University of Virginia Library

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.