University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

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.

SCENE II.

Another Apartment in De Silva Castle.
Enter Ferdinand.
FERDINAND.
Thank heav'n! a short reflection has convinc'd me
How nearly to the verge of shame and ruin
My too presumptuous hopes had tempted me.
The vain illusion which obscur'd my judgment
Is vanish'd, and I once more am myself.
But I am weak—I blush to think how weak,
How little able to oppose the tide
Of mast'ring passion. I must place a bar
Betwixt the dear temptation and myself.
Farewell, my Clara! I will fly those charms,
Whose potency my heart cannot resist.
Farewell for ever! Honour calls me from thee;
My sword shall be my fortune; I will use it
Against my country's foes, and either reap
A harvest of renown, or nobly die!

Enter Guzman.
GUZMAN.
Heyday! who talks of dying when I'm here?
What, Signor Ferdinand! Bless me, good sir,
What is the matter? Why you look as pale—

FERDINAND.
Away! no trifling now. I'm not dispos'd
To relish your buffoonery.

GUZMAN.
How's that?
Leave you alone? I'll tell you what, young sir,
I know not what you're pleas'd to think of me,
But this I know—there is not in Madrid
A pharmacopolist or surgeon, sir,
To whom I'd vail my bonnet. I have learnt—

FERDINAND.
It may be so; but there is one thing more
It might behove you still to learn.

GUZMAN.
What's that?

FERDINAND.
Discretion, sir, to know on whom and when
You may unbidden thus intrude yourself.
I choose to be alone.—What! more intruders!

Enter Don Lopez.
LOPEZ
(yawning).
Yaw! How my head's confus'd! That sack was naught,
Most villainously naught! I know not how
I was o'ertaken thus.—Whom have we here?
What, my young fighting sir?—I do remember
We had a tilting bout, but we're friends now.
Where is my lady, and my pretty Clara,
My bride that is to be?

FERDINAND.
Clara your bride?

LOPEZ.
Why not? There's nought so wonderful, methinks,
That a young sanguine fellow, like myself,
Should like a pretty girl. I warrant me,
We shall become a mighty happy couple.
Do you know, I'm monstrously in love with her?

FERDINAND.
Monstrous indeed! Lambs may consort with wolves,
And doves associate with the felon hawk,
Ere she unite with thee!

LOPEZ.
Phew! here's a noise!
I'll tell you what, young man—when I'm resolv'd,
'Tis not your pleasure, nor your big looks neither
Shall fright me from my purpose. Here, sir, here—
(Striking his pocket.
I carry arguments you can't confute—
Crowns, sir, pistoles, and good doubloons to boot,
Of wond'rous efficacy to remove
Obstructions—

GUZMAN.
Not so good as my elixir!
Talk of obstructions! Pshaw! Why now, sir, (to Lopez)
you
Shall judge of it yourself. I'm glad I thought on't;
'Twill suit you to a hair.— (To Ferdinand)
There, do you see him?
What a swoln belly, and two legs like millposts!
No subject can be more unpromising;
And yet, sir, I will lay you ten to one,
In half a dozen doses I'll bring down
That tun of his, in half a dozen more
Make him as lank and limber as a greyhound—

LOPEZ.
Why, thou half-witted puppy! Who art thou
That dares thus prate of me? Elixir truly!—
Physic my lady's lap-dog, an thou wil'st,
He may be sweeter for't.—Look on me, mongrel!
Survey this portly body. 'Tis well lin'd
With solid and substantial food. These legs, too,
Are firm and muscular, proportion'd columns
Well fitted to support such superstructure.
Why, I am made for immortality;
My very blood's a distillation
From gen'rous sack and fragrant malvoisie.
Away, thou quack! thou mingler of base drugs!
Thou lank anatomy!

Enter Margaretta.
MARGARETTA.
What's here to do?
I wonder, sir, you take upon you thus—

LOPEZ.
Nay, good madonna, I am not to blame.
This scurvy med'cine-monger took upon him—

GUZMAN.
Aye, aye, deny it; but I'll say't again—

LOPEZ.
Let me come at him! I will teach you manners!

GUZMAN.
Aye, you may bluster—

LOPEZ.
An I catch thee, sirrah!

GUZMAN
(dodging about, pursued by Lopez).
Pray stand between us—If I had thee once
Fairly in hand, I'd work thee into shape—
I'd ply thee with elixirs, lotions, potions—
Pray keep him off—Cathartics—

LOPEZ.
By Saint Anthony!
I'll maul thee—I've no breath to follow him—

GUZMAN.
Thou'rt one disease from head to foot—a mountain
Of bodily infirmity—a mass—

LOPEZ.
Let me get at him—

MARGARETTA.
(She pushes Guzman out.)
Nay you shall retire.
And you, Don Lopez, too—

LOPEZ.
A paltry knave!
An I lay hold of him—

MARGARETTA.
Prithee be calm,
And get yourself accoutred as befits you.
My lady and her niece would think it strange
To see you thus.

LOPEZ.
Why truly, as thou say'st,
My raiment is rather in deshabille.
I'll to my chamber and refresh it.—Gomez!
To physic me indeed!—What, Gomez, ho!
[Exit Lopez.

FERDINAND.
Tell me, good Marg'ret, what did the wretch mean
By talking about Clara as his bride?
An old debauch'd voluptuary like him
To form such expectation!

MARGARETTA.
He has broach'd it
However to my lady.

FERDINAND.
Well, what said she?

MARGARETTA.
Nay, look not so alarm'd. One might suppose
You had more int'rest in the question than
You care to avow.

FERDINAND.
An int'rest? Aye, the strongest,
In what relates so mainly to her welfare.
You cannot think it strange.

MARGARETTA.
Oh no! quite natural.
I warrant me, she'd feel the same for you,
Were any antiquated dame to court you.
Ah Ferdinand! if you would keep a secret,
Learn to command your looks, and teach your eyes
A little stricter discipline.

FERDINAND.
Indeed
You go too far—Nay, prithee, jeer me not.
If a presumptuous hope e'er glanc'd across me—

MARGARETTA.
You welcom'd it.—You see I've made remarks.
Well, things may turn out other than you look for.

FERDINAND.
What mean you?

MARGARETTA.
What I'm not at leisure now
To tell you more of. I expect my lady,
Who has some orders for me. But I've giv'n you
Food for reflection.

FERDINAND.
If I might presume
To entertain such hopes—

MARGARETTA.
Nay, if you will not
Believe me when I bid you entertain them—

FERDINAND.
I know you for my friend, and will believe you.

MARGARETTA.
That's well.—But go—I hear my lady coming—
Go—say no more.

[Exit Ferdinand.
Enter Victoria.
VICTORIA.
Is ev'ry thing prepar'd
As I directed? Roderigo tells me
Montalban is about to walk abroad,
And, from his manner and some words he utter'd,
Conjectures 'tis his purpose to escape.
We have no time to lose. Set Roderigo
And Guzman on the watch; let them take heed
He do not scale the wall. As for the gates,
They are securely fastened.

MARGARETTA.
Had you done
As I advis'd you, and reveal'd yourself
When you was with him, you had 'scap'd this trouble.

VICTORIA.
While there remains a doubt of his affection,
He ne'er shall know me. 'Tis his heart I aim at;
If that prove true, my pains are well bestow'd.

MARGARETTA.
What more can you devise to ascertain it?

VICTORIA.
Love has a thousand ways to work his ends.
Here is an engine which he bids me use—
[Giving her a portrait case.
Take it—Upon the spreading orange tree,
Which overhangs the fountain, place it so
He may not fail to see it. Make good haste.
[Exit Margaretta.
Now comes th'eventful crisis of my fate.
Aid me, kind heav'n, and arm my lab'ring heart
With fortitude the trial to sustain
On which my bliss or mis'ry must depend!

[Exit.