University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Interior of the Ducal Palace at Barcelona. Second room at back seen through an archway. Don Cæsar is seated in first room lost in thought. Perin watches him from inner room, then advances some steps.
Perin.
[Aside.]
Again alone, and lost in reverie—
Sad reverie too, if looks reveal the heart!
'Tis even as I guessed: he is in love.
[Don Cæsar sighs.
There was a sigh. Poor prince, he's touched indeed!
I must have pity on him. I, who probe
His malady so well, may find its cure.

Don C.
[Apart.]
A being like herself! The fair outside
Of woman, but without a woman's heart—
She to enslave me! 'Tis intolerable.

Perin.
[Aside.]
Yes, 'tis of her whose beauty, cold as stone,
Attracts from all the love she but disdains—
'Tis of Diana that he speaks. [Comes forward.]
Good day,
Most noble prince.

Don C.
[Who starts perplexed.]
Who's there?

Perin.
If I intrude,
Forgive me.

Don C.
[Rousing himself.]
Perin! You're my countryman,
And always welcome.

Perin.
You greet me cheerfully; a minute since
I hardly thought you gay. But this is well;
You can control yourself, and mask your heart.

Don C.
What do you mean? I scarcely understand you.

Perin.
Think twice, my lord, ere you evade me. Trouble
That's told finds outlet, and, it may be, help;
Will you confide in me? May I presume
To say that you are—

[Hesitates.
Don C.
Perin, what?

Perin.
In love.

Don C.
In love!

Perin.
If I have eyes, if plain effects denote
Their cause, and if where smoke is must be fire,
I say you are in love.

Don C.
[Eagerly.]
Have you been sent
On a commission to me? Speak!

Perin.
On none
Save that which my heart dictates. To be brief,
I love you well—a gallant prince, nor less
Courteous than brave, and my dear countryman.
Follow my counsel, and the goal you seek
With fainting steps itself will come to meet you.

Don C.
[After a pause, taking his hand confidingly.]
Perin, I trust you.

Perin.
[After looking cautiously round.]
'Tis conceded, then,
That you're in love. With whom? Fenisa? Laura?
No, no; 'tis with Diana, the duke's daughter,
And heiress of this realm. Well, well, my prince,
You share the fate of all men who behold
That beauteous petrifaction.

Don C.
'Tis enchantment,
'Tis sorcery—this pride of hers that charms
Even while it wounds. I would resist, but cannot.

Perin.
Pride can work wonders, sir. Of that anon.
But tell me, have you loved her long? How chanced it?

Don C.
The rumour of Diana's singular
Contempt of men, and of her father's wish
That she should marry, reached me in my home.
My cousins, the Count de Foix and the Prince of Béarne,
Eager to win this prize, would oft discuss
Their chances at my father's court. I, heedless,
Heard them at first, but, won by their persuasions,
And curious to see this fair disdain,
Came with them hither to the tournament.
I saw Diana, and remained unmoved.
True, she was fair, but though her mien was noble,
It still repelled. My friend, I loved not then.
Ere long the tournament began, and Fortune
Smiled on my lance. Mine was the victor's lot
In every conflict, mine the name the crowd
Hailed with their shouts. Curious, I raised my eyes
To where Diana, 'midst her ladies, sat,
And then methought that even in her face
Shone the approval beauty deigns to valour.
Mark, that was the beginning.

Perin.
Good, I note you.

Don C.
A moment, and the bright look fled, replaced
By chill indifference. Her coldness spurred me
To further prowess. I performed that day
Feats that surprised myself. From all the throng
Loud acclamations burst, till Echo's self
Pealed back and swelled them. But amidst this homage
Still colder grew Diana's look. She sat,
As might a statue in the din of crowds,
Severe, immovable, but how majestic!
At length her eye met mine, and my fixed gaze
She answered with a look of utter scorn,
As though she had demeaned herself to mark
The pigmy deeds of men. I left the lists
Incensed, confounded, but by some strange magic
Enthralled past cure, and from that day to this
Have been no more Don Cæsar.

Perin.
'Twas her pride, then,
That woke your love.

Don C.
It was; my heart's a riddle!
What should repel attracts; because her foot
Spurns me, I kneel to kiss it; yes, her scorn,
That ought to freeze me, kindles in my heart
A fire of love—I say a very fire,
That, spite of shame and reason, still consumes me.

Perin.
Highly poetical! But, in plain terms,
You're like the rest. The thing you have you prize not;
The thing you cannot have, you therefore prize.
It is unlucky, though, that you have set
Your heart upon a statue. Better far
Your choice had lit upon the lady's cousin,
Donna Fenisa—ay, or Laura. Both
Are fair and amiable, flesh and blood,
And find the world the pleasanter for men,
Whose presence here Diana thinks the grand
Mistake of Nature.

Don C.
Name her with respect.

Perin.
She is my gracious mistress, but still
I may lament the flaw in her which mars
What else were perfect. 'Tis said that in her girlhood
Two princes wooed her. Policy, not love,
Inspired their suit. With insight past her years
She read their selfish aims, and thus conceived
Contempt for all our sex. Now so extreme
This mood has grown, she shuns, when possible,
The sight of us; love-songs are discord to her;
The pictures on her walls show Beauty flying
Our loathed pursuit. 'Tis thus she spites the men,
And of the women she would make Medusas
Like to herself.

Don C.
What can be hoped then?

Perin.
Much.
She's still a woman: women love to please.

Don C.
But she despises homage.

Perin.
Yes, because
She surfeits on it. Prince, be ruled by me;
Withhold from her the tribute others pay,
Deny that food of praise which palls on her
From its abundance. Keep her fasting, sir,
Until she feels a woman's natural hunger:—
That's love for man.

Don C.
[Surprised.]
Perin!

Perin.
Think how you fared.
Her pride subdued you. Be more proud than she,
And conquer her.

Don C.
Proud, when I love!

Perin.
The more
You merit hiding love.

Don C.
I cannot hide it.

Perin.
Then give her up.

Don C.
I cannot give her up.

Perin.
You're very reasonable.

[Ironically.
Don C.
What must I do?

Perin.
I have already said—
Be prudent, self-possessed, above all—cold.

Don C.
Cold! cold to her!

Perin.
It is your only chance.

Don C.
[After a pause of reflection.]
I half believe it.—
Come, then; I'll make the effort, though it rend me.

Perin.
I shall be near to aid. But mark me, prince,
Let none suspect that I'm in league with you.
At court here I am held a woman-hater,
A boor, a foe to wedlock, and, in short,
A convert to my lady's creed. 'Twas thus,
When first I came here a poor gentleman,
I won her smiles, became her secretary.

Don C.
[Archly.]
Thou art a rogue.

Perin.
Say, sir, a politician.
And yet, 'tis droll. There's here a little wretch,
By name Floretta. Prince, she dotes on me,
For no cause save the surliness I feign.
There's hope again for you. At times her lip,
So ripe and pouting, and her roguish eye,
Tempt me to hug her, but then Prudence cries—
Caution!—and I mask fondness still with rudeness.
Follow my cue, and—stay, here come the duke
And your two cousins. Courage now; remember
Your game's indifference. Thus alone you win.

Don C.
I am resolved: now let the game begin.

Enter Don Diego, Don Luis, and Don Gaston. Perin is seen from time to time listening in the background.
Don D.
With sorrow, princes, I confess the slight
Put on you by my daughter. I fondly hoped,
Both for my people's good and for her own,
That she would choose at last some worthy spouse;
Yet she's inflexible, and but this day
Avowed to me she'd meet the embrace of Death
Rather than brook a husband's.

Don L.
Sir, despair not;
Her strange delusion cannot long endure.

Don G.
[Complacently.]
Impossible, let me but speak with her.

Don D.
I dare not give you hope. Methinks 'twere well,
Though eight days of the tournament remain,
That it were closed at once.

Don L.
Not so, my lord:
I came to win your daughter. In eight days
I with a scanty band have stormed a fort.
Are women more impregnable than forts?

Don D.
Yes, sir; a fort yields to the assailer's will,
A woman must be taken with her own.

Don C.
[With assumed indifference.]
I grant, great duke, 'twas rather chance than love
That brought me here; yet courtesy compels me
To stay the appointed time.

Don D.
So be it then.
The games shall still proceed. The boon you seek
My daughter will oppose, but 'tis your due,
And shall be granted.

Don G.
Thanks, sir. [Aside.]
How I long
For the sweet war of words. The enemy
Who braves my sword is safer than the woman
Who braves my tongue.

Don D.
I'll now prepare the princess
For your approach, and shortly summon you.

Don L.
A thousand thanks, your highness.

[Duke goes out.
Don G.
We've gained the outworks: now for the assault
Upon the citadel. [To Don Cæsar.]
You're silent, cousin,
Does your heart fail?

Don C.
[Carelessly.]
Why should it fail? I'm with you,
But 'tis the sport of the adventure tempts me;
I care not for the prize.

Don G.
And she that prize!
Not care for her—the peerless, proud Diana!
Then, man, thy youth is but a dress to hide
A grey-beard's heart. 'Tis snow that fills thy veins;
Thy sharp breath chills me, and I catch the ague
Even while I talk. Come, Luis, I must needs
Bask in the sun to warm me. Farewell, stoic!
[Apart to Don Luis.]
Let us discuss our plans. On one of us
Her choice must fall. [Aside.]
And if she be not blind,
I know on whom. [To Don Cæsar.]
Adieu, my patriarch!

[Goes out, laughing, with Don Luis.
Don C.
O happy moth, that flutters round the light
Unconscious of his danger! I alone
Know what attracts me fatal. I shall see her—
See the exalted look, the noble gestures
That mark her separate—single 'mid her kind.
Hope fails; my brain's bewildered. How behold her
And feign indifference? From such a struggle
What can I gain?

Perin.
[Hurrying forward.]
Gain! why, a wayward woman,
And Barcelona's throne. All will work well
If you resolve it shall. Believe and conquer.
No doubtful dallying. To the princess straight!

Don C.
Ah, friend, you do not feel!

Perin.
No more must you;
At least not yet. Keep down your feelings, prince,
As soldiers on forced marches keep down hunger.
The fight won, they may eat and you may feel.
Till then be cold—cold till, benumbed by frost,
She begs for fire!

Don C.
Perin, thy words revive me.
No more I falter. Victory's happy chance
Lies by one path. I take it, and advance.

[They go out.