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diff --git a/7487-h/7487-h.htm b/7487-h/7487-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..15ad068 --- /dev/null +++ b/7487-h/7487-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5863 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Count Alarcos, by Benjamin Disraeli + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Count Alarcos, by Benjamin Disraeli + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Count Alarcos + A Tragedy + +Author: Benjamin Disraeli + +Release Date: July 31, 2009 [EBook #7487] +Last Updated: September 7, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUNT ALARCOS *** + + + + +Produced by K. Kay Shearin, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + COUNT ALARCOS + </h1> + <h2> + A TRAGEDY + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Benjamin Disraeli + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + As there is no historical authority for the events of the celebrated + Ballad on which this Tragedy is founded, I have fixed upon the thirteenth + century for the period of their occurrence. At that time the kingdom of + Castille had recently obtained that supremacy in Spain which led, in a + subsequent age, to the political integrity of the country. Burgos, its + capital, was a magnificent city; and then also arose that masterpiece of + Christian architecture, its famous Cathedral. + </p> + <p> + This state of comparative refinement and civilisation permitted the + introduction of more complicated motives than the rude manners of the + Ballad would have authorised; while the picturesque features of the + Castillian middle ages still flourished in full force; the factions of a + powerful nobility, renowned for their turbulence, strong passions, + enormous crimes, profound superstition. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [Delta] +</pre> + <p> + London: May, 1839 + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> DRAMATIS PERSONAE </a><br /> + </p> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ACT I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ACT IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> ACT V </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + DRAMATIS PERSONAE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE KING OF CASTILLE. + COUNT ALARCOS, a Prince of the Blood. + COUNT OF SIDONIA. + COUNT OF LEON. + PRIOR OF BURGOS. + ORAN, a Moor. + FERDINAND, a PAGE. + GUZMAN JACA, a BRAVO. + GRAUS, the Keeper of a Posada. + + SOLISA, Infanta of Castille, only child of the King. + FLORIMONDE, Countess Alarcos. + FLIX, a Hostess. + + Courtiers, Pages, Chamberlains, Bravos, and Priests. +</pre> + <p> + Time—the 13th Century. Scene—Burgos, the capital of Castille, + and its vicinity. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT I + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 1 + + A Street in Burgos; the Cathedral in the distance. + + [Enter Two Courtiers.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I:1:1 1ST COURT. + The Prince of Hungary dismissed? + + I:1:2 2ND COURT. + Indeed + So runs the rumour. + + I:1:3 1ST COURT. + Why the spousal note + Still floats upon the air! + + I:1:4 2ND COURT. + Myself this morn + Beheld the Infanta’s entrance, as she threw, + Proud as some hitless barb, her haughty glance + On our assembled chiefs. + + I:1:5 1ST COURT. + The Prince was there? + + I:1:6 2ND COURT. + Most royally; nor seemed a man more fit + To claim a kingdom for a dower. He looked + Our Gadian Hercules, as the advancing peers + Their homage paid. I followed in the train + Of Count Alarcos, with whose ancient house + My fortunes long have mingled. + + I:1:7 1ST COURT. + ‘Tis the same, + But just returned? + + I:1:8 2ND COURT. + Long banished from the Court; + And only favoured since the Queen’s decease, + His ancient foe. + + I:1:9 1ST COURT. + A very potent Lord? + + I:1:10 2ND COURT. + Near to the throne; too near perchance for peace. + You’re young at Burgos, or indeed ‘twere vain + To sing Alarcos’ praise, the brightest knight + That ever waved a lance in Old Castille. + + I:1:11 1ST COURT. + You followed in his train? + + I:1:12 2ND COURT. + And as we passed, + Alarcos bowing to the lowest earth, + The Infanta swooned; and pale as yon niched saint, + From off the throned step, her seat of place, + Fell in a wild and senseless agony. + + I:1:13 1ST COURT. + Sancta Maria! and the King— + + I:1:14 2ND COURT. + Uprose + And bore her from her maidens, then broke up + The hurried Court; indeed I know no more, + For like a turning tide the crowd pressed on, + And scarcely could I gain the grateful air. + Yet on the Prado’s walk came smiling by + The Bishop of Ossuna; as he passed + He clutched my cloak, and whispered in my ear, + ‘The match is off.’ + + [Enter PAGE.] + + I:1:15 1ST COURT. + Hush! hush! a passenger. + + I:1:16 PAGE. + Most noble Cavaliers, I pray, inform me + Where the great Count Alarcos holds his quarter. + + I:1:17 2ND COURT. + In the chief square. His banner tells the roof; + Your pleasure with the Count, my gentle youth? + + I:1:18 PAGE. + I were a sorry messenger to tell + My mission to the first who asks its aim. + + I:1:19 2ND COURT. + The Count Alarcos is my friend and chief. + + I:1:20 PAGE. + Then better reason I should trusty be, + For you can be a witness to my trust. + + I:1:21 1ST COURT. + A forward youth! + + I:1:22 2ND COURT. + A page is ever pert + + I:1:23 PAGE. + Ay! ever pert is youth that baffles age. + + [Exit PAGE.] + + I:1:24 1ST COURT. + The Count is married? + + I:1:25 2ND COURT. + To a beauteous lady; + And blessed with a fair race. A happy man + Indeed is Count Alarcos. + + [A trumpet sounds.] + + I:1:26 1ST COURT. + Prithee, see; + Passes he now? + + I:1:27 2ND COURT. + Long since. Yon banner tells + The Count Sidonia. Let us on, and view + The passage of his pomp. His Moorish steeds, + They say, are very choice. + + [Exeunt Two Courtiers.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 2. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Chamber in the Palace of Alarcos. The COUNTESS seated and + working at her tapestry; the COUNT pacing the Chamber. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I:2:1 COUN. + You are disturbed, Alarcos? + + I:2:2 ALAR. + ‘Tis the stir + And tumult of this morn. I am not used + To Courts. + + I:2:3 COUN. + I know not why, it is a name + That makes me tremble. + + I:2:4 ALAR. + Tremble, Florimonde, + Why should you tremble? + + I:2:5 COUN. + Sooth I cannot say. + Methinks the Court but little suits my kind; + I love our quiet home. + + I:2:6 ALAR. + This is our home, + + I:2:7 COUN. + When you are here. + + I:2:8 ALAR. + I will be always here. + + I:2:9 COUN. + Thou canst not, sweet Alarcos. Happy hours, + When we were parted but to hear thy horn + Sound in our native woods! + + I:2:10 ALAR. + Why, this is humour! + We’re courtiers now; and we must smile and smirk. + + I:2:11 COUN. + Methinks your tongue is gayer than your glance. + The King, I hope, was gracious? + + I:2:12 ALAR. + Were he not, + My frown’s as prompt as his. He was most gracious. + + I:2:13 COUN. + Something has chafed thee? + + I:2:14 ALAR. + What should chafe me, child, + And when should hearts be light, if mine be dull? + Is not mine exile over? Is it nought + To breathe in the same house where we were born, + And sleep where slept our fathers? Should that chafe? + + I:2:15 COUN. + Yet didst then leave my side this very morn, + And with a vow this day should ever count + Amid thy life most happy; when we meet + Thy brow is clouded. + + I:2:16 ALAR. + Joy is sometimes grave, + And deepest when ‘tis calm. And I am joyful + If it be joy, this long forbidden hall + Once more to pace, and feel each fearless step + Tread on a baffled foe. + + I:2:17 COUN. + Hast thou still foes + + I:2:18 ALAR. + I trust so; I should not be what I am, + Still less what I will be, if hate did not + Pursue me as my shadow. Ah! fair wife, + Thou knowest not Burgos. Thou hast yet to fathom + The depths of thy new world. + + I:2:19 COUN. + I do recoil + As from some unknown woo, from this same world. + I thought we came for peace. + + I:2:20 ALAR. + Peace dwells within + No lordly roof in Burgos. We have come + For triumph. + + I:2:21 COUN. + So I share thy lot, Alarcos, + All feelings are the same. + + I:2:22 ALAR. + My Florimonde, + I took thee from a fair and pleasant home + In a soft land, where, like the air they live in, + Men’s hearts are mild. This proud and fierce Castille + Resembles not thy gentle Aquitaine, + More than the eagle may a dove, and yet + It is my country. Danger in its bounds + Weighs more than foreign safety. But why speak + Of what exists not? + + I:2:23 COUN. + And I hope may never! + + I:2:24 ALAR. + And if it come, what then? This chance shall find me + Not unprepared. + + I:2:25 COUN. + But why should there be danger? + And why should’st thou, the foremost prince of Spain, + Fear or make foes? Thou standest in no light + Would fall on other shoulders; thou hast no height + To climb, and nought to gain. Thou art complete; + The King alone above thee, and thy friend. + + I:2:26 ALAR. + So I would deem. I did not speak of fear. + + I:2:27 COUN. + Of danger? + + I:2:28 ALAR. + That’s delight, when it may lead + To mighty ends. Ah, Florimonde! thou art too pure; + Unsoiled in the rough and miry paths + Of ibis same trampling world; unskilled in heats + Of fierce and emulous spirits. There’s a rapture + In the strife of factions, that a woman’s soul + Can never reach. Men smiled on me to-day + Would gladly dig my grave; and yet I smiled, + And gave them coin as ready as their own, + And not less base. + + I:2:29 COUN. + And can there be such men, + And canst thou live with them? + + I:2:30 ALAR. + Ay! and they saw + Me ride this morning in my state again; + The people cried ‘Alarcos and Castille!’ + The shout will dull their feasts. + + I:2:31 COUN. + There was a time + Thou didst look back as on a turbulent dream + On this same life. + + I:2:32 ALAR. + I was an exile then. + This stirring Burgos has revived my vein. + Yea, as I glanced from off the Citadel + This very morn, and at my feet outspread + Its amphitheatre of solemn towers + And groves of golden pinnacles, and marked + Turrets of friends and foes; or traced the range, + Spread since my exile, of our city’s walls + Washed by the swift Arlanzon: all around + The flash of lances, blaze of banners, rush + Of hurrying horsemen, and the haughty blast + Of the soul-stirring trumpet, I renounced + My old philosophy, and gazed as gazes + The falcon on his quarry! + + I:2:33 COUN. + Jesu grant + The lure will bear no harm! + + [A trumpet sounds.] + + I:2:34 ALAR. + Whose note is that? + I hear the tramp of horsemen in the court; + We have some guests. + + I:2:35 COUN. + Indeed! + + [Enter the COUNT OF SIDONIA and the COUNT OF LEON.] + + I:2:36 ALAR. + My noble friends, + My Countess greets ye! + + I:2:37 SIDO. + And indeed we pay + To her our homage. + + I:2:38 LEON. + Proud our city boasts + So fair a presence. + + I:2:39 COUN. + Count Alarcos’ friends + Are ever welcome here. + + I:2:40 ALAR. + No common wife. + Who welcomes with a smile her husband’s friends. + + I:2:41 SIDO. + Indeed a treasure! When I marry, Count, + I’ll claim your counsel. + + I:2:42 COUN. + ‘Tis not then your lot? + + I:2:43 SIDO. + Not yet, sweet dame; tho’ sooth to say, full often + I dream such things may be. + + I:2:44 COUN. + Your friend is free? + + I:2:45 LEON. + And values freedom: with a rosy chain + I still should feel a captive. + + I:2:46 SIDO. + Noble Leon + Is proof against the gentle passion, lady, + And will ere long, my rapier for a gage, + Marry a scold. + + I:2:47 LEON. + In Burgos now, methinks, + Marriage is scarce the mode. Our princess frowns, + It seems, upon her suitors. + + I:2:48 SIDO. + Is it true + The match is off? + + I:2:49 LEON. + ‘Tis said. + + I:2:50 COUN. + The match is off + You did not tell me this strange news, Alarcos. + + I:2:51 SIDO. + Did he not tell you how— + + I:2:52 ALAR. + In truth, good sirs, + My wife and I are somewhat strangers here, + And things that are of moment to the minds + That long have dwelt on them, to us are nought. + + [To the Countess.] + + There was a sort of scene to-day at Court; + The Princess fainted: we were all dismissed, + Somewhat abruptly; but, in truth, I deem + These rumours have no source but in the tongues + Of curious idlers. + + I:2:53 SIDO. + Faith, I hold them true. + Indeed they’re very rife. + + I:2:54 LEON. + Poor man, methinks + His is a lot forlorn, at once to lose + A mistress and a crown! + + I:2:55 COUN. + Yet both may bring + Sorrow and cares. But little joy, I ween, + Dwells with a royal bride, too apt to claim + The homage she should yield. + + I:2:56 SIDO. + I would all wives + Hold with your Countess in this pleasing creed. + + I:2:57 ALAR. + She has her way: it is a cunning wench + That knows to wheedle. Burgos still maintains + Its fame for noble fabrics. Since my time + The city’s spread. + + I:2:58 SIDO. + Ah! you’re a traveller, Count. + And yet we have not lagged. + + I:2:59 COUN. + The Infanta, sirs, + Was it a kind of swoon? + + I:2:60 ALAR. + Old Lara lives + Still in his ancient quarter? + + I:2:61 LEON. + With the rats + That share his palace. You spoke, Madam? + + I:2:62 COUN. + She + Has dainty health, perhaps? + + I:2:63 LEON. + All ladies have. + And yet as little of the fainting mood + As one could fix on— + + I:2:64 ALAR. + Mendola left treasure? + + I:2:65 SIDO. + Wedges of gold, a chamber of sequins + Sealed up for ages, flocks of Barbary sheep + Might ransom princes, tapestry so rare + The King straight purchased, covering for the price + Each piece with pistoles. + + I:2:66 COUN. + Is she very fair + + I:2:67 LEON. + As future queens must ever be, and yet + Her face might charm uncrowned. + + I:2:68 COUN. + It grieves me much + To hear the Prince departs. ‘Tis not the first + Among her suitors + + I:2:69 ALAR. + Your good uncle lives— + Nunez de Leon? + + I:2:70 LEON. + To my cost, Alarcos; + He owes me much. + + I:2:71 SIDO. + Some promises his heir + Would wish fulfilled. + + I:2:72 COUN. + In Gascony, they said, + Navarre had sought her hand. + + I:2:73 LEON. + He loitered here + But could not pluck the fruit: it was too high. + Sidonia threw him in a tilt one day. + The Infanta has her fancies; unhorsed knights + Count not among them. + + [Enter a CHAMBERLAIN who whispers COUNT ALARCOS.] + + I:2:74 ALAR. + Urgent, and me alone + Will commune with! A Page! Kind guests, your pardon, + I’ll find you here anon. My Florimonde, + Our friends will not desert you, like your spouse. + + [Exit ALARCOS.] + + I:2:75 COUN. + My Lords, will see our gardens? + + I:2:76 SIDO. + We are favoured. + We wait upon your steps. + + I:2:77 LEON. + And feel that roses + Will spring beneath them. + + I:2:78 COUN. + You are an adept, sir, + In our gay science. + + I:2:79 LEON. + Faith, I stole it, lady, + From a loose Troubadour Sidonia keeps + To write his sonnets. + + [Exeunt omnes.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 3 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Chamber. + + [Enter ALARCOS and PAGE.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I:3:1 PAGE. + Will you wait here, my Lord? + + I:3:2 ALAR. + I will, sir Page. + + [Exit PAGE.] + + The Bishop of Ossuna: what would he? + He scents the prosperous ever. Ay! they’ll cluster + Round this new hive. But I’ll not house them yet. + Marry, I know them all; but me they know, + As mountains might the leaping stream that meets + The ocean as a river. Time and exile + Change our life’s course, but is its flow less deep + Because it is more calm? I’ve seen to-day + Might stir its pools. What if my phantom flung + A shade on their bright path? ‘Tis closed to me + Although the goal’s a crown. She loved me once; + Now swoons, and now the match is off. She’s true. + But I have clipped the heart that once could soar + High as her own! Dreams, dreams! And yet entranced, + Unto the fair phantasma that is fled, + My struggling fancy clings; for there are hours + When memory with her signet stamps the brain + With an undying mint; and these were such, + When high Ambition and enraptured Love, + Twin Genii of my daring destiny, + Bore on my sweeping life with their full wing, + Like an angelic host: + + [In the distance enter a lady veiled.] + + Is this their priest? + Burgos unchanged I see. + + [Advancing towards her.] + + A needless veil + To one prophetic of thy charms, fair lady. + And yet they fall on an ungracious eye. + + [Withdraws the veil.] + + Solisa! + + I:3:3 SOL. + Yes! Solisa; once again + O say Solisa! let that long lost voice + Breathe with a name too faithful! + + I:3:4 ALAR. + Oh! what tones, + What mazing sight is this! The spellbound forms + Of my first youth rise up from the abyss + Of opening time. I listen to a voice + That bursts the sepulchre of buried hope + Like an immortal trumpet. + + I:3:5 SOL. + Thou hast granted, + Mary, my prayers! + + I:3:6 ALAR. + Solisa, my Solisa! + + I:3:7 SOL. + Thine, thine, Alarcos. But thou: whose art thou? + + I:3:8 ALAR. + Within this chamber is my memory bound; + I have no thought, no consciousness beyond + Its precious walls. + + I:3:9 SOL. + Thus did he look, thus speak, + When to my heart he clung, and I to him + Breathed my first love—and last. + + I:3:10 ALAR. + Alas! alas! + Woe to thy Mother, maiden. + + I:3:11 SOL. + She has found + That which I oft have prayed for. + + I:3:12 ALAR. + But not found + A doom more dark than ours. + + I:3:13 SOL. + I sent for thee, + To tell thee why I sent for thee; yet why, + Alas! I know not. Was it but to look + Alone upon the face that once was mine? + This morn it was so grave. O! was it woe, + Or but indifference, that inspired that brow + That seemed so cold and stately? Was it hate? + O! tell me anything, but that to thee + I am a thing of nothingness. + + I:3:14 ALAR. + O spare! + Spare me such words of torture. + + I:3:15 SOL. + Could I feel + Thou didst not hate me, that my image brought + At least a gentle, if not tender thoughts, + I’d be content. I cannot live to think, + After the past, that we should meet again + And change cold looks. We are not strangers, say + At least we are not strangers? + + I:3:16 ALAR. + Gentle Princess— + + I:3:17 SOL. + Call me Solisa; tho’ we meet no more + Call me Solisa now. + + I:3:18 ALAR. + Thy happiness— + + I:3:19 SOL. + O! no, no, no, not happiness, at least + Not from those lips. + + I:3:20 ALAR. + Indeed it is a name + That ill becomes them. + + I:3:21 SOL. + Yet they say, thou’rt happy, + And bright with all prosperity, and I + Felt solace in that thought. + + I:3:22 ALAR. + Prosperity! + Men call them prosperous whom they deem enjoy + That which they envy; but there’s no success + Save in one master-wish fulfilled, and mine + Is lost for ever. + + I:3:23 SOL. + Why was it? O, why + Didst thou forget me? + + I:3:24 ALAR. + Never, lady, never— + But ah! the past, the irrevocable past— + We can but meet to mourn. + + I:3:25 SOL. + No, not to mourn + I came to bless thee, came to tell to thee + I hoped that thou wert happy. + + I:3:26 ALAR. + Come to mourn. + I’ll find delight in my unbridled grief: + Yes! let me fling away at last this mask, + And gaze upon my woe. + + I:3:27 SOL. + O, it was rash, + Indeed ‘twas rash, Alarcos; what, sweet sir, + What, after all our vows, to hold me false, + And place this bar between us! I’ll not think + Thou ever loved’st me as thou did’st profess, + And that’s the bitter drop. + + I:3:28 ALAR. + Indeed, indeed— + + I:3:29 SOL. + I could bear much, I could bear all, but this + My faith in thy past love, it was so deep, + So pure, so sacred, ‘twas my only solace; + I fed upon it in my secret heart, + And now e’en that is gone. + + I:3:30 ALAR. + Doubt not the past, + ‘Tis sanctified. It is the green fresh spot + In my life’s desert. + + I:3:31 SOL. + There is none to thee + As I have been? Speak, speak, Alarcos, tell me + Is’t true? Or, in this shipwreck of my soul, + Do I cling wildly to some perishing hope + That sinks like me? + + I:3:32 ALAR. + The May-burst of the heart + Can bloom but once; and mine has fled, not faded. + That thought gave fancied solace, ah, ‘twas fancy, + For now I feel my doom. + + I:3:33 SOL. + Thou hast no doom + But what is splendid as thyself. Alas! + Weak woman, when she stakes her heart, must play + Ever a fatal chance. It is her all, + And when ‘tis lost, she’s bankrupt; but proud man + Shuffles the cards again, and wins to-morrow + What pays his present forfeit. + + I:3:34 ALAR. + But alas! + What have I won? + + I:3:35 SOL. + A country and a wife. + + I:3:36 ALAR. + A wife! + + I:3:37 SOL. + A wife, and very fair, they say. + She should be fair, who could induce thee break + Such vows as thine. O! I am very weak. + Why came I here? Was it indeed to see + If thou could’st look on me? + + I:3:38 ALAR. + My own Solisa. + + I:3:39 SOL. + Call me not thine; why, what am I to thee + That thou should’st call me thine? + + I:3:40 ALAR. + Indeed, sweet lady, + Thou lookest on a man as bruised in spirit, + As broken-hearted, and subdued in soul, + As any breathing wretch that deems the day + Can bring no darker morrow. Pity me! + And if kind words may not subdue those lips + So scornful in their beauty, be they touched + At least by Mercy’s accents! Was’t a crime, + I could not dare believe that royal heart + Retained an exile’s image? that forlorn, + Harassed, worn out, surrounded by strange aspects + And stranger manners, in those formal ties + Custom points out, I sought some refuge, found + At least companionship, and, grant ‘twas weak, + Shrunk from the sharp endurance of the doom + That waits on exile, utter loneliness! + + I:3:41 SOL. + His utter loneliness! + + I:3:42 ALAR. + And met thy name, + Most beauteous lady, prithee think of this, + Only to hear the princes of the world + Were thy hot suitors, and that one would soon + Be happier than Alarcos. + + I:3:43 SOL. + False, most false, + They told thee false. + + I:3:44 ALAR. + At least, then, pity me, + Solisa! + + I:3:45 SOL. + Ah! Solisa, that sweet voice, + Why should I pity thee? ‘Tis not my office. + Go, go to her that cheered thy loneliness, + Thy utter loneliness. And had I none? + Had I no pangs of solitude? Exile! + O! there were moments I’d have gladly given + My crown for banishment. A wounded heart + Beats freer in a desert; ‘tis the air + Of palaces that chokes it. + + I:3:46 ALAR. + Fate has crossed, + Not falsehood, our sweet loves. Our lofty passion + Is tainted with no vileness. Memory bears + Convulsion, not contempt; no palling sting + That waits on base affections. It is something + To have loved thee; and in that thought I find + My sense exalted; wretched though I be. + + I:3:47 SOL. + Is he so wretched? Yet he is less forlorn + Than when he sought, what I would never seek, + A partner in his woe! I’ll ne’er believe it; + Thou art not wretched. Why, thou hast a friend, + A sweet companion in thy grief to soothe + Thy loneliness, and feed on thy bright smiles, + Thrill with thine accents, with impassioned reverence + Enclasp thine hand, and with enchained eyes + Gaze on thy glorious presence. O, Alarcos! + Art thou not worshipped now? What, can it be, + That there is one, who walks in Paradise, + Nor feels the air immortal? + + I:3:48 ALAR. + Let my curse + Descend upon the hour I left thy walls, + My father’s town! + + I:3:49 SOL. + My blessing on thy curse! + Thou hast returned, thou hast returned, Alarcos? + + I:3:50 ALAR. + To despair. + + I:3:51 SOL. + Yet ‘tis not the hour he quitted + Our city’s wall, it is the tie that binds him + Within those walls my lips would more denounce, + But ah, that tie is dear! + + I:3:52 ALAR. + Accursed be + The wiles that parted us; accursed be + The ties that sever us + + I:3:53 SOL. + Thou’rt mine. + + I:3:54 ALAR. + For ever. + Thou unpolluted passion of my youth, + My first, my only, my enduring love! + + [They embrace.] + + [Enter FERDINAND, the PAGE.] + + I:3:55 PAGE. + Lady, a message from thy royal father; + He comes— + + I:3:56 SOL. + + [Springing from the arms of Alarcos.] + + My father! word of fear! Why now + To cloud my light? I had forgotten fate; + But he recalls it. O my bright Alarcos! + My love must fly. Nay, not one word of care; + Love only from those lips. Yet, ere we part, + Seal our sweet faith renewed. + + I:3:57 ALAR. + And never broken. + + [Exit Alarcos.] + + I:3:58 SOL. + Why has he gone? Why did I bid him go? + And let this jewel I so daring plucked + Slip in the waves again? I’m sure there’s time + To call him back, and say farewell once more. + I’ll say farewell no more; it was a word + Ever harsh music when the morrow brought + Welcomes renewed of love, No more farewells. + O when will he be mine! I cannot wait, + I cannot tarry, now I know he loves me; + Each hour, each instant that I see him not, + Is usurpation of my right. O joy! + Am I the same Solisa, that this morn + Breathed forth her orison with humbler spirit + Than the surrounding acolytes? Thou’st smiled, + Sweet Virgin, on my prayers. Twice fifty tapers + Shall burn before thy shrine. Guard over me + O! mother of my soul, and let me prosper + In my great enterprise! O hope! O love! + O sharp remembrance of long baffled joy! + Inspire me now. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 4. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The KING; the INFANTA. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I:4:1 KING. + I see my daughter? + + I:4:2 SOL. + Sir, your duteous child. + + I:4:3 KING. + Art thou indeed my child? I had some doubt + I was a father. + + I:4:4 SOL. + These are bitter words. + + I:4:5 KING. + Even as thy conduct. + + I:4:6 SOL. + Then it would appear + My conduct and my life are but the same. + + I:4:7 KING. + I thought thou wert the Infanta of Castille, + Heir to our realm, the paragon of Spain + The Princess for whose smiles crowned Christendom + Sends forth its sceptred rivals. Is that bitter? + Or bitter is it with such privilege, + And standing on life’s vantage ground, to cross + A nation’s hope, that on thy nice career + Has gaged its heart? + + I:4:8 SOL. + Have I no heart to gage? + A sacrificial virgin, must I bind + My life to the altar, to redeem a state, + Or heal some doomed People? + + I:4:9 KING. + Is it so? + Is this an office alien to thy sex? + Or what thy youth repudiates? We but ask + What nature sanctions. + + I:4:10 SOL. + Nature sanctions Love; + Your charter is more liberal. Let that pass. + I am no stranger to my duty, sir, + And read it thus. The blood that shares my sceptre + Should be august as mine. A woman loses + In love what she may gain in rank, who tops + Her husband’s place; though throned, I would exchange + An equal glance. His name should be a spell + · To rally soldiers. Politic he should be; + And skilled in climes and tongues; that stranger knights + Should bruit on, high Castillian courtesies. + Such chief might please a state? + + I:4:11 KING. + Fortunate realm! + + I:4:12 SOL. + And shall I own less niceness than my realm? + No! I would have him handsome a god; + Hyperion in his splendor, or the mien + Of conquering Bacchus, one whose very step + Should guide a limner, and whose common words + Are caught by Troubadours to frame their songs! + And O, my father, what if this bright prince + Should I have a heart as tender as his soul + Was high and peerless? If with this same heart + He loved thy daughter? + + I:4:13 KING. + Close the airy page + Of thy romance; such princes are not found + Except in lays and legends! yet a man + Who would become a throne, I found thee, girl; + The princely Hungary. + + I:4:14 SOL. + A more princely fate, + Than an unwilling wife, he did deserve. + + I:4:15 KING. + Yet wherefore didst thou pledge thy troth to him? + + I:4:16 SOL. + And wherefore do I smile when I should sigh? + And wherefore do I feed when I would fast? + And wherefore do I dance when I should pray? + And wherefore do I live when I should die? + Canst answer that, good Sir? O there are women + The world deem mad, or worse, whose life but seems + One vile caprice, a freakish thing of whims + And restless nothingness; yet if we pierce + The soul, may be we’ll touch some cause profound + For what seems causeless. Early love despised, + Or baffled, which is worse; a faith betrayed, + For vanity or lucre; chill regards, + Where to gain constant glances we have paid + Some fearful forfeit: here are many springs, + Unmarked by shallow eyes, and some, or all + Of these, or none, may prompt my conduct now— + But I’ll not have thy prince. + + I:4:17 KING. + My, gentle child— + + I:4:18 SOL. + I am not gentle. I might have been once; + But gentle thoughts and I have parted long; + The cause of such partition thou shouldst know + If memories were just. + + I:4:19 KING. + Harp not, I pray, + On an old sorrow. + + I:4:20 SOL. + Old! he calls it old! + The wound is green, and staunch it, or I die. + + I:4:21 KING. + Have I the skill? + + I:4:22 SOL. + Why! art thou not a King? + Wherein consists the magic of a crown + But in the bold achievement of a deed + Would scare a clown to dream? + + I:4:23 KING. + I’d read thy thought. + + I:4:24 SOL. + Then have it; I would marry. + + I:4:25 KING. + It is well; + It is my wish. + + I:4:26 SOL. + And unto such a prince + As I’ve described withal. For though a prince + Of Fancy’s realm alone, as thou dost deem, + Yet doth he live indeed. + + I:4:27 KING. + To me unknown. + + I:4:28 SOL. + O! father mine, before thy reverend knees + Ere this we twain have knelt. + + I:4:29 KING. + Forbear, my child; + Or can it be my daughter doth not know + He is no longer free? + + I:4:30 SOL. + The power that bound him, + That bondage might dissolve? To holy church + Thou hast given great alms? + + I:4:31 KING. + There’s more to gain thy wish, + If more would gain it; but it cannot be, + Even were he content. + + I:4:32 SOL. + He is content. + + I:4:33 KING. + Hah! + + I:4:34 SOL. + For he loves me still. + + I:4:35 KING. + I would do much + To please thee. I’m prepared to bear the brunt + Of Hungary’s ire; but do not urge, Solisa, + Beyond capacity of sufferance + My temper’s proof. + + I:4:36 SOL. + Alarcos is my husband, + Or shall the sceptre from our line depart. + Listen, ye saints of Spain, I’ll have his hand, + Or by our faith, my fated womb shall be + As barren as thy love, proud King. + + I:4:37 KING. + Thou’rt mad! + Thou’rt mad! + + I:4:38 SOL. + Is he not mine? Thy very hand, + Did it not consecrate our vows? What claim + So sacred as my own? + + I:4:39 KING. + He did conspire— + + I:4:40 SOL. + ‘Tis false, thou know’st ‘tis false: against themselves + Men do not plot: I would as soon believe + My hand could hatch a treason ‘gainst my sight, + As that Alarcos would conspire to seize + A diadem I would myself have placed + Upon his brow. + + I:4:41 KING. + + [taking her hand] + + Nay, calmness. Say ‘tis true + He was not guilty, say perchance he was not— + + I:4:42 SOL. + Perchance, O! vile perchance. Thou know’st full well, + Because he did reject her loose desires + And wanton overtures— + + I:4:43 KING. + Hush, hush, O hush! + + I:4:44 SOL. + The woman called my mother— + + I:4:45 KING. + Spare me, spare— + + I:4:46 SOL. + Who spared me? + Did not I kneel, and vouch his faith, and bathe + Thy hand with my quick tears, and clutch thy robe + With frantic grasp? Spare, spare indeed? In faith + Thou hast taught me to be merciful, thou hast,— + Thou and my mother! + + I:4:47 KING. + Ah! no more, no more! + A crowned King cannot recall the past, + And yet may glad the future. She thou namest, + She was at least thy mother; but to me, + Whate’er her deeds, for truly, there were times + Some spirit did possess her, such as gleams + Now in her daughter’s eye, she was a passion, + A witching form that did inflame my life + By a breath or glance. Thou art our child; the link + That binds me to my race; thou host her place + Within my shrined heart, where thou’rt the priest + And others are unhallowed; for, indeed, + Passion and time have so dried up my soul, + And drained its generous juices, that I own + No sympathy with man, and all his hopes + To me are mockeries. + + I:4:48 SOL. + Ah! I see, my father, + That thou will’st aid me! + + I:4:49 KING. + Thou canst aid thyself. + Is there a law to let him from thy presence? + His voice may reach thine ear; thy gracious glance + May meet his graceful offices. Go to. + Shall Hungary frown, if his right royal spouse + Smile on the equal of her blood and state, + Her gentle cousin? + + I:4:50 SOL. + And is this thine aid! + + I:4:51 KING. + What word has roughed the brow, but now confiding + In a fond father’s love? + + I:4:52 SOL. + Alas! what word? + What have I said? what done? that thou should’st deem + I could do this, this, this, that is so foul, + My baffled tongue deserts me. Thou should’st know me, + Thou hast set spies on me. What! have they told thee + I am a wanton? I do love this man + As fits a virgin’s heart. Heaven sent such thoughts + To be our solace. But to act a toy + For his loose hours, or worse, to find him one + Procured for mine, grateful for opportunities + Contrived with decency, spared skillfully + From claims more urgent; not to dare to show + Before the world my homage; when he’s ill + To be away, and only share his gay + And lusty pillow; to be shut out from all + That multitude of cares and charms that waits + But on companionship; and then to feel + These joys another shares, another hand + These delicate rites performing, and thou’rt remembered, + In the serener heaven of his bliss, + But as the transient flash: this is not love; + This is pollution. + + I:4:53 KING. + Daughter, I were pleased + My cousin could a nearer claim prefer + To my regard. Ay, girl, ‘twould please me well + He were my son, thy husband; but what then? + My pleasure and his conduct jar; his fate + Baulks our desire. He’s married and has heirs. + + I:4:54 SOL. + Heirs, didst thou say heirs? + + I:4:55 KING. + What ails thee? + + I:4:56 SOL. + Heirs, heirs? + + I:4:57 KING. + Thou art very pale! + + I:4:58 SOL. + The faintness of the morn + Clings to me still; I pray thee, father, grant + Thy child one easy boon. + + I:4:59 KING. + She has to speak + But what she wills. + + I:4:60 SOL. + Why, then, she would renounce + Her heritage; yes, place our ancient crown + On brows it may become. A veil more suits + This feminine brain; in Huelgas’ cloistered shades + I’ll find oblivion. + + I:4:61 KING. + Woe is me! The doom + Falls on our house. I had this daughter left + To lavish all my wealth on and my might. + I’ve treasured for her; for her I have slain + My thousands, conquered provinces, betrayed, + Renewed, and broken faith. She was my joy; + She has her mother’s eyes, and when she speaks + Her voice is like Brunhalda’s. Cursed hour, + That a wild fancy touched her brain to cross + All my great hopes! + + I:4:62 SOL. + My father, my dear father, + Thou call’dst me fondly, but some moments past, + Thy gentle child. I call my saint to witness + I would be such. To say I love this man + Is shallow phrasing. Since man’s image first + Flung its wild shadow on my virgin soul, + It has borne no other reflex. I know well + Thou deemest he was forgotten; this day’s passion + Passed as unused confrontment, and so transient + As it was turbulent. No, no, full oft, + When thinking on him, I have been the same. + Fruitless or barren, this same form is his, + Or it is God’s. My father, my dear father, + Remember he was mine, and thou didst pour + Thy blessing on our heads! O God, O God! + When I recall the passages of love + That have ensued between me and this man, + And with thy sanction, and then just bethink + He is another’s, O it makes me mad. + Talk not to me of sceptres: can she rule + Whose mind is anarchy? King of Castille, + Give me the heart that thou didst rob me of! + The penal hour’s at hand. Thou didst destroy + My love, and I will end thy line—thy line + That is thy life. + + I:4:63 KING. + Solisa, I will do all + A father can,—a father and a King. + + I:4:64 SOL. + Give me Alarcos! + + I:4:65 KING. + Hush, disturb me not; + I’m in the throes of some imaginings + A human voice might scare. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + END OF THE FIRST ACT. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT II + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 1 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Street in Burgos. + + [Enter the COUNT OF SIDONIA and the COUNT OF LEON.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II:1:1 SIDO. + Is she not fair? + + II:1:2 LEON. + What then? She but fulfils + Her office as a woman. For to be + A woman and not fair, is, in my creed, + To be a thing unsexed. + + II:1:3 SIDO. + Happy Alarcos! + They say she was of Aquitaine, a daughter + Of the De Foix. I would I had been banished. + + II:1:4 LEON. + Go and plot then. They cannot take your head, + For that is gone. + + II:1:5 SIDO. + But banishment from Burgos + Were worse than fifty deaths. O, my good Leon, + Didst ever see, didst ever dream could be, + Such dazzling beauty? + + II:1:6 LEON. + Dream! I never dream; + Save when I’ve revelled over late, and then + My visions are most villanous; but you, + You dream when you’re awake. + + II:1:7 SIDO. + Wert ever, Leon, + In pleasant Aquitaine? + + II:1:8 LEON. + O talk of Burgos; + It is my only subject—matchless town, + Where all I ask are patriarchal years + To feel satiety like my sad friend. + + II:1:9 SIDO. + ‘Tis not satiety now makes me sad; + So check thy mocking tongue, or cure my cares. + + II:1:10 LEON. + Absence cures love. Be off to Aquitaine. + + II:1:11 SIDO. + I chose a jester for my friend, and feel + His value now. + + II:1:12 LEON. + You share the lover’s lot + When you desire and you despair. What then? + You know right well that woman is but one, + Though she take many forms, and can confound + The young with subtle aspects. Vanity + Is her sole being. Make the myriad vows + That passionate fancy prompts. At the next tourney + Maintain her colours ‘gainst the two Castilles + And Aragon to boot. You’ll have her! + + II:1:13 SIDO. + Why! + This was the way I woo’d the haughty Lara, + But I’ll not hold such passages approach + The gentle lady of this morn. + + II:1:14 LEON. + Well, then, + Try silence, only sighs and hasty glances + Withdrawn as soon as met. Could’st thou but blush: + But there’s no hope. In time our sighs become + A sort of plaintive hint what hopeless rogues + Our stars have made us. Would we had but met + Earlier, yet still we hope she’ll spare a tear + To one she met too late. Trust me she’ll spare it; + She’ll save this sinner who reveres a saint. + Pity or admiration gains them all. + You’ll have her! + + II:1:15 SIDO. + Well, whate’er the course pursued, + Be thou a prophet! + + [Enter ORAN.] + + II:1:16 ORAN. + Stand, Senors, in God’s name. + + II:1:17 LEON. + Or the devil’s. + Well, what do you want? + + II:1:18 ORAN. + Many things, but one + Most principal. + + II:1:19 SIDO. + And that’s— + + II:1:20 ORAN. + A friend. + + II:1:21 LEON. + You’re right + To seek one in the street, he’ll prove as true + As any that you’re fostered with. + + II:1:22 ORAN. + In brief, + I’m as you see a Moor; and I have slain + One of our princes. Peace exists between + Our kingdom and Castille; they track my steps. + You’re young, you should be brave, generous you may be. + I shall be impaled. Save me! + + II:1:23 LEON. + Frankly spoken. + Will you turn Christian? + + II:1:24 ORAN. + Show me Christian acts, + And they may prompt to Christian thoughts. + + II:1:25 SIDO. + Although + The slain’s an infidel, thou art the same. + The cause of this rash deed? + + II:1:26 ORAN. + I am a soldier, + And my sword’s notched, sirs. This said Emir struck me. + Before the people too, in the great square + Of our chief place, Granada, and forsooth, + Because I would not yield the way at mosque. + His life has soothed my honour: if I die, + I die content; but with your gracious aid + I would live happy. + + II:1:27 LEON. + You love life? + + II:1:28 ORAN. + Most dearly. + + II:1:29 LEON. + Sensible Moor, although he be impaled + For mobbing in a mosque. I like this fellow; + His bearing suits my humour. He shall live + To do more murders. Come, bold infidel, + Follow to the Leon Palace; and, sir, prithee + Don’t stab us in the back. + + [Exeunt omnes.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 2 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Chamber in the Palace of COUNT ALARCOS. + At the back of the Scene the Curtains of a large Jalousie withdrawn. + + [Enter COUNT ALARCOS.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II:2:1 ALAR. + ‘Tis circumstance makes conduct; life’s a ship, + The sport of every wind. And yet men tack + Against the adverse blast. How shall I steer, + Who am the pilot of Necessity? + But whether it be fair or foul, I know not; + Sunny or terrible. Why let her wed him? + What care I if the pageant’s weight may fall + On Hungary’s ermined shoulders, if the spring + Of all her life be mine? The tiar’d brow + Alone makes not a King. Would that my wife + Confessed a worldlier mood! Her recluse fancy + Haunts still our castled bowers. Then civic air + Inflame her thoughts! Teach her to vie and revel, + Find sport in peerless robes, the pomp of feasts + And ambling of a genet— + + [A serenade is heard.] + + Hah! that voice + Should not be strange. A tribute to her charms. + ‘Tis music sweeter to a spouse’s ear + Than gallants dream of. Ay, she’ll find adorers. + Or Burgos is right changed. + + [Enter the COUNTESS.] + + Listen, child. + + [Again the serenade is heard.] + + II:2:2 COUN. + ‘Tis very sweet. + + II:2:3 ALAR. + It is inspired by thee. + + II:2:4 COUN. + Alarcos! + + II:2:5 ALAR. + Why dost look so grave? Nay, now, + There’s not a dame in Burgos would not give + Her jewels for such songs. + + II:2:6 COUN. + Inspired by me! + + II:2:7 ALAR. + And who so fit to fire a lover’s breast? + He’s clearly captive. + + II:2:8 COUN. + O! thou knowest I love not + Such jests, Alarcos. + + II:2:9 ALAR. + Jest! I do not jest. + I am right proud the partner of my state + Should count the chief of our Castillian knights + Among her train. + + II:2:10 COUN. + I pray thee let me close + These blinds. + + II:2:11 ALAR. + Poh, poh! what, baulk a serenade? + ‘Twould be an outrage to the courtesies + Of this great city. Faith! his voice is sweet. + + II:2:12 COUN. + Would that he had not sung! It is a sport + In which I find no pastime. + + II:2:13 ALAR. + Marry, come, + It gives me great delight. ‘Tis well for thee, + On thy first entrance to our world, to find + So high a follower. + + II:2:14 COUN. + Wherefore should I need + His following? + + II:2:15 ALAR. + Nought’s more excellent for woman, + Than to be fixed on as the cynosure + Of one whom all do gaze on. ‘Tis a stamp + Whose currency, not wealth, rank, blood, can match; + These are raw ingots, till they are impressed + With fashion’s picture. + + II:2:16 COUN. + Would I were once more + Within our castle! + + II:2:17 ALAR. + Nursery days! The world + Is now our home, and we must worldly be, + Like its bold stirrers. I sup with the King. + There is no feast, and yet to do me honour, + Some chiefs will meet. I stand right well at Court, + And with thine aid will stand e’en better. + + II:2:18 COUN. + Mine! + I have no joy but in thy joy, no thought + But for thy honour, and yet, how to aid + Thee in these plans or hopes, indeed, Alarcos, + Indeed, I am perplexed. + + II:2:19 ALAR. + Art not my wife? + Is not this Burgos? And this pile, the palace + Of my great fathers? They did raise these halls + To be the symbols of their high estate, + The fit and haught metropolis of all + Their force and faction. Fill them, fill them, wife, + With those who’ll serve me well. Make this the centre + Of all that’s great in Burgos. Let it be + The eye of the town, whereby we may perceive + What passes in his heart: the clustering point + Of all convergence. Here be troops of friends + And ready instruments. Wear that sweet smile, + That wins a partisan quicker than power; + Speak in that tone gives each a special share + In thy regard, and what is general + Let all deem private. O! thou’lt play it rarely. + + II:2:20 COUN. + I would do all that may become thy wife. + + II:2:21 ALAR. + I know it, I know it. Thou art a treasure, Florimonde, + And this same singer—thou hast not asked his name. + Didst guess it? Ah! upon thy gentle cheek + I see a smile. + + II:2:22 COUN. + My lord—indeed— + + II:2:23 ALAR. + Thou playest + Thy game less like a novice than I deemed. + Thou canst not say thou didst not catch the voice + Of the Sidonia? + + II:2:24 COUN. + My good lord, indeed + His voice to me is as unknown as mine + Must be to him. + + II:2:25 ALAR. + Whose should the voice but his, + Whose stricken sight left not thy face an instant, + But gazed as if some new-born star had risen + To light his way to paradise? I tell thee, + Among my strict confederates I would count + This same young noble. He is a paramount chief; + Perchance his vassals might outnumber mine, + Conjoined we’re adamant. No monarch’s breath + Makes me again an exile. Florimonde, + Smile on him; smiles cost nothing; should he judge + They mean more than they say, why smile again; + And what he deems affection, registered, + Is but chaste Mockery. I must to the citadel. + Sweet wife, good-night. + + [Exit ALARCOS.] + + II:2:26 COUN. + O! misery, misery, misery! + Must we do this? I fear there’s need we must, + For he is wise in all things, and well learned + In this same world that to my simple sense + Seems very fearful. Why should men rejoice, + They can escape from the pure breath of heaven + And the sweet franchise of their natural will, + To such a prison-house? To be confined + In body and in soul; to breathe the air + Of dark close streets, and never use one’s tongue + But for some measured phrase that hath its bent + Well gauged and chartered; to find ready smiles + When one is sorrowful, or looks demure + When one would laugh outright. Never to be + Exact but when dissembling. Is this life? + I dread this city. As I passed its gates + My litter stumbled, and the children shrieked + And clung unto my bosom. Pretty babes! + I’ll go to them. O! there is innocence + Even in Burgos. + + [Exit COUNTESS.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 3 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Chamber in the Royal Palace. The INFANTA SOLISA alone. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II:3:1 SOL. + I can but think my father will be just + And see us righted. O ‘tis only honest, + The hand that did this wrong should now supply + The sovereign remedy, and balm the wound + Itself inflicted. He is with him now; + Would I were there, unseen, yet seeing all! + But ah! no cunning arras could conceal + This throbbing heart. I’ve sent my little Page, + To mingle with the minions of the Court, + And get me news. How he doth look, bow eat, + What says he and what does, and all the haps + Of this same night, that yet to me may bring + A cloudless morrow. See, even now he comes. + + [Enter the PAGE.] + + Prithee what news? Now tell me all, my child, + When thou’rt a knight, will I not work the scarf + For thy first tourney! Prithee tell me all. + + II:3:2 PAGE. + O lady mine, the royal Seneschal + He was so crabbed, I did scarcely deem + I could have entered. + + II:3:3 SOL. + Cross-grained Seneschal! + He shall repent of this, my pretty Page; + But thou didst enters? + + II:3:4 PAGE. + I did so contrive. + + II:3:5 SOL. + Rare imp! And then? + + II:3:6 PAGE. + Well, as you told me, then + I mingled with the Pages of the King. + They’re not so very tall; I might have passed + I think for one upon a holiday. + + II:3:7 SOL. + O thou shalt pass for better than a page + But tell me, child, didst see my gallant Count? + + II:3:8 PAGE. + On the right hand— + + II:3:9 SOL. + Upon the King’s right hand? + + II:3:10 PAGE. + Upon the King’s right hand, and there were also— + + II:3:11 SOL. + Mind not the rest; thou’rt sure on the right hand? + + II:3:12 PAGE. + Most sure; and on the left— + + II:3:13 SOL. + Ne’er mind the left, + Speak only of the right. How did he seem? + Did there pass words between him and the King? + Often or scant? Did he seem gay or grave? + Or was his aspect of a middle tint, + As if he deemed that there were other joys + Not found within that chamber? + + II:3:14 PAGE. + Sooth to say, + He did seem what he is, a gallant knight. + Would I were such! For talking with the King, + He spoke, yet not so much but he could spare + Words to the other lords. He often smiled, + Yet not so often, that a limner might + Describe his mien as jovial. + + II:3:15 SOL. + ‘Tis himself! + What next? Will they sit long? + + II:3:16 PAGE. + I should not like + Myself to quit such company. In truth, + The Count of Leon is a merry lord. + There were some tilting jests, I warrant you, + Between him and your knight. + + II:3:17 SOL. + O tell it me! + + II:3:18 PAGE. + The Count Alarcos, as I chanced to hear, + For tiptoe even would not let me see, + And that same Pedro, who has lately come + To Court, the Senor of Montilla’s son, + He is so rough, and says a lady’s page + Should only be where there are petticoats. + + II:3:19 SOL. + Is he so rough? He shall be soundly whipped. + But tell me, child, the Count Alarcos— + + II:3:20 PAGE. + Well, + The Count Alarcos—but indeed, sweet lady, + I do not wish that Pedro should be whipped. + + II:3:21 SOL. + He shall not then be whipped—speak of the Count. + + II:3:22 PAGE. + The Count was showing how your Saracen + Doth take your lion captive, thus and thus: + And fashioned with his scarf a dexterous noose + Made of a tiger’s skin: your unicorn, + They say, is just as good. + + II:3:23 SOL. + Well, then Sir Leon— + + II:3:24 PAGE. + Why then your Count of Leon—but just then + Sancho, the Viscount of Toledo’s son, + The King’s chief Page, takes me his handkerchief + And binds it on my eyes, he whispering round + Unto his fellows, here you see I’ve caught + A most ferocious cub. Whereat they kicked, + And pinched, and cuffed me till I nearly roared + As fierce as any lion, you be sure. + + II:3:25 SOL. + Rude Sancho, he shall sure be sent from Court! + My little Ferdinand—thou hast incurred + Great perils for thy mistress. Go again + And show this signet to the Seneschal, + And tell him that no greater courtesy + Be shown to any guest than to my Page. + This from myself—or I perchance will send, + Shall school their pranks. Away, my faithful imp, + And tell me how the Count Alarcos seems. + + II:3:26 PAGE. + I go, sweet lady, but I humbly beg + Sancho may not be sent from Court this time. + + II:3:27 SOL. + Sancho shall stay. + + [Exit PAGE.] + + I hope, ere long, sweet child, + Thou too shalt be a page unto a King. + I’m glad Alarcos smiled not overmuch; + Your smilers please me not. I love a face + Pensive, not sad; for where the mood is thoughtful, + The passion is most deep and most refined. + Gay tempers bear light hearts—are soonest gained + And soonest lost; but he who meditates + On his own nature, will as deeply scan + The mind he meets, and when he loves, he casts + His anchor deep. + + [Re-enter PAGE.] + + Give me the news. + + II:3:28 PAGE. + The news! + I could not see the Seneschal, but gave + Your message to the Pages. Whereupon + Sancho, the Viscount of Toledo’s son, + Pedro, the Senor of Montilla’s son, + The young Count of Almeira, and— + + II:3:29 SOL. + My child, + What ails thee? + + II:3:30 PAGE. + O the Viscount of Jodar, + I think he was the very worst of all; + But Sancho of Toledo was the first. + + II:3:31 SOL. + What did they? + + II:3:32 PAGE. + ‘Las, no sooner did I say + All that you told me, than he gives the word, + ‘A guest, a guest, a very potent guest,’ + Takes me a goblet brimful of strong wine + And hands it to me, mocking, on his knee. + This I decline, when on his back they lay + Your faithful Page, nor set me on my legs + Till they had drenched me with this fiery stuff, + That I could scarcely see, or reel my way + Back to your presence. + + II:3:33 SOL. + Marry, ‘tis too much + E’en for a page’s license. Ne’er you mind, + They shall to Prison by to-morrow’s dawn. + I’ll bind this kerchief round your brow, its scent + Will much revive you. Go, child, lie you down + On yonder couch. + + II:3:34 PAGE. + I’m sure I ne’er can sleep + If Sancho of Toledo shall be sent + To-morrow’s dawn to prison. + + II:3:35 SOL. + Well, he’s pardoned. + + II:3:36 PAGE. + Also the Senor of Montilla’s son, + + II:3:37 SOL. + He shall be pardoned too. Now prithee sleep. + + II:3:38 PAGE. + The young Count of Almeira— + + II:3:39 SOL. + O no more. + They all are pardoned. + + II:3:40 PAGE. + I do humbly pray + The Viscount of Jodar be pardoned too. + + [Exit SOLISA.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 4 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Banquet; the KING seated; on his right ALARCOS. + SIDONIA, LEON, the ADMIRAL OF CASTILLE, and other LORDS. + Groups of PAGES, CHAMBERLAINS, and SERVING-MEN. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II:4:1 The KING. + Would’st match them, cousin, ‘gainst our barbs? + + II:4:2 ALAR. + Against + Our barbs, Sir! + + II:4:3 KING. + Eh, Lord Leon, you can scan + A courser’s points? + + II:4:4 LEON. + O, Sir, your travellers + Need fleeter steeds than we poor shambling folks + Who stay at home. To my unskilful sense, + Speed for the chase and vigour for the tilt, + Meseems enough. + + II:4:5 ALAR.’ + If riders be as prompt. + + II:4:6 LEON. + Our tourney is put off, or please your Grace, + I’d try conclusions with this marvellous beast, + This Pegasus, this courser of the sun, + That is to blind us all with his bright rays + And cloud our chivalry. + + II:4:7 KING. + My Lord Sidonia, + You’re a famed judge: try me this Cyprus wine; + An English prince did give it me, returning + From the holy sepulchre. + + II:4:8 SIDO. + Most rare, my liege, + And glitters like a gem! + + II:4:9 KING. + It doth content + Me much, your Cyprus wine. Lord Admiral, + Hast heard the news? The Saracens have fled + Before the Italian galleys. + + II:4:10 THE ADMIRAL OF CASTILLE. + No one guides + A galley like your Pisan. + + II:4:11 ALAR. + The great Doge + Of Venice, sooth, would barely veil his flag + To Pisa. + + II:4:12 ADM. + Your Venetian hath his craft. + This Saracenic rent will surely touch + Our turbaned neighbours? + + II:4:13 KING. + To the very core, + Granada’s all a-mourning. Good, my Lords, + One goblet more. We’ll give our cousin’s health. + Here’s to the Count Alarcos. + + II:4:14 OMNES. + To the Count Alarcos. + + [The Guests rise, pay their homage to the KING, and are retiring.] + + II:4:15 KING. + Good night, Lord Admiral; my Lord of Leon, + My Lord Sidonia, and my Lord of Lara, + Gentle adieus; to you, my Lord, and you, + To all and each. Cousin, good night—and yet + A moment rest awhile; since your return + I’ve looked on you in crowds, it may become us + To say farewell alone. + + [The KING waves his hand to the SENESCHAL—the Chamber is cleared.] + + II:4:16 ALAR. + Most gracious Sire, + You honour your poor servant. + + II:4:17 KING. + Prithee, sit. + This scattering of the Saracen, methinks, + Will hold the Moor to his truce? + + II:4:18 ALAR. + It would appear + To have that import. + + II:4:19 KING. + Should he pass the mountains, + We can receive him. + + II:4:20 ALAR. + Where’s the crown in Spain + More prompt and more prepared? + + II:4:21 KING. + Cousin, you’re right. + We flourish. By St. James, I feel a glow + Of the heart to see you here once more, my cousin; + I’m low in the vale of years, and yet I think + I could defend my crown with such a knight + On my right hand. + + II:4:22 ALAR. + Such liege and land would raise + Our lances high. + + II:4:23 KING. + We carry all before us. + Leon reduced. The crescent paled in Cordova, + Why, if she gain Valencia, Aragon + Must kick the beam. And shall she gain Valencia? + It cheers my blood to find thee by my side; + Old days, old days return, when thou to me + Wert as the apple of mine eye. + + II:4:24 ALAR. + My liege, + This is indeed most gracious. + + II:4:25 KING. + Gentle cousin, + Thou shalt have pause to say that I am gracious. + O! I did ever love thee; and for that + Some passages occurred between us once, + That touch my memory to the quick; I would + Even pray thee to forget them, and to hold + I was most vilely practised on, my mind + Poisoned, and from a fountain, that to deem + Tainted were frenzy. + + II:4:26 ALAR. + + [Falling on his knee, and taking the KING’s hand.] + + My most gracious liege, + This morn to thee I did my fealty pledge. + Believe me, Sire, I did so with clear breast, + And with no thought to thee and to thy line + But fit devotion. + + II:4:27 KING. + O, I know it well, + I know thou art right true. Mine eyes are moist + To see thee here again. + + II:4:28 ALAR. + It is my post, + Nor could I seek another. + + II:4:29 KING. + Thou dost know + That Hungary leaves us? + + II:4:30 ALAR. + I was grieved to hear + There were some crosses. + + II:4:31 KING. + Truth, I am not grieved. + Is it such joy this fair Castillian realm, + This glowing flower of Spain, be rudely plucked + By a strange hand? To see our chambers filled + With foreign losels; our rich fiefs and abbeys + The prey of each bold scatterling, that finds + No heirship in his country? Have I lived + And laboured for this end, to swell the sails + Of alien fortunes? O my gentle cousin, + There was a time we had far other hopes! + I suffer for my deeds. + + II:4:32 ALAR. + We must forget, + We must forget, my liege. + + II:4:33 KING. + Is’t then so easy? + Thou hast no daughter. Ah! thou canst not tell + What ‘tis to feel a father’s policy + Hath dimmed a child’s career. A child so peerless! + Our race, though ever comely, veiled to her. + A palm tree in its pride of sunny youth + Mates not her symmetry; her step was noticed + As strangely stately by her nurse. Dost know, + I ever deemed that winning smile of hers + Mournful, with all its mirth? But ah! no more + A father gossips; nay, my weakness ‘tis not. + ‘Tis not with all that I would prattle thus; + But you, my cousin, know Solisa well, + And once you loved her. + + II:4:34 ALAR. + + [Rising.] + + Once! O God! + Such passions are eternity. + + II:4:35 KING. + + [Advancing.] + + What then, + Shall this excelling creature, on a throne + As high as her deserts, shall she become + A spoil for strangers? Have I cause to grieve + That Hungary quit us? O that I could find + Some noble of our land might dare to mix + His equal blood with our Castillian seed! + Art thou more learned in our pedigrees? + Hast thou no friend, no kinsman? Must this realm + Fall to the spoiler, and a foreign graft + Be nourished by our sap? + + II:4:36 ALAR. + Alas! alas! + + II:4:37 KING. + Four crowns; our paramount Castille, and Leon, + Seviglia, Cordova, the future hope + Of Murcia, and the inevitable doom + That waits the Saracen; all, all, all; + And with my daughter! + + II:4:38 ALAR. + Ah! ye should have blasted + My homeward path, ye lightnings! + + II:4:39 KING. + Such a son + Should grudge his sire no days. I would not live + To whet ambition’s appetite. I’m old; + And fit for little else than hermit thoughts. + The day that gives my daughter, gives my crown: + A cell’s my home. + + II:4:40 ALAR. + O, life, I will not curse thee + Let hard and shaven crowns denounce thee vain; + To me thou wert no shade! I loved thy stir + And panting struggle. Power, and pomp, and beauty + Cities and courts, the palace and the fane, + The chace, the revel, and the battle-field, + Man’s fiery glance, and woman’s thrilling smile, + I loved ye all. I curse not thee, O life! + But on my start; confusion. May they fall + From out their spheres, and blast our earth no more + With their malignant rays, that mocking placed + All the delight of life within my reach, + And chained me film fruition. + + II:4:41 KING. + Gentle cousin, + Thou art disturbed; I fear these words of mine, + Chance words ere I did say to thee good night, + For O, ‘twas joy to see thee here again, + Who art my kinsman, and my only one, + Have touched on some old cares for both of us. + And yet the world has many charms for thee; + Thou’rt not like us, and thy unhappy child + The world esteems so favoured. + + II:4:42 ALAR. + Ah, the world + III estimates the truth of any lot. + Their speculation is too far and reaches + Only externals, they are ever fair. + There are vile cankers in your gaudiest flowers, + But you must pluck and peer within the leaves + To catch the pest. + + II:4:43 KING. + Alas! my gentle cousin, + To hear thou hast thy sorrows too, like us, + It pains me much, and yet I’ll not believe it, + For with so fair a wife— + + II:4:44 ALAR. + Torture me not, + Although thou art a King. + + II:4:45 KING. + My gentle cousin, + f spoke to solace thee. We all do hear + Thou art most favoured in a right fair wife. + We do desire to see her; can she find + A friend becomes her better than our child? + + II:4:46 ALAR. + My wife? would she were not! + + II:4:47 KING. + I say so too, + Would she were not! + + II:4:48 ALAR. + Ah me! why did I marry? + + II:4:49 KING. + Truth, it was very rash. + + II:4:50 ALAR. + Who made me rash? + Who drove me from my hearth, and sent me forth + On the unkindred earth? With the dark spleen + Goading injustice, that ‘tis vain to quell, + Entails on restless spirits. Yes, I married, + As men do oft, from very wantonness; + To tamper with a destiny that’s cross, + To spite my fate, to put the seal upon + A balked career, in high and proud defiance + Of hopes that yet might mock me, to beat down + False expectation and its damned lures, + And fix a bar betwixt me and defeat. + + II:4:51 KING. + These bitter words would rob me of my hope, + That thou at least wert happy. + + II:4:52 ALAR. + Would I slept + With my grey fathers! + + II:4:53 KING. + And my daughter too! + O most unhappy pair! + + II:4:54 ALAR. + There is a way. + To cure such woes, one only. + + II:4:55 KING. + ‘Tis my thought. + + II:4:56 ALAR. + No cloister shall entomb this life; the grave + Shall be my refuge, + + II:4:57 KING. + Yet to die were witless, + When Death, who with his fatal finger taps + At princely doors, as freely as he gives + His summons to the serf, may at this instant + Have sealed the only life that throws a shade + Between us and the sun. + + II:4:58 ALAR. + She’s very young. + + II:4:59 KING. + And may live long, as I do hope she will; + Yet have I known as blooming as she die, + And that most suddenly. The air of cities + To unaccustomed lungs is very fatal; + Perchance the absence of her accustomed sports, + The presence of strange faces, and a longing + For those she has been bred among: I’ve known + This most pernicious: she might droop and pine, + And when they fail, they sink most rapidly. + God grant she may not; yet I do remind thee + Of this wild chance, when speaking of thy lot. + In truth ‘tis sharp, and yet I would not die + When Time, the great enchanter, may change all, + By bringing somewhat earlier to thy gate + A doom that must arrive. + + II:4:60 ALAR. + Would it were there! + + II:4:61 KING. + ‘Twould be the day thy hand should clasp my daughter’s, + That thou hast loved so Ion; ‘twould be the day + My crown, the crown of all my realms, Alarcos, + Should bind thy royal brow. Is this the morn + Breaks in our chamber? Why, I did but mean + To say good night unto my gentle cousin + So long unseen. O, we have gossiped, coz, + So cheering dreams! + + [Exeunt.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + END OF THE SECOND ACT. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT III + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 1 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Interior of the Cathedral of Burgos. + The High Altar illuminated; + in the distance, various Chapels lighted, and in each of which Mass is + celebrating: + in all directions groups of kneeling Worshippers. + Before the High Altar the Prior of Burgos officiates, attended by his + Sacerdotal Retinue. + In the front of the Stage, opposite to the Audience, a Confessional. + The chanting of a solemn Mass here commences; as it ceases, + + [Enter ALARCOS.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III:1:1 ALAR. + Would it were done! and yet I dare not say + It should be done. O, that some natural cause, + Or superhuman agent, would step in, + And save me from its practice! Will no pest + Descend upon her blood? Must thousands die + Daily, and her charmed life be spared? As young + Are hourly plucked from out their hearths. A life! + Why, what’s a life? A loan that must return + To a capricious creditor; recalled + Often as soon as lent. I’d wager mine + To-morrow like the dice, were my blood pricked. + Yet now, + When all that endows life with all its price, + Hangs on some flickering breath I could puff out, + I stand agape. I’ll dream ‘tis done: what then? + Mercy remains? For ever, not for ever + I charge my soul? Will no contrition ransom, + Or expiatory torments compensate + The awful penalty? Ye kneeling worshippers, + That gaze in silent ecstacy before + Yon flaming altar, you come here to bow + Before a God of mercy. Is’t not so? + + [ALARCOS walks towards the High Altar and kneels.] + + [A Procession advances front the back of the Scene, singing a solemn Mass, + and preceding the Prior of Burgos, who seats himself in the Confessional + his Train filing of on each side of the Scene: + the lights of the High Altar are extinguished, + but the Chapels remain illuminated.] + + III:1:2 THE PRIOR. + Within this chair I sit, and hold the keys + That open realms no conqueror can subdue, + And where the monarchs of the earth must fain + Solicit to be subjects: Heaven and Hades, + Lands of Immortal light and shores of gloom. + Eternal as the chorus of their wail, + And the dim isthmus of that middle space, + Where the compassioned soul may purge its sins + In pious expiation. Then advance + Ye children of all sorrows, and all sins, + Doubts that perplex, and hopes that tantalize, + All the wild forms the fiend Temptation takes + To tamper with the soul! Come with the care + That eats your daily life; come with the thought + That is conceived in the noon of night, + And makes us stare around us though alone; + Come with the engendering sin, and with the crime + That is full-born. To counsel and to soothe, + I sit within this chair. + + [ALARCOS advances and kneels by the Confessional.] + + III:1:3 ALAR. + O, holy father + My soul is burthened with a crime. + + III:1:4 PRIOR. + My son, + The church awaits thy sin. + + III:1:5 ALAR. + It is a sin + Most black and terrible. Prepare thine ear + For what must make it tremble. + + III:1:6 PRIOR. + Thou dost speak + To Power above all passion, not to man. + + III:1:7 ALAR. + There was a lady, father, whom I loved, + And with a holy love, and she loved me + As holily. Our vows were blessed, if favour + Hang on a father’s benediction. + + III:1:8 PRIOR. + Her + Mother? + + III:1:9 ALAR. + She had a mother, if to bear + Children be all that makes a mother: one + Who looked on me, about to be her child, + With eyes of lust. + + III:1:10 PRIOR. + And thou? + + III:1:11 ALAR. + O, if to trace + But with the memory’s too veracious aid + This tale be anguish, what must be its life + And terrible action? Father, I abjured + This lewd she-wolf. But ah! her fatal vengeance + Struck to my heart. A banished scatterling + I wandered on the earth. + + III:1:12 PRIOR. + Thou didst return? + + III:1:13 ALAR. + And found the being that I loved, and found + Her faithful still. + + III:1:14 PRIOR. + And thou, my son, wert happy? + + III:1:15 ALAR. + Alas! I was no longer free. Strange ties + Had bound a hopeless exile. But she I had loved, + And never ceased to love, for in the form, + Not in the spirit was her faith more pure, + She looked upon me with a glance that told + Her death but in my love. I struggled, nay, + ‘Twas not a struggle, ‘twas an agony. + Her aged sire, her dark impending doom, + And the overwhelming passion of my soul: + My wife died suddenly. + + III:1:16 PRIOR. + And by a life + That should have shielded hers? + + III:1:17 ALAR. + Is there hope of mercy? + Can prayers, can penances, can they avail? + What consecration of my wealth, for I’m rich, + Can aid me? Can it aid me? Can endowments? + Nay, set no bounds to thy unlimited schemes + Of saving charity. Can shrines, can chauntries, + Monastic piles, can they avail? What if + I raise a temple not less proud than this, + Enriched with all my wealth, with all, with all? + Will endless masses, will eternal prayers, + Redeem me from perdition? + + III:1:18 PRIOR. + What, would gold + Redeem the sin it prompted? + + III:1:19 ALAR. + No, by Heaven! + No, Fate had dowered me with wealth might feed + All but a royal hunger. + + III:1:20 PRIOR. + And alone + Thy fatal passion urged thee + + III:1:21 ALAR. + Hah! + + III:1:22 PRIOR. + Probe deep + Thy wounded soul. + + III:1:23 ALAR. + ‘Tis torture: fathomless + I feel the fell incision. + + III:1:24 PRIOR. + There is a lure + Thou dost not own, and yet its awful shade + Lowers in the back-ground of thy soul: thy tongue + Trifles the church’s ear. Beware, my son, + And tamper not with Paradise. + + III:1:25 ALAR. + A breath, + A shadow, essence subtler far than love: + And yet I loved her, and for love had dared + All that I ventured for this twin-born lure + Cradled with love, for which I soiled my soul. + O, father, it was Power. + + III:1:26 PRIOR. + And this dominion + Purchased by thy soul’s mortgage, still is’t thine? + + III:1:27 ALAR. + Yea, thousands bow to him, who bows to thee. + + III:1:28 PRIOR. + Thine is a fearful deed. + + III:1:29 ALAR. + O, is there mercy? + + III:1:30 PRIOR. + Say, is there penitence? + + III:1:31 ALAR. + How shall I gauge it? + What temper of contrition might the church + Require from such a sinner? + + III:1:32 PRIOR. + Is’t thy wish, + Nay, search the very caverns of thy thought, + Is it thy wish this deed were now undone? + + III:1:33 ALAR. + Undone, undone! It is; O, say it were, + And what am I? O, father, wer’t not done, + I should not be less tortured than I’m now; + My life less like a dream of haunting thoughts + Tempting to unknown enormities. The sun + Would rise as beamless on my darkened days, + Night proffer the same torments. Food would fly + My lips the same, and the same restless blood + Quicken my harassed limbs. Undone! undone! + I have no metaphysic faculty + To deem this deed undone. + + III:1:34 PRIOR. + Thou must repent + This terrible deed. Look through thy heart. Thy wife, + There was a time thou lov’dst her? + + III:1:35 ALAR. + I’ll not think + There was a time. + + III:1:36 PRIOR. + And was she fair? + + III:1:37 ALAR. + A form + Dazzling all eyes but mine. + + III:1:38 PRIOR. + And pure? + + III:1:39 ALAR. + No saint + More chaste than she. Her consecrated shape + She kept as ‘twere a shrine, and just as full + Of holy thoughts; her very breath was incense, + And all her gestures sacred as the forms + Of priestly offices! + + III:1:40 PRIOR. + I’ll save thy soul. + Thou must repent that one so fair and pure, + And loving thee so well— + + III:1:41 ALAR. + Father, in vain. + There is a bar betwixt me and repentance. + And yet— + + III:1:42 PRIOR. + Ay, yet— + + III:1:43 ALAR. + The day may come, I’ll kneel + In such a mood, and might there then be hope? + + III:1:44 PRIOR. + We hold the keys that bind and loosen all: + But penitence alone is mercy’s portal. + The obdurate soul is doomed. Remorseful tears + Are sinners’ sole ablution. O, my son, + Bethink thee yet, to die in sin like thine; + Eternal masses profit not thy soul, + Thy consecrated wealth will but upraise + The monument of thy despair. Once more, + Ere yet the vesper lights shall fade away, + I do adjure thee, on the church’s bosom + Pour forth thy contrite heart. + + III:1:45 ALAR. + A contrite heart! + A stainless hand would count for more. I see + No drops on mine. My head is weak, my heart + A wilderness of passion. Prayers, thy prayers! + + [ALARCOS rises suddenly and exit.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 2 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Chamber in the Royal Palace. + + The INFANTA seated in despondency; the KING standing by her side. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III:2:1 KING. + Indeed, ‘tis noticed. + + III:2:2 SOL. + Solitude is all + I ask; and is it then so great a boon? + + III:2:3 KING. + Nay, solitude’s no princely appanage. + Our state’s a pedestal, which men have raised + That they may gaze on greatness. + + III:2:4 SOL. + A false idol, + And weaker than its worshippers. I’ve lived + To feel my station’s vanity. O, Death, + Thou endest all! + + III:2:5 KING. + Thou art too young to die, + And yet may be too happy. Moody youth + Toys in its talk with the dark thought of death, + As if to die were but to change a robe. + It is their present refuge for all cares + And each disaster. When the sere has touched + Their flowing locks, they prattle less of death, + Perchance think more of it. + + III:2:6 SOL. + Why, what is greatness? + Will’t give me love, or faith, or tranquil thoughts? + No, no, not even justice. + + III:2:7 KING. + ‘Tis thyself + That does thyself injustice. Let the world + Have other speculation than the breach + Of our unfilled vows. They bear too near + And fine affinity to what we would, + Ay, what we will. I would not choose this moment, + Men brood too curiously upon the cause + Of the late rupture, for the cause detected + May bar the consequence. + + III:2:8 SOL. + A day, an hour + Sufficed to crush me. Weeks and weeks pass on + Since I was promised right. + + III:2:9 KING. + Take thou my sceptre + And do thyself this right. Is’t, then, so easy? + + III:2:10 SOL. + Let him who did the wrong, contrive the means + Of his atonement. + + III:2:11 KING. + All a father can, + I have performed. + + III:2:12 SOL. + Ah! then there is no hope. + The Bishop of Ossuna, you did say + He was the learnedest clerk of Christendom, + And you would speak to him? + + III:2:13 KING. + What says Alarcos? + + III:2:14 SOL. + I spoke not to him since I first received + His princely pledge. + + III:2:15 KING. + Call on him to fulfil it. + + III:2:16 SOL. + Can he do more than kings? + + III:2:17 KING. + Yes, he alone; + Alone it rests with him. This learn from me. + There is no other let. + + III:2:18 SOL. + I learn from thee + What other lips should tell me. + + III:2:19 KING. + Girl, art sure + Of this same lover? + + III:2:20 SOL. + O! I’ll never doubt him. + + III:2:21 KING. + And yet may be deceived. + + III:2:22 SOL. + He is as true + As talismanic steel. + + III:2:23 KING. + Why, then thou art, + At least thou should’st be, happy. Smile, Solisa; + For since the Count is true, there is no bar. + Why dost not smile? + + III:2:24 SOL. + I marvel that Alarcos + Hath been so mute on this. + + III:2:25 KING. + But thou art sure + He is most true. + + III:2:26 SOL. + Why should I deem him true? + Have I found truth in any? Woe is me, + I feel as one quite doomed. I know not why + I ever was ill-omened. + + III:2:27 KING. + Listen, girl; + Probe this same lover to the core; ‘tmay be, + I think he is, most true; he should be so + If there be faith in vows, and men ne’er break + The pledge its profits them to keep. And yet— + + III:2:28 SOL. + And what? + + III:2:29 KING. + To be his Sovereign’s cherished friend, + And smiled on by the daughter of his King, + Why that might profit him, and please so much, + His wife’s ill humour might be borne withal. + + III:2:30 SOL. + You think him false? + + III:2:31 KING. + I think he might be true: + But when a man’s well placed, he loves not change. + + [Enter at the back of the Scene Count ALARCOS disguised. + He advances, dropping his Hat and Cloak.] + + Ah, gentle cousin, all our thoughts were thine. + + III:2:32 ALAR. + I marvel men should think. Lady, I’ll hope + Thy thoughts are like thyself, most fair. + + III:2:33 KING. + Her thoughts + Are like her fortunes, lofty, but around + The peaks cling vapours. + + III:2:34 ALAR. + Eagles live in clouds, + And they draw royal breath. + + III:2:35 KING. + I’d have her quit, + This strange seclusion, cousin. Give thine aid + To festive purposes. + + III:2:36 ALAR. + A root, an egg, + Why there’s a feast with a holy mind. + + III:2:37 KING. + If ever + I find my seat within a hermitage, + I’ll think the same. + + III:2:38 ALAR. + You have built shrines, sweet lady? + + III:2:39 SOL. + What then, my lord? + + III:2:40 ALAR. + Why then you might be worshipped, + If your image were in front; I’d bow down + To anything so fair. + + III:2:41 KING. + Dost know, my cousin, + Who waits me now? The deputies from Murcia. + The realm is ours, + + [whispers him] + + is thine. + + III:2:42 ALAR. + The church has realms + Wider than both Castilles. But which of them + Will be our lot; that’s it. + + III:2:43 KING. + Mine own Solisa, + They wait me in my cabinet; + + [aside to her] + + Bethink thee + With whom all rests. + + [Exit the KING.] + + III:2:44 SOL. + You had sport to-day, my lord? + The King was at the chace. + + III:2:45 ALAR. + I breathed my barb. + + III:2:46 SOL. + They say the chace hath charm to cheer the spirit, + + III:2:47 ALAR. + ‘Tis better than prayers. + + III:2:48 SOL. + Indeed, I think I’ll hunt. + You and my father seem so passing gay. + + III:2:49 ALAR. + Why this is no confessional, no shrine + Haunted with presaged gloom. I should be gay + To look at thee and listen to thy voice; + For if fair pictures and sweet sounds enchant + The soul of man, that are but artifice, + How then am I entranced, this living picture + Bright by my side, and listening to this music + That nature gave thee. What’s eternal life + To this inspired mortality! Let priests + And pontiffs thunder, still I feel that here + Is all my joy. + + III:2:50 SOL. + Ah! why not say thy woe? + Who stands between thee and thy rights but me? + Who stands between thee and thine ease but me? + Who bars thy progress, brings thee cares, but me? + Lures thee to impossible contracts, goads thy faith + To mad performance, welcomes thee with sighs, + And parts from them with tears? Is this joy? No! + I am thine evil genius. + + III:2:51 ALAR. + Say my star + Of inspiration. This reality + Baffles their mystic threats. Who talks of cares? + Why, what’s a Prince, if his imperial will + Be bitted by a priest! There’s nought impossible. + Thy sighs are sighs of love, and all thy tears + But affluent tenderness. + + III:2:52 SOL. + You sing as sweet + As did the syrens; is it from the heart, + Or from the lips, that voice? + + III:2:53 ALAR. + Solisa! + + III:2:54 SOL. + Ay! + My ear can catch a treacherous tone; ‘tis trained + To perfidy. My Lord Alarcos, look me + Straight in the face. He quails not. + + III:2:55 ALAR. + O my soul, + Is this the being for whose love I’ve pledged + Even thy forfeit! + + III:2:56 SOL. + Alarcos, dear Alarcos, + Look not so stern! I’m mad; yes, yes, my life + Upon thy truth; I know thou’rt true: he said + It rested but with thee; I said it not, + Nor thought it. + + III:2:57 ALAR. + Lady! + + III:2:58 SOL. + Not that voice! + + III:2:59 ALAR. + I’ll know + Thy thought; the King hath spoken? + + III:2:60 SOL. + Words of joy + And madness. With thyself alone he says + It rests. + + III:2:61 ALAR. + Nor said he more? + + III:2:62 SOL. + It had found me deaf, + For he touched hearings quick. + + III:2:63 ALAR. + Thy faith in me + Hath gone. + + III:2:64 SOL. + I’ll doubt our shrined miracles + Before I doubt Alarcos. + + III:2:65 ALAR. + He’ll believe thee, + For at this moment he has much to endure, + And that he could not. + + III:2:66 SOL. + And yet I must choose + This time to vex thee. O, I am the curse + And blight of the existence, which to bless + Is all my thought! Alarcos, dear Alarcos, + I pray thee pardon me. I am so wretched: + This fell suspense is like a frightful dream + Wherein we fall from heights, yet never reach + The bottomless abyss. It wastes my spirit, + Wears down my life, gnaws ever at my heart, + Makes my brain quick when others are asleep, + And dull when theirs is active. O, Alarcos, + I could lie down and die. + + III:2:67 ALAR. + + [Advancing in soliloquy.] + + Asleep, awake, + In dreams, and in the musing moods that wait + On unfulfilled purposes, I’ve done it; + And thought upon it afterwards, nor shrunk + From the fell retrospect. + + III:2:68 SOL. + He’s wrapped in thought; + Indeed his glance was wild when first he entered, + And his speech lacked completeness. + + III:2:69 ALAR. + How is it then, + The body that should be the viler part, + And made for servile uses, should rebel + ‘Gainst the mind’s mandate, and should hold its aid + Aloof from our adventure? Why the sin + Is in the thought, not in the deed; ‘tis not + The body pays the penalty, the soul + Must clear that awful scot. What palls my arm? + It is not pity; trumpet-tongued ambition + Stifles her plaintive voice; it is not love, + For that inspires the blow! Art thou Solisa? + + III:2:70 SOL. + I am that luckless maiden whom you love. + + III:2:71 ALAR. + You could lie down and die. Who speaks of death? + There is no absolution for self-murder. + Why ‘tis the greater sin of the two. There is + More peril in’t. What, sleep upon your post + Because you are wearied? No, we must spy on + And watch occasions. Even now they are ripe. + I feel a turbulent throbbing at my heart + Will end in action: for there spiritual tumults + Herald great deeds. + + III:2:72 SOL. + It is the church’s scheme + Ever to lengthen suits. + + III:2:73 ALAR. + The church? + + III:2:74 SOL. + Ossana + Leans much to Rome. + + III:2:75 ALAR. + And how concerns us that? + + III:2:76 SOL. + His Grace spoke to the Bishop, you must know? + + III:2:77 ALAR. + Ah, yes! his Grace, the church, it is our friend. + And truly should be so. It gave our griefs, + And it should bear their balm. + + III:2:78 SOL. + Hast pardoned me + That I was querulous? But lovers crossed + Wrangle with those that love them, as it were, + To spite affection. + + III:2:79 ALAR. + We are bound together + As the twin powers of the storm. Very love + Now makes me callous. The great bond is sealed; + Look bright; if gloomy, mortgage future bliss + For present comfort. Trust me ‘tis good ‘surance. + I’ll to the King. + + [Exeunt both.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 3 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Street in Burgos. + + [Enter the COUNT OF LEON, followed by ORAN.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III:3:1 LEON. + He has been sighing like a Sybarite + These six weeks past, and now he sends to me + To hire my bravo. Well, that smacks of manhood. + He’ll pierce at least one heart, if not the right one. + Murder and marriage! which the greater crime + A schoolman may decide. All arts exhausted, + His death alone remains. A clumsy course. + I care not. Truth, I hate this same Alarcos, + I think it is the colour of his eyes, + But I do hate him; and the royal ear + Lists coldly to me since this same return. + The King leans wholly on him. Sirrah Moor, + All is prepared? + + III:3:2 ORAN. + And prompt. + + III:3:3 LEON. + ‘Tis well; no boggling; + Let it be cleanly done. + + III:3:4 ORAN. + A stab or two, + And the Arlanzon’s wave shall know the rest. + + III:3:5 LEON. + I’ll have to kibe his heels at Court, if you fail. + + III:3:6 ORAN. + There is no fear. We have the choicest spirits + In Burgos. + + III:3:7 LEON. + Goodly gentlemen! you wait + Their presence? + + III:3:8 ORAN. + Here anon. + + III:3:9 LEON. + Good night, dusk infidel, + They’ll take me for an Alguazil. At home + Your news will reach me. + + III:3:10 ORAN. + And were all your throats cut, + I would not weep. O, Allah, let them spend + Their blood upon themselves! My life he shielded, + And now exacts one at my hands; we’re quits + When this is closed. That thought will grace a deed + Otherwise graceless. I would break the chain + That binds me to this man. His callous eye + Repels devotion, while his reckless vein + Demands prompt sacrifice. Now is’t wise this? + Methinks ‘twere wise to touch the humblest heart + Of those that serve us? In maturest plans + There lacks that finish, which alone can flow + From zealous instruments. But here are some + That have no hearts to touch. + + [Enter Four BRAVOs.] + + How now, good senors. + I cannot call them comrades; you’re exact, + As doubtless ye are brave. You know your duty? + + III:3:11 1ST BRAVO. + And will perform it, or my name is changed, + And I’m not Guzman Jaca. + + III:3:12 ORAN. + You well know + The arm you cross is potent? + + III:3:13 2ND BRAVO. + All the steel + Of Calatrava’s knights shall not protect it. + + III:3:14 3RD BRAVO. + And all the knights to boot. + + III:3:15 4TH BRAVO. + A river business. + + III:3:16 ORAN. + The safest sepulchre. + + III:3:17 4TH BRAVO. + A burial ground + Of which we are the priests, and take our fees; + I never cross a stream, but I do feel + A sense of property. + + III:3:18 ORAN. + You know the signal: + And when I boast I’ve friends, they may appear + To prove I am no braggart. + + III:3:19 1ST BRAVO. + To our posts + It shall be cleanly done, and brief. + + III:3:20 2ND BRAVO. + No oaths, + No swagger. + + III:3:21 3RD BRAVO. + Not a word; but all as pleasant + As we were nobles like himself. + + III:3:22 4TH BRAVO. + ‘Tis true, sir; + You deal with gentlemen. + + [Exeunt BRAVOs.] + + [Enter COUNT ALARCOS.] + + III:3:23 ALAR. + The moon’s a sluggard, + I think, to-night. How now, the Moor that dodged + My steps at vespers. Hem! I like not this. + Friends beneath cloaks; they’re wanted. Save you, sir? + + III:3:24 ORAN. + And you, sir? + + III:3:25 ALAR. + Not the first time we have met, + Or I’ve no eye for lurkers. + + III:3:26 ORAN. + I have tasted + Our common heritage, the air, to-day; + And if the selfsame beam warmed both our bloods, + What then? + + III:3:27 ALAR. + Why nothing; but the sun has set, + And honest men should seek their hearths. + + III:3:28 ORAN. + I wait + My friends. + + [The BRAVOs rush in, and assault COUNT ALARCOS, who, + dropping his Cloak, shows his Sword already drawn, and keeps them at bay.] + + So, so! who plays with princes’ blood? + No sport for varlets. Thus and thus, I’ll teach ye + To know your station. + + III:3:29 1ST BRAVO. + Ah! + + III:3:30 2ND BRAVO. + Away! + + III:3:31 3RD BRAVO. + Fly, fly! + + III:3:32 4TH BRAVO. + No place for quiet men. + + [The BRAVOs run off.] + + III:3:33 ALAR. + A little breath + Is all they have cost me, tho’ their blood has stained + My damask blade. And still the Moor! What ho! + Why fliest not like thy mates? + + III:3:34 ORAN. + Because I wait + To fight. + + III:3:35 ALAR. + Rash caitiff! knowest thou who I am? + + III:3:36 ORAN. + One who I heard was brave, and now has proved it. + + III:3:37 ALAR. + Am I thy foe? + + III:3:38 ORAN. + No more than all thy race. + + III:3:39 ALAR. + Go, save thy life. + + III:3:40 ORAN. + Look to thine own, proud lord. + + III:3:41 ALAR. + Perdition catch thy base-born insolence. + + [They fight: after a long and severe encounter, + ALARCOS disarms ORAN, who falls wounded.] + + III:3:42 ORAN. + Be brief, dispatch me. + + III:3:43 ALAR. + Not a word for mercy? + + III:3:44 ORAN. + Why should’st thou give it? + + III:3:45 ALAR. + ‘Tis not merited, + Yet might be gained. Who set thee on to this? + My sword is at thy throat. Give me his name, + And thine shall live. + + III:3:46 ORAN. + I cannot. + + III:3:47 ALAR. + What, is life + So light a boon? It hangs upon this point. + Bold Moor, is’t then thy love to him who fees thee + Makes thee so faithful? + + III:3:48 ORAN. + No; I hate him. + + III:3:49 ALAR. + What + Restrains thee, then? + + III:3:50 ORAN. + The feeling that restrained + My arm from joining stabbers—Honour. + + III:3:51 ALAR. + Humph! + An overseer of stabbers for some ducats. + And is that honour? + + III:3:52 ORAN. + Once he screened my life, + And this was my return. + + III:3:53 ALAR. + What if I spare + Thy life even now? Wilt thou accord to me + The same devotion? + + III:3:54 ORAN. + Yea; the life thou givest + Thou shouldst command. + + III:3:55 ALAR. + If I, too, have a foe + Crossing my path and blighting all my life? + + III:3:56 ORAN. + This sword should strive to reach him. + + III:3:57 ALAR. + Him! thy bond + Shall know no sex or nation. Limitless + Shall be thy pledge. I’ll claim from thee a life + For that I spare. How now, wilt live? + + III:3:58 ORAN. + To pay + A life for that now spared. + + III:3:59 ALAR. + Swear to thy truth; + Swear by Mahound, and swear by all thy gods, + If thou hast any; swear it by the stars, + In which we all believe; and by thy hopes + Of thy false paradise; swear it by thy soul, + And by thy sword! + + III:3:60 ORAN. + I swear. + + III:3:61 ALAR. + Arise and live. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE END OF THE THIRD ACT. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT IV + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 1 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Interior of a Posada frequented by BRAVOs, in an obscure quarter of + Burgos. FLIX at the fire, frying eggs. Men seated at small tables + drinking; others lying on benches. At the side, but in the front of the + Scene, some Beggars squatted on the ground, thrumming a Mandolin; a + Gipsy Girl dancing. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IV:1:1 A BRAVO. + Come, mother, dost take us for Saracens? I say we are true + Christians, and so must drink wine. + + IV:1:2 ANOTHER BRAVO. + Mother Flix is sour to-night. Keep the evil eye from the olla! + + IV:1:3 3RD BRAVO. + + [advancing to her] + + Thou beauty of Burgos, what are dimples unless seen? Smile! wench. + + IV:1:4 FLIX. + A frying egg will not wait for the King of Cordova. + + IV:1:5 1ST BRAVO. + Will have her way. Graus knows a pretty wife’s worth. A handsome + hostess is bad for the guest’s purse. + + IV:1:6 1ST BRAVO. + + [rising] + + Good companions make good company. Graus, Graus! another flagon. + + IV:1:7 2ND BRAVO. + Of the right Catalan. + + IV:1:8 3RD BRAVO. + Nay, for my omelette. + + IV:1:9 FLIX. + Hungry men think the cook lazy. + + [Enter GRAUS with a Flagon of wine.] + + IV:1:10 1ST BRAVO. + ‘Tis mine. + + IV:1:11 2ND BRAVO. + No, mine. + + IV:1:12 1ST BRAVO. + We’ll share. + + IV:1:13 2ND BRAVO. + No, each man his own beaker; he who shares has the worst half. + + IV:1:14 3RD BRAVO. + + [to FLIX, who brings the omelette] + + An egg and to bed. + + IV:1:15 GRAUS. + Who drinks, first chinks. + + IV:1:16 1ST BRAVO. + The debtor is stoned every day. There will be water-work to-morrow, + and that will wash it out. You know me? + + IV:1:17 GRAUS. + In a long journey and a small inn, one knows one’s company. + + IV:1:18 2ND BRAVO. + Come, I’ll give, but I won’t share. Fill up. + + IV:1:19 GRAUS. + That’s liberal; my way; full measure but prompt pezos; + I loathe your niggards. + + IV:1:20 1ST BRAVO. + As the little tailor of Campillo said, who worked for nothing, + and found thread. + + [To the other BRAVO.] + + Nay, I’ll not refuse; we know each other. + + IV:1:21 2ND BRAVO. + We’ve seen the stars together. + + IV:1:22 AN OLD MAN. + Burgos is not what it was. + + IV:1:23 5TH BRAVO. + + [waking] + + Sleep ends and supper begins. The olla, the olla, Mother Flix; + + [shaking a purse] + + there’s the dinner bell. + + IV:1:24 2ND BRAVO. + That will bring courses. + + IV:1:25 1ST BRAVO. + An ass covered with gold has more respect than a horse with a + pack-saddle. + + IV:1:26 5TH BRAVO. + How for that ass? + + IV:1:27 2ND BRAVO. + Nay, the sheep should have his belly full who quarrels with his mate. + + IV:1:28 5TH BRAVO. + But how for that ass? + + IV:1:29 A FRIAR. + + [advancing] + + Peace be with ye, brethren! A meal in God’s name. + + IV:1:30 5TH BRAVO. + Who asks in God’s name, asks for two. But how for that ass? + + IV:1:31 FLIX. + + [bringing the olla] + + Nay, an ye must brawl, go fight the Moors. ‘Tis a peaceable house, + and we sleep quiet o’ nights. + + IV:1:32 5TH BRAVO. + Am I an ass? + + IV:1:33 FLIX. + He is an ass who talks when he might eat. + + IV:1:34 5TH BRAVO. + A Secadon sausage! Come, mother, I’m all peace; thou’rt a rare hand. + As in thy teeth, comrade, and no more on’t + + IV:1:35 1ST BRAVO. + When I will not, two cannot quarrel. + + IV:1:36 OLD MAN. + Everything is changed for the worse. + + IV:1:37 FRIAR. + For the love of St. Jago, senors; for the love of St. Jago! + + IV:1:38 5TH BRAVO. + When it pleases not God, the saint can do little. + + IV:1:39 2ND BRAVO. + Nay, supper for all, and drink’s the best meat. Some have sung + for it, some danced. There is no fishing for trout in dry breeches. + You shall preach. + + IV:1:40 FRIAR. + Benedicite, brethren— + + IV:1:41 1ST BRAVO. + Nay, no Latin, for the devil’s not here. + + IV:1:42 2ND BRAVO. + And prithee let it be as full of meat as an egg; for we do many + deeds, love not many words. + + IV:1:43 FRIAR. + Thou shalt not steal. + + IV:1:44 1ST BRAVO. + He blasphemes. + + IV:1:45 FRIAR. + But what is theft? + + IV:1:46 2ND BRAVO. + Ay! there it is. + + IV:1:47 FRIAR. + The tailor he steals the cloth, and the miller he steals the meal; + is either a thief? ‘tis the way of trade. But what if our trade + be to steal? Why then our work is to cut purses; to cut purses is + to follow our business; and to follow our business is to obey the + King; and so thieving is no theft. And that’s probatum, and so, amen. + + IV:1:48 5TH BRAVO. + Shall put thy spoon in the olla for that. + + IV:1:49 2ND BRAVO. + And drink this health to our honest fraternity. + + IV:1:50 OLD MAN. + I have heard sermons by the hour; this is brief; every thing falls off. + + [Enter a PERSONAGE masked and cloaked.] + + IV:1:51 1ST BRAVO. + + [to his Companions] + + See’st yon mask? + + IV:1:52 2ND BRAVO. + ‘Tis strange. + + IV:1:53 GRAUS. + + [to FLIX] + + Who is this? + + IV:1:54 FLIX. + The fool wonders, the wise man asks. Must have no masks here. + + IV:1:55 GRAUS. + An obedient wife commands her husband. Business with a stranger, + title enough. + + [Advancing and addressing the Mask.] + + Most noble Senor Mask. + + IV:1:56 THE UNKNOWN. + Well, fellow! + + IV:1:57 GRAUS. + Hem; as it may be. D’ye see, most noble Senor Mask, that ‘tis an + orderly house this, frequented by certain honest gentlemen, that + take their siesta, and eat a fried egg after their day’s work, + and so are not ashamed to show their faces. Ahem! + + IV:1:58 THE UNKNOWN. + As in truth I am in such villanous company. + + IV:1:59 GRAUS. + Wheugh! but ‘tis not the first ill word that brings a blow. + Would’st sup indifferently well here at a moderate rate, we are + thy servants. My Flix hath reputation at the frying-pan, and my + wine hath made lips smack; but here, senor, faces must be uncovered. + + IV:1:60 THE UNKNOWN. + Poh! poh! + + IV:1:61 GRAUS. + Nay, then, I will send some to you shall gain softer words. + + IV:1:62 1ST BRAVO. + Why, what’s this? + + IV:1:63 2ND BRAVO. + Our host is an honest man, and has friends. + + IV:1:64 5TH BRAVO. + Let me finish my olla, and I will discourse with him. + + IV:1:65 THE UNKNOWN. + Courage is fire, and bullying is smoke. I come here on business, + and with you all. + + IV:1:66 1ST BRAVO. + Carraho! and who’s this? + + IV:1:67 THE UNKNOWN. + One who knows you, though you know not him. One whom you have never + seen, yet all fear. And who walks at night, and where he likes. + + IV:1:68 2ND BRAVO. + The devil himself! + + IV:1:69 THE UNKNOWN. + It may be so. + + IV:1:70 2ND BRAVO. + Sit by me, Friar, and speak Latin. + + IV:1:71 THE UNKNOWN. + There is a man missing in Burgos, and I will know where he is. + + IV:1:72 OLD MAN. + There were many men missing in my time. + + IV:1:73 THE UNKNOWN. + Dead or alive, I care not; but land or water, river or turf, I will + know where the body is stowed. See + + [shaking a purse] + + here is eno’ to point all the poniards of the city. You shall + have it to drink his health. + + IV:1:74 A BRAVO. + How call you him? + + IV:1:75 THE UNKNOWN. + Oran, the Moor. + + IV:1:76 1ST BRAVO. + + [Jumping from his seat and approaching the Stranger.] + + My name is Guzman Jaca; my hand was in that business. + + IV:1:77 THE UNKNOWN. + With the Moor and three of your comrades? + + IV:1:78 1ST BRAVO. + The same. + + IV:1:79 THE UNKNOWN. + And how came your quarry to fly next day? + + IV:1:80 1ST BRAVO. + Very true; ‘twas a bad business for all of us. I fought like + a lion; see, my arm is still bound up; but he had advice of + our visit; and no sooner had we saluted him, than there + suddenly appeared a goodly company of twelve serving-men, + or say twelve to fifteen— + + IV:1:81 THE UNKNOWN. + You lie; he walked alone. + + IV:1:82 1ST BRAVO. + Very true; and if I am forced to speak the whole truth, it was thus. + I fought like a lion; see, my arm is still bound up; but I was not + quite his match alone, for I had let blood the day before, and my + comrades were taken with a panic, and so left me in the lurch. + And now you have it all. + + IV:1:83 THE UNKNOWN. + And Oran? + + IV:1:84 1ST BRAVO. + He fled at once. + + IV:1:85 THE UNKNOWN. + Come, come, Oran did not fly. + + IV:1:86 1ST BRAVO. + Very true. We left him alone with the Count. + And now you have it all. + + IV:1:87 THE UNKNOWN. + Had he slain him, the body would have been found. + + IV:1:88 1ST BRAVO. + Very true. That’s the difference between us professional + performers, and you mere amateurs; we never leave the bodies. + + IV:1:89 THE UNKNOWN. + And you can tell me nothing of him? + + IV:1:90 1ST BRAVO. + No, but I engage to finish the Count, any night you like now, + for I have found out his lure. + + IV:1:91 THE UNKNOWN. + How’s that? + + IV:1:92 1ST BRAVO. + Every evening, about an hour after sunset, he enters by a private + way the citadel. + + IV:1:93 THE UNKNOWN. + Hah! what more? + + IV:1:94 1ST BRAVO. + He is stagged; there is a game playing, but what I know not. + + IV:1:95 THE UNKNOWN. + Your name is Guzman Jaca? + + IV:1:96 1ST BRAVO. + The same. + + IV:1:97 THE UNKNOWN. + Honest fellow! there’s gold for you. You know nothing of Oran? + + IV:1:98 1ST BRAVO. + Maybe he has crawled to some place wounded. + + IV:1:99 THE UNKNOWN. + To die like a bird. Look after him. If I wish more, I know + where to find you. What ho, Master Host! I cannot wait to + try your mistress’s art to-night; but here’s my scot for our + next supper. + + [Exit THE UNKNOWN.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 2 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Chamber in the Palace of Alarcos. + + The COUNTESS and SIDONIA. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IV:2:1 SIDO. + Lady, you’re moved: nay, ‘twas an idle word. + + IV:2:2 COUN. + But was it true? + + IV:2:3 SIDO. + And yet might little mean. + + IV:2:4 COUN. + That I should live to doubt! + + IV:2:5 SIDO. + But do not doubt; + Forget it, lady. You should know him well; + Nay, do not credit it. + + IV:2:6 COUN. + He’s very changed. + I would not own, no, not believe that change, + I’ve given it every gloss that might confirm + My sinking heart. Time and your tale agree; + Alas! ‘tis true. + + IV:2:7 SIDO. + I hope not; still believe + It is not true. Would that I had not spoken! + It was unguarded prate. + + IV:2:8 COUN. + You have done me service: + Condemned, the headsman is no enemy, + Bat closes suffering. + + IV:2:9 SIDO. + Yet a bitter doom + To torture those you’d bless. I have a thought. + What if this eve you visit this same spot, + That shrouds these meetings? If he’s wanting then, + The rest might prove as false. + + IV:2:10 COUN. + He will be there, + I feel he will be there. + + IV:2:11 SIDO. + We should not think so, + Until our eyes defeat our hopes. + + IV:2:12 COUN. + O Burgos, + My heart misgave me when I saw thy walls! + To doubt is madness, yet ‘tis not despair, + And that may be my lot. + + IV:2:13 SIDO. + The palace gardens + Are closed, except to master-keys. Here’s one, + My office gives it me, and it can count + Few brethren. You will be alone. + + IV:2:14 COUN. + Alas! + I dare not hope so. + + IV:2:15 SIDO. + Well, well, think of this; + Yet take the key. + + IV:2:16 COUN. + O that it would unlock + The heart now closed to me! To watch his ways + Was once my being. Shall I prove the spy + Of joys I may not share? I will not take + That fatal key. + + IV:2:17 SIDO. + ‘Tis well; I pray you, pardon + My ill-timed zeal. + + IV:2:18 COUN. + Indeed, I should be grateful + That one should wish to serve me. Can it be? + ‘Tis not two months, two little, little months, + You crossed this threshold first; Ah! gentle air, + And we were all so gay! What have I done? + What is all this? so sudden and so strange? + It is not true, I feel it is not true; + ‘Tis factious care that clouds his brow, and calls + For all this timed absence. His brain’s busy + With the State. Is’t not so? I prithee speak, + And say you think it. + + IV:2:19 SIDO. + You should know him well; + And if you deem it so, why I should deem + The inference just. + + IV:2:20 COUN. + Yet if he were not there, + How happy I should sleep! there is no peril; + The garden’s near; and is there shame? ‘Tis love + Makes me a lawful spy. He’ll not be there, + And then there is no prying. + + IV:2:21 SIDO. + Near at hand, + Crossing the way that bounds your palace court, + There is a private portal. + + IV:2:22 COUN. + If I go, + He will not miss me. Ah, I would he might! + So very near; no, no; I cannot go; + And yet I’ll take the key. + + [Takes the key.] + + Would thou could’st speak, + Thou little instrument, and tell me all + The secrets of thy office! My heart beats; + ‘Tis my first enterprise; I would it were + To do him service. No, I cannot go; + Farewell, kind sir; indeed I am so troubled, + I must retire. + + [Exit COUNTESS.] + + IV:2:23 SIDO. + Thy virtue makes me vile; + And what should move my heart inflames my soul. + O marvellous world, wherein I play the villain + From very love of excellence! But for him, + I’d be the rival of her stainless thoughts + And mate her purity. Hah! + + [Enter ORAN.] + + IV:2:24 ORAN. + My noble lord! + + IV:2:25 SIDO. + The Moor! + + IV:2:26 ORAN. + Your servant. + + IV:2:27 SIDO. + Here! ‘tis passing strange. + How’s this? + + IV:2:28 ORAN. + The accident of war, my lord. + I am a prisoner. + + IV:2:29 SIDO. + But at large, it seems. + You have betrayed me + + IV:2:30 ORAN. + Had I chosen that, + I had been free and you not here. I fought, + And fell in single fight. Why spared I know not, + But that the lion’s generous. + + IV:2:31 SIDO. + Will you prove + Your faith + + IV:2:32 ORAN. + Nay, doubt it not. + + IV:2:33 SIDO. + You still can aid me. + + IV:2:34 ORAN. + I am no traitor, and my friends shall find + I am not wanting. + + IV:2:35 SIDO. + Quit these liberal walls + Where you’re not watched. In brief, I’ve coined a tale + Has touched the Countess to the quick. She seeks, + Alone or scantly tended, even now, + The palace gardens; eager to discover + A faithless husband, where she’ll chance to find + One more devout. My steeds and servants wait + At the right post; my distant castle soon + Shall hold this peerless wife. Your resolute spirit + May aid me much. How say you, is it well + That we have met? + + IV:2:36 ORAN. + Right well. I will embark + Most heartily in this. + + IV:2:37 SIDO. + With me at once. + + IV:2:38 ORAN. + At once? + + IV:2:39 SIDO. + No faltering. You have learned and know + Too much to spare you from my sight, good Oran. + With me at once. + + IV:2:40 ORAN. + ‘Tis urgent; well at once, + And I will do good service, or I’ll die. + For what is life unless to aid the life + Has aided thine? + + IV:2:41 SIDO. + On then; with me no eye + Will look with jealousy upon thy step. + + [Exeunt both.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 3 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A retired spot in the Gardens of the Palace. + + [Enter the COUNTESS.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IV:3:1 COUN. + Is’t guilt, that I thus tremble? Why should I + Feel like a sinner? I’ll not dare to meet + His flashing eye. O, with what scorn, what hate + His lightning glance will wither me. Away, + I will away. I care not whom he meets. + What if he love me not, he shall not loathe + The form he once embraced. I’ll be content + To live upon the past, and dream again + It may return. Alas! were I the false one, + I could not feel more humbled. Ah, he comes! + I’ll lie, I’ll vow I’m vile, that I came here + To meet another, anything but that + I dared to doubt him. What, my Lord Sidonia! + + [Enter SIDONIA.] + + IV:3:2 SIDO. + Thy servant and thy friend. Ah! gentle lady, + I deemed this unused scene and ill-timed hour + might render solace welcome. He’ll not come; + Ho crossed the mountains, ere the set of sun, + Towards Briviesca. + + IV:3:3 COUN. + Holy Virgin, thanks! + Home, home! + + IV:3:4 SIDO. + And can a hearth neglected cause + Such raptures? + + IV:3:5 COUN. + I, and only I, neglect it; + My cheek is fire, that I should ever dare + To do this stealthy deed. + + IV:3:6 SIDO. + And yet I feel + I could do one as secret and more bold. + A moment, lady; do not turn away + With that cold look. + + IV:3:7 COUN. + My children wait me, sir; + Yet I would thank you, for you meant me kindness. + + IV:3:8 SIDO. + And mean it yet. Ah! beauteous Florimonde, + It is the twilight hour, when hearts are soft, + And mine is like the quivering light of eve; + I love thee! + + IV:3:9 COUN. + And for this I’m here, and he, + He is not false! O happiness! + + IV:3:10 SIDO. + Sweet lady— + + IV:3:11 COUN. + My Lord Sidonia, I can pardon thee, + I am so joyful. + + IV:3:12 SIDO. + Nay, then. + + IV:3:13 COUN. + Unhand me, Sir! + + IV:3:14 SIDO. + But to embrace this delicate waist. Thou art mine: + I’ve sighed and thou hast spurned. What is not yielded + In war we capture. Ere a flying hour, + Thy hated Burgos vanishes. That voice; + What, must I stifle it, who fain would listen + For ever to its song? In vain thy cry, + For none are here but mine. + + [Enter ORAN.] + + IV:3:15 ORAN. + Turn, robber, turn— + + IV:3:16 SIDO. + Ah! treason in the camp! Thus to thy heart. + + [They fight. ORAN beats off SIDONIA, they leave the scene fighting; + the COUNTESS swoons.] + + [Enter a procession with lighted torches, attending the Infanta SOLISA + from Mass.] + + IV:3:17 1ST USH. + A woman! + + IV:3:18 2ND USH. + Does she live + + IV:3:19 SOL. + What stops our course? + + [The Train ranging themselves on each side, the Infanta approaches + the COUNTESS.] + + IV:3:20 SOL. + Most strange and lovely vision! Does she breathe? + I’ll not believe ‘tis death. Her hand is cold, + And her brow damp; Griselda, Julia, maidens + Hither, and yet stand off; give her free air. + How shall we bear her home? Now, good Lorenzo, + You, and Sir Miguel, raise her; gently, gently. + Still gently, sirs. By heavens, the fairest face + I yet did gaze on! Some one here should know her. + ‘Tis one that must be known. That’s well; relieve + That kerchief from her neck; mind not our state; + I’ll by her side; a swoon, methinks; no more, + Let’s hope and pray! + + [They raise the body of the COUNTESS, and bear her away.] + + [Enter Count of LEON.] + + IV:3:21 LEON. + I’ll fathom this same mystery, + If there be wit in Burgos. I have heard, + Before I knew the Court, old Nunez Leon + Whisper strange things—and what if they prove true? + It is not exile twice would cure that scar. + I’ll reach him yet. ‘Tis likely he may pass + This way; ‘tis lonely, and well suits a step + Would not be noticed. Ha! a man approaches; + I’ll stand awhile aside. + + [Re-enter ORAN.] + + IV:3:22 ORAN. + Gone, is she gone! + Yet safe I feel. O Allah! thou art great! + The arm she bound, and tended with that glance + Of sweet solicitude, has saved her life, + And more than life. The dark and reckless villains! + O! I could curse them, but my heart is soft + With holy triumph. I’m no more an outcast. + And when she calls me, I’d not change my lot + To be an Emir. In their hall to-night + There will be joy, and Oran will have smiles. + This house has knit me to their fate by ties + Stronger than gyves of iron. + + IV:3:23 LEON. + Do I see + The man I seek? Oran! + + [ORAN turns, and recognising Leon, rushes and seizes him.] + + IV:3:24 ORAN. + Incarnate fiend, + Give her me, give her me! + + IV:3:25 LEON. + Off, ruffian, off! + + IV:3:26 ORAN. + I have thee and I’ll hold thee. If I spare + Thy damned life, and do not dash thee down, + And trample on thee, fiend, it is because + Thou art the gaoler of a pearl of price + I cannot gain without thee. Now, where is she? + Now by thy life! + + IV:3:27 LEON. + Why, thou outrageous Moor, + Hast broken thy false prophet’s rule, and so + Fell into unused drink, that thus thou darest + To flout me with thy cloudy menaces? + What mean’st thou, sir? And what have I withheld + From thy vile touch? By heavens, I pass my days + In seeking thy dusk corpse, I deemed well drilled + Ere this, but it awaits my vengeance. + + IV:3:28 ORAN. + Boy! + Licentious boy! Where is she? Now, by Allah! + This poniard to thy heart, unless thou tell’st me. + + IV:3:29 LEON. + Whom dost thou mean? + + IV:3:30 ORAN. + Thy comrade and thy crew + They all have fled. I left the Countess here. + She’s gone. Thou fill’st her place. + + IV:3:31 LEON. + What Countess? Speak. + + IV:3:32 ORAN. + The Count Alarcos’ wife. + + IV:3:33 LEON. + The Count Alarcos! + I’d be right glad to see him; but his wife + Concerns the Lord Sidonia. If he have played + Some Pranks here ‘tis a fool, and he has marred + More than he’ll ever make. My time’s worth gems; + My knightly word, dusk Moor, I tell thee truth. + I will forget these jest, but we must meet + This night at my palace. + + IV:3:34 ORAN. + I’ll see her first. + + [Exit ORAN.] + + IV:3:35 LEON. + Is it the Carnival? What mummery’s this? + What have I heard? One thing alone is clear. + We must be rid of Oran. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 4 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Chamber in the Palace. + The Countess ALARCOS lying on a Couch, + the Infanta kneeling at her side; + MAIDENS grouped around. A PHYSICIAN and the PAGE. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IV:4:1 SOL. + Didst ever see so fair a skin? Her bodice + Should still be loosened. Bring the Moorish water, + Griselda, you. They are the longest lashes! + They hang upon her cheek. Doctor, there’s warmth; + The blood returns? + + IV:4:2 PHY. + But slowly. + + IV:4:3 SOL. + Beauteous creature! + She seems an angel fallen from some star. + ‘Twas well we passed. Untie that kerchief, Julia; + Teresa, wave the fan. There seems a glow + Upon her cheek, what but a moment since + Was like a sculptured saint’s. + IV:4:4 PHY. + She breathes. + + IV:4:5 SOL. + Hush, hush! + + IV:4:6 COUN. + And what is this? where am I? + + IV:4:7 SOL. + With thy friends. + + IV:4:8 COUN. + It is not home. + + IV:4:9 SOL. + If kindness make a home, + Believe it such. + + [The PHYSICIAN signifies silence.] + + Nay lady, not a word, + Those lips must now be closed. I’ve seen such eyes + In pictures, girls. + + IV:4:10 PHY. + Methinks she’ll sleep. + + IV:4:11 SOL. + ‘Tis well. + Maidens, away. I’ll be her nurse; and, doctor, + Remain within. + + [Exeunt PHYSICIAN and MAIDENS.] + + Know you this beauteous dame? + + IV:4:12 PAGE. + I have heard minstrels tell that fays are found + In lonely places. + + IV:4:13 SOL. + Well, she’s magical. + She draws me charm-like to her. Vanish, imp, + And see our chamber still. + + [Exit PAGE.] + + It is the hour + Alarcos should be here. Ah! happy hour, + That custom only makes more strangely sweet! + His brow has lost its cloud. The bar’s removed + To our felicity; time makes amends + To patient sufferers. + + [Enter COUNT ALARCOS.] + + Hush, my own love, hush! + + [SOLISA takes his hand and leads him aside.] + + So strange an incident! the fairest lady! + Found in our gardens; it would seem a swoon; + Myself then passing; hither we have brought her; + She is so beautiful, you’ll almost deem + She bears some charmed life. You know that fays + Are found in lonely places. + + IV:4:14 ALAR. + In thy garden! + Indeed ‘tis strange! The Virgin guard thee, love. + I am right glad I’m here. Alone to tend her, + ‘Tis scarcely wise. + + IV:4:15 SOL. + I think when she recovers, + She’ll wave her wings and fly. + + IV:4:16 ALAR. + Nay, for one glance! + In truth you paint her bright. + + IV:4:17 SOL. + E’en now she sleeps. + Tread lightly, love; I’ll lead you. + + [SOLISA cautiously leads ALARCOS to the couch; + as they approach it, the COUNTESS opens her eyes and shrieks.] + + IV:4:18 COUN. + Ah! ‘tis true, + Alarcos + [relapses into a swoon.] + + IV:4:19 ALAR. + Florimonde! + + IV:4:20 SOL. + Who is this lady? + + IV:4:21 ALAR. + It is my wife. + + IV:4:22 SOL. + + [flings away his arms and rushes forward.] + + —Not mad! + Virgin and Saints be merciful; not mad! + O spare my brain one moment; ‘tis his wife. + I’m lost: she is too fair. The secret’s out + Of sick delays. He’s feigned; he has but feigned. + + [Rushing to Alarcos.] + + Is that thy wife? and I? and what am I? + A trifled toy, a humoured instrument? + To guide with glozing words, vilely cajole + With petty perjuries? Is that thy wife? + Thou said’st she was not fair, thou did’st not love her: + Thou lied’st. O, anguish, anguish! + + IV:4:23 ALAR. + By the cross, + My soul is pure to thee. I’m wildered quite. + How came she here + + IV:4:24 SOL. + As she shall ne’er return. + Now, Count Alarcos, by the cross thou swearest + Thy faith is true to me. + + IV:4:25 ALAR. + Ay, by the cross, + + IV:4:26 SOL. + Give me thy dagger. + + IV:4:27 ALAR. + Not that hand or mine. + + IV:4:28 SOL. + Is this thy passion! + + [Takes his dagger.] + + Thus I gain the heart + I should despise. + + [Rushes to the couch.] + + IV:4:29 COUN. + What’s this I see? + + IV:4:30 ALAR. + + [seizing the Infanta’s upraised arm] + + A dream + A horrid dream, yet but a dream. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE END OF THE FOURTH ACT. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT V + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 1 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Exterior of the Castle of Alarcos in the valley of Arlanzon. + + [Enter the COUNTESS.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + V:1:1 COUN. + I would recall the days gone by, and live + A moment in the past; if but to fly + The dreary present pressing on my brain, + Woe’s omened harbinger. In exiled love + The scene he drew so fair! Ye castled crags, + The sunbeam plays on your embattled cliffs, + And softens your stern visage, as his love + Softened our early sorrows. But my sun + Has set for ever! Once we talked of cares + And deemed that we were sad. Men fancy sorrows + Until time brings the substance of despair, + And then their griefs are shadows. Give me exile! + It brought me love. Ah! days of gentle joy, + When pastime only parted us, and he + Returned with tales to make our children stare; + Or called my lute, while, round my waist entwined, + His hand kept chorus to my lay. No more! + O, we were happier than the happy birds; + And sweeter were our lives than the sweet flowers; + The stars were not more tranquil in their course, + Yet not more bright! The fountains in their play + Did most resemble us, that as they flow + Still sparkle! + + [Enter ORAN.] + + Oran, I am very sad. + + V:1:2 ORAN. + Cheer up, sweet lady, for the God of all + Will guard the innocent. + + V:1:3 COUN. + Think you he’ll come + To visit us? Methinks he’ll never come. + + V:1:4 ORAN. + He’s but four leagues away. This vicinage + Argues a frequent presence. + + V:1:5 COUN. + But three nights— + Have only three nights past? It is an epoch + Distant and dim with passion. There are seasons + Feelings crowd on so, time not flies but staggers; + And memory poises on her burthened plumes + To gloat upon her prey. Spoke he of coming? + + V:1:6 ORAN. + His words were scant and wild, and yet he murmured + That I should see him. + + V:1:7 COUN. + I’ve not seen him since + That fatal night, yet even that glance of terror— + I’d hail it now. O, Oran, Oran, think you + He ever more will love me? Can I do + Aught to regain his love? They say your people + Are learned in these questions. Once I thought + There was no spell like duty—that devotion + Would bulwark love for ever. Now, I’d distil + Philtres, converse with moonlit hags, defile + My soul with talismans, bow down to spirits, + And frequent accursed places, all, yea all— + I’d forfeit all—but to regain his love. + + V:1:8 ORAN. + There is a cloud now rising in the west, + In shape a hand, and scarcely would its grasp + Exceed mine own, it is so small; a spot, + A speck; see now again its colour flits! + A lurid tint; they call it on our coast + ‘The hand of God;’ I for when its finger rises + From out the horizon, there are storms abroad + And awful judgments. + + V:1:9 COUN. + Ah! it beckons me. + + V:1:10 ORAN. + Lady! + + V:1:11 COUN. + Yes, yes, see now the finger moves + And points to me. I feel it on my spirit. + + V:1:12 ORAN. + Methinks it points to me— + + V:1:13 COUN. + To both of us. + It may be so. And what would it portend? + My heart’s grown strangely calm. If there be chance + Of storms, my children should be safe. Let’s home. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 2 + + An illuminated Hall in the Royal Palace at Burgos; + in the background Dancers. + + Groups of GUESTS passing. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + V:2:1 1ST GUEST. + Radiant! + + V:2:2 2ND GUEST. + Recalls old days. + + V:2:3 3RD GUEST. + The Queen herself + Ne’er revelled it so high! + + V:2:4 4TH GUEST. + The Infanta beams + Like some bright star! + + V:2:5 5TH GUEST. + And brighter for the cloud + A moment screened her. + + V:2:6 6TH GUEST. + Is it true ‘tis over + Between the Count Sidonia and the Lara? + + V:2:7 1ST GUEST. + A musty tale. The fair Alarcos wins him. + Where’s she to-night? + + V:2:8 2ND GUEST. + All on the watch to view + Her entrance to our world. + + V:2:9 3RD GUEST. + The Count is here. + + V:2:10 4TH GUEST. + Where? + + V:2:11 3RD GUEST. + With the King; at least a moment since. + + V:2:12 2ND GUEST. + They say she’s ravishing. + + V:2:13 4TH GUEST. + Beyond belief! + + V:2:14 3RD GUEST. + The King affects him much. + + V:2:15 5TH GUEST. + He’s all in all. + + V:2:16 6TH GUEST. + Yon Knight of Calatrava, who is he? + + V:2:17 1ST GUEST. + Young Mendola. + + V:2:18 2ND GUEST. + What he so rich? + + V:2:19 1ST GUEST. + The same. + + V:2:20 2ND GUEST. + The Lara smiles on him. + + V:2:21 1ST GUEST. + No worthier quarry + + V:2:22 3RD GUEST. + Who has the vacant Mastership? + + V:2:23 4TH GUEST. + I’ll back + The Count of Leon. + + V:2:24 3RD GUEST. + Likely; he stands well + With the Lord Admiral. + + [They move away.] + + [The Counts of SIDONIA and LEON come forward.] + + V:2:25 LEON. + Doubt as you like, + Credulity will come, and in good season. + + V:2:26 SIDO. + She is not here that would confirm your tale. + + V:2:27 LEON. + ‘Tis history, my Sidonia. Strange events + Have happened, stranger come. + + V:2:28 SIDO. + I’ll not believe it. + And favoured by the King! What can it mean? + + V:2:29 LEON. + What no one dares to say. + + V:2:30 SIDO. + A clear divorce. + O that accursed garden! But for that— + + V:2:31 LEON. + ‘Twas not my counsel. Now I’d give a purse + To wash good Oran in Arlanzon’s wave; + The dusk dog needs a cleansing. + + V:2:32 SIDO. + Hush! here comes + Alarcos and the King. + + [They retire: the KING and COUNT ALARCOS advance.] + + V:2:33 KING. + Solisa looks + A Queen. + + V:2:34 ALAR. + The mirror of her earliest youth + Ne’er shadowed her so fair! + + V:2:35 KING. + I am young again, + Myself to-night. It quickens my old blood + To see my nobles round me. This goes well. + ‘Tis Courts like these that make a King feel proud. + Thy future subjects, cousin. + + V:2:36 ALAR. + Gracious Sire, + I would be one. + + V:2:37 KING. + Our past seclusion lends + A lustre to this revel. + + [The KING approaches the Count of LEON; SOLISA advances to ALARCOS.] + + V:2:38 SOL. + Why art thou grave? + I came to bid thee smile. In truth, to-night + I feel a lightness of the heart to me + Hath long been strange. + + V:2:39 ALAR. + ‘Tis passion makes me grave. + I muse upon thy beauty. Thus I’d read + My oppressed spirit, for in truth these sounds + Jar on my humour. + + V:2:40 SOL. + Now my brain is vivid + With wild and blissful images. Canst guess + What laughing thought unbidden, but resistless, + Plays o’er my mind to-night? Thou canst not guess: + Meseems it is our bridal night. + + V:2:41 ALAR. + Thy fancy + Outruns the truth but scantly. + + V:2:42 SOL. + Not a breath. + Our long-vexed destinies—even now their streams + Blend in one tide. It is the hour, Alarcos: + There is a spirit whispering in my ear, + The hour is come. I would I were a man + But for a rapid hour. Should I rest here, + Prattling with gladsome revellers, when time, + Steered by my hand, might bring me to a port + I long had sighed to enter? But, alas! + These are a woman’s thoughts. + + V:2:43 ALAR. + And yet I share them. + + V:2:44 SOL. + Why not to-night? Now, when our hearts are high, + Our fancies glowing, pulses fit for kings, + And the whole frame and spirit of the man + Prepared for daring deeds? + + V:2:45 ALAR. + And were it done— + Why then ‘twere not to do. + + V:2:46 SOL. + The mind grows dull, + Dwelling on method of its deeds too long. + Our schemes should brood as gradual as the storm; + Their acting should be lightning. How far is’t? + + V:2:47 ALAR. + An hour. + + V:2:48 SOL. + Why it wants two to midnight yet. + O could I see thee but re-enter here, + Ere yet the midnight clock strikes on my heart + The languish of new hours—I’d not ask thee + Why I had missed the mien, that draws to it ever + My constant glance. There’d need no speech between us; + For I should meet—my husband. + + V:2:49 ALAR. + ‘Tis the burthen + Of this unfilled doom weighs on my spirit. + Why am I here? My heart and face but mar + This festive hall. To-night, why not to-night? + The night will soon have past: then ‘twill be done. + We’ll meet again to-night. + + [Exit ALARCOS.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCENE 3 +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A Hall in the Castle of ALARCOS; + in the back of the Scene a door leading to another Apartment. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + V:3:1 ORAN. + Reveal the future, lightnings! Then I’d hail + That arrowy flash. O darker than the storm + Cowed as the beasts now crouching in their caves, + Is my sad soul. Impending o’er this house, + I feel some bursting fate, my doomed arm + In vain would ward, + + [Enter a MAN AT ARMS.] + + How now, hast left thy post? + + V:3:2 MAN. + O worthy Castellan, the lightnings play + Upon our turrets, that no human step + Can keep the watch. Each forky flash seems missioned + To scathe our roof, and the whole platform flows + With a blue sea of flame. + + V:3:3 ORAN. + It is thy post. + No peril clears desertion. To thy post. + Mark me, my step will be as prompt as thine; + I will relieve thee. + + [Exit MAN AT ARMS.] + + Let the mischievous fire + Wither this head. O Allah! grant no fate + More dire awaits me. + + [Enter the COUNT ALARCOS.] + + Hah! the Count! My lord, + In such a night! + + V:3:4 ALAR. + A night that’s not so wild + As this tempestuous breast. How is she, Oran? + + V:3:5 ORAN. + Well. + + V:3:6 ALAR. + Ever well. + + V:3:7 ORAN. + The children— + + V:3:8 ALAR. + Wine, I’m wearied, + The lightning scared my horse; he’s galled my arm. + Get me some wine. + + [Exit ORAN.] + + The storm was not to stop me. + The mind intent construes each natural act + To a personal bias, and so catches judgments + In every common course. In truth the flash, + Though it seemed opening hell, was not so dreadful + As that wild glaring hall. + + [Re-enter ORAN with a goblet and flagon.] + + Ah! this re-mans me! + I think the storm has lulled. Another cup. + Go see, good Oran, how the tempest speeds. + + [Exit ORAN.] + + An hour ago I did not dare to think + I’d drink wine more. + + [Re-enter ORAN.] + + V:3:9 ORAN. + The storm indeed has lulled + As by a miracle; the sky is clear, + There’s not a breath of air; and from the turret + I heard the bell of Huelgas. + + V:3:10 ALAR. + Then ‘twas nothing. + My spirit vaults! Oran, thou dost remember + The night that we first met? + + V:3:11 ORAN. + ‘Tis graven deep + Upon my heart. + + V:3:12 ALAR. + I think thou lov’st me, Oran? + + V:3:13 ORAN. + And all thy house. + + V:3:14 ALAR. + Nay, thou shalt love but me. + I’ll no divisions in the hearts that are mine. + + V:3:15 ORAN. + I have no love but that which knits me to thee + With deeper love. + + V:3:16 ALAR. + I found thee, Oran, what— + I will not say. And now thou art, good Oran, + A Prince’s Castellan. + + V:3:17 ORAN. + I feel thy bounty. + + V:3:18 ALAR. + Thou shalt be more. But serve me as I would, + And thou shalt name thy meed. + + V:3:19 ORAN. + To serve my lord + Is my sufficient meed. + + V:3:20 ALAR. + Come hither, Oran, + Were there a life between me and my life, + And all that makes that life a thing to cling to, + Love, Honour, Power, ay, what I will not name + Nor thou canst image—yet enough to stir + Ambition in the dead—I think, good Oran, + Thou would’st not see me foiled? + + V:3:21 ORAN. + Thy glory’s dearer + Than life to me. + + V:3:22 ALAR. + I knew it, I knew it. + Thou shalt share all; thy alien blood shall be + No bar to thy preferment. Hast thou brothers? + I’ll send for them. An aged sire, perchance? + Here’s gold for him. Count it thyself. Contrive + All means of self-enjoyment. To the full + They shall lap up fruition. Thou hast, all have, + Some master wish which still eludes thy grasp, + And still’s the secret idol of thy soul; + ‘Tis gained. And only if thou dost, good Oran, + What love and duty prompt. + + V:3:23 ORAN. + Count on my faith, + I stand prepared to prove it. + + V:3:24 ALAR. + Good, good, Oran. + It is an hour to midnight? + + V:3:25 ORAN. + The moon is not + Within her midnight bower, yet near. + + V:3:26 ALAR. + So late! + The Countess sleeps? + + V:3:27 ORAN. + She has long retired. + + V:3:28 ALAR. + She sleeps, + O, she must wake no more! + + V:3:29 ORAN. + Thy wife! + + V:3:30 ALAR. + It must + Be done, ere yet the Castle chime shall tell + Night wanes. + + V:3:31 ORAN. + Thy wife! God of my fathers! none + Can do this deed! + + V:3:32 ALAR. + Upon thy hand it rests. + The deed must fall on thee. + + V:3:33 ORAN. + I will not do it. + + V:3:34 ALAR. + Thine oath, thine oath! Hast thou forgot thine oath? + Thou owest me a life, and now I claim it. + What, hast thou trifled with me? Hast thou fooled + With one whose point was at thy throat? Beware! + Thou art my slave, and I have branded thee + With this infernal ransom! + + V:3:35 ORAN. + I am thy slave, + And I will be thy slave, and all my days + Devoted to perdition. Not for gold + Or worldly worth; to cheer no aged parent, + Though I have one, a mother; not to bask + My seed within thy beams; to feed no passions + And gorge no craving vanity; but because + Thou gavest me life, and led to that which made + That life for once delicious. O, great sir, + The King’s thy foe? Surrounded by his guards + I would waylay him. Hast thou some fierce rival? + I’ll pluck his heart out. Yea! there is no peril + I’d not confront, no rack I’ll not endure, + No great offence commit, to do thee service— + So thou wilt spare me this, and spare thy soul + This unmatched sin. + + V:3:36 ALAR. + I had exhausted suffering + Ere I could speak to thee. I claim thine oath. + + V:3:37 ORAN. + One moment, yet one moment. This is sudden + As it is terrible. + + V:3:38 ALAR. + The womb is ripe, + And thou art but the midwife of the birth + I have engendered. + + V:3:39 ORAN. + Think how fair she is, + How gracious, how devoted! + + V:3:40 ALAR. + Need I thee + To tell me what she is! + + V:3:41 ORAN. + Thy children’s mother. + + V:3:42 ALAR. + Would she were not! Another breast should bear + My children. + + V:3:43 ORAN. + Thou inhuman bloody man— + It shall not be, it cannot, cannot be. + I tell thee, tyrant, there’s a power abroad + E’en now that crashes thee. The storm that raged + Blows from a mystic quarter. ‘Tis the hand + Of Allah guides the tempest of this night. + + V:3:44 ALAR. + Thine oath, thine oath! + + V:3:45 ORAN. + Accursed be the hour + Thou sparedst my life! + + V:3:46 ALAR. + Thine oath, I claim thine oath. + Nay, Moor, what is it? ‘Tis a life, and thou + Hast learnt to rate existence at its worth. + A life, a woman’s life! Why, sack a town, + And thousands die like her. My faithful Oran, + Come let me love thee, let me find a friend + When friends can prove themselves. It’s not an oath + Vowed in our sunshine ease, that shows a friend; + ‘Tis the tempestuous mood like this, that calls + For faithful service. + + V:3:47 ORAN. + Hah! the Emir’s blood + Cries for this judgment. It was sacred seed. + + V:3:48 ALAR. + It flowed to clear thine honour. Art thou he + That honour loved so dearly, that he scorned + Betrayal of a foe, although that foe + Had changed him to a bravo? + + V:3:49 ORAN. + Let me kiss + Thy garment’s hem, and grovel it thy feet— + I pray, I supplicate—my lord, my lord— + Absolve me from that oath! + + V:3:50 ALAR. + I had not thought + To claim it twice. It seems I lacked some judgment + In man, to deem that honour might be found + In hired stabbers. + + V:3:51 ORAN. + Hah! I vowed to thee + A life for that which thou didst spare—‘tis well. + The debt is paid. + + [Stabs himself and falls.] + + [Enter the COUNTESS from the inner Chamber.] + + V:3:52 COUN. + I cannot sleep—my dreams are full of woe! + Alarcos! my Alarcos! Hah! dread sight! + Oran! + + V:3:53 ORAN. + O, spare her; ‘tis no sacrifice + If she be spared. + + V:3:54 COUN. + Wild words! Thou dost not speak. + O, speak, Alarcos! speak! + + V:3:55 ORAN. + His voice is death. + + V:3:56 COUN. + Ye Saints uphold me now, for I am weak + And lost. What means this? Oran dying! Nay— + Alarcos! I’m a woman. Aid me, aid me. + Why’s Oran thus? O, save him, my Alarcos! + Blood! And why shed? Why, let us staunch his wounds. + Why are there wounds? He will not speak. Alarcos, + A word, a single word! Unhappy Moor! + Where is thy hurt? + [Kneels by ORAN.] + + V:3:57 ORAN. + That hand! This is not death; + ‘Tis Paradise. + + [Dies.] + + V:3:58 ALAR. + + [advancing in soliloquy] + + He sets me great examples. + ‘Tis easier than I deemed; a single blow + And his bold soul has fled. His lavish life + Enlists me in quick service. Quit that dark corpse; + He died as did become a perjured traitor. + + V:3:59 COUN. + To whom, my lord? + + V:3:60 ALAR. + To all Castille perchance. + Come hither, wife. Before the morning breaks + A lengthened journey waits thee. Art prepared? + + V:3:61 COUN. + + [springing to ALARCOS] + + I will not go. Alarcos, dear Alarcos, + Thy look is terrible! What mean these words? + Why should’st thou spare me? Why should Oran die? + The veil that clouds thy mind—I’ll rend it. Tell me— + Yea! I’ll know all. A power supports me now— + Defies even thee. + + V:3:62 ALAR. + A traitor’s troubled tongue + Disturbs thy mind. I tell thee, thou must leave + This castle promptly. + + V:3:63 COUN. + Not to Burgos—say + But that. I will not go. That fatal woman— + Her shadow’s on thy soul. + + V:3:64 ALAR. + No, not to Burgos. + ‘Tis not to Burgos that thy journey tends. + The children sleep? + + V:3:65 COUN. + Spite of the storm. + + V:3:66 ALAR. + Go—kiss them. + Thou canst not take them with thee. To thy chamber— + Quick to thy chamber. + + [The COUNTESS as if about to speak, but ALARCOS stops her.] + + Nay, time presses, wife. + + [The COUNTESS slowly re-enters her Chamber.] + + V:3:67 ALAR. + I am alone—with Death. And will she look + Serene as this? The visage of a hero + Stamped with a martyred end! Thou noble Moor! + What if thy fate were mine! Thou art at rest: + No dark fulfilment waits o’er thee. The tomb + Hath many charms. + + [The COUNTESS calls.] + + V:3:68 COUN. + Alarcos! + + V:3:69 ALAR. + Ay, anon. + Why did she tell me that she lived? Methought + It was all past. I came to confront death; + And we have met. This sacrificial blood— + What, bears it no atonement? ‘Twas an offering + Fit for the Gods. + + [The midnight bell.] + + She waits me now; her hand + Extends a diadem; my achieveless arm + Would wither at her scorn. ‘Tis thus, Solisa, + I gain thy heart and realm! + + [ALARCOS moves hastily to the Chamber, which he enters; + the stage for some seconds is empty; a shriek is then heard; + ALARCOS re-appears, very pale, and slowly advances to the front of the stage.] + + ‘Tis over and I live. I heard a sound; + Was’t Oran’s spirit? + I’ll not rest here, and yet I dare not back. + The bodies? Nay, ‘tis done—I’ll not shrink now. + I have seen death before. But is this death? + Methinks a deeper mystery. Well, ‘tis done. + There’ll be no hour so dark as this. I would + I had not caught her eye. + + [A trumpet sounds.] + + The Warder’s note! + Shall I meet life again? + + [Another trumpet sounds.] + + [Enter the SENESCHAL.] + + V:3:70 SEN. + Horsemen from Court. + + V:3:71 ALAR. + The Court! I’m sick at heart. Perchance she’s eager, + And cannot wait my coming. + + [Enter two COURTIERS.] + + Well, good sirs! + + V:3:72 1ST COURT. + Alas, my lord. + + V:3:73 ALAR. + I live upon thy words. + What now? + + V:3:74 1ST COURT. + We have rode post, my lord. + + V:3:75 ALAR. + Bad news + Flies ever. ‘Tis the King? + + V:3:76 1ST COURT. + Alas! + + V:3:77 ALAR. + She’s ill. + My horse, my horse there! + + V:3:78 1ST COURT. + Nay, my lord, not so. + + V:3:79 ALAR. + Why then I care for nought. + + V:3:80 1ST COURT. + Unheard-of horror! + The storm, the storm— + + V:3:81 ALAR. + I rode in it. + + V:3:82 1ST COURT. + Methought + Each flash would fire the Citadel; the flame + Wreathed round its pinnacles, and poured in streams + Adown the pallid battlements. Our revellers + Forgot their festival, and stopped to gaze + On the portentous vision. When behold! + The curtained clouds re-opened, and a bolt + Came winged from the startling blue of heaven, + And struck—the Infanta! + + V:3:83 ALAR. + There’s a God of Vengeance. + + V:3:84 1ST COURT. + She fell a blighted corpse. Amid the shrieks + Of women, prayers of hurrying multitudes, + The panic and the stir we sought for thee; + The King’s overwhelmed. + + V:3:85 ALAR. + My wife’s at least a Queen, + She reigns in Heaven. The King’s o’erwhelmed—poor man + Go tell him, sirs, the Count Alarcos lived + To find a hell on earth; yet thus he sought + A deeper and a darker. + + [Falls.] +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The End +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Count Alarcos, by Benjamin Disraeli + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUNT ALARCOS *** + +***** This file should be named 7487-h.htm or 7487-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/4/8/7487/ + +Produced by K. 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