The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie Complete in One Volume |
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 | The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie |  |
SCENE II.
A small ornamented apartment in the castle. Enter Blas and Inez, carrying different things in their hands, speaking as they enter.Inez.
I leave thee too these cases of perfume,
And this small book of tales and warlike sports.
Place them as I have said, and be thou secret:
Be sure thou tell to no one for what guest
This chamber is prepared.
Blas.
But if I should, I should not break my word.
I guess'd it out myself; thou didst not trust me.
Inez.
Yes, but I did confirm thy guess, more surely
To rivet thee to secrecy. Thy lady
Will greatly be displeased, shouldst thou divulge it;
Therefore be prudent.—When thy task is done,
Thou'lt find me in the lower corridor.
[Exit.
Blas.
(murmuring to himself).
Be secret, tell to no one, and thy lady
Will greatly be displeased! What is't to me?
And yet I do not like this strange concealment.
[Employs himself in arranging different things, whilst he sings part of an old ballad.
SONG.
The watch-dog bays from the southern wall,
And hounds and spaniels repeat his call;
The warders in the court are speaking,
The merlins on their perch are shrieking.
And hounds and spaniels repeat his call;
The warders in the court are speaking,
The merlins on their perch are shrieking.
363
The dame she started from her seat,
And her lover's heart did quickly beat.
“The wall is gain'd, the drawbridge crost,
Your lord is return'd, and we are lost.”
And her lover's heart did quickly beat.
“The wall is gain'd, the drawbridge crost,
Your lord is return'd, and we are lost.”
“Nay, fie upon thy witless fear!
See, quickly don this woman's gear;
And boldly cross the crowded hall,
'Mid serfs and grooms and spearmen all.
See, quickly don this woman's gear;
And boldly cross the crowded hall,
'Mid serfs and grooms and spearmen all.
“They with glad greetings are, I trow,
Too busy by far to heed thee now;
Yet word or answer give to none,
But straight to the portal and swiftly be gone.”
Too busy by far to heed thee now;
Yet word or answer give to none,
But straight to the portal and swiftly be gone.”
The dame put on her joyous face,
And she welcomed her lord with a hearty embrace.
Quoth she to herself, “Some warlike fray
Will call him forth another day.”
And she welcomed her lord with a hearty embrace.
Quoth she to herself, “Some warlike fray
Will call him forth another day.”
A fray full soon hath called him forth,
And he is gone to the restless north;
But he—beshrew the wayward wight!
Returns again at the dead of night.
And he is gone to the restless north;
But he—beshrew the wayward wight!
Returns again at the dead of night.
The lover's face turn'd cold and pale,
But never a whit did the lady quail.
“A friar's cowl and frock thou'lt find
Securely pent that chest behind:
But never a whit did the lady quail.
“A friar's cowl and frock thou'lt find
Securely pent that chest behind:
“Be thou a friar instantly,
And to the castle's chapel fly,
And in the pale lamp's flickering shine,
Bend lowly at Saint Martin's shrine.”
And to the castle's chapel fly,
And in the pale lamp's flickering shine,
Bend lowly at Saint Martin's shrine.”
Hen.
And is it thou, good Blas, who singst so well?
I heard thee as I cross'd the gallery,
And was led hither by the well-known tune
That, when a boy, I have so often heard.
But cease not; sing the rest of that old story.
Blas.
In sooth, my lord, I have forgot the rhymes.
Hen.
But canst thou not, without the rhymes, remember
The third escape which for her lawless lover
The wily dame devised?
Blas.
Yes, in a groom's attire she sent him forth
To hold her husband's stirrup at the gate,
As he alighted from his warlike barb.
Hen.
Was not her simple lord at length revenged?
And how was that, I pray?
Blas.
She had a step-son, who from Palestine
Return'd, and hearing of his father's wrongs,
Swore to revenge them.
Hen.
E'en so; I now remember it distinctly,
And the concluding lines sound in my ears.
They fought in the portal,
They fought in the tower,
They fought in the hall, and the lady's high bower,
There they struggled and fought, till the lady at last,
A pale bleeding corse, from the lattice was cast.
Ay, many a time I've listened to that ditty:
They fought in the tower,
They fought in the hall, and the lady's high bower,
There they struggled and fought, till the lady at last,
A pale bleeding corse, from the lattice was cast.
She was a wicked dame of whom it tells.
Thinkst thou the rhymester knew of such a one?
Or be there any such?
Blas.
I do not know: there may—and there may not.
Hen.
May, or may not! thou needst not blush so deeply.
What's thy employment here? Some new arrangement.
Thy lady's private closet so disturb'd!
Ay, and this curtain'd couch!—For whom, I pray,
Prepare ye this, good Blas?
Blas.
I do not know, my lord.
Hen.
Thou dost not know!
Why dost thou blush so strangely as thou speakst?
Compose thyself; I do not seek to know.
What scented thing is this? it smells most sweetly.
Blas.
It is a box of aromatic gums.
Hen.
It needs must be some dainty fair, for whom
Such delicacies are provided. Ay,
And learned too, I guess, for here are books.
A soldier's book!
(Turning over its leaves.)
Ha! 'tis mine own old friend.
Blas.
His name is then upon it.
Hen.
Thou seemst alarm'd, methinks: how's this? whose name?
Blas.
I do not know, my lord. Your own old friend.
Hen.
It was the book I call'd so: in my youth
It was my favourite study.
Blas.
I had forgot; the book is yours, my lord,
And only borrow'd now for his amusement.
Hen.
For her's, thou meanst: is't not a female guest?
Blushing again! What mystery is here?
Tell me for whom this chamber is prepared.
[Pause.
Thou wilt not answer. Nay, I will not force thee;
But tell me only—is this guest a woman?
What! silent still! 'tis not a woman then?
Blas.
No, good my lord.
Hen.
Some fav'rite page, perhaps, who for the night
Must near his dame be lodged?—It is not this?
I do command thee tell me who it is;
[Taking hold of him roughly.
For by thy face I see too well thou knowest.
What guest sleeps here to-night?
Blas.
Don Juan is the guest; this is the room
Where he is wont to sleep.
Hen.
Is wont to sleep! Has he been here of late?
Blas.
'Tis said he has been here; for me, I know not.
[Henriquez, turning slowly from him, walks to the bottom of the stage.
364
(aside, looking after him).
Surely he heard my words; yet calm and silent!
No further question following my reply!
Fool that I was to be so much afraid,
Since he regards it lightly.
Hen.
(returning).
Where is thy lady?
Blas.
She gives directions in the pillar'd hall;
At least I left her there a short time since.
Hen.
Go, see, and bring me word.
[Exit Blas.
Question a youth—a menial—any one,
Of what regards the honour of my wife!
I married her in the full confidence
That she possess'd all good and noble virtues
Which should become a brave Castilian's wife,
And from herself alone will I be certified
Of what this hateful mystery imports.
[After a pause, and then muttering indistinct words.Of what regards the honour of my wife!
I married her in the full confidence
That she possess'd all good and noble virtues
Which should become a brave Castilian's wife,
And from herself alone will I be certified
Of what this hateful mystery imports.
Peace, bad suggestions, from mean baseness sprung!
No! till I hear from her own falt'ring tongue
The glossing poor pretences of the guilty,
And see upon her once ingenuous face
The varied hues of shame, I'll not believe it.
I am a fool to take it so intently.
This casket here, which was my earliest gift!
And does it still contain that golden heart,
The token of my love? I fain would know.
[Looking at it near, and taking it in his hands.No! till I hear from her own falt'ring tongue
The glossing poor pretences of the guilty,
And see upon her once ingenuous face
The varied hues of shame, I'll not believe it.
I am a fool to take it so intently.
This casket here, which was my earliest gift!
And does it still contain that golden heart,
The token of my love? I fain would know.
It is not lock'd; the lid is slightly latch'd:
In mine own house, methinks, without reproach,
I may undo the bauble. (Opens it.)
What is here?
Don Juan's picture, and a letter, too;
I know the writing well. [Reads.
In mine own house, methinks, without reproach,
I may undo the bauble. (Opens it.)
What is here?
Don Juan's picture, and a letter, too;
I know the writing well. [Reads.
“Dear mistress of my soul! How shall I thank
thee for that favour which has raised me from
despair! Though thy heart has not always been
mine, and I have sighed long to subdue it, yet I
cherish my present felicity as if thou hadst loved me
always, and no other had ever touched thy heart.
I will come to the feast as a masquer, and for the
reason suggested to me, unknown to Henriquez.
The bearer of this will return with the key of the
private door to the grove, and I shall come through
the narrow path about nightfall.”
(After a pause.)thee for that favour which has raised me from
despair! Though thy heart has not always been
mine, and I have sighed long to subdue it, yet I
cherish my present felicity as if thou hadst loved me
always, and no other had ever touched thy heart.
I will come to the feast as a masquer, and for the
reason suggested to me, unknown to Henriquez.
The bearer of this will return with the key of the
private door to the grove, and I shall come through
the narrow path about nightfall.”
Things have been done, that, to the honest mind,
Did seem as adverse and impossible,
As if the very centre cope of heaven
Should kiss the nether deep.
And this man was my friend!
To whom my soul, shut from all men besides,
Was free and artless as an infant's love,
Telling its guileless faults in simple trust.
Oh the coil'd snake! It presses on me here (His hand on his heart)
as it would stop the centre throb of life.
[Returning to the casket, and taking out other papers.Did seem as adverse and impossible,
As if the very centre cope of heaven
Should kiss the nether deep.
And this man was my friend!
To whom my soul, shut from all men besides,
Was free and artless as an infant's love,
Telling its guileless faults in simple trust.
Oh the coil'd snake! It presses on me here (His hand on his heart)
as it would stop the centre throb of life.
And sonnets, too, made on her matchless beauty,
Named Celia, as his cruel shepherdess.
Ay; she was matchless, and it seems was cruel,
Till his infernal arts subdued her virtue.
I'll read no more. What said he in the letter? [Reads again.
Named Celia, as his cruel shepherdess.
Ay; she was matchless, and it seems was cruel,
Till his infernal arts subdued her virtue.
I'll read no more. What said he in the letter? [Reads again.
“The bearer will return with the key, and I'll
come by the path at nightfall.”
Night falls on some who never see the morn.
come by the path at nightfall.”
Night falls on some who never see the morn.
Re-enter Blas.
Blas.
My lord, I've found her: Donna Leonora
Has bid me say she will be with you instantly.
Hen.
I cannot see her now: I am not well.
I shall be better shortly: tell her so.
I'll rest me in my chamber for an hour,
And would not be disturb'd. Prevent her coming;
And say I would repose. Go, tell her quickly.
[Exeunt severally.
| The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie | |