ACT II
Scene I.—A Public Square in Parma. Night.
Enter Prince, Cesar, Felix, Arias, and Lazaro, disguised.
Ar. A lovely night!
Prince. As Night we choose to call,
When Day’s whole sun is but distributed
Into ten thousand stars.
Fel. Beside the moon,
Who lightly muffled like ourselves reveals
Her trembling silver.
Laz. What! by way, you mean,
Of making up the account?
Ces. (aside). To think, alas!
The first sweet vintage of my love thus lost,
And, as my lady must too surely think,
By my forgetfulness. (Aloud.) My lord, indeed
The night wears on. May not the chiller air
That blows from the returning tide of day
Affect you?
Prince. Nay, my state forbidding me
Much to be seen about the streets by day,
The night must serve my purpose.
Ces. (aside). Patience then!
And I must try and draw my thoughts from her
I cannot reach. (Aloud.) How does the lady Flora
Please you, my lord?
Prince. The lady Flora? Oh,
What she of Milan? Too far off, I think,
For one’s regards to reach.
Laz. Ah true, my lord;
What is the use of a mistress in the moon,
Unless one were the man there?
Ar. Signora Laura
Has a fair figure.
Laz. Yes, and asks a high one.
Felix. A handsome hand.
Laz. At scolding, yes.
Ar. I think
She lives close by.
Laz. But don’t you bid for her
Without fair trial first, my lord. Your women
Are like new plays, which self-complacent authors
Offer at some eight hundred royals each,
But which, when once they’re tried, you purchase dear
Eight hundred for a royal.
Ces. (aside). Now, methinks,
Ev’n now my lady at the lattice stands
Looking for me in vain, and murmuring
‘Why comes he not? I doubted I was late,
But he comes not at all!’ And then—Ah me,
I have forgotten to forget!—
(Aloud) Celia sings well, my lord?
Laz. A pretty woman
Can no more sing amiss than a good horse
Be a bad colour.
Ces. The old Roman law
To all the ugly women used to assign
The fortunes of the handsome, thinking those
Sufficiently endow’d with their good looks.
Laz. Ah! and there Laura lives, the lass who said
She’d sell her house and buy a coach withal;
And when they ask’d her, where she’d live, quoth she,
‘Why in my coach!’ ‘But when night comes,’ say they,
‘Where then?’—‘Why in the coach-house to be sure!’[2]
Ces. Indeed, indeed, my lord, the night wears on,
And sure your sister lies awake foreboding
Some danger to your person.
Consider her anxiety!
Prince (aside). Nay, yours
Lies nearer to my heart.
Ces. My lord?
Prince. I said
No matter for my sister, that was all;
She knows not I’m abroad.
Ces. My hope is gone!
Laz. There, yonder in that little house, there lives
A girl with whom it were impossible
To deal straightforwardly.
Prince. But why?
Laz. She’s crooked.
Ar. And there a pretty girl enough, but guarded
By an old dragon aunt.
Laz. O Lord, defend me
From all old women!
Prince. How so, Lazaro?
Laz. Oh, ever since the day I had to rue
The conjurer’s old woman.
Prince. Who was she?
Laz. Why, my lord, once upon a time
I fell in love with one who would not have me
Either for love or money: so at last
I go to a certain witch—tell him my story:
Whereon he bids me do this; cut a lock
From my love’s head and bring it to him. Well,
I watch’d my opportunity, and one day,
When she was fast asleep, adroitly lopp’d
A lovely forelock from what seem’d her hair,
But was an hair-loom rather from her wig
Descended from a head that once was young
As I thought her. For, giving it the witch,
To work his charm with, in the dead of night,
When I was waiting for my love to come,
Into my bed-room the dead woman stalk’d
To whom the lock of hair had once belong’d,
And claim’d me for her own. O Lord, how soon
‘Sweetheart’ and ‘Deary’ chang’d to ‘Apage!’
And flesh and blood to ice.
Ces. (aside). Alas! what boots it trying to forget
That which the very effort makes remember?
Ev’n now, ev’n now, methinks once more I see her
Turn to the window, not expecting me,
But to abjure all expectation,
And, as she moves away, saying, (methinks
I hear her,) ‘Cesar, come when come you may,
You shall not find me here.’ ‘Nay, but my love,
Anna! my lady! hear me!’ Oh confusion,
Did they observe?
Prince (aside to Arias). How ill, Don Arias,
Poor Cesar hides his heart—
Ar. Ev’n now he tries
The mask again.
Prince. Indeed I pity him,
Losing one golden opportunity;
But may not I be pitied too, who never
Shall have so much as one to lose?
Ar. Speak low;
You know her brother’s by.
Prince. No matter; true
Nobility is slowest to suspect.
Musician (sings within).
Ah happy bird, who can fly with the wind,
Leaving all anguish of absence behind;
Like thee could I fly,
Leaving others to sigh,
The lover I sigh for how soon would I find![3]
Ces. Not an ill voice!
Fel. Nay, very good.
Prince. How sweetly
Sweet words, sweet air, sweet voice, atone together!
Arias, might we not on this sweet singer
Try Lazaro’s metal and mettle? you shall see.
Lazaro!
Laz. My lord!
Prince. I never go abroad
But this musician dogs me.
Laz. Shall I tell him
Upon your Highness’s request, politely,
To move away?
Prince. I doubt me, Lazaro,
He will not go for that, he’s obstinate.
Laz. How then, my lord?
Prince. Go up and strike him with your sword.
Laz. But were it brave in me, back’d as I am,
To draw my sword on one poor piping bird?
If I must do it, let me challenge him
Alone to-morrow.
But let me warn him first.
Prince. Do as I bid you,
Or I shall call you coward.
Ces. Lazaro,
Obey his Highness.
Laz. O good providence,
Temper the wind to a shorn lamb!
Musician (within).
Ah happy bird, whom the wind and the rain,
And snare of the fowler, beset but in vain;
Oh, had I thy wing,
Leaving others to sing,
How soon would I be with my lover again!
Laz. (aloud within). Pray God, poor man, if thou be innocent
Of any ill intention in thy chirping,
The blade I draw upon thee turn to wood!
A miracle! A miracle! (Rushing in.)
Prince. How now?
Laz. The sword I lifted on an innocent man,
Has turn’d to wood at his assailant’s prayer!
Take it, my lord, lay ’t in your armoury
Among the chiefest relics of our time.
I freely give it you, upon condition
You give me any plain but solid weapon
To wear instead.
Prince. You are well out of it.
It shall be so.
Ces. My lord, indeed the dawn
Is almost breaking.
Prince. Let it find us here.
But, my dear Cesar, tell me, are you the better
For this diversion?
Ces. Oh, far cheerfuller.
Though with some little effort.
Prince. And I too.
So love is like all other evils known;
With others’ sorrow we beguile our own.
[Exeunt.
Scene II.—The Garden of Donna Anna’s House.
Donna Anna and Elvira at a window. Dawn.
Elv. Yet once more to the window?
Anna. Oh Elvira,
For the last time! now undeceived to know
How much deceived I was!
Alas, until I find myself despised,
Methought I was desired, till hated, loved;
Was ’t not enough to know himself beloved,
Without insulting her who told him so?
Was ’t not enough—
Oh wonder not, Elvira, at my passion;
Of all these men’s enchantments, none more potent
Than what might seem unlikeliest—their disdain.
Elv. Indeed you have good cause for anger, madam:
But yet one trial more.
Anna. And to what end?
I’ll not play Tantalus again for him.
Oh shameful insult! had I dream’d of it,
Would I have written him so tenderly?
Told my whole heart?—But, once in love, what woman
Can trust herself, alas, with pen and ink?
Elv. Were he to come now after all, how then?
Would you reproach, or turn your back on him,
Or—
Anna. Nay, I know not. Is ’t not possible,
He is detain’d, Elvira, by the Prince
Upon state business?
Elv. You excuse him then!
Anna. Oh, any thing to soothe me!
Elv. Who excuses
Will quickly pardon.
Anna. Ay, if he came now,
Now, as you say, Elvira,
And make excuses which I knew were false,
I would believe them still. Would he were come
Only to try. Could I be so deceived!
Enter Cesar and Lazaro, below.
Laz. See you not day has dawn’d, sir?
Ces. Mine, I doubt,
Is set for ever. Yet, in sheer despair,
I come to gaze upon the empty east!
But look!
Laz. Well, sir?
Ces. See you not through the twilight?
Laz. Yea, sir; a woman: and when I say a woman,
I mean two women.
Ces. Oh see if it be she.
Laz. ’Twould make Elvira jealous, sir.
Ces. Oh lady,
Is it you?
Anna. Yes I, Don Cesar: who all night
Have waited on your pleasure, unsuspecting
What now too well I know.
My foolish passion, sir, is well revenged
By shamed repentance. Oh, you came at last,
Thinking belike, sir, with the morning star
Retrieve the waste of night; oh, you loved me, sir,
Or seem’d to do, till having won from me
Confession of a love I feel no more,
You turn it to disdain. Oh think not, sir,
That by one little deed in love, like law,
You gain the full possession of my heart
For ever; and for this idle interview,
Do you so profit by it as to learn
Courtesy to a lady; which when learn’d
Come and repeat to me.
[Retires from window.
Ces. And having now
Arraign’d me of the crime, why do you leave me
To plead my exculpation to the winds?
O Donna Anna, I call Heav’n to witness
’Twas not my negligence, but my ill star
That envied me such ill-deserved delight.
If it be otherwise,
Or even you suspect it otherwise,
Spurn me, not only now, but ever, from you.
Since better were it with a conscience clear
Rejected, than suspiciously received.
The Prince has kept me all the night with him
About the city streets: your brother, who
Was with us, can bear witness. Yet if still
You think me guilty, but come back to say so,
And let me plead once more, and you once more
Condemn, and yet once more, and all in vain,
If you will only but come back again!
Anna (returning to the window). And this is true?
Ces. So help me Heav’n, it is!
Why, could you, Anna, in your heart believe
I could forget you?
Anna. And, Don Cesar, you
That, were it so, I could forget my love?
But see, the sun above the mountain-tops
Begins to peep, and morn to welcome him
With all her smiles and tears. We must begone.
I shall another quick occasion find,
When I shall call, and you—not lag behind?
Ces. Oh once more taken to your heart again,
My shame turns glory, and delight my pain.
Yet tell me—
Anna. Well?
Ces. Of your suspicions one
Lingers within you?
Anna. Ay, a legion,
That at your presence to their mistress’ pride
Turn traitors, and all fight on Cesar’s side!
Ces. Farewell then, my divine implacable!
Anna. Victim and idol of my eyes, farewell!
[Exeunt severally.
Laz. Well, and what has my mistress to say to me? Does she also play the scornful lady?
Elv. I? why?
Laz. Because my mistress’ mistress does so to my master whose love I follow in shadow.
Elv. Oh, I did not understand.
Laz. When he’s happy then I’m jolly;
When he’s sad I’m melancholy:
When he’s love-infected, I
With the self-same fever fretted,
Either am bound like him to fry,
Or if he chooses to forget it,
I must even take his cue,
And, Elvira, forget you.
Do you enact your lady. Now,
Begin. Be angry first—
Elv. But how?
Laz. Hide up, no matter how or why,
Behind the window-blind, while I
Underneath it caterwaul;—
Elv. What are the odds I don’t reply?
Laz. Just the odds that I don’t call.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.—A Room in the Palace.
The Prince and Don Felix, discovered at the back of the stage.
Fel. Why is your Highness sad?
Prince. Not sad, Don Felix:
Oh would it were some certain shape of sorrow
That I might grapple with, not a vague host
Of undefined emotions! Oh how oft
The patching up of but a single seam
Opens a hundred others! Lucky he,
Who can to disenchantment bare his eyes
Once and for all, and in oblivion
Shut up vain hope for ever!
Enter Cesar, Arias, and Lazaro, in front.
Ces. (to Arias as they enter). And so at last was satisfied.
Ar. His Highness and Don Felix.
Ces. I am sure that he who profits not by opportunity scarce covets it enough. Taking advantage of the cleared heaven, I have here written my lady, asking her when she will give me the meeting she promised; Lazaro, take the letter: Don Felix here, you can easily deliver it.
Laz. I’ll feign an errand, and so get into the house.
[Exit.
Fel. (to Prince). Cesar and Arias, my lord.
Prince. I know their business. Oh what a tempest does every breeze from that quarter raise in my bosom! Well, gentlemen?
Ar. Cesar, my lord, was telling me—
Prince. About his melancholy studies still? Pray tell me.
Ces. Nay, my lord, all melancholy flies from the sunshine of your presence.
Prince. What then?
Ces. I still distrust myself; Don Arias must, my lord, answer for me.
Prince. Don Arias, then?
Ar. (aside). Fresh confidence should bind me his anew. But comes too late.
Ces. (aside to Arias). Be careful what you say.
Ar. Trust me. (Cesar retires.)
Prince (to Arias apart). Well now, Don Arias.
Ar. At first much enraged against him, at last she yielded to his amorous excuses; and, finding Don Felix here, he has sent her a letter beseeching another meeting.
Prince. When?
Ar. This moment.
Prince. Who can doubt the upshot! I must contrive to thwart them. (Aloud.) But ere I hear your story, Arias, I must tell Don Felix what I was about to do as these gentlemen came in and interrupted me: that his sister was ill—had fainted—from some vexation or fright, as I think.
Fel. Anna?
Prince. So my sister told me. Had you not better see to her?
Fel. With your leave, my lord.
[Exit.
Prince (aside). And so, as I wished, prevent her answering, if not getting, the letter. (Aloud.) I will ask Nisida how it was.
[Exit.
Ces. What did you tell the Prince to draw this new trouble on me?
Ar. Ay, even so. Blame him who has been even lying in your service. Look you now, the Prince told me he had overheard the names ‘Don Felix’ and ‘Donna Anna’ between us as we came in talking; and, tethered to that, I was obliged to drag this fainting fit into the service.
Ces. Oh, if Felix find Lazaro at his house!
Ar. Fear not, anxiety will carry him home faster than a letter Lazaro.
Ces. Alas! that the revival of my joy
Is the revival of a fresh annoy;
And that the remedy I long’d to seize
Must slay me faster than the old disease.
[Exeunt.
Scene IV.—An apartment in Don Felix’s House.
Donna Anna and Elvira.
Elv. Well, have you finisht writing?
Anna. I have written,
Not finisht writing. That could never be;
Each sentence, yea, each letter, as I write it,
Suggesting others still. I had hoped, Elvira,
To sum my story up in a few words;
Took pen and paper, both at the wrong end:—
Tried to begin, my mind so full I knew not
What to begin with; till, as one has seen
The fullest vessel hardly run, until
Some inner air should loose the lingering liquid,
So my charged heart waited till one long sigh
Set it a flowing. I wrote, erased, re-wrote,
Then, pregnant love still doubling thought on thought,
Doubled the page too hastily, and blotted
All that was writ before; until my letter,
Blotted, erased, re-written, and perplext,
At least is a fair transcript of my heart,
Well, the sum is, he is to come, Elvira,
To-night, when Felix, as I heard him say,
Goes to our country house on business;
And all will be more quiet. But here, read it.
Elv. My lord! my lord!—the letter!
Enter Felix.
Anna (hiding the letter). Heavens!
Fel. Too well
The traitorous colour flying from your cheeks
Betrays your illness and my cause of sorrow.
What is the matter?
Anna. Nothing, brother.
Fel. Nothing!
Your changing face and your solicitude
To assure me there is nothing, but assure me
How much there is. I have been told in fact,
And hurried home thus suddenly,
To hear it all.
Anna. (aside). Alas! he knows my secret!
Felix, indeed, indeed, my love
Shall not dishonour you.
Fel. Your love?
I’m more at loss than ever. But perhaps
You feign this to divert me from the truth.
What is the matter, truly?
Anna. Be assured
I never will disgrace you.
Fel. Ah, she rambles,
Quite unrecover’d yet.
Anna (apart to Elvira). What shall I do?
Elv. (apart). Deny it all, there’s many a step between
Suspicion and assurance.
Fel. You, Elvira,
(My sister cannot) tell me what has happen’d.
Elv. Oh, nothing but a swoon, sir:
My mistress fainted: that is all: accounts
For all her paleness and discomfiture.
Fel. ’Twas that I heard.
Elv. I do assure you, sir,
We thought her dead—however she dissemble
Out of her love for you.
Fel. ’Twas kind of her:
But yet not kindness, Anna, to delude me
Into a selfish ignorance of your pain.
Enough, you are better now?
Anna. Indeed.
Fel. That’s well.
But, by the way, what meant you by ‘your love,’
And ‘not dishonouring me?’
Anna. ‘My love,’ and ‘not
Dishonouring!’ did I say so? I must mean,
My senses still half-drown’d, my love for you
That would not have you pain’d. A true love, Felix,
Though a mistaken, may be, as you say,
Yet no dishonour.
Fel. Still I have not heard
What caused this illness.
Anna (aside). He presses hard upon me,
But I’ll out-double him. (Aloud.) The cause of it?
Why—sitting in this room,
I heard a noise in the street there: went to the window,
And saw a crowd of people, their swords out, fighting
Before the door; and (what will foolish fear
Not conjure up?) methought that one of them
Was you—and suddenly a mortal chill
Came over me, and—you must ask Elvira
For all the rest.
Elv. (aside). Why ever have the trouble
Of coining lies when truth will pass as well?
Enter Lazaro.
Laz. So far so good.
Fel. Lazaro?
Laz. (seeing Felix). It’s his ghost? for certainly I left his body at the palace.
Anna. My evil stars bear hard upon me!
Laz. I’m done for, unless a good lie——(Aloud.) Ruffian, rascal, scamp!
Fel. How now?
Laz. Murderer! villain!
Fel. Softly, softly, breathe awhile! what’s the matter?
Laz. Nothing, nothing, yet had I not exploded incidentally, or as it were superficially, I had altogether burst. Oh the rascal! the slave!
Fel. But tell me the matter.
Laz. Oh the matter—indeed the matter—you may well ask it—indeed you may—Oh the murderer!
Fel. Come, come, tell us.
Laz. Ay, well, look here, my lords and ladies, lend me your ears; I was at cards: yes: for you must know, my lord, I sometimes like a bout as my betters do: you understand this?
Fel. Yes—well?
Laz. Well, being at cards, as I say: ay, and playing pretty high too: for I must confess that sometimes, like my betters—you understand?
Fel. Go on—go on.
Laz. Well, being, as I said, at cards,
And playing pretty high too—mark me that—
I get into discussion or dispute,
(Whichever you will call it) with a man,
If man he may be call’d who man was none—
Ye gods! to prostitute the name of man
On such as that!—call him a manikin,
A mandarin, a mandrake,
Rather than man—I mean in soul, mark you;
For in his outward man he was a man,
Ay, and a man of might. Nay, more than man,
A giant, one may say. Well, as I said,
This wretch and I got to high words, and then
(Whither high words so often lead) to blows;
Out came our swords. The rascal having seen
What a desperate fellow at my tool I was,
Takes him eleven others of his kidney,
Worse than himself, and all twelve set on me.
I seeing them come on, ejaculate,
‘From all such rascals, single or in league,
Good Lord, deliver us,’ set upon all twelve
With that same sword, mark me, our gracious Prince
Gave me but yesternight, and, God be praised,
Disgraced not in the giving—
Beat the whole twelve of them back to a porch,
Where, after bandying a blow with each,
Each getting something to remember me by,
Back in a phalanx all came down on me,
And then dividing, sir, into two parties,
Twelve upon this side—do you see? and nine
On this—and three in front—
Fel. But, Lazaro,
Why, twelve and nine are twenty-one—and three—
Why, your twelve men are grown to twenty-four!
How’s this?
Laz. How’s this? why, counting in the shadows—
You see I count the shadows—twenty-four,
Shadows and all—you see![4]
Fel. I see.
Laz. Well, sir,
Had not that good sword which our gracious Prince
Gave me but yesterday broke in my hand,
I should have had to pay for mass, I promise you,
For every mother’s son of them!
Fel. Indeed!
But, Lazaro, I see your sword’s entire:
How’s that?
Laz. The most extraordinary part
Of all—
Fel. Well, tell us.
Laz. Why, I had first used
My dagger upon one: and when my sword
Snapt, with its stump, sir, daggerwise I fought,
As thus; and that with such tremendous fury,
That, smiting a steel buckler, I struck out
Such sparks from it, that, by the light of them,
Snatching up the fallen fragment of my sword,
I pieced the two together.
Fel. But the dagger
You fought with first, and lost, you say—why, Lazaro,
’Tis in your girdle.
Laz. I account for that
Easily. Look, sir, I drew it, as I said,
And struck amain. The man I drew it on,
Seeing the coming blow, caught hold of it,
And struck it back on me; I, yet more skilful,
With God’s good help did so present myself
That, when he struck at me, my own dagger’s point
Return’d into its sheath, as here you see it.
Enough, I heard the cry of ‘Alguazils!’
Ran off, and, entering the first open door,
Now ask for sanctuary at your feet.
Fel. I think it is your trepidation
Makes you talk nonsense.
Anna. Surely, my brother, this was the riot that so frighted me.
Fel. And was I then the man, ‘if man it could be called who man was none,’ that Lazaro fought with?
Anna. I know not, I only know ’twas some one of a handsome presence like yours.
Fel. (aside). Perhaps his master—I much suspect it was Cesar that was dicing, and afterward fighting; and his servant, to cover him, invents this foolish story——(Aloud.) I will look into the street and see if it be clear.
[Exit.
Elv. Now say your say.
Anna (giving Lazaro her letter). And quickly, Lazaro; taking this letter—
Laz. (giving Cesar’s). And you this premium upon it.
Anna. Bid him be sure to come to me this evening; I have much to say. And thus much to you, Lazaro; your quarrel came in the nick of time to account for a swoon I had occasion to feign.
Elv. Quick! quick! he’s coming back.
Laz. Madam, farewell.
Anna. And if my plot succeed,
Feign’d quarrel shall to true love-making lead.
[Exeunt.
Scene V.—A Room in the Palace.
Cesar and Arias talking: to whom after a time enter Lazaro.
Laz. Oh, I have had rare work.
Ces. The letter! (takes it from Lazaro)
Ar. And how did all end?
Laz. Well—as I am home at last safe and sound.
Ces. Arias, you share my heart; even read my letter with me. (They read.)
Laz. (aside). That my master should trust that babbler who let out about my wooden sword to the Prince! my life upon ’t, he’ll do the same to him; for he who sucks in gossip is the first to leak it.
Ar. Sweetly she writes!
Ces. How should it be but sweet,
Where modesty and wit and true love meet?
Ar. And expects you this evening!
Ces. Till which each minute is an hour, each hour
A day, a year, a century!
Laz. And then
In sæcula sæculorum. Amen.
Ar. The Prince!
Ces. I dread his seeing me.
Ar. But how?
Ces. Lest, as already twice, he thwart me now.
Enter Prince.
Prince. Cesar here, when I am on fire to know the upshot of my plot upon his letter! I must get quit of him.
Ces. Good day, my lord.
Prince. Well, any news abroad?
Ar. Not that I know of, my lord.
Prince. Cesar, there are despatches in my closet, have been lying there since yesterday, should they not be seen to at once?
Ces. My lord! (Aside.) I foresaw it!
Prince. Yes! I would have you look to them and report them to me directly.
Ces. (aside). Ah, this is better! (Aloud.) I’ll see to them.
(Aside.) And then, I trust, day’s work with daylight o’er,
Man, nor malicious star, shall cross me more.
[Exeunt Cesar and Lazaro.
Prince. And now about the letter?
Ar. I only know, my lord, that though Felix got home first, Lazaro got there somehow, somehow gave her the letter, and somehow got an answer.
Prince. Hast seen it?
Ar. Yes, my lord.
Prince. And—
Ar. She appoints another meeting this evening.
Prince. And I must myself despatch his work, so as to leave him free to-night! Oh Arias, what can I do more?
Ar. Cannot your Highness go there yourself, and so at least stop further advancement?
Prince. True, true; and yet I know not; it might be too suspicious. I must consider what shall be done;
And what more subtle engine I may try
Against these lovers’ ingenuity.
[Exeunt.