 | The Crown Jewel |  |
Scene. 3.
(Enter Soartes and Gonseres.)Gon.
I have seen Zachary the usurer,
As you desired, my lord.
Soartes.
Good! he agrees
To abate his claim and stretch the term of payment?
Gon.
'Tis an unwholesome den and starving air
That coops him up. I marked no living thing
But a swoll'n spider on the murky walls.
Soartes.
You moved him—pleaded for me?
Gon.
Oh! I used
Blunt eloquence—the sword's hilt to the elbow—
It prevailed nothing. His lack lustre eye
Moved from the parchment to my sheathed weapon
And then resum'd its charge. No tremor shook
Or checked th'impetuous quill. Its talk complete,
He folded up the missive—nothing said
But slid it towards me, then graciously
Waved a good-morrow. See, this will explain—
(Soartes reads)—
“I have indulged your lordship too often. The
pretext is still the same. There is no course left me but
the one in progress. Of the resources your lordship hints
at I am entirely ignorant. The interest on the bonds continues
unpaid. The bonds themselves are unredeemed.
No movement has been made to relieve or extinguish
them. It pains me once more to refuse your lordship's
request. The execution must proceed, Further delay is
impossible.”
“Zachary.”
Soartes.
The flint hearted villain!
Gon.
Being at this pass.
Matters are fain to mend. Courage, my lord.
Soartes.
These threats of angry fortune help to arm me
And her rough usage drills for worse encounter.
Your desperate scheme, so desperate yesterday,
Is now at this dark crisis of events
An inspired Godsend. I embrace it—cling to it;
It is no longer desperate—no longer
The criminal, dishonouring, traitorous project
Which, at the unfolding, to your features gave
Uncarnate lustre, startling and repelling.
Now do I know that crushing poverty
Makes apt for crime, and crimes, at whose recital
Prosp'rous men shudder, to the consciences
Of their necessitous and goaded actors
Bring no reproach. Good angels more upbraid
The boastful virtues of the Pharisee
Than the compliances which men unread
In the abrupt law of Adversity,
Punish with scourge and chain. I shrink no longer.
Gonseres! you have gained me to your purpose.
Gon.
Betwixt us, let no misconception halt.
Foremost, you engage,
Being by virtue of a regal charter,
Hereditary warder of the palace,
Within whose walls, since the demise of—
The jewels have lain, caged up in idle state;
To the sealed chamber where this treasure lies
You pledge me safe direction.
Soartes.
Be assured
Of full instructions—all facility,
No one to challenge you—no mask required.
The sentinels that pace the palace walls
Are in the dark: even the king himself
Suspects no buried entrance to his home—
No bolt unguarded—guarding royalty.
Gon.
This is all well. A dragon to confront
Tempts not my fancy. I am used to hold
Danger, itself the intruder, in disdain,
Not to adventure in bold quest of it,
Or woo its presence. When it comes—a fig for't!
Soartes.
Let not such confidence o'ermatch discretion—
Seem but yourself; while you are doubly prudent,
And note you, good Gonseres! I am here
In the back ground, myself—the Baron Soartes—
Trust-worthy keeper of the royal palace,
No plotter or accomplice—ignorant
As the unconscious infant of your purpose!
Gon.
Not safer is your secret in the grave
Than in my living bosom. I, alone,
Stir in the matter, scheme and execute,
Betrayed by circumstance, I only suffer.
Enough! Gonseres—we agree in this,
Gon.
I consent to it; leave all to my care,
Thus far, up to this crisis, our design
Promises well—further, the jewels secured,
We are, in bettering us, no way advanced
But stand in peril imminent as ever.
The rarest diamonds—pure as angels' tears,
Which their possessor trembles to disclose
Or traffick with, are of less vantage to him
Than pebbles by disdainful billows tossed,
And re-tossed on the surly ocean's marge;
Nay! when thus bid and hampered in their lustre,
They become baleful and, like stars eclipsed,
Bode evil.
Soartes.
True, Gonseres, and in this—
The vigilant disposal of our booty;
Lies your chief service! Let discretion guide you.
The prize secured, push boldly to the frontiers—
Make no delay nor doubtful seem nor anxious,
But use the common diligence of traders;
And see to it, Gonseres, that the gems
Singled and unincumbered of their setting,
Are so concealed about you—so disposed
Upon your person, as to give no pretext
Of busy search to keen officials.
I say—push boldly on, hie thee to ---
And there arrived, enquire for one Balsido
A jeweller and vendor of rare things
Whom having found, treat with considerately,
Disclosing to his view no other portion
Of our rich booty than may satisfy
For my relief and your necessities.
And this observe, Gonseres, I require
The gold without delay. Old Zachary
Is clamorous for his crowns and must be heeded.
Three hundred thousand will redeem the bond—
Clear off all burdens on my ward's estate
And for the brief remainder of life's voyage
Refit my labouring and exhausted bark.
Gon.
Three hundred thousand crowns! a lavish sum
To raise at notice. Think you this Balsido
Will prove compliant?—has the means at hand?
Soartes.
I know him by report.
He is no stinted, haggling usurer,
Like Zachary. Kings treat with him and flourish!
The mystic touchstone of philosophers
Is in his keeping. The red gold is dealt him
In generous ingots by his god-dame Fortune—
Not doled out peevishly in single coins,
But from her dazzling and unfailing hoard
Emptied in lapfuls.
Gon.
You describe, my lord,
One much too honest or too much a knave.
Soartes.
Of such rare knaves, the pride is honesty:
Count on Balsido, he will faithful prove;
As for outwitting you, that is your care.
At lowest estimate, the jewels are worth
A million crowns—one diamond put aside—
A priceless gem famed in old history.
At his sword's point transferred from Moorish casque
To his own princely brow the glittering trophy.
This gem, regard me, let the sun shine on't
Will start to life, aye, like a trumpet speak,
And stir the very midriff of the realm.
It's king adorning lustre, in the course
Of centuries has travell'd the wide earth,
Troubling high thrones and filling camps with envy.
Indolent monarchs, for this jewel's sake,
And to increase the honour of their crowns,
Have menaced war, purposed alliances,
Achievments wrought by lovers unexcelled.
From its renown, base men have culled renown,
And those of gentle birth, denied its presence,
Have halted betwixt death and infamy.
Such virtues as to this rare gem belong,
Mark me, Gonseres, must have no display.
To traitors, loyalty is treacherous;
The amulet of royalty doubly so,
Bury it, therefore, deep in the dark soil,
As thou would'st hide a woful pestilence,
With humid clods sealing the sun's bright eye
And disencouraging the prying stars.
Gon.
Your prudent wishes to the very letter
I shall comply with, credit me, my lord,
The impatience of my nature, kingly gewgaws
Avail to move, less, oh, immeasurably!
Than the surpassing jewel—the bright star
To possess which I am thus stirred to serve you.
Soartes.
This lovers extasy, I fear, Gonseres,
Is inauspicious and befriends us not.
For heaven's sake stay it, so our lofty fortunes
May run together, side by side, and prosper.
Why charge, I ask, so perilous an adventure
With such a freight and thus below itself
Debase the noble emprise you are sworn to?
Be more the man and shake this boy-love off.
It is a taming, heart-dividing folly
Which unmakes those who cherish it.
Gon.
Fear not;
This very extasy you lavish doubts on
Is your salvation—the main-spring that prompts me—
The pledge of our success. Having it not,
I hold no tie but simple gratitude,
Towards your cause, and gratitude is never
The faithful and absorbing power that love is,
So strong yet so compliant—so enslaving
And yet so servile—so ingenious
And manifold in its devices, yet,
Toward the single purpose of the heart
So steadfast. Gratitude is a forced virtue,
And its exotic life, a crossing breath
May chill and wither. Even the hand that rears it,
By one ungentle pressure, often stays it.
But love, how different! exalts and thrives
On its necessities, endures to increase,
And is more weakened by indulgent care
Than unkind usage. Oh! you wrongly judge,
When you would leave to feeble gratitude
A charge to save you and love's higher claim
So disregard.
Gonseres, be more generous.
It was but yesterday that you extolled
The virtue you now slander. There was nothing
You durst not brave under its influence—
Stalk lions—leap into the heart of battle—
Wrestle with serpents—harness crocodiles
And ferry ocean on their scaly backs;
These to the grateful heart were feats of pleasure.
Such gratitude expressed in such big words
I trusted. Have I erred? Am I deceived?
And is this virtue a mere text to rant on?
What then your love but a more recent boast-word?
Gon.
I spake of honesty—of honest service.
Command me still and I engage myself
T'atchieve all this and yet remain your debtor.
In such adventure life is hazarded,
Not in contempt of honour, but to win it,
'Tis otherwise when men are tasked to crime,
To midnight murders, robberies and treasons;
More than sweet life is honour then imperilled,—
A thing so sacred in some men's esteem
It is the life of life and slain its slayer,
Soar.
Honour and thou, Gonseres! Thou and Honour!
Gon.
Does it amaze you more than my presumption?
Have I aspired to your fair niece's hand
And hold the assent of her dear guardian—
Her worthy, doting, conscientious uncle,
Yet am denied the common grace of life,
And in my teeth submit to have dishonour
Flung thus—its days vile garbage to a cur?
Soartes.
Gonseres!
Gon.
The name savours of reproach!
My ears construe it so, and yet, my lord,
It is a faultless name, not like Iscariot;
I might discard it for its euphony
And pride myself in some jaw-breaking terms
That would rout scandal and arrest the tongue
Of froward men, familiar in their phrase;
But no! thy favorite hound was my god-father
And to this dog-call I am broken-in,
Yet not so used, but that my ears do tingle
When base lips utter it.
Soar.
I cry you mercy!
The young blood in you is too hot for me.
Be careful of your scorn while it is harmless.
Lest it draw ruffling smiles and words that fester.
Boy! oh, boy!
Am I persuaded to entrust myself
All to your keeping—an old world-worn man—
To so unformed and rash a counsellor?
That I am thus possessed, what is my crime?
And what the spell you have to mould me thus?
Reply, just heavens! and free me from this bondage!
Poverty cannot crush as you would crush me;
The usurer's grip is not so torturing—
His worst, not the extreme of all extremes.
If human and no demon, as I fear,
You who, not holding can discourse of honour
And rate the price so highly. Oh! be moved!
In my behalf, not to abate its value,
But what remains to me, allow to live.
Gon.
My lord, upon a treasure long renounced
You lavish words. When your fair ward's estate
Lies at the hammer's mercy, will men say
Her guardian was a just, fair dealing man,
The paragon of honour? Will the Jew,
Old Zachary, remain your right-hand surety,
And to keep up your good repute, defer
His pond'rous claims? He is not Mammon's priest
Who at the altar stone, with bloodless knife
Unbinds his victim. Talk no more of this—
Irresolute old man! Honour and thou!
So far I cast the words back in your teeth
Honour and thou are at their quarrel's door!—
Soar.
Alas! the remedy—
Gon.
A Godsend, call it,
That shall repair your fortunes and prop up
The crazed idol at its hour of doom.
Soar.
But Meranie?
Gon.
Whom you have doated on,
Whom you have tended, like another father,
And made forget the true home of her youth
Garnished with love in your still kinder home;
When the storm breaks which gathers over you,
Look in the piteous face of that fair girl
And ask in whose behoof and by what limner
Those features have been wrought?
Soar.
Then you, Gonseres,
You too, can pity her? Say, you do pity
And will accord one kindness for her sake;
I will be slave you to in all the rest,
You shall the choicest of our spoils have choice of—
A double portion, yield but this one favour.
Gon.
Express it, name it, I have patience left me
To endure the surmise of my heart, no longer.
Soar.
Hear me, I pray, in simple charity,
When in a pressing moment I agreed
To indulge your claim, no other end had I
Than to divert the fancies of a boy.
Esteeming them of wild, uncertain nature—
Sudden of dissolution as of growth,
Which if untended by the hand that sprung them
Could not survive even the noon heats of summer.
Gon.
A natural deceit. You flatter me.
I am less harmed than obliged—what then?
My fancies are unchanged—my claim unshaken—
The centre-spring of all my services—
Th'impelling power that would revive your fortunes
My life is in this love—all fixed here!
Such truth deserves return, is it so met?
Or have you cast it on the aimless winds
And wait their message of repaying love?
Oh! dupe, that tak'st to heart the scorn of woman
Yet think'st to overcome it by endurance!
Gon.
Three weeks ago, you soldered up this chain
And led me by it. Am I tamer grown
Or have you ready-forged a heavier shackle?
Ev'n yesterday, you quoted from love's jest book
Some idle rhythm and winked with vexing pleasure,
When for the rightful heroine, you supplied
The name of Meranie—making sly halt thereon.
Soar.
You force me to be plain. The Count Vicente
Has now returned and claims my niece's hand.
I am appris'd by him—but see, here is
The document itself. It needs no comment,
And will explain my conduct.
Gon.
Count Vicente!
I bear this man no love. Two years ago,
The dates agree—he rescued from the lash
A ragged urchin who had crossed my path
In the deer forest on the quarry's track;
Rescued, I said,—fair words did all the office
Backed by the presence of his retinue.
They were enough and nettled more than threats,
This feigned courtesy I fix'd no quarrel on,
But now, that with less reason in his meddling,
He quaffs my fountain, plucks my odorous flower
Darkens and disenchants my purest star,
Betwixt us, Heaven! there beats a life too many!
Soar.
Had one requiting turn befallen your love,
A smile, a word, a ringlet, the hand's pressure,
And Meranie betrayed you by such token
There were excuse for this outburst of hate.
Assert not her affection for Vicente
Thus unincumbered, is Vicente's crime,
And at his guileless door lay all your wrongs,
Heap them at once upon this hoary head
And nerve your fullest vengeanca to the stroke,
So that no dregs remain to satisfy:
Let not a shadow of past friendship—nothing
Presume to intrude betwixt you and your victim.
Hear me, Gonseres! must I say coward to stir you?
Gon.
A choicer word hath deluged hearths with blood,
But they were men that used it and not dotards.
To take for such reproach a life reproached,
Th'exacting code of honour does not teach me.
Soar.
More cruel are your tongue-thrusts than your sword,
The word I spake to move you, now, take home!
(draws)
Gon.
Of the same tide, this is the second billow!
In vain I am assailed. Put up your weapon.
An earthquake hath disordered both our senses.
I have no quarrel but with my destiny.
In the crusade of love, to be so routed
Lies beyond all conception of disaster:
Let us shake hands, my lord, I am restored;
The qualm is off and with it all ill-will,
I bear no malice to Vicente longer.
But when your niece and he have joined their fortunes,
Out of my own division of the booty.
Soar.
Your generous heart is once more in its place.
Now, I can proudly glance to my right hand
And re-assured turn face upon the future.
(Enter Bertrand.)
Ber.
My lord, the whole synagogue is upon us. Here is
the Jew Zachary, two clerks, a notary, three timber merchants,
a picture dealer, and half a score besides of the
city gentry, just let loose from the diligence. Such a swarm
of hornets hasn't buzzed about our ears for many a day.
I have a shrewd guess they are here for some mischief,
and to judge by the wistful eye which one fellow, a
scampish looking quill-driver armed with a birding piece,
bears towards the park, your lordship's venison is in some
danger.
Soar.
The earth is not yet cold pressed by your footsteps
Betwixt us and that usurer's pestilent den
Before th'impatient bloodhounds are let forth.
What shall I do to keep the roof above me
And stretch for my proud oaks their day of grace?
I pray you aid my wits to some expedient
Gon.
How is it with the larder?
Soar.
Help me Bertrand.
Ber.
I have known matters a trifle better, my lord. It
is now fifty years ago—
Soar.
Plague take your slow digestion!
Ber.
Since my late lord your noble father, peace to his
soul! gave an entertainment to his most Christian
majesty—
Soar.
Tush! Bertrand,
The bones of buried feasts are marrowless
And sad fare is the memory of abundance;
Speak to the point. How is your larder stocked?
Ber.
As to the quality, my lord, I declare nothing. It is
wholesome meat which agrees with those who engulph it;
and if the carcase of an old buck found dead by the
ranger this day se'night can be rendered savoury, trust
me, there will be no reason to say, were there a score of
guests to look to, that we starve either Jew or Christian.
Besides, the fish pond has a stray jack or two in it, and
there's the old gander in the barn-yard.
Gon.
Good, at this pinch, it serves you to shew plenty
Garnished with garden stuffs and summer fruits—
The gatherings of the woods; a treat so rare,
Given spontaneously will win you favour.
Soar.
But Zachary? I have no hope to appease him?
Gon.
Oh, fear not. Melt the others to your wishes
And he will parley out of helplessness.
You must have generous wine to work their brains with,
A prime old vintage, gracious to the taste
But cunning in its fume.
Soar.
What say you, Bertrand?
Is the dry rot aspread among your casks
And all the virtue of our cellars gone?
Ber.
Why, my lord, that there is no lack of empty binns
and staved barrels, is beyond arguing. I have known the
day—
Well-well, conclude this threatened roundabout.
Say, you have wine?
Ber.
There is the cask my lord in which your honour, as
master Gonseres who had a hand in the freak will remember,
'tis now seven years past and upwards, drowned a
litter of puppies. You gave orders that it should be
closed up and kept unbroached.
Soar.
It was a happy thought. I had lost mind o't.
By this time, the grape
Will have attained maturity. I envy
The dogs their spicy swill. May the whole litter
Choke in its dregs. Bertrand, you know my wishes.
For lack of cooks spare not the venison.
These cits are kitchen-bred and con amore
Will play their part. Remember tankard law—
Beguile them with a toast or flageolet air—
A snatch of silly song and see they quaff to't,
Let none escape until his wits lie drenched;
Meanwhile Gonseres, I will go and pay
A host's respects to master Zachary.
[Exeunt Soartes and Bertrand.
Gonseres
(solus.)
A boyish love! not one requiting turn in't!
Oh these baffled eyes!
Where were they when this doating rival crossed them?
To yield to love's neglect and he th'occasion
Is to receive my sentence from his mouth.
I can endure it. We shall not fall out
Until this weakness pass, and Meranie—
(The name hath an expiring fragrance in't
That wins me to inhale it to the latest),
Being Vicente's so enriches him,
That my revenge, now inexpedient
Shall have full swing and opportunity.
[Exit.
| The Crown Jewel | |