of revenge!— - - _Aur._ And now the business of the day well crown’d - With this so happy reconciliation, - You and I, Fabio, to our homes again, - Our homes once more, replenish’d with the peace - We both have miss’d so long.—What noise is that? - - (_Cries without._) Stop him! A madman! Stop him!— - - _Aur._ What is it, Fabio? - - _Fabio._ One like mad indeed, - In a strange garb, with flaring eyes, and hair - That streams behind him as he flies along, - Dragging a cloud of rabble after him. - - _Aur._ This is no place for either—shut the doors, - And post the soldiers to keep peace without— - - (_Cries without._) Stop him! - - _Floro and Lelio._ ’Tis Cipriano!— - - _Aur._ Cipriano!— - - _Enter CIPRIANO._ - - _Cipriano._ Ay, Cipriano, Cipriano’s self, - Heretofore mad as you that call him so, - Now first himself.—Noble Aurelio, - Who sway’st the sword of Rome in Antioch - And you, companions of my youthful love - And letters; you grave senate ranged above; - And you whose murmuring multitude below - Do make the marble hall of justice rock - From base to capital—hearken unto me: - Yes, I am Cipriano: I am he - So long and strangely lost, now strangely found— - The famous doctor of your schools, renown’d - Not Antioch only but the world about - For learning’s prophet-paragon forsooth; - Who long pretending to provide the truth - For other men in fields where never true - Wheat, but a crop of mimic darnel grew, - Reap’d nothing for himself but doubt, doubt, doubt. - Then ’twas that looking with despair and ruth - Over the blasted harvest of my youth, - I saw Justina: saw, and put aside - The barren Pallas for a mortal bride - Divinelier fair than she is feign’d to be: - But in whose deep-entempled chastity, - That look’d down holy cold upon my fire, - Lived eyes that but re-doubled vain desire. - Till this new passion, that more fiercely prey’d - Upon the wither’d spirit of dismay’d - Ambition, swiftly by denial blew - To fury that, transcending all control, - I made away the ruin of my soul - To one whom no chance tempest at my feet - In the mid tempest of temptation threw. - Who blinding me with the double deceit - Of loftier aspiration and more low - Than mortal or immortal man should owe - Fulfill’d for me, myself for his I bound; - With him and death and darkness closeted - In yonder mountain, while about its head - The sun his garland of the seasons wound, - In the dark school of magic I so read, - And wrought to such a questionable power - The black forbidden art I travail’d in, - That though the solid mountain from his base - With all his forest I might counterplace, - I could not one sweet solitary flower - Of beauty to my magic passion win, - Because her God was with her in that hour - To guard her virtue more than mountain-fast: - That only God, whom all my learning past - Fail’d to divine, but from the very foe - That would have kept Him from me come to know - I come to you, to witness and make known: - One God, eternal, absolute, alone; - Of whom Christ Jesus—Jesus Christ, I say— - And, Antioch, open all your ears to-day— - Of that one Godhead one authentic ray, - Vizor’d awhile his Godhead in man’s make, - Man’s sin and death upon Himself to take; - For man made man; by man unmade and slain - Upon the cross that for mankind He bore— - Dead—buried—and in three-days ris’n again - To His hereditary glory, bearing - All who with Him on earth His sorrow sharing - With Him shall dwell in glory evermore. - And all the gods I worship’d heretofore, - And all that you now worship and adore, - From thundering Zeus to cloven-footed Pan, - But lies and idols, by the hand of man - Of brass and stone—fit emblems as they be, - With ears that hear not; eyes that cannot see; - And multitude where only One can be— - From man’s own lewd imagination built; - By that same devil held to that old guilt - Who tempted me to new. To whom indeed - If with my sin and blood myself I fee’d - For ever his—that bond of sin and blood - I trust to cancel in the double flood - Of baptism past, and the quick martyrdom - To which with this confession I am come. - Oh delegate of Cæsar to devour - The little flock of Jesus Christ! Behold - One lost sheep just admitted to the fold - Through the pure stream that rolling down the same - Mountain in which I sinn’d, and as I came - By holy hands administer’d, to-day - Shall wash the mountain of my sin away. - Lo, here I stand for judgment; by the blow - Of sudden execution, or such slow - Death as the devil shall, to maintain his lies, - By keeping life alive in death, devise. - Hack, rack, dismember, burn—or crucify, - Like Him who died to find me; Him that I - Will die to find; for whom, with whom, to die - Is life; and life without, and all his lust, - But dust and ashes, dust and ashes, dust— - - (_He falls senseless to the ground._) - - _Aurelio_ (_after a long pause_). So public and audacious blasphemy - Demands as instant vengeance. Wretched man, - Arise and hear your sentence— - - _Lelio._ Oh, sir, sir! - You speak to ice and marble—Cipriano! - Oh look’d for long, and best for ever lost! - But he is mad—he knows not what he says— - You would not, surely, on a madman visit - What only sane confession makes a crime? - - _Aur._ I never know how far such blasphemy, - Which seems to spread like wild-fire in the world, - Be fault or folly: only this I know, - I dare not disobey the stern decree - That Cæsar makes my office answer for. - Especially when one is led away - Of such persuasion and authority, - Still drawing after him the better blood - Of Antioch, to better or to worse. - - _Lelio._ Cipriano! Cipriano! Yet, pray the gods - He be past hearing me! - - _Fabio_ (_to Aurelio_). Sir, in your ear— - Justina’s hour is come; and through the room - Where she was doom’d, she passes to her doom. - - _Aur._ Let us be gone; they must not look on her - Nor know she is to die until ‘to die’ - Be past predicament. Here let her wait, - Till he she drew along with her to sin - Revive to share with her its punishment. - Come, Lelio—come, Floro—be assured - I loved and honour’d this man as yourselves - Have honour’d him—but now— - - _Lelio._ Nay, sir, but— - - _Aur._ Nay, - Not I, but Cæsar, Lelio. Come away. - - [_Exeunt. Then JUSTINA is brought in by soldiers, and left alone._ - - _Just._ All gone—all silence—and the sudden stroke, - Whose only mercy I besought, delay’d - To make my pang the fiercer.—What is here?— - Dead?—By the doom perhaps I am to die, - And laid across the threshold of the road - To trip me up with terror—Yet not so, - If but the life, once lighted here, has flown - Up to the living Centre that my own - Now trembles to!—God help him, breathing still?— - —Cipriano!— - - _Cipr._ Ay, I am ready—I can rise— - Is my time come?—Oh, God! - Have I repented and confess’d too late, - And this terrible witness of my crime - Stands at the door of death from which it came - To draw me deeper— - - _Just._ Cipriano! - - _Cipr._ Yet - Not yet disfeatured—nor the voice— - Oh, if not _That_—this time unsummon’d—come - To take me with you where I raised you from— - Once more—once more—assure me!— - - _Justina_ (_taking his hand_). Cipriano!— - - _Cipr._ And this, too, surely, is a living hand: - Though cold, oh, cold indeed—but yet, but yet, - Not dust and ashes, dust and ashes— - - _Just._ No— - But soon to be— - - _Cipr._ But soon—but soon to be— - But not as then?— - - _Just._ I understand you not— - - _Cipr._ I scarce myself—I must have been asleep— - But now not dreaming? - - _Just._ No, not dreaming. - - _Cipr._ No— - This is the judgment-hall of Antioch, - In which—I scarcely mind how long ago— - Is sentence pass’d on me?— - - _Just._ This is indeed - The judgment-hall of Antioch; but why - You here, and what the judgment you await, - I know not— - - _Cipr._ No.—But stranger yet to me - Why you yourself, Justina,—Oh my God!— - What, all your life long giving God his due, - Is treason unto Cæsar?— - - _Just._ Ay, Cipriano— - Against his edict having crept inside - God’s fold with that good Shepherd for my guide, - My Saviour Jesus Christ! - - _Cipr._ My Saviour too, - And Shepherd—oh, the only good and true - Shepherd and Saviour— - - _Just._ You confess Him! _You_ - Confess Him, Cipriano! - - _Cipr._ With my blood: - Which being all to that confession pledged, - Now waits but to be paid. - - _Just._ Oh, we shall die, - And go to heaven together! - - _Cipr._ Amen! Amen!— - And yet— - - _Just._ You do not fear—and yet no shame— - What I have faced so long, that present dread - Is almost lost in long anticipation— - - _Cipr._ I fear not for this mortal. Would to God - This guilty blood by which in part I trust - To pay the forfeit of my soul with Heaven - Would from man’s hand redeem the innocence - That such atonement needs not. - - _Just._ Oh, to all - One faith and one atonement— - - _Cipr._ But if both, - If both indeed must perish by the doom - That one deserves and cries for—Oh, Justina, - Who upward ever with the certain step - Of faith hast follow’d unrepress’d by sin; - Now that thy foot is almost on the floor - Of heaven, pray Him who opens thee the door, - Let with thee one repenting sinner in! - - _Just._ What more am I? And were I close to Him - As he upon whose breast he lean’d on here, - No intercessor but Himself between - Himself and the worst sinner of us all— - If but repenting we believe in Him. - - _Cipr._ I do believe—I do repent—my faith - Have sign’d in water, and will seal in blood— - - _Just._ I have no other hope, but, in that, all. - - _Cipr._ Oh hope that almost is accomplishment, - Believing all with nothing to repent! - - _Just._ Oh, none so good as not to need—so bad - As not to find, His mercy. If you doubt - Because of your long dwelling in the darkness - To which the light was folly—oh ’twas shown - To the poor shepherd long before the wise; - And if to me, as simple—oh, not mine, - Not mine, oh God! the glory—nor ev’n theirs - From whom I drew it, and—Oh, Cipriano, - Methinks I see them bending from the skies - To take me up to them! - - _Cipr._ Whither could I - But into heaven’s remotest corner creep, - Where I might only but discern thee, lost - With those you love in glory— - - _Just._ Hush! hush! hush! - These are wild words—if I so speak to one - So wise, while I am nothing— - But as you know—Oh, do not think of me, - But Him, into whose kingdom all who come - Are as His angels— - - _Cipr._ Ay, but to come there!— - Where if all intercession, even thine, - Be vain—you say so—yet before we pass - The gate of death together, as we shall,— - If then to part—for ever, and for ever— - Unless with your forgiveness— - - _Just._ I forgive! - Still I, and I, again! Oh, Cipriano, - Pardon and intercession both alike - With Him alone; and had I to forgive— - Did not He pray upon the cross for those - Who slew Him—as I hope to do on mine - For mine—He bids us bless our enemies - And persecutors; which I think, I think, - You were not, Cipriano—why do you shudder?— - Save in pursuit of that—if vain to me, - Now you know all— - - _Cipr._ I now know all—but you - Not that, which asking your forgiveness for, - I dare not name to you, for fear the hand - I hold as anchor-fast to, break away, - And I drive back to hell upon a blast - That roar’d behind me to these very doors, - But stopt—ev’n in the very presence stopt, - That most condemns me his. - - _Just._ Alas, alas, - Again all wild to me. The time draws short— - Look not to me, but Him tow’rd whom alone - Sin is, and pardon comes from— - - _Cipr._ Oh, Justina, - You know not how enormous is my sin— - - _Just._ I know, not as His mercy infinite. - - _Cipr._ To Him—to thee—to Him through thee— - - _Just._ ’Tis written, - Not all the sand of ocean, nor the stars - Of heaven so many as His mercies are. - - _Cipr._ What! ev’n for one who, mad with pouring vows - Into an unrelenting human ear, - Gave himself up to Antichrist—the Fiend— - Though then for such I knew him not—to gain - By darkness all that love had sought in vain! - —Speak to me—if but that hereafter I - Shall never, never, hear your voice again— - Speak to me— - - _Just._ (_after a long pause_). By the Saviour on His cross - A sinner hung who but at that last hour - Cried out to be with Him; and was with Him - In Paradise ere night. - - _Cipr._ But was his sin - As mine enormous?— - - _Just._ Shall your hope be less, - Offering yourself for Christ’s sake on that cross - Which the other only suffer’d for his sin? - Oh, when we come to perish, side by side, - Look but for Him between us crucified, - And call to Him for mercy; and, although - Scarlet, your sin shall be as white as snow! - - _Cipr._ Ev’n as you speak, yourself, though yet yourself, - In that full glory that you saw reveal’d - With those you love transfigured, and your voice - As from immeasurable altitude - Descending, tell me that, my shame and sin - Quench’d in the death that opens wide to you - The gate, ev’n this great sinner shall pass through, - With Him, with them, with thee!— - - _Just._ Glory to God!— - Oh blest assurance on the very verge - That death is swallow’d up in victory! - And hark! the step of death is at the door— - Courage!—Almighty God through Jesus Christ - Pardon your sins and mine, and as a staff - Guide and support us through the terrible pass - That leads us to His rest!— - - _Cipr._ My own beloved! - Whose hand—Oh let it be no sin to say it!— - Is as the staff that God has put in mine— - To lead me through the shadow—yet ev’n now— - Ev’n now—at this last terrible moment— - Which, to secure my being with thee, thee - Forbids to stand between my Judge and me, - And in a few more moments, soul and soul - May read each other as an open scroll— - Yet, wilt thou yet believe me not so vile - To thee, to Him who made thee what thou art, - Till desperation of the only heart - I ever sigh’d for, by I knew not then - How just alienation, drove me down - To that accursèd thing? - - _Just._ My Cipriano! - Dost thou remember, in the lighter hour— - Then when my heart, although you saw it not, - All the while yearn’d to thee across the gulf - That yet it dared not pass—my telling thee - That only Death, which others disunites, - Should ever make us one? Behold! and now - The hour is come, and I redeem my vow. - -(_Here the play may finish: but for any one who would follow Calderon to -the end_,— - - _Enter FABIO with Guard, who lead away CIPRIANO and JUSTINA. - Manent EUSEBIO, JULIAN, and Citizens._) - - _Citizen 1._ Alas! alas! alas! So young a pair! - And one so very wise! - - _Cit. 2._ And one so fair! - - _Cit. 3._ And both as calmly walking to their death - As others to a marriage festival. - - _Julian._ Looking as calm, at least, Eusebio, - As when, do you remember, at the last - Great festival of Zeus, we left him sitting - Upon the hill-side with his books? - - _Eusebio._ I think - Almost the last we saw of him: so soon, - Flinging his studies and his scholars by, - He went away into that solitude - Which ended in this madness, and now death - With her he lost his wits for. - - _Cit. 1._ And has found - In death whom living he pursued in vain. - - _Cit. 2._ And after death, as they believe; and so - Thus cheerfully to meet it, if the scaffold - Divorce them to eternal union. - - _Cit. 3._ Strange that so wise a man - Should fall into so fond a superstition - Which none but ignorance has taken up. - - _Cit. 1._ Oh, love, you know, like time works wonders. - - _Eusebio._ Well— - Antioch will never see so great a scholar. - - _Julian._ Nor we so courteous a Professor— - I would not see my dear old master die - Were all the wits he lost my legacy. - - _Citizens talking._ - One says that, as they went out hand in hand, - He saw a halo like about the moon - About their head, and moving as they went. - - —— _I_ saw it— - - —— Fancy! fancy!— - - —— Any how, - They leave it very dark behind them—Thunder! - - —— They talk of madness and of blasphemy; - Neither of these, I think, looking much guilty. - - —— And he, at any rate, I still maintain, - Least like to be deluded by the folly - For which the new religion is condemn’d. - - —— Before his madness, certainly: but love - First crazed him, as I told you. - - —— Well, if mad, - How guilty? - - —— Hush! hush! These are dangerous words. - - —— Be not you bitten by this madness, neighbour. - Rome’s arm is long. - - —— Ay, and some say her ears. - - —— Then, ev’n if bitten, bark not—Thunder again! - - —— And what unnatural darkness! - - —— Well—a storm— - - —— They say, you know, he was a sorcerer— - Indeed we saw the mystic dress he wore - All wrought with figures of astrology; - Nay, he confess’d himself as much; and now - May raise a storm to save— - - —— There was a crash! - - —— A bolt has fallen somewhere—the walls shake— - - —— And the ground under— - - —— Save us, Zeus— - - _Voices._ Away— - The roof is falling in upon us— - - (_The wall at the back falls in, and discovers a - scaffold with CIPRIANO and JUSTINA dead, - and LUCIFER above them._) - - _Lucifer._ Stay!— - And hearken to what I am doom’d to tell. - I am the mighty minister of hell - You mis-call heaven, and of the hellish crew - Of those false gods you worship for the True; - Who, to revenge _her_ treason to the blind - Idolatry that has hoodwinkt mankind, - And _his_, whose halting wisdom after-knew - What her diviner virtue fore-divined, - By devilish plot and artifices thought - Each of them by the other to have caught; - But, thwarted by superior will, those eyes - That, by my fuel fed, had been a flame - To light them both to darkness down, became - As stars to lead together to the skies, - By such a doom as expiates his sin, - And her pure innocence lets sooner in - To that eternal bliss where, side by side, - They reign at His right hand for whom they died. - While I, convicted in my own despite - Thus to bear witness to the eternal light - Of which I lost, and they have won the crown, - Plunge to my own eternal darkness down. - -HÚNDESE. - - - - -SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE OF - -A DRAMA - -TAKEN FROM - -CALDERON’S “LA VIDA ES SUEÑO” - - For Calderon’s Drama sufficient would seem - The title he chose for it—“Life is a Dream;” - Two words of the motto now filch’d are enough - For the impudent mixture they label—“Such stuff!” - - - - -DRAMATIS PERSONÆ - - - BASILIO _King of Poland._ - - SEGISMUND _his Son._ - - ASTOLFO _his Nephew._ - - ESTRELLA _his Niece._ - - CLOTALDO _a General in Basilio’s Service._ - - ROSAURA _a Muscovite Lady._ - - FIFE _her Attendant._ - - CHAMBERLAIN, LORDS IN WAITING, OFFICERS, SOLDIERS, etc., in - Basilio’s Service. - -_The Scene of the first and third Acts lies on the Polish frontier: of -the second Act, in Warsaw._ - - - - -ACT I - - -SCENE I.—_A pass of rocks, over which a storm is rolling away, and the -sun setting: in the foreground, half-way down, a fortress._ - - _Enter first from the topmost rock ROSAURA, as from horse-back, - in man’s attire; and, after her, FIFE._[12] - - _Rosaura._ There, four-footed Fury, blast- - -engender’d brute, without the wit - Of brute, or mouth to match the bit - Of man—art satisfied at last? - Who, when thunder roll’d aloof, - Tow’rd the spheres of fire your ears - Pricking, and the granite kicking - Into lightning with your hoof, - Among the tempest-shatter’d crags - Shattering your luckless rider - Back into the tempest pass’d? - There then lie to starve and die, - Or find another Phaeton - Mad-mettled as yourself; for I, - Wearied, worried, and for-done, - Alone will down the mountain try, - That knits his brows against the sun. - - _Fife_ (_as to his mule_). There, thou mis-begotten thing, - Long-ear’d lightning, tail’d tornado, - Griffin-hoof-in hurricano,— - (I might swear till I were almost - Hoarse with roaring Asonante) - Who forsooth because your betters - Would begin to kick and fling— - You forthwith your noble mind - Must prove, and kick me off behind, - Tow’rd the very centre whither - Gravity was most inclined. - There where you have made your bed - In it lie; for, wet or dry, - Let what will for me betide you, - Burning, blowing, freezing, hailing; - Famine waste you: devil ride you: - Tempest baste you black and blue:— - (_To Rosaura._) There! I think in downright railing, - I can hold my own with you. - - _Ros._ Ah, my good Fife, whose merry loyal pipe, - Come weal, come woe, is never out of tune— - What, you in the same plight too? - - _Fife._ Ay; - And madam—sir—hereby desire, - When you your own adventures sing - Another time in lofty rhyme, - You don’t forget the trusty squire - Who went with you Don-quixoting. - - _Ros._ Well, my good fellow—to leave Pegasus, - Who scarce can serve us than our horses worse— - They say no one should rob another of - The single satisfaction he has left - Of singing his own sorrows; one so great, - So says some great philosopher, that trouble - Were worth encount’ring only for the sake - Of weeping over—what perhaps you know - Some poet calls the ‘luxury of woe.’ - - _Fife._ Had I the poet or philosopher - In place of her that kick’d me off to ride, - I’d test his theory upon his hide. - But no bones broken, madam—sir, I mean?— - - _Ros._ A scratch here that a handkerchief will heal— - And you?— - - _Fife._ A scratch in _quiddity_, or kind: - But not in ‘_quo_’—my wounds are all behind. - But, as you say, to stop this strain, - Which, somehow, once one’s in the vein, - Comes clattering after—there again!— - What are we twain—deuce take ’t!—we two, - I mean, to do—drench’d through and through— - Oh, I shall choke of rhymes, which I believe - Are all that we shall have to live on here. - - _Ros._ What, is our victual gone too?— - - _Fife._ Ay, that brute - Has carried all we had away with her, - Clothing, and cate, and all. - - _Ros._ And now the sun, - Our only friend and guide, about to sink - Under the stage of earth. - - _Fife._ And enter Night, - With Capa y Espada—and—pray heaven!— - With but her lanthorn also. - - _Ros._ Ah, I doubt - To-night, if any, with a dark one—or - Almost burnt out after a month’s consumption. - Well! well or ill, on horseback or afoot, - This is the gate that lets me into Poland; - And, sorry welcome as she gives a guest - Who writes his own arrival on her rocks - In his own blood— - Yet better on her stony threshold die, - Than live on unrevenged in Muscovy. - - _Fife._ Oh what a soul some women have—I mean, - Some men— - - _Ros._ Oh, Fife, Fife, as you love me, Fife, - Make yourself perfect in that little part, - Or all will go to ruin! - - _Fife._ Oh, I will, - Please God we find some one to try it on. - But, truly, would not any one believe - Some fairy had exchanged us as we lay - Two tiny foster-children in one cradle? - - _Ros._ Well, be that as it may, Fife, it reminds me - Of what perhaps I should have thought before, - But better late than never—You know I love you, - As you, I know, love me, and loyally - Have follow’d me thus far in my wild venture: - Well! now then—having seen me safe thus far— - Safe if not wholly sound—over the rocks - Into the country where my business lies— - Why should not you return the way we came, - The storm all clear’d away, and, leaving me - (Who now shall want you, though not thank you, less, - Now that our horses gone) this side the ridge, - Find your way back to dear old home again; - While I—Come, come!— - What, weeping, my poor fellow?— - - _Fife._ Leave you here - Alone—my Lady—Lord! I mean my Lord— - In a strange country—among savages— - Oh, now I know—you would be rid of me - For fear my stumbling speech— - - _Ros._ Oh, no, no, no!— - I want you with me for a thousand sakes - To which that is as nothing—I myself - More apt to let the secret out myself - Without your help at all—Come, come, cheer up! - And if you sing again, ‘Come weal, come woe,’ - Let it be that; for we will never part - Until you give the signal. - - _Fife._ ’Tis a bargain. - - _Ros._ Now to begin, then. ‘Follow, follow me, - You fairy elves that be.’ - - _Fife._ Ay, and go on— - Something of ‘following darkness like a dream,’ - For that we’re after. - - _Ros._ No, after the sun; - Trying to catch hold of his glittering skirts - That hang upon the mountain as he goes. - - _Fife._ Ah, he’s himself past catching—as you spoke - He heard what you were saying, and—just so— - Like some scared water-bird, - As we say in my country, _dōve_ below. - - _Ros._ Well, we must follow him as best we may. - Poland is no great country, and, as rich - In men and means, will but few acres spare - To lie beneath her barrier mountains bare. - We cannot, I believe, be very far - From mankind or their dwellings. - - _Fife._ Send it so! - And well provided for man, woman, and beast. - No, not for beast. Ah, but my heart begins - To yearn for her— - - _Ros._ Keep close, and keep your feet - From serving you as hers did. - - _Fife._ As for beasts, - If in default of other entertainment, - We should provide them with ourselves to eat— - Bears, lions, wolves— - - _Ros._ Oh, never fear. - - _Fife._ Or else, - Default of other beasts, beastlier men, - Cannibals, Anthropophagi, bare Poles - Who never knew a tailor but by taste. - - _Ros._ Look, look! Unless my fancy misconceive - With twilight—down among the rocks there, Fife— - Some human dwelling, surely— - Or think you but a rock torn from the rocks - In some convulsion like to-day’s, and perch’d - Quaintly among them in mock-masonry? - - _Fife._ Most likely that, I doubt. - - _Ros._ No, no—for look! - A square of darkness opening in it— - - _Fife._ Oh, - I don’t half like such openings!— - - _Ros._ Like the loom - Of night from which she spins her outer gloom— - - _Fife._ Lord, Madam, pray forbear this tragic vein - In such a time and place— - - _Ros._ And now again - Within that square of darkness, look! a light - That feels its way with hesitating pulse, - As we do, through the darkness that it drives - To blacken into deeper night beyond. - - _Fife._ In which could we follow that light’s example, - As might some English Bardolph with his nose, - We might defy the sunset—Hark, a chain! - - _Ros._ And now a lamp; a lamp! And now the hand - That carries it. - - _Fife._ Oh, Lord! that dreadful chain! - - _Ros._ And now the bearer of the lamp; indeed - As strange as any in Arabian tale, - So giant-like, and terrible, and grand, - Spite of the skin he’s wrapt in. - - _Fife._ Why, ’tis his own: - Oh, ’tis some wild man of the woods; I’ve heard - They build and carry torches— - - _Ros._ Never Ape - Bore such a brow before the heavens as that— - Chain’d as you say too!— - - _Fife._ Oh, that dreadful chain! - - _Ros._ And now he sets the lamp down by his side, - And with one hand clench’d in his tangled hair - And with a sigh as if his heart would break— - - [_During this SEGISMUND has entered from the - fortress, with a torch._ - - _Segismund._ Once more the storm has roar’d itself away, - Splitting the crags of God as it retires; - But sparing still what it should only blast, - This guilty piece of human handiwork, - And all that are within it. Oh, how oft, - How oft, within or here abroad, have I - Waited, and in the whisper of my heart - Pray’d for the slanting hand of heaven to strike - The blow myself I dared not, out of fear - Of that Hereafter, worse, they say, than here, - Plunged headlong in, but, till dismissal waited, - To wipe at last all sorrow from men’s eyes, - And make this heavy dispensation clear. - Thus have I borne till now, and still endure, - Crouching in sullen impotence day by day, - Till some such out-burst of the elements - Like this rouses the sleeping fire within; - And standing thus upon the threshold of - Another night about to close the door - Upon one wretched day to open it - On one yet wretcheder because one more;— - Once more, you savage heavens, I ask of you— - I, looking up to those relentless eyes - That, now the greater lamp is gone below, - Begin to muster in the listening skies; - In all the shining circuits you have gone - About this theatre of human woe, - What greater sorrow have you gazed upon - Than down this narrow chink you witness still; - And which, did you yourselves not fore-devise, - You register’d for others to fulfil! - - _Fife._ This is some Laureate at a birth-day ode; - No wonder we went rhyming. - - _Ros._ Hush! And now - See, starting to his feet, he strides about - Far as his tether’d steps— - - _Seg._ And if the chain - You help’d to rivet round me did contract - Since guiltless infancy from guilt in act; - Of what in aspiration or in thought - Guilty, but in resentment of the wrong - That wreaks revenge on wrong I never wrought - By excommunication from the free - Inheritance that all created life, - Beside myself, is born to—from the wings - That range your own immeasurable blue, - Down to the poor, mute, scale-imprison’d things, - That yet are free to wander, glide, and pass - About that under-sapphire, whereinto - Yourselves transfusing you yourselves englass! - - _Ros._ What mystery is this? - - _Fife._ Why, the man’s mad: - That’s all the mystery. That’s why he’s chain’d— - And why— - - _Seg._ Nor Nature’s guiltless life alone— - But that which lives on blood and rapine; nay, - Chartered with larger liberty to slay - Their guiltless kind, the tyrants of the air - Soar zenith-upward with their screaming prey, - Making pure heaven drop blood upon the stage - Of under earth, where lion, wolf, and bear, - And they that on their treacherous velvet wear - Figure and constellation like your own,[13] - With their still living slaughter bound away - Over the barriers of the mountain cage, - Against which one, blood-guiltless, and endued - With aspiration and with aptitude - Transcending other creatures, day by day - Beats himself mad with unavailing rage! - - _Fife._ Why, that must be the meaning of my mule’s - Rebellion— - - _Ros._ Hush! - - _Seg._ But then if murder be - The law by which not only conscience-blind - Creatures, but man too prospers with his kind; - Who leaving all his guilty fellows free, - Under your fatal auspice and divine - Compulsion, leagued in some mysterious ban - Against one innocent and helpless man, - Abuse their liberty to murder mine: - And sworn to silence, like their masters mute - In heaven, and like them twiring through the mask - Of darkness, answering to all I ask, - Point up to them whose work they execute! - - _Ros._ Ev’n as I thought, some poor unhappy wretch, - By man wrong’d, wretched, unrevenged, as I! - Nay, so much worse than I, as by those chains - Clipt of the means of self-revenge on those - Who lay on him what they deserve. And I, - Who taunted Heaven a little while ago - With pouring all its wrath upon my head— - Alas! like him who caught the cast-off husk - Of what another bragg’d of feeding on, - Here’s one that from the refuse of my sorrows - Could gather all the banquet he desires! - Poor soul, poor soul! - - _Fife._ Speak lower—he will hear you. - - _Ros._ And if he should, what then? Why, if he would, - He could not harm me—Nay, and if he could, - Methinks I’d venture something of a life - I care so little for— - - _Seg._ Who’s that? Clotaldo? Who are you, I say, - That, venturing in these forbidden rocks, - Have lighted on my miserable life, - And your own death? - - _Ros._ You would not hurt me, surely? - - _Seg._ Not I; but those that, iron as the chain - In which they slay me with a lingering death, - Will slay you with a sudden—Who are you? - - _Ros._ A stranger from across the mountain there, - Who, having lost his way in this strange land - And coming night, drew hither to what seem’d - A human dwelling hidden in these rocks, - And where the voice of human sorrow soon - Told him it was so. - - _Seg._ Ay? But nearer—nearer— - That by this smoky supplement of day - But for a moment I may see who speaks - So pitifully sweet. - - _Fife._ Take care! take care! - - _Ros._ Alas, poor man, that I, myself so helpless, - Could better help you than by barren pity, - And my poor presence— - - _Seg._ Oh, might that be all! - But that—a few poor moments—and, alas! - The very bliss of having, and the dread - Of losing, under such a penalty - As every moment’s having runs more near, - Stifles the very utterance and resource - They cry for quickest; till from sheer despair - Of holding thee, methinks myself would tear - To pieces— - - _Fife._ There, his word’s enough for it. - - _Seg._ Oh, think, if you who move about at will, - And live in sweet communion with your kind, - After an hour lost in these lonely rocks - Hunger and thirst after some human voice - To drink, and human face to feed upon; - What must one do where all is mute, or harsh, - And ev’n the naked face of cruelty - Were better than the mask it works beneath?— - Across the mountain then! Across the mountain! - What if the next world which they tell one of - Be only next across the mountain then, - Though I must never see it till I die, - And you one of its angels? - - _Ros._ Alas! alas! - No angel! And the face you think so fair, - ’Tis but the dismal frame-work of these rocks - That makes it seem so; and the world I come from— - Alas, alas, too many faces there - Are but fair vizors to black hearts below, - Or only serve to bring the wearer woe! - But to yourself—If haply the redress - That I am here upon may help to yours. - I heard you tax the heavens with ordering, - And men for executing, what, alas! - I now behold. But why, and who they are - Who do, and you who suffer— - - _Seg._ (_pointing upwards_). Ask of them, - Whom, as to-night, I have so often ask’d, - And ask’d in vain. - - _Ros._ But surely, surely— - - _Seg._ Hark! - The trumpet of the watch to shut us in. - Oh, should they find you!—Quick! Behind the rocks! - To-morrow—if to-morrow— - - _Ros._ (_flinging her sword toward him_). Take my sword! - - _ROSAURA and FIFE hide in the rocks; enter CLOTALDO._ - - _Clotaldo._ These stormy days you like to see the last of - Are but ill opiates, Segismund, I think, - For night to follow: and to-night you seem - More than your wont disorder’d. What! A sword? - Within there! - - _Enter SOLDIERS with black vizors and torches._ - - _Fife._ Here’s a pleasant masquerade! - - _Clo._ Whosever watch this was - Will have to pay head-reckoning. Meanwhile, - This weapon had a wearer. Bring him here, - Alive or dead. - - _Seg._ Clotaldo! good Clotaldo!— - - _Clo._ (_to Soldiers who enclose Segismund; others - searching the rocks_). You know your duty. - - _Soldiers_ (_bringing in Rosaura and Fife_). Here are two of them, - Whoever more to follow— - - _Clo._ Who are you, - That in defiance of known proclamation - Are found, at night-fall too, about this place? - - _Fife._ Oh, my Lord, she—I mean he— - - _Ros._ Silence, Fife, - And let me speak for both.—Two foreign men, - To whom your country and its proclamations - Are equally unknown; and, had we known, - Ourselves not masters of our lawless beasts - That, terrified by the storm among your rocks, - Flung us upon them to our cost. - - _Fife._ My mule— - - _Clo._ Foreigners? Of what country? - - _Ros._ Muscovy. - - _Clo._ And whither bound? - - _Ros._ Hither—if this be Poland; - But with no ill design on her, and therefore - Taking it ill that we should thus be stopt - Upon her threshold so uncivilly. - - _Clo._ Whither in Poland? - - _Ros._ To the capital. - - _Clo._ And on what errand? - - _Ros._ Set me on the road, - And you shall be the nearer to my answer. - - _Clo._ (_aside_). So resolute and ready to reply, - And yet so young—and——(_Aloud_) Well,— - Your business was not surely with the man - We found you with? - - _Ros._ He was the first we saw,— - And strangers and benighted, as we were, - As you too would have done in a like case, - Accosted him at once. - - _Clo._ Ay, but this sword? - - _Ros._ I flung it toward him. - - _Clo._ Well, and why? - - _Ros._ And why? - But to revenge himself on those who thus - Injuriously misuse him. - - _Clo._ So—so—so! - ’Tis well such resolution wants a beard— - And, I suppose, is never to attain one. - Well, I must take you both, you and your sword, - Prisoners. - - _Fife._ (_offering a cudgel_). Pray take mine, and welcome, sir; - I’m sure I gave it to that mule of mine - To mighty little purpose. - - _Ros._ Mine you have; - And may it win us some more kindliness - Than we have met with yet. - - _Clo._ (_examining the sword_). More mystery! - How came you by this weapon? - - _Ros._ From my father. - - _Clo._ And do you know whence he? - - _Ros._ Oh, very well: - From one of this same Polish realm of yours, - Who promised a return, should come the chance, - Of courtesies that he received himself - In Muscovy, and left this pledge of it— - Not likely yet, it seems, to be redeem’d. - - _Clo._ (_aside_). Oh, wondrous chance—or wondrous Providence: - The sword that I myself in Muscovy, - When these white hairs were black, for keepsake left - Of obligation for a like return - To him who saved me wounded as I lay - Fighting against his country; took me home; - Tended me like a brother till recover’d, - Perchance to fight against him once again— - And now my sword put back into my hand - By his—if not his son—still, as so seeming, - By me, as first devoir of gratitude, - To seem believing, till the wearer’s self - See fit to drop the ill-dissembling mask. - (_Aloud_) Well, a strange turn of fortune has arrested - The sharp and sudden penalty that else - Had visited your rashness or mischance: - In part, your tender youth too—pardon me, - And touch not where your sword is not to answer— - Commends you to my care; not your life only, - Else by this misadventure forfeited; - But ev’n your errand, which, by happy chance, - Chimes with the very business I am on, - And calls me to the very point you aim at. - - _Ros._ The capital? - - _Clo._ Ay, the capital; and ev’n - That capital of capitals, the Court: - Where you may plead, and, I may promise, win - Pardon for this, you say unwilling, trespass, - And prosecute what else you have at heart, - With me to help you forward all I can; - Provided all in loyalty to those - To whom by natural allegiance - I first am bound to. - - _Ros._ As you make, I take - Your offer: with like promise on my side - Of loyalty to you and those you serve, - Under like reservation for regards - Nearer and dearer still. - - _Clo._ Enough, enough; - Your hand; a bargain on both sides. Meanwhile, - Here shall you rest to-night. The break of day - Shall see us both together on the way. - - _Ros._ Thus then what I for misadventure blamed, - Directly draws me where my wishes aim’d. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE II.—_The Palace at Warsaw._ - - _Enter on one side ASTOLFO, Duke of Muscovy, with - his train; and, on the other, the PRINCESS - ESTRELLA, with hers._ - - _Astolfo._ My royal cousin, if so near in blood, - Till this auspicious meeting scarcely known, - Till all that beauty promised in the bud - Is now to its consummate blossom blown, - Well met at last; and may— - - _Estrella._ Enough, my Lord, - Of compliment devised for you by some - Court tailor, and, believe me, still too short - To cover the designful heart below. - - _Ast._ Nay, but indeed, fair cousin— - - _Est._ Ay, let Deed - Measure your words, indeed your flowers of speech - Ill with your iron equipage atone; - Irony indeed, and wordy compliment. - - _Ast._ Indeed, indeed, you wrong me, royal cousin, - And fair as royal, misinterpreting - What, even for the end you think I aim at, - If false to you, were fatal to myself. - - _Est._ Why, what else means the glittering steel, my Lord, - That bristles in the rear of these fine words? - What can it mean, but, failing to cajole, - To fight or force me from my just pretension? - - _Ast._ Nay, might I not ask ev’n the same of you, - The nodding helmets of whose men at arms - Out-crest the plumage of your lady court? - - _Est._ But to defend what yours would force from me. - - _Ast._ Might not I, lady, say the same of mine? - But not to come to battle, ev’n of words, - With a fair lady, and my kinswoman; - And as averse to stand before your face, - Defenceless, and condemn’d in your disgrace, - Till the good king be here to clear it all— - Will you vouchsafe to hear me? - - _Est._ As you will. - - _Ast._ You know that, when about to leave this world, - Our royal grandsire, King Alfonso, left - Three children; one a son, Basilio, - Who wears—long may he wear!—the crown of Poland; - And daughters twain: of whom the elder was - Your mother, Clorileña, now some while - Exalted to a more than mortal throne; - And Recisunda, mine, the younger sister, - Who, married to the Prince of Muscovy, - Gave me the light which may she live to see - Herself for many, many years to come. - Meanwhile, good King Basilio, as you know, - Deep in abstruser studies than this world, - And busier with the stars than lady’s eyes, - Has never by a second marriage yet - Replaced, as Poland ask’d of him, the heir - An early marriage brought and took away; - His young queen dying with the son she bore him: - And in such alienation grown so old - As leaves no other hope of heir to Poland - Than his two sisters’ children; you, fair cousin, - And me; for whom the Commons of the realm - Divide themselves into two several factions; - Whether for you, the elder sister’s child; - Or me, born of the younger, but, they say, - My natural prerogative of man - Outweighing your priority of birth. - Which discord growing loud and dangerous, - Our uncle, King Basilio, doubly sage - In prophesying and providing for - The future, as to deal with it when come, - Bids us here meet to-day in solemn council - Our several pretensions to compose. - And, but the martial out-burst that proclaims - His coming, makes all further parley vain, - Unless my bosom, by which only wise - I prophesy, now wrongly prophesies, - By such a happy compact as I dare - But glance at till the Royal Sage declare. - - _Trumpets, etc. Enter KING BASILIO with his Council._ - - _All._ The King! God save the King! - - _Estrella._ ⎫ Oh, Royal Sir!— - ⎬ (_Kneeling_) - _Astolfo._ ⎭ God save your Majesty!— - - _King._ Rise, both of you, - Rise to my arms, Astolfo and Estrella; - As my two sisters’ children always mine, - Now more than ever, since myself and Poland - Solely to you for our succession look’d. - And now give ear, you and your several factions, - And you, the Peers and Princes of this realm, - While I reveal the purport of this meeting - In words whose necessary length I trust - No unsuccessful issue shall excuse. - You and the world who have surnamed me ‘Sage’ - Know that I owe that title, if my due, - To my long meditation on the book - Which ever lying open overhead— - The book of heaven, I mean—so few have read; - Whose golden letters on whose sapphire leaf, - Distinguishing the page of day and night, - And all the revolution of the year; - So with the turning volume where they lie - Still changing their prophetic syllables, - They register the destinies of men: - Until with eyes that, dim with years indeed, - Are quicker to pursue the stars than rule them, - I get the start of Time, and from his hand - The wand of tardy revelation draw. - Oh, had the self-same heaven upon his page - Inscribed my death ere I should read my life - And, by fore-casting of my own mischance, - Play not the victim but the suicide - In my own tragedy!—But you shall hear. - You know how once, as kings must for their people, - And only once, as wise men for themselves, - I woo’d and wedded: know too that my Queen - In childing died; but not, as you believe, - With her, the son she died in giving life to. - For, as the hour of birth was on the stroke, - Her brain conceiving with her womb, she dream’d - A serpent tore her entrail. And too surely - (For evil omen seldom speaks in vain) - The man-child breaking from that living tomb - That makes our birth the antitype of death, - Man-grateful, for the life she gave him paid - By killing her: and with such circumstance - As suited such unnatural tragedy; - He coming into light, if light it were - That darken’d at his very horoscope, - When heaven’s two champions—sun and moon I mean— - Suffused in blood upon each other fell - In such a raging duel of eclipse - As hath not terrified the universe - Since that which wept in blood the death of Christ: - When the dead walk’d, the waters turn’d to blood, - Earth and her cities totter’d, and the world - Seem’d shaken to its last paralysis. - In such a paroxysm of dissolution - That son of mine was born; by that first act - Heading the monstrous catalogue of crime, - I found fore-written in his horoscope; - As great a monster in man’s history - As was in nature his nativity; - So savage, bloody, terrible, and impious, - Who, should he live, would tear his country’s entrails, - As by his birth his mother’s; with which crime - Beginning, he should clench the dreadful tale - By trampling on his father’s silver head. - All which fore-reading, and his act of birth - Fate’s warrant that I read his life aright; - To save his country from his mother’s fate, - I gave abroad that he had died with her - His being slew; with midnight secrecy - I had him carried to a lonely tower - Hewn from the mountain-barriers of the realm, - And under strict anathema of death - Guarded from men’s inquisitive approach, - Save from the trusty few one needs must trust; - Who while his fasten’d body they provide - With salutary garb and nourishment, - Instruct his soul in what no soul may miss - Of holy faith, and in such other lore - As may solace his life-imprisonment, - And tame perhaps the Savage prophesied - Toward such a trial as I aim at now, - And now demand your special hearing to. - What in this fearful business I have done, - Judge whether lightly or maliciously,— - I, with my own and only flesh and blood, - And proper lineal inheritor! - I swear, had his foretold atrocities - Touch’d me alone, I had not saved myself - At such a cost to him; but as a king,— - A Christian king,—I say, advisedly, - Who would devote his people to a tyrant - Worse than Caligula fore-chronicled? - But even this not without grave mis-giving, - Lest by some chance mis-reading of the stars, - Or mis-direction of what rightly read, - I wrong my son of his prerogative, - And Poland of her rightful sovereign. - For, sure and certain prophets as the stars, - Although they err not, he who reads them may; - Or rightly reading—seeing there is One - Who governs them, as, under Him, they us, - We are not sure if the rough diagram - They draw in heaven and we interpret here, - Be sure of operation, if the Will - Supreme, that sometimes for some special end - The course of providential nature breaks - By miracle, may not of these same stars - Cancel his own first draft, or overrule - What else fore-written all else overrules. - As, for example, should the Will Almighty - Permit the Free-will of particular man - To break the meshes of else strangling fate— - Which Free-will, fearful of foretold abuse, - I have myself from my own son for-closed - From ever possible self-extrication; - A terrible responsibility, - Not to the conscience to be reconciled - Unless opposing almost certain evil - Against so slight contingency of good. - Well—thus perplex’d, I have resolved at last - To bring the thing to trial: whereunto - Here have I summon’d you, my Peers, and you - Whom I more dearly look to, failing him, - As witnesses to that which I propose; - And thus propose the doing it. Clotaldo, - Who guards my son with old fidelity, - Shall bring him hither from his tower by night - Lockt in a sleep so fast as by my art - I rivet to within a link of death, - But yet from death so far, that next day’s dawn - Shall wake him up upon the royal bed, - Complete in consciousness and faculty, - When with all princely pomp and retinue - My loyal Peers with due obeisance - Shall hail him Segismund, the Prince of Poland. - Then if with any show of human kindness - He fling discredit, not upon the stars, - But upon me, their misinterpreter, - With all apology mistaken age - Can make to youth it never meant to harm, - To my son’s forehead will I shift the crown - I long have wish’d upon a younger brow; - And in religious humiliation, - For what of worn-out age remains to me, - Entreat my pardon both of Heaven and him - For tempting destinies beyond my reach. - But if, as I misdoubt, at his first step - The hoof of the predicted savage shows; - Before predicted mischief can be done, - The self-same sleep that loosed him from the chain - Shall re-consign him, not to loose again. - Then shall I, having lost that heir direct, - Look solely to my sisters’ children twain - Each of a claim so equal as divides - The voice of Poland to their several sides, - But, as I trust, to be entwined ere long - Into one single wreath so fair and strong - As shall at once all difference atone, - And cease the realm’s division with their own. - Cousins and Princes, Peers and Councillors, - Such is the purport of this invitation, - And such is my design. Whose furtherance - If not as Sovereign, if not as Seer, - Yet one whom these white locks, if nothing else, - To patient acquiescence consecrate, - I now demand and even supplicate. - - _Ast._ Such news, and from such lips, may well suspend - The tongue to loyal answer most attuned; - But if to me as spokesman of my faction - Your Highness looks for answer; I reply - For one and all—Let Segismund, whom now - We first hear tell of as your living heir, - Appear, and but in your sufficient eye - Approve himself worthy to be your son, - Then we will hail him Poland’s rightful heir. - What says my cousin? - - _Est._ Ay, with all my heart. - But if my youth and sex upbraid me not - That I should dare ask of so wise a king— - - _King._ Ask, ask, fair cousin! Nothing, I am sure, - Not well consider’d; nay, if ’twere, yet nothing - But pardonable from such lips as those. - - _Est._ Then, with your pardon, Sir—if Segismund, - My cousin, whom I shall rejoice to hail - As Prince of Poland too, as you propose, - Be to a trial coming upon which - More, as I think, than life itself depends, - Why, Sir, with sleep-disorder’d senses brought - To this uncertain contest with his stars? - - _King._ Well ask’d indeed! As wisely be it answer’d!— - _Because_ it is uncertain, see you not? - For as I think I can discern between - The sudden flaws of a sleep-startled man, - And of the savage thing we have to dread; - If but bewilder’d, dazzled, and uncouth, - As might the sanest and the civilest - In circumstance so strange—nay, more than that, - If moved to any out-break short of blood, - All shall be well with him; and how much more, - If ’mid the magic turmoil of the change, - He shall so calm a resolution show - As scarce to reel beneath so great a blow! - But if with savage passion uncontroll’d - He lay about him like the brute foretold, - And must as suddenly be caged again; - Then what redoubled anguish and despair, - From that brief flash of blissful liberty - Remitted—and for ever—to his chain! - Which so much less, if on the stage of glory - Enter’d and exited through such a door - Of sleep as makes a dream of all between. - - _Est._ Oh kindly answer, Sir, to question that - To charitable courtesy less wise - Might call for pardon rather! I shall now - Gladly, what, uninstructed, loyally - I should have waited. - - _Ast._ Your Highness doubts not me, - Nor how my heart follows my cousin’s lips, - Whatever way the doubtful balance fall, - Still loyal to your bidding. - - _Omnes._ So say all. - - _King._ I hoped, and did expect, of all no less— - And sure no sovereign ever needed more - From all who owe him love or loyalty. - For what a strait of time I stand upon, - When to this issue not alone I bring - My son your Prince, but ev’n myself your King: - And, whichsoever way for him it turn, - Of less than little honour to myself. - For if this coming trial justify - My thus withholding from my son his right, - Is not the judge himself justified in - The father’s shame? And if the judge proved wrong, - My son withholding from his right thus long, - Shame and remorse to judge and father both: - Unless remorse and shame together drown’d - In having what I flung for worthless found. - But come—already weary with your travel, - And ill refresh’d by this strange history, - Until the hours that draw the sun from heaven - Unite us at the customary board, - Each to his several chamber: you to rest; - I to contrive with old Clotaldo best - The method of a stranger thing than old - Time has as yet among his records told. - - [_Exeunt._ - - - - -ACT II - - -SCENE I.—_A Throne-room in the Palace. Music within._ - - _Enter KING and CLOTALDO, meeting a Lord in waiting._ - - _King._ You, for a moment beckon’d from your office, - Tell me thus far how goes it. In due time - The potion left him? - - _Lord._ At the very hour - To which your Highness temper’d it. Yet not - So wholly but some lingering mist still hung - About his dawning senses—which to clear, - We fill’d and handed him a morning drink - With sleep’s specific antidote suffused; - And while with princely raiment we invested - What nature surely modell’d for a Prince— - All but the sword—as you directed— - - _King._ Ay— - - _Lord._ If not too loudly, yet emphatically - Still with the title of a Prince address’d him. - - _King._ How bore he that? - - _Lord._ With all the rest, my liege, - I will not say so like one in a dream - As one himself misdoubting that he dream’d. - - _King._ So far so well, Clotaldo, either way, - And best of all if tow’rd the worse I dread. - But yet no violence?— - - _Lord._ At most, impatience; - Wearied perhaps with importunities - We yet were bound to offer. - - _King._ Oh, Clotaldo! - Though thus far well, yet would myself had drunk - The potion he revives from! such suspense - Crowds all the pulses of life’s residue - Into the present moment; and, I think, - Whichever way the trembling scale may turn, - Will leave the crown of Poland for some one - To wait no longer than the setting sun! - - _Clo._ Courage, my liege! The curtain is undrawn, - And each must play his part out manfully, - Leaving the rest to heaven. - - _King._ Whose written words - If I should misinterpret or transgress! - But as you say— - (_To the Lord, who exit._) You, back to him at once; - Clotaldo, you, when he is somewhat used - To the new world of which they call him Prince, - Where place and face, and all, is strange to him, - With your known features and familiar garb - Shall then, as chorus to the scene, accost him, - And by such earnest of that old and too - Familiar world, assure him of the new. - Last in the strange procession, I myself - Will by one full and last development - Complete the plot for that catastrophe - That he must put to all; God grant it be - The crown of Poland on his brows!—Hark! hark!— - Was that his voice within?—Now louder—Oh, - Clotaldo, what! so soon begun to roar!— - Again! above the music—But betide - What may, until the moment, we must hide. - - [_Exeunt KING and CLOTALDO._ - - _Segismund_ (_within_). Forbear! I stifle with your perfume! cease - Your crazy salutations! peace, I say— - Begone, or let me go, ere I go mad - With all this babble, mummery, and glare, - For I am growing dangerous—Air! room! air!— - - [_He rushes in. Music ceases._ - - Oh but to save the reeling brain from wreck - With its bewilder’d senses!— - - [_He covers his eyes for a while._ - - What! Ev’n now - That Babel left behind me, but my eyes - Pursued by the same glamour, that—unless - Alike bewitch’d too—the confederate sense - Vouches for palpable: bright-shining floors - That ring hard answer back to the stamp’d heel, - And shoot up airy columns marble-cold, - That, as they climb, break into golden leaf - And capital, till they embrace aloft - In clustering flower and fruitage over walls - Hung with such purple curtain as the West - Fringes with such a gold; or over-laid - With sanguine-glowing semblances of men, - Each in his all but living action busied, - Or from the wall they look from, with fix’d eyes - Pursuing me; and one most strange of all - That, as I pass’d the crystal on the wall, - Look’d from it—left it—and as I return, - Returns, and looks me face to face again— - Unless some false reflection of my brain, - The outward semblance of myself—Myself? - How know that tawdry shadow for myself, - But that it moves as I move; lifts his hand - With mine; each motion echoing so close - The immediate suggestion of the will - In which myself I recognize—Myself!— - What, this fantastic Segismund the same - Who last night, as for all his nights before, - Lay down to sleep in wolf-skin on the ground - In a black turret which the wolf howl’d round, - And woke again upon a golden bed, - Round which as clouds about a rising sun, - In scarce less glittering caparison, - Gather’d gay shapes that, underneath a breeze - Of music, handed him upon their knees - The wine of heaven in a cup of gold, - And still in soft melodious under-song - Hailing me Prince of Poland!—‘Segismund,’ - They said, ‘Our Prince! The Prince of Poland!’ and - Again, ‘Oh, welcome, welcome, to his own, - Our own Prince Segismund—’ - Oh, but a blast— - One blast of the rough mountain air! one look - At the grim features——(_He goes to the window_) - What they disvizor’d also! shatter’d chaos - Cast into stately shape and masonry, - Between whose channel’d and perspective sides - Compact with rooted towers, and flourishing - To heaven with gilded pinnacle and spire, - Flows the live current ever to and fro - With open aspect and free step!—Clotaldo! - Clotaldo!—calling as one scarce dares call - For him who suddenly might break the spell - One fears to walk without him—Why, that I, - With unencumber’d step as any there, - Go stumbling through my glory—feeling for - That iron leading-string—ay, for myself— - For that fast-anchor’d self of yesterday, - Of yesterday, and all my life before, - Ere drifted clean from self-identity - Upon the fluctuation of to-day’s - Mad whirling circumstance!—And, fool, why not? - If reason, sense, and self-identity - Obliterated from a worn-out brain, - Art thou not maddest striving to be sane, - And catching at that Self of yesterday - That, like a leper’s rags, best flung away! - Or if not mad, then dreaming—dreaming?—well— - Dreaming then—Or, if self to self be true, - Not mock’d by that, but as poor souls have been - By those who wrong’d them, to give wrong new relish? - Or have those stars indeed they told me of - As masters of my wretched life of old, - Into some happier constellation roll’d, - And brought my better fortune out on earth - Clear as themselves in heaven!—Prince Segismund - They call’d me—and at will I shook them off— - Will they return again at my command - Again to call me so?—Within there! You! - Segismund calls—Prince Segismund— - - (_He has seated himself on the throne. Enter CHAMBERLAIN, - with lords in waiting._) - - _Chamb._ I rejoice - That unadvised of any but the voice - Of royal instinct in the blood, your Highness - Has ta’en the chair that you were born to fill. - - _Seg._ The chair? - - _Chamb._ The royal throne of Poland, Sir, - Which may your Royal Highness keep as long - As he that now rules from it shall have ruled - When heaven has call’d him to itself. - - _Seg._ When he?— - - _Chamb._ Your royal father, King Basilio, Sir. - - _Seg._ My royal father—King Basilio. - You see I answer but as Echo does, - Not knowing what she listens or repeats. - This is my throne—this is my palace—Oh, - But this out of the window?— - - _Chamb._ Warsaw, Sir, - Your capital— - - _Seg._ And all the moving people? - - _Chamb._ Your subjects and your vassals like ourselves. - - _Seg._ Ay, ay—my subjects—in my capital— - Warsaw—and I am Prince of it—You see - It needs much iteration to strike sense - Into the human echo. - - _Chamb._ Left awhile - In the quick brain, the word will quickly to - Full meaning blow. - - _Seg._ You think so? - - _Chamb._ And meanwhile - Lest our obsequiousness, which means no worse - Than customary honour to the Prince - We most rejoice to welcome, trouble you, - Should we retire again? or stand apart? - Or would your Highness have the music play - Again, which meditation, as they say, - So often loves to float upon? - - _Seg._ The music? - No—yes—perhaps the trumpet——(_Aside_) Yet if that - Brought back the troop! - - _A Lord._ The trumpet! There again - How trumpet-like spoke out the blood of Poland! - - _Chamb._ Before the morning is far up, your Highness - Will have the trumpet marshalling your soldiers - Under the Palace windows. - - _Seg._ Ah, my soldiers— - My soldiers—not black-vizor’d?— - - _Chamb._ Sir? - - _Seg._ No matter. - But—one thing—for a moment—in your ear— - Do you know one Clotaldo? - - _Chamb._ Oh, my Lord, - He and myself together, I may say, - Although in different vocations, - Have silver’d in your royal father’s service; - And, as I trust, with both of us a few - White hairs to fall in yours. - - _Seg._ Well said, well said! - Basilio, my father—well—Clotaldo— - Is he my kinsman too? - - _Chamb._ Oh, my good Lord, - A General simply in your Highness’ service, - Than whom your Highness has no trustier. - - _Seg._ Ay, so you said before, I think. And you - With that white wand of yours— - Why, now I think on ’t, I have read of such - A silver-hair’d magician with a wand, - Who in a moment, with a wave of it, - Turn’d rags to jewels, clowns to emperors, - By some benigner magic than the stars - Spirited poor good people out of hand - From all their woes; in some enchanted sleep - Carried them off on cloud or dragon-back - Over the mountains, over the wide Deep, - And set them down to wake in Fairyland. - - _Chamb._ Oh, my good Lord, you laugh at me—and I - Right glad to make you laugh at such a price: - You know me no enchanter: if I were, - I and my wand as much as your Highness’, - As now your chamberlain— - - _Seg._ My chamberlain?— - And these that follow you?— - - _Chamb._ On you, my Lord, - Your Highness’ lords in waiting. - - _Seg._ Lords in waiting. - Well, I have now learn’d to repeat, I think, - If only but by rote—This is my palace, - And this my throne—which unadvised—And that - Out of the window there my Capital; - And all the people moving up and down - My subjects and my vassals like yourselves, - My chamberlain—and lords in waiting, and - Clotaldo—and Clotaldo?— - You are an aged, and seem a reverend man— - You do not—though his fellow-officer— - You do not mean to mock me? - - _Chamb._ Oh, my Lord! - - _Seg._ Well then—If no magician, as you say, - Yet setting me a riddle, that my brain, - With all its senses whirling, cannot solve, - Yourself or one of these with you must answer— - How I—that only last night fell asleep - Not knowing that the very soil of earth - I lay down—chain’d—to sleep upon was Poland— - Awake to find myself the Lord of it, - With Lords, and Generals, and Chamberlains, - And ev’n my very Gaoler, for my vassals! - - _Enter suddenly CLOTALDO._ - - _Clotaldo._ Stand all aside - That I may put into his hand the clue - To lead him out of this amazement. Sir, - Vouchsafe your Highness from my bended knee - Receive my homage first. - - _Seg._ Clotaldo! What, - At last—his old self—undisguised where all - Is masquerade—to end it!—You kneeling too! - What! have the stars you told me long ago - Laid that old work upon you, added this, - That, having chain’d your prisoner so long, - You loose his body now to slay his wits, - Dragging him—how I know not—whither scarce - I understand—dressing him up in all - This frippery, with your dumb familiars - Disvizor’d, and their lips unlock’d to lie, - Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, - Setting a crown of straw upon his head? - - _Clo._ Would but your Highness, as indeed I now - Must call you—and upon his bended knee - Never bent Subject more devotedly— - However all about you, and perhaps - You to yourself incomprehensiblest, - But rest in the assurance of your own - Sane waking senses, by these witnesses - Attested, till the story of it all, - Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal’d, - Assured of all you see and hear as neither - Madness nor mockery— - - _Seg._ What then? - - _Clo._ All it seems: - This palace with its royal garniture; - This capital of which it is the eye, - With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; - This realm of which this city is the head, - With all its cities, villages, and tilth, - Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; - And all the living souls that make them up, - From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, - Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, - Your subjects—Who, though now their mighty voice - Sleeps in the general body unapprized, - Wait but a word from those about you now - To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. - - _Seg._ All this is so? - - _Clo._ As sure as anything - Is, or can be. - - _Seg._ You swear it on the faith - You taught me—elsewhere?— - - _Clo._ (_kissing the hilt of his sword_). Swear it upon this - Symbol, and champion of the holy faith - I wear it to defend. - - _Seg._ (_to himself_). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, - With this transfiguration, nor the strain - Of royal welcome that arose and blew, - Breathed from no lying lips, along with it. - For here Clotaldo comes, his own old self, - Who, if not Lie and phantom with the rest— - (_Aloud_) Well then, all this is thus. - For have not these fine people told me so, - And you, Clotaldo, sworn it? And the Why - And Wherefore are to follow by and bye! - And yet—and yet—why wait for that which you - Who take your oath on it can answer—and - Indeed it presses hard upon my brain— - What I was asking of these gentlemen - When you came in upon us; how it is - That I—the Segismund you know so long— - No longer than the sun that rose to-day - Rose—and from what you know— - Rose to be Prince of Poland? - - _Clo._ So to be - Acknowledged and entreated, Sir. - - _Seg._ So be - Acknowledged and entreated— - Well—But if now by all, by some at least - So known—if not entreated—heretofore— - Though not by you—For, now I think again, - Of what should be your attestation worth, - You that of all my questionable subjects - Who knowing what, yet left me where, I was, - You least of all, Clotaldo, till the dawn - Of this first day that told it to myself? - - _Clo._ Oh, let your Highness draw the line across - Fore-written sorrow, and in this new dawn - Bury that long sad night. - - _Seg._ Not ev’n the Dead, - Call’d to the resurrection of the blest, - Shall so directly drop all memory - Of woes and wrongs foregone! - - _Clo._ But not resent— - Purged by the trial of that sorrow past - For full fruition of their present bliss. - - _Seg._ But leaving with the Judge what, till this earth - Be cancell’d in the burning heavens, He leaves - His earthly delegates to execute, - Of retribution in reward to them - And woe to those who wrong’d them—Not as you, - Not you, Clotaldo, knowing not—And yet - Ev’n to the guiltiest wretch in all the realm, - Of any treason guilty short of that, - Stern usage—but assuredly not knowing, - Not knowing ’twas your sovereign lord, Clotaldo, - You used so sternly. - - _Clo._ Ay, sir; with the same - Devotion and fidelity that now - Does homage to him for my sovereign. - - _Seg._ Fidelity that held his Prince in chains! - - _Clo._ Fidelity more fast than had it loosed him— - - _Seg._ Ev’n from the very dawn of consciousness - Down at the bottom of the barren rocks, - Where scarce a ray of sunshine found him out, - In which the poorest beggar of my realm - At least to human-full proportion grows— - Me! Me—whose station was the kingdom’s top - To flourish in, reaching my head to heaven, - And with my branches overshadowing - The meaner growth below! - - _Clo._ Still with the same - Fidelity— - - _Seg._ To me!— - - _Clo._ Ay, sir, to you, - Through that divine allegiance upon which - All Order and Authority is based; - Which to revolt against— - - _Seg._ Were to revolt - Against the stars, belike! - - _Clo._ And him who reads them; - And by that right, and by the sovereignty - He wears as you shall wear it after him; - Ay, one to whom yourself— - Yourself, ev’n more than any subject here, - Are bound by yet another and more strong - Allegiance—King Basilio—your father— - - _Seg._ Basilio—King—my father!— - - _Clo._ Oh, my Lord, - Let me beseech you on my bended knee, - For your own sake—for Poland’s—and for his, - Who, looking up for counsel to the skies, - Did what he did under authority - To which the kings of earth themselves are subject, - And whose behest not only he that suffers, - But he that executes, not comprehends, - But only He that orders it— - - _Seg._ The King— - My father!—Either I am mad already, - Or that way driving fast—or I should know - That fathers do not use their children so, - Or men were loosed from all allegiance - To fathers, kings, and heaven that order’d all. - But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I - Will have my reckoning—Either you lie, - Under the skirt of sinless majesty - Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, - Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars - That cannot hear the charge, or disavow— - You, whether doer or deviser, who - Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty - By the same hand you owe it to— - - (_Seizing CLOTALDO’S sword and about to strike him._) - - _Enter ROSAURA suddenly._ - - _Rosaura._ Fie, my Lord—forbear, - What! a young hand raised against silver hair!— - - (_She retreats through the crowd._) - - _Seg._ Stay! stay! What come and vanish’d as before— - I scarce remember how—but— - - _Voices within._ Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy! - - _Enter ASTOLFO._ - - _Astolfo._ Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, - When from the mountain where he darkling lay, - The Polish sun into the firmament - Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, - And in meridian glory— - - _Seg._ Where is he? - Why must I ask this twice?— - - _A Lord._ The Page, my Lord? - I wonder at his boldness— - - _Seg._ But I tell you - He came with Angel written in his face - As now it is, when all was black as hell - About, and none of you who now—he came, - And Angel-like flung me a shining sword - To cut my way through darkness; and again - Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf - Of one—whom I will spare for sparing him: - But he must come and plead with that same voice - That pray’d for me—in vain. - - _Chamb._ He is gone for, - And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, - Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, - Return your royal cousin’s greeting? - - _Seg._ Whose? - - _Chamb._ Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy, my Lord, - Saluted, and with, gallant compliment - Welcomed you to your royal title. - - _Seg._ (_to Astolfo_). Oh— - You knew of this then? - - _Ast._ Knew of what, my Lord? - - _Seg._ That I was Prince of Poland all the while, - And you my subject? - - _Ast._ Pardon me, my Lord, - But some few hours ago myself I learn’d - Your dignity; but, knowing it, no more - Than when I knew it not, your subject. - - _Seg._ What then? - - _Ast._ Your Highness’ chamberlain ev’n now has told you; - Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy, - Your father’s sister’s son; your cousin, sir: - And who as such, and in his own right Prince, - Expects from you the courtesy he shows. - - _Chamb._ His Highness is as yet unused to Court, - And to the ceremonious interchange - Of compliment, especially to those - Who draw their blood from the same royal fountain. - - _Seg._ Where is the lad? I weary of all this— - Prince, cousins, chamberlains, and compliments— - Where are my soldiers? Blow the trumpet, and - With one sharp blast scatter these butterflies - And bring the men of iron to my side, - With whom a king feels like a king indeed! - - _Voices within._ Within there! room for the Princess Estrella! - - _Enter ESTRELLA with Ladies._ - - _Estrella._ Welcome, my Lord, right welcome to the throne - That much too long has waited for your coming; - And, in the general voice of Poland, hear - A kinswoman and cousin’s no less sincere. - - _Seg._ Ay, this is welcome welcome-worth indeed, - And cousin cousin-worth! Oh, I have thus - Over the threshold of the mountain seen, - Leading a bevy of fair stars, the moon - Enter the court of heaven—My kinswoman! - My cousin! But my subject?— - - _Est._ If you please - To count your cousin for your subject, sir, - You shall not find her a disloyal. - - _Seg._ Oh, - But there are twin stars in that heavenly face, - That now I know for having over-ruled - Those evil ones that darken’d all my past, - And brought me forth from that captivity - To be the slave of her who set me free. - - _Est._ Indeed, my Lord, these eyes have no such power - Over the past or present: but perhaps - They brighten at your welcome to supply - The little that a lady’s speech commends; - And in the hope that, let whichever be - The other’s subject, we may both be friends. - - _Seg._ Your hand to that—But why does this warm hand - Shoot a cold shudder through me? - - _Est._ In revenge - For likening me to that cold moon, perhaps. - - _Seg._ Oh, but the lip whose music tells me so - Breathes of a warmer planet, and that lip - Shall remedy the treason of the hand! - - (_He catches to embrace her._) - - _Est._ Release me, sir! - - _Chamb._ And pardon me, my Lord, - This lady is a Princess absolute, - As Prince he is who just saluted you, - And claims her by affiance. - - _Seg._ Hence, old fool. - For ever thrusting that white stick of yours - Between me and my pleasure! - - _Ast._ This cause is mine. - Forbear, sir— - - _Seg._ What, sir mouth-piece, you again? - - _Ast._ My Lord, I waive your insult to myself - In recognition of the dignity - You yet are new to, and that greater still - You look in time to wear. But for this lady— - Whom, if my cousin now, I hope to claim - Henceforth by yet a nearer, dearer name— - - _Seg._ And what care I? She is my cousin too: - And if you be a Prince—well, am not I? - Lord of the very soil you stand upon? - By that, and by that right beside of blood - That like a fiery fountain hitherto - Pent in the rock leaps toward her at her touch, - Mine, before all the cousins in Muscovy! - You call me Prince of Poland, and yourselves - My subjects—traitors therefore to this hour, - Who let me perish all my youth away - Chained there among the mountains; till, forsooth, - Terrified at your treachery foregone, - You spirit me up here, I know not how, - Popinjay-like invest me like yourselves, - Choke me with scent and music that I loathe, - And, worse than all the music and the scent, - With false, long-winded, fulsome compliment, - That ‘Oh, you are my subjects!’ and in word - Reiterating still obedience, - Thwart me in deed at every step I take: - When just about to wreak a just revenge - Upon that old arch-traitor of you all, - Filch from my vengeance him I hate; and him - I loved—the first and only face—till this— - I cared to look on in your ugly court— - And now when palpably I grasp at last - What hitherto but shadow’d in my dreams— - Affiances and interferences, - The first who dares to meddle with me more— - Princes and chamberlains and counsellors, - Touch her who dares!— - - _Ast._ That dare I— - - _Seg._ (_seizing him by the throat_). You dare! - - _Chamb._ My Lord!— - - _A Lord._ His strength’s a lion’s— - - _Voices within._ The King! The King!— - - _Enter KING._ - - _A Lord._ And on a sudden how he stands at gaze, - As might a wolf just fasten’d on his prey, - Glaring at a suddenly encounter’d lion. - - _King._ And I that hither flew with open arms - To fold them round my son, must now return - To press them to an empty heart again! - - (_He sits on the throne._) - - _Seg._ That is the King?—My father?— - (_After a long pause._) I have heard - That sometimes some blind instinct has been known - To draw to mutual recognition those - Of the same blood, beyond all memory - Divided, or ev’n never met before. - I know not how this is—perhaps in brutes - That live by kindlier instincts—but I know - That looking now upon that head whose crown - Pronounces him a sovereign king, I feel - No setting of the current in my blood - Tow’rd him as sire. How is ’t with you, old man, - Tow’rd him they call your son?— - - _King._ Alas! Alas! - - _Seg._ Your sorrow, then? - - _King._ Beholding what I do. - - _Seg._ Ay, but how know this sorrow, that has grown - And moulded to this present shape of man, - As of your own creation? - - _King._ Ev’n from birth. - - _Seg._ But from that hour to this, near, as I think, - Some twenty such renewals of the year - As trace themselves upon the barren rocks, - I never saw you, nor you me—unless, - Unless, indeed, through one of those dark masks - Through which a son might fail to recognize - The best of fathers. - - _King._ Be that as you will; - But, now we see each other face to face, - Know me as you I know; which did I not, - By whatsoever signs, assuredly - You were not here to prove it at my risk. - - _Seg._ You are my father. - And is it true then, as Clotaldo swears, - ’Twas you that from the dawning birth of one - Yourself brought into being,—you, I say, - Who stole his very birthright; not alone - That secondary and peculiar right - Of sovereignty, but even that prime - Inheritance that all men share alike, - And chain’d him—chain’d him!—like a wild beast’s whelp, - Among as savage mountains, to this hour? - Answer if this be thus. - - _King._ Oh, Segismund, - In all that I have done that seems to you, - And, without further hearing, fairly seems, - Unnatural and cruel—’twas not I, - But One who writes His order in the sky - I dared not misinterpret nor neglect, - Who knows with what reluctance— - - _Seg._ Oh, those stars, - Those stars, that too far up from human blame - To clear themselves, or careless of the charge, - Still bear upon their shining shoulders all - The guilt men shift upon them! - - _King._ Nay, but think: - Not only on the common score of kind, - But that peculiar count of sovereignty— - If not behind the beast in brain as heart, - How should I thus deal with my innocent child, - Doubly desired, and doubly dear when come, - As that sweet second-self that all desire, - And princes more than all, to root themselves - By that succession in their people’s hearts, - Unless at that superior Will, to which - Not kings alone, but sovereign nature bows? - - _Seg._ And what had those same stars to tell of me - That should compel a father and a king - So much against that double instinct? - - _King._ That, - Which I have brought you hither, at my peril, - Against their written warning, to disprove, - By justice, mercy, human kindliness. - - _Seg._ And therefore made yourself their instrument - To make your son the savage and the brute - They only prophesied?—Are you not afear’d, - Lest, irrespective as such creatures are - Of such relationship, the brute you made - Revenge the man you marr’d—like sire, like son, - To do by you as you by me have done? - - _King._ You never had a savage heart from me; - I may appeal to Poland. - - _Seg._ Then from whom? - If pure in fountain, poison’d by yourself - When scarce begun to flow,—To make a man - Not, as I see, degraded from the mould - I came from, nor compared to those about, - And then to throw your own flesh to the dogs!— - Why not at once, I say, if terrified - At the prophetic omens of my birth, - Have drown’d or stifled me, as they do whelps - Too costly or too dangerous to keep? - - _King._ That, living, you might learn to live, and rule - Yourself and Poland. - - _Seg._ By the means you took - To spoil for either? - - _King._ Nay, but, Segismund! - You know not—cannot know—happily wanting - The sad experience on which knowledge grows, - How the too early consciousness of power - Spoils the best blood; nor whether for your long- - Constrain’d disheritance (which, but for me, - Remember, and for my relenting love - Bursting the bond of fate, had been eternal) - You have not now a full indemnity; - Wearing the blossom of your youth unspent - In the voluptuous sunshine of a court, - That often, by too early blossoming, - Too soon deflowers the rose of royalty. - - _Seg._ Ay, but what some precocious warmth may spill, - May not an early frost as surely kill? - - _King._ But, Segismund, my son, whose quick discourse - Proves I have not extinguished and destroy’d - The Man you charge me with extinguishing, - However it condemn me for the fault - Of keeping a good light so long eclipsed, - Reflect! This is the moment upon which - Those stars, whose eyes, although we see them not, - By day as well as night are on us still, - Hang watching up in the meridian heaven - Which way the balance turns; and if to you— - As by your dealing God decide it may, - To my confusion!—let me answer it - Unto yourself alone, who shall at once - Approve yourself to be your father’s judge, - And sovereign of Poland in his stead, - By justice, mercy, self-sobriety, - And all the reasonable attributes - Without which, impotent to rule himself, - Others one cannot, and one must not rule; - But which if you but show the blossom of— - All that is past we shall but look upon - As the first out-fling of a generous nature - Rioting in first liberty; and if - This blossom do but promise such a flower - As promises in turn its kindly fruit: - Forthwith upon your brows the royal crown, - That now weighs heavy on my agèd brows, - I will devolve; and while I pass away - Into some cloister, with my Maker there - To make my peace in penitence and prayer, - Happily settle the disorder’d realm - That now cries loudly for a lineal heir. - - _Seg._ And so— - When the crown falters on your shaking head, - And slips the sceptre from your palsied hand, - And Poland for her rightful heir cries out; - When not only your stol’n monopoly - Fails you of earthly power, but ’cross the grave - The judgment-trumpet of another world - Calls you to count for your abuse of this; - Then, oh then, terrified by the double danger, - You drag me from my den— - Boast not of giving up at last the power - You can no longer hold, and never rightly - Held, but in fee for him you robb’d it from; - And be assured your Savage, once let loose, - Will not be caged again so quickly; not - By threat or adulation to be tamed, - Till he have had his quarrel out with those - Who made him what he is. - - _King._ Beware! Beware! - Subdue the kindled Tiger in your eye, - Nor dream that it was sheer necessity - Made me thus far relax the bond of fate, - And, with far more of terror than of hope - Threaten myself, my people, and the State. - Know that, if old, I yet have vigour left - To wield the sword as well as wear the crown; - And if my more immediate issue fail, - Not wanting scions of collateral blood, - Whose wholesome growth shall more than compensate - For all the loss of a distorted stem. - - _Seg._ That will I straightway bring to trial—Oh, - After a revelation such as this, - The Last Day shall have little left to show - Of righted wrong and villainy requited! - Nay, Judgment now beginning upon earth, - Myself, methinks, in right of all my wrongs - Appointed heaven’s avenging minister, - Accuser, judge, and executioner, - Sword in hand, cite the guilty—First, as worst, - The usurper of his son’s inheritance; - Him and his old accomplice, time and crime - Inveterate, and unable to repay - The golden years of life they stole away. - What, does he yet maintain his state, and keep - The throne he should be judged from? Down with him, - That I may trample on the false white head - So long has worn my crown! Where are my soldiers? - Of all my subjects and my vassals here - Not one to do my bidding? Hark! A trumpet! - The trumpet— - - (_He pauses as the trumpet sounds as in ACT I., - and masked Soldiers gradually fill in behind - the Throne._) - - _King_ (_rising before his throne_). Ay, indeed, the trumpet blows - A memorable note, to summon those - Who, if forthwith you fall not at the feet - Of him whose head you threaten with the dust, - Forthwith shall draw the curtain of the Past - About you; and this momentary gleam - Of glory that you think to hold life-fast, - So coming, so shall vanish, as a dream. - - _Seg._ He prophesies; the old man prophesies; - And, at his trumpet’s summons, from the tower - The leash-bound shadows loosen’d after me - My rising glory reach and over-lour— - But, reach not I my height, he shall not hold. - But with me back to his own darkness! - - (_He dashes toward the throne and is enclosed by the soldiers._) - - Traitors! - Hold off! Unhand me!—Am not I your king? - And you would strangle him!— - But I am breaking with an inward Fire - Shall scorch you off, and wrap me on the wings - Of conflagration from a kindled pyre - Of lying prophecies and prophet-kings - Above the extinguish’d stars—Reach me the sword - He flung me—Fill me such a bowl of wine - As that you woke the day with— - - _King._ And shall close,— - But of the vintage that Clotaldo knows. - - [_Exeunt._ - - - - -ACT III - - -SCENE I.—_The Tower, etc., as in ACT I. SCENE I._ - -_SEGISMUND, as at first, and CLOTALDO._ - - _Clotaldo._ Princes and princesses, and counsellors - Fluster’d to right and left—my life made at— - But that was nothing— - Even the white-hair’d, venerable King - Seized on—Indeed, you made wild work of it; - And so discover’d in your outward action, - Flinging your arms about you in your sleep, - Grinding your teeth—and, as I now remember, - Woke mouthing out judgment and execution, - On those about you. - - _Seg._ Ay, I did indeed. - - _Clo._ Ev’n now your eyes stare wild; your hair stands up— - Your pulses throb and flutter, reeling still - Under the storm of such a dream— - - _Seg._ A dream! - That seem’d as swearable reality - As what I wake in now. - - _Clo._ Ay—wondrous how - Imagination in a sleeping brain - Out of the uncontingent senses draws - Sensations strong as from the real touch; - That we not only laugh aloud, and drench - With tears our pillow; but in the agony - Of some imaginary conflict, fight - And struggle—ev’n as you did; some, ’tis thought, - Under the dreamt-of stroke of death have died. - - _Seg._ And what so very strange too—In that world - Where place as well as people all was strange, - Ev’n I almost as strange unto myself, - You only, you, Clotaldo—you, as much - And palpably yourself as now you are, - Came in this very garb you ever wore, - By such a token of the past, you said, - To assure me of that seeming present. - - _Clo._ Ay? - - _Seg._ Ay; and even told me of the very stars - You tell me here of—how in spite of them, - I was enlarged to all that glory. - - _Clo._ Ay, - By the false spirits’ nice contrivance thus - A little truth oft leavens all the false, - The better to delude us. - - _Seg._ For you know - ’Tis nothing but a dream? - - _Clo._ Nay, you yourself - Know best how lately you awoke from that - You know you went to sleep on?— - Why, have you never dreamt the like before? - - _Seg._ Never, to such reality. - - _Clo._ Such dreams - Are oftentimes the sleeping exhalations - Of that ambition that lies smouldering - Under the ashes of the lowest fortune; - By which, when reason slumbers, or has lost - The reins of sensible comparison, - We fly at something higher than we are— - Scarce ever dive to lower—to be kings, - Or conquerors, crown’d with laurel or with gold, - Nay, mounting heaven itself on eagle wings. - Which, by the way, now that I think of it, - May furnish us the key to this high flight— - That royal Eagle we were watching, and - Talking of as you went to sleep last night. - - _Seg._ Last night? Last night? - - _Clo._ Ay, do you not remember - Envying his immunity of flight, - As, rising from his throne of rock, he sail’d - Above the mountains far into the West, - That burn’d about him, while with poising wings - He darkled in it as a burning brand - Is seen to smoulder in the fire it feeds? - - _Seg._ Last night—last night—Oh, what a day was that - Between that last night and this sad To-day! - - _Clo._ And yet, perhaps, - Only some few dark moments, into which - Imagination, once lit up within - And unconditional of time and space, - Can pour infinities. - - _Seg._ And I remember - How the old man they call’d the King, who wore - The crown of gold about his silver hair, - And a mysterious girdle round his waist, - Just when my rage was roaring at its height, - And after which it all was dark again, - Bid me beware lest all should be a dream. - - _Clo._ Ay—there another specialty of dreams, - That once the dreamer ’gins to dream he dreams, - His foot is on the very verge of waking. - - _Seg._ Would it had been upon the verge of death - That knows no waking— - Lifting me up to glory, to fall back, - Stunn’d, crippled—wretcheder than ev’n before. - - _Clo._ Yet not so glorious, Segismund, if you - Your visionary honour wore so ill - As to work murder and revenge on those - Who meant you well. - - _Seg._ Who meant me!—me! their Prince - Chain’d like a felon— - - _Clo._ Stay, stay—Not so fast, - You dream’d the Prince, remember. - - _Seg._ Then in dream - Revenged it only. - - _Clo._ True. But as they say - Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul - Yet uncorrected of the higher Will, - So that men sometimes in their dreams confess - An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; - One must beware to check—ay, if one may, - Stifle ere born, such passion in ourselves - As makes, we see, such havoc with our sleep, - And ill reacts upon the waking day. - And, by the bye, for one test, Segismund, - Between such swearable realities— - Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin - In missing each that salutary rein - Of reason, and the guiding will of man: - One test, I think, of waking sanity - Shall be that conscious power of self-control, - To curb all passion, but much most of all - That evil and vindictive, that ill squares - With human, and with holy canon less, - Which bids us pardon ev’n our enemies, - And much more those who, out of no ill will, - Mistakenly have taken up the rod - Which heaven, they think, has put into their hands. - - _Seg._ I think I soon shall have to try again— - Sleep has not yet done with me. - - _Clo._ Such a sleep. - Take my advice—’tis early yet—the sun - Scarce up above the mountain; go within, - And if the night deceived you, try anew - With morning; morning dreams they say come true. - - _Seg._ Oh, rather pray for me a sleep so fast - As shall obliterate dream and waking too. - - [_Exit into the tower._ - - _Clo._ So sleep; sleep fast: and sleep away those two - Night-potions, and the waking dream between - Which dream thou must believe; and, if to see - Again, poor Segismund! that dream must be.— - And yet, and yet, in these our ghostly lives, - Half night, half day, half sleeping, half awake, - How if our waking life, like that of sleep, - Be all a dream in that eternal life - To which we wake not till we sleep in death? - How if, I say, the senses we now trust - For date of sensible comparison,— - Ay, ev’n the Reason’s self that dates with them, - Should be in essence or intensity - Hereafter so transcended, and awoke - To a perceptive subtlety so keen - As to confess themselves befool’d before, - In all that now they will avouch for most? - One man—like this—but only so much longer - As life is longer than a summer’s day, - Believed himself a king upon his throne, - And play’d at hazard with his fellows’ lives, - Who cheaply dream’d away their lives to him. - The sailor dream’d of tossing on the flood: - The soldier of his laurels grown in blood: - The lover of the beauty that he knew - Must yet dissolve to dusty residue: - The merchant and the miser of his bags - Of finger’d gold; the beggar of his rags: - And all this stage of earth on which we seem - Such busy actors, and the parts we play’d, - Substantial as the shadow of a shade, - And Dreaming but a dream within a dream! - - _Fife._ Was it not said, sir, - By some philosopher as yet unborn, - That any chimney-sweep who for twelve hours - Dreams himself king is happy as the king - Who dreams himself twelve hours a chimney-sweep? - - _Clo._ A theme indeed for wiser heads than yours - To moralize upon—How came you here?— - - _Fife._ Not of my own will, I assure you, sir. - No matter for myself: but I would know - About my mistress—I mean, master— - - _Clo._ Oh, - Now I remember—Well, your master-mistress - Is well, and deftly on its errand speeds, - As you shall—if you can but hold your tongue. - Can you? - - _Fife._ I’d rather be at home again. - - _Clo._ Where you shall be the quicker if while here - You can keep silence. - - _Fife._ I may whistle, then? - Which by the virtue of my name I do, - And also as a reasonable test - Of waking sanity— - - _Clo._ Well, whistle then; - And for another reason you forgot, - That while you whistle, you can chatter not. - Only remember—if you quit this pass— - - _Fife._ (His rhymes are out, or he had call’d it spot)— - - _Clo._ A bullet brings you to. - I must forthwith to court to tell the King - The issue of this lamentable day, - That buries all his hope in night. (_To Fife._) Farewell: - Remember. - - _Fife._ But a moment—but a word! - When shall I see my mis—mas— - - _Clo._ Be content: - All in good time; and then, and not before, - Never to miss your master any more. - - [_Exit._ - - _Fife._ Such talk of dreaming—dreaming—I begin - To doubt if I be dreaming I am Fife, - Who with a lad who call’d herself a boy - Because—I doubt there’s some confusion here— - He wore no petticoat, came on a time - Riding from Muscovy on half a horse; - Who must have dreamt she was a horse entire, - To cant me off upon my hinder face - Under this tower, wall-eyed and musket-tongued, - With sentinels a-pacing up and down, - Crying All’s well when all is far from well, - All the day long, and all the night, until - I dream—if what is dreaming be not waking— - Of bells a-tolling and processions rolling - With candles, crosses, banners, San-benitos, - Of which I wear the flamy-finingest, - Through streets and places throng’d with fiery faces - To some back platform— - Oh, I shall take a fire into my hand - With thinking of my own dear Muscovy— - Only just over that Sierra there, - By which we tumbled headlong into—No-land. - Now, if without a bullet after me, - I could but get a peep of my old home— - Perhaps of my own mule to take me there— - All’s still—perhaps the gentlemen within - Are dreaming it is night behind their masks— - God send ’em a good nightmare!—Now then—Hark! - Voices—and up the rocks—and armed men - Climbing like cats—Puss in the corner then. - - [_He hides._ - - _Enter SOLDIERS cautiously up the rocks._ - - _Captain._ This is the frontier pass, at any rate, - Where Poland ends and Muscovy begins. - - _Soldier._ We must be close upon the tower, I know, - That half way up the mountain lies ensconced. - - _Capt._ How know you that? - - _Sol._ He told me so—the Page - Who put us on the scent. - - _Sol. 2._ And, as I think, - Will soon be here to run it down with us. - - _Capt._ Meantime, our horses on these ugly rocks - Useless, and worse than useless with their clatter— - Leave them behind, with one or two in charge, - And softly, softly, softly. - - _Soldiers._ - - —— There it is! - - —— There what?— - - —— The tower—the fortress— - - —— That the tower!— - - ——That mouse-trap! We could pitch it down the rocks - With our own hands. - - —— The rocks it hangs among - Dwarf its proportions and conceal its strength; - Larger and stronger than you think. - - —— No matter; - No place for Poland’s Prince to be shut up in. - At it at once! - - _Capt._ No—no—I tell you wait— - Till those within give signal. For as yet - We know not who side with us, and the fort - Is strong in man and musket. - - _Sol._ Shame to wait - For odds with such a cause at stake. - - _Capt._ Because - Of such a cause at stake we wait for odds— - For if not won at once, for ever lost: - For any long resistance on their part - Would bring Basilio’s force to succour them - Ere we had rescued him we come to rescue. - So softly, softly, softly, still— - - _A Soldier_ (_discovering Fife_). Hilloa! - - _Soldiers._ - - —— Hilloa! Here’s some one skulking— - - —— Seize and gag him! - - —— Stab him at once, say I: the only way - To make all sure. - - —— Hold, every man of you! - And down upon your knees!—Why,’tis the Prince! - - —— The Prince!— - - —— Oh, I should know him anywhere, - And anyhow disguised. - - —— —But the Prince is chain’d. - - —— And of a loftier presence— - - —— ’Tis he, I tell you; - Only bewilder’d as he was before. - God save your Royal Highness! On our knees - Beseech you answer us! - - _Fife._ Just as you please. - Well—’tis this country’s custom, I suppose, - To take a poor man every now and then - And set him on the throne; just for the fun - Of tumbling him again into the dirt. - And now my turn is come. ’Tis very pretty. - - _Sol._ His wits have been distemper’d with their drugs. - But do you ask him, Captain. - - _Capt._ On my knees, - And in the name of all who kneel with me, - I do beseech your Highness answer to - Your royal title. - - _Fife._ Still, just as you please. - In my own poor opinion of myself— - But that may all be dreaming, which it seems - Is very much the fashion in this country— - No Polish prince at all, but a poor lad - From Muscovy; where only help me back, - I promise never to contest the crown - Of Poland with whatever gentleman - You fancy to set up. - - _Soldiers._ - - —— From Muscovy? - - —— A spy then— - - —— Of Astolfo’s— - - —— Spy! a spy!— - - —— Hang him at once! - - _Fife._ No, pray don’t dream of that! - - _Sol._ How dared you then set yourself up for our - Prince Segismund? - - _Fife._ _I_ set up!—I like that— - When ’twas yourselves be-siegesmunded me. - - _Capt._ No matter—Look!—The signal from the tower. - Prince Segismund! - - _Sol._ (_from the tower_). Prince Segismund! - - _Capt._ All’s well. - Clotaldo safe secured?— - - _Sol._ (_from the tower_). No—by ill luck, - Instead of coming in, as we had look’d for, - He sprang on horse at once, and off at gallop. - - _Capt._ To Court, no doubt—a blunder that—And yet - Perchance a blunder that may work as well - As better forethought. Having no suspicion - So will he carry none where his not going - Were of itself suspicious. But of those - Within, who side with us? - - _Sol._ Oh, one and all - To the last man, persuaded or compell’d. - - _Capt._ Enough: whatever be to be retrieved - No moment to be lost. For though Clotaldo - Have no revolt to tell of in the tower, - The capital will soon awake to ours, - And the King’s force come blazing after us. - Where is the Prince? - - _Sol._ Within; so fast asleep - We woke him not ev’n striking off the chain - We had so cursedly holp bind him with, - Not knowing what we did; but too ashamed - Not to undo ourselves what we had done. - - _Capt._ No matter, nor by whosesoever hands, - Provided done. Come; we will bring him forth - Out of that stony darkness here abroad, - Where air and sunshine sooner shall disperse - The sleepy fume which they have drugg’d him with. - - [_They enter the tower, and thence bring out - SEGISMUND asleep on a pallet, and set in the - middle of the stage._ - - _Capt._ Still, still so dead asleep, the very noise - And motion that we make in carrying him - Stirs not a leaf in all the living tree. - - _Soldiers._ - If living—But if by some inward blow - For ever and irrevocably fell’d - By what strikes deeper to the root than sleep? - - —— He’s dead! He’s dead! They’ve kill’d him— - - —— No—he breathes— - And the heart beats—and now he breathes again - Deeply, as one about to shake away - The load of sleep. - - _Capt._ Come, let us all kneel round, - And with a blast of warlike instruments, - And acclamation of all loyal hearts, - Rouse and restore him to his royal right, - From which no royal wrong shall drive him more. - - (_They all kneel round his bed: trumpets, drums, etc._) - - _Soldiers._ - Segismund! Segismund! Prince Segismund! - King Segismund! Down with Basilio! - Down with Astolfo! Segismund our King! etc. - - _Soldier 1._ He stares upon us wildly. He cannot speak. - - _Soldier 2._ I said so—driv’n him mad. - - _Soldier 3._ Speak to him, Captain. - - _Capt._ Oh Royal Segismund, our Prince and King, - Look on us—listen to us—answer us, - Your faithful soldiery and subjects, now - About you kneeling, but on fire to rise - And cleave a passage through your enemies, - Until we seat you on your lawful throne. - For though your father, King Basilio, - Now King of Poland, jealous of the stars - That prophesy his setting with your rise, - Here holds you ignominiously eclipsed, - And would Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy, - Mount to the throne of Poland after him;. - So will not we, your loyal soldiery - And subjects; neither those of us now first - Apprised of your existence and your right: - Nor those that hitherto deluded by - Allegiance false, their vizors now fling down, - And craving pardon on their knees with us - For that unconscious disloyalty, - Offer with us the service of their blood; - Not only we and they; but at our heels - The heart, if not the bulk, of Poland follows - To join their voices and their arms with ours, - In vindicating with our lives our own - Prince Segismund to Poland and her throne. - - _Soldiers._ - Segismund, Segismund, Prince Segismund! - Our own King Segismund, etc. - - (_They all rise._) - - _Seg._ Again? So soon?—What, not yet done with me? - The sun is little higher up, I think, - Than when I last lay down, - To bury in the depth of your own sea - You that infest its shallows. - - _Capt._ Sir! - - _Seg._ And now, - Not in a palace, not in the fine clothes - We all were in; but here, in the old place, - And in our old accoutrement— - Only your vizors off, and lips unlock’d - To mock me with that idle title— - - _Capt._ Nay, - Indeed no idle title, but your own, - Then, now, and now for ever. For, behold, - Ev’n as I speak, the mountain passes fill - And bristle with the advancing soldiery - That glitters in your rising glory, sir; - And, at our signal, echo to our cry, - ‘Segismund, King of Poland!’ etc. - - (_Shouts, trumpets, etc._) - - _Seg._ Oh, how cheap - The muster of a countless host of shadows, - As impotent to do with as to keep! - All this they said before—to softer music. - - _Capt._ Soft music, sir, to what indeed were shadows, - That, following the sunshine of a Court, - Shall back be brought with it—if shadows still, - Yet to substantial reckoning. - - _Seg._ They shall? - The white-hair’d and white-wanded chamberlain, - So busy with his wand too—the old King - That I was somewhat hard on—he had been - Hard upon me—and the fine feather’d Prince - Who crow’d so loud—my cousin,—and another, - Another cousin, we will not bear hard on— - And—But Clotaldo? - - _Capt._ Fled, my Lord, but close - Pursued; and then— - - _Seg._ Then, as he fled before, - And after he had sworn it on his knees, - Came back to take me—where I am!—No more, - No more of this! Away with you! Begone! - Whether but visions of ambitious night - That morning ought to scatter, or grown out - Of night’s proportions you invade the day - To scare me from my little wits yet left, - Begone! I know I must be near awake, - Knowing I dream; or, if not at my voice, - Then vanish at the clapping of my hands, - Or take this foolish fellow for your sport: - Dressing me up in visionary glories, - Which the first air of waking consciousness - Scatters as fast as from the almander[14]— - That, waking one fine morning in full flower, - One rougher insurrection of the breeze - Of all her sudden honour disadorns - To the last blossom, and she stands again - The winter-naked scare-crow that she was! - - _Capt._ I know not what to do, nor what to say, - With all this dreaming; I begin to doubt - They have driv’n him mad indeed, and he and we - Are lost together. - - _A Soldier_ (_to Captain_). Stay, stay; I remember— - Hark in your ear a moment. (_Whispers._) - - _Capt._ So—so—so?— - Oh, now indeed I do not wonder, sir, - Your senses dazzle under practices - Which treason, shrinking from its own device, - Would now persuade you only was a dream; - But waking was as absolute as this - You wake in now, as some who saw you then, - Prince as you were and are, can testify: - Not only saw, but under false allegiance - Laid hands upon— - - _Soldier 1._ I, to my shame! - - _Soldier 2._ And I! - - _Capt._ Who, to wipe out that shame, have been the first - To stir and lead us—Hark! (_Shouts, trumpets, etc._) - - _A Soldier._ Our forces, sir, - Challenging King Basilio’s, now in sight, - And bearing down upon us. - - _Capt._ Sir, you hear; - A little hesitation and delay, - And all is lost—your own right, and the lives - Of those who now maintain it at that cost; - With you all saved and won; without, all lost. - That former recognition of your right - Grant but a dream, if you will have it so; - Great things forecast themselves by shadows great: - Or will you have it, this like that dream too, - People, and place, and time itself, all dream— - Yet, being in ’t, and as the shadows come - Quicker and thicker than you can escape, - Adopt your visionary soldiery, - Who, having struck a solid chain away, - Now put an airy sword into your hand, - And harnessing you piece-meal till you stand - Amidst us all complete in glittering, - If unsubstantial, steel— - - _Rosaura_ (_without_). The Prince! The Prince! - - _Capt._ Who calls for him? - - _Sol._ The Page who spurr’d us hither, - And now, dismounted from a foaming horse— - - _Enter ROSAURA._ - - _Rosaura._ Where is—but where I need no further ask - Where the majestic presence, all in arms, - Mutely proclaims and vindicates himself. - - _Fife._ My darling Lady-lord— - - _Ros._ My own good Fife, - Keep to my side—and silence!—Oh, my Lord, - For the third time behold me here where first - You saw me, by a happy misadventure - Losing my own way here to find it out - For you to follow with these loyal men, - Adding the moment of my little cause - To yours; which, so much mightier as it is, - By a strange chance runs hand in hand with mine; - The self-same foe who now pretends your right, - Withholding mine—that, of itself alone, - I know the royal blood that runs in you - Would vindicate, regardless of your own: - The right of injured innocence; and, more, - Spite of this epicene attire, a woman’s; - And of a noble stock I will not name - Till I, who brought it, have retrieved the shame. - Whom Duke Astolfo, Prince of Muscovy, - With all the solemn vows of wedlock won, - And would have wedded, as I do believe, - Had not the cry of Poland for a Prince - Call’d him from Muscovy to join the prize - Of Poland with the fair Estrella’s eyes. - I, following him hither, as you saw, - Was cast upon these rocks; arrested by - Clotaldo: who, for an old debt of love - He owes my family, with all his might - Served, and had served me further, till my cause - Clash’d with his duty to his sovereign, - Which, as became a loyal subject, sir, - (And never sovereign had a loyaller,) - Was still his first. He carried me to Court, - Where, for the second time, I cross’d your path; - Where, as I watch’d my opportunity, - Suddenly broke this public passion out; - Which, drowning private into public wrong, - Yet swiftlier sweeps it to revenge along. - - _Seg._ Oh God, if this be dreaming, charge it not - To burst the channel of enclosing sleep - And drown the waking reason! Not to dream - Only what dreamt shall once or twice again - Return to buzz about the sleeping brain - Till shaken off for ever— - But reassailing one so quick, so thick— - The very figure and the circumstance - Of sense-confess’d reality foregone - In so-call’d dream so palpably repeated, - The copy so like the original, - We know not which is which; and dream so-call’d - Itself inweaving so inextricably - Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; - The very figures that empeople it - Returning to assert themselves no phantoms - In something so much like meridian day, - And in the very place that not my worst - And veriest disenchanter shall deny - For the too well-remember’d theatre - Of my long tragedy—Strike up the drums! - If this be Truth, and all of us awake, - Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: - If but a Vision I will see it out, - And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. - - _Capt._ And in good time, sir, for a palpable - Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, - Here is Clotaldo taken. - - _Soldiers._ In with him! - In with the traitor! - - (_Clotaldo brought in._) - - _Seg._ Ay, Clotaldo, indeed— - Himself—in his old habit—his old self— - What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while - To swear me this for truth, and afterwards - All for a dreaming lie? - - _Clo._ Awake or dreaming, - Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs. - Drawn in rebellion ’gainst their Sovereign. - - _Seg._ (_about to strike_). Traitor! Traitor yourself!— - But soft—soft—soft!— - You told me, not so very long ago, - Awake or dreaming—I forget—my brain - Is not so clear about it—but I know - One test you gave me to discern between, - Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; - Or if the dreamer could, so best secure - A comfortable waking—Was ’t not so?— - (_To Rosaura_). Needs not your intercession now, you see, - As in the dream before— - Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too - That only traitor wert, to me if true— - Give him his sword; set him on a fresh horse; - Conduct him safely through my rebel force; - And so God speed him to his sovereign’s side! - Give me your hand; and whether all awake - Or all a-dreaming, ride, Clotaldo, ride— - Dream-swift—for fear we dreams should overtake. - -(_A Battle may be supposed to take place; after which_) - - -SCENE II.—_A wooded pass near the field of battle; drums, trumpets, -firing, etc. Cries of ‘God save Basilio! Segismund,’ etc._ - - _Enter FIFE, running._ - - _Fife._ God save them both, and save them all! say I!— - Oh—what hot work!—Whichever way one turns - The whistling bullet at one’s ears—I’ve drifted - Far from my mad young—master—whom I saw - Tossing upon the very crest of battle, - Beside the Prince—God save her first of all! - With all my heart I say and pray—and so - Commend her to His keeping—bang!—bang!—bang!— - And for myself—scarce worth His thinking of— - I’ll see what I can do to save myself - Behind this rock, until the storm blows over. - - (_Skirmishes, shouts, firing, etc. After some time - enter KING BASILIO, ASTOLFO, and CLOTALDO._) - - _King._ The day is lost! - - _Ast._ Do not despair—the rebels— - - _King._ Alas! the vanquish’d only are the rebels. - - _Clotaldo._ Ev’n if this battle lost us, ’tis but one - Gain’d on their side, if you not lost in it; - Another moment and too late: at once - Take horse, and to the capital, my liege, - Where in some safe and holy sanctuary - Save Poland in your person. - - _Ast._ Be persuaded: - You know your son: have tasted of his temper; - At his first onset threatening unprovoked - The crime predicted for his last and worst. - How whetted now with such a taste of blood, - And thus far conquest! - - _King._ Ay, and how he fought! - Oh how he fought, Astolfo; ranks of men - Falling as swathes of grass before the mower; - I could but pause to gaze at him, although, - Like the pale horseman of the Apocalypse, - Each moment brought him nearer—Yet I say, - I could but pause and gaze on him, and pray - Poland had such a warrior for her king. - - _Ast._ The cry of triumph on the other side - Gains ground upon us here—there’s but a moment - For you, my liege, to do, for me to speak, - Who back must to the field, and what man may, - Do, to retrieve the fortune of the day. (_Firing._) - - _Fife_ (_falling forward, shot_). Oh, Lord, have mercy on me. - - _King._ What a shriek— - Oh, some poor creature wounded in a cause - Perhaps not worth the loss of one poor life!— - So young too—and no soldier— - - _Fife._ A poor lad, - Who choosing play at hide and seek with death, - Just hid where death just came to look for him; - For there’s no place, I think, can keep him out, - Once he’s his eye upon you. All grows dark— - You glitter finely too—Well—we are dreaming— - But when the bullet’s off—Heaven save the mark! - So tell my mister—mastress— (_Dies._) - - _King._ Oh God! How this poor creature’s ignorance - Confounds our so-call’d wisdom! Even now - When death has stopt his lips, the wound through which - His soul went out, still with its bloody tongue - Preaching how vain our struggle against fate! - - (_Voices within._) After them! After them! This way! This way! - The day is ours—Down with Basilio, etc. - - _Ast._ Fly, sir— - - _King._ And slave-like flying not out-ride - The fate which better like a King abide! - - _Enter SEGISMUND, ROSAURA, SOLDIERS, etc._ - - _Segismund._ Where is the King? - - _King_ (_prostrating himself_). Behold him,—by this late - Anticipation of resistless fate, - Thus underneath your feet his golden crown, - And the white head that wears it, laying down, - His fond resistance hope to expiate. - - _Segismund._ Princes and warriors of Poland—you - That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, - Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do - What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, - By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise - To justify the present in the past. - What in the sapphire volume of the skies - Is writ by God’s own finger misleads none, - But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, - They mock with misinterpretation, - Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, - Ill commentary makes, or misapplies - Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done - The wisdom of this venerable head; - Who, well provided with the secret key - To that gold alphabet, himself made me, - Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read - Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp’d the growth - Of better nature in constraint and sloth, - That only bring to bear the seed of wrong - And turn’d the stream to fury whose out-burst - Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, - And fertilized the land he flow’d along. - Then like to some unskilful duellist, - Who having over-reach’d himself pushing too hard - His foe, or but a moment off his guard— - What odds, when Fate is one’s antagonist!— - Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay’d - At having Fate against himself array’d, - Upon himself the very sword he knew - Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, - That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept - Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. - But Fate shall not by human force be broke, - Nor foil’d by human feint; the Secret learn’d - Against the scholar by that master turn’d - Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. - Witness whereof this venerable Age, - Thrice crown’d as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, - Down to the very dust dishonour’d by - The very means he tempted to defy - The irresistible. And shall not I, - Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought - The battle Fate has with my father fought, - Now the mere mouth-piece of its victory— - Oh, shall not I, the champion’s sword laid down, - Be yet more shamed to wear the teacher’s gown, - And, blushing at the part I had to play, - Down where that honour’d head I was to lay - By this more just submission of my own, - The treason Fate has forced on me atone? - - _King._ Oh, Segismund, in whom I see indeed, - Out of the ashes of my self-extinction - A better self revive; if not beneath - Your feet, beneath your better wisdom bow’d, - The Sovereignty of Poland I resign, - With this its golden symbol; which if thus - Saved with its silver head inviolate, - Shall nevermore be subject to decline; - But when the head that it alights on now - Falls honour’d by the very foe that must, - As all things mortal, lay it in the dust, - Shall star-like shift to his successor’s brow. - - _Shouts, trumpets, etc._ God save King Segismund! - - _Seg._ For what remains— - As for my own, so for my people’s peace, - Astolfo’s and Estrella’s plighted hands - I disunite, and taking hers to mine, - His to one yet more dearly his resign. - - _Shouts, etc._ God save Estrella, Queen of Poland! - - _Seg._ (_to Clotaldo_). You - That with unflinching duty to your King, - Till countermanded by the mightier Power, - Have held your Prince a captive in the tower, - Henceforth as strictly guard him on the throne - No less my people’s keeper than my own.[15] - - You stare upon me all, amazed to hear - The word of civil justice from such lips - As never yet seem’d tuned to such discourse. - But listen—In that same enchanted tower, - Not long ago I learn’d it from a dream - Expounded by this ancient prophet here; - And which he told me, should it come again, - How I should bear myself beneath it; not - As then with angry passion all on fire, - Arguing and making a distemper’d soul; - But ev’n with justice, mercy, self-control, - As if the dream I walk’d in were no dream, - And conscience one day to account for it. - A dream it was in which I thought myself, - And you that hail’d me now then hail’d me King, - In a brave palace that was all my own, - Within, and all without it, mine; until, - Drunk with excess of majesty and pride, - Methought I tower’d so high and swell’d so wide, - That of myself I burst the glittering bubble, - That my ambition had about me blown, - And all again was darkness. Such a dream - As this in which I may be walking now; - Dispensing solemn justice to you shadows, - Who make believe to listen; but anon, - With all your glittering arms and equipage, - King, princes, captains, warriors, plume and steel, - Ay, ev’n with all your airy theatre, - May flit into the air you seem to rend - With acclamation, leaving me to wake - In the dark tower; or dreaming that I wake - From this that waking is; or this and that - Both waking or both dreaming; such a doubt - Confounds and clouds our mortal life about. - And, whether wake or dreaming, this I know, - How dream-wise human glories come and go; - Whose momentary tenure not to break, - Walking as one who knows he soon may wake - So fairly carry the full cup, so well - Disorder’d insolence and passion quell, - That there be nothing after to upbraid - Dreamer or doer in the part he play’d, - Whether To-morrow’s dawn shall break the spell, - Or the Last Trumpet of the eternal Day, - When Dreaming with the Night shall pass away. - - [_Exeunt._ - - - - -FOOTNOTES - - -[1] I will not answer for the accuracy of my version of this dilemma at -Ombre: neither perhaps could Lazaro for his: which, together with the -indifference (I presume) of all present readers on the subject, has made -me indifferent about it. Cesar, I see, starts with almost the same fine -hand Belinda had, who also was - - ‘_Just in the jaws of ruin and Codille_,’ - -as he was, but, unlike him, saved by that unseen king of hearts that - - ‘_Lurk’d in her hand and mourn’d his captive queen_.’ - -[2] The ambition for a coach, so frequently laughed at by Calderon, is -said to be in full force now; not for the novelty of the invention, then, -nor perhaps the dignity, so much as for the real comfort of easy and -sheltered carriage in such a climate. - -[3] This little song is from the _Desdicha de la Voz_. - -[4] One cannot fail to be reminded of the multiplication of Falstaff’s -men in buckram, not the only odd coincidence between the two poets. -Lazaro’s solution of the difficulty seems to me quite worthy of Falstaff. - -[5] Vicente’s flirtation with the two Criadas, and its upshot, is -familiar to English play-goers in the comedy of ‘The Wonder.’ - -[6] - - Como me podre vengar - Si aquel, que me ha de ayuda - A sustentarme, me advierte - Que armado en la terra dura - Solo ha de irme aprovechando - De aldaba, con que ir llamando - A mi misma sepultura? - - Ne deth, alas! ne will not han my lif. - Thus walke I like a resteles caitif, - And on the ground, which is my modres gate, - I knocke with my staf erlich and late, - And say to hire, ‘Leve mother, let me yn.’ - - CHAUCER’S _Pardoner’s Tale_. - -[7] The Biographie Universelle says it was Don Pedro of _Castile_ about -whose cognomen there was some difference of opinion; a defence of him -being written in 1648 by Count de Roca, ambassador from Spain to Venice, -entitled, ‘El Rey Don Pedro, llamado el Cruel, el Justiciero, y el -Necessitado, defendido.’ It is he, I suppose, figures in the ‘Medico de -su Honra.’ He flourished at the same time, however, with his namesake of -Arragon. - -[8] - - Y se queda su intencion - Sin su efecto descubierta. - -[9] Don Lope de Figueroa, who figures also in the _Amar despues de la -Muerte_, was (says Mr. Ticknor) ‘the commander under whom Cervantes -served in Italy, and probably in Portugal, when he was in the _Tercio -de Flandes_,—the Flanders Regiment,—one of the best bodies of troops in -the armies of Philip II.,’ and the very one now advancing, with perhaps -Cervantes in it, to Zalamea. - -[10] ‘A hoop of whalebone, used to spread out the petticoat to a wide -circumference;’—Johnson; who one almost wonders did not spread out into a -wider circumference of definition about the ‘_poore verdingales_,’ that -(according to Heywood) - - ——‘must lie in the streete, - To have them no doore in the citye made meete.’ - -The Spanish name is ‘guarda infanta,’ which puzzles Don Torribio, as to -what his cousin had to do with infants. Our word was first (as Heywood -writes) _verdingale:_ which, as Johnson tells us, ‘much exercised the -etymology of Skinner, who at last seems to determine that it is derived -from _vertu garde_.’ This, however, Johnson thinks does not at all get -to the bottom of the etymology, which may, he says, be found in Dutch. -Perhaps the old French _petenlair_ was of the same kindred. - -[11] The Phenomena that follow, and are here supposed to be magic -illusions created in Cipriano’s Eyes, are in the original represented by -theatrical Machinery. - -[12] As this version of Calderon’s drama is not for acting, a higher -and wider mountain-scene than practicable may be imagined for Rosaura’s -descent in the first Act and the soldiers ascent in the last. The bad -watch kept by the sentinels who guarded their state-prisoner, together -with much else (not all!) that defies sober sense in this wild drama, I -must leave Calderon to answer for: whose audience were not critical of -detail and probability, so long as a good story, with strong, rapid, and -picturesque action and situation, was set before them. - -[13] ‘Some report that they’—(panthers)—‘have one marke on the shoulders -resembling the moone, growing and decreasing as she doth, sometimes -showing a full compasse, and otherwhiles hollowed and pointed with tips -like the hornes.’—_Philemon Holland’s Pliny_, b. viii. c. 17. - -[14] Almander, or almandre, Chaucer’s word for _almond-tree_, Rom. Rose, -1363. - -[15] In Calderon’s drama, the Soldier who liberates Segismund meets with -even worse recompense than in the version below. I suppose some such -saving clause against prosperous treason was necessary in the days of -Philip IV., if not later. - - _Capt._ And what for him, my liege, who made you free - To honour him who held you prisoner? - - _Seg._ By such self-proclamation self-betray’d - Less to your Prince’s service or your King’s - Loyal, than to the recompence it brings; - The tower he leaves I make you keeper of - For life—and, mark you, not to leave alive; - For treason may, but not the traitor, thrive. - -THE END - -_Printed by R & R. CLARK, LIMITED, Edinburgh._ - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Eight Dramas of Calderon, by -Pedro Calderon de la Barca - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 63776 *** |