  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
ACT IScene 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 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 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, 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 Phoebus, 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 Phoebus 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. [Exeunt. ACT IIScene 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 [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. [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 IIIScene 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. |
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