 | The Constant Prince |  |
60
SCENE II.
—THE KING'S GARDEN.Enter SELIM and DON FERNANDO dressed as a slave, and in chains.
SELIM.
The King commands that you assist
In this garden; do thou not resist,
Disobeying what he hath decreed.
Exit.
FERNANDO.
My patience shall his cruelty exceed.
Enter some Christian captives; one sings while the others dig in the garden.
FIRST CAPTIVE
sings.
To the conquest of Tangiers,
'Gainst the tyrant king of Fez,
The Infante Don Fernando
Did the king, his brother, send.
FERNANDO.
There's not a moment but my story will
The sorrowing memory of mankind fill!
I am sad and troubled sore.
SECOND CAPTIVE.
Captive, why to sorrow thus give o'er?
Do not weep—be cheerful—the Grand Master
Said, he would bring from out of this disaster
Back to his country every captive here.
FERNANDO,
aside.
How soon this cheering hope must disappear!
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Console yourself, and trust to fortune's powers,
Assist me now to irrigate these flowers,
Take thou two pails, and water bring this way
From yonder pond.
FERNANDO,
aside.
I struggle to obey:—
A fitting burden have you bid me bear,
Since it is water that you ask me, which my care
Sowing sorrows, cultivating sighs,
Can fill from out the currents of mine eyes!
Exit.
SECOND CAPTIVE.
To the prison quarters they are leading
Other captives.
Enter DON JUAN and other captives.
JUAN.
Let us look with careful heeding,
If these shady gardens screen him,
Or, perchance, these captives may have seen him,
For when in his company,
Less our sorrow and our grief will be,
And more our consolation:
Tell me, friend, and may heaven compensation
Grant you for it! Have you seen his grace
Fernando, the Grand Master, working in this place?
SECOND CAPTIVE.
No, friend, him I have not seen.
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Scarcely can I, my tears and sorrow screen.
THIRD CAPTIVE.
I repeat, they ope our prison bounds,
And lead new captives to these garden grounds.
Enter DON FERNANDO carrying two pails of water.
FERNANDO,
aside.
Mortals, do not wonder at surveying
A grand master of Avis, an Infante, playing
Such an ignoble part; for Time
Oft acts these tragic scenes upon his stage sublime.
JUAN.
It is my lord!—but oh! 'tis past belief
I see your Highness in this state: with grief,
Within my breast, my heart doth burst in twain!
FERNANDO.
May God forgive you, for the unconscious pain,
Don Juan, you have caused in thus revealing
Who I am. I hoped, my rank concealing,
Among my countrymen to live unknown,
And make their wretched poverty my own.
FIRST CAPTIVE.
My lord, for pardon I most humbly sue,
Being but now so rude and blind to you.
THIRD CAPTIVE.
Let me embrace your feet, my lord.
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My friend,
Arise: these ceremonies now must end.
JUAN.
Your Highness.....
FERNANDO.
Highness! how can one be so,
Condemned to lead a life so meanly low?
See that an humbler name I crave,
For I will live among you as a slave,
Only as an equal and a friend
I must be treated.
JUAN.
Why does Heaven not send
Its dreadful bolt to crush me with the slain?
FERNANDO.
A man of noble soul should ne'er complain
Of fate, Don Juan: who distrusts in heaven?
Now an example should by us be given
Of prudence, valour, fortitude, my friend.
Enter ZARA with a basket.
The lady Phenix hither doth descend,
And commands, with flowers of various shade,
A garland for this basket should be made.
FERNANDO.
I hope to bring them to her, presently;
First in this pleasing service let me be.
FIRST CAPTIVE.
Let us, at least, assist you as you cull.
ZARA.
Here I await you, while the flowers you pull.
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Pay me no idle courtesy,
Henceforth your pains and mine must equal be.
And if our sight to-day a difference strike,
Death comes to-morrow and makes all things like.
It were not wisdom, then, but cause of sorrow
Not to do now what must be done to-morrow.
Exeunt the INFANTE and the Captives, they following him respectfully.
Enter PHENIX and ROSA.
PHENIX.
Have you ordered they should choose me
Some fresh flowers?
ZARA.
I so have ordered.
PHENIX.
In my troubled and disordered
State, their colours may amuse me.
ROSA.
Lady, I in wonder lose me,
Seeing fantasies continue
Thus to melancholy win you.
ZARA.
What controls thee thus, what law?
PHENIX.
Ah, it was no dream I saw
When I lay with frozen sinew,
But my own impending woe.
When a wretch doth dream with pleasure
That he owns some wished-for treasure,
Zara, I avow and know
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But if he continues dreaming
That his fortune hath forsaken,
And that ruin hath o'ertaken,
Though both good and evil wind
Through his dreams, the wretch doth find
But the last when he doth waken!
Thus will be my fate; ah! me,
Pitiless, without remorse.
ZARA.
What remaineth for a corse,
If now you mourn thus piteously?
PHENIX.
Ah! 'tis the fate reserved for me.
The guerdon of a corse!—what eye
Ever saw such misery?
Naught remains to me but sighs;
Must I be a corse's prize?
Who will be that corse then?—
Enter FERNANDO with the flowers.
I!
PHENIX.
Who is this, O heavens! I view?
FERNANDO.
What disturbs thee?
PHENIX.
Hearing, seeing
Such a wretched state of being?
FERNANDO.
I can well believe that true:
Wishing, lady, upon you
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I have brought thee flowers, whose beauty
Typifies my fate, Señora;
They are born with Aurora,
And they perish ere the dew.
PHENIX.
When this marvel came to light
It was given a fitting name.
FERNANDO.
Is not every flower the same
That I bear thee in this plight?
PHENIX.
It is true, but say whose spite
Caused this novelty?
FERNANDO.
My fate.
PHENIX.
Is it then so strong?
FERNANDO.
So great.
PHENIX.
You afflict me.
FERNANDO.
Do not grieve.
PHENIX.
Why?
FERNANDO.
Because a man doth live
Death and fortune's abject mate.
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Are you not Fernando?
FERNANDO.
Yes.
PHENIX.
Changed by what?
FERNANDO.
The laws that wring
Captive souls.
PHENIX.
By whom?
FERNANDO.
The King.
PHENIX.
Why?
FERNANDO.
My life he doth possess.
PHENIX.
To-day I saw him thee caress.
FERNANDO.
And yet he doth abhor me now.
PHENIX.
How can it be that he and thou
So late conjoined, twin stars of light,
But one short day could disunite?
FERNANDO.
These flowers have come to tell thee how.—
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At early dawn, when stars began to set—
At eve they leave us but a fond regret,—
Locked in the cold embraces of the night.
These shades that shame the rainbow's arch of light,
Where gold and snow in purple pomp are met,
All give a warning, man should not forget,
When one brief day can darken things so bright.
'Tis but to wither that the roses bloom—
'Tis to grow old they bear their beauteous flowers,
One crimson bud their cradle and their tomb.
Such are man's fortunes in this world of ours;
They live, they die, one day doth end their doom.
For ages past but seem to us like hours!
PHENIX.
Horror, terror, make me fear thee;
I nor wish to see nor hear thee.
Be thou then the first of those
Whose woe hath scared another's woes.
FERNANDO.
And the flowers?
PHENIX.
If they can bear thee
Emblems of mortality,
Let them broken, scattered be;—
They must know my wrath alone.
FERNANDO.
For what fault must they atone?
PHENIX.
Like to stars they seem to me.
FERNANDO.
Then you do not wish them?
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No;
All their rosy light I scorn.
FERNANDO.
Why?
PHENIX.
A woman is, when born,
Subject to life's common foe,
And to fortune's overthrow,
Which methought this star did figure.
FERNANDO.
Are the stars like flowers?
PHENIX.
'Tis so.
FERNANDO.
This I do not see, although
I myself have wept their rigour.
PHENIX.
Listen.
FERNANDO.
Speak, I wish to know.
PHENIX.
These points of light, these sparkles of pure fire,
Their twinkling splendours boldly torn away
From the reluctant sun's departing ray,
Live when the beams in mournful gloom retire.
These are the flowers of night that glad Heaven's choir,
And o'er the vault their transient odours play.
For if the life of flowers is but one day,
In one short night the brightest stars expire.
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Even from this flattering spring-tide of the skies,
'Tis good or ill, as sun or star survives.
Oh! what duration is there? who relies
Upon a star? or hope from it derives,
That every night is born again and dies?
Exit.
Enter MULÉY.
MULÉY.
Until Phenix had departed,
Here I hid me from her sight,
For the most adoring eagle
Flieth sometimes from the light;
Are we now alone?
FERNANDO.
Yes.
MULÉY.
Hear me!
FERNANDO.
Brave Muléy, what is thy will?
MULÉY.
That you know—that faith and honour
Warm a Moorish bosom still.
I know not how first to speak of,
How to think of, such a crime!—
How to tell the pain I've suffered
For this fickle frown of Time!
For this ruin, this injustice!
This dark boon that Fortune grants,
This, the world's most sad example,—
This inconstancy of chance!
But I run some risk if people
See me speaking here to thee,
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Is the king's proclaimed decree;
And thus, leaving to my sorrow
What my voice would fain repeat,
Let it tell, I come to throw me,
As thy slave, before thy feet.
I am thine, and thus, Infante,
I come here, but not to show
Favour to a fallen foeman,
But to pay the debt I owe!
The existence you have given me
I return thee, for indeed
A good action is a treasure
Guarded for the doer's need:
And since here I stand foot-fastened
By the unseen chains of fear—
And above my neck and bosom
Knife and cord hang threatening near—
I desire, in briefest language,
To inform you in one word,
That to-night I will have ready
By the shore, a vessel moored,
Full equipped; and in the loop-holes
Of the cells, I shall prepare
Instruments, which will unfasten
Those unworthy chains you wear.
On the outside of your dungeons
I myself the locks will break;
So that you and all the captives
Prisoned now in Fez, may take
Your departure for your country;
And be certain, that I stay
Here in Fez secure from danger;
Since I easily can say
That they overpowered their masters,
And escaped amid the strife.
Thus we two will put in safety
I my honour, you your life;
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The King's ear, I let thee fly—
He will treat me as a traitor;
But I shall not grieve to die:
And as money may be needful
To conciliate the will
Of those near you, see these jewels,
Golden treasures amply fill
Their minute, but rich proportions;
This, Fernando, is the way
That I give to thee my ransom,
Thus my obligation pay.
For a true and noble captive
Ne'er should rest, until he bring
Payment back for such a favour.
FERNANDO.
I would wish indeed to thank you
For my freedom; but the King
Cometh to the garden.
MULÉY.
Has he
Seen you with me?
FERNANDO.
No.
MULÉY.
If seen,
'Twere suspicious.
FERNANDO.
Of these branches
I will make a rustic screen,
Which will hide me while he passes.
Conceals himself.
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KING,
aside.
Ah! in secret stand Muléy
And Fernando! why in seeing
Me, does one thus go away,
And the other thus dissemble?
There is some concealment here,
Be it certain or not certain,
I must be secure from fear
Of all treason. [Aloud.]
I am happy......
MULÉY.
Lord, I greet thee on my knee.
KING.
Here to find thee!
MULÉY.
Speak thy orders.
KING.
Much it grieves me, not to see
Ceuta mine.
MULÉY.
Then to its conquest,
Crowned with wreaths of laurel, wend;
For their swords against thy valour
Badly can its walls defend.
KING.
By a more domestic warfare
I expect to gain my end.
MULÉY.
In what manner?
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In this manner,
I, Fernando's pride must bend,
Giving him such rigid treatment
That he must, or swiftly die,
Or to me surrender Ceuta;
Know then, friend Muléy, that I
Have some cause to fear the person
Of the Grand Master not secure,
Now in Fez. The captives, seeing
Him dishonoured thus, and poor,
Will, I do not doubt, soon murmur,
And break out in mutiny:
Were this not so, it is certain
Powerful interest has he;
And the strongest cells will open
Ever to a golden key.
MULÉY,
aside.
I desire now to confirm him
In the thought that this can be,
That he may have no suspicion
Of myself. [Aloud.]
It seems to me
You are right—they mean to free him.
KING.
There remains one remedy,
That my power may not be outraged.
MULÉY.
And it is, my lord?
KING.
To thee—
To thy charge, Muléy, to trust him—
To thy care and custody—
Let not fear nor interest move thee,
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Thou art the Infante's guardian,
Look to it, thou guard him well,
In what circumstance soever
You must be accountable.
Exit.
MULÉY.
Without any doubt, our concert
By the King was overheard:
Bless me, Allah!
Enter FERNANDO.
What afflicts thee?
MULÉY.
Have you heard him?
FERNANDO.
Every word.
MULÉY.
Then why is it that you ask me
What afflicts me? Suffering
In a blind and dark confusion,
And, between my friend and king,
Seeing friendship thus and honour
With each other combating;
If to thee I should be loyal,
I to him must traitor be;
If to him continue faithful,
Fail in gratitude to thee.
What then can I do? O heavens!
At the very time I came
To restore you to your freedom
He my confidence should claim,
Thus the better to secure thee.
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Of our secret is discovered
By the King himself! From thee
Do I ask advice and counsel,
Tell me what I ought to do?
FERNANDO.
Brave Muléy, both love and friendship
Are inferior to those two—
Loyalty and upright honour.
No one equals to a king,
He alone himself doth equal;
This then is my counselling:
Heed not me, but serve him truly,
And that you may disregard
Any fears about your honour,
I myself will be its guard.
Should another come to offer
Freedom, I do promise thee
Not to take it—that your honour
Rest inviolate with me.
MULÉY.
Do not counsel me, Fernando,
As loyally, as courteously;
To you, I know, my life is owing,
And that to pay you is but right.
And so, the plan that I projected,
I will prepare against the night;
Be thou free, my life remaineth
Here to suffer in the stead
Of thy death: secure thy freedom,
After that I nothing dread.
FERNANDO.
Were it just that I should be
So tyrannic, and so cruel
With the man that pities me?
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Who to me is giving life?
No: and thus I wish to make you
Umpire of my cause and life.
Do thou give me counsel also;
Ought I take my liberty
From a man who stays to suffer
In my place? and let him be
Cruel to his dearest honour?
What do you advise?
MULÉY.
I know not
Which to say, or yea or nay;
If the latter, it will grieve me
That I e'er that word could say;
If the former—there is something
In my bosom that doth tell,
That in saying “yes” unto thee,
I do not advise thee well.
FERNANDO.
So advise; my God obeying,
And what his religion says,
I a constant Prince will show me
Here in servitude in Fez.
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