University of Virginia Library

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.

An apartment in Xavier's house.
Enter Xavier and a Secretary.
Xav.
Those letters have been sent to all the merchants?

Sec.
They have, sir.

Xav.
Very good: know you the hour,
And that precisely, at which the procession
Of Jubilee and Marriage—bless the Bride!—
Moves to the Temple of the Dam of Christ?
That is, sir—when begins our merriment?
For we will call it ours, seeing we pay for't.

Sec.
'Tis named for twelve, but I should argue one—
Knowing these Christians to the hour do nothing,
Unless 'tis sleep.

Xav.
And now it wants of ten?

Sec.
Half of the dial.

Xav.
I thank you, sir: you're free.
You'll not forget to send my daughter to me.

Sec.
I'll tell her, as I pass her chamber-door.

Xav.
That means, 'tis not a secretary's office
To do an errand to his master's child.
Ho! very well, sir;—tell her as you pass.
[Exit Secretary.
It follow'd me to bed, and kept me waking;
It crept into my sleep, and held me dreaming;
It rose with me at dawn, since nought else thinking.
And this day opes a page of destiny,
The turning of whose leaf must make all clear.
'Tis Rachel's footstep: I do know the voice of't—
Uneven and slow—a down-heart argument:
Her spirit lacks excitement—and shall have it.

Enter Rachel.
Rach.
What is your pleasure, sir?

Xav.
To see you happy,
And therefore am I grieved to mark you sad;
To see you good, and therefore am I wretched
To think that goodness mounts not in this world;
To see you great, and therefore am I pain'd
To feel our greatness poor. Would'st thou be great?
Would'st thou have power?

Rach.
Am I not Xavier's daughter?
Would I have power? My Sire, I have a power
I'm mistress of my soul—and she that is so
Is queen of a rich empire.

Xav.
Then why sad?

Rach.
Can I be merry, when my kinsmen groan
Under this new-awaken'd tyranny?
Can joy burn brightly in affection's eye,
When eyes she loves are tear-dropp'd with dull woe?
Should daughters smile, when noble fathers grieve?
Tell me that edict is annull'd, my sire;
Tell me that prelude to destruction's hell
Plays not for Judah's children—and my face
Shall tempt my father's lip to bathe in smiles:
My sorrow's but the shadow of your own—
Remove the substance, and the shade goes with it.

Xav.
My precious Rachel! I do glory in thee
More than the Prophet in his Prophetess:
Thou art design'd for work miraculous;
And in thine inborn royalty of soul
And outward-worn nobility, I read
Annihilation of the King's decree,
Glory and power to Spanish Israel,
And vengeance full for every Christian wrong
Our patience hath bent down to.

Rach.
'Tis my thought;
But by what magic can he read my thought?

Xav.
Attend me, Rachel: yesterday, the King,
Giving that flat denial to my prayer,
Did leave me with—Thou hast a daughter, Xavier;
Fame words her passing fair—she might do much;
And ended thus—Thou understand'st me? Xavier.

Rach.
Well, sir: 'tis very strange! Did he say this?

Xav.
As I have said.

Rach.
And what should come of this?

Xav.
If thou hast no great monitor within
That answers with a quick predominance
To that slow question, there is no reply
That could enhance conception.

Rach.
O, make none:
Thou pluck'st the dream out from my inmost heart,
And show'st it even to my material eyes!
What? if my gifts of nature took Alphonso—
Have I thy leave to be a monarch's thrall?

Xav.
I would rather kill thee—but,
Thou hast—to be a monarch's wedded bride!
Thou hast—to be the Queen of Arragon!
Thou hast—to turn the axe from Jewry's neck!
Thou hast—to raise thy fallen countrymen!
Thou hast—to do that, which if left undone,
'Twere treason to thyself, thy sire, and country!

Rach.
Then, noble father! harken to me now:
I love Alphonso.

Xav.
Love!—thou can'st not, dreamer:
Thou can'st not love whom thou hast never seen?

Rach.
Sir, not long since, ere Isabel came hither,
I saw him, after martial exercise,
Returning to his palace; and his person,
Renown'd for majesty—with that fame coupled
Which showers thick laurels on his princely brow—
Did so bewitch my fancy-nourish'd heart,
That I have doated on his semblance since;
And tho' 'tis maddest folly—his near marriage
With foreign Isabella, grieveth me—
As I were all defrauded of a hope,
Wild-fixed on the possession of my king!

Xav.
In faith, dear daughter! some would think thee mad.
I see thou hast adorn'd thy hair to-day,
And that thou hast thy walking-mantle on—
What's in the moon?—Art for the Jubilee?

Rach.
O, sir, decline not from that earnestness
With which you first did greet me on this theme!
The God of Judah in two kindred hearts
Hath lit one resolution; and to mine
Lent other feelings, to urge on resolve
To its last limit. Fare thee well, my sire:
This edict shall be void—and Israel free;
Or I am not the daughter of my lord,
But a base farmhouse trull, for nothing meet
Save the day's drudgery.

Xav.
Yet, stay! my child:
Thou look'st not gracious with that mantle on.

Rach.
O, sir, leave that to me. Ay, smile so still!
That Rachel from the spirit of her sire
May catch the very life of her attempt,
And urge her fortune's crescent to the full.

Xav.
I'll see thee forth: our mutual heart is read.
Thy proud eye shows me, in an hour to come,
Jew Xavier's child a queen in Christendom!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Public Way.
Enter Manrique and Two Lords.
Man.
The Lord Alvaro, and his testy friend,
The Garcia, letting their self-wilfulness
Outstrip respect, have forfeited their place
In this day's state; whereat his majesty
Hath sent for your good honours, to fill up
The gap made by defection of those lords,
With nobler worthiness.

1st Lord.
We are much honour'd.

2d Lord.
And burn to show our duty to his Grace.

[Flourish of music at some distance without.
Man.
They have left the palace, and are this way bent.
Our time is brief, lords, will you straight along?

[Exeunt.
Enter Rachel, with veil and mantle.
Rach.
The Queen of Arragon!—that's a brave title;
Alphonso's wife!—ay, there my heart were crown'd;
Deliverer of my countrymen!—if countrymen
I may call those who have been robb'd of country,
And make their home o'er all the desert world—
That were a glory of like eminence
With the male deed of Judith. Bless me, Heaven!
And make my hopes, in their accomplishment,
Thine own and Israel's glory: if I fail—
Take back the breath of life thy pleasure gave me,
For Rachel then hath nought to do on earth.
[Martial music approaching without.
Hark! they draw near; and soon my tide of life
Must either flood to power, or ebb to death:
Hope's sun upon the dial of my days
Shows his meridian now—or there 'tis midnight
And unintelligible shadow all.
[Music near.
He comes! I see him move. O, regal grace,
How well thou sit'st upon the front of kings,
Picturing to earth a supreme majesty!
And fullest on the brows of Arragon
Thou glowest in thine excellence of pomp.
Why should that dame be there? Why should she not?
My head drowns in my heart, and reason gasps:
She pranks it royally; and yet, methinks,
I could outstate her, had I stately means.
[Flourish of trumpets without.
I'll shroud me, and stand by.

Enter, in procession, King, Isabella, Manrique, Lords, Ladies &c. &c. &c.
Alph.
O, good, my lords!
Ye fill up worthily a worthy place,
And bring no loss with change. On to the temple!
To celebrate the present with the past!
And praise and offerings accomplish'd there,
Remembrance of Toloza's prodigy
And expectation of sweet marriage-bliss
Shall make the day and night triumphant reel,
Till mortal hearts pant glory spiritual!
Love plants a beauty in the heart of things,
And Fame doth color fresh old Time's grey locks
And make his wrinkle-covered forehead smooth!
On to the temple, ho!

Rachel, advancing and kneeling.
Rach.
Great Arragon!
A suppliant damsel, on her duteous knee,
Entreats a moment's passing audience:
Her life doth hang upon it; sire—her life!

Alph.
Such urgency? Speak, lady; we attend:
A weaker adjuration scarce had staid us.

Rach.
My liege, I am a maiden of that race,
Upon whose means of life—and, therefore, life—
Your edict shall to-morrow bear so hard;
And if no royal feeling in your heart
Crown Mercy with a power executive,
The fortunes of my kindred and myself
Go all to wrack. Have mercy, Arragon.

Man.
When do you Jews keep Sabbath?

Rach.
'Tis to the king I speak.

Alph.
Such pleading well might win the thing it begs;
But to your people's idol, the Jew Xavier,
We have made final answer. Lead along.

Rach.
Nay, at your feet, O King! I beg for mercy.

Alph.
Lead on! I say.

Rach.
(starting up)
A moment yet, my liege
Beggars in humble vestments prosper ill,
And mercy smiles on robes that frowns on rags—
Wilt hear me now?

[Throwing off her veil and mantle, and appearing in rich attire.
Man.
That, by the gods! he will:
Xavier puts all his irons in the fire.

Isa.
Why do we stay, my lord? Shall we go on?

King.
Not yet—O, beauty!—grace unparallel'd!—
If that thou be'st a Jewess, I will swear,
Even by that mystery where our creeds divide,
There is no Christian in my kingdom like thee!

Rach.
The edict, mighty king! Reverse the edict;
And here I kneel your grateful servant ever.

King.
Nay—rather, sweet one! bid us kneel to thee.
O, such a flower should never stoop to the earth,
Save where she spreads her velvet lap to kiss it!
Thy name, dear maid?

Rach.
'Tis Rachel, sire—a plain one;
Not so my parentage: 'tis Xavier's daughter
That bends before the king—low as her sire.

King.
Xavier is wise. That fame which vouch'd thee fair
Spoke with a common and a vulgar mouth!
'Tis marvel that so rare a sun so long
Hath slept behind the cloud of privacy.
Thy beauty henceforth must beam forth i'the air,
And on the night of eyes rain heavenly day!
Xavier is shrewd—is shrewd.

Rach.
Beseech your grace!
Is my prayer heard? or must I profitless
Get to my home, and cry, heartbrokenly—
Alphonso has no mercy, O my father!

King.
Lead on! my lords. Thy hand, sweet Rachel, come:
We'll hear of thy petition by the way.
Manrique, lead the princess.

Isa.
Sir, I'll walk alone,
Since that the king hath chosen his company:
I marvel that your grace should think to wed,
Seeing you make so light of ceremony.

[Exit, with attendants.
King.
Thou art a dangerous suppliant.

Rach.
Nay, my lord.

King.
And yet, it scarce may be: let me hear more—

[Exeunt King and Rachel, and all but Manrique.
Man.
O yes, my liege—it may be; all may be:
Kings that make law, make lawful. So, so, so!
I would not wager on these nuptials now,
And least of all would stake my head upon't:
Alphonso is a true man-weathercock.
Enter Xavier behind.
My court-wise cue shall forswear razors, faith!
And bless the twice-six tribes of Israel.
The bait is taken; if he gorge the hook,
To which he's apt—O, ho! I know the man—
I see small reason underneath the sun
Why Rachel should not step in Isabel's shoe,
And Xavier (bless us!) be first minister

Xavier
(advancing and tapping Manrique on the shoulder.)
Suppose he should?

Man.
Is't you, sir; did you speak?

Xav.
Suppose he should be what you say, my lord
(For you're a lord, sir—I believe, a lord)
Do you not think he'd whisk the flies away
That in the court's best sunshine make a pest?
Would you begone, sir?

Man.
Sir, I serve the nuptial,
And but neglect my duty, lingering:
Pardon me, noble Xavier.

Xav.
Sure, my lord.
[Exit Manrique.
The fawning of this Christian argues well.
'Twas excellently done! she stood in clouds,
And doff'd them like the Deity of Day,
When he aspires to his meridian!
I saw him grasp her hand: 'tis well; tis well.—
I know Alphonso: he is ta'en by the eye,
But scarcely held by the heart; yet much may come of't:
My Rachel is his kingdom's paragon;
And such as she build empires in men's breasts
That grow convulsion-proof!—There's peril in't—
But sooner shall the sun lack living warmth,
Than Rachel the all-holy fire of virtue!—
There is no canker in the healthy bud!—
So, from such peril, if such safe things come
As freedom, strength, power, retribution,
Unto God's chosen thro' wide Arragon—
Peril's more safe than safety.—Expectation!
Thou broodest like an eagle in my heart,
Ready to soar i'th sun.—Hush! here's a wave
That frets at what it chafes on! this is joy.

[Retires.
Enter Garcia and Alvaro.
Gar.
My lord, the king is at his pranks again;
Those ill demeanours which take awe from crowns:
The Jewess stood beside him at the altar,
Whilst at the holy Mary's sacred shrine
He offer'd up six standards of the Moors,
Won at Toloza; and so parley'd with her
With the broad meaning of his libertine eye,
That the indignant princess veil'd her state;
And unperform'd the nuptial ceremony—
She left the Temple, weeping.

Alv.
What! not married?
The plighted honor of Alphonso's vows,
Made to her royal sire's ambassadors—
And the just dignity of Arragon,
Damn'd by a vulgar Jewess!—Like you this?
'Twill not end here.

Xav.
(Apart.)
It shall not, by my soul!

Gar.
Sir, I do not; and very joyful am I
That we threw up our places when we did;
Else had our honours suffer'd, in allowance
Of the king's insult to grave decency
In this proceeding, which shall outrage quite
The intercourse of nations; and, 'tis like,
Set Christian against Christian, whilst the Moors
Yet triumph in our country—O, 'tis foul!
Our glad successors will have little envy.

Alv.
Faith! none, for me; my life unto a dog's—
That edict will not hold!

Gar.
Nor would I have it: 'tis a tyranny
I never loved, to mulct particular men
For a state's service—and in her endeavour
Rachel is, so, praiseworthy.

Alv.
Tut! she's a strumpet!

Xav.
(Coming sternly forward)
That's a foul lie! my lord—a filthy lie!

Gar.
Keep back your sword! wouldst draw it on a Jew?

Xav.
I say, a wicked lie! an abject lie!—
Were all your honours ten times multiplied,
Your titles swollen as an Eastern king's,
Your riches vast as ocean's, and your power
Next even to His that breathed the universe—
I'd tell you, tis a lie!—my daughter's pure!—
Not all the banded kings of Christendom
Could o'erthrow the high empire of her virtue!—
You know it, Lord Alvaro—you, you know it:—
She spurn'd you when your lordly vanity
Approach'd her with a coxcomb's confidence—
And she had slain you, had you dared too far!
You know you've spoke a lie!—a foul-mouth'd lie

Alv.
Had I my will, I'd make thee carrion,
And give thy flesh to hogs.

Xav.
Thy house their sty?
Look to your own flesh, lord; it may smart yet.

Gar.
Jew! thou dost wax surpassing insolent
And I can somewhat see into thy soul;
But if thou think'st, by thy fair daughter's means,
To pave the way for Jewish influence
And lord it o'er one inch of Christendom,
I say to thee, beware!—the end is, blood!

Alv.
Ay, by the saints!

[Exeunt Garcia and Alvaro.
Xav.
Why, then—blood let it be!
A term of power is all that man can have,
Let power be long as life. But—my sweet child?
They would not tread to earth that blushing flower?
They would not flaw that precious diamond?
Not drag death's cloud athwart that living star?—
'Twould be a way to kill me; but, too cruel:
No! rather than a Christian's hand should shed
The royal current of her Jewish blood,
My own should do't, tho' doing were perdition!
Why do I tarry, when that bark's afloat
Of which I must be pilot? Well? good Reuben.
Enter Reuben.
What wondrous devil of joy possesseth thee?

Reu.
Thou'rt Israel's saviour, Xavier; ay, her fence,
Her prop, her staff, her rock of adamant!
I'm drunk with joy, I'm foolish—mad with joy!
Thy daughter hath obtain'd a full release;
Jewry rings with it—the sore edict's null;
'Tis nought, 'tis quash'd—we've nought to pay at all!

Xav.
Praise be to God! deep-hearted praise to God!
Not for the 'scape from impost—but, from shame.

Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
The king salutes you. Here are papers, sir,
With which I was proceeding to your house:
And this he says; at your most speedy leisure,
He would be pleased to see you at the court—
From whence the lady Rachel greeteth you.

Xav.
I will come speedily: Heaven save you! sir.
[Exit Messenger.
It is the written cancel of the edict:
Go with it, Reuben; get it multiplied;
And let it have quick circulation
Throughout all Saragossa—that our triumph
Be read by every eye that conn'd our shame.

Reu.
That will I, straight. But this is joyful news!

[Exit.
Xav.
(Kneels.)
I thank thee, Israel's God that thou hast made me
The guardian of the least part of thy people;
And if thy pleasure will her rising now,
In Jewry's greatness shall thy glory mount—
Temples shall rise to thee, and Israel sing
Her Alleluias, as she sang of yore!— (Rises)

Back, soul! to earth: I must be courtier now:
Alphonso yet shall have the sum he needs;
Ay, and from Christian coffers. Nought's to fear:
Her soul is arm'd in Virtue's adamant—
That the most trenchant sword of giant Guilt,
Daring to strike, breaks idly into splinters!
Now, then, for policy!—Ay, it shall be—
That foreign princess must not thwart my child:
Ambition, take thy scope!—I'll hold nought done,
Till Rachel be the Queen of Arragon!

[Exit.