 | The Physician of his own Honour |  |
SCENE I.
—THE GARDEN OF DON GUTIERRE'S VILLA.—NIGHT.Enter JACINTA, conducting DON ENRIQUE.
JACINTA.
Silently advance.
ENRIQUE.
I scarcely
Place my feet upon the ground.
JACINTA.
'Tis the garden we have entered:—
Since the night with dusky mantle
Wraps your Highness round, and since
Now Don Gutierre lieth
In his prison, there's no doubt
But that you can safely compass
Love's so gentle victories.
ENRIQUE.
If the liberty, Jacinta,
I have promised thee, appears
Small reward for such a service,
Ask me more, I'll not refuse,
Since to thee I am indebted,
From this hour, for life and soul.
JACINTA.
Here my lady is accustomed
To descend, to spend a portion
Of the cool, calm summer night.
ENRIQUE.
Hush! oh, hush! another sentence
Do not add, because I tremble
That the very winds should hear us!
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That I may avoid suspicion
By my absence, and avoid
Needless blame, I think it better
Now to leave you.
[Goes into the house.
ENRIQUE.
Love encourage
My attempt. These verdant leaves
Will conceal and screen me wholly;
For I will not be the first,
Who, beneath such shelter, cheated
Even the solar rays: Actæon
With Diana exculpate me.
[Conceals himself.
Enter DOÑA MENCIA with her attendants.
MENCIA.
Jacinta! Silvia! Theodora!
JACINTA.
Your orders, Lady?—
MENCIA.
Here bring lights,
And a while with me remaining,
Labour to divert my sorrow
For the absence of my husband,
Now that nature doth presume
These delicious grounds to darken:—
Theodora!
THEODORA.
Lady mine!
MENCIA.
With your gentle voice divert me
From my sadness.
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I shall gladly
Sing your favourite words and tune.
[The lights are placed upon a small table, Doña Mencia reclines upon a sofa beside it, and Theodora sings.]
Nightingale, whose joyous strain
Gladdens all these sleeping flowers,
Oh! depart not from these bowers,
For thy absence gives me pain!
[While the song is continued and repeated, Doña Mencia falls asleep.]
JACINTA.
Sing no more, for see, sweet slumber
Hath poured out upon her soul
Rest and peace; and since her troubles
Have this calm asylum found,
Let us leave and not awake her.
THEODORA.
Yes, in silence leave her here.
JACINTA,
aside.
Thus I act, that he may freely
Venture forth to seek her now;—
O ye servants! what unnumber'd
Noble and illustrious houses
Have been lost by means of you!
[Exeunt Jacinta and the others.
DON ENRIQUE,
advancing.
She remains alone. No longer
Doubt should cloud such happiness;
Oh! I must not let this moment
Pass without the happy chance
That the time, the place secure me:—
Fairest Mencia!
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awaking.
Heaven defend me!
ENRIQUE.
Be not frightened;—
MENCIA.
Who is this?
ENRIQUE.
One whose daring must be pardoned
For his many years of hope.
MENCIA.
You, my lord! ...
ENRIQUE.
Oh! be not troubled!
MENCIA.
In this way to ....
ENRIQUE.
Nor alarmed:—
MENCIA.
Dare to enter ....
ENRIQUE.
Nor be angry.
MENCIA.
This my house, without the fear
That you may destroy the honour
Of a woman, and a noble,
Generous vassal's pride offend.
ENRIQUE.
I but follow your own counsel,
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The excuses of that lady:—
And I hither come to learn
How it is you exculpate you
From the wrongs my love hath borne.
MENCIA.
Ah! 'tis true, I was in error;
But if I would deign to give
Any reason for my actions,
Does your highness doubt, 'tis only
For my honour's sake alone?
ENRIQUE.
Can you then presume, I know not
The respect that is your due,
From your blood and many virtues?—
A pretext of sport has led me
Here, a seeming hunter, now.
But 'twas neither fawn nor falcon
Wiled me forth ere dawn of day;
No, it was thyself, proud heron—
Thou, that soarest up so high
Through the azure fields of heaven,
That you seem to touch the golden
Balustrades that gleam and glisten
Round the palace of the sun.
MENCIA.
My lord, your highness doth correctly
Attribute to this cautious bird
The efforts you describe: the heron
Presumes so much upon its instinct,
That flying even up to heaven,—
A flash of feathers without light—
A bird of flame, with soul and spirit—
A wingéd cloud endued with instinct—
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It seeks by every means to baffle
The strong wings of the royal hawks:—
Nay, 'tis said, although it flies from
All the falcons that pursue,—
It doth know, amid the many,
In whose talons it must die;
And before the final struggle
Is commenced, it trembles o'er—
Throbs its boding heart with terror,
And on ruffled plumage flies:—
Thus at seeing here your highness,
I stand mute and motionless—
Full of terror—full of horror—
Since my fear cannot ignore—
Since no doubt can terror leave me
Who it is will cause my death.
ENRIQUE.
To speak with you I came hither,
Time and chance must not be lost.
MENCIA.
That the heavens this wrong should suffer!
I shall cry for aid.
ENRIQUE.
And so,
Be thy honour's worse defamer.
MENCIA.
Oh! will not the wild beasts come
To protect me with their favour?
ENRIQUE.
No, they fear to wake my wrath.
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within.
Coquin, hold the reins, while I
Alight: knock loudly at the gate.
MENCIA.
O heavens! my bodings come too late!
My end of life at length draws nigh,
'Tis Gutierre!—What a fate!
ENRIQUE.
Born for misfortune I must be!
MENCIA.
What, my lord, becomes of me
If he meets you?—what his ire?
ENRIQUE.
Say what can I do?
MENCIA.
Retire.
ENRIQUE.
Retire? conceal myself before
The face of any man?
MENCIA.
Much more
A woman's honour doth require:
You cannot go—(my life is o'er!)
Since my servants, little knowing
All the evil they were doing,
Have reclosed the garden door:
Now you cannot go away.
ENRIQUE.
How to act in this confusion......
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In this arbour's green seclusion
Lies a room of mine, you may
There conceal you.
ENRIQUE.
Until now,
I a notion ne'er could have
What was meant by fear. How brave
Ought a husband feel?
[Conceals himself.
MENCIA.
And how
Timid ought the guilty be,
When a guiltless woman even
Dreads the angry wrath of heaven,
Nor can shun adversity?
Enter DON GUTIERRE, COQUIN, and JACINTA.
GUTIERRE.
Dearest, let my fond caresses
Once and many a time enfold thee!
MENCIA.
Envy, I cannot withhold thee
From my heart, whose happy place is
In the midst of such embraces.
GUTIERRE.
Said you not, that I would fly
To see you?
MENCIA.
And to prove thereby
The firm fond heart your breast doth cover.
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I do not cease to be thy lover,
My life, because thy spouse am I;
For that dear tie, so proudly pure,
Chills not affection's tender core,
But ever feeds it more and more,
And makes its wavering pulse secure,
And doth, at every risk, procure
Means, the belovéd form, for seeing,
And closer binds his grateful being.
He who holds the Alcaide's station,
Being a friend and a relation,
Has, my body's prison freeing,
Thrown it round my soul, for he
Gives me in this secret way
The happy privilege to pay
This hurried visit unto thee.
MENCIA.
What a joy it is!
GUTIERRE.
To me—
Although if I deliberate,
The boon he gave was not so great
To let me hither come to thee,
Because in my captivity,
My soul, on unseen wings elate,
Had flown to thee in chainless flight—
Joy of my heart! 'twas only right
That for the period I should be
Wholly captive, or wholly free,
And thus my life and soul unite;
For otherwise in tiresome strife,
With all division's sorrows rife,
The two should seek a separate goal,
In one prison were my soul,
And in another were my life.
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Two instruments, I've heard it stated;
When strung and tuned in unison;
The dulcet notes evoked by one,
By echo are communicated,
Similarly modulated,
To the other, so that even
If you wake but one alone,
On the silent lyre, the tone
Which the skilful hand hath given
Is waken'd by the winds of heaven!
An equal concord doth appear
'Twixt blended hearts, how far or near,
This would experience soon declare,
For the same blow that struck thee there
Would reach and kill me even here.
COQUIN.
Señora, wont you give your hand
Unto a fellow-prisoner,
Who sighs and mourns and sheds the tear,
Without the power to understand
Why into tears he is trepanned?
And who his death is now awaiting,
Without the power of calculating
Why or when this grisly friend
Of mortals......
GUTIERRE.
Coquin, to what end?—
COQUIN.
'Tis my own end that I'm relating:—
But if the king, who doth admire
Your humble servant, in his ire
Puts you to death without remorse,
You'll be a sort of knight-errant corse,
Since you will bring with you a squire.
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to Gutierre.
You must partake of some collation;
Excuse my want of preparation,
No guest expecting now: and so
I go for this.
GUTIERRE.
A slave can go.
MENCIA.
Holds not the one who goes, that station?
Yes, I am one, and love to be:
Do thou, Jacinta, come with me:—
O fortune! fortune, be obedient,
[Aside.
Since this desperate expedient,
Honour, I but make for thee!
[Exeunt Doña Mencia and Jacinta.
GUTIERRE.
Coquin, here you must remain,
And a little while restrain
Your pleasantries: Remember we
Are bound by every tie to be
Back within our cell again
Ere the dawn, which now is nigh.
COQUIN.
I shall faithfully attend you,
But would wish to recommend you
A stroke of ingenuity—
The most subtle, the most high
Ever thought of amongst men,
Oh! how clever!
GUTIERRE.
Tell it then.
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By which safe and sound you may
Easily from prison stay.
GUTIERRE.
How?
COQUIN.
Never to go back again.—
Better wind and limb to save
Than keep the promise that you gave.
Safe and sound outside you've got;
Stay as you are.
GUTIERRE.
Upon the spot,
My hand shall kill thee, villain! knave!—
Dare you thus to counsel me
To act with such base treachery
Towards the Alcaide: in this way
His kind confiding to betray?
COQUIN.
No doubt, there's some perplexity;
But since I have become observant
Of the king's humour—fierce and fervent
Is my desire to escape his claws.
As to a breach of honour's laws,
No one will mind it in a servant;
But even so, I am, to-day,
Resolved to take the safer track,
To leave you here, and not go back.
GUTIERRE.
To leave me?
COQUIN.
And why not, I pray?
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And what of thee will people say?
COQUIN.
Must I then prematurely die,
To earn a word or two of praise?
If I could act like him who plays
At cards, who puts the small ones by,
Preferring for success to rely
On those of greater power and name;—
Then, my lord, for you I durst
Give up a few poor days at first,
Which afterwards I might reclaim:—
But is not life a different game?
The cards once gone, then all is gone;
How could I then get back the stake
That thus I perilled for thy sake?
As at piquet, death would have won
Every point to a hundred and one.
Enter MENCIA, exclaiming.
MENCIA.
Help! help! my lord.
GUTIERRE.
What mean these cries?
May heaven my love from danger shield!
MENCIA.
A man......
GUTIERRE.
Quick! quick!
MENCIA.
I found concealed
Within my room, whose face and eyes
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For this I called you.
GUTIERRE.
What do you say?
O Heavens! my very heart's congealed;—
Disguised in my house?
MENCIA.
The moon revealed
His presence.
GUTIERRE.
Coquin, lead the way,
Take the light with you.
COQUIN.
I?
GUTIERRE.
You may
Fear nothing, since with me you go.
MENCIA,
to Coquin.
Coward thou art, to tremble so!—
I shall conduct thee—draw thy sword;
Ah me! the light has fallen, my lord.
[She designedly drops the light, and they remain in total darkness.]
GUTIERRE.
No matter, I shall find my foe
Even in the dark: I go alone.
[While Don Gutierre enters the house by one door, Don Enrique, conducted by Jacinta, leaves it by the other.]
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Follow me, my lord, you may
Escape securely by this way,
Since all the house to me is known.
[As they go out at the opposite side, Don Gutierre returns, and meeting with Coquin, who is groping about in the dark, seizes him.]
COQUIN,
aside.
I can see neither stick nor stone.
GUTIERRE.
Ah! I have met the man!
COQUIN.
My lord,
Take heed, I pledge to thee my word ....
GUTIERRE.
By heavens! I shall not let thee go,
Until thy name and state I know,
Then thou shalt perish by my sword.
COQUIN.
But look! I am ....
MENCIA,
aside.
What speechless terror
Now doth my trembling soul affright!
Can it be he?
GUTIERRE.
What, ho! a light!
[Enter Jacinta, with a light.]
Who art thou, man?
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I've got no mirror,
But think I'm Coquin!
GUTIERRE.
What an error!
What a mistake!
COQUIN.
I told thee so.
GUTIERRE.
I heard and knew thy voice, although
I did not think thou wert the same
I held:—O blind abyss! O shame!
That I must tamely wait to know!
MENCIA,
aside.
Has he gone forth, Jacinta?
JACINTA.
Yes.
MENCIA,
to Gutierre.
Can thy absence have tempted this?
Look well through all the house, lest some
Who knew perchance thou wert from home,
Some thieves have dared this hardiness.
GUTIERRE.
I go to make suspicion clear:—
Kind heaven dispel the boding fear
[Aside.
That makes my heart feel chill and numb,
To think that any man should come
Into my house, and I not here!
[Exit with Coquin.
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That was a daring stroke, attended
With danger of a great disaster,
Which you now ventured with my master.
MENCIA.
More than my life on it depended.
JACINTA.
What was the object you intended?
MENCIA.
This was intended: to dispel
The clear presumption there would be
Of some arranged complicity—
If Gutierre's heart should feel
What I should die, or else conceal—
In such a strange perplexity,
I found but little difficulty
The simple project to conceive,
And thus make truth itself deceive.
[Don Gutierre returns from the house, holding a dagger concealed beneath his cloak.]
GUTIERRE.
Some mere illusive phantasy
Mocked you—some fancied form of air;
Through all the house I have gone with care,
Searched every room, but could not meet
The shadowy phantom of deceit
Which you but now imagined there:—
But I deceive myself:—ah! me—
[Aside.
This dagger, gracious heavens! which I
Found in her room—with jealousy
The herald of my fate must be,
Which a more fitting hour will see:—
My love, my life, I must away,
[Aloud.
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Loosely around its neck unties—
And like a trembling coward flies
Before the beauteous light of day;—
Ah! how I grieve it must be so,
Not only that I needs must go,
And longer leave you lonely here,
But worse—a prey to causeless fear.
MENCIA.
Will you not once your fond arms throw
Round her who loves you?
GUTIERRE.
Proud I may:—
[As he throws open the cloak, she perceives the dagger in his hand.]
MENCIA.
Ah! stay, my lord! in pity, stay!
Your dagger, is it turned on me?
I never have offended thee,
Turn then your vengeful hand away,—
Hold!
GUTIERRE.
What makes my Mencia fear?
My joy, my treasure, and my wife.
MENCIA.
At thus beholding you, my life
Seemed to depart: I did appear
Bathed in my blood to perish here.
GUTIERRE.
When lately through the house I flew,
This dagger from its sheath I drew.
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My very life is an illusion!
GUTIERRE.
'Twas but a fancy—a delusion.
MENCIA.
I never have offended thee.
GUTIERRE.
How needless this apology;
But often in a great confusion
We feel a fear we can't explain.
MENCIA.
My troubled sadness, as it seems,
Chimeras and unreal dreams
Doth picture on my heart and brain.
GUTIERRE.
To-night, I will return again
To see thee, if I can: adieu!
MENCIA.
May God, my lord, depart with you!—
Oh! what a fear my bosom pains!
[Aside.
GUTIERRE,
aside.
Ah! honour—honour, much remains
To say, but only 'twixt us two!
[They go out at opposite sides.
| The Physician of his own Honour | |