University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

The Park before the Castle. Enter Don Luis.
Don Luis.
The means, the means!—My love is cold as snow;
I dare not tell her what I burst to say.
But she may change; as Hecla sends forth fire
From out the ice, which hides its burning heart.
But how? Alas, she knows not of my love;
Can take no interest in me, uninformed.
Did she but know, that might arouse her heart;
For half the love of earth from this source springs:
First woman 's flattered at the heat she wakes,
Then falls in love, to rid herself of debt.
I dare not tell her; that might blast the whole,
And drive me from her presence unrepaid.
Yet she must know; but by some other means—
Not know, but doubt it. Let that thought once in,
No band of angels e'er can drive it out,
No force usurp its sway. I'm well convinced
She bears no love for her great booby lord:
If she be secret, he can ne'er suspect—
Too busy up in heaven to think of earth.
There 's Oliver;—I'll give him food for doubts,
Which, if he breathe, I, through the influence
Wielded by me above his heaven-rapt lord,
Will drive the beggar forth. O, friendship dear,
Through thee I'll work, and gain my end at last.

(Enter Soto.)
Soto.
I have been looking for you far and near.
I 've all the castle's secrets on my thumb.

Don L.
What know you, Soto?

Soto.
Nay, what know I not?
I know, my lord, all that one girl could say
In scarce an hour; but what would pose ten men,
And they fast talkers, in a day to tell.

Don L.
Who gossiped thus?

Soto.
Martina.

Don L.
Who is she?

Soto.
The confidential maiden of my lady;
A girl of wit, and most complete in form,
With thoughts and aims above the place she holds.
She, too, abhors the crafty secretary;
And when I told her how I scorned the wretch,
She loosed her eager tongue, told everything
Which she had gathered since she first came here.
At last we fell in love, and there we rest.

Don L.
Go on, good Soto, cram her to the brim,
Love her as you have never loved before;
Or rather make her love you, that were best.
I too have fallen in love.

Soto.
With whom, my lord?

Don L.
With Doña Alda.

Soto.
Are you much in love?

Don L.
In love to death!

Soto.
O, that is nothing strange.
You 've sickened for a score, died for a score;
Till the next passion brought you health and life.
There was Constanza, Clara, Viola,
Maria, Isabella, Phillipa—

Don L.
Peace! you are crying this she-merchandise
As tradesmen do their wares. I tell you, knave,
The love which now I feel gnaws me like hunger!

Soto.
They feed too well to give that figure force
In this fat castle. But a week ago,
When I was thin and famished in Seville,
Such words had drawn forth tears of sympathy.
But there 's the husband loves you 'bove all heights.

Don L.
And here am I, that hate him 'neath all depths.

Soto.
Natural enough; you bear it in your blood.
I lately heard a ballad, ages old—
A scurvy ballad—a foul, lying ballad—
Which told how some great ancestor of his
Drove round Granada's laughter-shaken walls
Kinsman of yours. Not with a manly sword—
No, that were fair—with a base scourge he did it.

Don L.
What mean you?

Soto.
He 's of Moorish blood.

Don L.
You fool!

Soto.
Witness his Moorish name, Calaynos.

Don L.
True.
Who told you this?

Soto.
Martina told me, señor.
'T is a mere taint he bears paternally:
Though very slight, yet, in the pious eyes
Of the hidalgos of Castilian breed,
Worse than all crimes the devil ever did.
'T is a grave secret, not to be divulged.

Don L.
Ah, now I think, I heard it when a boy.
What of his lady—is she Moorish too?

Soto.
No, of the purest blood.

Don L.
Why, this is strange!

Soto.
Her sire was proud, but sunk in poverty;
The lord was rich, but of the unclean blood-;
And so they compromised, and struck a trade.

Don L.
Then the Moor bought her?

Soto.
So Martina says.
That 's why he would not take her to Seville,
For fear she 'd learn what half of Spain well knows.

Don L.
You 're sure she knows it not?

Soto.
Who 'd dare to tell?
He 'd pitch the bold informer in the moat,
To drink his health: he 's more than sovereign here.

Don L.
Now, lovely Alda, I have hold on thee,
Shall draw thee to me, should all else fall short.
[Aside.]
Go, Soto, tell this new-made love of yours
That I'm neck-deep in love for her fair lady.
You need not tell her to be secret.—Go!

Soto.
Here 's mischief brewing. (Aside.)
I obey you, señor.

[Exit.]
Don L.
Thanks, love! This news outgoes my wildest hope.
I doubt no more, the thing is certainty;
The chase is simple, and the conquest sure.
Sure 't is a virtuous deed to set her right;
To show this cozening Moor in all his guilt,
In all the blackness of his foul deceit,
To her dear eyes.—Good Lord! a boy might triumph!
Woe, woe, Calaynos! this sole crime of thine
Shall draw upon thy head a double grief!

[Exit.]