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OLLA PODRIDA
BY
CAPTAIN MARRYAT
[Illustration]
LONDON
J. M. DENT AND CO.
BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN AND CO.
MDCCCXCVI
Contents
THE MONK OF SEVILLE 1
_Metropolitan Magazine_, 1833.
THE GIPSY 85
_Metropolitan Magazine_, 1834.
ILL-WILL 159
_New Monthly Magazine_, 1837.
HOW TO WRITE A FASHIONABLE NOVEL 179
_Metropolitan Magazine_, 1833.
HOW TO WRITE A BOOK OF TRAVELS 200
_Metropolitan Magazine_ 1833, 1834.
HOW TO WRITE A ROMANCE 214
_Metropolitan Magazine_, 1835.
S.W. AND BY W. 3/4 W. 225
THE SKY-BLUE DOMINO 243
_New Monthly Magazine_, 1837.
MODERN TOWN HOUSES 260
_New Monthly Magazine_, 1837.
THE WAY TO BE HAPPY 275
THE LEGEND OF THE BELL ROCK 282
MOONSHINE 293
THE FAIRY'S WAND 313
_New Monthly Magazine_, 1840.
A RENCONTRE 328
Prefatory Note
This edition of _Olla Podrida_ does not include the "Diary on the
Continent" which appeared first in the _Metropolitan Magazine_ 1835-1836
as "The Diary of a _Blase_" continued in the _New Monthly Magazine_
1837, 1838, as "Confessions and opinions of Ralph the Restless." Marryat
himself described the "Diary" as "very good magazine stuff," and it has
no fitting place in an edition of his novels, from which the "Diary in
America" is also excluded.
The space thus created is occupied by "The Gipsy," "The Fairy's Wand,"
and "A Rencontre," which I have ventured to print here in spite the
author's protest,[A] that the original edition of _Olla Podrida_
contained all the miscellaneous matter contributed by him to periodicals
that he wished to acknowledge as his writing. The statement may be
regarded as a challenge to his editors to produce something worthy; and
I certainly consider that the "Gipsy" is superior to some of his
fragments, and may be paired, as a comedy, with "The Monk of Seville,"
as a tragedy.
[Footnote A: Preface to first edition of O.P. printed below.]
But I have not attempted any systematic search for scraps. "The Fairy's
Wand" was published in the same year as, and probably later than, _Olla
Podrida_ itself, and need not therefore be "considered as disavowed and
rejected" by him. "A Rencontre" was always reprinted and acknowledged by
its author, being, for no ostensible reason, bound up with _Joseph
Rushbrook, or The Poacher_, 1841.
This seems the most appropriate occasion to supplement, and--in some
measure--to correct, the list of novels contributed to periodicals by
Marryat, which I compiled from statements in _The Life and Letters_ by
Florence Marryat (also tabulated in Mr David Hannay's "Life"), and
printed on p. xix. of the General Introduction to this edition.
TO THE METROPOLITAN MAGAZINE.
(Edited by Marryat, 1832-1835.)
_The Pacha of Many Tales_, May 1831--February 1833; and May
1834--May 1835.
_Peter Simple_, June 1832--September 1833. The novel is not
completed in the Magazine, but closes with an announcement
of the three volume edition.
_Jacob Faithful_, September 1833--September 1834.
_Japhet in Search of a Father_, September 1834--January
1836.
_Snarleyyow_, January 1836--January 1837.
_Midshipman Easy._ One specimen chapter only. August 1835.
TO THE NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
_The Privateersman_, 1845-1846.
_Valerie_ (the first eleven chapters), 1846-1847.
_The Phantom Ship_, 1838-1839.
The bulk of this volume is reprinted from the first edition of _Olla
Podrida_, in three volumes, Longman, Orme, Brown, Green, and Longmans,
1840. "The Gipsy," from the _Metropolitan Magazine_; "The Fairy's Wand,"
from the _New Monthly Magazine_; and "A Rencontre," from the first
Edition of _The Poacher_, 1841.
R. B. J.
Author's Preface to the First Edition
I have not yet ventured upon a Preface to any of my writings, and I did
not expect that I should ever have written one. Except in a work of
importance, which may demand it, a Preface is, generally speaking, a
request for indulgence which never will be accorded, or an explanation
to which the Public is indifferent. It is only when an explanation is
_due_ to the Public, or to the Author's reputation, that he should
venture to offer one. If a work is well written, the Public are
satisfied; if not, they have just cause to feel otherwise; and if an
Author obtains justice, he obtains all that he has a right to expect.
I write this Preface, because I consider that it may save me from a
hasty remark or two, which it may be just as well to forestall. During
the ten years which I have taken up the pen, I have furnished
miscellaneous matter to various Periodicals, which, if it were all
collected together, would swell into many volumes. Among it, as must be
the case under the circumstances in which it was written, there is some
which I consider tolerable; but the major portion is but indifferent;
and I should be very sorry indeed, if at any future time, when I may not
have the power to prevent it, all these articles should be collected and
printed as mine. If ever it were done, it certainly would not be by my
friends: I wish it, therefore, to be understood, that in the portions of
these volumes which consist of republications, I have selected from the
mass, all that I wish to acknowledge as my writing; and that the
remainder (with the exception of the papers on nautical subjects, which
are of no interest to the general reader) may be considered as disavowed
and rejected. The major part of these volumes consist of a Diary
written when I was on the Continent. It first appeared in the
Periodicals, under the title of a "Diary of a _Blase_:" the title was a
bad one, as I did not write up to the character; I have, therefore, for
want of a better name, simply called it a "Diary on the Continent;" and
I mention this, that I may not be accused of having intentionally
deceived.
F. M.
THE MONK OF SEVILLE:
A PLAY, IN FIVE ACTS.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
ANSELMO DON GASPAR, _A monk disguised as a cavalier_.
DON FELIX, _A Spanish nobleman_.
DON PEREZ, _Do_.
SUPERIOR _of the monastery_.
ANTONIO, _Servant to Don Gasper_.
MANUEL, _A monk_.
JACOBO, _Porter to the monastery_.
SANCHO, _Servant to Don Perez_.
DONNA INEZ, _A noble lady._
ISIDORA, _Her niece._
DONNA SERAFINA.
BEPPA,} } _Servant to Serafina._
} _both wives of Antonio_ }
NINA, } } _Do. to Isidora._
_Monks, Choristers, Attendants, &c._
Scene laid in Seville.
Olla Podrida
The Monk of Seville
_Act I. Scene I._
_Enter Don Felix and Don Perez._
_Felix._ You say his name's Don Gaspar?
_Perez._ So he styles himself; but of what house, parentage, or country,
cannot be gained. He keeps aloof from all, bears himself gallantly; and
'tis manifest that any question discourteously put he'd answer with his
sword.
_Felix._ He's skill'd in fence, then?
_Perez._ There's none to match him. I, who have foiled half Seville, am
but a scholar in his hands, when at the School we've joined the assault
in courtesy.
_Felix._ A proper man?
_Perez._ Beyond comparison. He hath all the stamp of true nobility.
Pride in his eye; in his address, dignified; in modes most perfect; the
most envied of the men, and the most admired by all the dames of
Seville.
_Felix._ Successful, then?
_Perez._ He confides in none; and hath no intimate; but I am informed he
is resistless, and I much suspect, my rival.
_Felix._ With the Donna Serafina?
_Perez._ Even so; she has changed much of late; and I have discovered
that one, who, from report, answers to his description, is highly
favoured.
_Felix._ But, Perez, did you not tell me you had left her?
_Perez._ In faith I had; but when I discovered that another sought her,
my passion then returned; and now that she rejects me, I dote upon her
more than ever.
_Felix._ Perez, when will you be wise? when will you cease to trifle
with the sex?
_Perez._ Never, I hope: women are my game; and I live but on the chase.
Sighs, oaths, and amorous ditties are my ammunition; my guitar is my
fowling-piece, and you must acknowledge that I seldom miss my aim.
_Felix._ I grant it, Perez, but it's cruel sport, and quite unworthy of
a cavalier. How many wounded birds have hid themselves to die!
_Perez._ Poor things--why did they not keep out of shot range? It's
useless to preach, Felix, I must have my amusement.
_Felix._ Be careful, Perez, that it prove not dangerous; there is no
honour gained by broken vows, false oaths, and tampering with maidens'
hearts. It is a fault in you I would were mended; and our relationship
makes me thus free to speak my mind. It is unworthy of you.
_Perez._ But sufficing good for women--they are but playthings; and thus
far am I renegade, that, with the prophet, I cannot allow them souls.
_Felix._ You are incorrigible. Change the discourse, or I shall lose my
temper and that opinion of you, which, 'gainst my better sense, I fain
would keep. Our subject was Don Gaspar.
_Perez._ Yes--and my object is to find out who he is, and, if basely
born, to hunt him out of Seville.
_Felix._ That there's mystery is evident; but when you hunt, see if such
quarry, good Perez, turn not to bay. But new in Seville, I ne'er have
encountered this prodigy; if his rank be mere assumption, he must be
exposed; yet, Perez, there may be many causes for an incognito. Our
Spain is wide and well peopled with those who boast high ancestry.
_Perez._ If then so wide, there's room for him elsewhere. But here comes
Sancho with intelligence. (_Enter Sancho._)
How now, Sancho,--what have you discovered?
_San._ (_Affectedly._) I am not quite a fool, Santa Petronila knows
that, good sirs,--not quite a fool. I think you are fortunate in your
servant. You'll excuse me, but I have seen the person whom you
mentioned.
_Perez._ Well--
_San._ I have seen him, sir, by Saint Petronila!
_Perez._ And spoke to him, I trust.
_San._ Yes, sir, and, by the same holy saint! I have spoken to him.
_Perez._ To what purpose have you spoken to this Antonio?
_San._ To _your_ purpose, sir.
_Perez._ What did he tell you? I cry your patience, Felix, but this mule
cannot be driven. What did he tell you, sirrah?
_San._ You do not know what first I said to _him_,--would you have the
answer before the question?
_Perez._ Well, what said you first to him?
_San._ With all good courtesy I wished him a good morning. He did the
same to me.
_Perez._ Well.
_San._ I then discoursed about Saint Petronila, the wind, the pope, and
the weather. No, I recollect, it was the weather before the saint. I
think--yes--I am sure it was; how the saint brought in the wine, I know
not; but we proceeded on to wine and women, which last discourse made us
thirsty, so we adjourned into a wine-house. Saint Petronila shrive me!
when we became most intimate, and after much beating about the bush, I
discovered that his master--
_Perez._ Who--what?
_San._ Don Gaspar, sir.
_Perez._ Idiot! is that all?
_San._ No,--only half; I found out more without him. He finished off his
wine and left me without any more information, declaring that was all
he knew himself; and that he had to meet a lady. Let me alone for
finding out, Saint Petronila be my guide! I watched him, and as I turned
the corner, found him in close whispering with the Senora Beppa.
_Perez._ The attendant of Donna Serafina; then are my doubts confirmed.
Treacherous sex!--but I'll be revenged! Did you speak to them?
_San._ Not when Antonio was there. I never interfere between man and
wife, the blessed saint knows that.
_Perez._ His wife!
_San._ Yes, his wife; but when Antonio quitted her, I then accosted her;
and to my cross questions--
_Perez._ She gave you crooked answers.
_San._ Precisely so, signor, and record it, Saint Petronila; she said
that I was a fool!
_Perez._ The wisdom of the woman! Come, Felix--Sancho, you will go home
and await my return.
[_Exit Perez and Felix._
_San._ That Antonio is a good fellow, Saint Petronila assist him! how he
does make me laugh! we were sworn friends in two hours; and he promised
to drink with me whenever I pleased: I wonder why he never offers to pay
his share of the reckoning? He thinks it would affront me, I suppose!
but when we are more intimate, I'll hint the contrary. Excellent fellow!
how he did make me laugh! Then when next we meet, I'll ask his advice
about my love affair! I am sadly in want of a confidant; now I've only
my own wit, and the good saint. He's a man you may trust, I'll be sworn.
Lord! how he did make me laugh! [_Exit._
_Scene II._
_Street opposite Anselmo's lodgings._
_Enter Antonio._
Well, I'm supposed to have as much wit as my neighbours, and yet I
cannot make out this master of mine. He's a perfect mystery, and the
more I try to unriddle him the more he riddles me. If I am deep, he is
deeper. In short, I am no match for him, and thus I prove it. In the
first place, he finds out everything I would conceal, and conceals
everything I would find out. Secondly, he reads all my thoughts, and
takes care that I shall read none of his. Then he disappears when I turn
my back, and re-appears before I turn my face. He has discovered that I
am a rogue, yet retains me in his service. His chamber is always locked
when he goes out, and I am obliged to wait below upon board wages.
There's some mystery about that chamber. I have watched repeatedly on
the staircase to see him enter, but never can; and when I would swear
that he is not in, it is I only who am out; for I am summoned to his
presence. There's mystery! When he does appear, who is he? Don Gaspar;
but of what family, and from what part of Spain, no one can tell.
Mystery upon mystery! He may be the devil, and I feel my conscience
touched; for no good ever came from the devil's wages. I'll to my
confessor, and seek his counsel. He's a good man, and lenient too, to
such poor rogues as I. But he insists that I appear each se'nnight, and
sum the catalogue of my offences: perhaps he's right; for if I staid
longer away, _some_ of them--as I am no scholar,--say half--would be
forgotten. [_Enter Nina veiled, who passed by him, and exit._] There's a
nice girl! What a foot and ankle! Now had my master seen her, there had
been a job for me to dog her home. We lacqueys are like sporting dogs;
we follow up the game, and when they stop their running, make a dead
point, until our masters bag them for themselves. [_Nina returns.
Enter._] She's coming back. This time I'll poach a little for myself.
Fair lady, can I serve you? [_Nina stops, but turns away. Antonio
kneels._]
"Turn not away, fair angel, for since last
You bless'd my eyes, my thoughts have been on you;
For weeks I've follow'd, not daring to address you.
As I'm a bachelor, and free to wed,
Might I your favour gain, a life of tenderness,
To you, my love, I'd tender."
(_Aside._) I borrow'd that speech, excepting the last flourish, from my
master: but since he has used it like his cast-off clothes, 'tis mine by
custom. (_Aloud._) Will you not answer? I love you, madam, have loved
you long; and, by my soul! ne'er said so much before to any woman
breathing. [_Nina turns round and lifts her veil, Antonio turns away._]
(_Aside._) By all that's intolerable, my Toledo wife! (_Turning to
her._) Holy Saint Frances! It is, it is my wife!
_Nina._ Yes, sir, your injured, your deserted wife!
_Ant._ And are you still alive? then I am once more happy! (_Offers to
embrace her._)
_Nina._ Forbear! When was I dead, you wretch?
_Ant._ Why, Nina, I've a letter from Toledo, that states that you are
dead; you died a treble death, yourself and twins.
_Nina._ What?
_Ant._ Twins, my love, sweet pledges of affection. I've the letter in my
pocket; I've kept it there for months, pored over it for weeks, and
cried over it for days. (_Fumbles in his pocket._) Now I recollect it is
in the pocket of my gala suit. What an infamous forgery! Come to my
arms, my dear lamented, but now recovered wife!
_Nina._ Keep off, you wretch! What did you say just now? "I've loved you
long, and ne'er have said so much to any woman breathing."
_Ant._ Well, my love, no more I had, except to yourself; and you I
thought were dead. Why, my dearest Nina, it is a proof of my constancy.
When I first saw you, I said to myself "that is the only woman I ever
saw with a foot and ankle so pretty as my Nina's;" and the more I looked
at you, the more your sweet figure reminded me of yourself. In fact, it
was your likeness to yourself that created the first emotion in my
widowed heart. Had I fallen in love with anybody else, my dearest Nina,
you might have cause for anger; but I assert, to fall in love with my
own wife proves me a paragon of fidelity.
_Nina._ O, Lopez, could I but believe you!
[_Antonio turns away and takes out his handkerchief._] (_Aside._)
As my master says (_turning to Nina_),
"Lay bare my heart, my Nina, read each thought,
And there your image, deeply graven, find."
[_She turns away. He pretends to be much affected; at last she
embraces him._
_Ant._ (_Aside._) Into her arms and out of that scrape, thank my wits!
(_Aloud._) And now, my love, how long have you resided in this city?
_Nina._ But a few days. I serve the Donna Isidora. I was left behind in
sickness, at their country seat, some time ago, and but now have joined
her. Where have you been, my dear Lopez?
_Ant._ Wandering about everywhere and anywhere, a lost man, since I
heard of your loss;--yes, a miserable man. But of that hereafter. What
seek you now?
_Nina._ The lacquey of Don Gaspar, called Antonio;--can you assist me,
as I am in haste?
_Ant._ Why yes, I think I can. Behold him here; I am that same Antonio,
and, for my sins, Don Gaspar's lacquey.
_Nina_ (_walking away angrily_). It was convenient, perhaps, for you to
change your name. You are Antonio, indeed!
_Ant._ No, my dear wife; but it made me feel more happy (_placing his
arm round her waist_). You used to call me Lopez; dearest Lopez; and
when I thought you dead, the very name, when summoned by my masters,
reminded me of your dear self. I could not bear it; so I changed my
name.
_Nina._ Dear Lopez! And do you really tell the truth? [_Antonio kisses
her._]
_Enter Beppa._
_Ant._ By this kiss I do!
_Bep._ (_aside_). So, so, good husband! I have long suspected this. I'll
watch your motions.
_Nina._ Well then, dear Lopez, you must give this letter to your master.
He must not fail to-night. When shall I see you?
_Ant._ This night, if possible, there shall be more than one love-tale,
my Nina. [_Exit Nina._
[_Beppa, who has gradually advanced, boxes Antonio's ears._
_Bep._ "There shall be more than one love-tale, my Nina." And this hand
shall tell another tale (_striking again_), thou base villain!
_Ant._ (_escaping from her, rubbing his ears_). O Lord! for tail read
head. (_Aside._) This it is to have two wives. (_Aloud._) Why, Beppa,
are you mad? How can I help it?
_Bep._ How can you help it!
_Ant._ Yes, how can I help it? I must obey my orders.
_Bep._ Obey your orders!
_Ant._ Yes, obey my orders, or lose my place. My master, who is amusing
himself with a young lady, says to me, "Antonio, that servant girl hangs
about much in my way, you must make love to her."
_Bep._ Make love to her!
_Ant._ Yes, make love to her. "I'll be hanged if I do," says I, thinking
of my own sweet little Beppa. "Then you will be starved if you don't,"
said he. And as I found that he did not mean to be in earnest, I thought
that there could be no harm in a little by-play.
_Bep._ By-play!
_Ant._ Yes, by-play. Well, I refused long, for it went against my
conscience. Then he took this purse of ten moidores, and said, "Refuse
me, and quit my service. Consent, and take this purse; the money will
support your wife."
_Bep._ (_snatching the purse_). Now, am I to believe this?
_Ant._ Believe it! why, have you not the proofs? How should I possess
ten moidores? Money is not to be had for nothing now-a-days. I meant to
have told you all, but have not seen you since.
_Bep._ She called you Lopez?
_Ant._ She did. I would not give my name. No other shall call me "Dear
Antonio," excepting my own true lawful wife!
_Bep._ (_turning away with indifference, and putting the purse in her
pocket_). Well, allowing all this to be true, and that's of no great
importance, what a villain is your master, sir, to pay his court unto
another, when he vows fidelity to my mistress, Donna Serafina!
_Ant._ Upon my honour, I've enough to do to defend myself; though I must
confess that his conduct is infamous.
_Bep._ I'll to my mistress, and make known his treachery? [_Going._
_Ant._ Do no such thing! Bad news, though true, is never paid for; but
the purse opens when the tidings please, although they're false
as----(_points down below_). What's your message?
_Bep._ My mistress dies to see him.
_Ant._ Tell her he'll come to-morrow evening. He said as much when last
I saw him.
_Bep._ When last you saw him! Is he not here?
_Ant._ He's here, and there, and everywhere, and nowhere.
_Bep._ Where is he now?
_Ant._ That I don't know; but not here, that's certain.
[_Window opens, Gaspar calls loudly from within window--_
_Gasp._ Antonio!
_Ant._ Santa Maria! Yes, sir.
_Gasp._ Go to Castanos, and see if my guitar be strung.
_Ant._ Now, how did he get there? Beppa, I must off. Remember my advice!
_Bep._ (_scornfully_). I will. Good-by, Mr By-Play. [_Exit Beppa._
_Ant._ (_looking up_). How the devil did he get there, if not by the
help of the devil! For it was not by the help of the door, I'll swear.
To-morrow I'll confess--that's certain. [_Exit Antonio._
_Scene III._
_Moonlight.--A garden belonging to the house of Donna Inez.--A balcony
looking into the garden.--Donna Isidora and Nina discovered on balcony._
_Isid._ He comes not yet.
_Nina._ Senora, 'tis not time.
_Isid._ 'Tis more than time; I heard the convent bell
Strike long ago.
_Nina._ 'Twas not the hour of night, but the sad toll
Announcing some high obsequy.
_Isid._ Yet, still, 'tis time he came.
_Nina._ And here he would have been, but you forget
You chided him for venturing so early.
Your aunt had not retired when last he came.
_Isid._ He does not wish to come,--I will not see him. Tell him my
resolution. [_Exit, petulantly, Nina following._
_Enter Gaspar, in the dress of a cavalier._
I overheard her vented thoughts, poor girl!
She counts the minutes by her throbbing heart,
And that beats time too fast.
Now will she hang her head, and weep awhile.
Like flow'rets waiting for the morning sun,
That raise their mournful heads at his approach,
And every dew-drop, like a diamond, glistens,
While they exhale sweet perfume in their joy,--
So at our meeting, smiling through her tears,
Will she appear more fresh and beautiful!
[_Re-enter Isidora and Nina. As they appear, Gaspar retires._
_Isid._ The moon's so bright, that faintly you discover
The little stars which stud th' unclouded heav'n;
The wind but scarcely moves the trembling aspen,
And not a sound breaks through the still of night.
All Nature's hush'd; and every passion lull'd,
Save love, or fierce revenge. Is this a night
To stay away, false, yet loved Don Gaspar?
_Nina._ Be patient, lady, he will soon be here.
_Isid._ He cannot sure be false.
Perchance some danger hangs upon his steps;
Men are so envious of the fair and good.
_Nina_ (_looking_). Senora, look; I see him in the distance.
_Isid._ He comes! Where, Nina? O yes! that is he.
Well, now, I'll tease him. Nina, quickly in;
I vow I will not show myself this night. [_Exit Isidora._
_Nina._ I wish I had ten ducats on the hazard. [_Exit Nina._
[_Gaspar sings to his guitar without._
_Song (mournful strain)._
"The mocking moon doth coldly fling
Her rays upon my breast of flame,
And echo mocks me as I sing.
O my guitar! to thee what shame!
She answers not, though thy best string
Is loudly hymning forth her name.
Isidora! Isidora!"
[_Isidora appears at the balcony._
(_A livelier strain._)
"No more the moon doth mock me now;
Her bright rays glad my breast of flame,
And echo, beautiful art thou!
O my guitar! to thee no shame!
She comes! love throned upon her brow!
My strings hymn forth once more her name!
Isidora! Isidora!"
_Enter Gaspar, who approaches balcony._
_Isid._ Why hast thou staid so late? Did but the moon
Turn on my anxious features her soft rays,
Thou wouldst perceive how fretfulness and tears
Have doubled every minute of thine absence.
_Gasp._ And would 'twere day, that thou, sweet love, mightst see
The fervid passion stamp'd upon my brow.
I dared not disobey thy late command;
Yet, did I fret, and champ the bit of duty,
Like some proud battle steed arching his neck,
Spurning the earth, impatient for the fray.
So my young heart throbs with its new delight,
That it e'en now would burst its cords asunder,
And make one joyous bound into thy bosom.
_Isid._ Say, Gaspar, dost thou fondly, truly, love me?
_Gasp._ Do I love thee, Isidora?
If it were not for thee, sweet love,
The world would be a blank, and this existence
A dreary void, I would not stumble through;
But having thee, a paradise it is,
So full of perfumed airs and flow'rets sweet,
I would resist the angel's flaming sword,
If it were raised between our plighted loves,
Ere I would be from thy loved presence thrust.
Thou art the heav'n of my idolatry!
For thee I live and move,--for thee I breathe;
For thee and for thy love, if thou knew'st all----
_Isid._ I would know all--there's mystery about thee!
Gaspar, thine image here's so deeply graven,
That nought can e'er efface it. Trust me, then, love,
As I would thee. There's not a thought I own,
No, not a fond emotion of my soul,--
Not e'en the slightest ripple o'er the mind,
When calm and pensive as it used to be,
But I would tell it thee.
O couldst thou view my heart, and see thyself
So firmly master of its deep recesses,
Thou wouldst be confident.
If thou shouldst be ignoble, fear not me,
Love shall draw out thy patent of descent,
And trace thy ancestry to more than mortal.
If thou hast hated, and hast found revenge,
Yet fear not me, dear Gaspar.
Whate'er priests say, it is a noble passion,
And holds an empire in the heart of man,
Equal in strength and dignity with love.
Be it a tale of sorrow or of crime,
(O say 'tis not the last!) still let me share it,
That I may comfort thee whene'er we meet,
And mourn it only when I grieve thine absence.
_Gasp._ My Isidora, oft thou'st press'd me thus;
Since thou wilt hear it, then, it shall be told;
But one sad chance, most fatal to us both,
Is fetter'd to it.
_Isid._ And what is that, my Gaspar?
_Gasp._ That once reveal'd, we ne'er may meet again.
_Isid._ Then I'll not hear't. Away with prying thoughts
So fraught with mischief! Not to see thee more!
Then might the angel pour the vial out,
That vial of fierce wrath which is to quench
The sun, the moon, the host of stars, in blood!
Not see thee more! then may they work my shroud,
And cull the flowers to strew my maiden corpse.
Without thee, Gaspar, I should surely die!
Wert thou the ruler of the universe,
Commanding all, I could not love thee more!
Wert thou a branded slave from bondage 'scap'd,--
'Tis now too late,--I could not love thee less!
_Gasp._ (_aside_). One soul so pure redeems a world of sin!
Thou Heav'n that I have mock'd, O hear me now,
And spare! let her not feel the bitter pangs
Of disappointed love! Draw the barb gently,
That she may sigh her soul away, and sleep
Throughout her passage to a better world!
_Isid._ What say'st thou, Gaspar!
_Gasp._ I call'd down blessings, loveliest, on thy head.
Heav'n grant my prayers!
_Isid._ I, too, have pray'd for thee, and will again!
But speak to me. Why didst thou come so late?
How short, methinks, are nights. There's hardly time
For those who've toil'd, to gain their needful rest,--
For those who wake, to whisper half their love.
_Gasp._ Night is our day, and day becomes our night;
Love changes all, o'er nature rules supreme;
Alters her seasons, mocks her wisest laws,
And, like the prophet, checks the planet's course.
But from this world of hate, the night has fled,
And I must hie me hence. O Isidora!
Though my seeming's doubtful, yet remember,
'Tis true as Heaven, I love thee!
_Isid._ I'm sure thou dost, and feeling thus assured,
I am content.
_Enter Nina, hastily, from balcony._
_Nina._ Madam, the lady Inez pass'd your door,
And, passing, tried the bolt, e'en now I hear
Her footsteps in the corridor.
_Isid._ We must away, dear Gaspar. Fare thee well!
Nina shall tell thee when we next can meet.
[_Exit Isidora and Nina at balcony._
_Gasp._ So parts the miser from his hoarded wealth,
And eyes the casket when the keys are turn'd.
I must away.
The world e'en now awakes, and the wan moon
(Like some tired sentinel, his vigil o'er)
Sinks down beneath yon trees. The morning mist
Already seeks the skies, ascending straight,
Like infant's prayers, or souls of holy martyrs.
I must away.
The world will not revolve another hour,
Ere hives of men will pour their millions forth,
To seek their food by labour, or supply
Their wants by plunder, flattery, or deceit.
Avarice again will count the dream'd-of hoards,
Envy and Rancour stab, whilst sobbing Charity
Will bind the fest'ring wounds that they have giv'n.
The world of sin and selfishness awakes
Once more, to swell its catalogue of crime,
So monstrous that it wearies patient Heav'n.
I must away. [_Exit._
_Act II. Scene I._
_The street before Anselmo's lodgings._
_Enter Antonio._
If ever fortune played me a jade's trick, 'twas when she brought my
wives to Seville. So far have I contrived to keep them separate; but
should they meet, they'll talk; and then, woe to that most interesting
of all subjects, myself! I am sure to be discovered. Why, in half an
hour, their rapid tongues would range o'er half the creation. Now, Beppa
is my first wife, and, like all other first choices, the worst. There's
vengeance in her, and she'll apply to the authorities; then must I to
the galleys. Who wants a wife? I have one--aye two--to dispose of. Here
comes a fool I trifle with. (_Enter Sancho._) So, comrade, what's your
business now? (_Mimicking him._) Saint Petronila! you are a faithful
servant, ever stirring to do your master's pleasure.
_San._ 'Tis not his pleasure that I am upon--it is my own: I go to Donna
Isidora's.
_Ant._ What dost thou there?
_San._ (_affectedly_). I please a damsel, and she pleases me.
_Ant._ I do not wonder at it. Barring a certain too intelligent look
that thou hast, thou art a pretty fellow, and made to charm the ladies.
Who is this damsel of your choice?
_San._ You'll keep my secret?
_Ant._ As faithfully as I do all others.
_San._ It is the maid of Donna Isidora. I knew her at Toledo, and for
years kept her company. During my absence,--Saint Petronila strike him
with the leprosy!--a certain Lopez, a dirty, shuffling, addle-pated
knave, stepped in between us, and married her. She took the poor fool
purely through pique, because I did not write to her; and the holy saint
knows I had not then learned.
_Ant._ (_aside_). Now would I beat his pate, but that I think the fool
may assist me out of my difficulties. (_Aloud._) What! love a married
woman! For shame, Sancho! I had thought better of you.
_San._ I loved her years before she married; and since the marriage, her
husband has deserted her, and I have met her often. Nina, for that's her
name, has often told me how much she repented of her marriage with the
fellow; and could I prove that he were dead, she'd marry me, Saint
Petronila directing her, and make a wiser choice in second wedlock.
_Ant._ (_aside_). The cockatrice. (_Aloud._) Sancho, I knew this Lopez.
He is not quite the person you describe; but never mind. Yesterday, he
came to Seville, and told me how much surprised he was to find his wife
here.
_San._ Then he's come back. Saint Petronila aid me! how unfortunate!
_Ant._ (_musing aside_). I have it! (_Aloud._) Sancho, we have ever been
the best of friends. I respect you much. I have most joyful tidings for
you, and, if you will be counselled by me, Nina is yours.
_San._ Indeed! I can't see how. I think I had a better chance before.
_Ant._ Tut, man! you've now a certainty. Sancho, your ear--Lopez is
_dead_!
_San._ The scoundrel dead! My dear Antonio (_embracing him_), I thank
you for the news, and so will Nina too. But can you prove it?
_Ant._ I can, but in strict confidence. Pledge me your word you never
will divulge, not even to Nina, what I now confide; for the women have
the power to sap the stoutest resolution. Swear on your knees.
_San._ (_kneeling_). I swear by Petronila, my adopted saint.
_Ant._ Well, then, this Lopez was a noisy braggadocio. Last night we had
some words whilst waiting near the gate of Donna Serafina. From words we
came to weapons, and, by a lucky thrust, I sent his prying soul the
devil knows where. His body I secreted in the garden.
_San._ I envy you. Would he were alive again, that I might kill him too,
my guardian saint assisting! I should be the better welcome.
_Ant._ Indeed!
_San._ Not that it matters; I am convinced she loves me well. I'll to
her straight, and with these welcome tidings make her right happy.
_Ant._ Not quite so fast. When that you tell her, she will ask for
proofs, and from whence you had your information.
_San._ Why, that is true; and she'll never rest till she worms the
secret from me: Saint Petronila, lock my breast!
_Ant._ Therefore, Sancho, it must appear as if there was no secret. Tell
her 'twas by your hand that Lopez fell; I am content that you shall have
with her all the credit of the deed. She'll love you better.
_San._ Why, so she will. My dear Antonio, you are like my holy saint, a
friend indeed!
_Ant._ If she doubts the fact, you'll come to me. I'll give you proofs
most positive.
_San._ Thanks--thanks!
_Ant._ Now take advice. Women, like eels, are rather slippery; already
she has once slipped through your fingers. Their minds are weathercocks,
and there's wind always blowing. Press her, then, hard, and marry her
at once.
_San._ I will, I will. Thanks, dear Antonio!--Saint Petronila will
reward you.
_Ant._ I risk much to serve you. You'll meet me here to-night. I must
now to confess this heavy deed. You'll come.
_San._ I will--addio! [_Exit._
_Ant._ So, so the fondling, ever coaxing Nina
Loves this soft fool, and wishes I were dead.
I did think better of her.
We men deceive, 'tis true; but still no longer
Keep on the mask, when we've our purpose gain'd.
With us 'tis tiresome; but with the women,
'Tis ne'er removed; for mask'd they live and die! [_Exit._
_Scene II._
_The Monastery._
_Gaspar, as Anselmo, enters with Jacobo._
_Jac._ Twice hath the brother Manuel sought for you;
He came from the Superior.
_Gasp._ You told him I was absent?
_Jac._ I did, and also where you might be found.
They sent a messenger, who soon return'd,
Declaring there thou hadst not been to-day.
_Gasp._ Truly, I had forgotten 'twas the day
That I with Don Baltasar did appoint.
'Twas thus my treach'rous memory did beget
This chapter of cross purposes. [_Bell without._
_Jac._ Someone rings.
That jingling bell pursues me unto death;
In faith, this porter's is a tedious office. [_Exit._
_Gasp._ More tedious still the wearing of the knees
Upon this pavement. I am weary of it.
_Enter Jacobo, with Antonio._
_Jac._ One who inquires for thee, Anselmo,
Who would confess.
_Gasp._ (_Takes a confessional chair._) I know the man:
Jacobo, leave us. [_Exit Jacobo._
My son, we are alone; now thou may'st profit
By holy rite, and on thy bended knees
Pour out thy soul to me in deep contrition.
Hast thou perform'd the penance I enjoin'd
For the sad stumblings thou did'st last confess?
_Ant._ I have, most holy father, to my belief
Obey'd thy strict injunction.
I have so much to think of for my master,
My thoughts are scarce mine own;
Still do I often call upon the saints.
_Gasp._ I trust thou dost--and not as I have heard
That worldlings do, invoke them in mere blasphemy.
_Ant._ Nay, father, when I call, I am sincere.
_Gasp._ Thou dost evade, I fear, with double meaning.
But to the purpose--by what sins hast thou,
Since last we met, endanger'd thy poor soul?
_Ant._ Father, my mind is ill at ease. I serve
A master most equivocal--a false one
In all he says and does; in love--in everything.
I know not what to think. He's here and there--
In fact, I do believe he is--the devil.
_Gasp._ Give me the grounds for this thy strange suspicion.
_Ant._ He keeps his chamber lock'd, his haunts unknown.
He comes when least expected. How he comes
I cannot tell. He goes, and Heaven knows where.
I ne'er can make him out with all my prying.
_Gasp._ It would appear thy master doth not trust thee.
Why should'st thou watch, and seek to find out that
He would conceal? This base prying nature
Is a dark sin, and must be check'd by penance.
Hast thou no more?
_Ant._ Yes, father, I've a grievous fault to tell;
One that I'm fearful thou wilt much abhor--
An accident, 'tis true, and most unlucky--
I have two wives in Seville.
_Gasp._ Two wives! Thou hast profaned the holy rite!
What! wedded twice! and say 'twas accident!
_Ant._ An accident--they both have come to Seville.
_Gasp._ It is a heinous sin--one that demands
Justice on earth; scarce pardon claims from Heaven.
Two wives! How long hast thou thus lived in sin?
_Ant._ 'Tis now three years since I did wed the second!
I had forgot, my memory is so bad,
I wedded was before--till yesterday,
I chanced to meet with both of them in Seville.
_Gasp._ Thy memory's most convenient, but the law
Will not o'erlook thy crime when it is known.
_Ant._ We'll leave it to the law, then, please thee, father.
The sin is one that carries its own penance.
_Gasp._ How could'st thou venture on so foul a deed?
_Ant._ Example, holy father! bad example.
It is our masters who do ruin us.
My present one, for instance, loves two ladies,
And woos them both. Sad reprobate he is!
_Gasp._ Another's fault can't sanctify thine own,
Else all th' ordinances of our church were useless;
Thou art more knave than fool, Antonio,
And yet made up of both. For this thy crime
I have no absolution. Haste thee hence,
And tremble at thy state of sad perdition! [_Exit Gaspar._
_Ant. (looking after him_). More knave than fool!--why, yes, that's
true. What a scurvy fellow! No absolution! I shall take the liberty of
changing my confessor. So, good sir, I give you your warning. Must not
pry either! Does he not pry into my conscience as far as he can? Why,
his whole life is a life of prying!--I have no opinion of these monks!
They're no better than they should be. The law must take its
course--there's the mischief. Let me only contrive to get out of its
clutches now, and I'll take my chance for getting out of the devil's
hereafter! [_Exit._
_Scene III._
_A Street in Seville._
_Enter Felix and Perez, meeting._
_Felix._ Perez, well met; I hoped to find you. Have you discovered who
your rival may be? and what answer have you gained from Donna Serafina
to your most urgent pleadings?
_Perez._ Confusion light upon her! She hath returned my letter without
opening it; and sent a request that I will desist from useless
persecution. Beppa, her confidante, I have contrived to parley with; and
what with bribes and much entreaty, I have ascertained that this Don
Gaspar _is_ the rival who supplants me.
_Felix._ I doubt it, Perez--doubt it much. I, too, have gained some
information from Sancho, who associates much with one Nina, Isidora's
favoured woman. From this source I've learned that this Don Gaspar is
her favoured cavalier, and that last night they had a meeting.
_Perez._ Yet I am sure my knowledge is correct, and that the Donna
Serafina grants him those favours which I consider are but due to me.
_Felix._ Why, what a conscientious cavalier is this, who thus
monopolises all our beauties! I fain would see him. What is he like? His
properties must be wondrous indeed. Where is he to be met?
_Perez._ He often passes this way to the Prado. I wish to meet him also,
but not in courtesy. Indeed! see, here he comes!
[_Enter Don Gaspar and as he would pass by, Perez steps before him.
Gaspar moves on one side and Perez again intercepts him._
_Gasp._ Don Perez, at first I imagined this was accident, but now your
conduct will admit no such interpretation. Do you dispute my passage?
_Perez._ I do--until we have had some little parley.
_Gasp._ Then, sir, your parley. Be brief. Indeed, I know not what there
is between us that demands it.
_Perez._ I believe, Don Gaspar, that you woo a lady.
_Gasp._ 'Tis not impossible.
_Perez._ You will oblige me if you cease to woo.
_Gasp._ Don Perez, I never brook affront. What has already passed
demands a deadly meeting. But to reply to your strange request, who is
the lady I am commanded not to woo, and upon what grounds?
_Perez._ The lady is the Donna Serafina--I grant a fickle, yet a lovely
one. You call yourself Don Gaspar. Who is this Don Gaspar that ruffles
thus with our nobility? Detail your ancestry and lineage. Of what family
are you? Where are your possessions? show me the patent of your descent
or else----
_Gasp._ Or else, Don Perez?
_Perez._ I publish you through Seville!
_Gasp._ Then do it quickly; you've no time to lose. First let me tell
you, sir, that had not reasons, and those the most cogent ones, forced
me to hide my quality, I had not so long submitted to the doubts which
are abroad. Still my secret is mine own and shall remain so. Who and
what I am, Don Perez, you shall never know. You have not long to live;
and now, sir, let me pass. We meet again when least you wish it.
_Felix._ Perez, indeed you are to blame. Don Gaspar has the right of
every man to wear the incognito, either from choice or from necessity.
He has never intruded on your company, bears himself correctly, and
wears the form and stamp of true nobility. Thus much in justice must I
say. If you must quarrel let your cause be good.
_Gasp._ Sir, I thank you (_bowing to Don Felix_).
_Perez._ Still do I hold my words, and challenge him impostor!
_Gasp._ Did you retract them it would not avail. But time is pressing,
and I cannot wait.
_Perez._ When do we meet again?
_Gasp._ I said before, when least you wish it. (_To Don Felix_) Signor,
farewell! [_Exit Gaspar._
_Perez._ By heavens! I hold him craven! Do you think that I shall hear
from him?
_Felix._ Hear from him! I saw no signs of fear, but much of rage, and
that but ill suppressed. In faith he is a noble cavalier! You'll hear,
and see, and suffer from him too, or I mistake.
_Perez._ What did he say? when least I wished it?
_Felix._ Those were his words.
_Perez._ They're pregnant with some meaning.
_Felix._ No doubt--we'll ravel out this mystery as we walk. Come to the
Prado: this smiling day will bring the fair ones forth. Come, come!
[_Exeunt._
_Scene IV._
_A Street before Anselmo's Lodgings._
_Enter Antonio._
What with the messages from my master's two mistresses, I am not a
little puzzled to keep my two wives apart. I have spread a report of my
absence by another channel, which will reach Nina; and, unless she comes
for my effects, which Beppa surely would, there is no fear. Now must I
wait for Sancho.
_Enter Beppa._
_Bep._ One is as sure to find you standing here, as to find the figure
of our lady in the church.
_Ant._ I wish the likeness went further, and that the same presents were
offered to me. I should be rich.
_Bep._ You will never be rich. You are not honest.
_Ant._ It is my poverty has made me otherwise.
_Bep._ And while you are otherwise you will be poor. You shut the only
gate by which riches can enter.
_Ant._ And yet, good wife, I have occasionally seen great rogues amass
great wealth.
_Bep._ Castles built upon the sand, without a good foundation!--a pile
of industry heaped up in vain. But I have known you long, and it is
useless to reason with you.
_Ant._ Pray, may I ask, what has made you in such a sermonising humour
to-day?
_Bep._ No; but you may hear why I am come to you. I am sent to know if
your rogue of a master comes to my lady to-night.
_Ant._ He does, to the best of my knowledge, and belief.
_Enter Sancho._
_Ant._ Sancho, I have been waiting for you (_to Sancho aside_). I'll
speak to you directly (_pointing to Beppa_).
_Bep._ I'm sure there is mischief. I'll stay to plague him.
_Ant._ Well, Beppa, you have your answer, and I have no doubt but Donna
Serafina is impatient.
_Bep._ She may be: but, Antonio, I want to put a question to you, now
that I am here; who is that girl with whom I caught you the other
day,--that Nina!
_San._ Saint Petronila! caught him with Nina? Why he's a married man and
your husband.
_Bep._ I know he is, to my misfortune. Yet still he makes love to other
women. I caught him kissing her.
_Ant._ (_aside_). Confound her!
_San._ Kissing her! (_To Antonio_) Your most obedient! Then I understand
why you fought her husband.
_Bep._ Fought her husband did you say?
_San._ Yes, and killed him--a dirty rascal, whose name was----
_Ant._ (_putting his hand on Sancho's mouth_). Your honour, Sancho!
recollect your oath!
_San._ I had forgotten. Saint Petronila, refresh my memory! But this
requires some little explanation.
_Ant._ And you shall have it, but not now. All's right.
_San._ All's right?
_Ant._ (_aside to Sancho_). Yes--this woman's jealous of her. As soon as
she is gone I will explain the whole.
_Bep._ (_aside_). Now are there knavish tricks in practice. (_Aloud_)
You know this Nina--this girl of his?
_San._ Why, yes--I know the woman.
_Bep._ Then if you do, tell her she's a shameless wanton, thus to seduce
a married man, and that Antonio's wife will spoil her beauty if she come
across her. You understand me?
_San._ Why, yes; it is very plain, by Saint Petronila!
_Bep._ Husband, farewell. I trust you'll mend your ways. [_Exit Beppa._
_Ant._ Cursed jealous cockatrice! Why, Sancho, you are serious.
_San._ Why, yes, a little. I thought you were my friend, but if you are
only doing a friendly act for Nina in getting her a husband----
_Ant._ My dear Sancho, I'll explain it all. Nina is virtuous. It was her
husband that she kissed, and this alone has made that woman jealous.
_San._ Why should she be jealous of Nina's kissing her own husband?
_Ant._ Because that husband had my livery on; and Beppa swears 'twas I.
When Lopez arrived here he wanted a situation, but his clothes were so
shabby, he could not offer himself to any gentleman. I lent him a suit
of mine, a very good one too, and yet the wretch had the ingratitude to
quarrel with me, although dressed in my clothes. They are on his body
now. When he met his wife he kissed her, and Beppa, who was passing by,
thought it was I; and this is the whole mystery. You can ask Nina how
her husband was dressed when she met him, and her answer will prove the
truth of what I say. Only, you must not mention a word of me or of
Beppa. I hope you're satisfied.
_San._ Why, yes--it seems the truth.
_Ant._ Well, now, Sancho, let me know how Nina received the news of her
husband's death.
_San._ Women are strange creatures! Would you believe it? When I told
his death--Saint Petronila, be merciful to me!--although she always
disliked him, she cried and sobbed most bitterly; and when I would have
consoled her she pushed me--yes, me, Sancho, away! Saint Petronila!
_Ant._ I almost repent of my scheme. I wish it had been Beppa that the
fool fancied.
_San._ But this did not last above ten minutes. She then wiped her eyes,
and suffered me to kiss her.
_Ant._ So soon--confound her! He shall have her (_aside_).
_San._ O more than that: when she became more tranquil she smiled--hi,
hi, hi! by the lips of the holy saint, she did!
_Ant._ (_aside_). The Jezebel! (_Aloud_) But, Sancho, was she quite
satisfied with your assertion of his being killed?
_San._ No; she said she must have more proof, that there might be no
mistake; for, as she truly observed, it would be an awkward thing to
have two husbands.
_Ant._ (_aside_). It is to have two wives. (_Aloud_) Sancho, proceed.
_San._ I followed your advice, and told her 'twas by my hand that Lopez
fell--Saint Petronila pardon me the lie.
_Ant._ What said she then?
_San._ Why, at first, she repulsed; but then remembering that second
thoughts as well as second husbands were the best, she dried her eyes,
and was content; don't you see how fresh I am with the joy?
_Ant._ (_aside and looking contemptuously on Sancho_). Confound him!
_San._ What say you?
_Ant._ That you're a happy man. Did you press her hard to marry you at
once, as I advised you?
_San._ I did, and at last she promised, as soon as she had seen her
husband dead, to marry me immediately.
_Ant._ Now, Sancho, I will be your friend. Of course I must not appear
in this, nor must my name be mentioned. But if to-morrow at dusk will
suit you, I'll drag his body from the place where I concealed it, and
lay it in the path which leads to the summer house--you know where I
mean, just where the row of tall chestnut trees----