 | Beware of Smooth Water |  |
ACT II.
Scene I.
A Room in Don Felix's House.—Felix and Hernando; to whom Enter Juan.Fel.
Well, Juan, and how slept you?
Juan.
As one must
In your house, Felix; had not such a thought
No house can quiet woke me long ere dawn.
Fel.
Indeed! How so?
Juan.
Felix, the strangest thing—
But now we are alone I'll tell you all.
Last night—the very moment that I saw
That angel at the window, as at Heaven's gate—
Under the ashes of so long an absence,
Sprung up anew into full blaze. Alas!
But one brief moment did she dawn on us,
Then set, to rise no more all the evening,
Watch as I would. But day is come again,
And as I think, Felix, the holyday
When our new Queen shall make her solemn entry
Into Madrid; and she, my other Queen,
Will needs be up—be up and out betimes;
So I forestall the sun in looking for her,
And now will to the door beneath her window
Better to watch her rising.
But, as you love me, not a word of this
Breathe to Don Pedro.
[Exit.
Fel.
And does he think
Because his memory of her is quick,
Hers is of him? Aha!
Hern.
Nay, if he like it,
“Oh let him be deceiv'd!”
Fel.
'Twas wisely said
By him who self-deception us'd to call
The cheapest and the dearest thing of all.
Ha! here's the other swain! and now to see
How he has prosper'd. I begin to think
My house is turn'd into a Lazar-house
Of crazy lovers.
(Enter Pedro.)
Good day, Don Pedro.
Ped.
As it needs must be
To one who hails it in your house, and opposite
My lady's! Oh, you cannot think, my Felix,
With what a blessed conscience of all this
I woke this morning! I can scarcely believe 't.
Why, in your house, I shall have chance on chance,
Nay, certainty of seeing her—to-day
Most certainly. But I'll go post myself
Before the door; she will be out betimes
To mass.
Fel.
Well, you will find Don Juan there.
Ped.
Eh? Well, so much the better, I can do't
With less suspicion, nay, with none at all
If you will go with us. Only, Don Felix,
Breathe not a word to him about my love.
Fel.
Juan again?
Juan.
I only came to ask
What church we go to? (Aside to Fel.)
Let us keep at home.
Fel.
Don Pedro, what say you?
Ped.
Oh, where you please.
(Aside.)
Stir not!
Fel.
(aside).
How easy to oblige two friends
Who ask the same, albeit with diverse ends!
(Aloud.)
What, are your worships both in love, perhaps,
As Spanish cavaliers are bound to be,
And think I've nothing else to do, forsooth,
Than follow each upon his wildgoose chase?
Forgetting I may take 't into my head
To fall in love myself—perhaps with one,
Or both, of those fair ladies chance has brought
Before my windows. Now I think upon't,
I am, or mean to be, in love with one;
And, to decide with which, I'll e'en wait here
Till they both sally forth to church themselves.
So, gentlemen, would you my company,
I must not go with you, you stay with me.
Ped.
Willingly.
Juan.
Oh, most willingly! (Aside to Fel.)
How well
You manag'd it.
Ped.
(aside to Fel.)
'Tis just as I could wish.
Fel.
(aside).
And just as I, if thereby I shall learn
Whether they love the same; and, if the same,
Whether the one—But come, come! 'tis too late
For wary me to wear love's cap and bells.
Juan.
Since we must do your bidding on this score,
We'll e'en make you do ours upon another,
And make you tell us, as you promis'd both,
And owe to me—what, when our Queen was landed,
You fine folks of Madrid did in her honour.
Ped.
Ay, if you needs will fetter our free time,
Help us at least to pass it by the story
You had begun.
Fel.
Well then, to pick it up
Where Juan left it for us, on the shore.
There, when our Queen was landed, as I hear,
The Countess Medellin, her Chamberlain,
Of the Cordona family, receiv'd her,
With pomp that needed no excuse of haste,
And such a retinue (for who claims not
To be the kinsman, friend, or follower,
Of such a name?) as I believe Castile
Was almost drain'd to follow in his wake.
Oh, noble house! in whom the chivalry
Of courage, blameless worth, and loyalty,
Is nature's patent of inheritance
From generation to generation!
And so through ringing Spain, town after town,
And every town a triumph, on they pass'd.
Madrid meanwhile—
Juan.
Stop, stop! They're coming out!
Ped.
Where! Let me see.
Juan.
The servant only.
Fel.
Nay,
They'll follow soon.
Juan.
Till when, on with your story.
Fel.
Madrid then, sharing in the general joy
Of her king's marriage, and with one whose mother
Herself had nurst—though, as you said, half sick
Of hope deferr'd, had, at the loyal call,
That never fails in Spain, drawn to her heart
The life-blood of the realm's nobility
To do her honour; not only when she came,
But, in anticipation of her coming,
With such prelusive pomps, as if you turn
Far up time's stream as history can go,
In hymeneals less august than these,
You shall find practis'd—torchéd troop and masque,
With solemn and preliminary dance,
Epithalamium and sacrifice,
Invoking Hymen's blessing. So Madrid,
Breathing new Christian life in Pagan pomp,
With such epithalamium as all Spain
Rais'd up to Heav'n, into sweet thunder tun'd
Beyond all science by a people's love,
Began her pageant. First, the nightly masque,
So fair as I have never seen the like,
Nor shall again; nor which, unless you draw
On your imagination for the type
Of what I tell, can I depict to you;
When, to the sound of trumpet and recorder,
Beginning, drew the purple mountain down,
Glittering with veins of ore and silver trees,
All flower'd with plumes, and taper-starr'd above,
With monster and volcano breathing fire,
While to and fro torch-bearing maskers ran
Like meteors; all so illuminating night,
That the succeeding sun hid pale in cloud,
And wept with envy, till he dawn'd at length
Upon the famous Amphitheatre,
Which, in its masonry out-doing all
That Rome of a like kind in ruin shows,
This day out-did itself,
In number, rank, and glory of spectators,
Magnificence of retinue, multitude,
Size, beauty, and courage, of the noble beasts
Who came to dye its yellow dust with blood;
As each horn'd hero of the cloven hoof,
Broad-chested, and thick-neckt, and wrinkle-brow'd,
Rush'd roaring in, and tore the ground with's foot,
As saying, “Lo! this grave is yours or mine!”
While that yet nobler beast, noblest of all,
Who knights the very knighthood that he carries,
Proud in submission to a nobler will,
Spurn'd all his threats, and, touch'd by the light spur,
His rider glittering like a god aloft,
Turn'd onset into death. Fight follow'd fight,
Till darkness came at last, sending Madrid
Already surfeited with joy, to dream
Of greater, not unanxious that the crown
And centre of the centre of the world
Should not fall short of less renowned cities
In splendour of so great a celebration;
While too the hundreds of a hundred nations,
In wonder or in envy cramm'd her streets;
Until her darling come at last, whose spouse
Shall lay his own two empires at her feet,
And crown her thrice; as Niece, and Spouse, and Queen.
Juan.
A charming story, finish just in time,
For look! (They look out.)
Fel.
That is the father, Don Alonso.
Juan.
Indeed!
Ped.
(aside).
That's he then! But that strange man with him,
Hern.
Oh, I can tell you that;
His nephew, an Asturian gentleman,
Betroth'd to one of the daughters.
Juan
(aside).
Not to mine!
Ped.
(aside).
Not my Eugenia, or by Heav'n—
But we shall scarcely see them, Felix, here,
Wrapt in their mantles too.
Fel.
And I would pay
My compliment to Don Alonso.
Juan.
Come,
Let us go down with you into the street.
(Aside.)
Oh love, that in her memory survive
One thought of me, not dead if scarce alive!
Ped.
(aside).
Oh, may her bosom whisper her 'tis still
Her eyes that draw me after where they will!
[Exeunt.
Scene II.
Street between the Houses of Alonso and Felix: Alonso and Torribio waiting.Alon.
If you really affect Eugenia, nephew,—
(aside)
as
I wished,—I will communicate with her after church, and
if all be well (as I cannot doubt) get a dispensation forthwith.
But they are coming.
Enter from Alonso's door Clara, Eugenia in mantles, the latter with a handkerchief in her hand; Mari Nuño, Brigida, and Otañez behind; and at the same time Felix, Juan, and Pedro opposite.
Clara.
Cover your face, Eugenia. People in the street.
Eug.
Well, I'm not ashamed of it.
(Aside.)
Don Pedro!
and Don Juan!
Fel.
(whispers).
Which is it, Don Juan?
Juan.
She with the handkerchief in her hand. I'll go
wait for her at the church.
[Exit.
Ped.
(to Juan).
That is she with the white kerchief in
her hand. I'll follow them.
Fel.
(aside).
The same, then!
Clara.
Eugenia, lend me your handkerchief, it is hot.
(Takes the handkerchief and uncovers her face towards Felix.)
And let us go, and do not you look behind you.
Fel.
And she I most admired.
[Exeunt Clara, Eugenia, &c., Pedro after them.
Torr.
Uncle, what are these fellows hanging about our
doors for?
Nay, 'tis the public street, you know.
Torr.
What, my cousins' street?
Alon.
To be sure.
Torr.
I'll not suffer any one I don't like to hang about
it, however, and least of all these perfumery puppies.
Alon.
But if they happen to live here, nephew?
Torr.
Don't let 'em live here, then.
Alon.
But if they own houses?
Torr.
They mustn't own houses, then.
Fel.
Don Alonso, permit me to kiss your hand on your
arrival among us. I ought indeed first to have waited upon
you in your own house; but this happy chance makes me
anticipate etiquette.
Torr.
Coxcomb!
Alon.
Thank you, sir; had I known you intended me
such a favour, I should have anticipated your anticipation
by waiting upon you. Give me leave to present to you my
nephew, Don Torribio de Cuadradillos, who will also be
proud of your acquaintance.
Torr.
No such thing, I shan't at all.
Alon.
Nephew, nephew!
Fel.
I trust you are well, sir?
Torr.
Oh, so, so, thank ye, for the matter of that, neither
well nor ill, but mixt-like.
(Alonso salutes Felix and exit
with Torribio.)
Fel.
Now then, I know both face, and dress, and name,
And that my rival friends both love the same;
The same too that myself of the fair pair
Thought yester-eve the fairest of the fair:
Was't not enough for my two friends that they
Turn enemies—must I too join the fray?
Oh, how at once to reconcile all three,
Those two with one another, and with me!
Re-enter Juan hastily.
Juan.
On seeing me, my friend, her colour chang'd:
She loves me still, Don Felix! I am sure
She loves me! Is not the face—we know it is,
The tell-tale index of the heart within?
Oh happiness! at once within your house,
And next my lady's! What is now to do
But catch the ball good fortune throws at us!
You know her father, you will visit him
Of course, and then—and then—what easier?
A letter first—ay, and then afterward—
But why so dumb?
Fel.
I scarce know how to answer.
Juan, you know I am too much your friend
To do you any spite?
Juan.
How could I dream it?
Enter Pedro hastily.
Ped.
Oh, Felix, if my love—
Fel.
(aside).
The other now!
He must be stopt. A moment, gentlemen,
Before you speak, and let me tell you first
A case of conscience you must solve for me.
You both have mighty matters, I doubt not,
To tell me, such as warm young gentlemen
Are never at a loss for in Madrid;
But I may have my difficulties too.
(Aside.)
The same will serve for both.
Ped.
Well, let us hear.
Fel.
Suppose some friend of yours, dear as you will,
Loving your neighbour's daughter—(such a case
Will do as well as any)—ask'd of you
To smuggle him, his letters, or himself,
Into that neighbour's house, there secretly
To ply a stolen love; what would you do?
Ped.
Do it of course!
Juan.
Why not?
Fel.
Well, I would not.
Ped.
But why?
Fel.
Because, however it turn'd out,
I must do ill; if one friend's love succeeded
I had play'd traitor to the other still;
If unsuccessful, not that cost alone,
But also, without counter-profiting,
Him whom I sacrific'd so much to serve.
Ped.
If that be your determination,
I have no more to say.
[Exit.
Juan.
Nor I: farewell;
I must find other means.
[Exit.
Fel.
Of all the plagues,
For one with no love profit of his own
Thus to be pester'd with two lovers' pains!
And yet, what, after all, between the two—
Fore Heav'n, I think 'twill be the only way
To get her to untie who drew the knot;
No woman ever at a loss
To mend or mar a matter as she wills.
Yet 'tis an awkward thing to ask a lady,
“Pray, madam, which of these two sighing swains
“Do you like best? or both? or neither, madam?”
Were not a letter best? But then who take it?
Since to commit her letter, would so far
Commit her honour to another's hands?
By Heav'n, I think I've nothing left to do,
But ev'n to write it, and to take it too;
A ticklish business—but may fair intent
And prudent conduct lead to good event!
[Exit.
Scene III.
An Apartment in Don Alonso's House.— Enter Clara, Eugenia, Mari Nuño, &c.Clara.
Here, take my mantle, Mari. Oh, I wish we had
a chaplain of our own in the house, not to go abroad
through the crowded streets!
Eug.
And I, that church were a league of crowded street
off, and we obliged to go to it daily.
Mari.
I agree with Señora Clara.
Brigida.
And I with Señora Eugenia.
Mari.
And why, pray?
Brig.
Oh, madam, I know who it is deals most in sheep's
eyes.
Enter Don Alonso.
Alon.
(talking to himself as he enters).
How lucky he
should have pitcht on the very one I wanted!
(Aloud.)
Oh,
Eugenia, I would speak with you. Nay, retire not, Clara,
for I want you to pardon me for the very thing Eugenia is
to thank me for.
Clara.
A riddle, sir. I pardon you?
Alon.
Listen, both of you. Your cousin Don Torribio
has declared his love for Eugenia: and though I could have
wish'd to marry you, Clara, first, and to the head of our
house too, yet my regret at your missing it is almost cancell'd
by the joy of your sister's acceptance.
Clara.
And so with me, believe me, sir. I am well content
to be slighted so long as she is happy: which may she
Oh, providential rejection!
[Exit.
Torribio
(peeping in).
Ah! what a wry face she makes!
Alon.
And you, Eugenia, what say you?
Eug.
(aside.)
Alas! surprise on surprise!
(Aloud.)
Nay,
sir, you know, I hope, that I am ever ready to obey you.
Alon.
I look'd for nothing else of you.
Torr.
Nor I.
Alon.
Your cousin is waiting your answer in his chamber.
I will tell him the good news, and bring him to you.
[Exit.
Eug.
Only let him come! Alas!
Torr.
(entering).
How lightly steps a favour'd lover forth!
Give you joy, cousin.
Eug.
The wretch!
Torr.
Being selected by the head of your house.
Eug.
Sir, one word, I wouldn't marry you if it should
cost me my life.
Torr.
Ah, you are witty, cousin, I know.
Eug.
Not to you, sir. And now especially, I mean to tell
you sober truth, and abide by it, so you had better listen.
I tell you once again, and once for all, I wouldn't marry
you to save my life!
Torr.
Cousin! After what I heard you tell your father?
Eug.
What I said then was out of duty to him; and what
I now say is out of detestation of you.
Torr.
I'll go and tell him this, I declare I will.
Eug.
Do, and I'll deny it. But I mean it all the same,
and swear it.
Torr.
Woman, am I not your cousin?
Eug.
Yes.
Torr.
And head of the family?
Eug.
I dare say.
Torr.
An Hidalgo?
Eug.
Yes.
Torr.
Young?
Eug.
Yes.
Torr.
Gallant?
Eug.
Very.
Torr.
And dispos'd to you?
Eug.
Very possibly.
Torr.
What do you mean then?
Eug.
Whatever you choose, so long as you believe I mean
what I say. I'll never marry you. You might be all you
man without a capacity.
[Exit.
Torr.
Capacity! without a Capacity! I who have the
family estate, and my ancestors painted in a row on the
patent in my saddle-bags! I who—
Enter Alonso.
Alon.
Well, nephew, here you are at last; I've been
hunting every where to tell you the good news.
Torr.
And what may that be, pray?
Alon.
That your cousin Eugenia cordially accepts your
offer, and—
Torr.
Oh, indeed, does she so? I tell you she's a very
odd way of doing it then. Oh uncle, she has said that to
me I wouldn't say to my gelding.
Alon.
To you?
Torr.
Ay, to me—here—on this very spot—just now.
Alon.
But what?
Tor.
What? why, that I had no Capacity! But I'll soon
settle that; I either have a Capacity or not—if I have, she
lies; if not, I desire you to buy me one directly, whatever it
may cost.
Alon.
What infatuation!
Torr.
What, it costs so much, does it? I don't care, I'll
not have it thrown in my teeth by her or any woman; and
if you won't, I'll go and buy a Capacity, and bring it back
with me, let it cost—ay, and weigh—what it will.
[Exit.
Alon.
Nephew, nephew! Stom him there!
Enter Clara and Eugenia.
Clara.
What is the matter, sir?
Alon.
Oh, graceless girl, what have you been saying to
your cousin?
Eug.
I sir? Nothing.
Alon.
Oh! if you deceive me! But I must first stop his
running after a Capacity!
[Exit.
Eug.
What can I have done?
Clara.
Nay, attempt not dissimulation with me, who
know how you would risk even your advancement for a
sarcasm.
Eug.
It was all for your sake, if I did, Clara.
Clara.
For my sake! oh, indeed, you think I can have
no lovers but what you reject? Poor little fool! I could
have enough if I chose to lay out for them as some do;
fortress.
Eug.
Hark! they are coming back; I dare not face them
both as yet.
[Exit.
Enter Don Felix.
Fel.
Permit me, madam—
Clara.
Who is this?
Fel.
One, madam,
Who dares to ask one word with you.
Clara.
With me?
Fel.
Indeed with you.
Clara.
You cannot, sir, mean me.
Fel.
Once more, and once for all, with you indeed;
Let me presume to say so, knowing well
I say so in respect, not in presumption.
Eug.
(peeping).
Why, whom has my staid sister got with her?
Clara.
With me! My very silence and surprise
Bid you retire at once.
Fel.
Which I will do
When you will let this silence speak to you
With less offence perhaps than could my tongue.
(Offering her a letter.)
Eug.
Oh, if he would but try if fort or apple!
Clara.
A letter too!—for me!
Fel.
And, madam, one
It most imports your honour you should read.
For, that being once in question, I make light
That my friends' lives, Don Juan and Don Pedro,
Are in the balance too.
Eug.
Don Juan! Don Pedro!
Clara.
What, sir, is this to me, who neither know
Don Juan, nor Don Pedro, nor yourself?
Fel.
Having then done my duty to my friends,
And (once again I say't) to yourself, madam,
Albeit in vain—I'll not offend you more
By my vain presence.
(Going.)
Clara.
Nay, a moment—wait.
I must clear up this mystery. Indeed,
I would not be discourteous or ungrateful:
But ere I thank you for your courtesy,
Know you to whom you do it?
Fel.
To Donna Eugenia.
Well, sir?
Eug.
Oh, the hypocrite!
Fel.
You are the lady?
Clara.
Enough—give me the letter, and adieu.
Eug.
I can forbear no longer. (Coming out.)
Sister, stop!
Oh! what to do!—the letter—
Clara.
Well?
Eug.
I tell you
My father and my cousin are coming up,
And if they see—
Clara.
Well, if they see? what then!
I wish them both to see and hear it all.
(Calling.)
Sir! Father! Cousin! Otañez!
Alon.
(within).
Clara's voice?
Fel.
What to do now?
Eug.
Alas, to tell the truth,
When I but wish'd to lie!
Clara
(calling).
This way, sir, here!
Eug.
Will you expose us both? In here! in here!
[She hides Felix behind arras.
Enter Alonso, Torribio, Mari Nuño, Otañez, &c.
Alon.
What is the matter?
Clara.
There is some one in the house, sir. A man—I saw
him stealing along the corridor, towards the garret.
Brigida.
It must be a robber?
Alon.
A robber?
Mari.
What more likely in a rich Indian's house?
Alon.
I'll search the house.
Torr.
I'll lead the forlorn hope, though that garret were
Maestricht itself. Now, cousin, you shall see if I've a Capacity
or not.
[Exeunt Alonso and the men.
Clara.
Do you two watch in the passage.
(Exeunt Mari
Nuño and Brigida.)
And now, sir, the door is open, give
me the letter and begone.
Fel.
Adieu, madam, neglect not its advice.
Eug.
Alas, alas, she has it!
Fel.
She's all too fair! come, honour, come, and shame
False love from poaching upon friendship's game!
[Exit.
Re-enter Alonso, &c.
Alon.
We can see nothing of him, daughter.
Clara.
Nay, sir, he probably made off when the alarm
was given. Take no more trouble.
Nay, we'll search the whole house.
Torr.
What do you say to my Capacity now, cousin?
[Exeunt Alonso, Torribio, &c.
Clara.
You see, Eugenia, in what your enterprises end.
At the first crack, you faint and surrender. I have done
all this to show you the difference between talking and doing.
And now go; I have got the letter, and want to read it.
Eug.
And so do I! but—
Clara.
Go! I am mistress now.
(Exit Eugenia.)
May
they not have written to me under cover of her name? let
me see.
(Reads.)
“Let not him offend honour by the very
means he takes to secure it; at least let his good intention
excuse his ill seeming. Don Juan, more than ever enamoured
of you, hangs about your doors; Don Pedro follows
every step you take; they are both in my house; it is impossible
but the secret must soon escape both, who must
then refer their rivalry to the sword, and all to the scandal
of your name. You can, by simply disowning both, secure
their lives, your own reputation, and my peace of mind as
their friend and host. Adieu!”
Buzzes about my brain, both what it says,
And leaves unsaid!—oh, can it be for me?
And is the quiet nun really belov'd
Under the cover of an idle flirt?
Or is it but for her—the vain, pert thing,
Who thinks her eye slays all it looks upon?
If it be so, and she, not I, is lov'd,
I yet may be reveng'd—
Eug.
(entering).
On whom?
Clara.
Eugenia!
This letter that has fallen to my hands,
But meant for you—
Eug.
Oh, I know all about it.
Clara.
Know all about it! know then that two men
Are even now following your steps like dogs
To tear your reputation between them,
And then each other for that worthless sake,
And yet—
Eug.
A moment, you shall see at once
How easily I shall secure myself,
And them, and supersede your kind intentions.
Signor Don Pedro!
(Calls at the window.)
Clara.
What are you about?
Listen and you will hear.
Clara.
You dare not do it!
Eug.
My father's safely lockt up in his room,
(Thanks to the gout your false alarm has brought,)
My cousin gone to buy capacities,
And now's my time.
(Calling at the window.)
Don Pedro! Signor Don Pedro!
Ped.
(coming below to the window).
He well may wait to have his name thrice call'd
When such a goddess—
Eug.
Listen, sir, to me.
It is because, I say, because this room,
Away from father's and duenna's ears,
Allows some harmless speech, it also bars
All nearer access than the ears and eyes
Of father or duenna both could do.
But, seeing harm of harmless trifling come,
I now entreat, implore, command you, sir,
To leave this window and my threshold clear,
Now and for ever!
Ped.
Hear me—
Eug.
Pardon me,
I cannot.
Ped.
But this once—
Eug.
If you persist
I must be rude.
Ped.
Oh, how do worse than—
Eug.
(shutting the blinds down).
Thus!
Clara.
And to your other gallant?
Eug.
Why not think,
If he were here, I'd do the same to him?
Oh, Clara, be assur'd my levities
Are but the dust on youth's butterfly wing,
Though prudes and sinners too take fright at them;
Like that benighted traveller, you know,
Who, frighted by a shallow brook that jump'd
And bubbled at his right, swerv'd to the left
And tumbled into one that lay quite still,
But deep enough to drown him for his pains.
[Exit.
Clara.
What, did she hear what to myself I said?
Or saw my colour change from white to red?
Or only guess'd me waiting for the prey
Her idle chatter ought to fright away?
Prudence at least may make occasion good.
And if these lovers by mistake should woo,
Why (by mistake) should I not listen too?
And teach the teacher, to her proper cost,
Those waters are least deep that prattle most.
| Beware of Smooth Water | |