_The outer court of_ CREON'S _palace, as in the preceding act; the royal
apartments in the background lie in blackened ruins whence smoke is
still curling up; the court-yard is filled with various palace
attendants busied in various ways. The dawn is just breaking.
The_ KING _appears, dragging_ GORA _out of the palace; a train of_
CREUSA'S _slave-women follows him._
KING. Away with thee! It was thy wicked hand
That to my daughter brought those bloody gifts
Which were her doom! My daughter! Oh, Creusa!
My child, my child!
[_He turns to the slave-women._]
'Twas she?
GORA. Yea, it was I!
I knew not that my hands bore doom of death
Within thy dwelling.
KING. Knew'st not. Never think
To 'scape my wrath on this wise!
GORA. Dost thou think
I shudder at thy wrath? Mine eyes have seen--
Woe's me!--the children weltering in their blood,
Slain by the hand of her that bore them, ay,
Medea's very hand! And after that,
All other horrors are to me but jest!
KING. Creusa! Oh, my child, my pure, true child!
Say, did thy hand not shake, thou grisly dame,
When to her side thou broughtest death?
GORA. I shed no tears for her! She had her due!
Why would she seek to snatch away the last
Possession of my most unhappy mistress?
I weep for these my babes, whom I did love
So tenderly, and whom I saw but now
Butchered--and by their mother! Ah, I would
Ye all were in your graves, and by your side
That traitor that doth call himself Lord Jason!
I would I were in Colchis with Medea
And these poor babes in safety! Would I ne'er
Had seen your faces, or your city here,
Whereon this grievous fate so justly falls!
KING. These insults thou wilt soon enough put by,
When thou shalt feel my heavy hand of doom!
But is it certain that my child is dead?
So many cry her dead, though I can find
None that did see her fall! Is there no way
To 'scape the fire? And can the flames wax strong
So quickly? See how slow they lick and curl
Along the fallen rafters of my house!
Do ye not see? And yet ye say she's dead?
An hour ago she stood before mine eyes
A blooming flower, instinct with happy life--
And now she's dead! Nay, I cannot believe,
And will not! 'Gainst my will I turn mine eyes
Now here, now there, and cannot but believe
That now, or now, or now at least, she must
Appear in all her stainless purity
And beauty, glide in safety to me here
Through those black, smoldering ruins!--Who was by?
Who saw her perish?--Thou?--Quick, speak!--Nay, then,
Roll not thine eyes in horror! Tell thy tale,
E'en though it kill me! Is she dead, indeed?
A SLAVE-WOMAN.
Dead!
KING. And thou saw'st it?
SLAVE-WOMAN.
With my very eyes!
Saw how the flames leaped forth from out that box
Of gold, and caught her flesh--
KING. Hold! Hold! Enough!
This woman saw it! Creusa is no more!
Creusa! Oh, my daughter, my dear child!
Once, many years agone, she burnt her hand
Against the altar; she was but a child,
And cried aloud with pain. I rushed to her
And caught her in my arms, and to my lips.
I put her poor scorched fingers, blowing hard
To ease the burning pain. The little maid
E'en through her bitter tears smiled up at me
And, softly sobbing, whispered in my ear,
"It is not much! I do not mind the pain!"
Gods! That she should be burned to death? Oh, gods!
[_He turns fiercely upon_ GORA.]
And as for thee,--if I should plunge my sword
Ten, twenty times, up to the hilt, clean through
Thy body, would that bring my daughter back?
Or, could I find that hideous witch-wife--Stay!
Where went she, that hath robbed me of my child?
I'll shake an answer straight from out thy mouth,
Ay, though thy soul come with it, if thou'lt not
Declare to me this instant where she's gone!
GORA. I know not--and I care no whit to know!
Let her go forth alone to her sure doom.
Why dost thou tarry? Slay me! For I have
No wish to live!
KING. We'll speak of that anon;
But first I'll have thy answer!
JASON (_behind the scenes_).
Where's Medea?
Bring her before my face! Medea!
[_He enters suddenly with drawn sword._]
Nay,
They told me she was caught! Where is she, then?
(_To_ GORA.)
Ha! Thou here? Where's thy mistress?
GORA. Fled away!
JASON. Hath she the children?
GORA. Nay!
JASON. Then they are--
GORA. Dead!
Yea, dead! thou smooth-tongued traitor, dead, I say!
She sought to put them where thine eyes could never
Take joy in them again; but, knowing well
No spot on earth so sacred was but thou
To find them wouldst break in, she hid them, safe
Forever, in the grave! Ay, stand aghast,
And stare upon the pavement! Thou canst never
Recall thy babes to life! They're gone for aye!
And, for their sake, I'm glad! No, I am not,
For their sake--but because thou dost despair,
That, smooth-tongued traitor, glads my heart indeed!
Was it not thou that drove her to this crime,
And thou, false King, with thine hypocrisy?
She was a noble creature-but ye drew
Your nets of shameful treachery too close
About her, till, in wild despair, cut off
From all escape else, she o'erleaped your snares,
And made thy crown, the kingly ornament
Of royal heads, to be the awful tool
Of her unnatural crime! Ay, wring your hands,
But wring them for your own most grievous fate!
(_Turning to the_ KING.)
Why sought thy child another woman's bed?
(_Turning to_ JASON.)
Why must thou steal her, bring her here to Greece,
If thou didst never love her? If thou didst
Right truly love her, why, then, thrust her forth?
Though others cry her murderess, yea, though I
Myself must name her so, yet none the less
Ye have but met your just deserts!--For me,
I have no wish to live another day!
Two of my babes are dead, the third I needs
Must hate forever! Take me, lead me hence
And slay me, if ye will! Fair hopes I have
At last, of justice in that other world,
Now I have seen Heaven's vengeance on you hurled!
[_She is led away by some of the _KING's _attendants._]
(_Pause._)
KING. Nay, if I wronged her,--by the gods in Heaven
I swear I meant it not!--Now haste we all
To search these smoking ruins for what trace
Remains of my poor girl, that we may lay
Her broken, bruised frame to rest at last
In Earth's kind bosom!
[_He turns to _JASON.]
But, for thee--straightway
Thou must go forth, where'er thy feet may choose
To carry thee! Pollution such as thine
Spells woe for all about thee, as I've proved.
Oh, had I never seen, never rescued thee,
Ne'er acted friendship's part and welcomed thee
Within my palace! And, for thanks, thou took'st
My daughter from me! Go, lest thou shouldst take
As well the only comfort left me now--
To weep her memory!
JASON. Wouldst thou thrust me forth?
KING. I banish thee my sight.
JASON. What shall I do?
KING. Some god will answer that!
JASON. Who, then, will guide
My wandering steps, who lend a helping hand?
For, see! my head is bleeding, wounded sore
By falling firebrands! How? All silent, then?
And none will guide me, none companion me,
None follow me, whom once so many joyed
To follow? Spirits of my babes, lead ye
The way, and guide your father to the grave
That waits him!
[_He goes slowly away._]
KING (_to his attendants_).
Quick, to work! And after that,
Mourning that hath no end!
[_He goes away in the other direction._]
_The curtain falls for a moment, and, when it rises again, discloses a
wild and lonely region surrounded by forest and by lofty crags, at the
foot of which lies a mean hut. A rustic enters._
RUSTIC. How fair the morning dawns! Oh, kindly gods,
After the storm and fury of the night,
Your sun doth rise more glorious than before!
[_He goes into the hut._]
(JASON _comes stumbling out of the forest and leaning heavily on his
sword._)
JASON. Nay, I can go no farther! How my head
Doth burn and throb, the blood how boil within!
My tongue cleaves to the roof of my parched mouth!
Is none within there? Must I die of thirst,
And all alone?--Ha! Yon's the very hut
That gave me shelter when I came this way
Before, a rich man still, a happy father,
My bosom filled with newly-wakened hopes!
[_He knocks at the door._]
'Tis but a drink I crave, and then a place
To lay me down and die!
[_The peasant comes out of the house._]
RUSTIC. Who knocks?--Poor man,
Who art thou? Ah, poor soul, he's faint to death!
JASON. Oh, water, water! Give me but to drink!
See, Jason is my name, famed far and wide,
The hero of the wondrous Golden Fleece!
A prince--a king--and of the Argonauts
The mighty leader, Jason!
RUSTIC. Art thou, then,
In very sooth Lord Jason? Get thee gone
And quickly! Thou shalt not so much as set
A foot upon my threshold, to pollute
My humble dwelling! Thou didst bring but now
Death to the daughter of my lord the King!
Then seek not shelter at the meanest door
Of any of his subjects!
[_He goes into the hut again and shuts the door behind him._]
JASON. He is gone,
And leaves me here to lie upon the earth,
Bowed in the dust, for any that may pass
To trample on!--O Death, on thee I call!
Have pity on me! Take me to my babes!
[_He sinks down upon the ground._]
MEDEA _makes her way among some tumbled rocks, and stands suddenly
before him, the Golden Fleece flung over her shoulders like a mantle._
MEDEA. Jason!
JASON (_half raising himself_).
Who calls me?--Ha! What spectral form
Is this before me? Is it thou, Medea?
Ha! Dost thou dare to show thyself again
Before mine eyes? My sword! My sword!
[_He tries to rise, but falls weakly back._]
Woe's me!
My limbs refuse their service! Here I lie,
A broken wreck!
MEDEA. Nay, cease thy mad attempts
Thou canst not harm me, for I am reserved
To be the victim of another's hand,
And not of thine!
JASON. My babes!--Where has thou them?
MEDEA. Nay, they are mine!
JASON. Where hast thou them, I say?
MEDEA. They're gone where they are happier far than thou
Or I shall ever be!
JASON. Dead! Dead! My babes!
MEDEA. Thou deemest death the worst of mortal woes?
I know a far more wretched one--to be
Alone, unloved! Hadst thou not prized mere life
Far, far above its worth, we were not now
In such a pass. But we must bear our weight
Of sorrow, for thy deeds! Yet these our babes
Are spared that grief, at least!
JASON. And thou canst stand
So patient, quiet, there, and speak such words?
MEDEA. Quiet, thou sayst, and patient? Were my heart
Not closed to thee e'en now, as e'er it was,
Then couldst thou see the bitter, smarting pain
Which, ever swelling like an angry sea,
Tosses, now here, now there, the laboring wreck
That is my grief, and, veiling it from sight
In awful desolation, sweeps it forth
O'er boundless ocean-wastes! I sorrow not
Because the babes are dead; my only grief
Is that they ever lived, that thou and I
Must still live on!
JASON. Alas!
MEDEA. Bear thou the lot
That fortune sends thee; for, to say the truth,
Thou richly hast deserved it!--Even as thou
Before me liest on the naked earth,
So lay I once in Colchis at thy feet
And craved protection--but thou wouldst not hear!
Nay, rather didst thou stretch thine eager hands
In blind unreason forth, to lay them swift
Upon the golden prize, although I cried,
"'Tis Death that thou dost grasp at!"--Take it, then,
That prize that thou so stubbornly didst seek,
Even Death!
I leave thee now, forevermore.
'Tis the last time-for all eternity
The very last--that I shall speak with thee,
My husband! Fare thee well! Ay, after all
The joys that blessed our happy, happy youth,
'Mid all the bitter woes that hem us in
On every side, in face of all the grief
That threatens for the future, still I say,
"Farewell, my husband!" Now there dawns for thee
A life of heavy sorrows; but, let come
What may, abide it firmly, show thyself
Stronger in suffering than in doing deeds
Men named heroic! If thy bitter woe
Shall make thee yearn for death, then think on me,
And it shall comfort thee to know how mine
Is bitterer far, because I set my hand
To deeds, to which thou only gav'st assent.
I go my way, and take my heavy weight
Of sorrow with me through the wide, wide world.
A dagger-stroke were blest release indeed;
But no! it may not be! It were not meet
Medea perish at Medea's hands.
My earlier life, before I stooped to sin,
Doth make me worthy of a better judge
Than I could be--I go to Delphi's shrine,
And there, before the altar of the god,
The very spot whence Phrixus long ago
Did steal the prize, I'll hang it up again,
Restore to that dark god what is his own--
The Golden Fleece--the only thing the flames
Have left unharmed, the only thing that 'scaped
Safe from the bloody, fiery death that slew
That fair Corinthian princess.--To the priests
I'll go, and I'll submit me to their will,
Ay, though they take my life to expiate
My grievous sins, or though they send me forth
To wander still through some far desert-waste,
My very life, prolonged, a heavier weight
Of sorrow than I ever yet have known!
_[She holds up the gleaming Fleece before his eyes.]_
Know'st thou the golden prize which thou didst strive
So eagerly to win, which seemed to thee
The shining crown of all thy famous deeds?
What is the happiness the world can give?--
A shadow! What the fame it can bestow?--
An empty dream! Poor man! Thy dreams were all
Of shadows! And the dreams are ended now,
But not the long, black Night!--Farewell to thee,
My husband, for I go! That was a day
Of heavy sorrows when we first did meet;
Today, 'mid heavier sorrows, we must part!
Farewell!
JASON. Deserted! All alone! My babes!
MEDEA. Endure!
JASON. Lost! Lost!
MEDEA. Be patient!
JASON. Let me die!
MEDEA. I go, and nevermore thine eyes shall see
My face again!
_[As she departs, winding her way among the tumbled rocks, the curtain
falls.]_
* * * * *
THE JEWESS OF TOLEDO
AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS
By FRANZ GRILLPARZER
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
ALFONSO VIII., _the Noble, King of Castile._
ELEANOR OF ENGLAND, _Daughter of Henry II., his Wife._
THE PRINCE, _their Son._
MANRIQUE, _Count of Lara, Governor of Castile._
DON GARCERAN, _his Son._
DOÑA CLARA, _Lady in Waiting to the Queen.
The Queen's Waiting Maid._
ISAAC, _the Jew._
ESTHER, }
} _his Daughters._
RACHEL, }
REINERO, _the King's Page.
Nobles, Court Ladies, Petitioners, Servants, and Other People.
Place, Toledo and Vicinity.
Time, about 1195 A.D._
THE JEWESS OF TOLEDO (1873)
TRANSLATED BY GEORGE HENRY DANTON AND ANNINA PERIAM DANTON
ACT I
_In the Royal Garden at Toledo._
_Enter_ ISAAC, RACHEL, _and_ ESTHER.
ISAAC. Back, go back, and leave the garden!
Know ye not it is forbidden?
When the King here takes his pleasure
Dares no Jew--ah, God will damn them!
Dares no Jew to tread the earth here!
RACHEL (_singing_).
La-la-la-la.
ISAAC. Don't you hear me?
RACHEL. Yes, I hear thee.
ISAAC. Hear, and linger
RACHEL. Hear, yet linger!
ISAAC. Oh, Oh, Oh! Why doth God try me?
To the poor I've given my portion,
I have prayed and I have fasted,
Unclean things I've never tasted
Nay! And yet God tries me thus.
RACHEL (_to_ ESTHER).
Ow! Why dost thou pull my arm so?
I will stay, I am not going.
I just wish to see the King and
All the court and all their doings,
All their gold and all their jewels.
He is young, they say, and handsome,
White and red, I want to see him.
ISAAC. And suppose the servants catch thee
RACHEL. Then I'll beg until they free me!
ISAAC. Yes, just like thy mother, eh?
She, too, looked at handsome Christians,
Sighed, too, for Egyptian flesh-pots;
Had I not so closely watched her
I should deem-well, God forgive me!--
That thy madness came that way,
Heritage of mean, base Christians;
Ah! I praise my first wife, noble!
(_To_ ESTHER.)
Praise thy mother, good like thee,
Though not wealthy. Of the second
Did the riches aught avail me?
Nay, she spent them as she pleasured,
Now for feasts and now for banquets,
Now for finery and jewels.
Look! This is indeed her daughter!
Has she not bedeckt herself,
Shines she not in fine apparel
Like a Babel in her pride?
RACHEL (_singing_).
Am I not lovely,
Am I not rich?
See their vexation,
And I don't care-la, la, la, la.
ISAAC. There she goes with handsome shoes on;
Wears them out--what does it matter?
Every step costs me a farthing!
Richest jewels are her earrings,
If a thief comes, he will take them,
If they're lost, who'll find them ever?
RACHEL (_taking off an earring_).
Lo! I take them off and hold them,
How they shine and how they shimmer!
Yet how little I regard them,
Haply, I to thee present them
(_to_ ESTHER.)
Or I throw them in the bushes.
[_She makes a motion as if throwing it away._]
ISAAC (_running in the direction of the throw_).
Woe, ah woe! Where did they go to?
Woe, ah woe! How find them ever?
ESTHER. These fine jewels? What can ail thee?
RACHEL. Dost believe me, then, so foolish
As to throw away possessions?
See, I have it in my hand here,
Hang it in my ear again and
On my cheek it rests in contrast.
ISAAC. Woe! Lost!
RACHEL. Father come, I prithee!
See! the jewel is recovered.
I was jesting.
ISAAC. Then may God--
Thus to tease me! And now, come!
RACHEL. Anything but this I'll grant thee.
I must see his Royal Highness,
And he me, too, yes, yes, me, too.
If he comes and if he asks them,
"Who is she, that lovely Jewess?"
"Say, how hight you?"--"Rachel, sire!
Isaac's Rachel!" I shall answer.
Then he'll pinch my cheek so softly.
Beauteous Rachel then they'll call me.
What if envy bursts to hear it,
Shall I worry if it vexes?
ESTHER. Father!
ISAAC. What
ESTHER. The court approaches.
ISAAC. Lord of life, what's going to happen?
'Tis the tribe of Rehoboam.
Wilt thou go?
RACHEL. Oh, father, listen!
ISAAC. Well then stay! But come thou, Esther,
Leave the fool here to her folly.
Let the unclean-handed see her,
Let him touch her, let him kill her,
She herself hath idly willed it.
Esther, come!
RACHEL. Oh, father, tarry!
ISAAC. Hasten, hasten; come, then, Esther!
[_Exit with_ ESTHER.]
RACHEL. Not alone will I remain here!
Listen! Stay! Alas, they leave me.
Not alone will I remain here.
Ah! they come--Oh, sister, father!
[_She hastens after them._]
_Enter the_ KING, _the_ QUEEN, MANTRIQUE DE LARA _and suite_.
KING (_entering_).
Allow the folk to stay! It harms me not;
For he who calleth me a King denotes
As highest among many me, and so
The people is a part of my own self.
(_Turning to the_ QUEEN.)
And thou, no meager portion of myself,
Art welcome here in this my ancient home,
Art welcome in Toledo's faithful walls.
Gaze all about thee, let thy heart beat high,
For, know! thou standest at my spirit's fount.
There is no square, no house, no stone, no tree,
That is not witness of my childhood lot.
An orphan child, I fled my uncle's wrath,
Bereft of mother first, then fatherless,
Through hostile land--it was my own--I fled.
The brave Castilians me from place to place,
Like shelterers of villainy did lead,
And hid me from my uncle of Leon,
Since death did threaten host as well as guest.
But everywhere they tracked me up and down.
Then Estevan Illan, a don who long
Hath slept beneath the greensward of the grave,
And this man here, Manrique Lara, led me
To this, the stronghold of the enemy,
And hid me in the tower of St. Roman,
Which there you see high o'er Toledo's roofs.
There lay I still, but they began to strew
The seed of rumor in the civic ear,
And on Ascension Day, when all the folk
Was gathered at the gate of yonder fane,
They led me to the tower-balcony
And showed me to the people, calling down,
"Here in your midst, among you, is your King,
The heir of ancient princes; of their rights
And of your rights the willing guardian."
I was a child and wept then, as they said.
But still I hear it--ever that wild cry,
A single word from thousand bearded throats,
A thousand swords as in a single hand,
The people's hand. But God the vict'ry gave,
The Leonese did flee; and on and on,
A standard rather than a warrior,
I with my army compassed all the land,
And won my vict'ries with my baby smile.
These taught and nurtured me with loving care,
And mother's milk flowed from their wounds for me.
And so, while other princes call themselves
The fathers of their people, I am son,
For what I am, I owe their loyalty.
MANRIQUE. If all that now thou art, most noble Sire,
Should really, as thou sayest, spring from thence,
Then gladly we accept the thanks, rejoice
If these our teachings and our nurture, thus
Are mirrored in thy fame and in thy deeds,
Then we and thou are equally in debt.
(_To the_ QUEEN.)
Pray gaze on him with these thy gracious eyes;
Howe'er so many kings have ruled in Spain,
Not one compares with him in nobleness.
Old age, in truth, is all too wont to blame,
And I am old and cavil much and oft;
And when confuted in the council-hall
I secret wrath have ofttimes nursed--not long,
Forsooth--that royal word should weigh so much;
And sought some evil witness 'gainst my King,
And gladly had I harmed his good repute.
But always I returned in deepest shame--
The envy mine, and his the spotlessness.
KING. A teacher, Lara, and a flatt'rer, too?
But we will not dispute you this and that;
If I'm not evil, better, then, for you,
Although the man, I fear me, void of wrong,
Were also void of excellence as well;
For as the tree with sun-despising roots,
Sucks up its murky nurture from the earth,
So draws the trunk called wisdom, which indeed
Belongs to heaven itself in towering branch,
Its strength and being from the murky soil
Of our mortality-allied to sin.
Was ever a just man who ne'er was hard?
And who is mild, is oft not strong enough.
The brave become too venturesome in war.
What we call virtue is but conquered sin,
And where no struggle was, there is no power.
But as for me, no time was given to err,
A child--the helm upon my puny head,
A youth--with lance, high on my steed I sat,
My eye turned ever to some threat'ning foe,
Unmindful of the joys and sweets of life,
And far and strange lay all that charms and lures.
That there are women, first I learned to know
When in the church my wife was given me,
She, truly faultless if a human is,
And whom, I frankly say, I'd warmer love
If sometimes need to pardon were, not praise.
(_To the_ QUEEN.)
Nay, nay, fear not, I said it but in jest!
The outcome we must all await-nor paint
The devil on the wall, lest he appear.
But now, what little respite we may have,
Let us not waste in idle argument.
The feuds within our land are stilled, although
They say the Moor will soon renew the fight,
And hopes from Africa his kinsman's aid,
Ben Jussuf and his army, bred in strife.
And war renewed will bring distress anew.
Till then we'll open this our breast to peace,
And take deep breath of unaccustomed joy.
Is there no news?--But did I then forget?
You do not look about you, Leonore,
To see what we have done to please you here.
QUEEN. What ought I see?
KING. Alas, O Almirante!
We have not hit upon it, though we tried.
For days, for weeks, we dig and dig and dig,
And hope that we could so transform this spot,
This orange-bearing, shaded garden grove,
To have it seem like such as England loves,
The austere country of my austere wife.
And she but smiles and smiling says me nay!
Thus are they all, Britannia's children, all;
If any custom is not quite their own,
They stare, and smile, and will have none of it.
Th' intention, Leonore, was good, at least,
So give these worthy men a word of thanks;
God knows how long they may have toiled for us.
QUEEN. I thank you, noble sirs.
KING. To something else!
The day has started wrong. I hoped to show
You houses, meadows, in the English taste,
Through which we tried to make this garden please;
We missed our aim. Dissemble not, O love!
'Tis so, and let us think of it no more.
To duty we devote what time remains,
Ere Spanish wine spice high our Spanish fare.
What, from the boundary still no messenger?
Toledo did we choose, with wise intent,
To be at hand for tidings of the foe.
And still there are none?
MANRIQUE. Sire--
KING. What is it, pray?
MANRIQUE. A messenger--
KING. Has come? What then?
MANRIQUE (_pointing to the Queen_).
Not now.
KING. My wife is used to council and to war,
The Queen in everything shares with the King.
MANRIQUE. The messenger himself, perhaps, more than
The message--
KING. Well, who is't?
MANRIQUE. It is my son.
KING. Ah, Garceran! Pray let him come.
(_To the_ QUEEN.)
Stay thou!
The youth, indeed, most grossly erred, when he
Disguised, slipped in the kemenate to spy
Upon the darling of his heart--Do not,
O Doña Clara, bow your head in shame,
The man is brave, although both young and rash,
My comrade from my early boyhood days;
And now implacability were worse
Than frivolous condoning of the fault.
And penance, too, methinks, he's done enough
For months an exile on our kingdom's bounds.
[_At a nod from the_ QUEEN, _one of the ladies of her suite withdraws._]
And yet she goes: O Modesty
More chaste than chastity itself!
_Enter_ GARCERAN.
My friend,
What of the border? Are they all out there
So shy with maiden-modesty as you?
Then poorly guarded is our realm indeed!
GARCERAN. A doughty soldier, Sire, ne'er fears a foe,
But noble women's righteous wrath is hard.
KING. 'Tis true of righteous wrath! And do not think
That I with custom and propriety
Am less severe and serious than my wife,
Yet anger has its limits, like all else.
And so, once more, my Garceran, what cheer?
Gives you the foe concern in spite of peace?
GARCERAN. With bloody wounds, O Sire, as if in play,
On this side of the boundary and that
We fought, yet ever peace resembled war
So to a hair, that perfidy alone
Made all the difference. But now the foe
A short time holdeth peace.
KING. 'Tis bad!
GARCERAN. We think
So too, and that he plans a mightier blow.
And rumor hath it that his ships convey
From Africa to Cadiz men and food,
Where secretly a mighty army forms,
Which Jussuf, ruler of Morocco, soon
Will join with forces gathered over seas;
And then the threat'ning blow will fall on us.
KING. Well, if they strike, we must return the blow.
A king leads them, and so a king leads you.
If there's a God, such as we know there is,
And justice be the utt'rance of his tongue,
I hope to win, God with us, and the right I
I grieve but for the peasants' bitter need,
Myself, as highest, should the heaviest bear.
Let all the people to the churches come
And pray unto the God of victory.
Let all the sacred relics be exposed,
And let each pray, who goeth to the fight.
GARCERAN. Without thy proclamation, this is done,
The bells sound far through all the borderland,
And in the temples gathereth the folk;
Only, alas, its zeal, erring as oft,
Expends itself on those of other faith,
Whom trade and gain have scattered through the land.
Mistreated have they here and there a Jew.
KING. And ye, ye suffer this? Now, by the Lord,
I will protect each one who trusts in me.
Their faith is their affair, their conduct mine.
GARCERAN. 'Tis said they're spies and hirelings of the Moors.
KING. Be sure, no one betrays more than he knows,
And since I always have despised their gold,
I never yet have asked for their advice.
Not Christian and not Jew knows what shall be,
But I alone. Hence, by your heads, I urge--
[_A woman's voice without._]
Woe, woe!
KING. What is't?
GARCERAN. An old man, Sire, is there,
A Jew, methinks, pursued by garden churls,
Two maidens with him, one of them, behold,
Is fleeing hither.
KING. Good! Protection's here,
And thunder strike who harms one hair of hers.
(_Calling behind the scenes._)
Hither, here I say!
RACHEL _comes in flight_
RACHEL. They're killing me!
My father, too! Oh! is there none to help?
[_She sees the QUEEN and kneels before her._]
Sublime one, shelter me from these. Stretch out
Thy hand and hold it over me, thy maid,
Not Jewess I to serve thee then, but slave.
[_She tries to take the hand of the _QUEEN _who turns away._]
RACHEL (_rising_).
Here, too, no safety? Terror everywhere?
Where shall I flee to?
Here there stands a man
Whose moonbeam glances flood the soul with peace,
And everything about him proves him King.
Thou canst protect me, Sire, and oh, thou wilt!
I _will_ not die, I _will_ not, no, no, no!
[_She throws herself on the ground before the_ KING _and seizes his
right foot, bending her head to the ground._]
KING (_to several who approach_).
Let be! Her senses have ta'en flight through fear,
And as she shudders, makes me tremble, too.
RACHEL (_sits up_).
And everything I have,
(_taking off her bracelet_)
this bracelet here,
This necklace and this costly piece of cloth,
(_taking a shawl-like cloth from her neck_)
It cost my father well-nigh forty pounds,
Real Indian stuff, I'll give that too--if you
Will leave me but my life: I will not die!
[_She sinks back to her former position._]
_ISAAC and ESTHER are led in._
KING. What crime has he committed?
MANRIQUE. Sire, thou know'st,
The entrance to the royal gardens is
Denied this people when the court is here.
KING. And I permit it, if it is forbidden.
ESTHER. He is no spy, O Sire, a merchant he,
In Hebrew are the letters that he bears,
Not in the Moorish tongue, not Arabic.
KING. 'Tis well, I doubt it not.
(_Pointing to_ RACHEL.)
And she?
ESTHER. My sister!
KING. Take her and carry her away.
RACHEL (_as_ ESTHER _approaches her_).
No, no!
They're seizing me, they're leading me away
To kill me!
(_Pointing to her discarded finery._)
See, my ransom. Here will I
Remain a while and take a little sleep.
(_Laying her cheek against the_ KING's _knee._)
Here safety is; and here 'tis good to rest.
QUEEN. Will you not go?
KING. You see that I am caught.
QUEEN. If you are caught, I still am free, I go!
[_Exit with her women._]
KING. And now that, too! That which they would prevent
They bring to pass with their false chastity.
(_Sternly to_ RACHEL.)
Arise, I tell thee--Give her back her shawl,
And let her go.
RACHEL. O, Sire, a little while.
My limbs are lamed,--I cannot, cannot walk.
[_She props her elbow on her knee and rests her head in her hand._]
KING (_stepping back_).
And is she ever thus, so timorous?
ESTHER. Nay, for, a while ago, presumptuous,
In spite of us, she wished to see thee, Sire.
KING. Me? She has paid it dear.
ESTHER. At home, as well,
She plays her pranks, and jokes with man or dog,
And makes us laugh, however grave we be.
KING. I would, indeed, she were a Christian, then,
And here at court, where things are dull enough;
A little fun might stand us in good stead.
Ho, Garceran!
GARCERAN. Illustrious Sire and King!
ESTHER (_busy with_ RACHEL).
Stand up! Stand up!
RACHEL (_rising and taking off_ ESTHER's _necklace, which she adds to
the other jewels_).
And give, too, what _thou_ hast,
It is my ransom.
ESTHER. Well, so be it then.
KING. What think you of all this?
GARCERAN. What _I_ think, Sire?
KING. Dissemble not! You are a connoisseur,
Myself have never looked at women much
But _she_ seems beautiful.
GARCERAN. She is, O Sire!
KING. Be strong then, for you shall accomp'ny her.
RACHEL (_who stands in the middle of the stage with trembling knees and
bent head, pushing up her sleeve_).
Put on my bracelet. Oh you hurt me so.
The necklace, too-indeed, that still hangs here.
The kerchief keep, I feel so hot and choked.
KING. Convey her home!
GARCERAN. But, Sire, I fear--
KING. Well, what?
GARCERAN. The people are aroused.
KING. Ay, you are right.
Although a royal word protection is,
'Tis better that we give no cause to wrong.
ESTHER (_fixing_ RACHEL's _dress at the neck_).
Thy dress is all disturbed and all awry.
KING. Take her at first to one of those kiosks
There scattered through the garden, and at eve--
GARCERAN. I hear, my liege!
KING. What was I saying? Oh! Are you not ready yet?
ESTHER. We are, my lord.
KING. At evening when the people all have gone,
Then lead her home and that will make an end.
GARCERAN. Come, lovely heathen!
KING. Heathen? Stuff and nonsense!
ESTHER (_to_ RACHEL,_ who prepares to go_).
And thankst thou not the King for so much grace?
RACHEL (_still exhausted, turning to the _KING).
My thanks, O Sire, for all thy mighty care!
O were I not a poor and wretched thing--
(_with a motion of her hand across her neck_)
That this my neck, made short by hangman's hand,
That this my breast, a shield against thy foe--
But that thou wishest not!
KING. A charming shield!
Now go, and God be with you.--Garceran,
(_more softly_)
I do not wish that she, whom I protect
Should be insulted by improper jests,
Or any way disturbed--
RACHEL (_with her hand on her brow_).
I cannot walk.
KING (_as Garceran is about to offer his arm_).
And why your arm? The woman can assist.
And do thou, gaffer, watch thy daughter well,
The world is ill! Do thou protect thy hoard.
[_Exeunt_ RACHEL _and her kin, led by_ GARCERAN.]
KING (_watching them_).
She totters still in walking. All her soul
A sea of fear in e'er-renewing waves.
(_Putting down his foot_)
She held my foot so tightly in her grasp,
It almost pains me. Strange it is, a man
When cowardly, with justice is despised--
A woman shows her strength when she is weak.
Ah, Almirante, what say _you_ to this?
MANRIQUE. I think, the punishment you gave my son,
Is, noble Sire, both subtle and severe.
KING. The punishment?
MANRIQUE. To guard this common trash.
KING. Methinks the punishment is not so hard.
Myself have never toyed with women much,
(_Pointing to his suite._)
But these, perchance, think otherwise than you.
But now, avaunt all pictures so confused!
And dine we, for my body needs new strength,
And with the first glad draught this festal day,
Let each one think--of what he wants to think.
No ceremony! Forward! Hasten! On!
[_As the court arranges itself on both sides and the KING goes through
the centre, the curtain falls._]
ACT II
_A drop scene showing part of the garden. At the right, a garden-house
with a balcony and a door, to which several steps lead up._
GARCERAN _enters through the door._
GARCERAN. And so before I'm caught, I'll save myself!
The girl is beautiful, and is a fool;
But love is folly; wherefore such a fool
Is more to fear than e'er the slyest was.
Besides, 'tis necessary that I bring,
While still there's time, my good repute again
To honor,--and my love for Dona Clara,
Most silent she of all that never talk;
The wise man counts escape a victory.
_A page of the_ KING _enters._
PAGE. Sir Garceran--
GARCERAN. Ah, Robert, what's a-foot?
PAGE. The King, my lord, commanded me to see
If still you were with her entrusted you--
GARCERAN. If I am here? Why, he commanded--friend!
You were to see were I, perhaps, upstairs?
Just tell him that the girl is in the house,
And I outside. That answer will suffice.
PAGE. The King himself!
GARCERAN. Your majesty!
[_The_ KING _comes wrapped in a cloak. Exit PAGE._]
KING. Well, friend!
Still here?
GARCERAN. Why, did you not yourself command
That only with the evening's first approach--
KING. Yes, yes, but now on second thought it seems
Far better that you travel while 'tis day--
They say thou'rt brave.
GARCERAN. So you believe, O Sire--
KING. Methinks thou honorest the royal word
Which would unharmèd know what it protects.
But custom is the master of mankind;
Our wills will often only what they must.
And so, depart. But tell me, what doth she?
GARCERAN. At first, there was a weeping without end,
But time brings comfort, as the saying is;
And so 'twas here. Soon cheerfulness, yea jest,
Had banished all her former abject fear;
Then there was pleasure in the shining toys,
And wonder at the satin tapestries.
We measured every curtained stuff by yards,
Till now we've settled down and feel at home.
KING. And does she seem desirous to return?
GARCERAN. It sometimes seems she does, and then does not.
A shallow mind ne'er worries for the morrow.
KING. Of course thou didst not hesitate to throw
To her the bait of words, as is thy wont?
How did she take it, pray?
GARCERAN. Not badly, Sire.
KING. Thou liest! But in truth thou'rt lucky, boy!
And hover'st like a bird in cheerful skies,
And swoopest down wherever berries lure,
And canst adjust thyself at the first glance.
I am a King; my very word brings fear.
Yet I, were I the first time in my life
To stand in woman's presence, fear should know!
How dost begin? Pray, teach me what to do;
I am a novice in such arts as these,
And nothing better than a grown-up child.
Dost sigh?
GARCERAN. Oh, Sire, how sadly out of date!
KING. Well then, dost gaze? Does then Squire Gander gawk
Till Lady Goose-quill gawks again? Is't so?
And next, I ween, thou takest up thy lute,
And turning towards the balcony, as here,
Thou singst a croaking song, to which the moon,
A yellow pander, sparkles through the trees;
The flowers sweet intoxicate the sense,
Till now the proper opportunity
Arrives--the father, brother--spouse, perhaps--
Has left the house on similar errand bent.
And now the handmaid calls you gently: "Pst!"
You enter in, and then a soft, warm hand
Takes hold of yours and leads you through the halls,
Which, endless as the gloomy grave, spur on
The heightened wish, until, at last, the musk,
The softened lights that come through curtains' folds,
Do tell you that your charming goal is reached.
The door is ope'd, and bright, in candle gleam,
On velvet dark, with limbs all loosed in love,
Her snow-white arm enwrapped in ropes of pearls,
Your darling leans with gently drooping head,
The golden locks--no, no, I say they're black--
Her raven locks--and so on to the end!
Thou seest, Garceran, I learn right well,
And Christian, Mooress, Jewess, 'tis the same.
GARCERAN. We frontier warriors prize, for lack of choice,
Fair Moorish women, but the Jewess, Sire,--
KING. Pretend thou not to pick and choose thy fare!
I wager, if the maiden there above
Had given thee but a glance, thou'dst be aflame.
I love it not, this folk, and yet I know
That what disfigures it, is our own work;
We lame them, and are angry when they limp,
And yet, withal, this wandering shepherd race
Has something great about it, Garceran.
We are today's, we others; but their line
Runs from Creation's cradle, where our God,
In human form, still walked in Paradise,
And cherubim were guests of patriarchs,
And God alone was judge, and was the law.
Within this fairy world there is the truth
Of Cain and Abel, of Rebecca's craft,
Of Rachel, who by Jacob's service wooed--
How hight this maiden?
GARCERAN. Sire, I know not.
KING. Oh!
Of great King Ahasuerus, who his hand
Stretched out o'er Esther; she, though Jewess, was
His wife, and, like a god, preserved her race.
Christian and Moslem both their lineage trace
Back to this folk, as oldest and as first;
Thus they have doubts of us, not we of them.
And though, like Esau, it has sold its right,
We ten times daily crucify our God
By grievous sins and by our vile misdeeds--
The Jews have crucified him only once!
Now let us go! Or, rather, stay thou here;
Conduct her hence, and mark well where she lives.
Perhaps some time, when worn by weary cares,
I'll visit her, and there enjoy her thanks.
(_About to go, he hears a noise in the house and stops._)
What is't?
GARCERAN. Confusion in the house; it seems
Almost as if they bring thy praise to naught;
Among themselves they quarrel--
KING (_going to the house_).
What about?
_ISAAC comes from the garden-house._
ISAAC (_speaking back into the house_).
Stay then, and risk your heads, if so ye will,
You've nearly lost them once. I'll save myself.
KING. Ask what he means.
GARCERAN. My good man, tell, how now?
ISAAC (_to_ GARCERAN).
Ah, Sir, it is then you, our guardian!
My little Rachel speaks of you so oft;
She likes you.
KING. To the point. What babbling this--
ISAAC. Who is this lord?
GARCERAN. It makes no difference. Speak!
What is the cause of all that noise above?
ISAAC (_speaking up to the window_).
Look out, you're going to catch it--now look out!
(_To_ GARCERAN.)
Yourself have seen my little Rachel-girl,
And how she wept and groaned and beat her breasts,
As if half crazed. Of course you have, my life!--
She hardly knew the danger had been passed
When back again her old high spirits came;
She laughed, and danced, and sang; half mad again
She shoved awry the sacred furniture
By dead men watched, and raves--as now you hear.
Hangs from her girdle not a chatelaine?
Her keys she tries in every closet lock,
And opens all the doors along the wall.
There hang within all sorts of things to wear,
And angels, devils, beggars vie with kings
In gay attire--
KING (_aside to_ GARCERAN).
Our carnival costumes.
ISAAC. She chose, herself, a plumèd crown from these,--
It was not gold, but only gilded tin--
One tells it by the weight, worth twenty pence;
About her shoulders throws a trained robe
And says she is the queen--
(_Speaking back._)
Oh yes, thou fool!
Then in the ante-chamber next, there hangs
A picture of the King, whom God preserve!
She takes it from the wall, bears it about,
Calling it husband with endearing words,
And holds it to her breast.
[KING _goes hastily toward the garden house._]
GARCERAN. Oh, mighty Sire!
ISAAC (_stepping back_).
Alas!
KING (_standing on the steps, quietly_).
That game is worth a nearer look.
What's more, 'twill soon be time for you to go;
You should not miss the favorable hour.
But you, old man, must come. For not alone,
Nor unobserved would I approach your children.
[_Goes into the house._]
ISAAC. Was that the King? Oh, woe!
GARCERAN. Proceed within.
ISAAC. If he should draw his sword, we all are doomed!
GARCERAN. Go in. And as for being afraid, 'tis not
For you nor for your daughter that I fear.
[_He pushes the hesitating_ ISAAC _into the garden house and follows
him._]
* * * * *
_Room in the pavilion. In the background to the left a door; in the
foreground to the right, another door. _RACHEL,_ with a plumed crown on
her head and gold embroidered mantle about her shoulders, is trying to
drag an armchair from the neighboring room, on the right._ ESTHER _has
come in through the principal entrance._
RACHEL. The armchair should stand here, here in the middle.
ESTHER. For Heaven's sake, O Rachel, pray look out;
Your madness else will bring us all to grief.
RACHEL. The King has given this vacant house to us;
As long as we inhabit it, it's ours.
[_They have dragged the chair to the centre._]
RACHEL (_looking at herself_).
Now don't you think my train becomes me well?
And when I nod, these feathers also nod.
I need just one thing more--I'll get it--wait!
[_Goes back through the side door._]
ESTHER. Oh, were we only far from here, at home!
My father, too, comes not, whom she drove off.
RACHEL (_comes back with an unframed picture_).
The royal image taken from its frame
I'll bear it with me.
ESTHER. Art thou mad again?
How often I have warned thee!
RACHEL. Did I heed?
ESTHER. By Heaven, no!
RACHEL. Nor will I heed you now.
The picture pleases me. Just see how fine!
I'll hang it in my room, close by my bed.
At morn and eventide I'll gaze at it,
And think such thoughts as one may think when one
Has shaken off the burden of one's clothes
And feels quite free from every onerous weight.
But lest they think that I have stolen it--
I who am rich--what need have I to steal?--
My portrait which you wear about your neck
We'll hang up where the other used to be.
Thus he may look at mine, as I at his,
And think of me, if he perchance forgot.
The footstool bring me hither; I am Queen,
And I shall fasten to the chair this King.
They say that witches who compel to love
Stick needles, thus, in images of wax,
And every prick goes to a human heart
To hinder or to quicken life that's real.
[_She fastens the picture by the four corners to the back of the
chair._]
Oh, would that blood could flow with every prick,
That I could drink it with my thirsty lips,
And take my pleasure in the ill I'd done!
It hangs there, no less beautiful than dumb.
But I will speak to it as were I Queen,
With crown and mantle which become me well.
[_She has seated herself on the footstool before the picture._]
Oh, hypocrite, pretending piety,
Full well I know your each and every wile!
The Jewess struck your fancy--don't deny!
And, by my mighty word, she's beautiful,
And only with myself to be compared.
[_The_ KING, _followed by _GARCERAN _and_ ISAAC, _has entered and
placed himself behind the chair, and leans upon the back of the chair,
watching her._]
(RACHEL, _continues_)
But I, your Queen, I will not suffer it,
For know that I am jealous as a cat.
Your silence only makes your guilt seem more.
Confess! You liked her? Answer, Yes!
KING. Well, Yes!
[RACHEL, _starts, looks at the picture, then up, recognizes the_ KING,_
and remains transfixed on the footstool._]
KING (_stepping forward_).
Art frightened? Thou hast willed it, and I say 't.
Compose thyself, thou art in friendly hands!
[_He stretches his hand toward her, she leaps from the stool and flees
to the door at the right where she stands panting and with bowed head._]
KING. Is she so shy?
ESTHER. Not always, gracious Sire!
Not shy, but timid.
KING. Do I seem so grim?
(_Approaching her._ RACHEL, _shakes her head violently._)
Well then, my dearest child, I pray be calm!
Yes, I repeat it, thou hast pleased me well;
When from this Holy War I home return
To which my honor and my duty call,
Then in Toledo I may ask for thee--
Where dwell you in this city?
ISAAC (_quickly_).
Jew Street, Sire--
Ben Mathes' house.
ESTHER. If not, before you come,
We're driven out.
KING. My word! That shall not be.
And I can keep a promise to protect.
So if at home you are as talkative
And cheerful as I hear you erstwhile were--
Not shy, as now, I'll pass the time away,
And draw a breath far from the fogs of court.
But now depart; the time has long since come.
Go with them, Garceran; but, ere you go,
My picture now return to where it was.
RACHEL (_rushing to the chair_).
The picture's mine!
KING. What ails thee, child? It must
Go back into the frame where it belongs.
RACHEL (_to_ GARCERAN).
The picture touch not, nor the pins therein,
Or I shall fix it with a deeper thrust
(_Making a motion toward the picture with a pin._)
Behold, right in the heart!
KING. By Heaven, stop!
Thou almost frightenedst me. Who art thou,
girl?
Art mistress of the black and criminal arts,
That I should feel in my own breast the thrust
Thou aimèdst at the picture?
ESTHER. Noble Sire,
She's but a spoiled child, and a wanton girl,
And has no knowledge of forbidden arts!
KING. One ought not boldly play with things like these.
It drove my blood up to my very eyes,
And still I see the world all in a haze.
(_To_ GARCERAN.)
Is she not beautiful?
GARCERAN. She is, my lord.
KING. See how the waves of light glow o'er her form!
[RACHEL _has meanwhile taken of the picture and rolled it up._]
KING. Thou absolutely wilt not give it up?
RACHEL (_to _ESTHER).
I'll take it.
KING. Well, then, in the name of God!
He will prevent that any ill befall.
But only go! Take, Garceran,
The road that down behind the garden leads.
The folk's aroused; it loves, because it's weak,
To test that weakness on some weaker one.
GARCERAN (_at the window_).
Behold, O Sire, where comes th' entire court,--
The Queen herself leads on her retinue.
KING. Comes here? Accursed! Is here no other door?
Let not the prying crew find here false cause
To prattle!
GARCERAN (_pointing to the side door_).
Sire, this chamber
KING. Think you, then,
Before my servants I should hide myself?
And yet I fear the pain 'twould give the Queen;
She might believe--what I myself believe,
And so I save my troubled majesty.
See to it that she very soon depart.
[_Exit into the side room._]
ESTHER. I told you so! It is misfortune's road.
_Enter the_ QUEEN _accompanied by_ MANRIQUE DE LARA _and several
others._
QUEEN. They told me that the King was in this place.
GARCERAN. He was, but went away.
QUEEN. The Jewess here.
MANRIQUE. Arrayed like madness freed from every bond,
With all the tinsel-state of puppet-play!
Lay off the crown, for it befits thee not,
Even in jest; the mantle also doff!
[ESTHER _has taken both off._]
What has she in her hand?
RACHEL. It is my own.
MANRIQUE. But first we'll see!
ESTHER. Nay, we are not so poor
That we should stretch our hands for others' goods!
MANRIQUE (_going toward the side door_).
And, too, in yonder chamber let us look,
If nothing missing, or perhaps if greed
With impudence itself as here, has joined.
GARCERAN (_barring the way_).
Here, father, call I halt!
MANRIQUE. Know'st thou me not?
GARCERAN. Yes, and myself as well. But there be duties
Which even a father's rights do not outweigh.
MANRIQUE. Look in my eye! He cannot bear to do it!
Two sons I lose on this unhappy day.
(_To the _QUEEN.)
Will you not go?
QUEEN. I would, but cannot. Yes,
I surely can, by Heaven, for I must.
(_To_ GARCERAN.)
Although your office an unknightly one,
I thank you that you do it faithfully;
'Twere death to see--but I can go and suffer--
If you should meet your master ere the eve,
Say, to Toledo I returned--alone.
[_The QUEEN and her suite go out._]
GARCERAN. Woe worth the chance that chose this day of all,
To bring me home--from war to worse than war!
RACHEL (_to_ ESTHER, _who is busied with her_).
And had my life been forfeit, I'd have stayed.
ESTHER (_to_ GARCERAN).
I pray you now to bring us quickly home.
GARCERAN. First, let me ask the King his royal will.
(_Knocking at the side door._)
Sire! What? No sign of life within? Perchance
An accident? Whate'er it be--I'll ope!
[_The_ KING _steps out and remains standing in the foreground as the
others withdraw to the back of the stage._]
KING. So honor and repute in this our world
Are not an even path on which the pace,
Simple and forward, shows the tendency,
The goal, our worth. They're like a juggler's rope,
On which a misstep plunges from the heights,
And every stumbling makes a butt for jest.
Must I, but yesterday all virtues' model,
Today shun every slave's inquiring glance?
Begone then, eager wish to please the mob,
Henceforth determine we ourselves our path!
(_Turning to the others._)
What, you still here?
GARCERAN. We wait your high command.
KING. If you had only always waited it,
And had remained upon the boundary!
Examples are contagious, Garceran.
GARCERAN. A righteous prince will punish every fault,
His own as well as others'; but, immune,
He's prone to vent his wrath on others' heads.
KING. Not such a one am I, my friend. Be calm!
We are as ever much inclined to thee;
And now, take these away, forever, too.
What's whim in others, is, in princes, sin.
(_As he sees _RACHEL _approaching._)
Let be! But first this picture lay aside,
And put it in the place from whence you took 't.
It is my will! Delay not!
RACHEL (_to_ ESTHER).
Come thou, too.
(_As both approach the side door_).
Hast thou, as is thy wont, my picture on?
ESTHER. What wilt
RACHEL. My will--and should the worst betide--
[_They go to the side door._]
KING. Then to the border, straight I'll follow thee;
And there we'll wash in Moorish blood away
The equal shame that we have shared this day,
That we may bear once more the gaze of men.
[_The girls return._]
RACHEL. I did it.
KING. Now away, without farewell!
ESTHER. Our thanks to thee, O Sire!
RACHEL. Not mine, I say.
KING. So be it; thankless go!
RACHEL. I'll save it up.
KING. That is, for never!
RACHEL. I know better.
(_To_ ESTHER.)
Come.
[_They go, accompanied by_ GARCERAN, ISAAC _bowing deeply._]
KING. And high time was it that she went; in sooth,
The boredom of a royal court at times
Makes recreation a necessity.
Although this girl has beauty and has charm
Yet seems she overbold and violent,
And one does well to watch what one begins.
Alonzo!
[_Enter a servant._]
SERVANT. Mighty Sire?
KING. The horses fetch.
SERVANT. Toledo, Sire?
KING. Nay, to Alarcos, friend.
We're for the border, for the war, and so
Make ready only what we need the most.
For in Toledo four eyes threaten me;
Two full of tears, the other two, of fire.
She would not leave my picture here behind,
And bade defiance unto death itself.
And yet there needed but my stern command
To make her put it back where it belonged.
She tried her actress arts on me, that's all;
But did she put it in the frame again?
Since I am leaving here for many moons
Let all be undisturbed as 'twas before;
Of this affair let every trace be gone.
[_He goes into the ante-chamber. A pause as one of the servants takes up
from the chair the clothes which_ RACHEL _had worn, but holds the crown
in his hand. The_ KING _comes back holding_ RACHEL'S _picture._]
KING. My picture gone--and this one in its place!
It is her own, and burns within my hand--
(_Throwing the picture on the floor._)
Avaunt! Avaunt! Can boldness go so far?
This may not be, for while I think of her
With just repugnance, this her painted image
Stirs up the burning passion in my breast.
Then, too, within her hands my picture rests!
They talk of magic, unallowèd arts,
Which this folk practises with such-like things
And something as of magic o'er me comes--
(_To the servant._)
Here, pick this up and spur thee on until
Thou overtake them.
SERVANT. Whom, my liege?
KING. Whom? Whom?
The girls of course, I mean, and Garceran;
Return this picture to the girls and ask--
SERVANT. What, Sire?
KING. Shall my own servants then become
The sharers in the knowledge of my shame?
I'll force th' exchange myself, if it must be!
Take up the picture--I will touch it not!
[_The servant has picked up the picture._]
KING. How clumsy! Hide it in your breast; but nay,
If there, it would be warmed by other's glow!
Give 't here, myself will take it; follow me--We'll
overtake them yet! But I surmise,
Since now suspicion's rife, there may some harm,
Some accident befall them unawares.
My royal escort were the safest guide.
Thou, follow me!
[_He has looked at the picture, then has put it in his bosom._]
Stands there not, at the side,
The Castle Retiro, where, all concealed,
My forebear, Sancho, with a Moorish maid--!
SERVANT. Your Majesty, 'tis true!
KING. We'll imitate
Our forebears in their bravery, their worth,
Not when they stumble in their weaker hours.
The task is, first of all to conquer self--And
then against the foreign conqueror!
Retiro hight the castle?--Let me see!
Oh yes, away! And be discreet! But then--Thou
knowest nothing! All the better. Come!
[_Exit with servant._]
ACT III
_Garden in the royal villa. In the background flows the Tagus. A roomy
arbor toward the front at the right. At the left, several suppliants in
a row, with petitions in their hands._ ISAAC _stands near them._
ISAAC. You were already told to linger not.
My daughter soon will come to take the air.
And _he_ is with her--_he_; I say not who.
So tremble and depart, and your requests
Take to the King's advisers in Toledo.
[_He takes the petition from one of them._]
Let's see! 'Twon't do.
PETITIONER. You hold it upside down.
ISAAC. Because the whole request is topsy-turvy turvy--And
you are, too. Disturb no more--depart.
2D PETIT. Sir Isaac, in Toledo me you knew.
ISAAC. I know you not. In these last days my eyes
Have suddenly grown very, very weak.
2D PETIT. But I know you! Here is the purse of gold
You lost, which I herewith restore to you.
ISAAC. The purse I lost? I recognize it! Yea,
'Twas greenish silk--with ten piasters in't!
2D PETIT. Nay, twenty.
ISAAC. Twenty? Well, my eye is good;
My mem'ry fails me, though, from time to time!
This sheet, no doubt, explains the circumstance--Just
where you found the purse, perhaps, and how.
There is no further need that this report
Should go on file. And yet, just let me have't!
We will convey it to the proper place,
That every one may know your honesty!
[_The petitioners present their petitions; he takes one in each hand and
throws them to the ground._]
No matter what it be, your answer's there.
(_To a third._)
I see you have a ring upon your hand.
The stone is good, let's see!
[_The suppliant hands over the ring._]
That flaw, of course,
Destroys its perfect water! Take it back.
[_He puts the ring on his own finger._]
3D PETIT. You've put it on your own hand!
ISAAC. What, on mine?
Why so I have! I thought I'd given it back.
It is so tight I cannot get it off.
3D PETIT. Keep it, but, pray, take my petition too.
ISAAC (_busy with the ring_).
I'll take them both in memory of you.
The King shall weigh the ring--I mean, of course,
Your words--although the flaw is evident--The
flaw that's in the stone--you understand.
Begone now, all of you! Have I no club?
Must I be bothered with this Christian pack?
[GARCERAN _has meanwhile entered._]
GARCERAN. Good luck! I see you sitting in the reeds,
But find you're pitching high the pipes you cut.
ISAAC. The royal privacy's entrusted me;
The King's not here, he does not wish to be.
And who disturbs him--even you, my lord,
I must bid you begone! Those his commands.
GARCERAN. You sought a while ago to find a club;
And when you find it, bring it me. I think
Your back could use it better than your hand.
ISAAC. How you flare up! That is the way with Christians?
They're so direct of speech--but patient waiting,
And foresight, humble cleverness, they lack.
The King is pleased much to converse with me.
GARCERAN. When he is bored and flees his inner self,
E'en such a bore as you were less a bore.
ISAAC. He speaks to me of State and of finance.
GARCERAN. Are you, perhaps, the father of the new
Decree that makes a threepence worth but two?
ISAAC. Money, my friend, 's the root of everything.
The enemy is threat'ning--buy you arms!
The soldier, sure, is sold, and that for cash.
You eat and drink your money; what you eat
Is bought, and buying's money--nothing else.
The time will come when every human soul
Will be a sight-draft and a short one, too;
I'm councilor to the King, and if yourself
Would keep in harmony with Isaac's luck--
GARCERAN. In harmony with you? It is my curse
That chance and the accursed seeming so
Have mixed me in this wretched piece of folly,
Which to the utmost strains my loyalty.
ISAAC. My little Rachel daily mounts in grace!
GARCERAN. Would that the King, like many another one,
In jest and play had worn youth's wildness off!
But he, from childhood, knowing only men,
Brought up by men and tended but by men,
Nourished with wisdom's fruits before his time,
Taking his marriage as a thing of course,
The King now meets, the first time in his life,
A woman, female, nothing but her sex,
And she avenges on this prodigy
The folly of too staid, ascetic youth.
A noble woman's half, yes all, a man--
It is their faults that make them woman-kind.
And that resistance, which the oft deceived
Gains through experience, the King has not;
A light disport he takes for bitter earn'st.
But this shall not endure, I warrant thee!
The foe is at the borders, and the King
Shall hie him where long since he ought to be;
Myself shall lead him hence. And so an end.
ISAAC. Try what you can! And if not with us, then
You are against us, and will break your neck
In vain attempt to clear the wide abyss.
(_The sound of flutes._)
But hark! With cymbals and with horns they come,
As Esther with King Ahasuerus came,
Who raised the Jews to fame and high estate.
GARCERAN. Must I, then, see in this my King's debauch
A picture of myself from early days,
And be ashamed for both of us at once?
[_A boat upon which are the_ KING, RACHEL _and suite, appears on the
river._]
KING. Lay to! Here is the place--the arbor here.
RACHEL. The skiff is rocking--hold me, lest I fall.
[_The_ KING _has jumped to the shore._]
RACHEL. And must I walk to shore upon this board
So thin and weak?
KING. Here, take my hand, I pray!
RACHEL. No, no, I'm dizzy.
GARCERAN (_to himself_).
Dizzy are you? Humph!
KING (_who has conducted her to the shore_).
It is accomplished now--this mighty task!
RACHEL. No, never will I enter more a ship.
(_Taking the_ KING's _arm._)
Permit me, noble Sire, I am so weak!
Pray feel my heart, how fev'rishly it beats!
KING. To fear, is woman's right; but you abuse it.
RACHEL. You now, hard-hearted, take away your aid!
And, oh, these garden walks, how hard they are!
With stones, and not with sand, they're roughly strewn
For men to walk on, not for women's feet.
KING. Put down a carpet, ye, that we have peace.
RACHEL. I feel it well--I merely burden you!
Oh, were my sister only here with me,
For I am sick and tired unto death!
Naught but these pillows here?
(_Throwing the pillows in the arbor violently about._)
No, no, no, no!
KING (_laughing_).
I see your weakness happily abates.
(_Catching sight of _GARCERAN.)
Ah, Garceran! Behold, she's but a child!
GARCERAN. A spoiled child, surely!
KING. Yes, they all are that.
It suits her well!
GARCERAN. According to one's tastes!
KING. See, Garceran! I feel how wrong I am;
And yet I know there needeth but a nod,
A simple word, to make it all dissolve--This
dream--into the nothing that it is.
And so I suffer it because I've need,
In this confusion which myself have caused.
How is the army?
GARCERAN. As you long have known,
The enemy is arming.
KING. So shall we.
A few days more, and I shall put away
This toying from me, and forevermore;
Then time and counsel shall be found again.
GARCERAN. Mayhap the counsel, but the time slips by!
KING. With deeds we shall regain the ground that's lost.
RACHEL. I hear them speaking; and I know of what--Of
And not be lonesome in this concourse loud.
I see you come not. No, they hold you back.
[_Weeping._]
Not any comfort give they me, nor joy.
They hold me here, apart, in slavery.
Would I were home again in father's house,
Where every one is at my beck and call,
Instead of here,--the outcast of contempt.
KING. Go thou to her!
GARCERAN. What? Shall I?
KING. Go, I say!
RACHEL. Sit down by me, but nearer, nearer--so!
Once more I say, I love you, Garceran.
You are, indeed, a knight without a flaw,
Not merely knight in name, as they it learn--
Those iron, proud Castilians--from their foes,
The Moors.--But these Castilians imitate
In manner borrowed, therefore rough and crude,
What those, with delicate and clever art,
Are wont to practise as a native gift.
Give me your hand. Just see, how soft it is!
And yet you wield a sword as well as they.
But you're at home in boudoirs, too, and know
The pleasing manners of a gentler life.
From Dona Clara cometh not this ring?
She's far too pale for rosy-cheekèd love,
Were not the color which her face doth lack
Replaced by e'er renewing blush of shame.
But many other rings I see you have--
How many sweethearts have you? Come, confess!
GARCERAN. Suppose I ask the question now of you?
RACHEL. I've never loved. But I could love, if e'er
In any breast _that_ madness I should find
Which could enthrall me, were my own heart touched.
Till then I follow custom's empty show,
Traditional in love's idolatry,
As in the fanes of stranger-creeds one kneels.
KING (_who meanwhile has been pacing up and down, now stands in the
foreground at the left and speaks in an aside to a servant_).
Bring me my arms, and full accoutrements,
And wait for me beside the garden-house.
I will to camp where they have need of me.
[_Exit servant._]
RACHEL. I beg you, see your King! He thinks he loves;
Yet when I speak to you and press your hand,
He worries not. With good economy,
He fills his garish day with business,
And posts his ledger, satisfied, at ev'n.
Out on you! You are all alike--you, too.
O were my sister here! She's wise--than I
Far cleverer! Yet, too, when in her breast
The spark of will and resolution falls,
She flashes out in flames, like unto mine.
Were she a man, she'd be a hero. Ye
Before her courage and her gaze should flinch.
Now let me sleep until she comes, for I
Myself am but the dreaming of a night.
[_She lays her head on her arm and her arm on her pillows._]
GARCERAN (_steps to the_ KING _who stands watching the reclining
RACHEL_).
Most noble Sire--
KING (_still gazing_). Well?
GARCERAN. May I now go back
Once more unto the army and the camp?
KING (_as above_).
The army left the camp? Pray tell me why.
GARCERAN. You hear me not--myself, _I_ wish to go.
KING. And there you'll talk, with innuendo, prate--
GARCERAN. Of what?
KING. Of me, of that which here took place.
GARCERAN. For that I'd need to understand it more.
KING. I see! Believest thou in sorcery?
GARCERAN. Since recently I almost do, my lord!
KING. And why is it but recently, I pray?
GARCERAN. Respect, I thought the wonted mate of love;
But love together with contempt, my lord--