 | Three Judgements At A Blow |  |
Scene I.
A Mountain Pass near Saragossa. Shot within. Then enter Don Mendo and Violante pursued by Robbers, among whom is Vicente.Men.
Villains, let steel or bullet do their worst,
I'll die ere yield.
Viol.
Heav'n help us!
Robber I.
Fool, to strive
Against such odds—upon their own ground too,
Red with the blood of hundreds like yourselves.
Vic.
Come, sir, no more ado;
But quietly give my young madam up,
Nice picking for our captain.
Men.
Not while a drop of blood is in my body.
Robbers.
Here's at you then!
Viol.
My father!
(As the Robbers attack Mendo, enter Don Lope.)
Lope.
How now? whom have you here?
Vic.
Oh, noble captain,
We found this lady resting from the sun
Under the trees, with a small retinue,
Who of course fled.
All but this ancient gentleman, who still
Holds out against us.
Lope
(to Mendo).
What can you expect
Against such numbers?
Men.
Not my life, but death.
You come in time—
Upon my knees I do beseech of you (kneels)
No other mercy save of instant death
To both of us.
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Arise! you are the first
Has mov'd me to the mercy you decline.
This lady is—your wife?
Men.
My only daughter!
Viol.
In spirit as in blood. If by his death
You think to make you masters of my life,
Default of other weapon, with these hands
I'll cease the breath of life, or down these rocks
Dash myself headlong.
Lope.
Lady, calm yourself;
Your beauty has subdued an angry devil
One like yourself first rais'd within my soul.
Your road lies whither, sir?
Men.
To Saragossa.
Where if I could requite—
Lope.
Your name?
Men.
Don Mendo
Torellas, after a long embassage
To Paris, Rome, and Naples, summon'd back
By Pedro, king of Arragon—with whom
If't be (as oft) some youthful petulance,
Calling for justice or revenge at home,
Drives you abroad to these unlawful courses,
I pledge my word—
Lope.
Alas, sir, I might hail
Your offer could I hope that your deserts,
However great, might cancel my account
Of ill-deserving. But indeed my crimes
Have gather'd so in number, and in weight,
And condemnation—committed, some of them,
To stave away the very punishment
They must increase at last; others, again,
In the sheer desperation of forgiveness
That all had heap'd upon me—
Men.
Nay, nay, nay;
Despair not; trust to my good offices;
In pledge of which here, now, before we part,
I swear to make your pardon the first boon
I'll ask for or accept at the king's hand.
Your name?
Lope.
However desperate, and asham'd
To tell it, you shall hear it—and my story.
Retire!
(To the Robbers, who exeunt.)
Don Mendo, I am Lope, son
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At least in virtue of my blood.
Men.
Indeed!
Urrea and myself were, I assure you,
Intimate friends of old,—another tie,
If wanting one, to bind me to your service.
Lope.
I scarce can hope it, sir; if I, his son,
Have so disgrac'd him with my evil ways,
And so impoverisht him with my expenses,
Were you his friend, you scarcely can be mine.
And yet, were I to tell you all, perhaps
I were not all to blame.
Men.
Come, tell me all;
'Tis fit that I should hear it.
Viol.
I begin
To breathe again.
Lope.
Then listen, sir. My father in his youth,
As you perhaps may know, but why I know not,
Held off from marriage; till, bethinking him,
Or warn'd by others, what a shame it were
So proud a name should die for want of wearer,
In his late years he took to wife a lady
Of blameless reputation, and descent
As noble as his own, but so unequal
In years, that she had scarcely told fifteen
When age his head had whiten'd with such snows
As froze his better judgment.
Men.
Ay, I know
Too well—too well! (Aside.)
Lope.
Long she repell'd his suit,
Feeling how ill ill-sorted years agree;
But, at the last, before her father's will
She sacrific'd her own. Oh sacrifice
That little lacks of slaughter! So, my father
Averse from wedlock's self, and she from him,
Think what a wedlock this must be, and what
The issue that was like to come of it!
While other sons cement their parents' love,
My birth made but a wider breach in mine.
Just in proportion as my mother lov'd
Her boy, my father hated him—yes, hated,
Even when I was lisping at his knees
That little language charms all fathers' hearts.
Neglecting me himself, as I grew up
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A violent nature, which by love or lash
May even be corrected in a wolf:
Till, as I grew, and found myself at large,
Spoilt both by mother's love and father's hate,
I took to evil company, gave rein
To every passion as it rose within,
Wine, dice, and women—what a precipice
To build the fabric of a life upon!
Which, when my father
Saw tottering to its fall, he strove to train
The tree that he had suffer'd to take root
In vice, and grow up crooked—all too late!
Though not revolting to be ruled by him,
I could not rule myself. And so we liv'd
Both in one house, but wholly apart in soul,
Only alike in being equally
My mother's misery. Alas, my mother!
My heart is with her still! Why, think, Don Mendo,
That, would she see me, I must creep at night
Muffled, a tip-toe, like a thief, to her,
Lest he should know of it! why, what a thing
That such a holy face as filial love
Must wear the mask of theft! But to sum up
The story of my sorrows and my sins
That have made me a criminal, and him
Almost a beggar;—
In the full hey-day of my wilfulness
There liv'd a lady near, in whom methought
Those ancient enemies, wit, modesty,
And beauty, all were reconcil'd; to her,
Casting my coarser pleasures in the rear,
I did devote myself—first with mute signs,
Which by and by began to breathe in sighs,
And by and by in passionate words that love
Toss'd up all shapeless, but all glowing hot,
Up from my burning bosom, and which first
Upon her willing ears fell unreprov'd,
Then on her heart, which by degrees they wore
More than I us'd to say her senseless threshold
Wore by the nightly pressure of my feet.
She heard my story, pitied me
With her sweet eyes; and my unruly passion,
Flusht with the promise of first victory,
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How in love's world the shadow of disappointment
Exactly dogs the substance of success.
In fine, one night I stole into her house,
Into her chamber; and with every vow
Of marriage on my tongue; as easy then
To utter, as thereafter to forswear,
When in the very jewel I coveted
Very compliance seem'd to make a flaw
That made me careless of it when possess'd.
From day to day I put our marriage off
With false pretence, which she at last suspecting,
Falsely continued seeming to believe,
Till she had got a brother to her side,
(A desperate man then out-law'd, like myself,
For homicide,) who, to avenge her shame,
With other two waylaid me on a night
When as before I unsuspectingly
Crept to her house; and set upon me so,
All three at once, I just had time to parry
Their thrusts, and draw a pistol, which till then
They had not seen, when—
Voices
(within).
Fly! Away! Away!
Enter Vicente.
Lope.
What is the matter now?
Vic.
Captain!
Lope.
Well, speak.
Vic.
We must be off; the lady's retinue
Who fled have rous'd the soldiery, and with them
Are close upon our heels. We've not a moment.
Lope.
Then up the mountain!
Men.
Whither I will see
They shall not follow you; and take my word
I'll not forget my promise.
Lope.
I accept it.
Men.
Only, before we part, give me some token,
The messenger I send may travel with
Safe through your people's hands.
Lope
(giving a dagger).
This then.
Men.
A dagger?
An evil-omen'd pass-word.
Lope.
Ah, Don Mendo,
What has a wretched robber got to give
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The wicked weapon cannot reach your hand,
But it must bite its master's. (His hand bleeding.)
Ill-omen'd as you say!
Voices
(within).
Away! Away!
Vic.
They're close upon us!
Viol.
O quick! begone! My life hangs on a thread
While yours is in this peril.
Lope.
That alone
Should make me fly to save it. Farewell, lady.
Farewell, Don Mendo.
Men. and Viol.
Farewell!
Lope.
What strange things
One sun between his rise and setting brings!
[Exit.
Men.
Let us anticipate, and so detain
The soldiers. That one turn of Fortune's wheel
Years of half-buried memory should reveal!
Viol.
Could I believe that crime should ever be
So amiable! How fancy with us plays,
And with one touch colours our future days!
[Exeunt severally.
| Three Judgements At A Blow | |