 | The Physician of his own Honour |  |
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SCENE III.
—A HALL IN THE ALCÁZAR.Enter the KING and DON DIEGO, the former carrying a shield, and dressed in a coloured cloak, which during the representation he changes for a black one.
KING.
Take this buckler, Don Diego.
DIEGO.
Late your majesty returns.
KING.
I have spent the night in going
All around this city's streets,
Wishing thus to know the nature
Of the many strange adventures
Which in such a place as Seville
Happens every night that falls:
That I thus may know the better
To prevent or punish crime.
DIEGO.
You do well, my lord, in this,
For a king should he an Argus,
Watching o'er the realm he rules,
And the eyes upon his sceptre
Should but symbolize his own.
Please your majesty, what saw you?
KING.
I saw many a sly gallant—
Many a waiting, watchful lady—
Music-ringing feasts and dancing—
Many gambling-houses, whence
Loud resounding voices published,
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Here is gaming, wanderer:
I saw bullies without number,
And there's nothing that so grieves me
As to see this crowd of bullies
Swagger openly, as if
They a lawful calling followed;
But that they should never praise me
For neglecting to examine
So important a communion,
I a troop of them encounter'd
In the open street alone.
DIEGO.
That was wrong, my lord,—imprudent.
KING.
No, 'twas right, because they carried
Blazoned in their blood from me ....
DIEGO.
What?
KING.
The charter of their body.
Enter COQUIN.
COQUIN,
aside.
I have not the tower re-entered
With my master, since I wish
To find out what says the public
Of his prisonment: but pause!
For the noblest dog stands yonder
Of the celebrated breed
Of the true Castilian mastiff—
'Tis the king himself—Don Pedro,
I must pause, his paws to shun.
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Coquin!
COQUIN.
Majesty!
KING.
How goes it?
COQUIN.
I will answer like the student.
KING.
How is that?
COQUIN.
De corpore bene,
Sed male de pecuniis.
KING.
Tell me something pleasant, Coquin,
Since if you can make me laugh,
You a hundred crowns will pocket.
COQUIN.
It seems that we enact to-night
The famous comedy, entitled,
From your promise, “The Crown Prince;”
Notwithstanding all, I bring thee
Now a little tale, that neatly
Endeth in an epigram.
KING.
If 'tis yours, it must be truly
Elegant: unfold the tale.
COQUIN.
I saw yesterday a eunuch,
On his getting out of bed,
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Laugh now at the bare idea!
Seeing so much needless care
On a crop of such poor promise
Made me make the epigram:—
I don't ask thee, mighty Pedro,
For houses or vineyards,—all I ask
Is that you, by way of earnest,
Will your blessed laughter give
Unto a bashful gracioso;—
Floro, your house must needs be poor
And badly furnished all within,
Since in this way you're forced to pin
A lying ticket on the door.
Can there be rind without the core?
Good nuts without the kernel?—no.
He cannot reap who cannot sow,—
Why then waste time? A harvest yields
The ploughing of the fallow fields,
But fallows faces never—no!—
KING.
A cold conceit:
COQUIN.
A hot one, rather.
Enter DON ENRIQUE, the Infante.
ENRIQUE.
Give me your hand, my lord.
KING.
Infante,
How do you find yourself?
ENRIQUE.
Quite well;
Content, my liege, if I but find you
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And now, my lord, permit my asking
For Don Arías ....
KING.
He, I know,
Has the privilege of your friendship;
Free him from prison then, and thou
Make them again be friends, Enrique,
Since 'tis to you they owe their lives.
[Exit.
ENRIQUE.
May thine own by Heaven be guarded
Until thou makest even of time
A never-ending bright inheritance!
Don Diego will please to go
To the tower, and to the Alcaide,
And command him, hither to bring
Both his prisoners.
[Exit Don Diego.
The heavens give me
Patience under misfortunes like these,—
And prudence amid so many evils:
Coquin, I perceive you are here.
COQUIN.
I would be better away in Flanders.
ENRIQUE.
Why?
COQUIN.
The king is a prodigy
'Mong all the animals on the earth.
ENRIQUE.
How?
COQUIN.
Because indulgent Nature
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The lion to roar—the ox to low—
The ass to bray—the bird to warble—
The dog to bark—the cat to mew—
The horse to indulge himself in neighing—
The wolf to howl, and the pig to grunt,
But man alone it only permitteth
To laugh, and Aristotle thus,
As the most perfect definition,
Calls him the laughing animal:—
But the king, 'gainst the order of nature,
And sometimes of art, doth never laugh.
Grant me, Heaven, to draw but one chuckle
Out of his throat, the pincers of wit!
Enter DON GUTIERRE, DON ARÍAS, and DON DIEGO.
DIEGO.
Behold, my lord, I bring to thee
The prisoners.
GUTIERRE.
Thy feet we kiss.
ARÍAS.
You raise us to the skies by this.
ENRIQUE.
The king, my gracious lord, to me
Has given, what with humility
I asked for, both your lives to-day:
Once more be mutual friends, I pray.
GUTIERRE.
Thus honour is conferred by thee.
[He perceives that the sword of the prince is of the same design as the dagger which he found in Mencia's apartment.]
But what is this, O God! I see?
[Aside.
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Shake hands.
ARÍAS.
Behold I lead the way,
Here then is mine.
GUTIERRE.
And mine: all traces
Of our late difference now must lie
Hid 'neath the friendly knot we tie,
'Till death the twisted bond displaces.
ARÍAS.
And may these mutual embraces
Confirm the friendships that they show.
ENRIQUE.
It gladdens me that this is so:—
As cavaliers the strife begun,
As cavaliers you both have done
All that nice honour bade you do:—
'Tis therefore right that you should be
True friends, and he who now will dare
This to deny, had best prepare
In deadly fight to answer me.
GUTIERRE.
The friendships which, my lord, for thee
I now rewaken, must endure,
I my obedience shall procure,
Nor can I doubt that you will give
This crowning honour, to believe
That of me you may be sure:—
A potent enemy are you,
And leaving loyalty apart,
Fear were enough to keep my heart
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You and I 'gainst some other two,
Oh! 'twere delightful then to show
To all the world, how well I know
Obedient to my word to be;—
But with you for an enemy—
Oh! who would dare to venture?—who?—
So much would fear my senses scare—
So strangely darken and control
My cautious and attentive soul,
That it would not have power to dare
To look at you:—If unaware
My sword should ever cross with thine,
Such fearful instinct shall be mine,
Such terror shall o'ercloud mine eyes—
That I must fail to recognise
Your grace, though noontide's sun may shine.
ENRIQUE,
aside.
In those hints and sighs I trace
The clearest marks of jealousy:—
Come! Don Arías, I with thee
[Aloud.
Have business in another place.
DON ARÍAS.
I attend upon thy grace.
[Exeunt Don Enrique, Don Diego, and Don Arías.
GUTIERRE,
alone.
Enrique answered naught, and so
Even by his silence he doth show
My fear is not an idle guess:—
Can I bewail my grief?—ah, yes!
But to console my anguish, no:—
I am now alone, and therefore
Can commune with my own mind:—
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To reduce to one discourse—
Or to heal with one idea
Such a numerous host of evils—
Such a progeny of pain,
That in coward crowds assail me—
That in daring troops surround:—
Now, oh! now's the moment, valour,
That the soul its wail repeating,
Tombed in burning tears and sighs,
Cometh to the open portals
Of the soul, which are the eyes:—
And indeed, on this occasion,
Eyes, you fitly melt in weeping,
That you may wash out my shame!—
Now, my valour, now's the moment,
You can prove how well you know
For the curing of my honour
To call prudence to thy aid:
But a truce to barren feeling,
Forced by honour, forced by valour,
I must not thus weakly yield me
Up to mere complaints and sighs;
He but dallies with his grievance
Who but asks for its redress;—
Let me first think o'er the matter—
It, perchance, can be explained:
Oh! I ask of God to grant it,
Would to God it may be so!—
'Tis true, last night, when unexpected,
I went home,—but then the doors
Opened quickly, and in quiet
Found I there my tranquil wife.
Then the sudden exclamation
That a man was in the house,—
Strange, no doubt, but still remember
That 'twas she who told me so:—
But the light, too, was extinguished—
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That, indeed, it did not happen
Through an actual accident?—
Next, the question of this dagger—
It is possible it may
Have been left there by a servant,
And although (oh! woe is me!)
In its fashion, it resembles
Closely the Infante's sword,
Other swords it may resemble,
As the form is not so strange
But a thousand more may have it:
Deeper let me sift the matter,
And confess (ah! me) that it
Was the Infante's—nay, even further,
That he was himself there hid,
Though my hot eyes could not see him;
But supposing all this true,
Still may Mencia be guiltless?
Gold, that magic master-key,
In the bribed hand of a servant
Opens wide the closest doors:—
Oh! how glad I am for having
Found this subtle argument;—
So, abridging our reflections,
Let us make the points converge
Thus, that Mencia is Mencia,
And that I am who I am;—
Nothing could a moment tarnish
Light like hers so bright and pure;
If I thought so, it were error,—
Then a cloud could stain the sun,
Which it dulls not, though it troubleth,
Nor eclipses, though it chills:—
What unrighteous law would punish
Innocence with pains and death?—
But still, honour, thou'rt in danger,
There is not an hour but may
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In thy sepulchre, sustained
By a woman's breath, and treading
On the edge of thine own grave:—
I have now to cure thee, honour:
First, the symptoms clearly show
How excessive is the danger;
Let the first prescription be
To prevent all new infection,
And to drive the old one forth:—
So the Physician of his Honour
Thus prescribeth and ordains,
First, the sparing diet of silence,
To keep cool both tongue and mouth
By the gentle aid of patience.
Which doth mean, that you apply
To your wife all soft endearments,
Kindness, fondness, friendship, love,
Flatteries too, which are a powerful
Safeguard, that the fell disease
May not grow the more through harshness
For contentions and displeasures,
Insults, jealousies, suspicions,
As indeed they ought to do,
Ever give unto a woman
The disease they meant to cure.
I to-night shall seek my dwelling,
Secretly shall enter there,
To examine more minutely
The disease, and while inquiring,
To dissemble, if I can,
This misfortune, this affliction,
This extremity, this wrong,
This offence, this aggravation,
This amazement, this delirium,
This oppression, this affront,
Finally, this jealousy—
Jealousy! what have I uttered?
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Back! again into my bosom
Fly that venom'd word! but no;—
For if it indeed be poison
That's engendered in my breast—
Since it did not kill in coming,
It might kill in going back.
As 'tis written of the viper,
That it dies by its own poison
If outside itself it meets it:—
Said I jealousy? Oh! said I
Jealousy? It is enough!
When, alas! a wretched husband
Comes to know that he is jealous,
Science then is unavailing,
Then remains the final cure
To be tried, to be applied by
The Physician of his Honour!
[Exit.
| The Physician of his own Honour | |