Isadora's maid, you are her husband; and this I also know, from your own
mouth, you are married to Beppa.
_Ant._ There's some mistake, sir; for Nina is married to one whose name
is Lopez. I cannot, sure, be he!
_Gasp._ If I can be both monk and cavalier, as you assert, why may not
you be Lopez and Antonio? A name is changed as easily as a garment. But
in your face I read conviction; I'm certain you have two wives!
_Ant._ It must be as you please, sir. Perhaps I may have confessed as
much to you as a holy monk.
_Gasp._ (_Laughs._) When did you ever meet me in a church?
_Ant._ I do not say I have, sir; but then your knowledge is so certain.
_Gasp._ Suppose, then, that I know your secrets, thou wilt surely not
reveal mine. There's for thine intelligence. (_Throws him a purse._)
_Ant._ May Heaven preserve my gracious master!
_Gasp._ This night must I to Donna Serafina's.
_Ant._ Will you, then, venture forth?
_Gasp._ Yes, I'll robe myself as holy monk. They dare not strike, even
though they have suspicion. You may go. I shall not return to-night.
[_Exit Antonio._
Scoundrel!--he is too cunning to believe me--
Yet still I have the secret of his wives.
(_Muses._) This night I have discover'd the base Perez
Again essays his most inconstant fair,
Blind as inconstant. She rejected me
When, as Friar Anselmo teaching music,
I offer'd her--'tis true, unholy love;
And I by Perez was thrust out with shame,
Spurn'd with contumely as the door was closed,
With threats if ever I appear'd again,
To blazon forth my impious attempt, and--
Yet did she cozen me with melting eyes,
And first roused up the demon in my breast,
Then laugh'd in malice.----I hate her for it!
Now as Don Gaspar, I've supplanted him,
Pride and revenge, not love, impelling me;
These gratified, I would shake off a chain
Which now, in amorous violence, she'd rivet.
Further, Don Perez, in his jealous mood,
Has as Don Gaspar braved me. They shall find,
I hold life cheap when I would have revenge! [_Exit._
_Scene IV._
_A garden near the house of Donna Serafina, which is in the back of the
scene.--A balcony.--Enter Gaspar in a friar's dress, over that of a
cavalier._
I pass'd them, and they bow'd unto my blessing.
Why, what a world of treachery is this!
Who would imagine that this holy robe,
Professing but humility and love,
Conceal'd the cavalier, swelling in pride,
Seeking revenge, and thirsting for hot blood?
Off with this first disguise! (_Throws off friar's gown._)
What then appears?
A fair proportion, more deceiving still.
----In holy garb I fret within my cell,
Sigh for the joyous world I have renounced,
And spurn the creed which hath immured me there.
When like the chrysalis I 'scape my prison,
And range a free and garish butterfly,
I find the world so hollow, base, and vile,
That, in my mood, I hasten back once more,
With thoughts of never wand'ring forth again,
But, see,--Don Perez comes. I will retire.
[_Gaspar withdraws._
_Enter Perez._
_Perez._ Fool that I am! like some robb'd bird to hover
About the nest that's void. Her heart's not mine.
'Tis now three moons that I have sued in vain;
Her casement closed by night, her door by day.
O woman, woman! thy mysterious power
Chains the whole world, and men are nought but slaves
Unto the potent talisman--
If man prove false and treach'rous, he is spurn'd,
Contemn'd, and punish'd with resentment just.
To woman faithless still we kneel and sue,
For that return our reason holds as worthless.
Well! this shall be my last--for, by yon moon,
So oft a witness to my fervent vows,
So true an emblem of inconstant beauty,
This night I woo her back, or woo no more.
[_Retires; sings to his guitar, unseen; or beckons on chorus._
Ere lady that you close in sleep
Those eyes that I would die to view,
Think, think on mine that watch and weep,
And on my heart that breaks for you!
The sun does not disdain to turn,
And on the meanest weed to shine,
That scorch'd up dies, and seems to burn
With love, as hopelessly as mine.
One look--one word--hear, hear my call!
O cruel! can you still deny
One look,--though it in scorn should fall?
One word,--although it bid me die?
_Perez, coming forward, looking up at the window after pause._
She will not hear, nor bless me with her sight!
_Enter Gaspar in cavalier's dress._
_Gasp._ Well met, Don Perez. Thus I keep my word.
And "when you least do wish it," I am here.
Was it well done to send out hired stilettos
When you had challenged me to measure swords?
_Perez_ (_aside_). The scoundrels then have miss'd him!
(_Aloud._) Know, Don Gaspar,
I do not deem thee worthy of my steel.
But, as we meet--'tis well--defend thyself! (_Draws._)
_Gasp._ Defend _thyself_, Don Perez! Thy best might
And skill befriend thee,--else thy life is nought!
(_They fight round. Don Perez falls._)
_Perez._ I'm slain! Don Gaspar, or whoe'er thou art,
If thou have Christian charity, seek out
Some holy man. (_Gaspar retires._) He's gone!
[_Gaspar, with friar's gown and hood on, returns to Don Perez._
_Gasp._ Look up, Don Perez! Knowest thou this form?
Thou dost require some holy man to shrive thee,
Ere thou pass away.----Don Perez, answer!
Know'st thou this form,--these features?
_Perez._ Thou art the Friar Anselmo. I have wrong'd thee,
And ask forgiveness. O then pardon me!
And, as thou hop'st t' enjoy eternal life,
Feel no resentment 'gainst a dying man!
(_Faintly._) Shrive me, good father, for I'm sinking fast.
Yon stream of blood will not creep on its course
Another foot, ere I shall be no more.
_Gasp._ Thou saw'st Anselmo. Now raise up thine eyes,
(_Throws off his disguise._)
And see Don Gaspar! who has just reveng'd
The wrongs inflicted on the spurn'd at monk.
_Perez._ Whoe'er thou art, mysterious, awful being!
At least be satisfied with thy revenge.
If thou art holy, shrive me!
_Gasp._ I am a monk, and yet not holy (_putting on gown,
and folding his arms_).
_Perez._ If thou art a monk by vows, thou'rt holy.
'Tis not my blood that's now upon thy hand,
And shall hereafter be upon thy soul,
Which makes thee less so: thou'rt but an instrument.
I pray thee, shrive me, that my guilty soul
May quit in peace this tenement of clay.
_Gasp._ Does he not speak the truth? Tell me, my heart,
I think--I feel----I can forgive him now!
[_Gaspar takes out his crucifix, returns to Don Perez,
and, kneeling, presents it to him. Perez kisses
the crucifix, and falls back dead. Gaspar remains
hanging over him._
_Don Felix_ (_without_). What hoa!
_Enter Don Felix with servants bearing torches._
_Gasp._ (_still kneeling by the body_). Who calls?
_Felix._ We seek Don Perez, who this way did bend
His steps some hours ago; and not returning
At th' appointed time, we fear some mischief
Hath befallen him.
_Gasp._ Behold then here the body of some gallant,
Whose face I know not. As I pass'd this way
I heard the clash of high and fierce contention,
And when I came, this most unhappy man
Lay breathing here his last. I shrived him,
And he since has died.
_Felix._ It is Don Perez. Holy father, saw you
The other party in the contest?
_Gasp._ Save that a manly figure flitted by,
And vanish'd in the shadow of yon trees.
_Felix._ Raise up the corpse, and bear it to my house.
This bloody work, Don Gaspar, must be thine!
Perez, thou hear'st me not! but, by this sword,
I will revenge thy death!
[_Exit Don Felix and servants carrying body._
_Gasp._ Thus far have I escaped suspicion--
Now will I to the monastery.
[_Casement opens, and Donna Serafina appears at window._]
_Ser._ Who's there?
_Gasp._ (_aside_). I had forgotten her.
_Ser._ Who's there?
_Gasp._ A father of the neighbouring monastery,
Attracted hither by the clash of swords,
And but in time to shrive a dying man.
_Ser._ Good father, didst thou hear the names of those
Who were engaged?
_Gasp._ Not of the murderer, who has escaped.
The one whose body has been borne away,
Was call'd----Don Gaspar.
_Ser._ Don Gaspar! Father, surely thou mistak'st?
It was the other cavalier who fell.
_Gasp._ The words of dying men are those of truth;
He call'd himself Don Gaspar, and he begg'd
I would take off his scarf, and, with his love,
Bear it to Donna Serafina.
_Ser._ Then it is true--and I am lost for ever!
Father, recall those words, those dreadful words!
Say 'twas not Don Gaspar, and I'll load
Thy monastery with the wealth of India.
Its shrines shall blaze with gold and precious gems,
And holy relics shall be purchased thee,
To draw all faithful Christians to thy gates!
_Gasp._ I cannot change the name, and, if I could,
'Twere no less a murder. Lady, good-night.
_Ser._ Good father, stop--thou hast a scarf
For Donna Serafina. I am she--
Where is it? give it me.
_Gasp._ Are you that woe-struck lady, Serafina?
Alas! indeed you have much cause to grieve.
He loved you well.
_Ser._ Give me the scarf.
_Gasp._ I cannot, lady; 'tis not fit to offer,
For it is tinged with blood.
_Ser._ Give me the scarf! I'll kiss away the blood,
Or wash it off with tears!
_Gasp._ That I cannot, the casement is too high;
Nor can I tarry longer. The last message,
Together with the scarf, I will deliver
Before to-morrow's sun shall gild these trees.
_Ser._ Then be it so. O Gaspar! Gaspar!
[_Exit from window, and closes it._
_Gasp._ One hour of misery, like hers, exceeds
An age of common earthly suffering;
And when at last she hears the unvarnish'd truth,
'Twill but perplex her more. Oh destiny!
Why am I thus a blood-stain'd guilty man
In early years? still yearning towards virtue,
Yet ever falling in the snares of vice!
Now do I loathe the amorous Serafina,
Who sacrifices all--her fame--her honour,
At Passion's shrine. How do I adore
The chaste, the innocent, sweet Isidora!
Yet in my love, so ardent and so pure,
There's guilt--deep damning guilt--and more,
There's cruelty and baseness! I plant a dagger
In the fond breast that cherishes the wound;
Nor will she feel the pain until withdrawn,
And happiness--nay, life--will issue with it.
How inconsistent, selfish, treacherous!
Heav'n pardon me--how can I pardon ask
For that I never can forgive myself! [_Exit Gaspar._
_Act IV. Scene I._
_Street before Anselmo's lodgings._
_Enter Antonio._
_Ant._ At last I have his secret, and one of moment too. A monk, and yet
a cavalier! A friar's gown and a gala suit! vowing to heaven and vowing
to the ladies! Abjuring the world, and roaming through it with a
vengeance! Telling his beads, and telling me lies! But I am not so
easily to be deceived. I thought very often that there was a similarity
of voice between his and my confessor's, but when I saw the friar's
gown, and he accused me of having two wives, it all flashed upon me at
once. A pretty fool has he made of me! No wonder that he knew my
rogueries when I confessed them to him. What's the having two wives to
this? Mine is a paltry secret of a poor lacquey, but his is one which
will obtain a price, and it is well to be first in the market. Whom
shall I sell it to? let me see--Don Felix----?
_Enter Beppa._
_Bep._ What of Don Felix, husband? Do you wish to serve him?
_Ant._ Yes, if he'll pay me well.
_Bep._ I presume Don Gaspar has not paid you: then must you help
yourself.
_Ant._ Why so I do, whenever I can. But he takes care of that.
_Bep._ He might have done, but hardly will do so now.
_Ant._ Why not?
_Bep._ Because he's dead.
_Ant._ Dead! Are you sure of that?
_Bep._ Quite sure, for I myself beheld the contest. Such fierce exchange
of hate I ne'er imagined, or that you men were such incarnate devils.
_Ant._ Pray tell me where this happened.
_Bep._ 'Twas in the garden near our house, under the chestnut trees,
deep in the shade. The full moon could not pierce the closely woven
foliage. All her beams were caught on the topmost boughs which waved in
silver. A lovely night to stain with murder! Oh me! I see them now.
_Ant._ Proceed, good Beppa, I'm eager to know all.
_Bep._ Their forms were not distinct, yet could we perceive their
gleaming swords darting like fiery serpents; 'twas horrible. At last one
fell; it proved to be Don Gaspar.
_Ant._ Indeed! you're sure there's no mistake?
_Bep._ I saw the body borne away. My mistress weeps and tears her hair,
nor deems that he was false. I must to the church, but will return again
immediately. [_Exit._
_Ant._ Now could I weep, and tear my hair, like Donna Serafina. My
secret is worth nothing. 'Tis strange, too, that he should be
o'ermatched by Don Perez, whose sword he so despised; I cannot yet
believe it; and yet, she saw the body, and her mistress weeps. What can
she gain by this, if 'twere deceit? Nothing. Why, then, 'tis plain Don
Gaspar's dead. His foot slipped, I suppose, and thus the vaunted skill
of years will often fail through accident. What's to be done now? I'm
executor of course. Here comes Don Felix.
_Enter Don Felix._
_Felix._ Art thou the lacquey of Don Gaspar?
_Ant._ (_pulling out his handkerchief, and putting it to his eyes_). I
was, most noble sir.
_Felix._ You've left him then?
_Ant._ He hath left me. Last night he fell, in combat with Don Perez.
_Felix._ 'Tis false. He hath slain my friend, whose body now lies in my
house.
_Ant._ Indeed, sir! may I credit this?
_Felix._ I tell you it is true. Where can a message find your master?
_Ant._ Wherever he may be, sir.
_Felix._ And where is that? Trifle not with me, knave, or you'll repent
it sorely.
_Ant._ I do not trifle, sir. Don Gaspar's motions are unknown to me.
Give me your message; when he re-appears I will deliver it.
_Felix._ Then tell him he's a villain of no parentage; a vile impostor
whom I mean to punish;--that if there's manhood in him he will appoint a
time and place where we may meet.
_Ant._ You seek his life then?
_Felix._ You may so construe by the message.
_Ant._ Pardon me, sir; but will you risk your noble person against one
but too well practised in the sword? Excuse me, sir, you're hasty: there
are other means more fitting for your purpose. I have his secret; one
that will administer to your revenge, and win a triumph far greater than
your sword.
_Felix._ Tell me this secret.
_Ant._ Why should I sacrifice a liberal master, whom, just now, you saw
me weep for? and that to one to whom I have no obligation?
_Felix._ I understand thee, knave! Thou'lt sell it me? (_Takes out a
purse._)
_Ant._ Softly, Don Felix! it bears no common price, nor can I tell it
here. I've paid most dearly for it, and from distress alone am now
obliged to sell it.
_Felix._ And I will buy it dearly. In half an hour come to my house;
there will I exchange a heavy purse for what you may confide to me, if,
as you say, it leads to his perdition. [_Exit Felix._
_Ant._ So, this works well; and yet my conscience smites me! Why does it
smite me? Because 'tis heavily laden. With what? This secret. Then must
I unburthen myself of it; and as, till lately, I have confessed to one
Don Gaspar, I will now confess to one Don Felix. The former refused me
absolution--the latter offers me a purse. I was right when I gave
warning to my old confessor; the new one is more suited to me. Here come
my ten plagues of Egypt in one.
_Enter Beppa._
_Bep._ Well, Antonio, you have lost no time, I hope. What have you
collected? You often quote the proverb, "Service is no inheritance."
_Ant._ Service _is_ no inheritance; yet you would that I constituted
myself my master's heir. I cannot do it, Beppa--I dare not! There's
something tells me it is wrong to rob so good a master; I am more honest
than you take me to be.
_Bep._ Then is the devil turned saint! Think not that you deceive me.
There's nought but cowardice that will prevent your knavery. Now tell
me, how long have you been thus scrupulous?
_Ant._ Ever since I found out that my master was not dead.
_Bep._ Not dead?
_Ant._ Don Perez 'twas who fell.
_Bep._ A holy friar who shrived the dying man told me the name of him
who fell was Gaspar.
_Ant._ He was a holy friar, said you? I see it all (_aside_).
_Bep._ He said he had a scarf to give to Donna Serafina, at the request
of him who died.
_Ant._ Hath he delivered it?
_Bep._ No; and Donna Serafina in frantic grief awaits his coming.
_Ant._ (_aside_). She'll wait till doomsday; I understand it all.
(_Aloud._) Beppa! Don Gaspar now will soon be here; go and console your
mistress.
_Bep._ Then it must have been a plan of Don Gaspar's to rid himself of
my mistress. I do not understand it, but believe you _do_. When master
and man are so much alike, they cannot deceive each other. I'll to Donna
Serafina, and tell her of this base stratagem, which, with his wooing of
another, will make her cease to grieve for the treacherous villain, and
turn her ardent love to deadly hate. [_Exit Beppa._
_Ant._ As I have mine for you, I was about to say; only I do not
recollect that I ever loved you. I think I married her to keep myself
from starving: but I forget why exactly, 'tis so long ago. What a fool
is a man who marries--but a double fool is he who, like me, am
doubly----I can't bear to mention it. [_Exit Antonio._
_Scene II._
_Donna Serafina's Chamber.--Donna Serafina discovered._
_Ser._ They tell me I am fair: yet what avails
This gift of nature?
Could those who envy me but see my heart--
My bleeding, lacerated, breaking heart!
How would their bitter nature change to pity!
I did require but him in this wide world;
My beauty valued, but to gain his love!
My wealth rejoiced in, but to share with him!
He was my all! and every other 'vantage
Was but of value as subservient to him.
As is the gold of costly workmanship
Round the fair gem imbedded in the centre.
Oh! Gaspar, were I sure I could o'ertake
Thy spirit, soaring up in its young flight,
This little steel should free my anxious soul,
To join thine in the high empyrean,
And, fondly link'd, in joy ascend to Heaven.
Why waits the friar? Some idle mummery,
To him more sacred than my Gaspar's relic,
From his dull memory hath chased his promise.
Why waits my woman, whom I have despatch'd
To learn the history of my Gaspar's death?
Alas! alas! they know not love.
_Enter Beppa._
_Bep._ Madam, I've news for you; but news so strange
That I can scarce impart it. Dry your tears,
Nor more lament Don Gaspar,--for he lives!
_Ser._ He lives? say that again! You said he lived--
Did you not, Beppa? Then may Heav'n reward you
For those blissful words!--He lives!--support me--
(_Faints in Beppa's arms._)
_Bep._ I should have first inform'd her he was false.
Now will the shock be greater.--Dear lady--(_Serafina
recovering gradually_).
_Ser._ (_faintly_). Now do I feel like some poor criminal,
Who, having closed his eyes, to look no more
Upon the world he is about to leave,
With curdling blood, and faint and flutt'ring pulse,
Waits for the last terrific moment
When the sharp axe shall free his trembling soul.
So wakes he at the distant shouts of men,
Rolling the waves of sound until they dash
Against his worn-out sense the glad reprieve.
Don Gaspar lives! Oh Heav'n, I thank thee!
_Bep._ At the cup's brim the sweets have kiss'd your lips.
But, madam, like some weak, distemper'd child,
You've yet to taste the nauseous dreaded draught
Which is to cure you.
_Ser._ What mean you? Cure me!
_Bep._ 'Tis true Don Gaspar lives--as true he's false.
_Ser._ False! Beppa--false?
_Bep._ Most false and treacherous!
He loves another.
_Ser._ (_after a pause_). Did I hear rightly?
Impossible! It was but three days gone,
He swore such oaths, if true, as Heav'n would register--
Should they prove false, as hell might chuckle at.
_Bep._ And yet it is so, I am most assured.
_Ser._ If it be true, then everything is false.
It cannot, cannot be. Have I not lavish'd
All I could bestow, myself and mine,
Rejected all, to live within his arms,
To breathe one breath with him, and dwell in ecstasy
Upon his words. Oh no! he is not false
You must belie him.
_Bep._ Nay, I would I did:
I wonder not your doting heart rejects
Such monstrous treachery. Yet it is true,
And true as curs'd. The Donna Isidora
By her charms has won him; and his feign'd death
Was but a stratagem to shake you off.
As you last night asserted, Perez fell;
Don Felix, swearing vengeance, seeks Don Gaspar.
_Ser._ (_after a pause_). Who is this Isidora?
_Bep._ A lovely creature in her early bloom,
The noble blood of Guzman in her veins,
A rival worthy of your beauty, madam,
And therefore one most dangerous.
_Ser._ Would that I had her here. My heart is now
So full of anger, malice, and fierce hate,
With all those direful and envenom'd passions
By which the breasts of demons are infected;
If I but even look'd upon her face,
My scorching breath would wither up her charms
Like adder's poison. Would I had her here!
_Bep._ Yet blame her not. She's good and beautiful:
Report doth much commend her early worth
And ever active charity.
_Ser._ Were she not so, I yet might have retain'd
My truant love. Each virtue that she hath
With me's a vice--each charm, deformity.
They are my foes, array'd against my power,
And I must hate them, as they've vanquish'd me.
_Bep._ But _my_ hate should fall on Gaspar, lady.
_Ser._ That's not so easy; the strong tide of love,
Though check'd, still flows against the adverse hate.
In their opposing strife, my troubled breast
Heaves as the elements in wild commotion.
_Bep._ It must not last. I've much to tell you yet
Of this base man. When you have heard it all,
A rapid flood of rage shall sweep its course,
Lash'd by the storm raised in your much-wrong'd soul,
O'erwhelming all remorse, to Gaspar's ruin.
_Ser._ Direct me, Heav'n! Come to my chamber, Beppa,
I must unrobe me. When my swollen heart
Can throb more freely, I will hear your tale.
Come on, good Beppa. [_Exeunt._
_Scene III._
_Street in Seville._
_Enter Antonio._
_Ant._ This is a strange world! What a simpleton is this Don Felix!
First he buys my secret at a heavy price, and then, after two minutes'
deliberation, declares that he will make no use of it, but that I must
deliver the message that he gave me. I've no objection. I like to see my
betters dismiss each other to the next world;--the more room for those
who remain behind, and poor rogues like me are not so much jostled. This
world is certainly much too full for comfort. Ah! here comes one that
stands a chance of going out of it.
_Enter Don Gaspar._
_Gasp._ Antonio, I must for a time remain concealed. Don Perez is no
more, and in this friar's gown, which I put on to elude the bravos, I
have convinced the Donna Serafina of my death. Thus do I rid myself of
her unwelcome love. Remember, should you meet your wife, I don't know
which of them, you will keep my secret. You will remain here in charge
till I return.
_Ant._ Most certainly, sir. But I had almost forgotten; I have a message
which may interfere with your departure.
_Gasp._ From whom?
_Ant._ Don Felix, sir. The friend of him you slew last night.
_Gasp._ Well, what is this message?
_Ant._ One, sir, that will demand a life--or yours or his. It is so
coarsely worded that I dare not give it. It will too much provoke you.
_Gasp._ Give it me straight, and let me have it word for word.
_Ant._ He told me first, sir, that you were--a villain.
_Gasp._ (_catching Antonio by the throat_). How, sirrah?
_Ant._ It was not I who said so--'twas Don Felix.
_Gasp._ True. I was hasty. Now proceed.
_Ant._ A villain--of no parentage.
_Gasp._ What? scoundrel!
_Ant._ I have said too much, sir.--You'll excuse the rest.
_Gasp._ (_much irritated_). No, no, no--go on; leave out a word and I
will murder you.
_Ant._ (_aside_). Then I stand a bad chance either way, not so amusing
as I thought. (_Aloud._) He did say something else, but 'twas of no
moment--
_Gasp._ (_putting his hand to his sword_). Your message, to the letter.
_Ant._ A vile impostor.
_Gasp._ (_striking him_). How?
_Ant._ Oh, mercy, sir! you take me for Don Felix.
_Gasp._ I am wrong. (_Throws his purse to Antonio._) You said a
villain--of no parentage--a vile impostor--ha! was there any more?
_Ant._ Yes, sir; and which I think I may deliver without farther danger
to myself. He added, "If there's manhood in him, he will appoint a time
and place, when and where I may meet him."
_Gasp._ I ask no better. Tell him, this evening, at the copse of trees
where Perez fell, he may expect me. Take my answer straight.
_Ant._ Shall I go now?
_Gasp._ Yes; fly to his house. Tell him from me--no, no--tell him no
more than I have said already, I'll wait for your return. Haste, haste.
[_Exit Antonio._