University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

An Apartment in Don Manuel's Palace.
Manuel and Sebastian.
Man.
The King hath sent the Captain of the Guard
To watch our Palace, say'st thou?

Seb.
Good my lord,
The archers line the court.

Man.
Bid Juan lead
My courser to the garden gate. Bring thou
My armour. Quick!

Seb.
All egress, noble Sir,
Is barred by the stern guard, and King Alphonso
Himself approaches.

Man.
So! the hot defiance
Found listeners; and the feigned after calmness
Won slight regard. I should have joyed to meet,
This darling of the wars, this cherished son
Of victory, in single fight; but now—
The King approaching too?

Seb.
So said the archers.

Man.
Sebastian, hasten to the tapestry chamber,
And bring me straight the vellum book that lies
Beside my couch.
[Exit Sebastian.
Certes, I would full fain
Have met thee, Pedro, in the field, and proved
The arm thou hold'st so lightly 'gainst thine own,
Proud Prince of Portugal! I feared thee not,
Champion of Christendom! I would have met thee,
Thee and thy fame in fair and equal fight.
But 'twere a sweeter vengeance, and a deeper,
Winning that lovely one to feed to the full
My hatred and my love. How beautiful
Her very scorn, that shy and timorous maid,
Starting at speech, or touch, with such a grace
As the queen-heron, ere she takes her flight,
When scared by some lone wanderer from her haunt
Beside the mountain pool; or as the doe,
When first she hears the hunter in the brake,
Stands glancing her arched neck and innocent eyes
From side to side, a moment listening stands,
Listening and trembling, ere she darts away.
Oh, to tame that rare coyness! to subdue
That maiden pride! albeit she love not me,
Albeit she love another—
Re-enter Sebastian, with the Book.
Now?

Seb.
My lord,
The King is on the stair.

Man.
Give instant entrance.
So! So!

[Manuel takes the Book, and seats himself with it at a Table, as if immersed in study.
Enter Alphonso.
Alph.
He's deep in study. Rouse him not.
He sits like one entranced, each sense absorbed
In yonder antique book, as men are wrapt
In stirring tidings of to-day, or missives
Late and long-looked-for from far distant friends.
Wait me without.
[Exit Sebastian.
From his unconscious lips
The words seem bursting.

Man.
(Reads.)

“Then Abu Zeyd, the merchant of Bagdad,
finding all other means fail, and that, for love of the fair
Persian, his son Noureddin still refused to return to Cairo to
complete his merchandize, bestowed her in marriage on his
slave Abdallah; after which union Noureddin, recovering
from his unhappy passion, resumed his voyages, and became
one of the wealthiest and most prosperous merchants of
Bagdad.”

(Speaks.)
Bestowed her on his slave! Ay, wisdom lurks
Beneath the turban! Strange! how oft these rude
And uncouth legends, told in Arab tents
'Mid the Great Desert, or in populous streets
Of Moorish city, or in freshest bowers
Of Turkish harem,—strange! that tales so old
And so remote, and airy as a dream,
Should yet foreshadow and embody things
That be, passion and action, past event
And coming consequence;—strange! strange! and then
The antidote to this hot poison—Ha!
I crave your Highness' pardon.

Alph.
No excuse.
Thou art studious, Manuel. Wherefore fling aside
The book so hastily? What was the theme?

Man.
A trifle, good my liege.

Alph.
Nay, nay, we know
Our learned minister. Some subtle treatise
Of the grave schoolmen; codes of awful law,
Or deep divinity, or statecraft shrewd.
Make me partaker of thy lore.

Man.
My liege,
A worthless legend.

Alph.
Without farther parley,
Show me this legend, Manuel. As I entered,
I saw thee hanging, like an amorous boy
O'er the first letter from his mistress, pondering
Each word, and starting, as an oracle
Were opened to thy wondering eyes. Nay, more,
I heard the words. I know too much, good Manuel,
Not to know all. The legend, Sir!

Man.
My liege—

Alph.
Straight to thy tale.

Man.
'Tis a rude Eastern story,
One of the brief and homely tales that lie
Half-hidden among the high imaginings,
The gorgeous fancies of Arabian lore,
Like seedling pearls 'midst the commingling glare
Of rubies, emeralds, amethysts; a rude
And homely tale. A merchant of Bagdad
Had one fair son, a fair and hopeful youth,
Whom he, waxing in years, was training up
To travel to far cities, trafficking
With his rich merchandize, from realm to realm,
A profitable factor; for the youth
Was bold and capable, one whom a father
Looks on with glad, proud eyes; when suddenly
The promise ceased, the hope was turned to fear,
The joy to woe, the pride to shame. Our merchant,
His son being then at Cairo, chanced to purchase
A slave, they called her the Fair Persian, young,
Slender, and delicate, graceful and timorous
Even as the shy gazelle, yet gay and playful
As a wild kidling of the hills.

Alph.
The youth,
Returning, loved this Persian?

Man.
Madly loved.

Alph.
And disobeyed his father?

Man.
Good my liege,
Defied him: sate him idly down in Bagdad,
Abandoning his half-won 'vantages,
His goodly bargains and his golden hopes,
For love of this Fair Persian.

Alph.
And the merchant
Gave her, the smiling mischief, to his slave,
In marriage to his slave? Heard I not so?
Ran not the story thus?

Man.
An' please you, Sire,
So paused the tale.

Alph.
In marriage to another;
And then the youth pursued his better fortune.
They are wise, these unbelievers.—A slight tale!
In marriage to his slave?—A homely story!
And yet in sooth—We hold to-night a banquet,
And long ere this the assembled guests await
Their too-neglectful host. Come, loiterer!
Fair Inez will be there. Is not that name
A loadstar to thee? Art thou turned inconstant?
Hast ceased to love?

Man.
Oh, never! never!

Alph.
Well!

Man.
Yet, if my absence might find grace, a friend
Without the walls expects me.

Alph,
Say a foe,
A royal foe! Why, 'twas mine errand hither,
But that thy tale turned the full tide of thought,
To bid thee, on thy faith and thy allegiance,
Avoid this challenge. Wouldst thou do a treason,
And slay the lineal heir of mighty kings?
Wouldst slay thy Prince? And wouldst thou match thyself,
Being of the common fowl, with the strong bird
That soars nearest the sun? Dost think to 'scape
Unscathed the noblest eaglet that e'er flew
From out our eyrie, the thrice royal bird,
Unparagoned of form or spirit? Thou
Mated with Pedro! Chafe not. Thou art brave;
I know thee valiant. Thou hast oft said No
To the King's will in council, and stood firm,
Even as a rock, against the stormy rush
Of his wild anger;—ay, and he hath thanked thee
When the loud gust was past, hath thanked and loved thee
The better for thy stubbornness; howbeit
He claim to-night the mastery,—as thou
And my hot son shall prove. I go to join
The feasters. Follow straight. Hearken, Don Manuel!
Take order that the chapel be prepared
For sudden nuptials, graced with all observance
That may beseem a Prince's bridal hour.
Away, and question not, Now to these revels!

Man.
So, so! A bridal!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Magnificent Hall in the Royal Palace. A Splendid Banquet, round which are ranged Constance, Inez, and other Ladies; Count D'Aguilar, Don Antonio, Don Garcia, Don Alvarez, and other Nobles. A Throne vacant in the centre, which Alphonso, entering during the Song, ascends. The sides of the Stage filled with Minstrels and Attendants.

Song.

Alph.
What, not a word, fair maidens! not a smile
To pay the minstrel! Lady Constance, Inez,
Ye were rare harmonists. I've known the time
When but a wandering snatch of some old air,
Borne on the breeze from the steep mountain side,
Where the lone shepherd-boy lay with his pipe
Cheating the weary day; or tinklings faint
Of gay guitar, in vineyards heard at eve,
Would lure ye from your palace-home to seek
The rude musician: and now Silvio sings,
Your favoured minstrel, sings his courtliest lay
To win your smiles, and ye sit motionless
As effigies carved quaintly out of stone
To deck the rich and monumental shrine
Of saintly votaress, pale, fair, and mute
As statues. Rouse ye, damsels! See ye not
That your cold looks o'ercloud the festival,
Chilling the nimble tongues and dainty wits
Of our gay cavaliers? Rouse thee, fair Princess!
Arouse ye, gallants all! A silent feast
Is sadder than a funeral.

Gar.
Good my liege,
We miss Don Pedro's ready mirth.

Alv.
Don Manuel
Is absent too.

Ant.
Ay; and if silver hairs
May give a privilege to read young hearts,
I'd say that absence is the envious cloud
That hangs o'er beauty's sunny smile. She hath heard
The morning's coil, and trembles at the fear
Of what may chance betwixt two haughty spirits
Chafed to their uttermost bearing; therefore droops
The royal lady, and with sympathy
Alert and tender, droop her maiden train.
But should the Prince appear—

Con.
Methinks, fair Sirs,
Ye show scant courtesy to comment thus
Upon a lady's bearing.

D'Ag.
Scantier still,
To deem a Princess of Castille so poor
Of soul, that she should cling with desperate love
To him who throws the shame of cold neglect
Upon her peerless charms. Ye hold a banquet
To honour Lady Constance, and Don Pedro,
Her royal wooer, her betrothed lord,
Is absent. Anger may be mute and pale
As fear or love.

Ant.
But if the Prince and Manuel—

Alph.
Tush! tush! ye know not Pedro—hot and rash,
But kindly and forgiving. None hath seen him
Since he, at noontide, rushed from the Pavilion
Back to his dear-loved woods. A wandering hound,
A falcon unreclaimed, or some brave quarry,
Fleet stag, or strong-tusked boar, hath lured him on
Deep in the forest, and benighted him.
Yet shall we chide the truant. For Don Manuel,
Lo! where he comes.
Enter Manuel.
(To Manuel.)
Is all prepared? The chapel
Blazing with fragrant light? The jewelled altars?
The mitred abbot?

Man.
All.

Alph.
A health, my lords!
A health, Count D'Aguilar! With generous wine
Crown every mantling cup, till the rich juice
Mount o'er the golden rim! Fill high! Fill high!
Now health and bliss to him of Portugal
And her of Spain, the noble and the fair
Who wed to-night. Thou drink'st not, D'Aguilar.

D'Ag.
The pledge is bridal.

Alph.
So is the intent.

D'Ag.
And yet the Prince appears not?

Alph.
Brave Castillian,
Thou hast made demand, perchance too preremptory,
Yet with some seeming cause, that our late treaty
Be instantly fulfilled. But we still lack
Meet time for preparation, time to grace
The queenly bride and the immediate heir
Of our old kingdom. Sir, we must tire down
The sun with royal pageants, and outwatch
The moon with merry masques; minstrels must frame
New lays to sing her beauty; coins be struck
With her high impress; marble palaces
Be reared, her fitting shrine; and barges decked,
Gorgeous as that, which on the Cydnus wave
Floated the Egyptian Queen to meet her love.

D'Ag.
I cry you mercy, Sire! But was this pledge
A dream? a mockery?

Man.
A waking truth.

Alph.
Say that the proudest noble of our Court
Wed a young Spanish maid, will not such union
Seem to our brother to Castille a pledge
Of fair intent and honest purposes?
A happy augury of those blest ties
Weaving in Time's great loom? Come forth, fair Inez!
Don Manuel, take thy bride.

Man.
Oh, lovely lady,
Turn not away with such disdain! Fair Princess,
Beseech thee, plead for me.

Inez.
I'll never wed
Whom I can never love. Sir, hour by hour,
And day by day, have I flung back, at last
With an enforced scorn, the proffered vows
Of this importunate wooer. All the Court
Hath heard the King's command—Bear witness all
To my as firm denial. King Alphonso,
I'll ne'er be Manuel's bride.

Man.
Oh, fairest! cruellest!
D'Aguilar, speak!
[Then aside to the Count.
It is thy cause! Bethink thee
Of all that chanced this morning. She once wed,
Thy mission—plead, man! plead!
[Then aloud.
Speak, D'Aguilar!

D'Ag.
The lady jests. 'Tis but the coy device
Of conscious beauty, willing to be wooed,
Feigning reluctance, simulating scorn,
Forcing her haughty lips to utter No,
When the consenting heart would murmur Yes.
The general weal demands this union, Inez;
And, in the name of King and country, I
Command thee wed this man.

Inez.
Alas! alas!
When I have said I love him not!

D'Ag.
Take heed
Thy mounting love soar not so wild a flight
That it fall, spent and broken, like an arrow
Hurled by a heedless marksman.

Alph.
Lady Inez,
This match must be accomplished. Send to warn
The priests that we approach.

Inez.
What now? even now?
Relent, my liege, relent! Oh, give me not
To one whom I abhor! No, nor bind him,
Howe'er in heat of passion he may woo
The baleful destiny, to one who owns
Such loathing! Oh, be merciful!

Alph.
Rise! rise!

Inez.
Never till thou hast heard me. I'm an orphan,
A stranger in thy land. I had a father,
A kind, brave father, such a man as thou,
A warrior in the summer of his days,
Full of stern grace, and fiery dignity.
Were he alive—Alphonso, thou art called
The father of thy people:—Wilt thou stoop
To oppress the orphan? Look upon me, King!
Thou hadst a daughter once, a lily flower,
Untimely gathered to her home above;
They who would flatter me have said that I
Was like thy Isabel—Look down upon me,
And for her sake, for her dear sake! He turns
Away! Oh, where to seek for pity!—Lady,
I am as one placed on the dizzy point
'Twixt two great gulphs, on either side the abyss
Of crime yawns to receive me. Listen, Lady,
For very womanhood! We are of one age,
One country, and one sex; defenceless women!
Poor helpless women! Even thou, a Princess,
Thou hast no arms, save tears and sobs and words—
Vainer than tears. Oh! shall we not be true
To one another? Save me! Save me! Once
Thou lov'dst thine own poor handmaid.

Con.
I did love thee,
And thou—Inez de Castro, I command
This union. I would snatch thee from the abyss,
The smiling sea of sin, the unfathomed gulph
Of shame; would prop thy woman's weakness, girl,
With a right noble husband. Good my liege,
On to the chapel!

Inez.
Cruel! cruel!

Alph.
Lords,
Lead to the altar. Inez, cast aside
This maiden coyness; cease thy fruitless struggles;
Subdue thy stubborn will. On to the altar,
And learn the wisdom of the weak—obedience.

Man.
Sweet Inez, come. Forgive this boisterous wooing;
The worshipped wife shall smile in after years
At the vain terrors of the bride, shall find
Her marriage chains light garlands.

Inez.
Ay, such chains
As the poor victim in the heathen rites,
Dragged to the altar by gay flowery wreaths
To die, a crowned and gilded sacrifice,
Hallowed, and garlanded, and slain!—Avaunt!
My flesh creeps at thy touch, as loathly worms
Were twisting round my fingers. Man, avaunt!
Oh, fatal, fatal promise! Is there none
To shield a noble lady, in worse strait
Than ever Christian maiden hath endured,
When captive to the Moor? Be ye not knights
Sworn to defend the oppressed, to avenge the injured,
To guard defenceless women? Oh, for him,
That soul of chivalry!

Con.
Will she dare name him?

Alph.
Lead to the altar; if need be, by force.

Inez.
Now mercy on me, Heaven! Pedro! my Pedro!

Enter Don Pedro.
Ped.
What mean these echoing shrieks and wild appeals
To pitying Heaven? Who called on Pedro? Inez!

Inez.
I have kept my vow! I have kept my vow!

Ped.
I am here,
Here to protect thee. Which of ye dares touch
This panting trembler now?

Man.
Even from my Prince
I dare to claim the lady.

Ped.
Thou! Ay, here,
Within the charmed circle of a court
In the King's presence, hemmed about by guards
And women, here thou art brave of look and word,
Bold to do evil, a right valiant courtier.
As ever dared a crime. Where wast thou, Sir,
At sunset, when beside the Tagus' brink
I paced impatiently, my sword unsheathed
For speedier combat, and my helmet doffed
To catch the first sound of thy horse's tread?
Now, by St. Michael! when no foe came near
When the light paled on river and on sky,
And thou not there, I deemed thee prisoned, chained,
And flew to free thee.

Man.
The King's men-at-arms
Compassed my palace.

Ped.
And I find him here,
In fullest freedom! Slave! thy guards were fears,
Base cowardice thy fetters.

Alph.
Son, my will,
His Sovereign's awful threats and stern commands,
Compelled submission, with reluctance shown
Even to his King—submission calm, and firm,
And loyal, such as true men yield. Show thou
A like obedience, Pedro, and release
The lady.

Ped.
Wherefore?

Alph.
Even now the priests
Await her at the altar.

Ped.
She's my wife!
Father, she is my wife!

Alph.
Thy wife?

Ped.
My dear
And wedded wife.

Inez.
My husband!

Ped.
Oh! forgive me,
That, with strong vows of secresy, I chained
Thy lips, my Inez, leaving thee a prey
To hateful suitors and sharp jealousies.

Inez.
My own dear husband!

Man.
Wedded! 'Tis a feint
To stay our nuptials. Wedded! What bold priest
Would so defy his King? What Church would hallow,
What madman witness, the unlawful rites?
A feint!—a shallow feint!

Ped.
My liege—to thee
I deign no answer—In St. Vincent's Church,
With holy book and saintly benison,
The learned priest Anselmo joined our hands,
Before an aged and most pious woman,
Good Monica Manrique.

Man.
(Writing in his Tablets.)
Monica
Manrique and the priest Anselmo. Lady—
Will she avouch the tale? Inez, art thou
Don Pedro's wife?

Inez.
Ay, his chaste wedded wife!
He hath avouched it. Blessings on thee, Pedro,
My husband, my deliverer, that hast wiped
Reproach away and scorn; hast set me free
From the hot chase of lust and the cold sneer
Of envy. Blessings on thy head!

Con.
Such blessings
As wait on false and perjured man, on light,
Ungrateful woman; blessings such as Heaven
Garners in thunder-clouds, or comets bring
To the astonied nations—War and death,
Famine and pestilence, hate, fiercest hate,
And bitter, bitter love. Think not I grieve
To lose thy state or thee—misdeem not, Prince,
The sister of Castille. Look on this ring,
Pledge of our destined union; see, I rend
The gold apart, a broken, worthless toy,
As brittle as thy faith.

Ped.
Madam!—Yet sooth
She hath some cause for anger—Royal lady,
Men view admiringly the stately cedar,
Yet pluck the rose beside it.

D'Ag.
For yon minion—

Alph.
Remove the woman, guards. Princess, thy wrongs
Shall be avenged. Must I speak twice? Remove
The woman.

Ped.
Sooner—

Inez.
Nay, submit, submit,
Beseech thee, love, submit. It is thy King,
Thy father.

Ped.
Fear not, Inez. Ye must win her
At the sword-point. She is my wife—

Man.
And therefore
Arraigned of treason. Thine own act hath placed
The lady in this peril.

Ped.
Fiend accurst!
But I'll defend her yet. Come on who dares!

Alph.
Disarm him. Seize her.

Inez.
Yet a moment pause,
Brave Sir, for charity. Dost love me, Pedro?
Dost love the poor, despised, defenceless woman,
Who hath bartered country, kindred, friends and home
For thee, only for thee? I know thou dost.
Thou wouldst not have her die of grief and fear
Here at thy feet, nor fling the stain of blood
On her white raiment, or the curse of blood
Upon her head. What should we dread, my husband?
Shall I not be a prisoner in the ward
Of a brave soldier? Trust me, love, my heart
Beats lightly, hopefully.

Ped.
They'll part us, Inez;
They'll part us. Go not, sweet.

Inez.
Man cannot part
Whom Heaven hath joined together.

Ped.
Go not, sweet;
I cannot trust them. Yet—Mark, Don Alvarez,
Look to thy prisoner; guard her as thy life;
If but a hair be touched of her fair head,
My fierce revenge would shame the lioness
When plundered of her young. Look to her, friend,
For love and charity.

Alph.
To prison, Sirs!

Ped.
Farewell! farewell!