DON JOHN.
Speak on, speak on!
Though you should rail, your voice would still outsing
Rebeck and mandoline.
MARIA.
Is it not strange?
I knew you not, albeit I might have guessed,
If only from the simple garb of black,
And golden collar, 'midst the motley hues
Of our gay nobles. I know not what besides,
But this first won me. Be not angered, sir;
But, as I looked, I never ranked you higher
Than simple gentleman. I asked your name;
Then, when you Highness stooped to pick my flower,
My lord, that moment was my thought a traitor,
For it had fain discrowned you.
DON JOHN.
May God's angels
Reward such treason. Say me those words again.
Let the rich blush born of that dear confession
Again dye cheek and brow, and fade and melt
Forever, even as then.
MARIA.
We are watched, my lord.
This is no place, no hour, for words like these.
DON JOHN.
When, where then, may we meet?
[They pass on.]
SCENE II.
The Palace Gardens. Interrupted sounds of music and revelry
come though the open windows of the ball-room, seen in the
background. RIBERA, pacing the stage, occasionally pausing
to look in upon the dancers.
RIBERA.
This is revenge. Is she not beautiful,
Ye gods? The beggar's child matched with a prince!
Throb not so high, my heart, 'neath envious eyes
Fixed on thy triumph! Now am I well repaid
For my slow, martyred years. Was I not wrung
by keener tortures than my savage brush,
Though dipped in my heart's blood, might reproduce!
No twisted muscle, no contorted limb,
No agony of flesh, have I yet drawn,
That owed not its suggestion to some pang
Of my pride crucified, my spirit racked,
My entrails gnawed by the blind worm of hate,
Engendered of oppression. That is past,
But not forgotten; though to-night I please
To yield to gentler influence, to own
The strength of beauty and the power of joy,
And welcome gracious phantasies that throng
And hover over me in airy shapes.
The spirits of earth and heaven contend to-night
For mastery within me; ne'er before
Have I been more the Spagnoletto, fired
With noble wrath, with the consuming fever
And fierce delight of vengeance.
From this point
I see her clearly—the auroral face
A-light with smiles, the imperial head upraised;
Her languid hand sways the broad, silken fan,
Whose wing-like movement stirs above her brow
The fine, bright curls, as though warm airs of heaven
Around her breathed. He leads her 'midst the throng.
So, they have gone; but I will follow them,
And watch them from afar.
[Exit.]
Enter from the opposite side DON JOHN and MARIA.
DON JOHN.
I dread to ask
What quivers on my lips. My heart is free,
But thine?
MARIA.
My heart is free, my lord.
DON JOHN.
Thank God!