University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

—A Room in the Citadel.
Enter Carlos and Andreas.
And.
The Prince not yet set out!

Car.
Not yet. He cleaves
To home with doting on his peasant wife.
His journey towards the frontier, thrice, has he,
From day to day, deferr'd, already; but
The King, impatient of his weak delay,
Brooks it no longer. He departs at noon.

And.
Guess you, my lord, the motive of the King
In banishing, as 'twere, at such a time,
The Prince from Saragossa? Hard exchange,
The bridal chamber for the warrior's tent!
The murmurs and the dalliance of love,
For the trump's braying and the clang of steel!
Methinks, the nuptials, he so interrupts,
Can scarce be to his mind!

Car.
'Tis certain, sir,
They are not, and no wonder. The fair Prince
Had bent full low, to choose, for mate, a bride
Of pure Hidalgo blood; how then, the child
Of a peasant—grant her pattern of her sex,
And never match'd throughout the lengthy line
Of Eve's angelic daughters?

And.
Such she is!
A noteless maid, that from all note, howe'er
Surpassing, so diverts observance, that
Her perfect beauty and consorting form
Bewilder rivalry itself, and turn
The infidel into a worshipper!

Car.
Certain she has no peer; yet, not a match
For the King's son. So thinks the King; and, hence,
The Prince hath honourable banishment.
The army needs no prince, the soldier who
Commands it, prince of leaders!—Do you think
The King stops here? Will he remain content
With banishment of the enamour'd Prince?
Will that remove the cause of banishment?
The knot the Prince has tied, will that undo it?
'Tis but the opening of a drama, sir,
Of which the master-action is to come!

And.
I trust the King, if more he meditates,
Will act advisedly—Our peasant princess,
Amongst her class, ranks highest; royal pastures,
For their extent and stock, her father hath,—
Is more beloved than envied; hath a son
Of parts that look with scorn upon his station,
And fiery soul, more prompt to move than rest!
The peasantry speak things that mock content—
Complain of wasting levies, grievous imposts—
And with their thoughts our citizens chime in.
The Cortez have been calmer too.—Behoves
The King be wary how he acts!—A straw
Has struck the sceptre from as firm a grasp,
And may do so with his.—The King is here,
And, lo, the peasant princess, following,
But borne along, with senses wholly lapsed.
The parting must be o'er; the Prince, set out.

The King enters.
King.
[Speaking to persons without.]
Convey her to her chamber!—Tend to her!
Advise us, soon as to herself she comes.
[Sees Andreas.
Andreas return'd! Despatch, indeed, my lord!
How go the levies on?

And.
But tardily,
I grieve to say; your people lack the heart
To tender duty quickly.

King.
Needs the spur!
We know to use it! Carlos, take in charge
The task, whereof we lately gave you hint,
Soon as her lapséd senses are restored.
Stay!—Andreas.

And.
My liege?

King.
To invest our will
With greater weight, share you the charge with Carlos,
To rid my palace of its forcéd guest.
The countenance I lent this loathéd marriage,
Won from my weakness by my wilful son,
I now retract—irrevocably annul.
The contract which, at first, we set our seal to,
Enforced from us, is render'd valid by
No after grace. Consent, enforced, is none!
Soon as her senses from their lapse spring up,
Declare to her, our mandate, she depart
From Saragossa; nor return to it,
On penalty of death! Apparel, gems,
All gifts of lavish, ill-adviséd love
Are hers to keep; nor let her lack for gold.
Meanwhile, my council summon. Kings must give
Their actions other sanction than their own!
A peasant share the throne of Arragon?
Far better Arragon without a throne!

[They go out severally.

SCENE II.

—A Cottage. In the distance a mountainous country.
Enter Ruphino and Alasco.
Ruph.
How sayest now, Alasco? Art content?
Thy overbearing pride is conqueror!
His private nuptials with thy sister hath
The Prince Alonzo own'd, in presence of
His royal father, and convention full
Of all the noble blood in Arragon;
And thou, the peasant-heir unto a stool,
By proclamation under royal seal—
For 'tis the same as such, as clear implied—
Art kinsman to a race whose seats are thrones!
Art now content?

Alas.
I am.

Ruph.
So am not I.
It was coercing, where the will was free
To do all needful right, and such had done!
By the rare beauty of your sister won.
And more by her rare virtue, which repell'd
The approach of love, till honour came with it,
Its most ingenuous voucher that 'twas such
As chariest virgin, free, might entertain;
The Prince at once besought her heart and hand,
Assured by holy rite.

Alas.
The Prince was wise.
He knew a virtuous woman, and the way
She could alone be won; and took that way;
Thereby receiving to his arms a maid
Whose worth is challenger of Arragon
To find another maid her moiety!
Good sooth, I thank the Prince, for honestly
Affecting my rare sister!—taking care
Of his health! By Our Lady, had he breathed to her,
That's pure as Heaven, one wish or thought of hell,
And with my cognizance—

Ruph.
Alasco, peace!
Supposing wrongs to be by those committed
Who never gave us ground to think they meant them,
But proofs, instead, of holiest intents;
Is to commit, ourselves, a grievous wrong,
And surfeit virtue of its bootless deeds,
That cannot earn it credit! So oft-times
Uncharitableness defaulters makes
Of those who, else, were solvent. Think, my son,
If this were told the Prince, how it might change
His aspect towards thy sister; without cloud
And summer brightness now!

Alas.
If it were told?
'Tis told!

Ruph.
By whom?

Alas.
By me!—nor stintingly.
Think you I went a-begging when I went
To claim admission of my sister's rights,
As loud and broad as though she had a king
To father her, being a prince's wife?

Ruph.
I was content to know she was his wife—
Her honour so assured, it needed not
Be bruited through the realm—disparaging
To his rank!

Alas.
[greatly indignant].
Disparaging!

Ruph.
Well, boy, how now?

Alas.
[Recollecting himself.]
You are her father, and you have a right
To speak of your own child.

Ruph.
I hope I have.

Alas.
Disparaging!—The Prince beheld her first
At a tournament, among the common gazers,
No state to point her out, and yet the mark
Attracted every eye!—he heard the buzz
Of wonder, heralding her matchless beauty,
And, far and near, the concourse summoning
Before the humble seat allotted her!
With but her peasant brother, for a page;
With but a peasant's fillet, for a crown;
With robes, no other than a peasant's tire;
There sat my sister, on that common bench,
Converting it into a radiant throne,
Before which ribbons, stars, and coronets
Press'd, thick, to stand and render homage to her—
Disparaging!

Ruph.
I meant to his rank!

Alas.
His rank?
Rank's but an eminence whereon we see
Sometimes a tower, sometimes a hovel—makes,
Alike conspicuous, the dignity
Or meanness of the thing that's built upon it!

Ruph.
My son, these thoughts—

Alas.
Nay, father, hear me on!
I honour rank, when he, who owns, becomes it!
For, here, our stations differ from our clothes—
That these are to our measure made; those not—
Whence marvellous misfitting! Tell me not
Of the Prince's rank, but tell me of his deeds;
Of which I know but little, save that once
He used a peasant's daughter honestly—
That, of its grace diminish'd, when the thing
He felt no shame to do, he fear'd to own!
A private marriage not to be divulged
Till he saw time!—I saw that time was now,
And made him see it, too!

Ruph.
'Twas breach of faith!

Alas.
No, father!—what I was no party to,
I no observance owed. My sister's marriage
Did accident, alone, reveal to me.
I found that she had won the Prince's love
Who well deserved a prince—he thought she did,
And married her!—If good enough, to wed;
I thought my sister good enough, to own—
And told him so. What instances I used,
And what dissuasion he, it matters not;
The Prince has own'd her, and I am content;
Though I had wish'd her otherwise bestow'd!

Ruph.
What! on Almagro? Must I tell thee, son,
The thousandth time, I do not like that man;
Whose God is not the one he prayeth to,
But the worst idol that a man can serve—
Self!—Find the friend he does not profit by,
In pride, or vanity, or avarice,
And I will grant him single in his loves!
Find me the friend he would not sacrifice,
When profit kept not pace with cherishing;
And I will show you him who made Almagro,
Help'd him with brain and heart, and when in need,
Was left there, for a doit.

Alas.
Velasquez?

Ruph.
Yes!

Alas.
Velasquez dotes!

Ruph.
He dotes who loves Almagro!
Thou, boy! perceiv'st not he is arrogant?
Whom does he not o'erbear that is too weak,
From gentleness or place, to throw him off?
Of all pernicious things, the very worst
Is large ambition with a narrow soul.
Because it strives for power which, when obtain'd,
'Tis certain to abuse.

Alas.
He is generous!

Ruph.
And you aye hear of it. Boy, there are men
Who coin by charities, and he is one!
Say what he gives, I'll tell you what he gets
By what he gives; which makes his bounties mites—
His modest bounties, that would shun the light
They still make sure to meet! He is ungrateful!
And he that is ungrateful, can't be generous!

Alas.
He is my friend!—I love him! he loves me!

Ruph.
Not thee he loves, boy, but thy properties,
That much avail him in the game he plays
To raise himself to popularity.
For, through thy reverend uncle's loving care,
Thy mind, in youth, was plough'd by diligence,
And with the seeds of knowledge amply sown,
That found a kindly soil! Wherein he lacks,
Thou makest up to him with such a zeal,
Privation makes him rich!—his little worth—
For he has worth, as every man hath some—
Thy magnifying love heaves up for him
Into a mountain!—make it pass for such—
That, with the crowd, he grows enormously!
But he hath vanity voracious as
The hunger that's disease—which, though 'tis gorged
Full to the throat, cannot stop craving on!
Wait till thou stint'st him there! He'll fail thee—yea,
Though he could save thee from a jail or starving!
Besides, he has the temper of a wolf.
He has been known to use a woman roughly!
Hurt her to vent his choler! Such a man
To get thy sister's hand!

Alas.
It were bestow'd
Better than on the Prince;—disparity
Of rank, in those that wed, is dangerous.
In such relation there should be no debts,
Save those that are reciprocal, and which
Jars cannot call to mind!—Will the great Prince
Forget the peasant in the Prince's wife?
Will life be all one honeymoon? Believe
The temper is the sweetest—pain will turn it.
And that is of the body, or the mind;
And sometimes is so sharp, it won't abide
A comforter, but flout the care would lull it!
So, for love's pains, gives love, itself, repulse;
So, is its dulcet tongue harsh accents taught,
The least of which breaks its entrancing spell,
And wakens moods, to love, as clouds to sun!
Ah then the heart of woman, when she finds
The force her modest nature underwent
To make allow'd surrender of her charms,
Forgotten! for the host of suing wishes
That won her slow consent, repugnance now,
Rebuke, reproach!—her lack of wealth or state
Cast into her teeth by him, who swore to her
A month ago her value beggar'd kingdoms!
So should it fare with my dear sister, gods!
How she would blanch and freeze to find a churl
In him she loved so dear, she quitted brother
And father for him! I have had my humours,
Which her content has paid for, for a moment;
And when she has reproach'd me, lovingly,
And found it only chafed me, she has wept—
But the first tear has thrown me on her neck.
Would it be so with him?

Ruph.
'Twould not be so
With him thou lov'st,—Almagro.

Alas.
No, by my troth,
Because it could not be—Almagro is
Her equal. But behoves the Prince beware
He sports not with her tears, or drops may fall,
Lie nearer to the heart, from those he cherishes!
Let him beware! If there are towns and cities
In Arragon, so are there villages,
Which men inhabit, by the fresh breath of heaven
Nurtured, more hardily, than those who live
In streets and lanes, like convicts pent in mines,
Wasted with sweltering! Her first complaint
Would raise a cry for vengeance that would shake
His father from his throne!

Ruph.
Beware, my son;
The man who ever runs into extremes,
Nine times in ten o'erlooks both right and reason,
That, mostly, lie between. This is again
Almagro, who would make thee common foe;
While, for himself, the greatest foe thou hast,
He nourishes the friend. Boy!—Boy!—that man
Will bring thee into straits! For his own ends
He heaps up discontents 'gainst all above him,
To crush them with the weight—not for the hatred
He bears oppression, but for envy of it!
He blames the grievance he himself inflicts not;
But let him have the power, you will see worse
Begot of his own pride and heartlessness!
I say no more, my son!—Beware of him!
Where loiter'd you upon your journey home?
Six weeks you have been gone; ere one was past,
Your sister was proclaim'd the Prince's wife.

Alas.
I took a circuit home to see my friends,
And tell what I had done.

Ruph.
You're a great man
In Arragon!

Alas.
I number many friends!
No word yet from my sister?

Ruph.
I expect
Word by Velasquez—Who is he comes yonder?
I see but dimly!—I am very old—
Is it Velasquez?

Alas.
Yes, Velasquez 'tis,
And looks like one who has a tale to tell.—
[Velasquez enters hastily—stops short on seeing Alasco.
How now, Velasquez?

Velas.
Are you there, Alasco?

Alas.
Yes, I am here—the matter?

Velas.
Nothing!

Alas.
Something!
Your steps were hasty,—did you speed for nothing?
Your breath is scanty,—was it spent for nothing?
Your looks imply concern,—concern for nothing?
Your road lay to my father,—seeing me,
You stopp'd as bound to any other door!
Was that for nothing?—Ay—and now you stand
Like one that's balk'd about to take a leap
Which he felt sure to make—with bated crest,
With vigour chill'd, wann'd cheek, and sparkless eye!—
Do all these things mean nothing?—if they do,
Then means commotion nothing!

Velas.
I would be
Alone with your father.

Alas.
So I told you!—Well,
You are alone with him.

[Goes out.
Ruph.
What is't, Velasquez?
Thou comest from the capital, and thence,
Or I mistake, thou bringest news for me.

Velas.
I do; and therefore wish'd thy son away;
For he is rash; and, gall'd, will take no road,
Save that his fury likes.

Ruph.
Bring'st thou me news
Would rouse the fury of my son, Velasquez?
Thou mak'st me tremble—I am very old;
Too old to hear bad news!—Don't tell it yet—
Yet know I what it is.—Alas! my daughter!
I knew no good could come of this avowal!
The Prince has used her ill!—and if he has,
Let him look to it!—Let him!—Threescore years and ten,
'Gainst youth are but a straw against a staff;
But, with no better, will I beard the man
That wrongs my daughter!—I grow strong, Velasquez;
Am waxing young again; as in my prime!
Ay, as I live, I am!—I thank thee, Nature!
To have left me strength!—I yet am worth a blow!— [Staggers.

I reel, Velasquez,—let me lean upon thee.

Velas.
The Prince has done no wrong.

Ruph.
Heav'n bless the Prince!
And pardon me that I did wrong to him
In thinking that he had!—the gracious Prince
That ever honourably loved my child!
How could I think that he could do her wrong!
Don't say I did so.—What's amiss, Velasquez?
I see 'tis nothing that affects my child:
Nought can go wrong, while the good Prince is near her.

Velas.
He is no longer near her.

Ruph.
No!—Not near her?
My dark surmises are at work again!
And yet thou say'st he has not wrong'd my child.

Velas.
Thy child and he are wrong'd.

Ruph.
We'll right them, then
Who did it?—well?

Velas.
The King!

Ruph.
How?—How?

Velas.
Despatch'd
The Prince to head his armies in the north,
And, when his back was turn'd, convoked his council,
And made them pass a formal act, declaring
The marriage of thy daughter null and void!

Ruph.
His right to his throne is void, if he breaks through
Religion and the laws that fence my child!
There are men in Arragon!—Alasco!—I
Have found my strength again! Alasco!—Ay,
I am a peasant, he is a king! Great odds!
But greater have grown even!—Why, Alasco!

Enter Alasco.
Alas.
Here, father.

Ruph.
[recollecting himself at sight of his son].
O—I call'd you,—did I?

Alas.
Yes.

Ruph.
I did it without thinking—Well, Alasco?

Alas.
Well, father?
You call'd me, and I know you wanted me.
Speak out, and do not fear my rashness, father:
Though there be cause for heat, I can be cool.
How pale you are! How you are quivering,
And how you gasp for breath! and your eyes look
As, would you let them, they could drown your cheeks!
Oh, my poor father!

Ruph.
Your poor sister, boy!—

[Bursts into tears and falls on Alasco's neck.
Alas.
What of my sister?—Say, Velasquez, for
My father can't, or won't.

Enter Almagro, and a number of other Peasants.
Alma.
Alasco—News!

Alas.
Ay, now I'll hear it.

Ruph.
Tell it you, Velasquez!
Let it not come from him! He will heap fire
On fire.

Velas.
Your sister is divorced, Alasco,
By edict of the men who guard the laws.

Alma.
Who break the laws!—Yes, the fair Prince Alonzo,—
Royal Alonzo!—weary of his wife—
Though but the waning of the honeymoon,
Only the waning—he were made of ice
Could think it more—on pretext of command
From the King to lead his armies—'Twas contrived—
A piece of villany at the first sight:—left her,
To cast her honourably from his bed!

Ruph.
Thou liest.

Alma.
[furiously].
Liest!

Alas.
Peace! Almagro!—Nay,
Scowl not upon my father! If you are angry,
Brow me!

Alma.
My dear Alasco!

Ruph.
Dear!—how long?
The Prince did never yet a double deed!
I would that I could say as much for thee!

Alma.
For me! [Furiously.]


Alas.
Again? May not an old man say
What he likes?

Ruph.
I would all young men spoke as true!

Alas.
Father! your child is shamed! that horrid word
Written on her brow, thou'dst wish her dead ere read there:
Her!—me!—thyself!—all kith and kin thou hast!
And can thy breast find room for other cause
Of hate, reviling, or revenge? If it can,
Mine can't.

Alma.
No more can mine. I have no foes
Save those who wrong thy sister!—none will have!
Give me thy hand, Velasquez, and be friends.

Velas.
I could be friends with him bespoke me foul!
I could be friends with him that gave me blow;
But with the friend who fail'd me in the need
He should, and could have help'd; I'll ne'er be friends.

Alma.
By hell! Velasquez— [Furiously.]


Alas.
Do you rage again?
Or did I dream you do? Friends! if not friends
Among yourselves, waive jars awhile for me!
Who is a caitiff, be it not the man
Laws civil and religious cannot bind?
Or what are prayers, if holy rites are threads,
And those they bind, asunder cut, at will?
Or what is Heaven, if of no more esteem
Than what 'tis witness to, to be pronounced
A fraud and nullity? 'Tis sacrilege
If from the altar one abstract a mite,
And the offender dies; yet, by my troth,
It may be want that did the deed, not he,
And hunger breaks, they say, through walls of stone!
But what prompts him who mocks the altar, friends?
Pays to the compact 'tis appliance to
No grain of the respect he entertains
For bargains struck by hands 'cross market tables?
What, if not hell?—What should be done to such,
Ay, say he wore a crown?

Alma.
He should be stripp'd on't,—
Caged in a mine—yea, mulcted to the cost
Of his life!

Ruph.
O no—no—no! He should be made
To render back their rights to those from whom
He wrested them—no more. That's justice, sir;
The rest is vengeance, which belongs to Heaven,
Not sinful things like men!

Alas.
We'll master him,
Then deal with him.

Ruph.
My son, you will not then
Be masters of yourselves!

Alas.
No fear of us!
Come!—To the villages! and every man
Call out his friends, and bring them where we'll meet
In one o'erwhelming mass!

Peasants.
Where?

Alas.
Let's consult!

[Retires a little with Almagro and the rest.
Ruph.
Back—back, Velasquez, as thou lovest me!
Back to the capital! find out my child!—
Apprize her of what's coming! She may need
To be upon her guard. I'll do as much
For thee. Meanwhile, I'll get me ready, friend,
And follow thee with all the speed I can.
[Velasquez goes out.
Oh, how I shake!—Storms do not for old trees—
Time was I thought them puffs. I then was young!

Alas. and Alma.
At the Cross!

[The rest echo them, exclaiming, “At the Cross!”
Alma.
Now for redress of common grievances—
Burdens should not be borne—We'll cast them off!

Peasants.
We will!

Alma.
One signal wrong does better than
Tocsins, my friends, to call bold men to arms!

Peasants.
To arms!

Ruph.
Hear me, my boy!—Alasco! O, my son!—

Alas.
I am thy son, and for that very reason
I will not hear thee, while my sister suffers
An injury and a shame.—To arms! to arms!

[All except Ruphino rush out, crying, “To arms! to arms!” Ruphino totters into the Cottage.