 | The Star of Seville |  |
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
—THE OPEN SPACE BEFORE THE CATHEDRAL OF SEVILLE—PEOPLE COMING OUT OF THE CATHEDRAL, AS FROM MASS.Enter Curio, Valentine, and others.
Valentine
(singing.)
“O Filii et Filiæ!” that's a pleasant psalm, I like the
tune on't.
CURIO.
Peace, listen to these news. Well, sir, how then?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
Don Carlos, sir, has confessed himself guilty of the
deed; but holds unbroken silence on all else, as motives,
provocations.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
The trial is to come on at two in the afternoon.
VALENTINE.
Why is the matter so hurried to a hearing?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
Reasons are given as plenty as chestnuts; none may
be the right, though.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
Being a nobleman of so much note and importance in
Seville, the presence of the King's high counsellors
is deemed a welcome addition in the trial to our city
officers.
'Tis rumoured that the King, who loves Don Carlos
exceedingly, hath already questioned with his nearest
counsellors to have the trial private.
VALENTINE.
Don Pedro's friends will scarce cry content to that.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
O no; besides, the old Lord Gomez, whose son was
killed in the streets of Saragossa much in the same
fashion, presses the matter to a bloody issue, and seems
to bear a sympathy to the deceased for the sake of his
own murdered heir.
CURIO.
I know of one will not be sorry for this chance.
VALENTINE.
Don Arias?
CURIO.
The same: you recollect the landing. If Don Carlos
pay not now for riding over the black Duke's bastard—
I am no Spaniard!
VALENTINE.
Poor Don Carlos! he hath the prayers of many good
hearts in Seville! This is the history of last night's riddle.
And by that same token where shall we meet tonight,
gentlemen?
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
O at the Anchor again—'tis a good house, and near
the council-room; we can go thither after the trial, for if
it be public I shall attend it.
OMNES.
And I! and I! and I!
O if all go, there will be no supper bespoken.
VALENTINE.
Come thou, and do that now.
CURIO.
We will—farewell, till to-night, gentlemen.
[Exeunt severally.
Enter Hyacinth, and Sancho supporting him.
HYACINTH.
What the foul fiend makest thou hanging on mine
arm, varlet?
SANCHO.
Sir, I'm upholding you.
HYACINTH.
What! I am not drunk.
SANCHO.
Are you quite sure of that, sir? Let me see you stand.
Lo! you, sir, indeed you cannot stand,—you are not
sober yet.
HYACINTH.
If thou do come one inch nearer to me than thou art,
I will show thee which of us can't stand. Peace, get
thee behind me, here be ladies coming out of church.
Wilt thou get thee from me?
SANCHO.
Sir, if you do make your bow in the prostrate form,
it is no fault of mine.
Enter from the Cathedral Florilla and Isabel.
FLORILLA.
Ha! ha! ha! ha! didst mark the lady Julia? for all
the world I would not wear such a mantle.
It did to hide her face; 'twas a sufficiently good
mantle.
FLORILLA.
How, all prayer time, Donna Maria kept simpering at
the Cavalier in the blue cloak.
ISABEL.
O! a scandal! it hindered me from holy thoughts.
FLORILLA.
So it put no ill ones into thy head—
ISABEL.
Nay, then should I have had an empty skull!
FLORILLA.
What's yonder, strutting up and down in the
sun?
ISABEL.
The rainbow incarnate. Mercy! 'tis a man-peacock!
HYACINTH.
Sancho, do the fair ladies look at me?
SANCHO.
I think they be gazing at one of us, sir.
HYACINTH.
They're sweet-favour'd ladies, Sancho.
SANCHO.
O! sir, to my mind not half so goodly as Patience, the
fat baker's daughter your honour liked before your honour
grew a gentleman.
HYACINTH.
Faugh, tripe!
There was a deal more of her than of these, sir;
these two would not make a quarter of her.
HYACINTH.
Peace, dolt! think'st thou women be like flesh of
beeves and muttons priz'd by the pound.—I will accost
them.
[He bows, Florilla and Isabel laugh.
FLORILLA.
Do, I beseech thee!
ISABEL.
O that I dared!
FLORILLA.
No harm shall come of it, but infinite sport.
HYACINTH.
Most beauteous fair ones—happy is the earth that
carries you!—the sky that lights you!—the air you
breathe! and the life that dwells within you!
[Florilla and Isabel draw up and exeunt haughtily.
SANCHO.
Most disdainful puppets! very ill mannerly and
dull!
HYACINTH.
O Sancho, these be ladies of great rank and quality—
the first, the tall one, did throw me such a look! Didst
mark how her eye fell on my proportions?
SANCHO.
Where, sir?
HYACINTH.
I shall hear of these again, be sure. Lo! Hyacinthus,
thou'rt the very fondling of Venus—said I not so?
ISABEL.
Save you, fair sir! my mistress, sir, the lady your
lordship did salute so sweetly but now, has bid me
come back in all haste to you, sir—she is a noble maid
of high estate, greatly woo'd for her beauty and wealth;
but, as your lordship may have noted, she was much
taken with your courtesy, and bade me invite your
honour to her house.
HYACINTH.
O my sweet Iris, tell thy Juno, Hyacinth shall be
her slave, now for ever, here and hereafter, in this
and in all things!
ISABEL.
Our dwelling, sir, is the large house, close here by the
cathedral.
HYACINTH.
I shall not fail to find it. And the hour?
ISABEL.
Come at vespers; my lady will be alone then, and
I will be waiting to admit your lordship.
HYACINTH.
May freckles mar my skin if I come not at the very
hour. Rest you fair, sweet maiden!
[Exit Isabel.]
Sancho, Sancho, am not I fortune's minion, thinkest
thou, that such sweet and noble ladies do bear me affection?
SANCHO.
Beshrew me, but I think they be neither more nor
less than—
Sancho!
SANCHO.
Well, sir, you recollect what your mother said to you
—it was the third article of her parting discourse,
which had in it many and wise clauses—that you
should never keep company with—
HYACINTH.
Sancho!
SANCHO.
No, sir, not with me, who am an honest man, but
with ill women, sir.
HYACINTH.
Be dumb, and follow me. Hark thee, varlet, if thou
be'st not more modest in thy bearing, and more sparing
of thy moralities henceforth, I will provide me with
another man.
SANCHO.
And let that other man be provided with another
coat, sir; I have now worn this the better half of
Jacob's serving time; also touching my wages, sir—
HYACINTH.
Hark, thee, good Sancho, I am benign, and will forgive
thee; love lies like a warm sop at my heart,
comforting my spirit with an unbounded charity. I
do forgive thee. Get home, Sancho, to our inn; get
me an ounce of civet; I will be sweet as the rosy month
of June; get me my scarlet cloak, that shall describe to
her the ardour of love; get me my blue hose, they
shall bespeak the constancy of the same; put me a green
crowns my love, foretelling me success in my amorous
campaign; and anon follow me to Vasco's; I must excuse
myself from a supper at the Anchor, to which I
was bid. Some say that Love and Fortune are blind;
I cannot tell,—I do not think they be:—pshaw, 'tis
only those on whom they never look, who say, for
spite, that they have got no eyes.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.
—A ROOM IN DON PEDRO'S HOUSE.Enter Physician and Nurse.
NURSE.
Alas, sir! I am sorry for your pains, but you see
'tis in vain persuading with her—she drowns all counsel
in a sea of tears.
PHYSICIAN.
I am most sorry for this calamity that hath fallen
upon so good a lady. Well, well, Heav'n is wise, and
knows its own purposes. Since she will not admit
me, I will depart. Take this with you, worthy nurse;
seek not to stop the current of her tears, for like swift
waters round a based rock, they will in time wear off
the edges of her grief; let her weep, therefore, sans
interruption.
NURSE.
I have sent for my lady's confessor, sir, hoping she
may take some comfort from his spiritual converse; and,
very father, and was more ruled by his advice than anything
in the world.
PHYSICIAN.
Peace be with you! I hope she may both hearken to
him and find remedy therein.
Enter Friar Rodriquez.
NURSE.
O holy father, welcome; you're come an hour sooner
than we thought to have needed you. Alack, alack!
and 'tis no longer for marrying, but burying. O my
dear lord—my good young master, oh!
FRIAR.
Lament not for the dead. How is your lady?
NURSE.
O, sir, in the very deepest pit of affliction; I think
she hath wept more tears than would serve to wash me
of all my sins, old as I am. Her cheeks, which this
morning did show the brightest and fairest roses in the
world, be pale, and drawn, and stained with briny
showers, that have withered the pretty roses clean
away; she takes no heed to anything about her, nor
speaks not save to cry out that she may be shown her
brother's corpse; but so strong is the passion of her
grief, that I have feared to let her see it, lest her poor
brain be entirely wrecked at the sight.
FRIAR.
Where is she?
Within her chamber; shall I tell her you are come?
FRIAR.
No, by no means, I will go thither to her;
Let the body of her brother be convey'd,
Such as it lies, somewhere at hand, to me,
And if I find that 'twill be best to give her
The sorrow of its sight.
NURSE.
Alack the day!
My brave young lord, my handsome, sweet young lord!
FRIAR.
Go in and cry thy fill, but weep not here,
Lest that my heart, which I would hold in strength
And firmness for thy lady's best support,
Grow weak with fancying ere I see her sorrow.
NURSE.
Heav'n bless you, holy sir! I cannot hold—
I will go in.
[Exit Nurse.
FRIAR.
O Thou that doest nought
But in great mercy to thy sinful children,
If it please thee well, grant me to pour some patience
Into this broken heart that thou hast wounded,
And though thy steps be hid in the deep, yet teach me
To trust thy wisdom which I cannot fathom,
And give like trust unto this mourning creature!
[Exit.
SCENE III.
—ESTRELLA'S BED-ROOM.(She is lying on the ground.)
ESTRELLA.
Bloody—cold—stiff—dead, gone, for ever gone!
O Heaven! O Heaven! the only thing I had
To love—that lov'd me, torn away from me!
His eyes, dim lightless jellies! his kind voice,
A tongueless bell! his upright gallant limbs,
Carrion! O God! my brother! my dear brother!
Thou hear'st me not, else thou wert here beside me!
Thou seest me not, thy child, thy darling—lonely!
O earth! thou unkind mother, that dost clasp
Him, and not me, open thine arms for both;
O take me in, for I am utterly desolate!
(She falls again upon the earth.)
Enter Friar Rodriquez.
RODRIQUEZ.
Arise, thou weeping soul, that to the dust
Of sorrow art brought down, and hearken to me.
ESTRELLA.
O father! he is gone, he's dead, he's dead!
My brother, my twin life—that gentle soul.
That thou didst know was pure as Heav'n's own light!
Father, give help, I drown in this deep grief!
RODRIQUEZ.
My child, have faith in Heaven!
I have, I have,
But oh! but oh! he cannot live again!
Death, know'st thou what it is? the sweet soul goes,
Away, away, like to an uncag'd bird,
Like prison'd air, like utter'd words it goes,
And never comes again—O never, never!
RODRIQUEZ.
O peace, thou sad heart, peace!
ESTRELLA.
O never, never!
Never again, in all life's thousand hours,
And rolling years, and countless little minutes,
Shall I behold him!—Day will follow day,
And night succeed to night, but never more,
By night or day, will he return to me.
The seasons, in their walk around the earth,
Will, turn by turn, go and come back again;
All things that have departed may return,
But life returns not—he returns not ever!
I cannot bear this load, it is too much!
I will not bear it!
RODRIQUEZ.
Thou art mad with sorrow,
And utterest evil in thy bitterness.
ESTRELLA.
Let me behold his body once again!
The clay, the earth, that was him; let me see it,
Dear father, for an instant—but one instant!
A look, a look, let me not yet have seen
My very last of him!
Poor soul!
Thy load is great! Arise and hear me, maiden;
If thou wilt swear to me to curb this passion,
To hold thy grief in with a stedfast courage,
And bear in mind the hand that does chastise thee—
ESTRELLA.
I will, I will,—indeed, indeed, I will!
RODRIQUEZ.
Estrella, hold thy spirit to its vow.
Heav'n grant what I attempt may have good issue;
Art thou prepared to look upon the corpse
Of him thou lov'st?
ESTRELLA.
I am.
RODRIQUEZ.
Then turn thee hither.
Give me thy hand.
ESTRELLA.
You see how firm I am;
You see I strive, I wrestle with my grief,—
I know 'tis the good God hath struck me thus,—
I'm calm, you see, I'm very stedfast, father—
I am resigned—I'm still—I am content.
But I did love him so!
(She falls upon the body.)
Enter Nurse.
RODRIQUEZ.
What is the matter?
O, sir, they say they must speak with my lady;—Don
Gomez, the noble counsellor, and many gentlemen who
be come from the court; they cannot be denied; 'tis
pressing business, touching my dear lord's death.
RODRIQUEZ.
Admit them; it may force her from this frenzy,
And for a moment stop her sorrow's course.
Hold up thy head, Estrella, rouse thyself,
Here be at hand some come to question with thee.
ESTRELLA.
What must I do? O I am drunk with weeping—
I cannot stand, nor speak, nor hear, nor see them.
(She falls into a chair.)
Enter Don Gomez and Attendants.
GOMEZ.
Hail to this house of sorrow! noble lady,
I come a messenger from the assembled council,
Who are now met to try your most sad cause.
NURSE.
I do not think she hears him.
RODRIQUEZ.
Peace; she hears mayhap, but heeds not.
Sir, go on; I will accept your message for the lady,
And answer it as my best ability affords—go on.
GOMEZ.
In few, Don Carlos having openly
Avow'd the bloody deed—
ESTRELLA
—(starting up.)
What's that you say?
Say that again—I say, say that again.
Did you not know that this was done by him?
ESTRELLA.
Carlos!
GOMEZ.
Don Carlos is the murderer.
ESTRELLA.
Don Carlos is the murderer! You're old,
Close on your coffin's brink, you would not lie;
You're cloth'd in black, too,—death is your acquaintance.
You do not lie—go on—be not afraid!
If my eye glazes, and the blood turn back,
Nor pour its wonted tribute in my face;
These be the weaknesses of mortal houses,
Our souls are stronger built, mine totters not:
Go on. And so Don Carlos slew my brother?
GOMEZ.
Madam, I fear you overstrain your strength.
ESTRELLA.
He did not say for which of all his benefits,
His tender love, his firm and trusting faith,
His sister's hand, and wide estates—he said not
For which of these, my brother's death was guerdon.
GOMEZ.
He holds an unlock'd silence on the whole,
Save that his hand cut short Don Pedro's life.
ESTRELLA.
I thank you, sir, and these good gentlemen,
For coming hither; please you to return,
And tell the honourable Council I
How to proceed in this my extremity,
As my more settled wits may tender me.
GOMEZ.
Heaven strengthen you, most honourable madam!
Farewell!
[Exeunt.
RODRIQUEZ.
Now look to see this calm unnatural
Break up in one wild, furious storm of grief.
NURSE.
The fountains of her tears be sure run dry.
RODRIQUEZ.
I would she'd weep again. Madam—Estrella.
ESTRELLA.
My lord—ah! holy father, is it thou?
RODRIQUEZ.
How fares it, lady?
ESTRELLA.
Passing strong, and well.
When the sap's in the bough, and the green leaves
Shoot forth, and shake in the evening wind in spring,
The lightning may burn up the sprouting tree,
And blast its healthful life; but look, good father,
Didst ever mark a sapless, leafless witherling,
That stands all shrivell'd in the bosky dells,
Mocking the summer with its barrenness?
Think'st thou that blighted thing fears any storm,
Or dreads the bolt that makes its forest brothers
Writhe their green, trembling arms?—Go to—'tis past.
Will bring his life's brief story near its end.
NURSE.
Madam, I will go seek him.
[Exit Nurse.
ESTRELLA.
Holy father!
When all is done that I have yet to do,
I shall this worthless poor mortality
To the keeping of a cloister dedicate—
That when this body is released from the earth,
My soul may be far on its way towards heaven.
Think of this for me;—there is something more—
Wilt thou, dear father, in its couch of mould
Lay this poor broken fragment of existence?
Let me—no, no—I will not look again;
You'll bury him beside my mother—and leave
A narrow space—close—close to him for me.
Enter Nurse, crying.
O madam! O my lady!
RODRIQUEZ.
Hold thy peace!
Cram not ill news so fast into our ears.
ESTRELLA.
There's no ill news now in the world for me.
NURSE.
Passing through the offices to call Petruchio to your
bidding, madam, I heard a wail, and coming to the
place, found Livio standing by the poor old man, who
on his chair sat as though listening to the news of my
he sat list'ning still—nor moved, nor spoke, nor wept,
—for he was dead!
ESTRELLA.
O iron youth! that can such sorrow hold
As mine, nor break one thread of thy strong woof!
Whilst threadbare age upon its worn-out strings,
Receiving but a touch, they straight give way!
Father, as of my spiritual dwelling
Thou hast the rule, so to this house of death
Put thou some order. I am going now
To the council-house.
NURSE.
The council-house, good madam?
ESTRELLA.
When I return, let this be ta'en away,
And I will then right all uneven things
That yet may lack it—ere I follow thee
To the convent.
RODRIQUEZ.
Heav'n uphold you, my dear lady!
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE IV.
—THE COUNCIL CHAMBER.Don Gomez, Don Arias, Count Lomaria, the Alcades and Magistrates of Seville; also Vasco, Curio, Valentine, and many others, Don Carlos.
GOMEZ.
You all have heard this bloody story o'er,
But to proceed in the accustom'd form—
Don Arias, my good lord, we must beseech you,
To speak to the matter you were witness to.
ARIAS.
My lord, returning from the Count Lomaria's
Last night, or rather at first peep of day,
In the cross street I came upon Don Carlos,
Who with most furious gesture aim'd against
Himself, did offer war with his own life.
This I prevented—when lying on the ground,
All soaked in blood, and gashed with running wounds,
Don Pedro's lifeless body I beheld.
Whereat, heaping amazement on amazement,
Don Carlos cried, “I have done this,” and o'er
Repeating these wild words, fell down in a swoon.
The alarm being given, and the guard at hand,
I presently departed, leaving all things
To day's clear eye and the wisdom of this court.
I think there be one here, who passing by,
Was also witness to the whole—he's yonder.
Sir, pray stand forth, if you can anything
Add, or detract, from the evidence we've heard.
VASCO.
Nothing, my lord; nothing, save that 'tis true:
I heard those words; would I had had no hearing,
Or that infirmity to youth unknown,
Had made the fine sense dull, that now, perforce,
Makes me a witness 'gainst this honour'd gentleman.
Enter an attendant, who whispers Don Gomez.
GOMEZ.
'Tis very well: we shall obey his majesty.
In all just dealing—let the gentleman enter.
Don Carlos, here is come a messenger
From the King's grace, commending to your use,
The great abilities of the ablest man in Seville—
Skill'd to unravel strongest knots of law,
And wind ev'n justice to what point he would;
Who, by the King offer'd great gain and honour
To plead your cause, hath for your own name's sake,
Come hither unfee'd to speak in your behalf.
Admit him straight!
Enter a Lawyer.
CARLOS.
To him, as to the court, my answer's brief—
I thank you, sir, for this your christian courtesy
To one most worthless of such generous dealing;
But deem too nobly of your eloquence,
Which, as 'tis right persuasive, comes from the heart,
Or think it could its conquering way pursue,
Bowed by the weight of blood. Sirs, I am guilty—
You've heard the sum and substance of my plea
In those three words.
LAWYER.
O noble sir, beseech you,
Cast not your precious life away so suddenly.
It is not wise, or well, believe me, sir—
There have been straights as great as this you stand in,
Where gaps have yet been found—escapes been made,
As through the air, or underneath the earth;
Yea, in the closest gripe of the grim law,
Means to slip through have yet been sometimes found—
Oh, let me speak!
CARLOS.
Ah, but that this were spared me!
Look yonder! see'st thou through the entrance porch,
A woman coming towards us stedfastly?
Think'st thou a world of words as musical
As brooks in summer, strong as the sunward flight
Of eagle's wings—rich as the golden chains
That from Apollo's lips take spirits captive,
Could, in great Justice's scale outweigh one tear
Of hers, or talk down that wan, silent grief
That speaks in her bloodless cheek?
Estrella enters, attended by two servants.
GOMEZ.
The lady Estrella!
Let not surprise o'ertake ye, that a woman,
Alone, unfenc'd by any guard but sorrow,
I come into the assembly of your wisdom.
I know 'tis 'gainst the custom of my sex,
Thus in the eye and gaze of men to stand,
Unpropp'd, unscreen'd, and unprotected:
But, in brief words I'll tell ye why this is,
And why no woman's shame upon my cheek
Does homage to your sovereignty of nature.
I have no guardian—no protector—none—
No father—mine died ere I grew a woman—
I have forgotten him—I have no brother,
For mine was murder'd yesternight in the street;—
Therefore it is I stand alone before ye—
Alone here, as alone in the wide world.
CARLOS.
O when did sorrow bribe the soul of pity,
With such a voice!
GOMEZ.
Madam, we are intent,
To do your most foul wrong a full requital.
ESTRELLA.
Nor let it move your wonder that I come
Attired thus into this grave assembly,
Mocking the solemn aspect of your council
With these gay robes—it is my wedding-day!
You start at that; in faith, my lords, 'tis true—
It is my wedding-day—I am a bride;
And the reason why my husband is not here
Beside me, filling up the vacant place
Is that he stands yonder—the breaker down
Of the only stay on earth I had to lean on.
ARIAS.
O strange and horrible!
CARLOS.
'Tis true—'tis true:
O ye delay too long; torture like this
Is more than guilty caitiff ever bore,
Groaning upon the wheel. Sentence me! sentence me!
I'm rack'd beyond the endurance of a man;
And if ye longer hold me in this anguish,
Your scaffold will go bloodless, and the throngs
Of my fellow-citizens lose the show of death,
They be already come abroad to gape at.
Your sentence, in the name of mercy, sirs!
(Don Gomez speaks with several of the Counsellors, and then rises.)
GOMEZ.
Don Carlos, Count of Mueyn and Valentar,
In that you have confessed yourself the slayer
Of your fellow-man, you are condemned to death;
Moreover, in that you have broken through
The sov'reign proclamation of the King,
Forbidding any to walk armed abroad,
You're doubly doomed. My lords, break up the court.
Your hour of death will be made known to you,
In time to fit your soul to meet it bravely.
[Exeunt Gomez, Arias, Lomaria, Alcades, and Magistrates.
CARLOS
(to the Lawyer.)
Sir, you may do me a most infinite good,
Now that all's over, and the doom pronounc'd—
May I not speak one word to yonder lady?
LAWYER.
That, sir, at least I will entreat for you.
(He crosses to Estrella, who is going out.)
Madam, this most unhappy gentleman,
Whom now you should regard with some compassion,
Since he is of the things that are no longer—
Beseeches but to speak one word with you.
ESTRELLA.
Tell him to send his message by my brother;
Or keep it till to-night, when we're alone
In our marriage chamber.
[Exeunt Estrella and Servants.
LAWYER.
Was it spoke in earnest?
Her eye did mock at her lip, as the words dropt from it.
That is a brain that will not hold its seat—
The flickering eye showed reason's lamp was dying.
I will not bear her message.
(Goes back to Carlos.
Sir, the lady
You see is gone, and will not hear your suit.
CARLOS.
Not yet, she is not gone yet, for I see
Her gliding form fading away from me;
And her voice possesses still the list'ning air,
Which will not lose its impress. Fare ye well!
Sweet love, and bitter life! since ye might not
Together dwell, 'tis best to leave ye both,
And not keep one having lost the other. Sir,
Commend me to his majesty the King,
Tell him, in all devoted humble duty
And truest love, I was his servant ever.
Give him this paper; but observe me well,
Not till I'm dead. Will you do this?
LAWYER.
I will.
CARLOS.
May heav'n requite you, sir: now to my dungeon.
[Exit Carlos guarded. Exeunt the rest severally.
| The Star of Seville | |