_Hall in Manuel’s house. Enter PALICIO in woman’s
clothes, bleeding, a dagger in his hand._
_PALICIO._
No one, no sound. Can I hide here I am safe.
I have given the curs the slip, if I can hide. 242
Safe ... But this wound, the blood runs like a river:
Unless they track me by it I am clear—so far.
A paltry stab. I’ll bind it round and tie it
To stop the blood—so, so. Now, where to hide?
For here is no protection; ’tis the house
Of the chief justiciary ... a doubtful ’scape
From prison here. Yet when I saw the wall
’Twas home; then, oh, my God! this flip-flap gear
Shackling my knees—Over! ha, ha! the fools 251
Will never guess that leap. But I must hide:
Slip out ere morn: or if not that, be bold,
Give myself up to Manuel. Is that hope?
Manuel the just. ’Twere best reserve that hope
Till others fail. Hark!—steps. Where can I get?
Behind this curtain—so. [_Hides._
_Enter Manuel, Philip, Margaret, and Servant._
_MANUEL_ (_to servt._).
Giuseppe, show the duke my room.
(_To Ph._) Taking us unawares o’erlook, I pray,
The want of ceremony. You will find all comfort
For sleep or wakefulness.
_PHILIP._
This is the flower 260
Of hospitality. Now, for old sakes,
I’d beg some meaner shift, to prove me mindful
Of ancient benefits.
_MARGARET._
O, be content:
My brother’s luxury will not o’erwhelm you
With obligation.
_Man._ Rest you well. Good-night!
_Mar. and Ph._ Good-night!
[_Exit Philip with servant._
_Man._ Margaret!
_Mar._ My brother!
_Man._ You did ill to-night.
_Mar._ Forgive me. I said in jest you had learned your love
From Philip. I was sorry.
_Man._ Nay, what’s that? 269
Yet ’twas ill said, and may have wounded Philip;
Though he must wish us to assume there’s nothing
’Twixt him and Constance: and now he’s our guest
We must not let our courtesy be tainted
By his own lightness; nay, the tales told of him
Are nought to us. He’s of a generous nature,
And not forbidding to what faults beset
His age and rank. But we make no man better
By lower estimation; an open kindliness
And trust may help him; let us use such toward him.
_Mar._ I will. But then what was’t I said?
_Man._ Ah! Why,
Your praise of John Palicio. See you not 281
’Twill injure me with Hugo? Our relations
Are tried by public matters: ’tis in the scope
Of private intercourse to ease the strain,
Or force the rupture.
_Mar._ Brother, I am very sorry.
I thought ...
_Man._ I do not blame your thought. I grant
These Spaniards are bad masters. First they wrecked
This island to possess it; then the prize,
Which kindness might have much enriched, is stripped
Even to the bone by cruelty and rapine. 290
Their viceroy too, this Hugo—a man who governs
But to be governor, and even at that
Fails like a fool. To see the folk misruled
More grieves me than to see the folk misled.
And if they have much cause to rise, there’s none
Hath more to lead them, than the native outlaw,
Whom you so praised.
_Re-enter Servant._
_Mar._ Then you forgive me, brother?
_Man._ Well, well, good-night!
_Mar._ Good-night! [_Exit._
_Man._ Giuseppe, prepare
The little room at the end of the corridor;
I will sleep there. I shall not want thee more. 300
[_Exit servant._
It matters not what happens, day by day
The rupture grows. ’Tis plain Hugo and I
Are foes at heart—and what a pitiful trick
To put the question of my marriage by,
Withholding his consent just for the thought,
That while my happiness hangs on his nod,
I must be closer bound to serve his interest,
Now, when his credit totters. Doth he not know
That honourable minds, thro’ very fear
Of their self-interest, are thrust away 310
Beyond their counter-judgment? Nay, ’tis clear
He falls, he falls; and were’t not now for Constance,
I’d gladly see him fall.
_Palicio comes forward._
A woman here!
Why, who art thou?
_Pal._ Hush, hush! I am no woman.
[_Lays his dagger on the table._
Draw not your sword. See here my dagger.
_Man._ Ha!
And bloodied freshly.
_Pal._ Let me bar the door. [_Goes to door._
_Man._ Why, can it be?—
_Pal._ I am Palicio.
_Man._ Thou here!
_Pal._ You see.
_Man._ From prison?
_Pal._ Escaped, thank God!
I skirmished with my guards, and being pursued
Came thro’ your orange garden. Here none will seek me. 320
Hide me!
_Man._ Thee, madman, here?
_Pal._ Ay, call me madman.
I am mad, and praise God for it ... if to hate tyrants
Be madness, I’m past cure: or if ’tis madness
To escape from prison ...
_Man._ Nay, neither. I blamed thee not
In these; but that thou thinkest to overbear
The troops of Spain with thy small brigand crew:
To escape from justice flying to my house,—
The chief justiciary.
_Pal._ What will you do?
_Man._ Return thee straight to prison.
_Pal._ First, I beseech you,
Help me to bind my wound.
_Man._ Art thou much hurt? 330
_Pal._ A thrust in the arm, a petty prick, which yet
Bleeds uncontrolledly.
_Man._ Undo it. It spurts.
Hold here thy hand, while with thy handkerchief
I bind thy arm.
_Pal._ Look you, ’tis lower down.
_Man._ Peace, man! ’Twill stay the blood to bind thee here.
Hast thou no other hurt?
_Pal._ Nay, none but this.
And see, ’tis staunched already. I must thank you,
Tho’ here your help should end. Call in the hirelings;
They’ll not be far. I will go back with them.
And yet ’twere pity; for ’tis certain death: 340
I have killed three of them. Manuel, I pray you—
I pray you, Manuel, crush not all my hopes,
My just cause. Give me a sword and a man’s dress,
And let me forth to try my fortune!
_Man._ Nay.
_Pal._ Then if I take my dagger and venture out ...
[_Takes it._
I’ll yet escape. Deny me not this chance.
See, I’ll not ask your leave, but only go. _Going._
_Man._ Giovanni, stay. Thou hast done me a great wrong
In flying here. Why didst thou choose my house?
_Pal._ ’Twas as I fled for life: the hue-and-cry 350
Came gathering faster round me: being still clear,
And seeing your wall, it seemed my safety lay
In that leap, could I make it.
_Man._ Thou’rt the last,
And only offspring of a noble stock.
The blood that I have staunched in thy veins,
Sprang from the heart of Sicily, and flows
Redder than mine, tho’ mine too once was mixed,
And not unworthily, with thine, and now
From my great grandsire’s marriage both our bloods
Are even as one, and thy blood on my hands 360
Is mine, and mine within my veins is thine.
I cannot send thee to thy death, Giovanni;
I may not shelter thee from justice: See,
Thou hast done me a grievous wrong.
_Pal._ Yet hide me awhile.
This house may be my prison.
_Man._ Thou hast this hope:
The king being dead ...
_Pal._ Is’t true that Pedro is dead?
_Man._ Ay, true enough.
_Pal._ Then are you free. I am safe.
[_Puts dagger in his bosom._
_Man._ I say this is thy hope. The king being dead,
Such offices as hold under the crown 370
Need confirmation. Now I do not say
Allegiance lapses; but, if I be quick
To guess the new king’s will, that he will change
Our viceroy—which I doubt not,—I may be bold
Now to withhold my duties from a servant
Discredited, contending that they hang
Upon my judgment, for my deeds to give
After-account. See, ’tis a subtle point
I strain for thee, rather than hurt the claim
Of kinship. Thou shalt be my prisoner 380
For these few days. By chance I have a room
Fit for thy lodging: there I’ll shew thee now,
And thence thou must not stir. I’ll bring thee food,
Look to thy wants, and try to cure thy wound.
Thou on thy part must lie as still as one
That hushes for his life. What, man; thou’rt faint
For loss of blood, and strain? Cannot you stand?
Stand up, or I must carry you. Indeed,
Carry him I must ... see, now, where be my keys?
[_Going, carrying Palicio._