University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Forest.—A Pavilion in the Background.
Alphonso, Manuel, D'Aguilar, Antonio, Garcia, Lords, Foresters, Huntsmen, &c., Constance, Inez, and other Ladies.
Alph.
Nay, nay, my royal huntress! rest awhile
In this fair forest bower. Thou hast done enow
For fame to-day. Art thou not weary, Constance?

Con.
No, not a whit. I love the pleasant toil
O'er well for weariness; and oft have tired
Knights, squires, and dames in our Castillian woods.

Alph.
Ay, skill and liking are twin-born: we love
The art we have mastered; we excel in that
We love. How many deer have died to-day
By that fair, slender hand?

Ant.
Three, as I think.

Gar.
Four, surely four.

D'Ag.
No, three. One at the brake;
One standing by the pool; and one couched down
Beneath the chestnut shade. Three deer have fallen
By her unerring arrows.

Gar.
A true eye!

Ant.
And a sure hand!

Alph.
Fair Princess, thou shalt be
The Goddess of the Woods. Hunters shall come
To yield thee worship, as in days of old
To crescented Diana; these huge trees
Thy pillared temple, yonder tent thy shrine,
And we thy priests to chant triumphal hymns,
And tend thy virgin altars. Rest thee, sweet,
The sun rides high.

Ant.
(Apart to Manuel.)
'Tis pity that Don Pedro
Saw not the royal nymph. Her skill, her ardour,
Matching his own, had scarcely failed to rouse
The tardy wooer.

Man.
Yet Antonio—Mark me,
I speak not of this princely pair, but man,
As in the gross we view him;—man loves not
To see his cherished passions and pursuits
Lie in faint shadow on a woman's mind,
Reflected in that feebler element,
Like images in water, wavering, dim,
Distorted. Love, like music, often lurks
In seeming discords; and his subtlest springe
Veils in strong contrasts. Mark me, Sir, I speak
Of man in the abstract.

Alph.
Lords! hath any seen
My truant son?

Gar.
My liege, one of his train,
Lopez the Falconer, says he saw him plunge
Deep in the forest, as our stately show
Of hounds and horsemen, lords and ladies gay,
Approached to Setuval.

Alph.
Wild, wayward boy!
Count D'Aguilar, thy brave Castillian hounds
Outvoice our Portugals. I deemed ye not
So peerless in the chase. Even these young maids
Be gallant huntresses.

D'Ag.
Save one. Fair Inez,
Thou wast a laggard in our sylvan sports,
And when thou cam'st across the prey wouldst tremble,
Grow pale, and shuddering, turn thy steed away
As from a battle-field.

Inez.
It is my weakness
To quail at sight of death.

Con.
Of death!

Inez.
Ay, even
The death of these poor deer. They are so happy,
So innocent, so beautiful, so made
For life and joy. The sunbeams, as they pierce
The leafy cork-trees, fall on their fine limbs
With a gay, glittering light; the painted wood-flowers
Crowd round their delicate feet; the rivulets,
Whereat they slake their thirst, dance sparkling by
Merrily, merrily, as pleased to view
Each gentle head down-bending. Nature smiles
On the fair happy creatures. Man hath taught them
The world's worst lesson—Fear.

Man.
Oh, gentlest maid!

Con.
In sooth a goodly sermon!

Inez.
Yet I blame not
Them who in manly hardihood of soul
Find in the princely chase a princely joy;
Albeit mine own infirm and timorous spirit
Shrink shivering from the sight. We differ all
In temper as in feature. No two leaves
Be quite alike, though growing on one tree.

Man.
Oh, wise as gentle!

Con.
A right sapient preacher!
Will no one take my veil? Where be my maidens?

Inez.
Madam—

Con.
Begone! I need thee not. Young Blanche!
Beatrice! Urraca! Be near me, damsels.
Have I not said begone?
[Then apart to one of her Ladies.
Oh, how I loathe
The cold, reluctant, formal offices,
The ceremonial homage, the lip duty
Of yon smooth hypocrite! See how she stands,
With patient downcast looks, seeming to shun
The tender flatteries her feigned tears provoke.
Oh, falsehood fair as heaven, yet black as hell!
Ingrateful traitress! Urraca, it frets
My very soul to see her with that air
Of mute and sad submission, and to know
The secret triumph of her thoughts. My liege,
The day wears on.

Alph.
We are at thy dispose,
Fair Princess!—thy vowed liegemen, to abide
Here in thy sylvan reign, or tread once more
The city no less thine.
Enter Alvarez in a hurried manner.
Whom seek'st thou, Sir?

Alv.
So please you, Sire, the Prince.

Inez.
Wherefore!

Alv.
I hoped
To find him here.

Alph.
Seek him elswhere, Alvarez;
He is not amongst us.

Inez.
Hath aught ill befallen?
What wilt thou of Don Pedro?

Man.
(To Alphonso.)
Mark, my liege.

Inez.
Can he not speak?

Alph.
Say forth thine errand!

Alv.
Sire,
A vague and nameless fear, too undefined
For words.

Inez.
On! on!

Alv.
A fiery steed hath passed
Without a rider, houselled royally.

Inez.
Who saw him?

Alv.
A poor woodman.

Alph.
Never doubt
But 'tis some courser of our train.

Inez.
'Tis Pedro.
What colour were the housings? Crimson wrought
With gold?

Alv.
I know not.

Inez.
Wherefore brought ye not
The woodman hither? 'Twas a fiery steed?

Alv.
Ay, one that seemed companion of the wind—
A wild steed of the desert, tossing high
His slender head and streaming mane, and spurning
The very ground with his proud tread—a steed
Untamed, untameable.

Inez.
And black?

Alv.
As jet.

Inez.
'Tis he! 'tis he!

Alph.
Knows any man what horse
Don Pedro rode to-day?

Gar.
Last night, my liege,
I heard the Prince give order that the roan—

Inez.
I saw him mount Black Saladin. 'Tis he!
And he is dead. Alvarez, out on thee,
Foul raven! Messenger of ill!

Alv.
Yet grant
The steed were Pedro's, he may live.

Inez.
Fly! fly!
Search all the forest! Be ye men, and fly not
To Pedro's aid? Oh! if I were as ye—
Fly! fly!

Gar.
If such the King's good pleasure—

Inez.
If!
Why, is he not a father? Hence and speed
True tidings back—the truth, the killing truth!

Alph.
Dispatch some skilful huntsmen, Don Alvarez,
To search the woods.
[Exit Alvarez.
I join not this wild fear,
Knowing my son unmatched in sylvan craft,
And skilled to rule the stubbornest steed that e'er
Spurned the hot sands of Araby.

Inez.
He'll die!
He'll die!

Man.
Dost mark her?

D'Ag.
A strange passion!

Con.
Inez!

Inez.
He'll die! he'll die!

Con.
Command thyself! Arise!
Quell this strong agony, which casts reproach
Upon thy virgin fame! Arise!

Inez.
I cannot.

Alph.
Lady, what means this passion? At thy side
Stands Pedro's plighted bride, with cheek unblanched
And lip unquivering, and calm, even breath;
Whilst thou—

Inez.
She loves him not. But thou, his father—
Oh! canst thou dally here whilst thy brave son
Lies perishing? Crushed underneath the hoofs
Of that fierce steed, or gored by horrid tusks
Of fiercer boar, bruised, mangled, bleeding, dead—
Dead, or worse, worse!—the fearful living prey
Of animals obscene, grim ravening wolves
Rending the quivering limbs, whilst he—Why waste ye
A moment in delay? Thou art a monarch;
Go pour thy people, thy whole people, King,
Into the woods of Setuval, to seek
And succour thy brave son.

Alph.
Go more of ye!
[Exeunt Garcia and others.
Her fears have an infection. Yet I doubt not
Of Pedro's safety—skilled as Theseus
To slay the beast of chase, active and strong
As great Alcides. Tush! he's safe! Yet go!
Go more of ye!

[Exeunt Lords, Huntsmen, &c.
Man.
Sweet lady, I would buy,
With limb or life, one heaving throb, like that
Which swells thy bosom now.

Inez.
Hush!

Man.
I would be
The wretch thy terror painted, mangled, bleeding,
Dying, that long and living death, to win
One tear of thine. But thou from honest love
Doth turn thee, Inez—

Inez.
Hush, man! hush!

Man.
With scorn
Bitter and hard to bear, whilst—

Inez.
Hush! I say.
Do ye not hear a distant horn? Hark! hark!

D'Ag.
Her sense is wandering.

Inez.
Hark! the joyful sound
Lives in mine ears; the glad triumphant note
His death-mot.

Man.
All is silence.

Inez.
Hark!

Alph.
Ay, now.

Inez.
He lives! he comes! he's safe! Oh! thanks to Heaven!
Thanks to All-bounteous Heaven!

Alph.
Support the lady.

Inez.
Nay, I am well. He's safe! he's safe!

Alph.
She faints!
Bear her to the Pavilion.
[Exit Inez, with Ladies, &c. Some go with her, others remain in attendance on Constance.
Howsoe'er,
She knew the sound—the mot was Pedro's. (Apart to D'Aguilar.)
Count,
Was thy King mad when, with his haughty sister,
He sent this melting beauty? How dispose her?
Guilty or innocent—
Enter Don Pedro, Alvarez, and other Lords.
How now, fair son?
A moment since 'twas rife that thou wast dead

Man.
The tale was false it seems.

Ped.
Wouldst have it true?
Ay, by that paleness The hot flush by times
Deceives; cold wanness never! Stand aside!
The King spake to the Prince, the father's voice
Called on his son. Off from between us.—Sire,
Mine is no glorious story; noble peril
Came not in view, a hunter's trivial tale.
Leaping afoot, to end with one sharp thrust
The agony of a poor panting stag
Pulled down by my brave hounds, my mettled steed,
Scared by their baying, burst from page and groom,
And bounded through the forest, tossing high
His stately head, and snorting with such joy
To feel his freedom, 'twas a joy to see
How, swift as the antelope he darted forth
Crushing each branch that crossed him with the strength
Of the roused lion. My thrice noble horse!
I would not change him for a battle won,
Or a new kingdom. Sirs, take instant order
He be pursued, and proffer a Count's ransom
To him who brings Black Saladin. Yet still
I grieve his flight should have awaked one throb
Of fear, however honouring, for his master.
A father's terrors—

Alph.
Sir, I feared thee not.

Ped.
A lady's softness—Surely Don Alvarez
Spake of one trembling with affright.

Alph.
Whom seek'st thou?
What quick distemperature hath seized thee?

Ped.
None;
None, father; none. Came not the Lady Inez
Amongst the royal train?

Ant.
She did.

Ped.
And wherefore
And whither is she gone? Hath Manuel dared—
Where is she gone, I say? To yonder tent?

[Going.
Alph.
Where goes Don Pedro? Stay him, good Antonio.

Ant.
(To Pedro.)
May it please it thee, Sir, return.

Ped.
Is Inez safe?

Ant.
She is.

Ped.
And gently tended?

Ant.
Yes.

Ped.
I ask thee,
By that fair idol which true men adore,
Thy bright unsullied honour, if the lady
Be reverently entreated?

Ant.
With all care
And nobleness.

Ped.
I do believe thee. (Returning.)
Father,
What wilt thou of thy son?

Alph.
Dost thou not see
The Lady Constance?

Ped.
Madam, I implore
Your Highness' pardon that, with hasty step
And unobservant eye—

Con.
Beseech thee spare
These slow, unwilling courtesies. Fair Sir,
The offence is none to have o'erpast me here
Unseen, unthought of; if a slight 'tis one
My soul holds gracious. The unpardoned sin,
The deadly scorn, the immedicable wound
Had been to blend with Constance of Castille
Image or thought less pure.—We wait your Highness.

[Exit, with her Ladies, into the Pavilion.
Ped.
Pure! Why the dew-drop which the west wind fans
From the white orange-flower, the down that grows
Upon the wild swan's breast, the snows that crown
The Pyrenean steep are not so pure
As Inez! Pure! Lady, be thou as chaste
As vestal virgin or pale cloistered nun,
Thou wouldst show weak and frail and spirit-stained
Beside the clear of heart, the firm of soul,
Whom thou malign'st. And she hath born this scorn,
And I must bear! Oh, that some stalwart knight
Would doubt thy virtue, Inez!

Alph.
Son—

Ped.
Not thou,
Not thou, my father!

D'Aq.
Prince, I must not hear
Sharp-biting taunt and bitter insult cast
Upon a Princess of Castille. Wert thou
The bravest man of thy brave line—

Alph.
(To D'Aguilar.)
My lord,
Thy mission here, which is to thee a shield,
Alike debars thee from intemperate wrath.
(To Pedro.)
He comes on a King's message.

Ped.
Fear not me!
Thou art a safe man, Lord Ambassador,
A licensed railer, a permitted scold,
As chiding woman, or as tonsured monk.
I know thy privilege.

Alph.
(Taking D'Aguilar apart.)
Count D'Aguilar!

Ped.
I know thy privilege.

Man.
Prince, these rash insults—

Ped.
Have I not owned his privilege? And thou too,
The absolute courtier, minister, dictator
Of this our Portugal, who, ruling all,
Wouldst fain rule me; the quaint and clerkly scribe,
Whose delicate hand, inured to the slight pen,
As a young girl's to the needle, never knew
The manly joy to grasp a warrior's sword,—
Thou too art privileged. Rail on! rail on!

Man.
Prince, these vain taunts—

Ped.
Why dost thou pause? Rail on!
Why stint thy speech? On, mighty minister!

Man.
Thou art my Prince, and I must bear; but wert thou
Mine equal—

Ped.
Well?

Man.
Then—No—Thou art a Prince,
And I a subject.

Ped.
Prince! Sir, I'm a knight,
A soldier, and a man; one trained in camps,
Who little recks of thy court niceties,
And never yet paused in the battle-field
To question a stout foeman's royalty.
Think me thine equal, Sir. Rank is a shield
O'ercumbrous for my use. Think me thine equal.
And then if thou dare fight—

Man.
Speak lower, Prince.
These scoffs would spur a coward to the field.
Meet me where'er thou wilt, and thou shalt find
That I can grasp a sword. Meet me to-night
In single combat.

Ped.
Willingly; joyfully.
But wherefore not at once?—

Man.
Put up thy sword!
Speak lower, lest they listen. We must meet
Alone.

Ped.
Why, this sounds like a gallant foe. By Heaven!
I never deemed thee worth a soldier's hate
Till now. On the Alcantara, at sunset;
Or by the Tagus, near the harbour's mouth;
That were more private. They'll not seek us there.
The sands beside the Tagus. By St. Michael!
I never thought to hold thee in such honour.

Man.
I will not fail thee, Sir. We are observed.

Alph.
What saidst thou, Pedro?

Ped.
Good my liege, Don Manuel
Hath challenged me to meet him in the forest,
And with our hounds run down a fallow deer;—
And I—

Alph.
Enough! Enough! Count D'Aguilar,
We hold to-night a banquet at the Palace,
To honour Lady Constance. Nobles all,
I bid ye to the festival. And now
To horse, my lords, to horse! Go warn the Princess.

Ped.
(To Manuel.)
At sunset by the Tagus' brink.

Alph.
To horse!
To horse!