University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

An Apartment.—Mariana and Haverillo.
HAVERILLO.
You need not fear him, cousin; for I'm sure
His heart's in the right place. He's wayward, doubtless,
And very often unintelligible,
But that is held to be a virtue now.
Critics and poets both (save I, who cling
To older canons) have discarded sense,
And meaning's at a discount. Our young spirits,
Who call themselves the masters of the age,
Are either robed in philosophic mist,
And, with an air of grand profundity,
Talk metaphysics—which, sweet cousin, means
Nothing but aimless jargon—or they come
Before us in the broad bombastic vein,
With spasms, and throes, and transcendental flights,
And heap hyperbole on metaphor:
Well! Heaven be with them, for they do small harm;
And I no more would grudge them their career
Than I would quarrel with a wanton horse
That rolls, on Sundays, in a clover field.
Depend upon it, ere two years are gone,
Firmilian will be wiser.

MARIANA.
Yet you leave
The point on which my soul is racked untouched.
Men read not women's characters aright,
Nor women men's. But I have heard this said,
That woman holds by duty—man by honour.
If that be true, what think you of your friend?

HAVERILLO.
Why—honour is at best a curious thing.
A very honourable man will drive
His sword into the bosom of a friend
For having challenged some oblique remark,
Yet will not stand on honour when the road
Lies open for him to his neighbour's wife.
Your honourable man cheats not at cards,
But he will ruin tradesmen, and will sign
A vast abundance of superfluous bills
Without the means to pay them. Honour! humph!
No doubt Firmilian is honourable.

MARIANA.
Ay, cousin. But there's something more than that.
Honour in love—How say you? Do you think
That you can stand the sponsor for your friend?

HAVERILLO.
I never was a sponsor in my life,
And won't be now. My pretty Mariana,
You should have thought of all such toys as these
Ere the betrothal. You have given your word,
And cannot well withdraw. And, for your comfort,
You must remember what Firmilian is—
A Poet. He is privileged to sing
A thousand ditties to a thousand maids.
Nine Muses waited at Apollo's beck—
Our modern poets are more amorous,
And far exceed the stint of Solomon:
But 'tis mere fancy; inspiration all;
Pure worthless rhyming.—Soft you: here he comes.

Enter Firmilian.
FIRMILIAN.
O joy! to see the partner of my thought
Together with the partner of my soul!
Dear Haverillo! pardon if, before
I join the pressure of my palm with yours,
I lay this tribute on my lady's hand.

HAVERILLO.
Well, we'll not fight about precedency.
And you have come in time. My cousin here
Was pressing me too hard.

FIRMILIAN.
Upon what point?

HAVERILLO.
Why, faith, to tell the truth—for I could never
Summon a lie to meet an exigence—
Nay, frown not, cousin!—She's inquisitive
About what men call honour. I have done
My utmost to explain it.

FIRMILIAN.
I am glad,
Dear Mariana, that you laid your doubt
Before so wise a judge. Not Badajoz,
Nor Spain, nor Europe, doth contain a man
So stainless in his mind as Haverillo;
And you shall pardon me for saying this
Before your face, for I've especial reason.
You've been to me a true and constant friend.
When I had need of money ('tis no shame
In a poor student to acknowledge this)—
You have supplied me; and I come to-day
To thank you and repay you. My old uncle,
The Dean of Salamanca, has expired
Quite full of years and honours, and has left
To me, his nephew, all his worldly goods,
Which are, to say the least, considerable.
Therefore, dear Haverillo, let us meet—
Yet not to-day,—because some time must pass
Ere I receive the hoards—they say, enormous—
Of that quiescent pillar of the Church,—
But at the very speediest point of time
I can select, that I may show my friend
What love I bear him for his trust in me.

HAVERILLO.
You hear him, Mariana? Dear Firmilian!
I'm prouder of thy love than if I were
The king of Ormus! So your uncle's dead?
Go you to Salamanca speedily?

FIRMILIAN.
If I am summoned, and they send me funds,
I cannot choose but go—not otherwise.
'Faith, this bequest comes at a lucky time,
For my last ducat slumbers in my purse
Without a coin to keep it company.

HAVERILLO.
Be that no hindrance. Here are eighty ducats—
Take them. Nay, man; is't kindly to refuse?
What a friend proffers, that a friend should take
Without compulsion. 'Tis a petty loan
To be repaid at your convenience—
You'll vex me otherwise.

FIRMILIAN.
I'd rather dash
My hand, like Scævola, into the flame,
Than vex my Haverillo! O dear heaven!
If those who rail at human nature knew
How many kindly deeds each hour brings forth—
How man by man is cherished and sustained—
They'd leave their carping. I will take your offer,
And hail it as the earliest drop of wealth,
So soon to ripen to a glorious shower.
What says my Mariana?

MARIANA.
That she loves you
More for your yielding to your friend's desire,
Than if you held by pride.

HAVERILLO.
Well put, sweet cousin!
But, dear Firmilian, what hath chanced of late,
To make you such a hermit? You were once
Gay as the lark, and jocund as the bee;
First in good-fellowship, and ever prone
To wing occasion with a merry jest.
Now you are grave and moody, and there hangs
A cloud of mystery about your brow;
You look like one that wrestles with a thought
And cannot fling it down. Is't poetry
Hath brought you to this pass? How come you on
With your intended tragedy on Cain?

FIRMILIAN.
O, that's abandoned quite! The subject was
Too gloomy for my handling; and perhaps,
Out of absorption of my intellect,
It threw a shade on my behaviour.
Henceforward I'll be genial—take my place
With the large-hearted men who love their kind
(Whereof there seems a vast abundance now),
And follow your example.

HAVERILLO.
Well said, boy!
Anacreon crowned his hoary locks with flowers,
Blithe-hearted Horace chirped amidst his cups;
Then why not we? Right glad am I to find
You've done with dismals. Here's a little thing, now,
I wrote the other day, on love and wine,
Quite germain to the matter. Will you hear it?

FIRMILIAN.
I would not listen to Apollo's lute
With greater rapture. But my time is brief—
I had a word to say to Mariana.

HAVERILLO.
I understand. You want to speak of love
In the first person? 'Faith I was a fool
Not sooner to perceive it! Fare you well—
Some other time, be sure, I'll claim your ear.

[Exit.
MARIANA.
O my dear love, what trouble rends your heart?
A loving eye hath instinct in its glance,
And mine discerns in yours a deeper weight
Than yon light-hearted creature could perceive.
What ails my own Firmilian?

FIRMILIAN.
Mariana—
I think you love me?

MARIANA.
Cruel! Can you ask
That question of me now? Three months ago,
Beside the gentle Guadiana's stream,
You asked it in a whisper, and I gave
No cold response.

FIRMILIAN.
Three months, my Mariana,
Are somewhat in a lifetime, and may give
Large opportunity for altered thoughts.
Three hours may change a sinner to a saint—
Three days a friend into an enemy—
Three weeks a virgin to a courtesan—
Three months a conqueror to a fugitive.
I say not this in challenge of your love,
But as a fixed eternal law of time
That cannot be gainsayed. I know you loved me,
When, by the gentle Guadiana's stream,
We interchanged our troth.

MARIANA.
And what hath chanced
Since then to make you doubt me? Have a care
Of what you say, Firmilian! Women's hearts
Are tender and impressible as wax,
But underneath there lies a solid fold
Of pride. You'd best be cautious!

FIRMILIAN.
Lo you now—
She makes me an accuser! Mariana!
My own, my beautiful—I'd rather doubt
The lustre of the star Aldeboran
Than the firm faith of thine unbiassed soul.
But I have enemies. It is the curse
Of genius that it cannot spread its wings,
And soar triumphant to the welcoming clouds,
Without a hateful cawing from the crows.
Mark me! I am not quite as other men;
My aims are higher, more resolved than theirs,
And therefore they detest me. There's no shaft
Within the power of calumny to loose
Which is not bent at me. I am not blind
With soaring near the sun. I know full well
That envious men have termed me libertine—
And, from the frank out-welling of my mind
(Which never flowed from impulse save to thee),
Have done me fearful wrong. And this it is
That racks my being. There's your kinsman now,
Alonzo Olivarez—he makes free,
I'm told, with my fair fame.

MARIANA.
You need not fear him.
Surely you know Alonzo.

FIRMILIAN.
Yes. I know him
As a strong fool, who, in his roystering cups,
Does far more mischief than the veriest knave
Whose power of satire makes his words suspect.
There's no such libeller as your arrant ass!
Men know he can't invent; and what he says
Gains credit from his sheer stupidity.
Hath he not talked of me?

MARIANA.
Indeed he has;
But what he said escaped me.

FIRMILIAN.
Then I'm right!
He's Garcia's mouthpiece; and I know the man
That sets them on—Alphonzo D'Aguilar—
Who swears you loved him once.

MARIANA.
If he does so,
He's an unmeasured villain! What—Alphonzo?
Had I ne'er seen thy face, Firmilian,
And did my choice lie 'twixt a muleteer
And that stiff scion of Castilian blood,
I'd wed the peasant! Do you tell me this?
O, now I understand their treachery!

FIRMILIAN.
And therefore solely have I tried thee thus.
Dear Mariana, weep not! I perceive
What hath been done. 'Tis an accursed world,
Wherein bright things have little leave to shine
Without the sullying of some envious hand.
Henceforth be thou and I sole witnesses
Against each other. Let us shut the door
To all the outward blasts of calumny,
And live by mutual trusting. Dry your tears!
Or, if you will, weep on, and I shall count
For every pearly drop with D'Aguilar,
Making him pay the ransom with his blood.
O that a caitiff's slander should have power
To rack thee thus!

MARIANA.
'Tis gone—the storm has past.
'Twas but a bitter hail-shower, and the sun
Laughs out again within the tranquil blue.
Henceforth, Firmilian, thou art safe with me.
If all the world conspired to do thee wrong,
And heap its ugly slanders on thy head—
Yea, though an angel should denounce my love,
I would not listen. From thy lips alone
I'll hear confession.

FIRMILIAN.
And the penance, sweet—
Make it no more than this.
O balmy breath!

[The scene closes.