University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A magnificent Saloon.
Montalban discovered, superbly drest, lying on a couch, Guzman, Margaretta, and Attendants, standing by him.
MARGARETTA.
So, all is ready now.—How long d'you think
'Twill be ere he awaken?

GUZMAN.
'Twill be soon.
Conformably with all the rules laid down
By the most learned writers on narcotics,
When the complexion freshens, as his does,
The patient soon revives.—Nay see, he moves.

MARGARETTA.
Each to his post! It is my lady's will
That none be present when he first regains
His recollection.—Now let music sound.

[Exeunt Margaretta, Guzman, and Attendants. Soft music from above the stage.
MONTALBAN.
Heigh-ho! What time o'th'day is't, good Teresa?—
What heav'nly sounds were those?— (He starts up.)
—Ha! What means this?
Where am I?—Surely 'tis enchantment all!
These rich habiliments—my humble cot
Chang'd to a sumptuous palace—Can this be
Reality?—No, no! 'Tis witchcraft all,
Or else some fev'rish dream, which taints my fancy
With vain and unsubstantial images.
It must be so. I'll lay me down again,
And sleep myself once more into my senses.

[He lies down. Voice from above sings.

Life is short, and so are pleasures;
Use them wisely as they flow:
Take thy share of fortune's treasures,
But ask not more than thou may'st know.

MONTALBAN
(starting up).
This is prodigious! Who thus answers me
As 'twere from th'clouds?—Was this delusion too?
I do begin to think I am awake,
And all I see and hear realities.


[A voice from above sings.
Happy stranger, now prepare
To behold our sov'reign fair.
Turn thee, stranger, turn and see
Where she comes to welcome thee.

Enter Victoria, richly dressed and veiled.
MONTALBAN.
Who's that? The goddess of these fairy regions?
How graceful and how dignified her air!
She bows to me. I'll venture to address her.—
Forgive me, lady, if I dare to pay
That homage which thine excellence demands.

VICTORIA.
I ask no homage, sir: to a mere woman,
A weak one too, that term is misapplied.

MONTALBAN.
What less is due to one, who has the art
Of working miracles? Have I my senses,
Or are they by some incantation charm'd,
To make me credit things, surpassing all
That poets ere devis'd, or madmen dream'd?

VICTORIA.
There's no enchantment, sir, in what you see.
When you shall know me better, you'll confess
I am not one likely to deal in spells.

MONTALBAN.
Then it is true that I indeed was wreck'd,
Laid in an humble cottage—

VICTORIA.
'Tis most true.

MONTALBAN.
How then was I brought here?

VICTORIA.
By my command.

MONTALBAN.
And why?

VICTORIA.
I fear, were I to state my motive,
You might conceive, as yet you know me not,
I had outstept my sex's rigid rules,
And hastily condemn me.

MONTALBAN.
Fear not that.
I owe you far too much, lightly to censure.

VICTORIA.
'Tis in your pow'r to owe me yet much more,
If you object not to my terms.

MONTALBAN.
What are they?

VICTORIA.
I ask not wealth, for I've already more
Than I desire or want; more ample pow'r
Than that I now possess would not avail me:
Were I to wish for rank more dignified,
I should resemble one, who on the brow
Of a tall mountain stands, and looks in vain
For objects more exalted than himself.

MONTALBAN.
What more can you desire?

VICTORIA.
What avail these,
And all the blessings rank and wealth can bring,
If there be no responsive heart to share them?

MONTALBAN.
Have you then fail'd to meet with such a heart?

VICTORIA.
Alas! the fated hour was not yet come,
When to its destin'd victor mine should stoop,
And own itself subdued.

MONTALBAN.
Are you then form'd
Of substance so insensible?

VICTORIA.
Ah no!
I'm but too feeble. Were I to disclose
My secret thoughts—Grant me your fair construction—
Think you, were I to offer to a man,
Reduc'd by fortune to distress and ruin,
My wealth, my wide possessions and myself,
I might not hope to meet a fair return?

MONTALBAN.
What man would hesitate to meet such proffer,
And dedicate each moment of his life
To prove his gratitude?

VICTORIA.
If so you think,
Tell me, sir, ought he to compel the woman,
To whose affection he is so indebted,
To make the first advances, to forego
The delicacy of her sex and station,
And make avowal of those feelings, which
Her fond confusion but too plainly speaks?
Say, sir, would you be so insensible?

MONTALBAN.
I, madam?

VICTORIA.
Yes, sir, you.

MONTALBAN.
Madam, I know not.
How my opinion—If the gentleman
Should feel a similar affection,
I should suppose—

VICTORIA.
Nay, sir, I pray you answer
My question plainly. Make the case your own.
What would you do?

MONTALBAN.
I really cannot say—
Were there no pow'rful motive to prevent him,
A gallant gentleman would doubtless spare
A woman's blushes—

VICTORIA.
If you think so, sir,
Why does your conduct—I implore your pardon—
Your pity—I'm not us'd to sue—

MONTALBAN.
Good heav'n!
What mean you, madam?

VICTORIA.
If you will compel me
T'avow my weakness—know—'tis you who've won me!
Nay, start not, sir, but hear me out I pray.
I need not tell you how, when first I saw you,
My stubborn heart receiv'd a fond impression.
How strong it was, my conduct now may prove.
If, hearing my confession, you can meet it
With mutual love, myself, my all, are yours.

MONTALBAN.
Your frankness, lady, justifies my own.
I know the value of the gift you offer,
But I am wanting in a fit return.

VICTORIA.
All the return I ask for is your heart.

MONTALBAN.
Mine, were it free, were little worth your having;
But, such as 'tis, 'twas long ago bestow'd
On one, who gave me in return her own.

VICTORIA.
And if she did, what right has she to expect
Thus to monopolize affection? No!
Such fancies are romantic. Ev'ry day
Bears witness to new vows of constancy,
Which on the morrow vanish into air.
Man's constancy! 'Tis grown into a proverb.

MONTALBAN.
I pray you, lady, pardon me; I wish
Not to repeat what may appear discourteous.

VICTORIA.
If I've a rival then, tell me who is
The happy fair who has engross'd your heart?

MONTALBAN.
That is a secret, deeply buried here.
I cannot name her.

VICTORIA.
That's suspicious, sir.
I doubt your constancy is fix'd on one,
Who does but little honour to your choice.

MONTALBAN.
Such doubts are no impeachment of her worth.
I do her justice.

VICTORIA.
Be she what she may,
The vows you speak of now no more are binding.
She's absent, lost to you—

MONTALBAN.
Aye, lost indeed!

VICTORIA.
Then are you free, then may you form new ties,
And all my flatt'ring hopes may be fulfill'd.
Think what a sacrifice I make—reflect—

MONTALBAN.
Lady, 'twould better suit you to reflect.
You ask a heart—a heart which is not mine.
Were I a villain, I might proffer it;
But truth and honour dictate my refusal.

VICTORIA
(aside).
What noble constancy! Were I but certain
I were its object—I must leave him now,
Ere my impetuous feelings master me,
And prove it by a second trial.— (To Montalban)
—Sir,
If I have gone beyond the privilege
Which custom grants my sex, I crave forgiveness.
Reflect on what I've said. Such proffers may
Deserve your serious thought. Meantime, I pray,
Consider these apartments as your own,
And those belonging to them as your servants.
There is an ample garden 'neath the ramparts,
Where you may take the air. When next we meet,
I trust my suit will prove more welcome to you.
[Exit Victoria.

MONTALBAN.
Th' unrav'ling of this myst'ry is yet stranger
Than its commencement. Did I hear her rightly?
An offer of herself? She seems most lovely—
Of all her wealth? And she has princely riches—
Rank, honours, dignities? They're tempting baits,
All purchasable by the simple gift
Of my poor heart and hand. A word will do it—
But then that word for ever brands me villain.
No, poverty! I will not thus exchange thee;
Thou'rt honest, and I'll hug thee to my heart,
'Till I can give thee up without a blush.
But hold—did not my tempter name a garden?
It may afford me means t' escape—Who'rt thou?

Enter Roderigo.
RODERIGO.
I'm one— (aside)
—Beshrew me! but he bears it bravely;
He looks as if that garb were nat'ral to him—
(To Montalban)
I'm one to whom the lady of this castle
Hath giv'n commission to attend on you.

MONTALBAN.
'Tis more than I require. But hark thee, friend,
What is thy bounteous lady's name?

RODERIGO.
Her name?
Did she not tell thee?

MONTALBAN.
No.

RODERIGO.
Not tell it?— (aside)
—Humph!
I smell the matter now.— (To Montalban).
—As for her name,
I'm but a servant, sir, and may not choose
To go beyond mine orders. I'm grown grey,
As you may see, good sir, in servitude,
And, in the course of a laborious life,
I have made one discov'ry.

MONTALBAN.
What is that?

RODERIGO.
That, when my lady for peculiar reasons
Keeps a thing secret, I've no right to blab.

MONTALBAN.
But why, when thus she brings me to her house,
And prodigally show'rs down bounties on me,
Should she conceal herself?

RODERIGO.
Nay, that I know not.
She uses her own pleasure. But time passes,
And, what is worse, while we are thus discoursing,
Your dinner cools.

MONTALBAN.
I have no appetite.

RODERIGO.
That's strange—I should have thought the keen sea air
And your cold bath would rather have increas'd it.
There's a repast within might tempt a hermit.

MONTALBAN.
It tempts not me. I rather would prefer
To walk abroad, and view the various beauties
Which lie around this sumptuous edifice.
Your lady, sir, made mention of a garden.
Pray which way lies it?

RODERIGO.
There, beneath the ramparts.
The readiest way to it is through the hall,
Where your repast awaits you. I'll conduct you.

MONTALBAN.
Be it so then. I'll follow you.

RODERIGO.
That's well.
Take an old foolish man's advice for once,
And, when good fortune courts you, do not scruple
To enjoy her favours.—This way, please you, sir.

[Exeunt.