ACT I
Scene I.—Outside Gil Perez’s House.
Enter Pedro running; Gil Perez after him with a drawn dagger; and Isabel and Casilda interceding.
Isab. Fly, Pedro, fly!
Gil. And what the use his flying
If I be after him?
Ped. Hold him! hold him back,
Both of you!
Gil. By the Lord, I’ll do for him.
Isab. But why so savage with him?
Gil. He must pay
The long arrear of mischief you’ve run up.
Isab. I understand you not.
Gil. I’ll kill him first,
And then explain.
Isab. I, who dread not bodily violence,
Dread your injurious words. What have I done
That you should use me thus?—my enemy,
And not my brother.
Gil. You say well your enemy,
Who, if you do as you have done so long,
Will one day bathe his sword in your heart’s blood,
And after in his own, and so wipe out
One scandal from the world.
Ped. As the good soul
Who meddles to make peace between two brawlers
Oft gets the bloody nose, I’ll take the hint.
Farewell, fair Spain! for evermore farewell!
Gil. Here! hark you, sir;
Before you go; you have escaped this time
By luck, not by desert. I give you warning,
Keep from my sight: for if I see your face
Fifty years hence, among the antipodes,
I’ll pay you off.
Ped. Pray don’t disturb yourself;
I’ll take you at your word, and straight be off
To some old friends of mine—indeed relations—
In central Africa—the Ourang Outangs:
A colony so distant as I trust
Will satisfy us both. And so, good bye.
[Exit; Casilda after him.
Isab. He’s gone, poor fellow.
And now perhaps, sir, as we are alone,
You’ll tell me why you do affront me thus.
Gil. Sister—oh, would to God that I had none
To call by such a name at such expense!
And can you think that I have been so blind,
As well as dumb, not to be ware the tricks
Of the sly gentleman who follows you
So constantly, and who, if this goes on,
Will one day filch away, not your own only,
But the long garner’d honour of our house?
Why, I have seen it all from first to last,
But would not show my teeth till I could bite;
Because, in points like this, a man of honour
Speaks once, and once for all.
This once is now. I’ll speak my mind to you;
Which, if you cannot understand, to-morrow
I must repeat in quite another language.
I know your man—Juan Baptista—one
Not man enough for me, and so, I tell you,
Not for my sister. This should be enough,
Without his being, as he is, a Jew.
To get you from his reach I brought you here
To Salvatierra, deep amid the mountains,
And safe enough I thought; but even here
His cursèd letters reach you through the hands
Of that fine rascal I have just pack’d off.
There; I have told my story; take ’t to heart;
Dismiss your man at once, or, by the Lord,
If you and he persist, I’ll fire his house,
And save the Inquisition that much trouble.
Isab. Your anger makes you blind—accusing me
Of things I never did.
Gil. You never did!
Isab. But so it is, poor women must submit
To such insinuations.
Gil. Pray, was ’t I
Insinuated that letter then?
Isab. Peace, peace!
I can explain it all, and shall, when fit.
What would you have of me? You are my brother,
And not my husband, sir; consider that:
And therefore, in fraternal kindness bound,
Should even take my word without ado.
You talk of honour: is not honour then
Slow to suspect—would rather be deceived
Itself than prematurely to accuse?
I am your sister, Perez, and I know
My duty towards you and myself. Enough—
Which, if you cannot understand, to-morrow
I must repeat in quite another language.
[Exit.
Gil. She says not ill; it better were indeed
Had I kept on the mask a little longer,
Till they had dropt theirs beyond all denial.
She’s right, and I was wrong; but from this time
I’ll steer another course.
Enter Casilda.
Cas. A gentleman
(Of Portugal, he says,) is at the door,
And asks for you.
Gil. Bid him come in. Away,
My troubles, for a while!
[Exit Casilda.
Enter Manuel Mendez.
Man. ’Twas well, Gil Perez,
You sent so quickly, or my impetuosity
Had overrun your leave.
Gil. What, Manuel Mendez!
Come to my arms. What! you in Salvatierra?
Man. And, I assure you, at no small expense
Of risk and heart-ache.
Gil. That’s unwelcome news.
Man. Not when ’tis all forgotten in the joy
Of seeing you again.
Gil. I shall not rest
Till I have heard; ill-manner’d though it be
To tax a man scarce winded from a journey
With such expense of breath.
Man. Then listen, Gil.
You, I am sure, remember (time and absence
Cannot have washt so much from memory)
The pleasant time when you were last at Lisbon,
And graced my house by making it your home.
I need not tell of all we did and talk’d,
Save what concerns me now; of the fair lady
You knew me then enamour’d of, (how deeply
I need not say—being a Portuguese,
Which saying, all is said)—Donna Juana,
At whose mere name I tremble, as some seer
Smit with the sudden presence of his God.
Two years we lived in the security
Of mutual love, with so much jealousy
(Without which love is scarcely love at all)
As served to freshen up its sleeping surface,
But not to stir its depths. Ah, dangerous
To warm the viper, or, for idle sport,
Trust to the treacherous sea—sooner or later
They turn upon us; so these jealousies
I liked to toy with first turn’d upon me;
When suddenly a rich young cavalier,
Well graced with all that does and ought to please,
(For I would not revenge me with my tongue
Upon his name, but with my sword in’s blood,)
Demanded her in marriage of her father;
Who being poor, and bargains quickly made
’Twixt avarice and wealth, quickly agreed.
The wedding day drew nigh that was to be
The day of funeral too—mixt dance and dirge,
And grave and bridal chamber both in one.
The guests were met; already night began
Loose the full tide of noisy merriment,
When I strode in; straight through the wedding throng
Up to the bride and bridegroom where they were,
And, seizing her with one hand, with the other
Struck him a corpse; and daring all, to die
Fighting, or fighting carry off my prize,
Carried her off; lifted her on a horse
I had outside; struck spur; and lightning-like
Away, until we reach’d the boundary
Of Portugal, and, safe on Spanish ground,
At last drew breath and bridle. Then on hither,
Where I was sure of refuge in the arms
Of my old friend Gil Perez; whom I pray
Not so much on the score of an old friendship,
So long and warm, but as a fugitive
Asking protection at his generous hands—
A plea the noble never hear in vain.
Nor for myself alone, but for my lady
Who comes with me, and whom I just have left
Under the poplars by the river-side,
Till I had told my news, and heard your answer.
A servant whom we met with on the way,
Pointed your house out—whither, travel-tired,
Press’d for my life, and deep in love with her
I bring, as curst by those I left behind,
And trusting him I come to—
Gil. Tut, tut, tut!
Go on so, I’ll not answer you at all;
All this fine talk to me! from Manuel Mendez!
As if ’twere not enough to say ‘Friend Gil,
I’ve left a gentleman I slew behind,
And got a living lady with me, so
Am come to visit you.’ Why go about
With phrases and fine speeches? I shall answer
Quite unpolitely thus, ‘Friend Manuel,
This house of mine is yours—for months, for years,
For all your life, with all the service in ’t
That I or mine can do for you.’ So back,
And bring your lady, telling her from me
I stay behind because I am unapt
At such fine speeches as her lover makes.
Man. Oh, let me thank you,—
Gil. Nay, ’twere better far
Go to your lady; who may be ill at ease
Alone in a strange place.
[Exit Manuel.
What, Isabel! (She enters.)
Isabel, if my former love and care
Deserve of you at all, forget awhile
All difference, (for there’s a time for all,)
And help me now to honour an old friend
To whom I owe great hospitalities;
Manuel Mendez, who with his bride is come
To be my guest.
Isab. I’ll do my best for you.
But hark! what noise?
(Shouts and fighting within.)
Gil. A quarrel’s up somewhere.
Voice within. Take him alive or dead.
Another voice. He’ll slip us yet!
Isab. Some one on horseback flying at full speed
From his pursuers.
Voices within. Fire upon him! fire!
(Shots within.)
Isab. Mercy, he’s dead!
Gil. Not he; only his horse;
And see he’s up again, and gallantly
Flashing his sword around on his pursuers
Keeps them at bay, and fighting, fighting, still
Retreats—
Isab. And to our house too—
Enter Don Alonso.
Alon. Shelter! shelter!
In pity to a wretched man at last
Fordone!
Gil. What, Don Alonso!
Alon. But a moment,
To ask you cover my retreat, Gil Perez;
My life depends on reaching Portugal.
Gil. Away then to the bridge you see below there.
God speed you.
Alon. And keep you!
[Exit.
Voices without. This way! this way!
Gil. But just in time!
Enter Sheriff with Officers.
Officer. I’m sure he pass’d by here.
Gil. Well, gentlemen, your business?
Sher. Don Alonso—
Came he this way?
Gil. He did, and he went that,
And must almost, unless I much mistake,
Be got to Portugal. For, by the Lord, sir,
His feet seem’d feather’d with the wind?
Sher. Away then!
After him!
Gil. Stop a moment!
Sher. Stop! what mean you?
Gil. Just what I say. Come, Mr. Sheriff, come,
You’ve done your duty; be content with that;
And don’t hunt gentlemen like wolves to death;
Justice is one thing, and fair play’s another,
All the world over.
Sher. When I’ve got my man
I’ll answer you.
Gil. Perhaps before.
Sher. Why, sir,
Would you detain me?
Gil. Why, if logic fails,
I must try other argument.
Sher. As what, sir?
Gil. Why, mathematical. As how? Look here.
You see me draw this line. Well then, ’fore God,
The man who passes it—dies. Q. E. D.
Sher. Down with him!
Gil. Back, I advise you.
Voices. Down with him!
Gil. Chicken-hearts! Curs! Oh, you will down with me,
Will you indeed? and this the way you do it?
(He fights with them.)
One. Oh, I am slain.
Sher. I’m wounded.
Gil. Back with you!
[Exit, driving them in.
Scene II.—The River-side.
Enter Juana and Manuel.
Jua. Oh never did I owe more to your love,
Than for this quick return.
Man. O my Juana,
The love such beauty as your own inspires,
Surmounts impossibilities. However,
I needed not go on to Salvatierra,
Lighting on what I look’d for by the way,
Among the mountains; where my friend Gil Perez
(Whose honour I insult if I declare it)
Has pitcht his tent, with hospitality
Prophetic of our coming;
So peaceably our love may fold its wings
Under the shadow of my friend’s.
Jua. Oh, Manuel,
She who has left home, country, friends, and fame,
And would contentedly leave life, for you,
Desires no other temple of her love
Than a bleak rock, whose unchanged stedfastness
Shall not out-wear her own.
Alon. (within). I can no more!
Jua. Listen! What noise is that?
Man. A cavalier
Still with his sword in his exhausted hand.
He falls!
Enter Alonzo, who falls at the side.
Alon. They e’en must have me.
Man. Courage, sir.
Wounded? (Voices within.)
Alon. Hark! the bloodhounds are close by;
And worse, they must have slain Gil Perez first.
Who else—
Enter Gil.
Gil. Confound the rogues, they’ve got the bridge
And the way to ’t, and heav’n itself, I think,
To fight upon their side.
Man. Gil, what is this?
Gil. Trying to help a friend out of a ditch,
I’ve tumbled in myself.
Man. Come, we are two
In hand, and one in heart; at least can fight
And die together.
Alon. Nay, add me;
The cause—
Gil. There’s but a moment. Manuel,
I charge you by your friendship,
Draw not your sword to-day.
Man. Not I my sword
When theirs are on you?
Jua. (clinging to Manuel). Heav’ns!
Voices, within. This way! This way!
Man. They’re coming.
Gil (to Alonso). Listen! you can swim?
Alon. Alas—
Gil. I mean upon my shoulders. Manuel,
We two shall cross to Portugal,
Where follow us they may, but cannot seize us.
Meanwhile I leave you master of my house
And honour, centred (no time to say more)
In Isabel, my sister. Swear to me
That you will see to this.
Man. I swear it, Gil.
Gil. Enough, your hand! Adieu! Now courage, sir!
(Takes Alonso on his shoulders and plunges into the river.)
Jua. The man swims like a dolphin.
Gil (within). Manuel,
Remember!
Man. How he wrestles with the flood!
And now is half-way over.
Gil (within). Manuel,
Remember! I have trusted all to you.
Man. Waste not your breath. I’ll do ’t.
Gil (within). Adieu!
Man. Adieu!
[Exit Manuel with Juana.
Scene III.—The Portuguese bank of the River.
Enter the Admiral of Portugal and Donna Leonor as from hunting.
Adm. Since summer’s fiery Sirius, fair cousin,
Neither from place nor power in heaven declines,
Will you not rest?
Leonor. Ah, what a noble sport
Is hunting! who so abject-spirited
As not to love its generous cruelty!
Adm. It is indeed a noble imitation
Of noblest war. As when a white-tuskt boar
Holds out alone against the yelling pack,
Gores one, o’erthrows another, all the while
Bristling his back like to some ridge of spears:
While many a gallant hound, foil’d in his onset,
Tears his own flesh in disappointed rage,
Then to the charge again—he and his foe,
Each with redoubled fury firing up:
A chivalry that nature has implanted
Ev’n in the heart of beasts.
Leonor. So in falconry,
That I love even better; when the heron
Mounts to the wandering spheres of air and fire,
Poised between which alternately she burns
And freezes, while two falcons, wheeling round,
Strive to out-mount her, tilting all along
The fair blue field of heaven for their lists;
Until out-ris’n and stricken, drencht in blood,
Plumb down she falls like to some crimson star;
A rivalry that nature has implanted
Ev’n in the breast of birds.
Enter Pedro.
Ped. Which is the way, I wonder? What with fright and weariness, I must rest awhile. Well, this is Portugal, where to be sure a poor Spanish pimp may hope to escape ferocious honour. That I should lose a post where others make their thousands at my first function! But who are these? Fine folks too! Pray Heaven they be in want of an officer.
Adm. A horse will soon carry you to the villa. Hark you, sir! (To Pedro.)
Ped. My lord!
Adm. Who are you?
Ped. Nay, how should I know?
Adm. But are you one of my people?
Ped. Yes, if you like it. As said Lord Somebody, who neither served king, man, or God, but who entering the palace one day at supper-time, and seeing all the chamberlains at work without their coats, whips off his, and begins carrying up dishes. Suddenly in comes the major-domo, who perceiving a stranger, asks if he be sworn of the service. ‘Not yet,’ says he, ‘but if swearing is all that’s wanted, I’ll swear to what you please.’ So ’tis with me. Make me your servant, and I’ll swear and forswear anything.
Adm. You are liberal of your humour.
Ped. ’Tis all I have to be liberal of; and it would not be right to spare that.
Gil (within). Hold on, hold on!
Leonor. Who’s that?
Adm. Look, some one with erect head and vigorous arms, buffeting the wave before him.
Leonor. With another on his shoulders too.
Adm. (to Pedro). Now, would you win an earnest of future favour, plunge in to his assistance.
Ped. I would, sir, but I’m a wretched swimmer.
Leonor. They have reacht the shore at last.
Enter Gil Perez and Alonso, drencht.
Alon. Thank Heaven for our escape!
Gil. Ah, we’re well quit of it.
Ped. Now, sir, if I can help. But Lord ha’ mercy! (Sees Gil.)
Adm. What! going just when you are wanted?
Ped. I was born, my lord, with a tender heart; that seeing these poor fellows so drencht, bleeds for them. That he should pursue me even to Portugal! (Is creeping away.)
Adm. What! only just come, and going?
Ped. Oh, my lord, a sudden call. Excuse me.
[Exit.
Adm. ’Tis an idiot. But let me help you.
Alon. My life is in your hand.
Adm. In my hand? How is that?
Alon. You shall hear, if I may first know to whom I tell my story. Misfortune forces me to be cautious.
Adm. You are right; but need fear nothing from the Lord High Admiral of Portugal, who now speaks to you, and pledges himself to protect you so long as you stand on his estate.
Alon. Enough, my lord.
My name is Don Alonso de Tordoya,
Not un-illustrious in Spain. I love
A noble lady; whom going to visit,
When this same westering sun was young in heav’n,
I found a rival with her. I rush’d out,
Bidding him follow with his sword; he follow’d;
We fought, and with two passes in his side
I left him dead: the cry was after us;
The officers of justice at my heels.
No time to lose; I leap’d upon a horse,
And rode, until a shot, aim’d at his rider,
Kill’d him; then, taking to my feet, fled on,
Till, coming to a country house, I saw,
To my great joy, my friend—
Gil. Here enter I;
Who, seeing Don Alonso so hard set,
Offer’d my services to keep them back
Till he was safe in Portugal.
That country house of mine—a pleasure house
Some call it, though I’ve found but little there—
Stands in a narrow mountain gorge, through which
He and the bloodhounds after him must pass
To reach the river; as he says, he came,
And saw, and fled; had scarce got fifty yards,
Up comes the Sheriff with his yelling pack
Panting and blowing. First most courteously
I begg’d them spare themselves as well as him
Further pursuit, but all in vain; push on
They would; whereon I was obliged to draw;
Disabled four or five, Heav’n help their souls!
Till, having done as much as he to figure
In justice’s black book, like him I fled
After him to the river; where on finding
The bridge occupied by the enemy,
Catching my sword between my teeth, and him
Upon my shoulders, I so dash’d in,
And, at last, over; where now, thanks to Heav’n,
We meet your Excellency, who vouchsafes
Your shelter and protection.
Adm. Twas my word,
And I’ll abide by ’t.
Alon. I have need
Of all assurance, for the man I slew
Was of great note.
Adm. His name?
Alon. Prefacing that he was a cavalier
Of wholly noble parts and estimation,
And that ’tis no disparagement to valour
To be unfortunate, I may repeat it,—
Don Diego d’Alvarado.
Adm. Wretched man!
My cousin! you have slain him!
Leonor. You have slain
My brother, traitor!
Gil. Oh, I see my sword
Must e’en be out again.
Alon. Your Excellency
Will pause before he draws his sword on one
Surrender’d at his feet. My lord, remember
I slew Don Diego in the face of day,
In fair and open duel. And, beside,
Is not your Excellency’s honour pledged
To my security?
Gil. Beside all which,
I say that if all Portugal, and all
Within it, admiralty and army too,
Combine, you shall not touch him while I live.
Adm. I know not what to do; upon one side
My promise, on the other the just call
Of retribution for my kinsman’s death.
I must adjudge between them. Don Alonso,
The word of Honour is inviolable,
But not less so her universal law.
So long as you stand upon ground of mine
I hold your person sacred: for so far
My promise holds; but set your foot beyond
E’en but an inch—remember, death awaits you.
And so farewell.
Leonor. Nay, hold! though you have pledged
Your promise—
Adm. What I pledge is pledged for you,
As for myself; content you.
[Exeunt Admiral and Leonor.
Alon. Well, friend Gil,
What say you to all this?
Gil. Why then, I say,
At least ’tis better than it was. To-day
The mouse, shut in the cupboard, there must stay:
But will jump out to-morrow—if she may.
[Exeunt.