 | The Physician of his own Honour |  |
308
SCENE III.
—A HALL IN THE ALCÁZAR, AT SEVILLE.Enter DONA LEONORE and INES, veiled.
INES.
He comes to seek the chapel's calm retreat.
Here wait the king, and kneel before his feet.
LEONORE.
Now shall I gain what I have hoped for long,
If I obtain but vengeance for my wrong.
Enter the KING followed by attendants and petitioners.
VOICES,
within.
Make way!
ONE.
So please your majesty, peruse
This paper.
KING.
I shall do so.
ANOTHER.
Oh! refuse
Not this, your grace.
ANOTHER.
Nor this one, I beseech.
KING.
'Tis well, 'tis well.
SOLDIER,
aside.
He wasteth little speech.
I am—
[Aloud.
KING.
Leave the petition—that will do.
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I tremble, and cannot my fear subdue.
KING.
What makes you fear.
SOLDIER.
Have I not seen your grace?
KING.
Yes; 'tis enough! What seek you in this place?
SOLDIER.
My lord, I am a soldier: some more pay.
KING.
You ask but little; for your late dismay.
I make you serjeant.
SOLDIER.
Oh! with outstretched palms
I bless you!
OLD MAN.
A poor old man asks your alms.
KING.
Here, take this diamond ring.
OLD MAN.
What! can it be
You give it from your fingers unto me?
KING.
Yes! had I power to aid thy suffering,
I would bestow the world as now this ring.
LEONORE,
kneeling.
My lord, with troubled feet I come
Before your feet to fall.
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To ask, with weeping eyes,
With sighs soon swallowed up in tears,
With words that end in sighs,
For justice at your hands,
As I on God do call.
KING.
Lady, arise; no fear need thee appal.
LEONORE.
I am ...
[She rises.
KING.
Do not, I pray, address me yet—
Let all who hear me go away.
[The petitioners, and others go out.
Speak now, because if you have fled
To me for honour's sake, as you have said,
It were not just or right
That honour should complain thus in the public sight;
Or that the hand of justice e'er should trace
The slightest blush upon so sweet a face.
LEONORE.
Don Pedro! whom the world doth call the Just,
Sole Sun and Sovereign planet of Castile,
Whose light illumes this hemisphere of dust,
Great Spanish Jove, from whose well-tempered steel
Quick lightnings flashed with every vengeful thrust,
As through the quivering air, with bloody wheel,
It circled, when from clouds of gold it flew,
And many and many a Moorish neck cut through,
Sole Sun and Sovereign planet of Castile,
Whose light illumes this hemisphere of dust,
Great Spanish Jove, from whose well-tempered steel
Quick lightnings flashed with every vengeful thrust,
As through the quivering air, with bloody wheel,
It circled, when from clouds of gold it flew,
And many and many a Moorish neck cut through,
I am Leonore, whom flatterers named,
In Andalusia, Leonore the Fair.
Not for this name my beauty must be blamed,
But my malignant star; for never were
Beauty and happiness together framed
To live in union, or one form to bear.
Be sure, my lord, where beauty doth abound
But small good fortune and less bliss are found.
In Andalusia, Leonore the Fair.
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But my malignant star; for never were
Beauty and happiness together framed
To live in union, or one form to bear.
Be sure, my lord, where beauty doth abound
But small good fortune and less bliss are found.
His glances turned on me, to cause my ruin;
A cavalier—ah! would that love's slow sting
Were as the basilisk's for my undoing,
Or jealousy's green serpent to my spring.
To looking fondly, soon came fond pursuing,
To fond pursuing, love on rapid wing.
He wooed my very street, in his desire;
There saw he night depart, and day expire.
A cavalier—ah! would that love's slow sting
Were as the basilisk's for my undoing,
Or jealousy's green serpent to my spring.
To looking fondly, soon came fond pursuing,
To fond pursuing, love on rapid wing.
He wooed my very street, in his desire;
There saw he night depart, and day expire.
How can I tell, my gracious lord, that wounded,
At length my heart surrendered to his suit?
Although in public by disdain surrounded,
I felt in private proud of his pursuit.
On obligation gratitude is founded,
From gratitude the passion-flower takes root;
For in Love's University we seize
Upon his dignities but by degrees.
At length my heart surrendered to his suit?
Although in public by disdain surrounded,
I felt in private proud of his pursuit.
On obligation gratitude is founded,
From gratitude the passion-flower takes root;
For in Love's University we seize
Upon his dignities but by degrees.
A little spark a mighty flame igniteth;
A little wind can wake the whirlwind's crash;
A deluge from a little cloud alighteth;
A little light can feed the lightning's flash;
A little love, though blind and small delighteth
To find out wiles that must the god abash:
Thus spark, wind, cloud, and all delight in turning
To storm and rain, to lightning and to burning.
A little wind can wake the whirlwind's crash;
A deluge from a little cloud alighteth;
A little light can feed the lightning's flash;
A little love, though blind and small delighteth
To find out wiles that must the god abash:
Thus spark, wind, cloud, and all delight in turning
To storm and rain, to lightning and to burning.
His word he gave me he would be my spouse—
A bait that doth so many women lure,
Which in life's sea the cautious fisher throws,
With hellish heart, for maiden honour pure;
Which wooes the bosom to unsafe repose,
And lulls the sense to slumber insecure.
Here my lip fails to tell how he, untrue,
Who gave this word, again recalled it too.
A bait that doth so many women lure,
Which in life's sea the cautious fisher throws,
With hellish heart, for maiden honour pure;
Which wooes the bosom to unsafe repose,
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Here my lip fails to tell how he, untrue,
Who gave this word, again recalled it too.
Thus freely often to my house came he;
But honour never for a moment slept;
For I, though liberal of love could be,
Niggard of that, which I have sacred kept;
But, then, there was so much publicity,
That I my reputation could have wept,
And thought 'twere best that I should less deserve it
Than thus with public scandal to preserve it.
But honour never for a moment slept;
For I, though liberal of love could be,
Niggard of that, which I have sacred kept;
But, then, there was so much publicity,
That I my reputation could have wept,
And thought 'twere best that I should less deserve it
Than thus with public scandal to preserve it.
Justice I sought, but I was very poor—
Complained of him, but he was very strong:
Then as my honour is beyond all cure—
For he is wed, and can't make good my wrong—
All that I ask, most gracious lord of your
Justice is this, that cloistered I prolong
My life at his expense who did all this—
Don Gutierre Alfonso de Solís.
Complained of him, but he was very strong:
Then as my honour is beyond all cure—
For he is wed, and can't make good my wrong—
All that I ask, most gracious lord of your
Justice is this, that cloistered I prolong
My life at his expense who did all this—
Don Gutierre Alfonso de Solís.
KING.
Lady, your extreme affliction
I compassionate, and justly,
Being one upon whose shoulders,
Atlas-like, the law dependeth:
Since Don Gutierre's married,
He cannot make fit atonement
For your wrong, as you have granted;
But though short of that full measure
Of redress, my power and justice
Are sufficient to compel him
To make partial compensation.
Honour he cannot restore you,
Since, indeed, you never lost it.
On the other side, however,
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For 'tis right a judge should always
Keep his second ear wide open
For the story that comes after.
Trust me, Leonore, that nothing
Shall prevent your cause from being
Fairly tested; and that never
You again will have occasion
To repeat your lamentation,
“I am poor, and he is powerful,”
While Castile doth call me monarch.
Yonder Gutierre cometh;
If with me he chance to see you,
He will know you have informed me:
Hide behind this screen a little,
Till you can come forth in safety.
LEONORE.
I, in everything obey you.
[She conceals herself.
Enter COQUIN.
COQUIN.
On from chamber unto chamber,
In the footsteps of my master,
Who is staying here, I've wandered
Just this far. Defend me, Heaven!
Bless me! 'tis the king in person!
He has seen me, and looks awful.
Heaven but grant that this balcony
Is not very high, for headlong
Must I throw myself this moment.
KING.
Who are you?
COQUIN.
My lord?
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Yes.
COQUIN.
Truly
(Aid me, Heaven), my lord, I'm only
What your majesty would wish me:
Nothing greater, nothing smaller;
For a man of much discretion
Only yesterday advised me,
That I never, in my lifetime,
Should be aught but what you'd wish me;
And so highly do I value
His advice, I mean to use it,
For the present, past, and future.
Thus I was what you'd have had me;
What you'd wish me be, I will be;
What you please, I am—at all times
Your obedient humble servant.
So, my liege, with your permission,
I would wish now to withdraw me;
Since my feet have brought me hither,
I would do as much for them too.
KING.
Notwithstanding your long answer,
You, in truth, have told me nothing.
Who and what you are I asked you.
COQUIN.
And I would have truly answered
To the question you have asked me,
If I did not fear, for telling
Who I am, that you would throw me
From this high balcony downward,
For presuming here to enter
Without knowing why or wherefore,
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Which you do not need, I fancy.
KING.
What office do you hold?
COQUIN.
Why, that of
A sort of courier, or footman,
Bearer of all kinds of secrets—
Spy of myriad proceedings,
So that neither monk nor novice
Ever yet escaped my prying.
Just as I get much or little,
Speak I either well or badly.
Every house I make my dwelling;
And though this be so, at present,
I'm content to use the stable
Of Don Alfonso Gutierre,
Where my mid-day meal I share with
A cordovàn of Andalusia.
I'm a brother of Contentment;
Grief to me is quite a stranger,
Not being ever in his service.
Briefly, I am what you see me:
Marjordomo unto Laughter,
Pleasure's gentleman in waiting,
And the chamberlain of Frolic—
Which a glance, indeed, might show you.
This being so, with fear I trembled
Lest your majesty might know me;
For a king who never laugheth
Might have ordered me a hundred
Fisticuffs and bastinadoes
Somewhere underneath the shoulders,
As a vagabond.
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It seemeth
You are, briefly, one whose business
Is but laughter.
COQUIN.
Yes, your lordship,
And that you may be more certain,
This it is to play the jester,
In the palace.
[He puts on his cap.
KING.
Right well, truly;
And since now I know your calling,
Let us make a bargain.
COQUIN.
How so?
KING.
To make one laugh is your profession?
COQUIN.
Yes.
KING.
Well, then, for each occasion
That you make me laugh, I'll give you
A hundred crowns; but on condition,
That if ere a month is over,
You don't make me laugh, that instant
You your teeth to me must render.
COQUIN.
Ah! you make me a false witness,
And the contract is illegal,
Being hurtful to one party.
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Why?
COQUIN.
It will hurt me, with a vengeance.
'Tis said that every man in laughing,
Shows his teeth; but I with weeping
Should show mine—which would be laughing
The wrong way. 'Tis also whispered
That you're so severe a master,
And so biting in your censure,
As to show your teeth to all men.
How, then, is it that you only
Wish to take my grinders from me?
But to come to your proposal,
I accept it, if you let me
Go away in peace at present;
Since a month will pass as quickly
Here as in the street; and even
At the end 'tis but the coming
Of old age a little sooner
To my mouth, as with post-horses.
So I go to practise over
All my jokes. Ah! would to Heaven!
That I could but see you laughing!
But adieu! I'll see thee shortly.
[Exit.
Enter DON ENRIQUE, DON GUTIERRE, DON DIEGO, DON ARIAS, with attendants, soldiers, &c.
ENRIQUE.
Let your majesty permit me
Kiss your hand.
KING.
Thou'rt truly welcome;
How dost thou feel thyself, Enrique?
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Why, my lord, the fright was greater
Than the fall. I ne'er felt better.
GUTIERRE.
I pray your majesty to let me
Kiss your hand, if one so humble
May demand so great a favour;
For the ground on which thou walkest
Seems a fair and beauteous carpet,
Which the winds of heaven illumine
With the colour of the rose-leaf.
Mayst thou health and strength bear with thee,
Such as this great kingdom needeth;
For, my lord, all Spain adores you,
Crowned, as now thou art, with laurel.
KING.
Of you! Don Gutierre Alfonso ....
GUTIERRE.
Why thus turn thy back upon me?
KING.
Great complaints but now have reached me.
GUTIERRE.
They are most unjust, I doubt not.
KING.
Tell me, know you Leonora—
One of the chief dames of Seville?
GUTIERRE.
Yes, a fair and noble lady,
'Mong the highest of this country.
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Say what potent obligation
Made you treat so fair a lady
With discourtesy and insult?
GUTIERRE.
I have little need of falsehood;
For, my lord, a man of honour
Knows not how to play the liar,
'Specially before a monarch.
Her I courted, and intended,
Once, to marry, if delaying,
And perhaps my fickle nature,
Had not changed my first ideas.
Her I visited, and often
Entered publicly her dwelling;
So that I would still defend her
Reputation, with my sword-point.
Feeling, then, thus alienated,
I conceived that I might alter
My intent; and, being freed from
This affection, wed in Seville
Doña Mencia de Acûna,
A distinguished lady, with whom
I reside outside the city,
In a country-house of pleasure.
Leonore, through evil counsel—
For all counsel must be evil
Which destroyeth reputation—
Sought to interrupt my marriage;
But the judge who tried the question,
Though most strict, found naught against me;
Which decision she did charge with
Being founded upon favour,
As if favour e'er is wanting
To a young and handsome woman,
If she ever should require it.
Influenced by this delusion,
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For 'tis plain you know the story.
I, too, throw myself before you,
Firmly trusting to your justice.
For my faith, my sword I offer,
And my head for my allegiance.
KING.
What could have so soon occasioned
Such a change in your affections?
GUTIERRE.
Is man's fickleness so novel
As to cause your wonder? Surely
Every day bears witness to it.
KING.
Yes: but then it seldom happens
That a man who loves should fly from
One extreme unto another,
Without some most powerful reason.
GUTIERRE.
I beseech you not to press me:
I am one who, in the absence
Of a lady, would surrender
Life in preference to speaking
Anything unworthy of her.
KING.
Then it seems you had some reason.
GUTIERRE.
Yes, my lord; but still, believe me,
If for my exoneration,
It this day were needful for me
To declare it,—though depended
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Still a true and faithful lover
Of his honour would not say it.
KING.
But it is my wish to know it.
GUTIERRE.
Ah! my lord ....
KING.
I'm very curious.
GUTIERRE.
Look ....
KING.
No further answer make me!
It doth only irritate me.
By my life!— ....
GUTIERRE.
My lord, I pray thee
Swear not; for 'tis less important
I should change my nature wholly,
Than that I should see you angered.
KING,
aside.
I compel him to lay open
This concealed affair thus loudly,
That, if he in this deceives me,
Leonore may give the answer.
And if he the truth doth utter,
That, persuaded of her error,
Leonore may know it also,—
Speak then.
[Aloud.
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To my grief, I do so.—
As one night I sought her dwelling,
Noises reached me from the courtyard;—
I approached, and at the moment
That I entered, saw the figure
Of a man from her balcony
Downward leaping. I pursued him;
But, before I recognised him,
He escaped from me by running.
ARÍAS,
aside.
Bless me, Heaven! What revelation
Comes to light!
GUTIERRE.
And though excuses
Could be made, and though I never
To my wrong gave ample credence,
Still the very apprehension
Was enough to stop my marriage;
For 'tis plain, if love and honour
Are the mind's most powerful passions,
He hath done to love an outrage
Who hath done a wrong to honour—
Any pang that wounds the feelings
To the soul brings anguish also.
Enter LEONORE.
LEONORE.
Your majesty will grant me pardon,
Since I can endure no longer
All the manifold misfortunes
Which in crowds have fallen upon me.
KING,
aside.
As God lives! he has deceived me.—
Well, my stratagem succeedeth.
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And when listening to those charges
Which are brought against my honour,
It were but to act the coward
Not at once to give the answer,
Though it cost me life—'tis little.
For, far worse than death I suffer
From those daring accusations
Which destroy both life and honour.
Don Arías came to visit ....
ARÍAS.
Stay, Señora—speak not further.
Let your majesty permit me
Answer; for it is my duty
To defend this lady's honour.
On that very night resided,
In the house of Leonore,
One with whom I would have married,
If her thread of life the Parcæ
Had not cruelly divided;
I, her beauty's faithful lover,
Fondly followed in her footsteps,
And, with all a lover's daring,
After her the house I entered,
Without Leonore being able
To foresee it or prevent it.
Then Don Gutierre coming,
Leonore, in terror, bade me
Seek a neighbouring apartment,
And I did so.—Ah! a thousand
Errors must that man fall into
Who obeys a woman's counsel.—
As I left, I heard the stranger
Speak; and, thinking 'twas her husband,
Down I leaped from the balcony:
And if I, on that occasion,
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He was married to the lady—
Now, since he declares he is not,
Face to face I stand before him.
Let your majesty, I pray thee,
Grant a field, whereon to combat
For the fame of Leonore.
This appeal the law concedeth
Unto every caballero.
GUTIERRE,
putting his hand on his sword.
I will follow wheresoever ....
KING.
How!—what's this? And dare you venture
Thus to touch your swords before me?
Does my face awake no terror?
Where I am, can men indulge in
[To the guard.
Pride or haughtiness? But take them
Prisoners, on the very instant;
Lead them to two separate turrets—
And be thankful for the favour
That you are not placed in fetters.
[Exit.
ARÍAS.
If fair Leonore did forfeit
Fame by me, by me she likewise
Will regain it—which is owing
To the honour of a woman.
GUTIERRE.
I do not, in this misfortune,
Feel so much my sovereign's rigour,
As that I, my dearest Mencia,
Cannot hope this day to see thee.
[They are led out by the soldiers.
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aside.
Under the pretext of hunting,
And her husband here, this evening
May afford me an occasion
To see Mencia.—Don Diego,
[Aloud.
Come with me;—I am determined
Now to perish or to conquer.
[Exeunt.
LEONORE.
Dead I here remain! God grant that,
Heartless, treacherous, and cruel,
False deceiver and dissembler,
Without faith, or God, or conscience,
As I innocently suffered
Loss of fame and reputation,
Heaven may also grant me vengeance!
May you feel the selfsame sorrow
That I feel! The same dishonour
May you in your blood see bathed!
For 'tis only just you perish
With the weapons that you slay with!
Be it so! amen. So be it!
Woe is me! I've lost my honour!
Woe is me! my death has found me!
| The Physician of his own Honour | |