Produced by David Moynihan, D Garcia, Charles Franks and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Proofreader's Note: The scenes in Act III are misnumbered in the
original, they are labeled I, II, III, VI, and VII. This has been
retained in the text.]
DON GARCIE DE NAVARRE;
OU,
LE PRINCE JALOUX.
COMEDIE HÉROÏQUE EN CINQ ACTES.
* * * * *
DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE
OR,
THE JEALOUS PRINCE.
A HEROIC COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS.
(_THE ORIGINAL IN VERSE_.)
INTRODUCTORY NOTICE.
Nothing can be more unlike _The Pretentious Young Ladies_ or
_Sganarelle_ than Molière's _Don Garcia of Navarre_. The Théâtre du
Palais-Royal had opened on the 20th January, 1661, with _The Love-Tiff_
and _Sganarelle_, but as the young wife of Louis XIV., Maria Theresa,
daughter of Philip IV., King of Spain, had only lately arrived, and as a
taste for the Spanish drama appeared to spring up anew in France,
Molière thought perhaps that a heroic comedy in that style might meet
with some success, the more so as a company of Spanish actors had been
performing in Paris the plays of Lope de Vega and Calderon, since the
24th of July, 1660. Therefore, he brought out, on the 4th of February,
1661, his new play of _Don Garcia of Navarre_. It is said that there
exists a Spanish play of the same name, of which the author is unknown;
Molière seems to have partly followed an Italian comedy, written by
Giacinto Andrea Cicognini, under the name of _Le Gelosie fortunata del
principe Rodrigo_; the style, loftiness and delicacy of expression are
peculiar to the French dramatist.
_Don Garcia of Navarre_ met with no favourable reception, though the
author played the part of the hero. He withdrew it after five
representations, but still did not think its condemnation final, for he
played it again before the King on the 29th of September, 1662, in
October, 1663, at Chantilly, and twice at Versailles. He attempted it
anew on the theatre of the Palace-Royal in the month of November, 1663;
but as it was everywhere unfavourably received, he resolved never to
play it more, and even would not print it, for it was only published
after his death in 1682. He inserted some parts of this comedy in the
_Misanthrope_, the _Femmes Savantes_, _Amphitryon_, _Tartuffe_ and _Les
Fâcheux, where they produced great effect.
Though it has not gained a place on the French stage, it nevertheless
possesses some fine passages. Molière wished to create a counterpart of
_Sganarelle_, the type of ridiculous jealousy, and to delineate
passionate jealousy, its doubts, fears, perplexities and anxieties, and
in this he has succeeded admirably. However noble-minded Don Garcia may
be, there rages within his soul a mean passion which tortures and
degrades him incessantly. When at last he is banished from the presence
of the fair object of his love, he resolves to brave death by devoting
himself to the destruction of her foe; but he is forestalled by his
presumed rival, Don Alphonso, who turns out to be the brother of his
mistress, and she receives him once again and for ever in her favour.
The delineation of all these passions is too fine-spun, too
argumentative to please the general public; the style is sometimes
stilted, yet passages of great beauty may be found in it. Moreover the
jealousy expressed by Don Garcia is neither sufficiently terrible to
frighten, nor ridiculous enough to amuse the audience; he always speaks
and acts as a prince, and hence, he sometimes becomes royally
monotonous.
Some scenes of this play have been imitated in _The Masquerade_, a
comedy, acted at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, 1719, London, "printed
for Bernard Linton, between the Temple Gate," which was itself partly
borrowed from Shirley's _Lady of Pleasure_. The comedy was written by
Mr. Charles Johnson, who "was originally bred to the law, and was a
member of the Middle Temple; but being a great admirer of the Muses, and
finding in himself a strong propensity to dramatic writing, he quitted
the studious labour of the one, for the more spirited amusements of the
other; and by contracting an intimacy with Mr. Wilks, found means,
through that gentleman's interest, to get his plays on the stage without
much difficulty ... he, by a polite and modest behaviour formed so
extensive an acquaintance and intimacy, as constantly ensured him great
emoluments on his benefit night by which means, being a man of economy,
he was enabled to subsist very genteelly. He at length married a young
widow, with a tolerable fortune; on which he set up a tavern in Bow
Street, Covent Garden, but quitted business at his wife's death, and
lived privately on an easy competence he had saved.... He was born in
1679 ... but he did not die till March 11, 1748." [Footnote: Biographia
Dramatica, by Baker, Reed and Jones, 1812, Vol. I. Part i.]
_The Masquerade_ is a clever comedy, rather free in language and
thought, chiefly about the danger of gambling. Some of the sayings are
very pointed. It has been stated that the author frequented the
principal coffee-houses in town, and picked up many pungent remarks
there; however this may be, the literary men who at the present time
frequent clubs, have, I am afraid, not the same chance. As a specimen of
free and easy--rather too easy--wit, let me mention the remarks of Mr.
Smart (Act I.) on the way he passed the night, and in what manner. "Nine
persons are kept handsomely out of the sober income of one hundred
pounds a year." I also observe the name of an old acquaintance in this
play. Thackeray's hero in the Memoirs of Mr. Charles J. Yellowplush is
"the Honourable Algernon Percy Deuceace, youngest and fifth son of the
Earl of Crabs," and in _The Masquerade_ (Act III. Sc. i) Mr. Ombre says:
"Did you not observe an old decay'd rake that stood next the box-keeper
yonder ... they call him _Sir Timothy Deuxace_; that wretch has play'd
off one of the best families in Europe--he has thrown away all his
posterity, and reduced 20,000 acres of wood-land, arable, meadow, and
pasture within the narrow circumference of an oaken table of eight
foot." _The Masquerade_ as the title of the play is a misnomer, for it
does not conduce at all to the plot. We give the greater part of the
Prologue to _The Masquerade_, spoken by Mr. Wilks:--
The Poet, who must paint by Nature's Laws,
If he wou'd merit what he begs, Applause;
Surveys your changing Pleasures with Surprise,
Sees each new Day some new Diversion rise;
Hither, thro' all the Quarters of the Sky,
Fresh Rooks in Flocks from ev'ry Nation hye,
To us, the Cullies of the Globe, they fly;
French, Spaniards, Switzers; This Man dines on Fire
And swallows Brimstone to your Heart's Desire;
Another, Handless, Footless, Half a Man,
Does, Wou'd you think it? what no Whole one can,
A Spaniard next, taught an Italian Frown,
Boldly declares he'll stare all Europe down:
His tortured Muscles pleas'd our English Fools;
[Footnote: In the rival House, Lincoln's-Inn-Fields Theatre, Rich was
bringing out Pantomimes, which, by the fertility of his invention, the
excellency of his own performance, and the introduction of foreign
performers, drew nightly crowded houses--hence the allusion.]
Why wou'd the Sot engage with English Bulls?
Our English Bulls are Hereticks uncivil,
They'd toss the Grand Inquisitor, the Devil:
'Twas stupidly contrived of Don Grimace,
To hope to fright 'em with an ugly Face.
And yet, tho' these Exotick Monsters please,
We must with humble Gratitude confess,
To you alone 'tis due, that in this Age,
Good Sense still triumphs on the British Stage:
Shakespear beholds with Joy his Sons inherit
His good old Plays, with good old Bess's Spirit.
Be wise and merry, while you keep that Tether;
Nonsense and Slavery must die together.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
DON GARCIA, _Prince of Navarre, in love with Elvira_.
[Footnote: In the inventory taken after Molière's death mention is made
of "Spanish dress, breeches, cloth cloak, and a satin doublet, the whole
adorned with silk embroideries." This is probably the dress in which
Molière played _Don Garcia_.]
DON ALPHONSO, _Prince of Leon, thought to be Prince of Castile, under
the name of Don Silvio_.
DON ALVAREZ, _confidant of Don Garcia, in love with Eliza_.
DON LOPEZ, _another confidant of Don Garcia, in love with Eliza_.
DON PEDRO, _gentleman usher to Inez_.
A PAGE.
DONNA ELVIRA, _Princess of Leon_.
DONNA INEZ, _a Countess, in love with Don Silvio, beloved by Mauregat,
the usurper of the Kingdom of Leon_.
ELIZA, _confidant to Elvira_.
_Scene_.--ASTORGA, _a city of Spain, in the kingdom of Leon_.
DON GARCIA OF NAVARRE;
OR, THE JEALOUS PRINCE.
(_DON GARCIE DE NAVARRE, OU LE PRINCE JALOUX_.)
* * * * *
ACT I.
SCENE I.--DONNA ELVIRA, ELIZA.
ELVIRA. No, the hidden feelings of my heart were not regulated by
choice: whatever the Prince may be, there is nothing in him to make me
prefer his love. Don Silvio shows, as well as he, all the qualities of a
renowned hero. The same noble virtues and the same high birth made me
hesitate whom to prefer. If aught but merit could gain my heart, the
conqueror were yet to be named; but these chains, with which Heaven
keeps our souls enslaved, decide me, and, though I esteem both equally,
my love is given to Don Garcia.
ELIZA. The love which you feel for him, seems to have very little
influenced your actions, since I, myself, madam, could not for a long
time discover which of the two rivals was the favoured one.
ELV. Their noble rivalry in love, Eliza, caused a severe struggle in my
breast. When I looked on the one, I felt no pangs, because I followed my
own tender inclination; but when I thought I sacrificed the other, I
considered I acted very unjustly; and was of opinion, that Don Silvio's
passion, after all, deserved a happier destiny. I also reflected that a
daughter of the late King of Leon owed some obligation to the house of
Castile; that an intimate friendship had long knit together the
interests of his father and mine. Thus, the more the one made progress
in my heart, the more I lamented the ill success of the other. Full of
pity, I listened to his ardent sighs, and received his vows politely;
thus in a slight degree I tried to make amends for the opposition his
love met with in my heart.
EL. But since you have been informed he previously loved another, your
mind ought to be at rest. Before he loved you, Donna Inez had received
the homage of his heart. As she is your most intimate friend, and has
told you this secret, you are free to bestow your love upon whom you
wish, and cover your refusal to listen to him under the guise of
friendship for her.
ELV. It is true, I ought to be pleased with the news of Don Silvio's
faithlessness, because my heart, that was tormented by his love, is now
at liberty to reject it; can justly refuse his addresses, and, without
scruple, grant its favours to another. But what delight can my heart
feel, if it suffers severely from other pangs; if the continual weakness
of a jealous prince receives my tenderness with disdain, compels me
justly to give way to anger, and thus to break off all intercourse
between us?
EL. But as he has never been told that you love him, how can he be
guilty if he disbelieves in his happiness? And does not that which could
flatter his rival's expectations warrant him to suspect your affection?
ELV. No, no; nothing can excuse the strange madness of his gloomy and
unmanly jealousy; I have told him but too clearly, by my actions, that
he can indeed flatter himself with the happiness of being beloved. Even
if we do not speak, there are other interpreters which clearly lay bare
our secret feelings. A sigh, a glance, a mere blush, silence itself, is
enough to show the impulses of a heart. In love, everything speaks: in a
case like this, the smallest glimmer ought to throw a great light upon
such a subject, since the honour which sways our sex forbids us ever to
discover all we feel. I have, I own, endeavoured so to guide my conduct,
that I should behold their merits with an unprejudiced eye. But how
vainly do we strive against our inclinations! How easy is it to perceive
the difference between those favours that are bestowed out of mere
politeness, and such as spring from the heart! The first seem always
forced; the latter, alas! are granted without thinking, like those pure
and limpid streams which spontaneously flow from their native sources.
Though the feelings of pity I showed for Don Silvio moved the Prince,
yet I unwittingly betrayed their shallowness, whilst my very looks,
during this torture, always told him more than I desired they should.
EL. Though the suspicions of that illustrious lover have no
foundation--for you tell me so--they at least prove that he is greatly
smitten: some would rejoice at what you complain of. Jealousy may be
odious when it proceeds from a love which displeases us; but when we
return that love, such feelings should delight us. It is the best way in
which a lover can express his passion; the more jealous he is the more
we ought to love him. Therefore since in your soul a magnanimous
Prince....
ELV. Ah! do not bring forward such a strange maxim. Jealousy is always
odious and monstrous; nothing can soften its injurious attacks; the
dearer the object of our love is to us, the more deeply we feel its
offensive attempts. To see a passionate Prince, losing every moment that
respect with which love inspires its real votaries; to see him, when his
whole mind is a prey to jealousy, finding fault either with what I like
or dislike, and explaining every look of mine in favour of a rival!
[Footnote: Molière has expressed the same thoughts differently in _The
Bores_, Act ii. scene 4.]
No, no! such suspicions are too insulting, and I tell you my thoughts
without disguise. I love Don Garcia; he alone can fascinate a generous
heart; his courage in Leon has nobly proved his passion for me; he dared
on my account the greatest dangers, freed me from the toils of cowardly
tyrants, and protected me against the horrors of an unworthy alliance by
placing me within these strong walls. Nor will I deny but that I should
have regretted that I owed my deliverance to any other; for an enamoured
heart feels an extreme pleasure, Eliza, in being under some obligations
to the object beloved; its faint flame becomes stronger and brighter
when it thinks it can discharge them by granting some favours. Yes, I am
charmed that he assisted me and risked his life for me, for this seems
to give his passion a right of conquest; I rejoice that the danger I was
in threw me into his hands. If common reports be true, and Heaven should
grant my brother's return, I wish fervently, and with all my heart, that
his arm may aid my brother to recover his throne, and punish a traitor;
that his heroic valour may be successful, and thus deserve my brother's
utmost gratitude. But for all this, if he continues to rouse my anger;
if he does not lay aside his jealousy, and obey me in whatever I
command, he in vain aspires to the hand of Donna Elvira. Marriage can
never unite us; for I abhor bonds, which, undoubtedly, would then make a
hell upon earth for both of us.
EL. Although one may hold different opinions, the Prince, Madam, should
conform himself to your desires; they are so clearly set down in your
note that, when he sees them thus explained, he...
ELV. This letter, Eliza, shall not be employed for such a purpose. It
will be better to tell him what I think of his conduct. When we favor a
lover by writing to him, we leave in his hands too flagrant proofs of
our inclination. Therefore take care that that letter is not delivered
to the Prince.
EL. Your will is law; yet I cannot help wondering that Heaven has made
people's minds so unlike, and that what some consider an insult should
be viewed with a different eye by others. As for me I should think
myself very fortunate if I had a lover who could be jealous, for his
uneasiness would give me satisfaction. That which often vexes me is to
see Don Alvarez give himself no concern about me.
ELV. We did not think he was so near us. Here he comes.
SCENE II.--DONNA ELVIRA, DON ALVAREZ, ELIZA.
ELV. Your return surprises me. What tidings do you bring? Is Don
Alphonso coming, and when may we expect him?
ALV. Yes, Madam; the time has arrived when your brother, brought up in
Castile, will get his own again. Hitherto, the cautious Don Louis, to
whom the late King, on his death-bed, entrusted the care of Don
Alphonso, has concealed his rank from every one, in order to save him
from the fury of the traitor Mauregat. Though the miserable but
successful tyrant has often inquired after him, under pretence of
restoring him to the throne, yet Don Louis, who is full of prudence,
would never trust to Mauregat's pretended feelings for justice, with
which he tried to allure him. But as the people became enraged at the
violence which a usurper would have offered you, generous old Don Louis
thought it time to try what could be done after twenty years'
expectation. He has sounded Leon; his faithful emissaries have sought to
influence the minds of great and small. Whilst Castile was arming ten
thousand men to restore that Prince so wished for by his people, Don
Louis caused a report to be noised abroad that the renowned Don Alphonso
was coming, but that he would not produce him save at the head of an
army, and completely ready to launch the avenging thunderbolts at the
vile usurper's head. Leon is besieged, and Don Silvio himself commands
the auxiliary forces, with which his father aids you.
ELV. We may flatter ourselves that our expectations will be realized,
but I am afraid my brother will owe Don Silvio too heavy a debt.
[Footnote: Donna Elvira is afraid that Don Alphonso will owe Don Silvio
a debt so heavy, that he will only be able to repay it by the gift of
her hand.]
ALV. But, Madam, is it not strange that, notwithstanding the storm which
the usurper of your throne hears growling over his head, all the advices
from Leon agree that he is going to marry the Countess Inez?
ELV. By allying himself to the high-born maiden, he hopes to obtain the
support of her powerful family. I am rather uneasy that of late I have
heard nothing of her. But she has always shown an inveterate dislike to
that tyrant.
EL. Feelings of honour and tenderness will cause her to refuse the
marriage they urge upon her, for...
ALV. The Prince is coming here.
SCENE III.--DON GARCIA, DONNA ELVIRA, DON ALVAREZ, ELIZA.
GARC. I come, Madam to rejoice with you in the good tidings you have
just heard. Your brother, who threatens a tyrant stained with crimes,
allows me to hope that my love may one day be returned, and offers to my
arm an opportunity to acquire glory in fresh dangers for the sake of
your lovely eyes. If Heaven proves propitious I will gain amidst these
dangers a victory, which divine justice owes to you, which will lay
treachery at your feet, and restore to your family its former dignity.
But what pleases me still more amidst these cherished expectations is
that Heaven restores you this brother to be King; for now my love may
openly declare itself, without being accused of seeking to gain a crown
whilst striving to obtain your hand. Yes, my heart desires nothing more
than to show before the whole world that in you it values but yourself;
if I may say so without giving offence, a hundred times have I wished
you were of less rank. Loving you as I do I could have desired that your
divine charms had fallen to the lot of some one born in a humbler
station, that I might unselfishly proffer my heart, and thus make amends
to you for Heaven's injustice, so that you might owe to my love the
homage due to your birth.
[Footnote: The sentence from "Yes, my heart," &c., until "your birth" is
nearly the same as the words addressed by Alceste to Celimène in the
_Misanthrope_, Act iv. Sc. 3 (see Vol. II.)]
But since Heaven has forestalled me, and deprives me of the privilege of
proving my love, do not take it amiss that my amorous flames look for
some slight encouragement when I shall have killed the tyrant, whom I am
ready to encounter; suffer me by noble services favourably to dispose
the minds of a brother and of a whole nation towards me.
ELV. I know, Prince, that by avenging our wrongs you can make a hundred
deeds of daring speak for your love. But the favour of a brother and the
gratitude of a nation are not sufficient to reward you; Elvira is not to
be obtained by such efforts; there is yet a stronger obstacle to
overcome.
GARC. Yes, Madam, I know what you mean. I know very well that my heart
sighs in vain for you; neither do I ignore the powerful obstacle against
my love, though you name it not.
ELV. Often we hear badly when we think we hear well. Too much ardour,
Prince, may lead us into mistakes. But since I must speak, I will. Do
you wish to know how you can please me, and when you may entertain any
hope?
GARC. I should consider this, Madam, a very great favour.
ELV. When you know how to love as you ought.
GARC. Alas! Madam, does there exist anything under the canopy of heaven
that yields not to the passion with which your eyes have inspired me?
ELV. When your passion displays nothing at which the object of your love
can feel offended.
GARC. That is its greatest study.
ELV. When you shall cease to harbour mean unworthy sentiments of me.
GARC. I love you to adoration.
ELV. When you have made reparation for your unjust suspicions, and when
you finally banish that hideous monster which poisons your love with its
black venom; that jealous and whimsical temper which mars, by its
outbreaks, the love you offer, prevents it from ever being favourably
listened to, and arms me, each time, with just indignation against it.
GARC. Alas, Madam, it is true, that, notwithstanding my utmost effort,
some trifling jealousy lingers in my heart; that a rival, though distant
from your divine charms, disturbs my equanimity. Whether it be whimsical
or reasonable, I always imagine that you are uneasy when he is absent,
and that in spite of my attentions, your sighs are continually sent in
search of that too happy rival. But if such suspicions displease you,
alas, you may easily cure them; their removal, which I hope for, depends
more on you than on me. Yes, with a couple of love-breathing words you
can arm my soul against jealousy, and disperse all the horrors with
which that monster has enshrouded it, by encouraging me to entertain
some expectation of a successful issue. Deign therefore to remove the
doubt that oppresses me; and, amidst so many trials, let your charming
lips grant me the assurance that you love me,--an assurance, of which, I
know, I am utterly unworthy.
ELV. Prince, your suspicions completely master you. The slightest
intimation of a heart should be understood; it does not reciprocate a
passion that continually adjures the object beloved to explain herself
more clearly. The first agitation displayed by our soul ought to satisfy
a discreet lover; if he wishes to make us declare ourselves more
plainly, he only gives us a reason for breaking our promise. If it
depended on me alone, I know not whether I should choose Don Silvio or
yourself; the very wish I expressed for you not to be jealous, would
have been a sufficient hint to any one but you; I thought this request
was worded agreeably enough without needing anything further. Your love,
however, is not yet satisfied, and requires a more public avowal. In
order to remove any scruples, I must distinctly say that I love you;
perhaps even, to make more sure of it, you will insist that I must swear
it too.
GARC. Well, Madam, I own I am too bold; I ought to be satisfied with
everything that pleases you. I desire no further information. I believe
you feel kindly towards me, that my love inspires you even with a little
compassion; I am happier than I deserve to be. It is over now; I abandon
my jealous suspicions; the sentence which condemns them is very
agreeable; I shall obey the decision you so kindly pronounce, and free
my heart from their unfounded sway.
ELV. You promise a great deal, Prince, but I very much doubt whether you
can restrain yourself sufficiently.
GARC. Ah! Madam, you may believe me; it is enough that what is promised
to you ought always to be kept, because the happiness of obeying the
being one worships ought to render easy the greatest efforts. May Heaven
declare eternal war against me; may its thunder strike me dead at your
feet; or, what would be even worse than death, may your wrath be poured
upon me, if ever my love descends to such weakness as to fail in the
promise I have given, if ever any jealous transport of my soul...!
SCENE IV.--DONNA ELVIRA, DON GARCIA, DON ALVAREZ, ELIZA, A PAGE
_presenting a letter to Donna Elvira_.
ELV. I was very anxious about this letter, I am very much obliged to
you; let the messenger wait.
SCENE V.--DONNA ELVIRA, DON GARCIA, DON ALVAREZ, ELIZA.
ELV. (_Low and aside_). I see already by his looks that this letter
disturbs him. What a wonderfully jealous temper he has! (_Aloud_). What
stops you, Prince, in the midst of your oath.
GARC. I thought you might have some secret together; I was unwilling to
interrupt you.
ELV. It seems to me that you reply in a much altered voice; I see all of
a sudden a certain wildness in your looks; this abrupt change surprises
me. What can be the cause of it? May I know?
GARC. A sudden sickness at heart.
ELV. Such illnesses have often more serious consequences than one
believes; some immediate remedy would be necessary; but, tell me, have
you often such attacks?
GARC. Sometimes.
ELV. Alas, weak-minded Prince! Here, let this writing cure your
distemper; it is nowhere but in the mind.
GARC. That writing, Madam! No, I refuse to take it. I know your thoughts
and what you will accuse me of, if...
ELV. Read it, I tell you, and satisfy yourself.
GARC. That you may afterwards call me weak-minded and jealous? No, no, I
will prove that this letter gave me no umbrage, and though you kindly
allow me to read it, to justify myself, I will not do so.
ELV. If you persist in your refusal, I should be wrong to compel you; it
is sufficient, in short, as I have insisted upon it, to let you see
whose hand it is.
GARC. I ought always to be submissive to you; if it is your pleasure I
should read it for you, I will gladly do so.
ELV. Yes, yes, Prince, here it is; you shall read it for me.
GARC. I only do so, Madam, in obedience to your commands, and I may
say...
ELV. Whatever you please; but pray make haste.
GARC. It comes from Donna Inez, I perceive.
ELV. It does, and I am glad of it, both for your sake and mine.
GARC. (_Reads_). "_In spite of all that I do to show my contempt for the
tyrant, he persists in his love for me; the more effectually to
encompass his designs, he has, since your absence, directed against me
all that violence with which he pursued the alliance between yourself
and his son. Those who perhaps have the right to command me, and who are
inspired by base motives of false honour, all approve this unworthy
proposal. I do not know yet where my persecution will end; but I will
die sooner than give my consent. May you, fair Elvira, be happier in
your fate than I am_. DONNA INEZ." A lofty virtue fortifies her mind.
ELV. I will go and write an answer to this illustrious friend.
Meanwhile, Prince, learn not to give way so readily to what causes you
alarm. I have calmed your emotion by enlightening you, and the whole
affair has passed off quietly; but, to tell you the truth, a time may
come when I might entertain other sentiments.
GARC. What? you believe then...
ELV. I believe what I ought. Farewell, remember what I tell you; if your
love for me be really so great as you pretend, prove it as I wish.
GARC. Henceforth this will be my only desire; and sooner than fail in
it, I will lose my life.
ACT II.
SCENE I.--ELIZA, DON LOPEZ.
EL. To speak my mind freely to you, I am not much astonished at anything
the Prince may do; for it is very natural, and I cannot disapprove of
it, that a soul inflamed by a noble passion should become exasperated by
jealousy, and that frequent doubts should cross his mind: but what
surprises me, Don Lopez, is to hear that you keep alive his suspicions;
that you are the contriver of them; that he is sad only because you wish
it, jealous only because he looks at everything with your eyes. I repeat
it, Don Lopez, I do not wonder that a man who is greatly in love becomes
suspicious. But, that a man who is not in love should have all the
anxieties of one who is jealous--this is a novelty that belongs to none
but you.
LOP. Let everybody comment on my actions as much as they please. Each
man regulates his conduct according to the goal he wishes to reach;
since my love was rejected by you, I court the favour of the Prince.
EL. But do you not know that no favour will be granted to him if you
continue to maintain him in this disposition?
LOP. Pray, charming Eliza, was it ever known that those about great men
minded anything but their own interest, or that a perfect courtier
wished to increase the retinue of those same grandees by adding to it a
censor of their faults? Did he ever trouble himself if his conversation
harmed them, provided he could but derive some benefit? All the actions
of a courtier only tend to get into their favour, to obtain a place in
as short a time as possible; the quickest way to acquire their good
graces is by always flattering their weaknesses, by blindly applauding
what they have a mind to do, and by never countenancing anything that
displeases them. That is the true secret of standing well with them.
Good advice causes a man to be looked upon as a troublesome fellow, so
that he no longer enjoys that confidence which he had secured by an
artful subservience. In short, we always see that the art of courtiers
aims only at taking advantage of the foibles of the great, at cherishing
their errors, and never advising them to do things which they dislike.
EL. These maxims may do well enough for a time: but reverses of fortune
have to be dreaded. A gleam of light may at last penetrate the minds of
the deceived nobles, who will then justly avenge themselves on all such
flatterers for the length of time their glory has been dimmed. Meanwhile
I must tell you that you have been a little too frank in your
explanations; if a true account of your motives were laid before the
Prince, it would but ill serve you in making your fortune.
LOP. I could deny having told you those truths I have just unfolded, and
that without being gainsaid; but I know very well that Eliza is too
discreet to divulge this private conversation. After all, what I have
said is known by everyone; what actions of mine have I to conceal? A
downfall may be justly dreaded when we employ artifices or treachery.
But what have I to fear? I, who cannot be taxed with anything but
complaisance, who by my useful lessons do but follow up the Prince's
natural inclination for jealousy. His soul seems to live upon
suspicions; and so I do my very best to find him opportunities for his
uneasiness, and to look out on all sides if anything has happened that
may furnish a subject for a secret conversation. When I can go to him,
with a piece of news that may give a deadly blow to his repose, then he
loves me most: I can see him listen eagerly and swallow the poison, and
thank me for it too, as if I had brought him news of some victory which
would make him happy and glorious for all his life. But my rival draws
near, and so I leave you together; though I have renounced all hope of
ever gaining your affection, yet it would pain me not a little to see
you prefer him to me before my face; therefore I will avoid such a
mortification as much as I can.
[Footnote: Don Lopez bears a distant resemblance to "honest Iago" in
Othello, though Molière has only faintly shadowed forth what Shakespeare
has worked out in so masterly a manner.]
EL. All judicious lovers should do the same.
SCENE II.--DON ALVAREZ, ELIZA.
ALV. At last we have received intelligence that the king of Navarre has
this very day declared himself favourable to the Prince's love, and that
a number of fresh troops will reinforce his army, ready to be employed
in the service of her to whom his wishes aspire. As for me, I am
surprised at their quick movements... but...
SCENE III.--DON GARCIA, DON ALVAREZ, ELIZA.
GARC. What is the Princess doing?
EL. I think, my Lord, she is writing some letters; but I shall let her
know that you are here.
GARC. (_In a low voice and aside_). How well she dissembles.
ELV. We have just now heard that the King, your father, approves your
designs, and consents that his son should restore us to our subjects. I
am extremely rejoiced at this.
GARC. Yes, Madam, and my heart is rejoiced at it too; but....
ELV. The tyrant will doubtless find it difficult to defend himself
against the thunderbolts which from all sides threaten him. I flatter
myself that the same courage which was able to deliver me from the
brutal rage of the usurper, to snatch me out of his hands, and place me
safe within the walls of Astorga, will conquer the whole of Leon, and by
its noble efforts cause the head of the tyrant to fall.
GARC. A few days more will show if I am successful. But pray let us
proceed to some other subject of conversation. If you do not consider me
too bold, will you kindly tell me, Madam, to whom you have written since
fate led us hither?
ELV. Why this question, and whence this anxiety?
GARC. Out of pure curiosity, Madam, that is all.
ELV. Curiosity is the daughter of jealousy.
GARC. No; it is not at all what you imagine; your commands have
sufficiently cured that disease.
ELV. Without endeavouring further to discover what may be the reasons
for your inquiry, I have written twice to the Countess Inez at Leon, and
as often to the Marquis, Don Louis, at Burgos. Does this answer put your
mind at rest?
GARC. Have you written to no one else, Madam?
ELV. No, certainly, and your questions astonish me.
GARC. Pray consider well, before you make such a statement, because
people forget sometimes, and thus perjure themselves.
ELV. I cannot perjure myself in what I have stated.
GARC. You have, however, told a very great falsehood.
ELV. Prince!
GARC. Madam!
ELV. Heavens; what is the meaning of this! Speak! Have you lost your
senses?
GARC. Yes, yes, I lost them, when to my misfortune I beheld you, and
thus took the poison which kills me; when I thought to meet with some
sincerity in those treacherous charms that bewitched me.
ELV. What treachery have you to complain of?
GARC. Oh! how double-faced she is! how well she knows to dissimulate!
But all means for escape will fail you. Cast your eyes here, and
recognize your writing.
[Footnote: The lines, "Heavens! what is the meaning of this?" till "and
recognize your writing" have been employed again by Molière in the
_Misanthrope_, Act iv., Scene 3, (see vol. II). The misanthrope Alceste
has also in his hand the written proofs of the faithlessness of the
object of his love: but his suspicions are well founded, whilst those of
Don Garcia are inspired only by jealousy.]
Without having seen the other part of this letter, it is easy enough to
discover for whom you employ this style.
ELV. And this is the cause of your perturbation of spirits?
GARC. Do you not blush on beholding this writing?
ELV. Innocence is not accustomed to blush.
GARC. Here indeed we see it oppressed. You disown this letter because it
is not signed.
ELV. Why should I disown it, since I wrote it?
[Footnote: The words, "And this is the cause" until "since I wrote it,"
are, with a few slight alterations, found also in the _Misanthrope_, Act
iv., Scene 3.]
GARC. It is something that you are frank enough to own your handwriting;
but I will warrant that it was a note written to some indifferent
person, or at least that the tender sentiments it contains were intended
only for some lady friend or relative.
ELV. No, I wrote it to a lover, and, what is more, to one greatly
beloved.
GARC. And can I, O perfidious woman...?
ELV. Bridle, unworthy Prince, the excess of your base fury. Although you
do not sway my heart, and I am accountable here to none but myself, yet
for your sole punishment I will clear myself from the crime of which you
so insolently accuse me. You shall be undeceived; do not doubt it. I
have my defence at hand. You shall be fully enlightened; my innocence
shall appear complete. You yourself shall be the judge in your own
cause, and pronounce your own sentence.
GARC. I cannot understand such mysterious talk.
ELV. You shall soon comprehend it to your cost. Eliza come hither!
SCENE VI.--DON GARCIA, DONNA ELVIRA, ELIZA.
EL. Madam.
ELV. (_to Don Garcia_). At least observe well whether I make use of any
artifice to deceive you; whether by a single glance or by any warning
gesture I seek to ward off this sudden blow. (_To Eliza_). Answer me
quickly, where did you leave the letter I wrote just now?
EL. Madam, I confess I am to blame. This letter was by accident left on
my table; but I have just been informed that Don Lopez, coming into my
apartment, took, as he usually does, the liberty to pry everywhere, and
found it. As he was unfolding it, Leonora wished to snatch it from him
before he had read anything; and whilst she tried to do this, the letter
in dispute was torn in two pieces, with one of which Don Lopez quickly
went away, in spite of all she could do.
ELV. Have you the other half?
EL. Yes; here it is.
ELV. Give it to me. (_To Don Garcia_). We shall see who is to blame;
join the two parts together, and then read it aloud. I wish to hear it.
GARC. "_To Don Garcia_." Ha!
ELV. Go on! Are you thunderstruck at the first word?
GARC. (_Reads_). "_Though your rival, Prince, disturbs your mind, you
ought still to fear yourself more than him. It is in your power to
destroy now the greatest obstacle your passion has to encounter. I feel
very grateful to Don Garcia for rescuing me from the hands of my bold
ravishers; his love, his homage delights me much; but his jealousy is
odious to me. Remove, therefore, from your love that foul blemish;
deserve the regards that are bestowed upon it; and when one endeavours
to make you happy, do not persist in remaining miserable_."
ELV. Well, what do you say to this?
GARC. Ah! Madam, I say that on reading this I am quite confounded; that
I see the extreme injustice of my complaints, and that no punishment can
be severe enough for me.
ELV. Enough! Know that if I desired that you should read the letter, it
was only to contradict everything I stated in it; to unsay a hundred
times all that you read there in your favour. Farewell, Prince.
GARC. Alas, Madam! whither do you fly?
ELV. To a spot where you shall not be, over-jealous man.
GARC. Ah, Madam, excuse a lover who is wretched because, by a wonderful
turn of fate, he has become guilty towards you, and who, though you are
now very wroth with him, would have deserved greater blame if he had
remained innocent. For, in short, can a heart be truly enamoured which
does not dread as well as hope? And could you believe I loved you if
this ominous letter had not alarmed me; if I had not trembled at the
thunderbolt which I imagined had destroyed all my happiness? I leave it
to yourself to judge if such an accident would not have caused any other
lover to commit the same error; if I could disbelieve, alas, a proof
which seemed to me so clear!
ELV. Yes, you might have done so; my feelings so clearly expressed ought
to have prevented your suspicions. You had nothing to fear; if some
others had had such a pledge they would have laughed to scorn the
testimony of the whole world.
GARC. The less we deserve a happiness which has been promised us, the
greater is the difficulty we feel in believing in it. A destiny too full
of glory seems unstable, and renders us suspicious. As for me, who think
myself so little deserving of your favours, I doubted the success of my
rashness.
[Footnote: Molière has with a few alterations placed this phrase
beginning with "the less," and ending with "my rashness," in the mouth
of _Tartuffe_ in the play of the same name, Act iv., Sc. 5, (see Vol.
II).]
I thought that, finding yourself in a place under my command, you forced
yourself to be somewhat kind to me; that, disguising to me your
severity...
ELV. Do you think that I could stoop to so cowardly an action? Am I
capable of feigning so disgracefully; of acting from motives of servile
fear; of betraying my sentiments; and, because I am in your power, of
concealing my contempt for you under a pretence of kindness? Could any
consideration for my own reputation so little influence me? Can you
think so, and dare to tell it me? Know that this heart cannot debase
itself; that nothing under Heaven can compel it to act thus: if it has
committed the great error of showing you some kindness, of which you
were not worthy, know that in spite of your power, it will be able now
to show the hatred it feels for you, to defy your rage, and convince you
that it is not mean, nor ever will be so.
[Footnote: This scene beginning from "Well," until the end, has, with
several alterations rendered necessary by change of metre, been treated
by Molière in his _Amphitryon_, Act ii., Sc. 6, (see Vol. II.).]
GARC. Well, I cannot deny that I am guilty: but I beg pardon of your
heavenly charms, I beg it for the sake of the most ardent love that two
beautiful eyes ever kindled in a human soul. But if your wrath cannot be
appeased; if my crime be beyond forgiveness; if you have no regard for
the love that caused it, nor for my heart-felt repentance, then one
propitious blow shall end my life, and free me from these unbearable
torments. No, think not that having displeased you, I can live for one
moment under your wrath. Even whilst we are speaking, my heart sinks
under gnawing remorse; were a thousand vultures cruelly to wound it,
they could not inflict greater pangs. Tell me, madam, if I may hope for
pardon; if not, then this sword shall instantly, in your sight, by a
well-directed thrust, pierce the heart of a miserable wretch; that
heart, that irresolute heart, whose weakness has so deeply offended your
excessive kindness, too happy if in death this just doom efface from
your memory all remembrance of its crime, and cause you to think of my
affection without dislike. This is the only favour my love begs of you.
ELV. Oh! too cruel Prince!
GARC. Speak, Madam.
ELV. Must I still preserve some kind feelings for you, and suffer myself
to be affronted by so many indignities?
GARC. A heart that is in love can never offend, and finds excuses for
whatever love may do.
ELV. Love is no excuse for such outbursts.
GARC. Love communicates its ardour to all emotions, and the stronger it
is, the more difficulty it finds...
ELV. No, speak to me no more of it; you deserve my hatred.
GARC. You hate me then?
ELV. I will at least endeavour to do so. But alas! I am afraid it will
be in vain, and that all the wrath which your insults have kindled, will
not carry my revenge so far.
GARC. Do not endeavour to punish me so severely, since I offer to kill
myself to avenge you; pronounce but the sentence and I obey immediately.
ELV. One who cannot hate cannot wish anybody to die.
GARC. I cannot live unless you kindly pardon my rash errors; resolve
either to punish or to forgive.
ELV. Alas! I have shown too clearly my resolution; do we not pardon a
criminal when we tell him we cannot hate him?
GARC. Ah! this is too much. Suffer me, adorable Princess...
ELV. Forbear, I am angry with myself for my weakness.
GARC. (_Alone_). At length I am...
SCENE VII.--DON GARCIA, DON LOPEZ.
LOP. My Lord, I have to communicate to you a secret that may justly
alarm your love.
GARC. Do not talk to me of secrets or alarms, whilst I am in such a
blissful rapture. After what has just taken place, I ought not to listen
to any suspicions. The unequalled kindness of a divine object ought to
shut my ears against all such idle reports. Do not say anything more.
LOP. My Lord, I shall do as you wish; my only care in this business was
for you. I thought that the secret I just discovered ought to be
communicated with all diligence; but since it is your pleasure I should
not mention it, I shall change the conversation, and inform you that
every family in Leon threw off the mask, as soon as the report spread
that the troops of Castile were approaching; the lower classes
especially show openly such an affection for their true King, that the
tyrant trembles for fear.
GARC. Castile, however, shall not gain the victory without our making an
attempt to share in the glory; our troops may also be able to terrify
Mauregat. But what secret would you communicate to me? Let us hear it?
LOP. My Lord, I have nothing to say.
[Footnote: Compare Iago's reticence in Shakespeare's _Othello_ (iii.
3).]
GARC. Come, come, speak, I give you leave.
LOP. My Lord, your words have told me differently; and since my news may
displease you, I shall know for the future how to remain silent.
GARC. Without further reply, I wish to know your secret.
LOP. Your commands must be obeyed; but, my Lord, duty forbids me to
explain such a secret in this place. Let us go hence, and I shall
communicate it to you; without taking anything lightly for granted, you
yourself shall judge what you ought to think of it.
ACT III.
SCENE I.--DONNA ELVIRA, ELIZA.
ELV. What say you, Eliza, to this unaccountable weakness in the heart of
a Princess? What do you say when you see me so quickly forego my desire
for revenge, and, in spite of so much publicity, weakly and shamefully
pardon so cruel an outrage.
EL. I say, Madam, that an insult from a man we love is doubtless very
difficult to bear; but if there be none which makes us sooner angry, so
there is none which we sooner pardon. If the man we love is guilty, and
throws himself at our feet, he triumphs over the rash outbreak of the
greatest anger; so much the more easily, Madam, if the offence comes
from an excess of love. However great your displeasure may have been, I
am not astonished to see it appeased; I know the power which, in spite
of your threats, will always pardon such crimes.
ELV. But know, Eliza, however great the power of my love may be, I have
blushed for the last time; if henceforth the Prince gives me fresh cause
for anger, he must no longer look for pardon. I swear, that in such a
case, I will never more foster tender feelings for him: for in short, a
mind with ever so little pride is greatly ashamed to go back from its
word, and often struggles gallantly against its own inclinations; it
becomes stubborn for honour's sake, and sacrifices everything to the
noble pride of keeping its word. Though I have pardoned him now, do not
consider this a precedent for the future. Whatever fortune has in store
for me, I cannot think of giving my hand to the Prince of Navarre, until
he has shown that he is completely cured of those gloomy fits which
unsettle his reason, and has convinced me, who am the greatest sufferer
by this disease, that he will never insult me again by a relapse.
EL. But how can the jealousy of a lover be an insult to us?
ELV. Is there one more deserving of our wrath? And since it is with the
utmost difficulty we can resolve to confess our love; since the strict
honour of our sex at all times strongly opposes such a confession, ought
a lover to doubt our avowal, and should he not be punished? Is he not
greatly to blame in disbelieving that which is never said but after a
severe struggle with one's self?
[Footnote: The words "since it is" until "one's self" have been used by
Molière with some slight alteration in the _Misanthrope_, Act iv., Scene
3, (see vol. II.)]
EL. As for me, I think that a little mistrust on such an occasion should
not offend us; and that it is dangerous, Madam, for a lover to be
absolutely persuaded that he is beloved. If...
ELV. Let us argue no more. Every person thinks differently. I am
offended by such suspicions; and, in spite of myself, I am conscious of
something which forebodes an open quarrel between the Prince and me, and
which, notwithstanding his great qualities.... But Heavens! Don Silvio
of Castile in this place!
SCENE II.--DONNA ELVIRA, DON ALPHONSO, _under the name of Don Silvio_,
ELIZA.
ELV. Ah! my Lord, what chance has brought you here?
ALPH. I know, Madam, that my arrival must surprise you. To enter quietly
this town, to which the access has become difficult through the orders
of a rival, and to have avoided being seen by the soldiers, is an event
you did not look for. But if, in coming here, I have surmounted some
obstacles, the desire of seeing you is able to effect much greater
miracles. My heart has felt but too severely the blows of merciless fate
which kept me away from you; to allay the pangs which nearly kill me, I
could not refuse myself some moments to behold in secret your
inestimable person. I come, therefore, to tell you that I return thanks
to Heaven, that you are rescued from the hands of an odious tyrant. But,
in the midst of that happiness, I feel that I shall always be tortured
with the thought that envious fate deprived me of the honour of
performing such a noble deed, and has unjustly given to my rival the
chance of venturing his life pleasantly to render you so great a
service. Yes, Madam, my readiness to free you from your chains was
undoubtedly equal to his; I should have gained the victory for you, if
Heaven had not robbed me of that honour.
ELV. I know, my Lord, that you possess a heart capable of overcoming the
greatest dangers; I doubt not but this generous zeal which incited you
to espouse my quarrel, would have enabled you, as well as any one else,
to overcome all base attempts; but even if you have not performed this
noble deed--and you could have done it--I am already under sufficient
obligations to the house of Castile. It is well known what a warm and
faithful friend the Count, your father, was of the late King, and what
he did for him. After having assisted him until he died, he gave my
brother a shelter in his states; full twenty years he concealed him, in
spite of the cowardly efforts to discover him, employed by barbarous and
enraged enemies; and now to restore to his brow a crown, in all its
splendour, you are marching in person against our usurpers. Are you not
satisfied, and do not these generous endeavours place me under strong
obligations to you? Would you, my Lord, obstinately persist in swaying
my whole fate? Must I never receive even the slightest kindness unless
from you? Ah! amidst these misfortunes, which seem to be my fate, suffer
me to owe also something to another, and do not complain that another
arm acquired some glory, when you were absent.
ALPH. Yes, Madam, I ought to cease complaining; you are quite right when
you tell me so; we unjustly complain of one misfortune, when a much
greater threatens to afflict us. This succour from a rival is a cruel
mortification to me: but, alas! this is not the greatest of my
misfortunes; the blow, the severe blow which crushes me, is to see that
rival preferred to me. Yes, I but too plainly perceive that his greater
reputation was the reason that his love was preferred to mine; that
opportunity of serving you, the advantage he possessed of signalizing
his prowess, that brilliant exploit which he performed in saving you,
was nothing but the mere effect of being happy enough to please you, the
secret power of a wonderful astral influence which causes the object you
love to become famed. Thus all my efforts will be in vain. I am leading
an army against your haughty tyrants; but I fulfil this noble duty
trembling, because I am sure that your wishes will not be for me, and
that, if they are granted, fortune has in store the most glorious
success for my happy rival. Ah! Madam, must I see myself hurled from
that summit of glory I expected; and may I not know what crimes they
accuse me of, and why I have deserved that dreadful downfall?
ELV. Before you ask me anything, consider what you ought to ask of my
feelings. As for this coldness of mine, which seems to abash you, I
leave it to you, my Lord, to answer for me; for, in short, you cannot be
ignorant that some of your secrets have been told to me. I believe your
mind to be too noble and too generous to desire me to do what is wrong.
Say yourself if it would be just to make me reward faithlessness;
whether you can, without the greatest injustice, offer me a heart
already tendered to another; whether you are justified in complaining,
and in blaming a refusal which would prevent you from staining your
virtues with a crime? Yes, my Lord, it is a crime, for first love has so
sacred a hold on a lofty mind, that it would rather lose greatness and
abandon life itself, than incline to a second love.
[Footnote: The words "Yes my Lord" until "second love" are also, with
some alterations, found in _The Blue Stockings_, Act iv. Scene 2, (see
Vol. III).]
I have that regard for you which is caused by an appreciation of your
lofty courage, your magnanimous heart; but do not require of me more
than I owe you, and maintain the honour of your first choice. In spite
of your new love, consider what tender feelings the amiable Inez still
retains for you; that she has constantly refused to be made happy for
the sake of an ungrateful man; for such you are, my Lord! In her great
love for you, how generously has she scorned the splendour of a diadem!
Consider what attempts she has withstood for your sake, and restore to
her heart what you owe it.
ALPH. Ah, Madam, do not present her merit to my eyes! Though I am an
ungrateful man and abandon her, she is never out of my mind; if my heart
could tell you what it feels for her, I fear it would be guilty towards
you. Yes, that heart dares to pity Inez, and does not, without some
hesitation follow the violent love which leads it on. I never flattered
myself that you would reward my love without at the same time breathing
some sighs for her; in the midst of these pleasant thoughts my memory
still casts some sad looks towards my first love, reproaches itself with
the effect of your divine charms, and mingles some remorse with what I
wish most fervently. And since I must tell you all, I have done more
than this. I have endeavoured to free myself from your sway, to break
your chains, and to place my heart again under the innocent yoke of its
first conqueror. But, after all my endeavours, my fidelity gives way,
and I see only one remedy for the disease that kills me. Were I even to
be forever wretched, I cannot forswear my love, or bear the terrible
idea of seeing you in the arms of another; that same light, which
permits me to behold your charms, will shine on my corpse, before this
marriage takes place. I know that I betray an amiable Princess; but
after all, Madam, is my heart guilty? Does the powerful influence which
your beauty possesses leave the mind any liberty? Alas! I am much more
to be pitied than she; for, by losing me, she loses only a faithless
man. Such a sorrow can easily be soothed; but I, through an unparalleled
misfortune, abandon an amiable lady, whilst I endure all the torments of
a rejected love.
ELV. You have no torments but what you yourself create, for our heart is
always in our own power. It may indeed sometimes show a little weakness;
but, after all, reason sways our passions...
SCENE III.--DON GARCIA, DONNA ELVIRA, DON ALPHONSO, _under the name of
Don Silvio_.
GARC. I perceive. Madam, that my coming is somewhat unseasonable, and
disturbs your conversation. I must needs say I did not expect to find
such good company here.
ELV. Don Silvio's appearance indeed surprised me very much; I no more
expected him than you did.
GARC. Madam, since you say so, I do not believe you were forewarned of
this visit; (_to Don Silvio_) but you, sir, ought at least to have
honoured us with some notice of this rare happiness, so that we should
not have been surprised, but enabled to pay you here those attentions
which we would have liked to render you.
ALPH. My Lord, you are so busy with warlike preparations, that I should
have been wrong had I interrupted you. The sublime thoughts of mighty
conquerors can hardly stoop to the ordinary civilities of the world.
GARC. But those mighty conquerors, whose warlike preparations are thus
praised, far from loving secrecy, prefer to have witnesses of what they
do; their minds trained to glorious deeds from infancy, make them carry
out all their plans openly; being always supported by lofty sentiments,
they never stoop to disguise themselves. Do you not compromise your
heroic merits in coming here secretly, and are you not afraid that
people may look upon this action as unworthy of you?
ALPH. I know not whether any one will blame my conduct because I have
made a visit here in secret; but I know, Prince, that I never courted
obscurity in things which require light. Were I to undertake anything
against you, you should have no cause to remark you were surprised. It
would depend upon yourself to guard against it; I would take care to
warn you beforehand. Meanwhile let us continue upon ordinary terms, and
postpone the settlement of our quarrels until all other affairs are
arranged. Let us suppress the outbursts of our rather excited passions,
and not forget in whose presence we are both speaking.
ELV. (_To Don Garcia_). Prince, you are in the wrong; and his visit is
such that you...
GARC. Ah! Madam, it is too much to espouse his quarrel You ought to
dissemble a little better when you pretend that you were ignorant he was
coming here. You defend him so warmly and so quickly, that it is no very
convincing proof of his visit being unexpected.
ELV. Your suspicions concern me so little, that I should be very sorry
to deny your accusation.
GARC. Why do you not go farther in your lofty pride, and, without
hesitation, lay bare your whole heart? You are too prone to
dissimulation. Do not unsay anything you once said. Be brief, be brief,
lay aside all scruples; say that his passion has kindled yours, that his
presence delights you so much...
ELV. And if I have a mind to love him, can you hinder me? Do you pretend
to sway my heart, and have I to receive your commands whom I must love?
Know that too much pride has deceived you, if you think you have any
authority over me; my mind soars too high to conceal my feelings when I
am asked to declare them. I will not tell you whether the Count is
beloved; but I may inform you that I esteem him highly; his great
merits, which I admire, deserve the love of a Princess better than you;
his passion, the assiduity he displays, impress me very strongly; and if
the stern decree of fate puts it out of my power to reward him with my
hand, I can at least promise him never to become a prey to your love.
Without keeping you any longer in slight suspense, I engage myself to
act thus, and I will keep my word. I have opened my heart to you, as you
desired it, and shown you my real feelings. Are you satisfied, and do
you not think that, as you pressed me, I have sufficiently explained
myself? Consider whether there remains anything else for me to do in
order to clear up your suspicions. (_To Don Silvio_). In the meanwhile,
if you persist in your resolution to please me, do not forget, Count,
that I have need of your arm, and that whatever may be the outbreaks of
temper of an eccentric man, you must do your utmost to punish our
tyrants. In a word, do not listen to what he may say to you in his
wrath, and in order to induce you so to act, remember that I have
entreated you.
SCENE IV.--DON GARCIA, DON ALPHONSO.
GARC. Everything smiles upon you, and you proudly triumph over my
confusion. It is pleasant to hear the glorious confession of that
victory which you obtain over a rival; but it must greatly add to your
joy to have that rival a witness to it. My pretensions, openly set
aside, enhance all the more the triumph of your love. Enjoy this great
happiness fully, but know that you have not yet gained your point; I
have too just cause to be incensed, and many things may perhaps ere then
come to pass. Despair, when it breaks out, goes a great way; everything
is pardonable when one has been deceived. If the ungrateful woman, out
of compliment to your love, has just now pledged her word never to be
mine, my righteous indignation will discover the means of preventing her
ever being yours.
ALPH. I do not trouble myself about your antagonism. We shall see who
will be deceived in his expectations. Each by his valour will be able to
defend the reputation of his love, or avenge his misfortune. But as
between rivals the calmest mind may easily become irate, and as I am
unwilling that such a conversation should exasperate either of us, I
wish, Prince, you would put me in the way of leaving this place, so that
the restraint I put upon myself may be ended.
GARC. No, no, do not fear that you will be compelled to violate the
order you received. Whatever righteous wrath is kindled within me, and
which no doubt delights you, Count, I know when it should break forth.
This place is open to you; you can leave it, proud of the advantages you
have gained. But once more I tell you that my head alone can put your
conquest into your hands.
ALPH. When matters shall have reached that point, fortune and our arms
will soon end our quarrel.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.--DONNA ELVIRA, DON ALVAREZ.
ELV. You can go back, Don Alvarez, but do not expect that you shall
persuade me to forget this offence. The wound which my heart received is
incurable; all endeavours to heal it make it but fester the more. Does
the Prince think I shall listen to some simulated compliments? No, no,
he has made me too angry; and his fruitless repentance, which led you
hither, solicits a pardon which I will not grant.
ALV. Madam, he deserves your pity. Never was any offence expiated with
more stinging remorse; if you were to see his grief, it would touch your
heart, and you would pardon him. It is well known that the Prince is of
an age at which we abandon ourselves to first impressions; that in fiery
youth the passions hardly leave room for reflection. Don Lopez, deceived
by false tidings, was the cause of his master's mistake. An idle report
that the Count was coming, and that you had some understanding with
those who admitted him within these walls, was indiscreetly bruited
about. The Prince believed it; his love, deceived by a false alarm, has
caused all this disturbance. But being now conscious of his error, he is
well aware of your innocence; the dismissal of Don Lopez clearly proves
how great his remorse is for the outburst of which he has been guilty.
ELV. Alas! He too readily believes me innocent; he is not yet quite sure
of it. Tell him to weigh all things well, and not to make too much
haste, for fear of being deceived.
ALV. Madam, he knows too well....
ELV. I pray you, Don Alvarez, let us no longer continue a conversation
which vexes me: it revives in me some sadness, at the very moment that a
more important sorrow oppresses me. Yes, I have received unexpectedly
the news of a very great misfortune; the report of the death of the
Countess Inez has filled my heart with so much wretchedness, that there
is no room for any other grief.
ALV. Madam, these tidings may not be true; but when I return, I shall
have to communicate to the Prince a cruel piece of news.
ELV. However great his sufferings may be, they fall short of what he
deserves.