 | The Star of Seville |  |
ACT III.
SCENE I.
—THE KING'S ANTICHAMBER. COURTIERS DISCOVERED, SOME PLAYING AT CHESS, OTHERS AT DICE.Enter from inner chamber of a Gentleman.
FIRST LORD.
How now, sir, is his highness gone to bed?
GENTLEMAN.
Not yet, sir.
SECOND LORD.
'Tis late—what time may it be?
THIRD LORD.
An hour to day—just midnight.
GENTLEMAN.
I never saw his highness so disturbed; he measures
his chamber with such an angry diligence, as the Moors
had sent to bid him good rest; and every now and then,
starts me his dagger out of its sheath—and then sits
down and sighs with exceeding heaviness.
FIRST LORD.
When he left the banquet complaining that the
action of the dance had over-wearied him, he would
have none to attend him but the pages, and those, it
seems, he presently dismissed.
GENTLEMAN.
The same humour is on him still; for he bids you all
whom we have sent for, now some two hours gone;
but who, I fear, is hindered by some accident: he never
did use to let a moment grow 'twixt the King's will and
his obedience.
SECOND LORD.
No less an accident, than that he is not in Seville.
THIRD LORD.
I know he was to leave it at night-fall for Valentar.
(Enter Don Arias. They all rise; he crosses towards the King's apartment.)
ARIAS.
Good night, gentlemen.
GENTLEMAN.
Your pardon, noble sir, but 'tis his grace's pleasure,
that none enter the royal chamber.
ARIAS.
Sir!
GENTLEMAN.
I trust your lordship knows I do but tread within
the very boundary of duty in this—I may not suffer
any to enter.
ARIAS.
Any!—do you know me? what fashion wear I of the
sudden, that this door, which, like mine own, hath still
stood open to me, is latched at a servant's pleasure?
GENTLEMAN.
My lord, the King is most troubled and unquiet—
angry and stern like waves chafed by the north.—Sir, I
highness will see no one.
ARIAS.
Don Carlos!
GENTLEMAN.
We have sent for him.
ARIAS.
Don Carlos!—so—so—so—so ran the horse that way
this morning; faith, he's galloped on in the time, to be
come so far as this. None but him! Pegasus, none
other! And here he flies a proper colt! but I'll curry
him yet.
Enter Don Carlos with two Gentlemen.
CARLOS.
Save you, sir!
ARIAS.
And you, sir!
CARLOS.
The King, I hear, is much distempered.
ARIAS.
And I hear hath sent for you to cure him.
GENTLEMAN.
Sir, I shall tell his highness of your arrival.
CARLOS.
Pray do; and withal that this delay, wherein my will
was warped to the event, was caused by my departure
from Seville—for indeed I was already some miles on
my road, when the messenger overtook me.
[Exit Gentlemen.
(aside.)
I would you had been further!—
(Aloud.)
The
King refuses to see any but yourself—you will become
a court planet, Don Carlos.
CARLOS.
No, sir; I do not love to shine with borrowed light.
ARIAS.
I cry your mercy!—nothing but the sun will serve
your turn, I see.
CARLOS.
I look not to such heights.
ARIAS.
You're wise, sir; those who do, sometimes lose their
footing, and falling, break their skulls.
CARLOS.
Although your words wear a plain even gloss, your
looks throw a strange colour on them, sir;—I understand
you not.
ARIAS.
'Tis pity!
CARLOS.
That I'm sure it is; for when you speak, men use to
profit.
ARIAS.
Sir!
CARLOS.
Don't vex your sword by plucking at it thus—I'm
not for fighting, sir—not now nor here—but if the
King's high pleasure being done, these veins still hold
life's wine, I'll pledge it you against your own, for my
dead father's sake.
GENTLEMAN.
My lord, will it please you follow? His Majesty expressed
unmeasured content at your arrival.
CARLOS.
My life is his poor property.
(Exeunt Gentleman and Carlos.)
ARIAS.
The weight's unequal, and the too light scale
Wherein I sit, is chuck'd to the beam by his.
We must put order to this speedily,
Or we shall have these country-cousin courtiers
Fray our gold mantles with their fustian doublets.
Good night, sirs! if his highness call for me,
I'm at the Count Lomaria's for some hours
More of the night. “My life is his poor property,”—
A courtlike phrase, and smacks for all the world
Of the antichamber—plague on this honest roguery
That plays the fool the better to be knave!
But swearing's breath, and breath but cast away
That wafts us not more near our purposes.
Don Carlos!—we shall measure wits together.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
—THE KING'S CHAMBER.The King discovered.
KING.
The evil that we do, being conceiv'd,
Is sin, e'en in the womb of thought; before
The midwife will have given birth to it,
And brought it forth, a deed. Then I have sinn'd,
In that I've wished his death:—nor is that sin
Made less or greater by the accomplishment
That frees my labouring thought—and having sinn'd,
Why 'tis as easy to go on, as turn;
Much easier than stand still, being come so far;
Besides, do I not bear th' absolving power
That cancels evil? Can the King do wrong?
And shall he not do right that doth avenge
The sacred cause of majesty insulted?
Were I his fellow—such as he—a blow
Were worth a blow, and so he might be answer'd;
But being as the sun, above his head,
By so much more is treason black in him
As I'm his greater—by that height debarr'd
The level ground men claim in equal combat.
[Enter Gentleman, ushering in Don Carlos.
Oh you are welcome—welcome;—listen to me:
With the profoundest heed of sense and spirit,
And answer me with such a soul of love,
Of truth and honour, as your father, Carlos,
Bore mine.
Let not the measure of my words
Outpass the showing of my life—believe me, sir
I speak as though the sun shone through my heart—
I have not inherited my father's name
Or land with a more full and true profession,
Than his most dear devotion to your majesty.
KING.
Sit down beside me here, and give me heed.
In all this court which, since my brows have borne
My father's crown, so wooingly smiles round me—
Among these scores of willing nimble slaves
I've not one friend, not one I e'er have lov'd
As some six years agone I lov'd thee, Carlos;
And though my prosperous hours may seem to have slipp'd
From out their record, thy right loyal love
My need remembers it.
CARLOS.
Oh blessed chance!
Whate'er it be that once more shows to me,
Stripp'd of his royal panoply, my friend!
What needs my friend, and what commands my King?
KING.
Rememberest thou how, in our unripe years,
Our hours were interwoven with the sweetness
Of an affection most like kindred love?
CARLOS.
Well, oh my liege, how well—and every patch
Of sunny boyhood that my mind reflects
Still holds your form.
This is as I would have it.—
Rememberest thou our beardless exploits, when
We first in blood baptized our virgin swords?
Dost thou remember Talavera fight—
The scar yet seams my breast—that was the trench
Betwixt thee and the death that did besiege thee?
CARLOS.
Give me to do my answer. I am poor
In the airy coin of words—oh let my deeds
Speak for me—this strange catechism, sir,
Seems like mistrust. Let me not say, but show
How my heart bears engraven on its core
That wound.
KING.
All that a loving friend doth owe
Unto his friend thou art still perfect in.
Now answer me, in what kind of respect
Dost thou as a true subject hold thy King?
CARLOS.
Second alone to God, whose great ambassador
Here upon earth he stands—his law of pow'r
Less holy only than the laws of Heaven—
His person sacred above aught of earth.
KING.
And what does he deserve who lays his hand
On his anointed King in daring strife?
CARLOS
(starting up.)
Death!—nay three sev'ral deaths. First that he struck
The abstract of all mortal majesty;
Next, that against the father of his country,
Its rever'd head, he rais'd his lawless hand—
Most impious and unnatural, he struck
The type of Heaven's eternal Sovereign—
The death and hell of sacrilege accurst.
KING.
Within the walls of Seville lives a man
Who hath incurr'd all these against his King—
'Gainst me, the Lord and Sovereign of Castille,
He rais'd his arm.
CARLOS.
Oh! wither'd be its marrow,
And shrunk its muscles—may its veins run bloodless
Under the curse of God and man!
KING.
Waste not
Thy zeal in harmless words—hast thou no sword?
CARLOS.
For this most honour'd choice my heart bows down
In thanks—yea, I do bear a knightly sword,
And here, by this life-giving symbol, swear,
Which on death's handle christian warriors worship,
To drive forth from my breast all other thoughts
Save that alone of this great evil done
And its great punishment yet left undone.
KING.
Within this paper have I writ the name
Of him the traitor.—When thou art gone forth
From out the palace, stay not to pray or sleep,
But now, or ere the night's an hour older,
Do this appointed work: be sure the task
Shall not lack payment—nor shall blame or danger
Grow to thy steps if thou achiev'st his death.
If I achieve his death! all blessed saints
Fight with me, and against the parricide:
And as the cause is holy, shadowy fear
Comes not anigh my soul. Good night, my liege—
The heavens protect your grace.
KING.
I shall sleep well,
Knowing mine honour's champion doth not slumber,
Good night, my Carlos.—Nay, stoop not, good friend,
But thus, as when we last did say farewell
Receive thy friend's embrace and sovereign's greeting.
Lights, ho within! Farewell!
CARLOS.
God keep your majesty.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE III.
—A STREET IN SEVILLE, OPPOSITE THE ANCHOR INN.Enter Hyacinth, Curio, Valentine, and others, laughing.
HYACINTH.
'Tis true, as I'm a gentleman, I use no witchcraft;
but I think the women be all mad, they do so plague
me.
VALENTINE.
Is not this rare sport?
And to see such a monster for nothing,—Vasco
should show him at three deniers a-head.
HYACINTH.
I do protest unto you there be now three honourable
virgins, two honest wives, and five chaste widows,
all at this very hour sick in love with me.
VALENTINE.
O this flogs Europe!
CURIO.
The wine doth mount in him—we shall have more
anon.
HYACINTH.
What say ye there?—ye be doubting me. I tell
you the King's sister, when first I was presented in
the court, cried out, “Cog's wounds! but he is the
sweetest gentleman of his inches the mirror of mine
eyes did e'er reflect.” She would have knighted me
then and there, I know, save that some chance prevented
it,—you understand me,—'twas thought fear
might be entertained in the King's mind,—you understand
me,—nephews have been heirs.
CURIO.
O, God save your lordship and my waistband!
VALENTINE.
If you be not provided with a squire, might one—
HYACINTH.
Gentlemen, ye shall draw lots for place; neither
will I let my favour lean to either, lest fortune, being
a woman as she is, do choose him for my love's-sake.
Where is my cousin, the orange-merchant's son?
Vasco will be here anon: but, gentlemen, were we
not best go in? the night grows foul.
HYACINTH.
The moon plays peep-bo up among the clouds; we
shall have rain—let us go in. I'll tell you more of
these same chances there.
VALENTINE.
Supper is ordered, I know, and wine, and all things
most conducible to merriment.
HYACINTH.
A drop of rain, I do aver; the clouds be envious
of my sapphire cloak.
(Bowing with ceremony at the
door of the house.)
Sir, O sir! O gentlemen! let me
not show you my back, worthy gentlemen—I'll follow.
VALENTINE.
We know manners, sir, though no courtiers.
CURIO.
O how my ribs will ache before to-morrow.
[Exeunt into the Anchor Inn.
Enter Don Carlos, and a Page bearing a torch.
CARLOS.
How like to shuttlecocks toss'd on fate's racket
Seem we and all our aims! I did not think
To have such work upon my hands to-night,
Nor in my soul did anything save love
Dwell, when at sunset I rode o'er the bridge
Towards Valentar. How goes the night, boy?
Sir,
I think the night be changing into morning,
And yonder's the cathedral bell—'tis one.
CARLOS.
Thou grey and shadowy eye
Of morn, cloud-lidded, open not thyself
Upon the earth ere I have done my task.
The night is spent; I will go seek out Pedro;
'Twere best tell him of this cross-woven chance,
Which may delay me from th' appointed hour
When I should meet my bride.
PAGE.
Your pardon, sir,
I see you have your sword; did you not hear
That there has been a proclamation sent
From the King, forbidding any to walk arm'd.
CARLOS.
I know it, boy, but I do hold my sword
By licence of the King's high pleasure. Soft—
Before I seek out Pedro, let me first
Into this warrant pry, that to swift death
Decrees one who, although till now unknown,
I count for evermore my deadliest foe.
Thy torch—the stars have crept into the clouds,
And the pale daylight, like a sick man waking,
Can scarce put by the night's thick curtains—ha!
What's here!—come nearer, there's some devil dances
Before mine eyes—nearer, I cannot see;
O God, strike not my sense with this black curse—
I'm blind—read there—aloud—what name—what name?
Don Pedro de Roella.
CARLOS.
May thy tongue
Be wither'd like my heart!
PAGE.
Sir, sir—my lord!
You're pale, and cannot stand—help, ho, within!
Enter Vasco and Gentlemen.
VASCO.
What is the matter?
Don Carlos, you are fainting: sir, lean on me.
Follow me, gentlemen—a dizziness—
'Tis nothing—it will pass;—what ho, within—
We shall find help enough here in the house.
[Exeunt into the Anchor Inn, supporting Carlos.
SCENE IV.
—A ROOM IN THE ANCHOR INN.Hyacinth, Curio, Valentine, and others, at Supper Various tables surrounded with Revellers.
OMNES.
Ha! ha! ha! ha!
HYACINTH.
Excellent! excellent! though I made the jest myself!
Now we will have a song—ahem!
Like the moping dove
Are all too sad for me,
But the light that lies
In merry eyes,
A laughing love give me!
Enter Vasco and others, leading Carlos.
CURIO.
Ha! here is company,—Vasco.
VALENTINE.
What hath kept thee?
HYACINTH.
Is the man dead or drunk?
VASCO.
Neither, neither; here, give me a cup of wine.
CARLOS
—(drinks.)
Another—another—ha! ha! ha! ha!—another, to
drown the fire in my brain!
CURIO.
Sit down, sir; you seem better.
CARLOS.
Better! what need of better? I am well—what ails
me, think you?—tush, tush, men are not maids to
faint away for the heart-ache. More wine—more—
give me more wine,—a health—a health to the devil,
the king of kings!
HYACINTH.
Why that's a merry blade: I like a fellow that takes
his liquor kindly.
All is not right with him; this is a strange passion.
CARLOS.
Well, sir, what d'ye see in my eyes? you peruse me
as though for all the world you meant to learn me.
VASCO.
Indeed, my lord, not I! Come, gentlemen, Don
Carlos seems well disposed to honour us awhile.
CARLOS.
Ay, till the yellow sun-light flames in the sky; for
what was the night made, think ye, but to drink and to
forget the cursed day?—A health. Give me some
wine!
PAGE.
Sir, your glass is full.
CARLOS
—(drinks.)
Now give me some!—'tis empty—ha! thou ill scholar
—thou canst spell bravely. Heed me not, gentlemen.
I'll sit here apart at this table,—think not of me,
good gentlemen. Get thee home, imp;—dost hear me?
go home!
PAGE.
I will, my lord.
[Exit Page.
VALENTINE.
This is a strange, humorous fancy, to come here
among us and spoil sport, with his gaunt visage.
CURIO.
Mayhap he hath quarrell'd with his mistress—they're
to be married to-morrow.
HYACINTH.
To-day, for it is day—a baby-day of two hours old.
we will be melodious. Senor Valentine, you've a sweet
pipe, I've heard.
CURIO.
For all the world like a nightingale in the quinsey.
VALENTINE
sings.
The goblet wears its joyous hue;
In the goblet drown your woes—
With the goblet meet your foes,
There is no friend so staunch beside.
Drink to me—I drink to you!
The goblet wears its joyous hue;
With the goblet laugh at tears—
With the goblet jest at fears—
With wine the world may be defied.
Drink to me—I drink to you!
HYACINTH.
“There is no mistress half so true;” that were wisdom,
though an heathen should say it.
VASCO.
You have travelled, Cousin Hyacinth?
I have, Cousin Vasco.
CURIO.
Whither, may't please you, sir?
HYACINTH.
O, why I have gone hopping about the world, picking
up crumbs of wisdom here and there; but I have
more studied men than things, and women more than
either men or things.
VALENTINE.
And the epitome of your observation is—
HYACINTH.
That your Italian loves you for love's-sake, your
Frenchwoman for your tongue's-sake, your German for
your great-grandfather's sake, and your Englishwoman
for your purse's-sake.
VASCO.
And our Spanish girls?
HYACINTH.
O, for God's-sake, and to be charitable.
VALENTINE.
The English—they live with their heads under
water, do they not?
HYACINTH.
Yea, for the most part under aqua-vitæ. Gentlemen,
drink, we will call for more wine.
VASCO.
The room is very hot.
HYACINTH.
Ay, me—
The heat would not so much matter an' it would
stand still. I have heard the world did turn round, but
never marked it till now.
HYACINTH.
Ay, me!
VALENTINE.
Humph! 'tis not the room, nor the world either—
hiccup!—doth turn—'tis thou goest flisking hi—hiccup
—hither and thither—how like thou art—hiccup—
to a fly!
HYACINTH.
Ay, me!—my heart grows soft.—O, my dear friends!
my most loving friends! my kind cousin—and ye,
sweet gentlemen—'tis an evil thing and a sore to be
cleft in the heart.
VASCO.
What now! are you so wounded?
HYACINTH.
There is a lady weeping in Segovia, I do think, at
this hour—lo mine eyes take the hint of her sorrow.
—O my dear friend! my gentle kinsman, to that fair
lady am I contracted.
(Chorus of gentlemen at another table.)
“And she was mine and thine,
That lady so frail and fine.”
HYACINTH.
'Tis false—ye lie in your throats! She is mine own
betrothed bride—and purer than—
Ditch-water—hiccup—
HYACINTH.
Now then, a health!—a health to the fair bride!
CARLOS.
(Starting up.)
Ay, ay, to the bride, all swathed in
mourning weeds—to the bloody-handed bridegroom!—a
health—a health to the fairest maid in Seville—in Spain
—in all the world—Estrella, the star;—drink on your
knees as I drink, sirs, to the fair Star of Seville.
(They
all drink.)
Good night, kind gentlemen—a merry
waking to you all.
(He rushes out.)
HYACINTH.
That's a pleasant youth, my Vasco!—O my Pollux,
I will be thy Castor.
VASCO.
Heaven send you be not my death! Pray clasp not
my throat so close.
HYACINTH.
I am lamentable in my soul, my brother.
(Curio and Valentine sing and dance together.)
“Ho, ho, with a hip, ho, ho—
Down with the heel, and up with the toe.”
HYACINTH.
Yea, I will dance and defy the devil.
VASCO.
Come, come—leave your teetotum reel—ho, hostess!
—where be our men—what, hostess, ho!
(Enter the
Send hither our men—we must towards home
—'tis daylight.
HYACINTH.
Ho, ho, with a—
VASCO.
Come, come, gentlemen—'tis time we leave the house
—'tis early morning.
VALENTINE.
Curio, come then with me—we'll to the house you
wot of.
CURIO.
We will—we will. Thou hast ta'en my hat.
VALENTINE.
Ta'en in thy teeth—I'm no rubbish vender.
CURIO.
I say thou hast stolen my hat—it had a feather
once.
VASCO.
'Tis dangling here behind you.
CURIO.
Valentine, you're an honest man—I forgive thee!
HYACINTH.
Kinsman, dear—I will take thine arm. Come, shall
we dance a fandango?
VASCO.
The fiend fly away with you!—leave dancing, and
come home.
Enter Sancho, and other Men-servants.
VASCO.
Sancho, take thy master.
O Vasco, my soul is exceeding heavy. I could
weep—yea, I do weep; lo! spite of these breeches,
mine eyes gush over for the fair Amadalinda. Ho, ho,
with a hip ho, ho—
VASCO.
Come, come.
HYACINTH.
Ho, ho—out, alas;—hip, ay me—good night, gentlemen.
How you pull me, cousin!—let me embrace my
friends. Good night, sweet gentlemen.
(He embraces them all over and over again.)
VASCO.
A plague on your slobbering!
HYACINTH.
Vamos! ho—ho—hip—ho—ho—
(Exeunt Vasco and Sancho, leading Hyacinth, followed by Curio and Valentine arm-in-arm; manent chorus of gentlemen, who sing the following
Chorus.
“What, though the morn
Looks keen and cold,
Like a bitter scold,
Her spite we scorn,
With a hey down, down, my bully boys bold!”
SCENE V.
—A STREET IN SEVILLE AT DAYBREAK.Enter Don Pedro.
PEDRO.
'Tis passing strange—not at his house—nor gone
To Valentar—lo, now! whom have we here?
'Tis Carlos' page—what, ho! thou imp of the night,
Whither art scudding, mischief?
PAGE.
Home, my lord.
PEDRO.
Where is thy master?
PAGE.
At the Anchor Inn, sir—
In very merry excellent good company.
Your pardon, sir, he charged me to go home
And I do fear to be abroad so early.
'Tis scarcely light.
PEDRO.
Run, lest thou meet thy shadow.
[Exit Page.
In merry company, and at the Anchor!
Why, this is stranger than the rest. Who's yonder?
Sure some fantastical, crack-witted lunatic
With a drawn sword too! 'Tis bad company
To meet abroad; but thanks to the King I'm armed.
The morning frowns upon the earth. Hark!—thunder;
From its cradle.—Carlos! by my good eyes—'tis he.
Enter Don Carlos very wildly, and in a disordered dress, with his sword drawn.
PEDRO.
Thou art the very man I'm seeking, Carlos.
CARLOS.
I seek not thee—get hence, and let me pass.
PEDRO.
Carlos, what ails thee?
CARLOS.
Madness ails me,
And murder, and all devilish hideous thoughts
Pursue me, man. In the name of God—begone.
PEDRO.
I come to thee from thy bride, my sister, Carlos—
Ye were to wed at noon.
CARLOS.
We were—we were—
But that's among the things that, like abortions,
Rot in the womb of time—we shall not wed.
PEDRO.
Sir!—but my soul stoops not to answer you—
You're drunk.
CARLOS.
You lie!
PEDRO.
Carlos!—pray come with me.
I would not in an evil hour do that
Thou art not fit to walk alone.
CARLOS.
You lie!
I am not drunk, but I am fix'd and sworn,
As there is light in heaven, and fire in hell,
To stab thee to the heart. Defend thyself.
PEDRO.
I will not—thou art mad.
CARLOS.
Hark to the thunderer—
The evil spirit laughs out of the skies
To see a brave man turn faint-hearted—hark!
Defend thyself, for I have sworn an oath,
And I will keep it—fare thee well, dear Pedro;
For, betwixt thee and me, the gulf that parts
The blessed and the damn'd is yawning wide.
To heaven with thee!
PEDRO.
Nay, if you press me thus,
[They fight.
I needs must parry. Carlos, hold! thou'rt frantic—
I cannot foil thee!—ah—I'm struck in the life.
[He falls.
CARLOS.
Struck, art thou? yea, 'tis blood, blood, reeking blood,
My feet are washed in it—it rises round me—
I swim—I drown in thy warm living blood.
PEDRO.
Whate'er hath urg'd thee to this deed I guess not—
Let not my sister know thy hand did strike me,
To wed her. Do not leave her desolate—
Do not abandon her, I do beseech thee;
But let thy love for her redeem my death.
Forsake her not—forsake her not, dear Carlos.
Oh, my Estrella—oh!
[He dies.
(A violent storm of thunder and lightning.)
CARLOS.
Yea, thou grim thunderer,
Hast thou a voice to curse, and none to warn?
Pedro! ho, Pedro, hear'st thou not up yonder,
How the loud voices of the night call to thee?
Arise, wake, wake, oh! wake—ha! ha! ha! ha!—
He's dead!—what's dead? here be his limbs,
The same that folded in the living soul—
Here is the very likeness he did wear,
And yet he's dead. Should there not come some change
Over the dead?—the subtle soul is gone,
And here's the gory gate I open'd for it.
Ay, roll, roll, roll, thou noisy watchman, roll—
Call up the world to witness this foul slaughter—
It is the voice that, when the earth first tasted
Her children's blood, called from the clouds to Cain—
Oh! damned life, that art so soon set free,
Come, let me give thee wings.
Enter Arias, with servants bearing torches.
ARIAS.
Hold, madman, hold!
What butchery is here, Don Carlos?
Ay,
That is my name—men have not yet found out
A curse to tack to't foul and dark enough.
Bring lights around—see here, here is one murdered,
Look where the slimy blood comes oozing out;
Just now it gushed out like an angry torrent,
And bare the spirit on its crimson waves.
I have done this,—ha! ha! ha!—how ye stare
Look at my clotted sword, look at my face,
Bear I not stabber writ upon my forehead?
ARIAS.
Ring the alarm bell! call the city guard up!
(In the distance voices are heard, “Which way? Yonder in the cross street.” Enter Vasco and Sancho, supporting Hyacinth, singing and dancing, drunkenly; the alarm bell rings—thunder and lightning.)
CARLOS.
See where heav'ns torches glare with livid light,
Flashing around the avenger's chariot wheels,
That bound along the sky! The world spins round—
The solid earth sinks in with me—the thick
And palpable air is full of fiery rings,
That scorch mine eye-balls—O!—
(He falls upon the body.)
HYACINTH.
Let me go—let me go—I will see—oh!
Vasco, oh—oh!—look here.
VASCO.
Come hence—ye mock this terrible sight with your
drunken gaping. Sir, can I help you?
No, sir, I thank you; for here comes the guard.
Raise both these bodies—one of them is cold,
In the other one life doth but play the truant—
It will return. There is some dismal riddle
Hid among these dark deeds, I cannot guess at;
The hand of day must wind this tangled skein.
On to the Alcade's house.
[Exeunt guard, bearing the bodies.
The sheeted lightnings
Stretch their blue wings, and whiz above the earth—
'Tis a fit hour for such a bloody tragedy,
And nature, with her children's stormy passions,
Hold fearful sympathy. Follow me.—Good night.
If you hereafter should be called on, sir,
To witness this foul business—
VASCO.
I shall be
My duty's slave, my lord; but I must hope
To be spar'd such an office. Come, thou sleepy sack,
Thou'rt heavy drunk now. Come, I cannot carry thee.
[Exeunt omnes severally.
SCENE VI.
—A CHAMBER IN DON PEDRO'S HOUSE. ESTRELLA DISCOVERED SITTING BEFORE HER GLASS—THE NURSE AND ISABEL ASSISTING TO DRESS HER.ESTRELLA.
Come, hast thou done,—am I not perfect yet?
'Tis well enough—'tis well enough. I cannot
I know thou'rt longing to be hence—thy cousin,
When does she wed?
ISABEL.
I think her father said
On Wednesday, madam.
ESTRELLA.
May her lot be happy, wench,
As mine. Get thee a husband, Isabel—
I fear thou'rt over-nice—hast thou no sweetheart?
Come, thou shalt tell no falsehoods—hold thy tongue.
Here, thou shalt take thy pretty cousin these
For thy marriage present to her.
ISABEL.
Thank you, madam. O my dear lady, may your feet
still tread on the sunny, smooth and evenest path of life
—may love be immortal as he is sweet to you; and
sorrow touch nothing that you have looked on. Good
angels guard you as their sister, ever!
ESTRELLA.
O joy! O joy! O bright triumphant spirit
That in my bosom dost a revel keep!
Life, life and love, may one heart hold ye both,
And yet not faint with the surpassing bliss.
O that I were a bird to spread my wings
And soar, and soar, and pour my ecstasy
In a tumultuous stream of gushing song.
O that I had a universe to fill
With my exceeding happiness.
Keep it, keep it, girl, thy present stock
Won't last thee till for ever.
ESTRELLA.
It is in vain: like the exulting sun,
My light pursues thy wisdom's conquer'd shadows,
And chases them from off my land of hope.
See, thou false prophet—see where the bright morning
Stands laughing on the threshold of the east—
Where are the clouds thou saidst didst veil the dawn?
Look how the waters mirror back again
The blushing curtains of Aurora's bed.
O fresh and fragrant earth, and glorious skies
All strewn with rosy clouds—sweet dewy breath
Of earliest buds unfolded in the night—
And thou—thou winged spirit of melody,
Thou lark that mountest singing to the sun,
Fair children of the gold-eyed morn, I hail ye!
There dwells not one sad thought within my breast;
'Tis the broad noon-day there of light and love.
The earth rebounds beneath my joyous feet:
I am a spirit—a spirit of hope and joy!
NURSE.
I marvel that my lord has not returned.
ESTRELLA.
He has gone riding forth to meet my love,—
My love, O brighter than the dawning day,
And sweeter than the breath of evening violets,
Glorious as victory, and fair as truth,
Art thou, my love, my lord, my husband!
Hark!
ESTRELLA.
They cannot yet be here. O let me say it
Again and yet again, to keep my heart
From beating thus—as though he were at hand.
They cannot yet be come—
NURSE.
Hark, hark! I hear a noise at the gate, voices and
steps of men—dost thou not hear?
ESTRELLA.
'Tis they—'tis he! they come—Carlos—O God!
(She rushes to the door, and meets men bearing her brother's body—she shrieks and falls upon it.)
| The Star of Seville | |