 | The Crown Jewel |  |
Scene 2.
Apartment in Count Vicente's Castle discovers Ladies Ella and Meranie.Ella.
My confident no longer—
Mer.
But thy sister.
Ella.
It satisfies. I have thy confidence,
Thou mine, as much as needful. The new bond
Uniting us, does of necessity
Alter the former compact of our hearts,
Only in this, that the sweet trust you gave
To my weak self is now transferred to one
More worthy its reception.
Mer.
Say not so,
The worth in both excels. I have no secrets
Vicente would deny thee, dearest Ella!
Ella.
And I no wish of his prerogative
To be the usurper; no, dear Meranie!
Thy husband's claim I yield all rev'rence to
And would not rob him of a jot of honour,
To be entrusted with the king's confessions,
Which, by the bye, they say, he has his say in,
But they who say it are invidious folks.
True loyalty insinuates no wrong
Of kings that err, but helps to amend their state,
And failing, shields their virtues from reproach,
If these they have to excuse their follies with,
At no such crisis is our noble monarch!
Mer.
Live in your lips his glory and defence!
To-morrow is the birth-day of the Prince
His heir, and, if God spares, the throne's successor—
A noble youth, illustrious, not less
By virtue of his graces and acquirements
Than the renown of his great ancestors.
Ella.
The annual fete which to the event is linked,
On this the year of his majority
With greater pomp and prodigal display
Will be enacted, so says rumour's tongue,
While 'mong the guests which royalty hath honoured
With its command to grace the banquet hall
Are named the Count Vicente and his bride.
Mer.
This gracious and considerate mark of favour
Has been acknowledged with due courtesy.
In virtue of your post, as maid of honour,
You too, dear Ella, to these palace revels
Are welcomed and will bear us company.
A source of some regret unto my lord
Is the detention of an ornament
Intended for my use which he had sent
To be refitted by the jeweller.
For its own sake, I place no heart on it,
But yet for his, would give it constant place
Upon my heart. Here comes he all relieved,
And with a face of joy! Welcome, dear lord,
The bauble has arrived?
In truth, fair heart!
Its lesser stars are all rebuked to shame;
I care not how unpunctually they lag.
Here is a diamond fallen out of heaven
To grace the bosom meetest for it on earth!
A rarer stone has never filled the gaze
With its perfections, flawless as a seraph—
Watered from out the highest firmament—
Shaped so as to refract its innate light
A thousand ways and win a thousand eyes.
Ella.
Tempt not our patience longer, brother dear,
But to this miracle be justice done;
And let its good renown find listeners.
If, in this casket, lies the jewel you rave of,
Undo its fastenings—bid the soul peep out
And our expectant eyes illuminate.
Vic.
Oh, Ella! you that pride your simple self
On being above the failings of your sex,
Are but a woman still, impatient, curious,
As fond of shining gew-gaws as the rest.
Ella.
That by the rapture of your speech, Vicente,
Touching this gem of gems, I am persuaded,
Betrays no great excess of frailty.
As natural it is for boastful man,
Thus moved, to waive all starched discretion
And to the throbs of curiosity,
Tender obedience, as for simple woman.
[Vicente opens the casket.
Vic.
Truly, a marvellous jewel! No eulogy
From poet's lips, could give it tithe of justice.
Mer.
To whose potential favour, my dear lord,
Trace you this princely token of esteem?
Vic.
I am bewildered, love.
Ella.
The stone is one that royalty itself
Might envy. By such pertinents are thrones
Propped and accredited. To acquire and hold them
Is duty more than privilege in a king.
They are the life and good repute of empires
And for the follies and imprudences
Of those that govern are atoning pledges,
This is no monarch's gift, brother Vicente!
Not thus the heart's-blood of our palace courts
Is shower'd away.
Mer.
'Tis strange munificence,
And of a strange and questionable source,
Seeing that royalty hath no hand in it.
I pray you, my dear lord, the mystery solve,
How came this jewel? by what messenger?
With what accompaniment or note of hand?
Vic.
To affirm that from the generous stars it dropt,
In this our radiant honeymoon of love,
Might gain excuse, as a poetic freedom;
Yet, in her ear so to exaggerate
Were to insult my sweet, confiding marrow.
How came into these hands a gift so rare
Is simply told. On entering my study,
An hour ago, the jewel lay before me
Secured by silken ribbon to an arrow
Which, further, on its shaft a label bore
In curt and formal terms, the donor's wish,
That to my countess, as a bridal gift,
This diamond unquestioned should pass,
And wishing her all opportunity
And health to wear it.
Mer.
What good friend I owe
So rich a favour to, my loving lord!
All comprehension baffles. No kind eye,
Save this devoted sister's and your own
Hath so beamed on me, since my girlhood's dawn,
As to betoken a chance gift of love,
Costlier than common courtesies. A windfall,
Such as this is, all reason contradicts,
Each past experience, every sense of merit;
So lavish is it, yet so modestly,
In shame of form and disrespect of thanks,
Placed at our bidding. Does no clue remain
By which to trace the giver?
Vic.
One and all
Of our domestics I have straightly questioned,
But nothing ascertained which helps to guide
Further inquiry. No one, they agree,
Hath passed the approach, since sunrise. To my study,
The open casement, it is true, gave access,
Through which the arrow with its precious freight,
Aimed by no trembling or unpractised hand,
Found passage, sole intruder.—
Ella.
Strange indeed!
By all the freaks of fortune unexcelled!
That ancient mariner of Arabian fame
Sinbad eclypt, henceforward, may resign
The right hand of the goddess. They reck not,
Who at the morrow's regal festival
Are bent to poison half the world with envy,
How their high projects will be overset
By the display of this bright cynosure.
Mer.
Ella, dear Ella, you o'ertake my purpose,
This peerless wonder to appreciate
And meet the morrow's world with, all at once,
Accords not with the longings of a heart
So fully satisfied. I am, as yet,
The simple and unpractised courtier—
Scarce trained to encounter the gay mirror's face
And check the intruding scarlet. To acquit
Myself erect and as my natural self,
Before our august monarch and his queen
My inborn courage is my honest help;
This I could do, and no one say I failed
In dignity and self-possession;
But thus bedecked with half a kingdom's cost—
Invidious eyes pursuing every step—
The mark of shafts from every rancorous tongue,—
Thronged in and of this jewel's history
Entreated—in what era of the past,
It oped its lucid eye? what Pagan sands
Evolved it? whose the high barbaric brow
It first adorned? a thousand questions
Touching its acquisition thrust on me,
The bare idea carries torture with it.
My gentle countess, your discretion guide you!
This diamond that so perplexes us
By its surpassing beauty and the mode,
So strange, by which 'tis thrust on our acceptance,
Has all the seeming of a royal favour.
The jewels that do prop the throne are men,
The wise and valorous, not, as Ella deems,
A hoard of shining stones. Our generous king
Hath delicate and unpretentious tact
In shedding his awards—esteeming oft
The slightest service too, of higher worth
Than those esteem who render it. 'Tis true,
This gift brings no equivalent to mind,
Save it be thy sweet virtues that have winged
Their fragrant way into the royal presence;
Yet to acknowledge it, is our privilege
And bounden duty. How it best becomes
To speak the thanks we owe, reason doth teach,
As well as usage. Faithful courtiers
Hold it a simple act of loyalty
To wear their stars and decorations
In presence of the king. This diamond
Announcing by its costliness, the source
It came from, should be so esteemed
And proffer'd to the eye of majesty
As a due recognition of his favour
And high regard. To-morrow's national fete—
The birth-day of the throne's apparent heir,
For this acknowledgement and loyal duty
The occasion offers. My sweet Meranie—
Will hail the early opportunity
And on her graceful self bear gracefully
The royal favour.
Mer.
You have won me to it,
More by persuasion than by argument—
More by desire to chime with your desire,
My loving lord, than from release of thought
Suspicious of this gift and its bestower.
[Exeunt.
End of Scene 2.
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