 | The Physician of his own Honour |  |
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SCENE V.
—THE GARDEN OF DON GUTIERRE'S VILLA BY NIGHT, AS IN THE FORMER SCENE. DOÑA MENCIA IS SEEN RECLINING UPON A COUCH ASLEEP, BESIDE HER IS A TABLE WITH A LIGHTED LAMP UPON IT. DON GUTIERRE IS SEEN DESCENDING FROM THE GARDEN-WALL, WHICH HE HAS CLIMBED.GUTIERRE.
In the mute silence of this breathless night,
Which fills my breast with terror and delight—
Whose dusky shades, and glimmering stars, at strife,
Build the dark sepulchre of human life,
Here to my house in secret have I come—
Here I approach to Mencia and to home.
No tidings of my freedom reached her ear,
Lest (woe is me!) she should expect me here.
I call myself, Physician of my Honour,
Since I procure the cure of my dishonour.
And so I come, my visit here to pay,
At the same hour I did on yesterday,
To see if jealousy's sharp, sudden pain
Hath left the patient, or doth still remain.
For this I've leapt the garden's barrier o'er,
Lest I be seen when entering the door.
Oh God! what falsehood doth the whole world taint,
That no man dare examine his complaint,
Without the danger of perpetual fears!
Badly he spoke who said, the wretch has tears
To shed for his misfortunes. 'Tis untrue
That he who feels the jealous shaft pierce through
His heart can e'er be silent thereupon.
It may be, that that man has never known
What 'twas to feel that agony of pain;
But knowing that, he must perforce complain.
This is the place, within whose cool retreat
She loves at night to rest; and though the feet
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Let us tread gently, Honour, since we've come.
For prying thus, beneath o'ershadowing leaves,
Oft jealous men must use the step of thieves.
[He sees Mencia sleeping.
Ah! fairest Mencia—ah! my gentle dove,
Badly you meet my constancy and love!
Another time I will return again;
My honour I find well, and freed from pain.
Now that 'tis so, it needs no other cure,
And in its health I feel myself secure.
But—not a slave attends upon her here—
Perhaps she watcheth for some stranger near;—
O, slanderous breath! vile terror! cruel thought!
Still this suspicion chains me to the spot,
And, till by sifting it, it pass away,
Here must my doubting footsteps lingering stay.
The light I quench, and treading through the night,
[Extinguishes the light.
Come doubly blind, bereft of sense and light.
My voice, too, sinks its usual pitch beneath;
And thus I whisper, with my gentlest breath—
Mencia!
[Awakes her.
MENCIA.
My God! Who's there?
GUTIERRE.
My love, speak low.
MENCIA.
Who's there?
GUTIERRE.
'Tis I. And does my life not know?
MENCIA.
Ah! yes, my lord, no other would have dared......
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She knows me, then. What agony is spared!
[Aside.
MENCIA.
To venture here. If any one but you
Did dare so much, this hour I would imbrue
My hands in the hot blood that warms his frame,
Defending thus my honour and my name.
GUTIERRE,
aside.
Oh! joy—how sweetly am I undeceived!
Well does he act who probes where he is grieved.
Mencia, dear Mencia, do not now persist
[Aloud.
In fear.
MENCIA.
How badly, terror, I resist
The feeling!
GUTIERRE.
Ever in my heart shall live
Your worth.
MENCIA.
Say what excuse, thou now shalt give?......
GUTIERRE.
None.
MENCIA.
For your highness daring to come here?
GUTIERRE,
aside.
Highness! Oh God, what word is this I hear?
She knows me not. I struggle once again
With doubt, misfortune, misery, and pain!
MENCIA.
Would'st thou a second time behold my death?
Think'st thou each night......
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aside.
I gasp—I faint for breath!
MENCIA.
Thou canst conceal thyself?
GUTIERRE,
aside.
O Heavens!
MENCIA.
And by
Extinguishing the light......
GUTIERRE,
aside.
Now let me die!
MENCIA.
At my extremest peril, from this place
Escape before Don Gutierre's face?
GUTIERRE,
aside.
I doubt my own existence, since I live;
And that my breath her death-stroke doth not give.
She does not chide the prince for being here:
No coyness doth she feel, but only fear,
Lest he, perchance (oh! bitter, bitter pain),
Should be compelled to hide himself again!
Oh! let my heart be firm, my hand be strong,
To make my vengeance equal to my wrong!
MENCIA.
My lord, I pray your highness to retire.
GUTIERRE,
aside.
Oh! God, I feel myself all rage—all fire!
MENCIA.
Risk not again your safety, I implore.
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aside.
Who for such care but would return once more?
MENCIA.
This hour, Don Gutierre I expect.
GUTIERRE,
aside.
Who would not now all patience quite reject?
Ah! only he who waits a fitting time,
To wreak his vengeance, and to punish crime!—
He will not come. I left him late to-day,
[Aloud.
Engaged in business. By the public way,
A friend of mine doth keep a strict look-out;
He will not come unnoticed, do not doubt.
Enter JACINTA.
JACINTA,
aside.
Trembling I come to see who speaketh here.
MENCIA.
Methinks I hear some footsteps drawing near.
GUTIERRE.
What shall I do?
MENCIA.
Retire, retire, your grace,
Not to my chamber, but some other place.
[Don Gutierre retires to the back of the stage.
JACINTA.
My lady!
MENCIA.
The cool air that trembling crept
Amid these whispering branches, while I slept,
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And bring a light.
[Jacinta goes into the house.
GUTIERRE,
aside.
Enkindled in my fire!—
If I remain here, when the light is shown
She must behold me, and then all is known,—
Because then Mencia will know
And understand my soul's overwhelming woe.
This can not be, I must at any price
Prevent the pang of being offended twice,
Once by the intent,
And once by the thought I knew, and could consent
Her well-earned death one moment to delay,
So I must needs dissemble in this way:—
[He advances and continues in a loud voice,
Ho! how is this? What, no one from the whole
Household attends!—
MENCIA,
aside.
Rejoice, my coward soul,
'Tis Gutierre, not the dreaded fate
You feared.
GUTIERRE.
No lamp lit yet, and it so late!
Enter JACINTA with a light. DON GUTIERRE advances as if from the garden-gate.
JACINTA.
Here is the light.
GUTIERRE.
Ah! Mencia, my dear wife!
MENCIA.
My husband! joy and glory of my life!
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aside.
Her false caresses strike my bosom chill,
But heart and soul we must dissemble still.
MENCIA.
How did you enter, my dear lord?
GUTIERRE.
This key
Through the small garden-gate admitted me;
My love! my life! but tell me how
You here enjoy yourself?
MENCIA.
I came but now
Down to this garden, where the winds of night,
Cooled by these fountains, have blown out the light.
GUTIERRE.
I do not wonder at it, darling mine,
Because the air that killed this light of thine
Was breath'd out by a zephyr wild and bold,
And then ran circling round so icy cold
That, of this, you need have little doubt,
Not lights alone, but lives it could blow out.
Had you slept then, my wife,
Its poisoned breath might have destroyed your life.
MENCIA.
I wish to understand you, but I find
Your thoughts too subtle, or too dull my mind.
GUTIERRE.
Have you not seen a burning flame expire,
Struck by the air, and quenched before your eyes,
Which, by the embers of another fire,
Is soon relit, while that which lights it dies?
Thus death and life the quick combustion finds,
And so the flattering tongue of wanton winds
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And, the same moment, kindle it for me.
MENCIA.
'Tis plain, your words two meanings must conceal.
Can it be jealousy, my lord, you feel?
GUTIERRE,
aside.
Too soon my sorrows to my lips arise,—
But then the jealous never yet were wise;—
Jealousy? Know you then what jealousy is?
[Aloud.
As the Heavens live! I know no pang like this,—
For if I could, from any reason, know
What jealousy was ....
MENCIA,
aside.
Alas! O bitter woe!
GUTIERRE.
If I had grounds to fancy what may be
This phantom terror you call jealousy—
That it were more than a mere dream of night
That some poor slave or handmaid doth affright,
Whoe'er the object, I would cruelly tear
Out bit by bit the warm heart she doth bear;
Then as the quivering fragments came
Reeking with blood and liquefied in flame,
I would the red drops as they fell,
Drink with delight and eat the heart as well;—
Nay, her very soul I forth would snatch,
Which with a thousand wounds I would despatch,
If souls, by pain, can e'er be visitéd:—
But heavens! what words are these my lips have said?
MENCIA.
You overwhelm my trembling heart with fear.
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O God! O God! my Mencia, Mencia dear!
My good, my wife,—the glory of my skies!
Dear mistress mine, oh! pardon by thine eyes
This wild disorder, this strange burst of grief,
Which past conception, past all sane belief,
A mere chimera of the brain did cause,
Making my thoughts o'erleap all natural laws;
But by thy life, I swear to thee, my dear,
I still look on thee with respect and fear,
Yes, notwithstanding this my strange offence:—
Heavens! how I must have been bereft of sense!
MENCIA,
aside.
Fear, terror, dread, as if with poisoned breath
Breathe o'er my soul the pestilence of death.
GUTIERRE.
I called myself Physician of my Honour.
And in the earth shall bury my dishonour.
[Exeunt.
| The Physician of his own Honour | |