University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A grove near the castle.
Enter Diego with a letter, muttering to himself before he speaks aloud.
Diego.
The honour of the house of Altavera,
Of all those chiefs, whose bread I and my sires
So many years have eaten without reproach,
Must it be sullied now?—Diego Furnez
Must take upon him, then, th' informer's office,
With all its paltry baseness and concealment.
To Altavera's lords, with manly freedom,
My fathers spoke, and so have I. But then
I did oppose this marriage which hath sunk
His noble pride so low. Such information
From me would be suspected; and his anger,
When so excited, might, perhaps,—a blow!
Diego Furnez could not live disgraced,
And, dying unrevenged, would die disgraced.
Ay, it must be; necessity compels me.
Lays down the letter, then looking hastily about, snatches it up again.
Surely I hear a stranger's voice approaching.
I'll drop it farther on, and watch my time,
When Don Henriquez may be sure to find it.

[Exit.
Enter Antonio and Mencia, speaking as they enter.
Ant.
Forget thee, Mencia! Yes, I will forget thee
When means are found to make it possible.
Thine image, independent of my will,
Where'er I am, is with me; night and day
Before my fancy's eye it smiles or weeps;
Motions its arms, as thou wert wont to do,
When distance barr'd our intercourse of words;
Is present with me more than present things;
And makes my wretched life a maniac's dream,
Lost and unprofitable.
Is there some potent spell to lay this sprite
That haunts me to my ruin? Vain, vain words!
Thou canst not be forgotten.

Men.
Thou but deceiv'st thyself: there are two spells,
Absence and time, which have to many a lover
His peace restored. Fate has between us now
A barrier placed, which all my feeble strength
Could not o'erleap; therefore I have consented.

Ant.
Consented! O to what hast thou consented?
To more than the rejecting of my love,
Which thy ambitious sister, since the day
That raised her, as the wife of Don Henriquez,
To greatness, which she knows not how to bear,
Regards as too presumptuous. Thou art silent.
To more than this hast thou consented, Mencia?

Men.
Question me not; I cannot tell thee now;
Yet thou shouldst know. I have, alas! I have,
O'ercome by prayers, and wearied with contention,
Consented to bestow my luckless hand
On one who tried, but could not win my heart:
And I am bound—

Ant.
Thou art not! no, thou art not!

Men.
Alas, I am! and so will hold myself.

Ant.
Thou shalt not! Holdst thou sacred every tie,
But those that bind thee to thy earliest friend;
To him who was thy playmate and thy guard;
Who through thy native woods ran by thy side;
Play'd with thee, sang with thee, built thy first bower,
Where thou, his mimic mistress, kept thy state,
Screen'd from the mid-day sun, when he, the while,
Still pleased thee, as thou lentst thine eager ear,
With tales of wonderment and tales of love?
All claims but his! O say not so, sweet Mencia!
Let me implore thee on my bended knee!

Men.
Hush! rise! we are observed; this spot is now
Traversed by busy feet, in preparation
For a gay feast to-night, held at the castle,
In honour of Henriquez' safe return.
Leave me, I pray!

Ant.
By unfrequented paths,
Through rugged wilds I've travelled many a league:
Three irksome days and nights in that deep grove,
The ruin of an ancient sepulchre,
Like some unhallow'd spirit, I have haunted
To watch a lucky moment when thy steps
Should lead thee near the place; and having found thee,
Thinkst thou to cast me off with fev'rish haste,
As thou wouldst shake an adder from thy robe?

Men.
Nay, nay! for yonder Don Henriquez comes;
There's danger here.

Ant.
And come who will, and let what will betide,
Despair thinks not of danger.

Men.
Retire, retire, and we shall meet again.

Ant.
When? where? this night? to-morrow? name the time.

Men.
To-morrow by the early dawn I'll meet thee.
No; not to-morrow, but the following morn.

Ant.
And at that early hour?

Men.
Even so: retire.

Ant.
I have thy word for this?

Men.
Thou hast, thou hast. [Exit Antonio.
(Alone.)

Ay, he has loved me as no other will,
And thus he is requited. Woe the day!
Why did my timid spirit yield so poorly
To an ambitious sister?—Must it be?
Henriquez is a man whose native feelings
Of honour and of justice rise indignant
Against the slightest breach of honest faith.
The interests of his house to him were nothing
Opposed to generous ties—to simple right.
I will to him—ah, no! I dare not do it.
(Looking out.)
He is at hand. That paper keeps his eye
Intently occupied.—What can it be?
Perhaps some letter dropp'd by poor Antonio,
And then all is discover'd. Enter Henriquez.

You twist that letter in your hand, my lord,
As a most worthless thing. May I presume?
I am not curious.

Hen.
Yet thou hast a mind,
Not being curious, just to peep into it.
Well; it might case thy silken threads, perhaps,
Or wrap thy scented comfits. Take it then.
[Offering her the letter, and then drawing it back.
No; spells lurk in such crooked lines as these
To work unhappy fancies out of nothing.
Perhaps same hateful witch has mutter'd o'er it
Her blasting benison; thou shalt not have it:
I'll put it up to light my ev'ning lamp.
Thou goest?

Men.
I have been too long truant here,
And my neglected task calls me within.

[Exit.
Hen.
(alone).
Why look I still upon this foolish scroll?
As foolish as 'tis spiteful. Leonora
Has for her wicked solace in my absence
My noble friend—my second self received!
Good likely tale! [Reads again.

“An unknown friend cautions thee to beware of
Don Juan. He has played thee false in thine
absence, and destroyed thy wife's virtue and thine
own honour. Look to it, if thou wouldst not become
the most contemptible of all doating husbands: for
thy fond security will make them bold, and the
world will point at thee ere long.”
The common cant of all those friends unknown.
Juan and Leonora! blest, most blest,
In friendship and in love! This canker'd fiend
Is stung therewith. Envy most devilish,
Yet not uncommon in this wicked world.
Well; it shall serve to light my evening lamp;
God mend the wretch who wrote it.

[Exit.