 | The Crown Jewel |  |
ACT. IV.
Scene 1.
Wood fronting Count Vicents's Castle. Meranie and Count Vicente.(Meranie sings.)
[Gonseres enters and conceals himself.
Joy of all joys is to be,
Leaning on, listening to thee,
Listening to thee and the dove,
Leaning, brave heart, on thy love,
On the right arm of Valour and Love!
Joy of all joys is to know
Thou art true, let the tide ebb or flow
Let the daylight arise or decline—
To know, noble heart, I am thine,
Joy of all joys to be thine!
(Gonseres from his concealment.)
Oh! happy birds that nestle in these boughs
And in the pleasant cadences of song
Are perfected by such an apt instructress!
I would I were a listener with you,
As grateful, uninvidious, innocent,
Moved to no evil, prompted by no devil.
This winged felicity is not my fate—
Therefore I serve the bidding I am bound to;
Therefore, I quench, love being quenched, all pity;—
Therefore, I hate and will have hatred felt;
Therefore, I hoard and multiply revenge,
Until it oversatisfies its purpose.
[Vicente and Ladye Meranie pass.
Proud Count! how comes this narrow world to hold thee?
Proud ladye! why into the bend of heaven
Among the emulous stars not stretch thy neck
And the disdain of these sweet eyes cloud up
Against my reckoning? Must I halt and turn—
Yield all to one relenting of the hour
And go, my nails gnaw in a monastery
To give your loves their licence? Owe and pay!
This is the usage of the honest world,
And I shall hold to it. Scorn! a heart scorned!
Insult! no end of it! So huge a debt
I owe you and with interests shall pay it.
How simple to put this good shaft to use
On such an errand! Tempter! urge me not
To settle in the twanging of a bowstring
So large a load of liabilities.
No, no, the careful hoardings of revenge
At intervals and by degrees built up
Are of more moment than to be imperilled
At one rash venture.
[Vicente and Meranie re-pass.
My own sweet countess, rest not on the thought
Nor let it cloud our honeymoon of love.
Mer.
Nay! dear Vicente, read with lenient eye
And thou wilt find accordant to its cheer
And smiling import my reflecting self;
Express but joy and hold me joy as well,
In thy serenity I walk serene:
Betray sad thoughts: Alas! a poor consoler—
I cannot stave the infection of their sadness,
But share it with thee.
Vic.
Oh! then, anxiety
Forsake my brow! for thee alone I feared
And from these grave, sweet looks, construed and shaped
My apprehensions, dearest Meranie!
Mer.
My guardian's absence, but his silence more
Have, I allow, upon my wonder drawn.
The why he honoured not our nuptial feast
In person, as my guardian and kinsman.
Our neighbour and thy fathers ancient friend?
Yet, this omission I am fain to excuse
And count it fortunate the bridal board
Was not thus honoured. Still, that he is silent
And to our courteous invitation
Hath vouchsafed no return, perplexes me,
The curtest note couched in the stiffest terms
More grateful were than such undue reserve,
So might I still regard him as a man
Not altogether dead to charity—
As the fond uncle whom an adverse hand
Compelled to cruel and ungracious acts
Against his better nature.
Vic.
The regard
Thou would'st persuade thyself survives in him,
More aptly by his silence is exprest
Than by the phraseology of form,—
Those cold, hard words, like hailstones of the north.
That smite and lacerate the tender heart.
Mer.
Oh! such I dream't not of, nor thought to have
Returned upon us in acknowledgment.
Better and kinder were an age of silence
Than such return. A sad and grievous change
Hath overtaken my kinsman. Yet, dear lord!
The past persuades me with a lenient eye
To look upon his later frailties
And make concessions to declining years,
Lost health and that infirmity of mind
His waning fortunes are conspired to compass.
[Vicente and L. Meranie pass.
(Gonseres, armed with bow and arrow, affixes a small casket to the head of the shaft, and thus soliloquises.)
Gon.
'Tis opportune. The casement stands agape,
My demon beckons on me. Do thine errand!
(fits the arrow to the bow and draws; the arrow with its appendage entering the apartment.)
There is the dower I promised to thy bride,
Proud Count! 'twill purchase thee and her a throne
If thou hast wit to use it for this end.
My mother, who is skilled in divination,
Avers a scaffold glimmered on its facets,
The likelier ending to your mated loves.
[Exit.
Scene 2.
Apartment in Count Vicente's Castle discovers Ladies Ella and Meranie.Ella.
My confident no longer—
Mer.
But thy sister.
Ella.
It satisfies. I have thy confidence,
Thou mine, as much as needful. The new bond
Uniting us, does of necessity
Alter the former compact of our hearts,
Only in this, that the sweet trust you gave
To my weak self is now transferred to one
More worthy its reception.
Mer.
Say not so,
The worth in both excels. I have no secrets
Vicente would deny thee, dearest Ella!
Ella.
And I no wish of his prerogative
To be the usurper; no, dear Meranie!
Thy husband's claim I yield all rev'rence to
And would not rob him of a jot of honour,
To be entrusted with the king's confessions,
Which, by the bye, they say, he has his say in,
But they who say it are invidious folks.
True loyalty insinuates no wrong
Of kings that err, but helps to amend their state,
And failing, shields their virtues from reproach,
If these they have to excuse their follies with,
At no such crisis is our noble monarch!
Mer.
Live in your lips his glory and defence!
To-morrow is the birth-day of the Prince
His heir, and, if God spares, the throne's successor—
A noble youth, illustrious, not less
By virtue of his graces and acquirements
Than the renown of his great ancestors.
Ella.
The annual fete which to the event is linked,
On this the year of his majority
With greater pomp and prodigal display
Will be enacted, so says rumour's tongue,
While 'mong the guests which royalty hath honoured
With its command to grace the banquet hall
Are named the Count Vicente and his bride.
Mer.
This gracious and considerate mark of favour
Has been acknowledged with due courtesy.
In virtue of your post, as maid of honour,
You too, dear Ella, to these palace revels
Are welcomed and will bear us company.
A source of some regret unto my lord
Is the detention of an ornament
Intended for my use which he had sent
To be refitted by the jeweller.
For its own sake, I place no heart on it,
But yet for his, would give it constant place
Upon my heart. Here comes he all relieved,
And with a face of joy! Welcome, dear lord,
The bauble has arrived?
In truth, fair heart!
Its lesser stars are all rebuked to shame;
I care not how unpunctually they lag.
Here is a diamond fallen out of heaven
To grace the bosom meetest for it on earth!
A rarer stone has never filled the gaze
With its perfections, flawless as a seraph—
Watered from out the highest firmament—
Shaped so as to refract its innate light
A thousand ways and win a thousand eyes.
Ella.
Tempt not our patience longer, brother dear,
But to this miracle be justice done;
And let its good renown find listeners.
If, in this casket, lies the jewel you rave of,
Undo its fastenings—bid the soul peep out
And our expectant eyes illuminate.
Vic.
Oh, Ella! you that pride your simple self
On being above the failings of your sex,
Are but a woman still, impatient, curious,
As fond of shining gew-gaws as the rest.
Ella.
That by the rapture of your speech, Vicente,
Touching this gem of gems, I am persuaded,
Betrays no great excess of frailty.
As natural it is for boastful man,
Thus moved, to waive all starched discretion
And to the throbs of curiosity,
Tender obedience, as for simple woman.
[Vicente opens the casket.
Vic.
Truly, a marvellous jewel! No eulogy
From poet's lips, could give it tithe of justice.
Mer.
To whose potential favour, my dear lord,
Trace you this princely token of esteem?
Vic.
I am bewildered, love.
Ella.
The stone is one that royalty itself
Might envy. By such pertinents are thrones
Propped and accredited. To acquire and hold them
Is duty more than privilege in a king.
They are the life and good repute of empires
And for the follies and imprudences
Of those that govern are atoning pledges,
This is no monarch's gift, brother Vicente!
Not thus the heart's-blood of our palace courts
Is shower'd away.
Mer.
'Tis strange munificence,
And of a strange and questionable source,
Seeing that royalty hath no hand in it.
I pray you, my dear lord, the mystery solve,
How came this jewel? by what messenger?
With what accompaniment or note of hand?
Vic.
To affirm that from the generous stars it dropt,
In this our radiant honeymoon of love,
Might gain excuse, as a poetic freedom;
Yet, in her ear so to exaggerate
Were to insult my sweet, confiding marrow.
How came into these hands a gift so rare
Is simply told. On entering my study,
An hour ago, the jewel lay before me
Secured by silken ribbon to an arrow
Which, further, on its shaft a label bore
In curt and formal terms, the donor's wish,
That to my countess, as a bridal gift,
This diamond unquestioned should pass,
And wishing her all opportunity
And health to wear it.
Mer.
What good friend I owe
So rich a favour to, my loving lord!
All comprehension baffles. No kind eye,
Save this devoted sister's and your own
Hath so beamed on me, since my girlhood's dawn,
As to betoken a chance gift of love,
Costlier than common courtesies. A windfall,
Such as this is, all reason contradicts,
Each past experience, every sense of merit;
So lavish is it, yet so modestly,
In shame of form and disrespect of thanks,
Placed at our bidding. Does no clue remain
By which to trace the giver?
Vic.
One and all
Of our domestics I have straightly questioned,
But nothing ascertained which helps to guide
Further inquiry. No one, they agree,
Hath passed the approach, since sunrise. To my study,
The open casement, it is true, gave access,
Through which the arrow with its precious freight,
Aimed by no trembling or unpractised hand,
Found passage, sole intruder.—
Ella.
Strange indeed!
By all the freaks of fortune unexcelled!
That ancient mariner of Arabian fame
Sinbad eclypt, henceforward, may resign
The right hand of the goddess. They reck not,
Who at the morrow's regal festival
Are bent to poison half the world with envy,
How their high projects will be overset
By the display of this bright cynosure.
Mer.
Ella, dear Ella, you o'ertake my purpose,
This peerless wonder to appreciate
And meet the morrow's world with, all at once,
Accords not with the longings of a heart
So fully satisfied. I am, as yet,
The simple and unpractised courtier—
Scarce trained to encounter the gay mirror's face
And check the intruding scarlet. To acquit
Myself erect and as my natural self,
Before our august monarch and his queen
My inborn courage is my honest help;
This I could do, and no one say I failed
In dignity and self-possession;
But thus bedecked with half a kingdom's cost—
Invidious eyes pursuing every step—
The mark of shafts from every rancorous tongue,—
Thronged in and of this jewel's history
Entreated—in what era of the past,
It oped its lucid eye? what Pagan sands
Evolved it? whose the high barbaric brow
It first adorned? a thousand questions
Touching its acquisition thrust on me,
The bare idea carries torture with it.
My gentle countess, your discretion guide you!
This diamond that so perplexes us
By its surpassing beauty and the mode,
So strange, by which 'tis thrust on our acceptance,
Has all the seeming of a royal favour.
The jewels that do prop the throne are men,
The wise and valorous, not, as Ella deems,
A hoard of shining stones. Our generous king
Hath delicate and unpretentious tact
In shedding his awards—esteeming oft
The slightest service too, of higher worth
Than those esteem who render it. 'Tis true,
This gift brings no equivalent to mind,
Save it be thy sweet virtues that have winged
Their fragrant way into the royal presence;
Yet to acknowledge it, is our privilege
And bounden duty. How it best becomes
To speak the thanks we owe, reason doth teach,
As well as usage. Faithful courtiers
Hold it a simple act of loyalty
To wear their stars and decorations
In presence of the king. This diamond
Announcing by its costliness, the source
It came from, should be so esteemed
And proffer'd to the eye of majesty
As a due recognition of his favour
And high regard. To-morrow's national fete—
The birth-day of the throne's apparent heir,
For this acknowledgement and loyal duty
The occasion offers. My sweet Meranie—
Will hail the early opportunity
And on her graceful self bear gracefully
The royal favour.
Mer.
You have won me to it,
More by persuasion than by argument—
More by desire to chime with your desire,
My loving lord, than from release of thought
Suspicious of this gift and its bestower.
[Exeunt.
End of Scene 2.
Scene 3.
A Street in the City. Gonseres and Inora meet.Gon.
Thou, mother, in the city;—the wood-raven
Among the parrots! Thou! my wholesome dame
On the parade of fashion? Do I see
Aright, or are my senses all distraught?
What demon hath compelled thee from thy den
To scare the crowd with evil-omened brow
And this a holiday? See! how they quit
The balconies—those nurs'ry groups that wait
Th'advancing pageant. Thou hast the evil eye
And spoil'st the good folks mirth. Let us aside
And leave these youngsters to recover heart.
We play the mar-sport in this spectacle.
In.
What parson, boy, hath driven the devil out
And made a milk-sop of thee? Hast thou taken
To some fresh love-suit to be baulked anew—
And constru'st me into a school-girl's bugbear
Would chase the crimson from some pretty cheek?
Stay here!—I came to see this pageant, lad,
Not to bewitch and frighten silly chits;
I came to take a farewell peep at things.
This was my girlhood's haunt—that house, my home,
Thence, from yon balcony, I first beheld
Your sire—the Lord Soartes. Those young brats,
No wonder the contagion of our presence,
Brings terror with it to their timid faces!
I am their aunt. See!—the attraction holds—
A trembling hand and now a pallid brow
Divides the curtain—two—three—all at once,
Its minds me of old times. Let us move on.
Thou'rt right, Gonseres! where my shadow falls
Mirth flies. I had no thought of this.
Gon.
Nor I,
Nay, nay—abide one moment. Pity 'tis,
Now I have found this cousin-ship, to give
So quick a go-bye to it.
[Flourish of trumpets.
Hark! 'tis music!—
The state procession will be here anon;
These door-steps promise a good point of view
From which to observe it.
In.
Did I say, Gonseres,
I came to see this pageant? Ay, did I!
But not the bauble's self. I came to find
My Lord Soartes here, propped by our hands—
Rebuilt in his estate—free as of yore
T'associate with the haughtiest of the realm,
I came to mark him in his equipage—
The monarch's favourite and admire the scheme
That helped him back to fortune.
Gon.
Tush! thou'rt mad.
Mad! true—oblivious of my former self,
It is a madness of its sort, sweet bud;
For thirty years I have not passed this way
And yet it seems the common thoroughfare
Which I am used to travel. Every spot
Is rife with the events of yesterday.
See, see—my brother's fledglings are grown bold.
The music hath inspirited them. They are back
Towards the balcony—their necks at stretch—
Their eyes intent to catch the cavalcade.
How quickly the pert youngsters have thrown off
Their shyness. It was thus, on such a day
Of royal parade, Gonseres, that I first
Beheld the Lord Soartes. Fate is just!
Why am I here to-day? why thou? why these
Our kin—all at this ominous spot convened
But to give fate its due? He comes—they come,
Nay, man, throw back thy mantle, shew thyself.
Thy sire and fellow robber rides in state
Behind his sovereign—mated with his peers.
'Tis time that the self-same effrontery
Should deck the uncovered brows of his accomplice.
Let us stare out this trial of our virtue
And none will dare affront us. The king smiles
And to the heir presumptive of his throne
Jestingly turns. We are set down as loyal.
[Procession passes.
Gon.
A doubtful inference! plausibly come to.
Thou'rt versed in court-craft, as thou wert in nursing,
Good mother!—Regal levity implies
Aroused suspicions. Smiles are oft with kings
The gleam of daggers from their sheathes provoked—
A beckoning and instruction to the headsman.
In.
'Tis majesty hath awed thee so to speak.
Here comes Soartes; mark him! He looks up
To my old post. Ha! how he winces. See!
That girl's resemblance moves and overcomes him—
I in his thoughts am uppermost at last.
Turn head this way, my bosom lord—this way—
Seek refuge here. 'Tis a convenient thing
To have two sides to look to. Nay—I meant not
So to have startled thee. Gonseres!—prop me—
I have not a reed's strength in all my frame,
Lend me a shoulder—boy! thy staff—
Hold on!
The heaviest heart that ever anguish loaded
Presses as lightly on me, as a feather:
Mother is't thou with thy defiant soul?
My grave, ambitious dam—my love-condemnrix,—
My hating, cruel, cold, sarcastic mother?
Is't thou that moot'st the matter of scorned love
And tremblest under it? Go-bye!—go-bye!
Who taunted me? who bade me shew myself
And brave this holiday? Who urged it all?—
Painted the traitor's crime in hues of virtue
And to the cause of treason, plighted troth?
Who spake of love as glory's hinderance
And chided the surrenderings of nature?
Come! lean on me with resolution!
The sturdiest oak of boastful Albion,
Now that the Count Vicente meets my eye,
Is but a twig in strength. Bear up—my old one:
Our life's best spectacle is yet to come!
[Vicente passes.
See mother! this is he that wears my jewel.—
The courtly lord that smells my jessamine—
The insolent, disdainful of your cub,
Who with his hunting thong—'tis years ago—
Years have have not laid the sore—struck here and stung.
Well! I am calm, now to recount all this
And he before me blazing with renown.
All this—and more, good mother! which you know of
Hath your degenerate bastard overpassed.
His sire's poor blood within his veins begs way,
Blended, if not with red, maternal gore
So thick and spicy as thy heart-springs yield,
With creams instead, drawn from the pup-reft hound
To which thy gracious love commended me,
Such breeding is of some account, in faith!
Or why am I this prodigy of patience?
Why should I halt for the catastrophe
With dagger sheathed and not determine it?
Why be so timid in such braggart guise?
So unaudacious, when 'tis opportune
To take revenge? I am a dastard loon
Beside the bravo, who, gild but his palm,
Jumps at a job of blood. The screw is loose
Somewhere, good mother, in my mechanism.
Be the fault whose it may—thine or Soartes'
Or else my surly nurse's or all three—
I hav'nt the open courage which wronged men
Pride themselves in, nor yet the hireling's daring
Which for a petty coin, engages him
In the pale rider's service.
[Exeunt.
Scene 4.
Another Street in the City. (Enter two Citizens.)1st Cit.
Joy fills the province, not a heart therein
But throbs with it, from that which agitates
The regal pulse down to the drudging peasant's.
Old age and buoyant youth participate
Together in its kindling extasy.
Look yonder at that merry-making group,
How the delirium of the festive hour
Hath overtaken and assorted it
Blending its motley features into one
Benign expression of felicity!
2nd Cit.
By this emotion of prevailing joy
Is the good spirit of allegiance tried.
The concord which upholds our festivals,
More than the stirring sympathies of war
Argues the State's well-being
[Enter King, procession, &c. with flourish of trumpets.
Omnes.
Long live the King! Long live Prince Amored!
King.
Thanks! and God bless you all
Our loving people!—To your loyal hearts
We owe the calm and sunshine of the realm,
Its biding peace and fair prosperity.
Our throne has been exalted by your virtues—
Our sway and territorial boundaries
Propped by your valour. Thanks to all!
Omnes.
Long live the King! God bless our sovereign!
King.
A happy people! happy is its prince!
Again we thank you with a prouder heart,
Made prouder by the utterance of your love.
Omnes.
Long live the King!
King.
May such strong loyalty
Survive us long and to our kingdom's heir
Prove his best shield and weapon of defence.
To-day, reliant on your high regard,
We crave, on his account, a patient moment
Wherein to recommend him to your favour
And the exuberance of your love entreat
In his behalf. Refuse not to the son,
Our throne's successor, the allegiance
You duteously have tendered to his sire;
But let him in your favour blend with us,
So shall all after duty to your sovereign,
At our decease, be leavened with delight
And the condition of the kingdom prosper.
All.
Long live the King! Long live Prince Amored!
With length of days high heaven hath honoured me.
Nor in their course withheld or limited
The dewfall of its blessings. God be thanked
For the sweet mercy of prosperity,
Which hath been handmaid of so long a lifetime
And still attends us, vigorous as ever!
Although December snows enwrap our head—
Our sight be clouded and our blood nigh frozen,
This boon of heaven hath waned not with our waning
But more than mere surviving us, increases.
The offering of a monarch is his peoples',
Therefore, together, let us offer thanks
For this sweet mercy!
All.
Long live our monarch!
King.
Courteous lieges! yield
Indulgence to your grey-haired sovereign
Whom the infirmities of life persuade.
To delegate the cares of government
To younger hands. No stranger is our son
Among you, and no alien to your love.
The instructions of our estimable men—
Scholars and worthies, in his grateful mind
Shew promise of rich harvest, History,—
The usages of men have been his study—
All arts, industrial and elegant.
Nor is he a raw tyro and untried
In war, but with your valiant selves hath shared
The perils and glory of our late campaign.
To us he has been all things, as a son,
His very life suspended on our wishes;
Duty and love are so agreed in him
They form one virtue. In his mother's eyes,
The aspect nature gave him is our own:
In our fond vision, he is doubly prized,
Being the image of our loving consort.
Excuse us, loyal sirs, that we have hung
So long upon the promise of our throne,
So glibly have his many graces dealt on,
And to your ears built up a man complete
Fitter to sway the empire than his sire.
All.
Long live the King!
King.
No stranger to your fealty we impose—
No substitute that shall supplant ourselves—
No base intruder on our own free soil—
No corrupt bastard with corrupting blood!
Regard him as a fellow-subject still,
Yet sharer with ourselves in palace cares—
The heir apparent to our high estate
Apprenticed to the toils of sovereignty.
All.
Long live Prince Amored!
From your approval of my pet resolve
I draw both augury and inference—
An augury of welfare to my kingdom—
The inference that love and loyalty
Glow in your generous bosoms and give promise
To compass and defend the kingdom's heir.
To-night it is our purpose (as it has been
Though secret kept, these many passing years,)
From the strict rigour of an early vow,
Made in an hour of dire perplexity
To liberate ourselves and our successors.
By tenor of this oath, as you all know,
Our crown and sceptre, the regalia
Which on great state occasions played their part
And with our kingdom's history are blent,
Have in abeyance lain, since the demise
Of our illustrious sire. The Lord Soartes,
A trusty and leal-hearted nobleman,
Holds them in keeping. From his special charge
Now that the prejudice is dying out
Which linked them with disaster and mishap,
It is our settled purpose to release them.
To the custodier of this onerous trust
Our letters of relief will welcome prove,
Leaving intact, as they are framed to do,
His annual perquisites. We now give order,
Touching the liberation of these jewels,
That once more they confront the eyes of men
And in our palace and the senate house
Enact their part. To-night's great festival
Invites to blend with it all lustrous aids
And in the restoration of the pomp,
Which to our court pertains as well as camp,
The opportunity presents itself.
My Lord Soartes! it is our good pleasure
That the regalia of this noble realm
Grace to-night's banquet.
Soar.
'Tis my pride and duty
To hold my sovereign's pleasure at command;
Yet—may I plead—
King.
Nay! let it not distress you,
My worthy and revered counsellor!
To what extent the setting of our jewels
Hath ta'en on tarnish. Man's imperfect work
Time takes his pleasure with—soils and disfigures—
Only to shew where true perfection lies—
So in the embroidery of these diamonds
Artistic in design, eye-taking once
And spoken of as something marvellous,
The accidents which rob them of their charms
Exalt their wearers and more brilliant make
And costlier to the eye, the gems encased.
Nor does it need these to resuscitate
And bid shine forth in all their pristine lustre
More than the flourish of a page's hand
Armed with a lady's kerchief. Spider-weft
And dust may for a season muffle up
The face of things eternal—ay!—of souls,
And reputations which are fixed as stars,
Yet in its day, their value will break forth
And the cloud pass which threatened with extinction.
But go, Soartes, give its grace to duty:—
This signet will secure a guard of honour,
And it is meet that some formality
Should wait the resurrection of these jewels.
[Exeunt.
Scene 5.
Room in the Palace discovers two courtiers.1st.
The king can do no wrong, is an old saying
Which finds acceptance with all honest men
Only the disaffected and disloyal
Pervert it, as the devil does the scripture.
The virtue negative ascribed to thrones
Is now made positive. The king does right,
And loyalty expands.
2nd.
This turn of things
Comes late, but better late than not at all.
The self-denial of our sovereign
Upon his lieges (throw the court aside),
Hath tak'n effect unwholesome, and the air
Charged with dissension and fanatic gloom.
Such coming from the throne have been the force
And sequel of example; and to stay
The progress of the evil, only he
That set it first a-going can prevail:
Therefore of all things opportune and welcome
Is this return to reasonable customs.
The etiquette dispensed with and parade
Are to our kingdom's life essential.
They make of consequence its royal head,—
Exalt his peers, bring courtesy to play
In every circle, give our armies strength
And the significance which keeps in awe,
While it diverts, the shifty populace.
A monarch to be monarch must keep up
The customs of the Cæsars and put on
With the demeanour of a god, his harness,
And that grand nature which the great God hath
Of being, beyond the power to estimate,
Munificent and prodigal of pleasures.
This is the secret of imperial success!
And now that the traditions of our realm
And its regalia, so stirring once,
Have become drivel and a nursery tale,
It is high season to resuscitate
The glories which monarchical caprice
Sought to annihilate.
1st.
How the spirit catches
That breaks the stiff neck of the Puritan
And melts the people to their ruler's humour!
More by his dazzling than his hazy moods,
The sun maintains his grand supremacy;
So in the case of kings: Magnificence
In state blent with munificence in action
Carries the day.
2nd.
We meet again to-night,
And shall have opportunity to speak
Our minds out on this sudden turn of things.
The Count Vicente, I incline to think,
Takes prominent hand in't.
[Exeunt.
Scene 6.
Outside the Palace.[Enter Gonseres cloaked.
Gon.
(solus.)
To the right track and purpose of my mind
I am restored. The raven and its croak
Are more becoming in the forest's heart
Than in the city. 'Twas contagious,
This leaking out of courage. Mother, mother!
Mover and would-be marplot in our scheme,
From thy dissuasion I must hold aloof;
We are on different tacks. Thy tigress heart
Hath pulp in it—a remnant. To infect me
With its soft leanings is to take from me
My nature and the vengeance I am sworn to.
'Tis not desired that we should meet again.
A cub estranged from the maternal milk
Is dangerous crossing—
(Enter Soartes.)
You keep punctual faith.
'Tis well, my Lord Scartes, and expedient,
I shall be present at the fete to-night.
Soar.
You! Be advised, Gonseres!
Gon.
I have cast
With yours my fortunes and shall swim or drown
Along with you.
Soar.
My faithful servitor!
For zeal in my behalf I give you credit;
A brave accomplice you have proved and trusty;
But is it meet or prudent, at this crisis,
To keep the game up? Of th'apportioned fruits
Which crowned our enterprise, the costlier share,
Is in your keeping, let it so remain,
The terms be these,—Henceforth, we meet no more.
Gon.
My Lord Soartes, at the fete to-night
I purpose to be present. The terms you urge
Require to be considered, and to-morrow
Is soon enough to bargain for my exile;
But at this fete, I am resolved to be.
Soar.
What fiend of curiosity hath taken
Possession of you, lad? You are no courtier
Nor versed in courtly ceremonial—
Are rude in speech and of a rustic bearing
Would draw suspicion towards you. What invites
This whim and at this crisis?
Gon.
Do you ask me?
I shall be plain with you, my Lord Soartes,
Nor take into account your privilege
Of insult. It belongs to noble birth,
And using it, when the occasion offers,
Is natural to your order—serves as vent
To the impatience which a life at court
Engenders with its starched formalities.
I deem it as unfatherly, this hit,
More than unmannerly.—But let that pass!
And gave me high appointment in your household,
I had no inkling of the tie betwixt us,
Nor sought to disenchant the dream I had formed
Of life, by casting for a lineage.
My whole ambition was to hold the lead
In rural sports—to excel in archery—
To interpret issues in a coming horse-race,—
In kennel and in stable to be absolute
And in the chase unrivalled. A new light
And new ambitions have sprung up within me,
From lurking points, undreamt of. You enquire
What fascination draws me to the city?
And why this resolution to be present
At the grand fete in honour of the Prince?
I shall be plain with you, as I have promised.
Fellow conspirator! nay, start not, listen
And hear me out. You may remember—must,
How you approved of my untoward advances
To your fair ward the Lady Meranie,
Ay! and made promise to assist my suit—
How, when the Count Vicente pressed his claims,
By your persuasion, I surrendered mine,
Pledging myself, should our design succeed,
To endow her and her consort lavishly.
She lives in recollection with my pledge,
To fulfil which I am in honour bound.
Vouchers required, I claim from you the voucher
That shall admit me to those palace-revels.
Soar.
Your purpose and the means to accomplish it
I cannot fathom;—nay, be more explicit!
Gon.
I craved this interview, my Lord Soartes,
To apprise you of the quicksand we are nearing.
A chance is left us, but it rests on me,
Whose interests with yours are kneaded up,
To make it of avail. Deny my quest,
And ere the morrow's dawn, by loud proclaim
Of pursuivant, the elbow of the throne,
Adviser, favourite, and what all besides,
Shall be denounced the traitor and the felon.
Soar.
Hold, hold, you practise on me, insolent!
Gon.
Do I look so, with naked head a-thrust
Into the lion's den? I came to warn,
At peril of my life, and not to threaten.
Give me the passport. My abuse of it
Only myself endangers. Towards you,
Were not my purpose filial, you have only
To cast an eye back on my services
And with them link my opportunities,
To play you false, had I designed to do so.
Soar.
Again in leading strings! Here is the voucher!
I am committed to it by your craving.
The master of the ceremonies, look ye,
May throw it in your face. Your speech bewrayeth
And clownly garb.—
(Gonseres throws of his cloak and discovers himself attired in a rich suit. Soartes starts.)
I have been over-hasty in my rating.
You bring to mind an old, ancestral gem
Which in my cabinet at the castle hangs,
A portrait by Velasquez of my grandsire,
On his return from Italy. Come near,
Embrace me, son! You have the blood in you
Will bear commending to the royal ear.—
My pleasure to adopt you shall be laid
Forthwith before the king. No question,
He will approve and ratify the wish
Setting to letters of nobility—
The joint sign-manual of himself and heir.
To curiosity I must impute
This bold resolve of yours, to play a part,
As masquerader in these palace-revels.
Be prudent, boy, free with the ear and eye,
But cautious to a syllable—a breath—
A moving of the lips, your speech regarded.
[Exit.
Gon.
The bait is swallowed. 'Tis a crafty fish
And needs a crafty hand to take in guiding,
But I have fast my purpose. At his peril,
He baulks me!
[Exit.
End of Act IV.
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