University of Virginia Library

ACT. III.

Scene 1.

A Chamber in the Castle discovers Soartes and Gonseres.
Soar.
To have drawn
Your rapier on the Count was indiscreet,
And of this indiscretion your defence,
Save in one issue, wherefore I accept it,
Lame and irrelevant. The fault is mine
That placed the simple deputation
In such rash hands. You have maintained at least
The spirit and strict letter of your trust;
Herein I give you credit. Yet, Gonseres,
This soldier's virtue tempered not with prudence
More oft betrays to sad discomfiture
Than leads to triumph. I have overtasked you,
Or on the self-control you boasted of
Too much relied. Such soft credulity
Has been my curse and beggaring. Look up,
And tell me honestly, I do you wrong,
And that the seal of our late interview—
The promise and engagement of yourself
To nobler service than a wilful girl's
Are held inviolate.

Gon.
The pledge I gave
I now renew. Scorned love has taught me scorn
Of love itself. To-night the spell was broken
That bound my senses.

Soar.
The disdain be thanked!
Which so restores you to your proper self!
Now I am re-assured. This ill-timed passion
Had nigh distracted me.
Oh, good Gonseres! stretch a helpful hand!
The time is wasted to a single thread
On which my credit and my honour hang—
Until to-morrow's noon, old Zachary
Defers his purpose. This short interval
Of grace is left me.

Gon.
Nay, my Lord Soartes,
Wherein have I proved backward to assist
In your behalf? Are not my services
Pledged without reservation to the cause?
Have I betrayed one breath of our design
Or babbled aught against your loyalty?
Have I impeded with dissuasive words
The execution of this bold intent?
I wait only direction from your lips
To seize the jewels. Yet you move not in't,
Nor say, “Gonseres, these are your credentials—
Such your instructions—this the key of trust.”

Soar.
That such impatience with my own accords
Is fortunate—an omen of success!
Two hours it lacks of midnight. In less time,
Your horse discreetly urged may reach the city,
There when arrived, the better to conceal
Your true intent, leave message with the leech
Regarding sudden ailment in the castle.
Thence from his dwelling to the palace-yard
Hie quickly, taking note of none that pass you.
On the south side, that which o'erlooks the park
You may have noticed, near the entrance gate,
Three slabs of marble similar in height,
All lettered over by barbaric chisel.
The spot at night is dark and unfrequented
Linked to a story of mysterious crime.

Gon.
The woful legend is familiar to me,
And the position of each monument
My mind's eye cherishes.

Soar.
The central slab
Imbedded, as it seems to passers by,
Immoveably within the solid wall,
This key applied, turns inward on a hinge
Forming a secret entrance to the palace.
In the seventh rhythm of the inscription,
At the commencement of the halting word,
One may detect a small triangular cleft
Which the contiguous tracings of the chisel
So truthfully resemble, that the glance
Of ablest antiquary shot across them,
Would but account it as a point or letter,
Essential to the meaning of the scroll.
A finger run across the indented line
Will help sufficiently to ascertain
The aperture in question. Be regardful,
Gonseres, to direct the subtle key
Towards the left and to revolve it twice.
This done, the lightest touch will cause the stone
Swing backwards and afford you facile entrance
To a paved arch-way, where arrived, reclose
The feigned tablet with a cautious hand
And into speedy play your lanthorn bring.
To thread, without its guidance, the dark maze
Of silent vault which to the jewel room
Conducts, would sore perplex you. So equipped,
Make instant use of the compliant flame
T'assist your purpose. A few resolute steps
Will lead you where the arch-way branches off
In three directions. By the central hold.
Forward as you advance, the lowering roof
Compels a stooping posture. At one point,
The current of the passage sharply turns
The zig-zags upward by a narrow staircase,
At top of which confronts you seemingly
The solid wall. Here, by the lanthorn's light,
You will discover near the landing stone
An iron ring. This grasp and upwards lift;
A pannel to the eye disguised as brickwork
Will slowly yield, giving admittance scant
To your slight person through the narrow gap:
Brushing aside the mouldering tapestries
That in the inner wall conceal its presence,
You gain a lofty chamber, out of which,
On the left hand, forming a small recess,
The jewel room expands. A grated screen
Protects its entrance. In this larger key,
You hold the availing passport. Say, Gonseres,
To your regardful ear, all is explicit,
And that no shadow of uncertainty
Hangs over you?

Gon.
Less clear the summer noon
Than your instructions. With this chart to steer by,
Success is ours. Two chimes shall not have rung,
Before the princely treasure is secured.
Ere dawn, by the assistance of my steed,
I shall attain the frontier and apace,
Hold with Balsido cautious interview. To cede the advantage
By hasty disposition of the jewels
Were to provoke suspicion:

Soar.
Take this ring,
It hath a charm in't cannot fail to work
Upon Balsido and engage his favour.
One it belonged to, whom his memory
Loves to recal—the playmate of his youth.
Say that Soartes sent it, by the wish
On death-bed of his brother—that for years
It had been reckoned lost, yet suddenly
The other day cast up. A tale it is
Not all bereft of truth which will ensure
His courtesy and every surmise keep
In the back ground. Yet considerate be,
Gonseres, nor the demon of distrust
Tempt with the blazing portion of our treasure;
But let the modest unassuming pearl—
The common gems most easy to dispose of,
Such as appear In keeping with our rank,
Not the estate and garniture of kings
Drop into play.

Gon.
It is high time, my lord,
To be in the stirrup. This Balsido meets
My apprehension. To your estimate
And good report of him I pin all faith.
By noon, to-morrow, you shall have the crowns,
Three hundred thousand, say you, will repair
The credit of your house—appease the Jew
And in the matter of your ward's estate
Clear you from all enquiry?

Soar.
Spare no cost
That may give wings to your return, Gonseres,
But post it hither with relays of steeds
At quickest gallop. Of the amount required,
It is essential that one third at least
Be rendered in the coinage of the realm;
The rest to drafts and letters of exchange
Will bear conversion. All good wishes guard
And speed you on your errand!

Gon.
At noontide,
To-morrow, look for me. Should I fail t'appear
Hold it no token of calamity,
Further than this, that to my will to serve you
And good endeavour to encompass it,
My life has fallen forfeit. Such event,
Rest all assured, shall not endanger you,
Though cruelest tortures appertain to it.
[Gonseres exit.

Soar.
Forbid the thought. The boy is gone. Gonseres!
[shouts.
He answers not, but leaves this rack behind—
This worst of tortures. Good Gonseres! save me.
Oh, fool I am; most credulous of fools—
Gonseres! Must I go—entreat him back
My own commissioned demon? Good Gonseres!
He will not hear and yet is all distinct
To my racked ear the echoe of his footsteps.
Gonseres! treason!—

(Enter Inora.)
In.
On a traitor's lips
The word is apt.

Soar.
I am betrayed (shouts)
Gonseres!

In.
Soartes!

Soar.
Who art thou? what purpose brings thee?

In.
Thou hast forgott'n me. True I am alter'd!
Time, poverty, seclusion, penitence,
The skathing fires of madness—all have altered.
This much the mirror of the brook hath told me.
I am not now a toy to win the eye
Decked out by nature with soft blandishments
And moulded for desire. Look on my brow!
Tell me with flattering tongue 'tis fair as morn,
Tell me my cheek is sweeter than the rose—
My hair as glossy as the raven's plume—
My eyes the sources and the soul of light—
My voice a fountain of soft melody—
My form all grace—my step all elegance;
This froth feed now my ear with, if thou wilt,
Spare not thy former self anew to win me—
It is not here, in the thin skin of things
The change doth lurk.

Soar.
Who art thou, woman?
Why here? who gave thee entrance?

In.
Who am I?
Who feigns all ign'rance of me but best knows me?
Why here? why not? within my promised home,
To claim the consummation of thy vows?
Who gave me entrance? To these crazy walls,
At every chink and port hole there's a welcome,
Of which the howling winds avail themselves,
And I storm-driven pass with them.

Soar.
This is strange!
Declare in simple terms thyself and purpose.

In.
Must I believe it? Am I thus forgotten?
Or dost thou feign this lordly ignorance
To suit th'occasion? Am I forgotten
That needed all thine art to overcome—
Whom protestations of enduring faith
Entreaties, gilded words and sophistries,
Only a subtle demon could employ,
Were brought to triumph o'er? Is she forgotten
And all the lavish labour of thy lust
Made none account of?

Soar.
A stale, sorry trick!
In the impostress you would sink the spy—
They are one calling.

In.
Oh! most vile dissembler!
Deal eye to eye and tongue to tongue with me,
And on thy knightly oath acquit thyself
Of recognition. Are these forgeries?
[Produces a packet of letters.
Wilt thou disclaim them—seal and signature!
With all the tender gist of their contents?
This trinket too, gemmed with an emerald!
[Shews a ring.
Now, when thou hop'st to sate thy jewel chest
With kingly glitter, does thy memory
Refuse to know it? Oh! my Lord Soartes
Say! am I all forgotten?

Soar.
What is your purpose
That you betray me at this time and place
By such appeal and earnest questioning?
To rip up all the follies of my youth?—
Allowed—that these attest we were familiar,
Bandied kind words and tokens of regard,
Nay! that eternal constancy was vowed
Betwixt us. What of this? Are you alone?
A single sufferer in the cause of love—
Sole claimant on my heart, its chosen mistress?
Alone the privileged sharer of my bed
And honoured casket of my chastity,
That now, forsooth, you vex me to avow
So out of date a passion? Know you not,
It is the high prerogative of love
And at its court the lawful form and practice
Of oaths and soft professions to make light,
And gracious-spoken perjuries employ
To win our ends with?

In.
Love is ever truth;
Nor in its court, but that of faithless lust
Lives toleration of such infamy.
Oh! thou dost rob true love of all its truth
And truth of all its fairest loveliness!

Soar.
Am I bewitched that I do trifle thus
With the occasion? By thy plain avowal,
Thou'rt privy to our secret—art a spy—
A base, immodest, surreptitious spy
That to the shoulders of my venial sins
Shiftest the charge of thine own treachery.
'Tis a rash moment thou hast taken to bait
Me in and thwart the bend of my resolve,
On thy presumptuous self, the blame abide!

[Soartes draws a dagger.
In.
Why! gracious heav'n! did no kind star forewarm me!
Are all calamities but love's revealed?
And I—am I but one of many victims,
Levell'd with others to their base degree,
Who hung upon this man's persuasion
And for the honied words of flattery
Yielded the priceless portion of themselves?
A spy thou say'st—a traitress? oh! 'tis well—
We are at last on equal terms—Soartes!
See, I am armed
[Draws a dagger.
As well as thou and have as fit a spirit—
The better cause—more crying wrongs to avenge!
A timorous woman! I am not so now—
Feeble! this limb—these sinews! Look at them.
They are no coaxing and caressing girl's!
Measure them with thine own—stretch me thy hand,
Thou dar'st not; yet thou threat'st me with thy mouth,
A coward's tongue! Art thou indeed Soartes?
The lord Soartes—once my bosom's lord?
I question it. Oh! never art thou him,
Else, in my trance of joy, I am disturbed,
And all before me is despair indeed!

Soar.
Inora! speak not thus—

In.
Inora—ha!
He has confessed me—look! be sure I am
The true Inora and no vile impostress
Regard me well! I am a spy—a traitress,
Limbed like a man—armed like a ruffian.
Inora was a woman—tender, loving—
The incarnation of a hundred graces:
Weapon, her simple nature dreamt not of,
Even as a defence, so trustful she!
Inora! no! no more than thou'rt Soartes
Am I Inora! Time hath chang'd us both—
Thee manhood hath forsak'n—me, my girlhood,—
Thee all that seem'd of worth—me all that was.

Soar.
Indeed—the change is sad!

In.
Oh, hypocrite!
Not thou, but that ideal paragon
I did create from thee to feed my soul with
That fancied Bayard of thy sex is changed—
Thou art the same,—false, crafty, cowardly,
A faithless guardian, to thy king a traitor!

Soar.
Inora!

In.
To my cast off name, appeal not—
Call me by any other that thou willest
I, I—Inora?
I tell thee, every letter is attainted.
Doth my sun-chafed and swart complexion
Remind thee of her? Is this rugged form
Her living counterpart whom none excelled
That ever chisel fraught? Impossible!
Thou knewest me, but as a paramour—
A spy—a traitress! I am all of these
And worthier of thee now that I had deem'd,
Count up the summers that have parted us;
They number half my life-time. After all,
It is no marvel I was thus forgotten;
These twenty years, a vow did bind me to't,
I lent thee not a chance of recognition.
The purpose of my heart was generous,
I left thee to forget me. 'Twas not meet
That the fair house and lineage of Soartes
Should vex itself with base alliances.
To be thy mistress longer I did spurn,
Yet, more abhorr'd myself than my seducer.
Nay! while I thus forsook him, to endure
My term of penance, in my heart, I kept
His image undefeatured. Not a tear
Reproached thee, not a passing thought dishonoured
And when of thy reverses it was whispered,
I tasked my brain with projects of relief.
Alas! o'ertasked it. Traitress, thou hast call'd me,
Thou, of all others!—'Tis a name well-earned,
Aptly deserved and timeously bestowed.
In the same bark—on the same stormy sea,
We sail together,—I am thine accomplice,
The mother of Gonseres, thou his father!

Soar.
Inora!

In.
Still, Inora! Patience—hear me!
Gonseres is our son—a bond betwixt us!
For both, 'twere better far no bond had been,
And that the breath of heav'n passed unobstructed,
Yet flesh and bone and blood, he, is our offspring.

Soar.
An hour ago, had you but told me this.
What reparation—

In.
Reparation? marriage is it?
I'd as lief
The festering shackles of perdition wear
Oh! mockery! now, and with thee, Soartes
Name it not.

Soar.
It is but simple justice to Gonseres.

In.
Gonseres! thou speak'st truth, thou plead'st for him
Thou art Soartes still—no traitor thou!
Oh! I remember well, thy very dogs—
The scourings of thy kennel shamed his mother.
'Twas by heaven's ordinance that this was done,
So the accusing angel might have scope
Within her bosom, at all times to rend it.
Fool, fool, thou hast considerate points about thee
That make me tender-souled, spite of myself.
Thou lov'st Gonseres and hath trusted him,
As one that in return would not betray thee.
A rare confederacy there is among us!
Sire, son, and mother—noble, bastard, harlot!—
The king would laugh his sides out, did he dream
That such crazed ladders are set up on end
To climb with to the throne's high pinnacle
And dispossess him of his vaunted crown.

Soar.
No longer torture me—no further mock me!
Say, is Gonseres true?

In.
I trained him not,
How should I know him better than yourself?

Soar.
It needed but to wield a mother's sway
To be his confident. Thou hast by heart
Our purpose; all its bearings thou art versed in.

In.
Keep doubt aloof; it is too late to doubt,
If you distrust him, there is this choice left you,
To th'utmost corners of the earth escape;
Or else, betray him with thy perjured tongue
And as accomplice in the crime on hand
To torture and to axe, to rack and wheel,
(I have gone through more fiery ordeal)
Commit and doom thy cast-off paramour,
But one alternative remains behind.
Good night, sweet rest to you, my bosom's lord,
As I came here, I go. The tapestries
And wainscotings are gaping for repair,
May no worse phantom stealing through their rents
Disquiet you—sweet rest—my loving lord.
[Inora exit.

Soar.
(shouts)
(Enter Bertrand.)

Ber.

Oh! my dear lord and master! that I should live to
see what I have seen, all within the day's passing and
below the roof I was born under, three-score and ten years
ago. With the old ghost of the house I have hob-nobbed
many a time—a hearty old cock that kept crowing over
our casks by moonlight, and did them a turn of justice,
on occasions of family jubilee. What of late hath come of
it, I wot not; but this new devil in gipsy guise hath a
turn in the eye like a wild cat's and can scratch, I warrant
you. How Jose the warder shewed heel and shrieked
God o' mercy! as the jade pushed by him—

Soar.
To roost, old croaker! but
See to our bed-room that 'tis well appointed;
A roaring fire and brandy by the bucket!
Mind, leave the key inside, and when Gonseres
Returns, apprize me on the instant. Knock
Like a sledge hammer.

[Exeunt.

Scene 2.

Dark Chamber in the Palace. (Gonseres alone.)
Like the breath
Of humid dragons in their charnel dens
Whose fingered fumes work upward to men's throats
And strangle all the senses of sweet life,
So labours the gross air of this drear place.
Is't possible
He hath inveigled me by his feign'd compliance
Into those mazy and mysterious vaults
T'insure my silence and alone, masked in
His rank, his age and past fidelity,
Clutch up the treasure? A fool's fancy this!
Such daring to put hand to is not in
His abject nature; nor to purpose it
Befits the unhinged condition of his fortunes.
Yon ray of distant light breaks cheerily
And all the thronging spectres of distrust
Retreat into their sullen crevices.
The diamond of diamonds is light—
The eye of all things rare and radiant—
Their arbiter and their artificer.
These walls grow friendly under its kind magic
And seem familiar to my apprehension
As I advance. Ha! the key
Leaps to its office, like a thing bewitched
And in the ear of the obedient lock
Drops its persuasive whisper.
[Opens the casket.
A rare stone
Filched from the gleaming quarries of the sun
By some bold searcher of infinitude!
'Tis pity that a gem of such renown
Should be decreed to dark forgetfulness.
No, no, Soartes, I have found a service
Pertaining to it which befitteth more
My humour and its fortunes than thou dream'st of.
Earth's lap hath treasures hoarded in't enow,
To need such acquisition. Oh! this jewel
Hath wrought but half its destiny. Too long
It hath lain buried at the king's caprice
Which holds it in disfavour, as a charm
Linked with rebellion and calamity.
Now, it must forth to supplement its fame
And do the bidding, braving royal decree,
Of the stern fates. Both, both it shall involve
Her and the haughty Count. Pity henceforth
Be banished from my bosom! Come Revenge!
Come Hate! come every fiendish form
And take up room in't! There is space enough
For all the drifting demons of despair
To harbour here. I now devote, before you,
This jewel to the cause of scorned love!
Aid me, avenging spirits! Let my wrongs
Work out their expiation, so that kings
When to their privileged, anointed brows
Reclimbs the fatal star-stone, shall allot
To the red legend of Gonseres' love,
A place in its eventful history.

[Exit Gonseres.