University of Virginia Library

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.