EnterDon AlfonsoandDon Pascual.D. Pas.Must thou then really leave me and returnTo Salamanca to resume thy studies?Alas! to think that thou shouldst go alone,And that I dare not bear thee company.Tell me, Alfonso, think'st thou the policeAre ever on my track, or else that theyHave now given up all strict and diligent search,Some weeks having passed o'er since the fatal deed?D. Alf.I would not counsel thee yet to return.Too many rash deeds have been done of lateFor the law to lie much longer passive;Besides, the man you murdered was a count,A great hidalgo, and of haughty race;His family will leave no stone unturnedUntil this murdered member is avenged.D. Pas.Murdered! say'st thou again? 'Twas in a duel.D. Alf.Murder or homicide, 'twill go ill with thee,An thou fall'st in the clutches of the law.In good time thou leftest Salamanca.But live and learn; I did ever tell theeThou wast over ready with thy weapon.What! For a hasty word said in hot bloodMust thou be ever quarte, and tierce, and thrust?D. Pas.Hold, friend, but you must know the case was thus—I met Count Pablo——D. Alf.I know the story.The count was stern and haughty as thyself,Nor made allowances for others' pride;He could not brook the independent gazeOf one whom, perhaps, he deemed of lower birth;This led to altercation and fierce looks(I own him wrong, for he began the quarrel),But it was thou who wast the first to challenge;And all for a word, too.D. Pas.And was that nought?Nought, the being called a gipsy bastard?What! Call'st thou that a trifle? Bastard! Ugh!I swear, that had he been ten times my friend,I would have slain him. Bastard! Gipsy, too!What! Are we Spaniards of so fair a skinThat he would have me pale-eyed, flaxen-haired,Like the barbarians of northern climes?May not a Spaniard have an olive skinAnd jetty eye without being gipsy called?A mystery, I know, hangs o'er my birth;I ne'er knew my parents. Some secret handDoth forward me remittances at times,That I might be enabled to pursueMy studies at the university.I cannot think it is my spurious father,For I do well remember me of one—Indeed, I think that she was not my mother.Although she treated me as her own son—A lady of high rank and ample means,A widow, too, with kind and gentle ways.I knew not then that she was not my mother;But dying when I yet was but a child,I was put early to a seminary.It may be I inherited her fortune,And out of this expenses are disbursed.When young I made no strict inquiriesAs to my origin. Those around meTold me but little, but I think I heardI was adopted by this widow lady.More I ne'er cared to know, until of late,Being stung by the count's taunt of spurious birth,I challenged him and killed him in a duel.And now I fain would have the myst'ry cleared,E'en should the certain knowledge gall my soulAnd I in truth should be a gipsy bastard.It may be that he spoke the truth. But howDid he come to know of it? Or, if truth,That truth was spoke in insult, and so ta'en.He who would call me gipsy, let him fearMy gipsy blood. Let who would call me bastardPrepare to feel the sting a bastard feels.[Touching his sword hilt.D. Alf.Chafe not thyself; the deed is done. No moreMar not the precious moments of our partingWith fiery words, like braggadocio,Or vain lamentings of the fatal past,But let us rather draw unto the table,And o'er a merry flask of Val de PeñasStrive to forget all sorrow.D. Pas.So say I;[Seating themselves at the table.And here's to thy safe journey and returnTo thy most beloved Salamanca.And here's to the eyes that await thee there.Here's also to the delicate moustache——D. Alf.Enough, enough, my friend. Such toasts as theseKeep for thyself. I've other ends in view.I have to carve my passage through the world,To which no syren's eyes must be a hindrance.Wish me but success in all my studies.D. Pas.Ay, so I do, Alfonso, from my heart.D. Alf.As to thyself, Pascual, as it seemsThou art but little formed for study, beingOf a too warm and hasty temperamentTo find much solace in the student's page,Preferring lone rambles and sylvan sportsTo the uncertain fame a scholar seeks.To thee, and such as thee, the love of womanThy ardent nature will not fail to findOut of the many one whom thou canst love.May she be virtuous as she is fair,And worthy of thy love as thou of hers.D. Pas.I thank thee, but as yet my heart is whole.May I dare hope yet that a time may comeWhen a woman's love and a happy homeTo thee may not be all contemptible.Heigho!D. Alf.Thou sighest. Sure thou art in love.D. Pas.Not so, my friend, not yet.D. Alf.Then wherefore sigh?D. Pas.Thou hast awoke strange mem'ries in my mind—Events long past that I'd but all forgot.'Tis nothing, thou'lt say—mere childish fancy.Prithee, friend Alfonso, tell me one thing.Dost really think I come of gipsy blood?D. Alf.What! Is it there the shoe still pinches? Ha!Fill up another bumper of this wineAnd wash down the word, else it will choke thee.D. Pas.Nay, I am serious, and would have thy word.Tell me in honour, now, what thou dost think.D. Alf.Bah! What matters it? Thou art somewhat dark;But, as thou well sayst, so are all our race.D. Pas.True. But what think'st thou?D. Alf.Faith! I cannot tell.Perhaps over dark for a Castilian.D. Pas.Ha! Say'st thou so? I've long thought so myself.And what confirms me in the thought is this,That ever since my earliest youth I've feltA strange affection for these gipsy tribes—A sympathy for their wild wandering lifeAnd fierce impatience at the cold restraintsBy which well-bred society doth crampOur fervid passions. Friend, thou knowest me well.Thou sayest well I am not formed for study,That is to say, such studies as thine own—Th' intricacies of law, philosophy,The mysteries of theology, and allThe lore for which you students sap your youth.My book is nature. In the open fieldsI've loved to lie at night and watch the stars,The various aspects of the changing moon,Or on the giddy mountain peak at mornTo view the first beams of the rising sunAs from the rosy horizon it climbsUp towards the purple zenith. At middayI love to rest me in the sylvan shadeAnd watch the deer grazing on the rich turf,Or else in company of some jovial friends,Hunt these poor denizens from their peaceful haunts,And, heated with the chase, dismount and slakeMy parching thirst from out the neighbouring brook.Full oft in my wild wanderings I have passedThrough desert places, where no dwelling was,And, overcome by hunger and fatigue,Have well nigh fainted, but in such cases,When human hospitality doth failNature comes to the rescue and procuresIts roots and berries, sometimes luscious fruit:And thus I've journeyed often from my youth,Encountering many dangers in my path.Twice captured by the brigands, nor set freeWithout heavy ransom. More than onceI've 'scaped unaided from the blades of ruffians,But not unscathed, and fighting hand to hand.I've also fallen in with the gipsy tribes,And lived among them, too, in early youth,Till I became familiar with their tongue,Their life and customs, for when yet a childThey stole me from my friends, whoe'er they were,But I was rescued, and the dusky tribeWere driven out from that part of the land.Among my early reminiscencesI can recall the tall and bronzed formOf one who should have been the queen of them,For so I've heard her styled. I met her oft;And when I first remember her she boreA countenance as beautiful as day.I have not seen her now for many years.When last I met her I could plainly seeThat time and trouble and a roving lifeHad left their stamp upon her dusky brow.But I had nought to fear fromher. The croneWould call me to her and caress me, too;Call me endearing names, and, as a proofOf further love, she gave this ring to me;Made me swear it ne'er should leave my finger,And that some day it would protect my life.For should I fall in with the gipsy band,On seeing this token they would let me passWithout let or hindrance, so she said.For years I have not seen the gipsy band,And therefore have not put it to the proof;But still I've kept my vow, and from that timeI ne'er have doffed it. And now tell me, friend,If what I've just told you does not proveMe sprung from gipsy blood?D. Alf.We cannot helpOur birth. What matters it our parentage?D. Pas.Thou seest not, then, what it is that galls me.List. If I be of gipsy origin,I must be likewise bastard, for whoe'erDid hear of legal marriage in a caseOf love 'twixt Christian and a gipsy maid?Knowest thou not what the term "bastard" means?Could I once but meet my spurious father,He should account for sending me adriftAnd nameless through the world, or I'd know why.For know, whate'er my origin may be,I have been brought up as a gentleman,And hope to marry one of gentle blood.What proud Castilian family would mateA cherished daughter to a lineage soiled?D. Alf.I do acknowledge thy perplexity.But bastard though thou beest, thou'rt still a man.Would'st 'rase the bar sinister from thy shield,Or, what is much the same, cast it i' the shade,So that it appear not for the lustreOf thy many and resplendent virtues?Make thy name famous. Fame, however bought,Hath ne'er failed to win the heart of woman.A woman's heart being once securely won,The vict'ry's thine. Th' obstacles that followThou'lt find will not be insurmountable;I mean, to gain the parents' full consent.But he must fight who'd win. And now, adieuI have no time to tarry longer. See,My mule is saddled, and I must away.Detain me not, my friend, for I would fainReach the adjacent township ere nightfall.D. Pas.Bless thee, Alfonso, and fortune speed thee.D. Alf.The like to thee, Pascual, from my heart.[They embrace. Exit Alfonso. Pascual remains behind and waves his handkerchief from the terrace.D. Pas.Adios! He is gone. His ambling muleHas borne its gallant freight far out of sight.Farewell, Alfonso. Fortune be thy guide,Truest of comrades, best of counsellors,Ridethou, my friend, towards fame, whilst I, Pascual,Like Cain, must roam the earth, a vagabond,Flying the face of man, by man pursued;A price set on my head. Not merely bastard,But vagabond! What was't he said of fame?He mocked me. Fame for an outlawed gipsy!An it be not such fame the gallows brings,Write me down lucky. Would not an attemptTo bring my name to light sign my death warrant?My friend thought not of this. For such as IThe monast'ry's sequestered cell were good,Rather than fame. But courage yet! I feelThe blood of our dark race boil in my veins,And cry shame on my fears. Then fame be it,But not that fame Alfonso wrings from books.Not that for me. The valour of my arm,The patient wasting of my hardy frameShall win the fame I seek. For I recallThe words long spoken, and but all forgot,By that same gipsy queen when first she gazedInto my infant palm. "Hail to thee, child!For thou beneath a lucky star was born.Fortune," she said, "hath marked thee for her own."These are the words. I cannot choose, but trust.Shine out, my star, since thou dost lead me on,For as the loadstone draws the unwilling steelUnto itself, so man is led by fate.Avaunt, base fear, and fortune, thus I seize thee.[Exit.
EnterDon AlfonsoandDon Pascual.
D. Pas.Must thou then really leave me and returnTo Salamanca to resume thy studies?Alas! to think that thou shouldst go alone,And that I dare not bear thee company.Tell me, Alfonso, think'st thou the policeAre ever on my track, or else that theyHave now given up all strict and diligent search,Some weeks having passed o'er since the fatal deed?D. Alf.I would not counsel thee yet to return.Too many rash deeds have been done of lateFor the law to lie much longer passive;Besides, the man you murdered was a count,A great hidalgo, and of haughty race;His family will leave no stone unturnedUntil this murdered member is avenged.D. Pas.Murdered! say'st thou again? 'Twas in a duel.D. Alf.Murder or homicide, 'twill go ill with thee,An thou fall'st in the clutches of the law.In good time thou leftest Salamanca.But live and learn; I did ever tell theeThou wast over ready with thy weapon.What! For a hasty word said in hot bloodMust thou be ever quarte, and tierce, and thrust?D. Pas.Hold, friend, but you must know the case was thus—I met Count Pablo——D. Alf.I know the story.The count was stern and haughty as thyself,Nor made allowances for others' pride;He could not brook the independent gazeOf one whom, perhaps, he deemed of lower birth;This led to altercation and fierce looks(I own him wrong, for he began the quarrel),But it was thou who wast the first to challenge;And all for a word, too.D. Pas.And was that nought?Nought, the being called a gipsy bastard?What! Call'st thou that a trifle? Bastard! Ugh!I swear, that had he been ten times my friend,I would have slain him. Bastard! Gipsy, too!What! Are we Spaniards of so fair a skinThat he would have me pale-eyed, flaxen-haired,Like the barbarians of northern climes?May not a Spaniard have an olive skinAnd jetty eye without being gipsy called?A mystery, I know, hangs o'er my birth;I ne'er knew my parents. Some secret handDoth forward me remittances at times,That I might be enabled to pursueMy studies at the university.I cannot think it is my spurious father,For I do well remember me of one—Indeed, I think that she was not my mother.Although she treated me as her own son—A lady of high rank and ample means,A widow, too, with kind and gentle ways.I knew not then that she was not my mother;But dying when I yet was but a child,I was put early to a seminary.It may be I inherited her fortune,And out of this expenses are disbursed.When young I made no strict inquiriesAs to my origin. Those around meTold me but little, but I think I heardI was adopted by this widow lady.More I ne'er cared to know, until of late,Being stung by the count's taunt of spurious birth,I challenged him and killed him in a duel.And now I fain would have the myst'ry cleared,E'en should the certain knowledge gall my soulAnd I in truth should be a gipsy bastard.It may be that he spoke the truth. But howDid he come to know of it? Or, if truth,That truth was spoke in insult, and so ta'en.He who would call me gipsy, let him fearMy gipsy blood. Let who would call me bastardPrepare to feel the sting a bastard feels.[Touching his sword hilt.D. Alf.Chafe not thyself; the deed is done. No moreMar not the precious moments of our partingWith fiery words, like braggadocio,Or vain lamentings of the fatal past,But let us rather draw unto the table,And o'er a merry flask of Val de PeñasStrive to forget all sorrow.D. Pas.So say I;[Seating themselves at the table.And here's to thy safe journey and returnTo thy most beloved Salamanca.And here's to the eyes that await thee there.Here's also to the delicate moustache——D. Alf.Enough, enough, my friend. Such toasts as theseKeep for thyself. I've other ends in view.I have to carve my passage through the world,To which no syren's eyes must be a hindrance.Wish me but success in all my studies.D. Pas.Ay, so I do, Alfonso, from my heart.D. Alf.As to thyself, Pascual, as it seemsThou art but little formed for study, beingOf a too warm and hasty temperamentTo find much solace in the student's page,Preferring lone rambles and sylvan sportsTo the uncertain fame a scholar seeks.To thee, and such as thee, the love of womanThy ardent nature will not fail to findOut of the many one whom thou canst love.May she be virtuous as she is fair,And worthy of thy love as thou of hers.D. Pas.I thank thee, but as yet my heart is whole.May I dare hope yet that a time may comeWhen a woman's love and a happy homeTo thee may not be all contemptible.Heigho!D. Alf.Thou sighest. Sure thou art in love.D. Pas.Not so, my friend, not yet.D. Alf.Then wherefore sigh?D. Pas.Thou hast awoke strange mem'ries in my mind—Events long past that I'd but all forgot.'Tis nothing, thou'lt say—mere childish fancy.Prithee, friend Alfonso, tell me one thing.Dost really think I come of gipsy blood?D. Alf.What! Is it there the shoe still pinches? Ha!Fill up another bumper of this wineAnd wash down the word, else it will choke thee.D. Pas.Nay, I am serious, and would have thy word.Tell me in honour, now, what thou dost think.D. Alf.Bah! What matters it? Thou art somewhat dark;But, as thou well sayst, so are all our race.D. Pas.True. But what think'st thou?D. Alf.Faith! I cannot tell.Perhaps over dark for a Castilian.D. Pas.Ha! Say'st thou so? I've long thought so myself.And what confirms me in the thought is this,That ever since my earliest youth I've feltA strange affection for these gipsy tribes—A sympathy for their wild wandering lifeAnd fierce impatience at the cold restraintsBy which well-bred society doth crampOur fervid passions. Friend, thou knowest me well.Thou sayest well I am not formed for study,That is to say, such studies as thine own—Th' intricacies of law, philosophy,The mysteries of theology, and allThe lore for which you students sap your youth.My book is nature. In the open fieldsI've loved to lie at night and watch the stars,The various aspects of the changing moon,Or on the giddy mountain peak at mornTo view the first beams of the rising sunAs from the rosy horizon it climbsUp towards the purple zenith. At middayI love to rest me in the sylvan shadeAnd watch the deer grazing on the rich turf,Or else in company of some jovial friends,Hunt these poor denizens from their peaceful haunts,And, heated with the chase, dismount and slakeMy parching thirst from out the neighbouring brook.Full oft in my wild wanderings I have passedThrough desert places, where no dwelling was,And, overcome by hunger and fatigue,Have well nigh fainted, but in such cases,When human hospitality doth failNature comes to the rescue and procuresIts roots and berries, sometimes luscious fruit:And thus I've journeyed often from my youth,Encountering many dangers in my path.Twice captured by the brigands, nor set freeWithout heavy ransom. More than onceI've 'scaped unaided from the blades of ruffians,But not unscathed, and fighting hand to hand.I've also fallen in with the gipsy tribes,And lived among them, too, in early youth,Till I became familiar with their tongue,Their life and customs, for when yet a childThey stole me from my friends, whoe'er they were,But I was rescued, and the dusky tribeWere driven out from that part of the land.Among my early reminiscencesI can recall the tall and bronzed formOf one who should have been the queen of them,For so I've heard her styled. I met her oft;And when I first remember her she boreA countenance as beautiful as day.I have not seen her now for many years.When last I met her I could plainly seeThat time and trouble and a roving lifeHad left their stamp upon her dusky brow.But I had nought to fear fromher. The croneWould call me to her and caress me, too;Call me endearing names, and, as a proofOf further love, she gave this ring to me;Made me swear it ne'er should leave my finger,And that some day it would protect my life.For should I fall in with the gipsy band,On seeing this token they would let me passWithout let or hindrance, so she said.For years I have not seen the gipsy band,And therefore have not put it to the proof;But still I've kept my vow, and from that timeI ne'er have doffed it. And now tell me, friend,If what I've just told you does not proveMe sprung from gipsy blood?D. Alf.We cannot helpOur birth. What matters it our parentage?D. Pas.Thou seest not, then, what it is that galls me.List. If I be of gipsy origin,I must be likewise bastard, for whoe'erDid hear of legal marriage in a caseOf love 'twixt Christian and a gipsy maid?Knowest thou not what the term "bastard" means?Could I once but meet my spurious father,He should account for sending me adriftAnd nameless through the world, or I'd know why.For know, whate'er my origin may be,I have been brought up as a gentleman,And hope to marry one of gentle blood.What proud Castilian family would mateA cherished daughter to a lineage soiled?D. Alf.I do acknowledge thy perplexity.But bastard though thou beest, thou'rt still a man.Would'st 'rase the bar sinister from thy shield,Or, what is much the same, cast it i' the shade,So that it appear not for the lustreOf thy many and resplendent virtues?Make thy name famous. Fame, however bought,Hath ne'er failed to win the heart of woman.A woman's heart being once securely won,The vict'ry's thine. Th' obstacles that followThou'lt find will not be insurmountable;I mean, to gain the parents' full consent.But he must fight who'd win. And now, adieuI have no time to tarry longer. See,My mule is saddled, and I must away.Detain me not, my friend, for I would fainReach the adjacent township ere nightfall.D. Pas.Bless thee, Alfonso, and fortune speed thee.D. Alf.The like to thee, Pascual, from my heart.
[They embrace. Exit Alfonso. Pascual remains behind and waves his handkerchief from the terrace.
D. Pas.Adios! He is gone. His ambling muleHas borne its gallant freight far out of sight.Farewell, Alfonso. Fortune be thy guide,Truest of comrades, best of counsellors,Ridethou, my friend, towards fame, whilst I, Pascual,Like Cain, must roam the earth, a vagabond,Flying the face of man, by man pursued;A price set on my head. Not merely bastard,But vagabond! What was't he said of fame?He mocked me. Fame for an outlawed gipsy!An it be not such fame the gallows brings,Write me down lucky. Would not an attemptTo bring my name to light sign my death warrant?My friend thought not of this. For such as IThe monast'ry's sequestered cell were good,Rather than fame. But courage yet! I feelThe blood of our dark race boil in my veins,And cry shame on my fears. Then fame be it,But not that fame Alfonso wrings from books.Not that for me. The valour of my arm,The patient wasting of my hardy frameShall win the fame I seek. For I recallThe words long spoken, and but all forgot,By that same gipsy queen when first she gazedInto my infant palm. "Hail to thee, child!For thou beneath a lucky star was born.Fortune," she said, "hath marked thee for her own."These are the words. I cannot choose, but trust.Shine out, my star, since thou dost lead me on,For as the loadstone draws the unwilling steelUnto itself, so man is led by fate.Avaunt, base fear, and fortune, thus I seize thee.[Exit.
Scene II.—A wild ravine. Gipsies, headed by the Gipsy Queen, in ambush.
Gip. Q.This way she comes. Now to your work; but mark!Exceed not my commands. Do her no harm,Show yourselves loyal to your queen, as men,And not wild beasts.Several Gipsies.Queen, thou shalt be obeyed.EnterDonna InezandPedro,on mules.Ped.Cheer up, fair mistress. Banish idle fears.Already we've accomplished half our journey.Ere sundown we'll have reached your father's castle.So follow me. Fear not. And as for dreams,They are all vain, and bred of convent fare—Sickly disease engendered in the mindBy monkish legends and low superstition,Unworthy ladies of your rank. Look ye!I, Pedro, now am old, and yet I neverHave known a dream of mine that did come true.No, my young mistress, take Pedro's word for't,All dreaming is unhealthy—a bad sign.Live well, sleep soundly, and you'll dream no more.Dreams proceed but from impaired digestion.Take my advice and give no heed to them.[Gipsies advance suddenly and seize the bridles.First Gipsy.Hola! there, good people. Halt and dismount![Inez screams and falls against Pedro.Inez.Pedro, protect me. Oh, holy Virgin!Oh, blessed saints and souls in purgatory!Have mercy on us, or we're lost, O God!Pedro, dost hear? Assist me. Fly! Call. Help!Ped.Help, help! To the rescue, I say. What ho!Second Gipsy.Any attempt at flight or cry for helpIs vain, and may prove fatal. Come, dismount.Inez.Oh, saints! The very faces, I declare,That I saw in my dream—and dreams are false.Holy Virgin, protect us. Help, I say!Third Gipsy.Ay, call upon your saints. Call on, call on!And see if they'll come to your assistance.First Gipsy.An you cease not your screaming, you'll be gagged.[Pedro and Inez dismount.Gip. Q.Come, no rough treatment to this young lady,Or it will be the worse for some of you.Tie up the mules and bind the serving man,That he escape not, and so call for help.As to this damsel, leave her all to me.(To Inez) Young lady, have no fear, for I am oneWho can command th' entire gipsy band,Who are my serfs and tremble at my frown.An you be docile, they shall do no harm.Raise but your voice, and I will have you bound.But I, the gipsy queen, would be your friend;And soon you shall acknowledge me as such;But not just now. (To the gipsies) Bind not the young ladyUnless she call for help or attempt to escape.(To Inez) And you, young lady, courage. Tremble not.Think not I crave your pelf or trinkets rare.I have no need. Thyself 'tis I'ld detain.Inez.And why, O strange, O dread, mysterious queen,All powerful amongst thy dusky band,If, as thou sayst, thou hast no need of pelf,And canst and wilt protect me from the handsOf thy half-savage subjects, wherefore thenDetain a poor and simple maiden boundFor her paternal castle, having leftThe Convent of St. Ursula this morn?Gip. Q.Oh, of your story I am well informed.Better, perchance, than what you are yourself.For am I not a gipsy? Know we notBy the aspect of the heavenly bodiesAll events that are about to happen?As to my object in detaining youLet it suffice you I have an object,Which you shall know hereafter. (To gipsies) Guard her close.Methought I did hear footsteps, but 'tis nought.Enter hastilyPascualwith a drawn sword.Pas.This way I heard the cries. How now! What's this?Hell and furies! A chaste and lovely maidAttacked by dusky ruffians! Halt! Forbear!For, by my soul, I swear I will not leaveOne black hide whole among ye, an ye dareTo touch a single hair of her fair head.Gip. Q.Disarm that vain and too hot-headed youth.[Gipsies surround Pascual, who defends himself desperately, killing and wounding some of the nearest. Gipsies back a few paces. Pascual follows, and cuts through them.Unto him, cowards! Seize the presumptuous fool.Hear ye not, slaves? What! Is a single arm,And that, too, of a pampered gentleman,Too much for ye? Shame on ye, cowards, slaves!First Gipsy.Yield, fellow! and put up thy silly skewer,An thou be not a-weary of thy life.Pas.Never! Whilst yet a drop of my heart's bloodFlows freely in my veins. By heaven, I swearI will release yon damsel ere I die!Second Gipsy.Why, who is this, though clad in costly gear,Doth fight as desperately as one of us?Third Gipsy.Beware, young man! We do not seek thy life;Yield up thyself. Ask pardon of our queen,And we will let thee live.Pas.(Still fighting.)Base curs, avaunt!My life is nothing. Take it an ye list,Though ye shall buy it dearly. 'Twill consoleMy parting spirit somewhat but to knowThat it hath rid the surface of the earthOf even a few of such vile scum as ye.First Gipsy.Such words to us! Have at thee then, proud youth.[Wounds Pascual on the head, whilst others attempt to bind him, but he liberates himself and continues fighting.Inez.He bleeds! he bleeds! Saints, help the noble youthWho, at the cost of his young precious life,Would save us both. I fear he's killed. Oh, help![Screams and faints.Gip. Q.Hush! minion, or that cry will be thy last.A Wounded Gipsy.Look, she faints!Another Gipsy.Bah! 'tis but a trick to 'scapeThe easier in the confusion.Look well to her.Gip. Q.Make room for me, ye slaves.I fear no mortal man. Leave him to me.Sirrah! put down your sword.Pas.Never, vile crone.Gip. Q.(Disarming him with her staff.)Then there it lies, thou vain, presumptuous youth.[Murmurs of applause among the gipsies.Pas.Disarmed! And by a woman! Ha! I faint.[Staggers and falls.Gip. Q.He faints from loss of blood. Bind up his wounds.He hath fought well. I tell ye, dusky slaves,This youth to-day hath put ye all to shame.Do him no hurt. I e'er respect the brave.He in a sacred cause fought valiantly;And, faithful to his generous Christian creed,Did seek to wrest the innocent from wrong.First Gipsy.Thou wert not wont to praise the Christians, Queen,Gip. Q.I praise that creed that shows forth in its worksThe principles of manhood. Would that thineHad taught thee what this Christian's has taught him.First Gipsy.(To Second Gipsy). The queen doth mock us, calls us cowards, slaves;And yet we did our best; but, to say sooth,He set upon us in such furious haste,Such blind and desperate rage, that we did gapeWith sheer wonder, and stand aghast with aweAt's prowess, when we should have been fighting.Second Gipsy.Ay, none but a madman tired of his lifeHad fought so desperately.Third Gipsy.The maid recovers.Inez.(Recovering.) Where am I? Ah! then 'tis no dream; 'tis true.Where's my preserver? Let me straight to him,That I may thank him on my bended kneesFor all his deeds to-day.A Gipsy.There, low he lies.Inez.(Rising and advancing towards Pascual). What! dead! Oh, heavens! Grant it be not so.Look, now he moves; then life is not extinct.Thank God for this! Hail, generous friend! What cheer?Pas.'Tis but a bruise, fair maid; 'twill soon be well.Inez.God grant it may.Gip. Q.Here, girl, take this balsam.It is a gipsy cure for all such wounds.One fair action doth demand another:For you he shed his blood, thinking that weDid mean you harm. (How should he tell, poor youth?)Return now you the courtesy, fair maid;Bind up his wounds. Anon I will assist.[Inez commences binding up Pascual's head. The gipsies retire a few paces. The Gipsy Queen fetches water in a gourd.Quaff from this gourd, young man. The flowing rillDoth yield thee medicine.[Pascual drinks.Ha! what is this?Shade of my father Djâbel! it ishe!My long lost son! my own, my valiant boy:Methought I knew that semi-gipsy form.The very ring, too, wrought in virgin goldAnd graven o'er with mystic hieroglyphics—An heirloom of our tribe that I him gaveWith my maternal blessing years gone by,And he hath kept till now. God, I thank thee.Oh, how I long to press him to this breast!This breast that nurtured him and gave him strength!But patience; too precipitous a stepMay mar my plans. Enough, I've found my son.Oh, ye great Powers that move earth and heaven,Accept a mother's thanks! I faint for joy.First Gipsy.How far'st thou, noble Queen? Thou art not well.Gip. Q.Nay, marry, I am well. I'm over well.[Staggering.Second Gipsy.Look to our queen. She faints. Art wounded, queen?Gip. Q.(Mastering herself.) Nay, look, I faint not. I am very well.Third Gipsy.Some strong emotion seems to have stirred our QueenBut yet she masters it. How brave a spirit![Gipsies retire some paces and converse in groups. Gipsy Queen remains a little distance off, watching Inez and Pascual. A hunter passes above unseen.Hunter.(Aside.) What's this? Whom have the gipsies captured now?A fair maid and a gallant cavalier;And who is he, yon serving-man, bound there?I ought to know his face. Why is not heDon Silvio's servant Pedro? Sure it is,For oft I've parleyed with him when at timesI've brought the game up to his master's hall.And these two gentle-folks I ween must beGuests at Don Silvio's castle. Ah, the knaves!The arrant gipsy knaves! I'll dog them yet.I've my own private wrongs that seek redress:And I'll be even with them, by the saints!At once I'll off unto Don Silvio's hall,And warn him of the danger to his guests.It may be he'll reward me slightly, thoughThey say that his is but a stingy house.Still, this much for humanity I'll do.[Exit.D. Pas.(to Inez.) Nay, I assure you, dearest——Inez.Hush! Señor.It ill becomes a maid of gentle bloodUnblushingly to listen to the vowsAnd fervid protestations of a knightUpon such slight acquaintance.D. Pas.Lovely child!Bid me but hope, and I will rest content.Inez.Nay, talk not thus, Señor. Pray calm yourself.Bethink you that your wound is not yet healed.You're faint from loss of blood. These ecstaciesMay e'en prove fatal. Do thyself no harm.D. Pas.I feel recovered in that thou bidst me live;And so will do thy bidding, fairest maid,And live but for thy service and thy love.Inez.Good saints in Heaven! Will nothing calm thy tongue?Hush, hush, Señor, I pray. I may not listen.I am your debtor, or I'd take offenceAt too much boldness.D. Pas.Be not harsh, fair maid,I meant not to be overbold. I swearI would the tongue that could give thee offenceWere wrenched from out my throat. Oh, pity me!It was thy beauty that inflamed me so.Inez.If so, I must retire, and leave you toThe care and guidance of the gipsy queen.D. Pas.Thou couldst not be so cruel. What! debarYour wounded knight, in this wild barren spot,From the sunshine of those heavenly orbs.Then bid me bleed to death. My life is thine.Inez.(Aside) Poor youth! How full of passion are his words!I feel he loves me, and I do repentThat I have spoke too harshly. Woe is me!(Aloud.) Fret not. I did but threaten, gentle youth!I will not leave thee.D. Pas.Oh, say that again.Thou wilt not leave me.Inez.(Confused.)That is, not yet.I mean——D. Pas.Nay, qualify not what was once well said;I hold thee to thy word. Thou must not leave me.Inez.Thou wouldst extort a promise. Be but calm,Obey my orders until thou be well,And I know not what I may not promise.D. Pas.I will obey thee, maid.Inez.Then now be still.Gip. Q.(Aside.) Drift on, young turtle doves, adown the streamThe balmy course the stars map out for ye.Pepa can look on at the joys of othersThat were denied herself, unenvying.But mark, Pascual, if thou dost inheritBut one drop of thy hated father's blood,Whose cursed name shall ne'er more pass my lips,And thou, with subtle wile, like to thy sire,Should first attempt to gain the trusting loveOf this fair damsel, and then betray her,I, Pepa, though thy mother, with this handWill quench that spark of life I gave to thee.
Gip. Q.This way she comes. Now to your work; but mark!Exceed not my commands. Do her no harm,Show yourselves loyal to your queen, as men,And not wild beasts.Several Gipsies.Queen, thou shalt be obeyed.
EnterDonna InezandPedro,on mules.
Ped.Cheer up, fair mistress. Banish idle fears.Already we've accomplished half our journey.Ere sundown we'll have reached your father's castle.So follow me. Fear not. And as for dreams,They are all vain, and bred of convent fare—Sickly disease engendered in the mindBy monkish legends and low superstition,Unworthy ladies of your rank. Look ye!I, Pedro, now am old, and yet I neverHave known a dream of mine that did come true.No, my young mistress, take Pedro's word for't,All dreaming is unhealthy—a bad sign.Live well, sleep soundly, and you'll dream no more.Dreams proceed but from impaired digestion.Take my advice and give no heed to them.
[Gipsies advance suddenly and seize the bridles.
First Gipsy.Hola! there, good people. Halt and dismount!
[Inez screams and falls against Pedro.
Inez.Pedro, protect me. Oh, holy Virgin!Oh, blessed saints and souls in purgatory!Have mercy on us, or we're lost, O God!Pedro, dost hear? Assist me. Fly! Call. Help!Ped.Help, help! To the rescue, I say. What ho!Second Gipsy.Any attempt at flight or cry for helpIs vain, and may prove fatal. Come, dismount.Inez.Oh, saints! The very faces, I declare,That I saw in my dream—and dreams are false.Holy Virgin, protect us. Help, I say!Third Gipsy.Ay, call upon your saints. Call on, call on!And see if they'll come to your assistance.First Gipsy.An you cease not your screaming, you'll be gagged.
[Pedro and Inez dismount.
Gip. Q.Come, no rough treatment to this young lady,Or it will be the worse for some of you.Tie up the mules and bind the serving man,That he escape not, and so call for help.As to this damsel, leave her all to me.(To Inez) Young lady, have no fear, for I am oneWho can command th' entire gipsy band,Who are my serfs and tremble at my frown.An you be docile, they shall do no harm.Raise but your voice, and I will have you bound.But I, the gipsy queen, would be your friend;And soon you shall acknowledge me as such;But not just now. (To the gipsies) Bind not the young ladyUnless she call for help or attempt to escape.(To Inez) And you, young lady, courage. Tremble not.Think not I crave your pelf or trinkets rare.I have no need. Thyself 'tis I'ld detain.Inez.And why, O strange, O dread, mysterious queen,All powerful amongst thy dusky band,If, as thou sayst, thou hast no need of pelf,And canst and wilt protect me from the handsOf thy half-savage subjects, wherefore thenDetain a poor and simple maiden boundFor her paternal castle, having leftThe Convent of St. Ursula this morn?Gip. Q.Oh, of your story I am well informed.Better, perchance, than what you are yourself.For am I not a gipsy? Know we notBy the aspect of the heavenly bodiesAll events that are about to happen?As to my object in detaining youLet it suffice you I have an object,Which you shall know hereafter. (To gipsies) Guard her close.Methought I did hear footsteps, but 'tis nought.
Enter hastilyPascualwith a drawn sword.
Pas.This way I heard the cries. How now! What's this?Hell and furies! A chaste and lovely maidAttacked by dusky ruffians! Halt! Forbear!For, by my soul, I swear I will not leaveOne black hide whole among ye, an ye dareTo touch a single hair of her fair head.Gip. Q.Disarm that vain and too hot-headed youth.
[Gipsies surround Pascual, who defends himself desperately, killing and wounding some of the nearest. Gipsies back a few paces. Pascual follows, and cuts through them.
Unto him, cowards! Seize the presumptuous fool.Hear ye not, slaves? What! Is a single arm,And that, too, of a pampered gentleman,Too much for ye? Shame on ye, cowards, slaves!First Gipsy.Yield, fellow! and put up thy silly skewer,An thou be not a-weary of thy life.Pas.Never! Whilst yet a drop of my heart's bloodFlows freely in my veins. By heaven, I swearI will release yon damsel ere I die!Second Gipsy.Why, who is this, though clad in costly gear,Doth fight as desperately as one of us?Third Gipsy.Beware, young man! We do not seek thy life;Yield up thyself. Ask pardon of our queen,And we will let thee live.Pas.(Still fighting.)Base curs, avaunt!My life is nothing. Take it an ye list,Though ye shall buy it dearly. 'Twill consoleMy parting spirit somewhat but to knowThat it hath rid the surface of the earthOf even a few of such vile scum as ye.First Gipsy.Such words to us! Have at thee then, proud youth.
[Wounds Pascual on the head, whilst others attempt to bind him, but he liberates himself and continues fighting.
Inez.He bleeds! he bleeds! Saints, help the noble youthWho, at the cost of his young precious life,Would save us both. I fear he's killed. Oh, help![Screams and faints.Gip. Q.Hush! minion, or that cry will be thy last.A Wounded Gipsy.Look, she faints!Another Gipsy.Bah! 'tis but a trick to 'scapeThe easier in the confusion.Look well to her.Gip. Q.Make room for me, ye slaves.I fear no mortal man. Leave him to me.Sirrah! put down your sword.Pas.Never, vile crone.Gip. Q.(Disarming him with her staff.)Then there it lies, thou vain, presumptuous youth.
[Murmurs of applause among the gipsies.
Pas.Disarmed! And by a woman! Ha! I faint.[Staggers and falls.Gip. Q.He faints from loss of blood. Bind up his wounds.He hath fought well. I tell ye, dusky slaves,This youth to-day hath put ye all to shame.Do him no hurt. I e'er respect the brave.He in a sacred cause fought valiantly;And, faithful to his generous Christian creed,Did seek to wrest the innocent from wrong.First Gipsy.Thou wert not wont to praise the Christians, Queen,Gip. Q.I praise that creed that shows forth in its worksThe principles of manhood. Would that thineHad taught thee what this Christian's has taught him.First Gipsy.(To Second Gipsy). The queen doth mock us, calls us cowards, slaves;And yet we did our best; but, to say sooth,He set upon us in such furious haste,Such blind and desperate rage, that we did gapeWith sheer wonder, and stand aghast with aweAt's prowess, when we should have been fighting.Second Gipsy.Ay, none but a madman tired of his lifeHad fought so desperately.Third Gipsy.The maid recovers.Inez.(Recovering.) Where am I? Ah! then 'tis no dream; 'tis true.Where's my preserver? Let me straight to him,That I may thank him on my bended kneesFor all his deeds to-day.A Gipsy.There, low he lies.Inez.(Rising and advancing towards Pascual). What! dead! Oh, heavens! Grant it be not so.Look, now he moves; then life is not extinct.Thank God for this! Hail, generous friend! What cheer?Pas.'Tis but a bruise, fair maid; 'twill soon be well.Inez.God grant it may.Gip. Q.Here, girl, take this balsam.It is a gipsy cure for all such wounds.One fair action doth demand another:For you he shed his blood, thinking that weDid mean you harm. (How should he tell, poor youth?)Return now you the courtesy, fair maid;Bind up his wounds. Anon I will assist.
[Inez commences binding up Pascual's head. The gipsies retire a few paces. The Gipsy Queen fetches water in a gourd.
Quaff from this gourd, young man. The flowing rillDoth yield thee medicine.[Pascual drinks.Ha! what is this?Shade of my father Djâbel! it ishe!My long lost son! my own, my valiant boy:Methought I knew that semi-gipsy form.The very ring, too, wrought in virgin goldAnd graven o'er with mystic hieroglyphics—An heirloom of our tribe that I him gaveWith my maternal blessing years gone by,And he hath kept till now. God, I thank thee.Oh, how I long to press him to this breast!This breast that nurtured him and gave him strength!But patience; too precipitous a stepMay mar my plans. Enough, I've found my son.Oh, ye great Powers that move earth and heaven,Accept a mother's thanks! I faint for joy.First Gipsy.How far'st thou, noble Queen? Thou art not well.Gip. Q.Nay, marry, I am well. I'm over well.[Staggering.Second Gipsy.Look to our queen. She faints. Art wounded, queen?Gip. Q.(Mastering herself.) Nay, look, I faint not. I am very well.Third Gipsy.Some strong emotion seems to have stirred our QueenBut yet she masters it. How brave a spirit!
[Gipsies retire some paces and converse in groups. Gipsy Queen remains a little distance off, watching Inez and Pascual. A hunter passes above unseen.
Hunter.(Aside.) What's this? Whom have the gipsies captured now?A fair maid and a gallant cavalier;And who is he, yon serving-man, bound there?I ought to know his face. Why is not heDon Silvio's servant Pedro? Sure it is,For oft I've parleyed with him when at timesI've brought the game up to his master's hall.And these two gentle-folks I ween must beGuests at Don Silvio's castle. Ah, the knaves!The arrant gipsy knaves! I'll dog them yet.I've my own private wrongs that seek redress:And I'll be even with them, by the saints!At once I'll off unto Don Silvio's hall,And warn him of the danger to his guests.It may be he'll reward me slightly, thoughThey say that his is but a stingy house.Still, this much for humanity I'll do.[Exit.D. Pas.(to Inez.) Nay, I assure you, dearest——Inez.Hush! Señor.It ill becomes a maid of gentle bloodUnblushingly to listen to the vowsAnd fervid protestations of a knightUpon such slight acquaintance.D. Pas.Lovely child!Bid me but hope, and I will rest content.Inez.Nay, talk not thus, Señor. Pray calm yourself.Bethink you that your wound is not yet healed.You're faint from loss of blood. These ecstaciesMay e'en prove fatal. Do thyself no harm.D. Pas.I feel recovered in that thou bidst me live;And so will do thy bidding, fairest maid,And live but for thy service and thy love.Inez.Good saints in Heaven! Will nothing calm thy tongue?Hush, hush, Señor, I pray. I may not listen.I am your debtor, or I'd take offenceAt too much boldness.D. Pas.Be not harsh, fair maid,I meant not to be overbold. I swearI would the tongue that could give thee offenceWere wrenched from out my throat. Oh, pity me!It was thy beauty that inflamed me so.Inez.If so, I must retire, and leave you toThe care and guidance of the gipsy queen.D. Pas.Thou couldst not be so cruel. What! debarYour wounded knight, in this wild barren spot,From the sunshine of those heavenly orbs.Then bid me bleed to death. My life is thine.Inez.(Aside) Poor youth! How full of passion are his words!I feel he loves me, and I do repentThat I have spoke too harshly. Woe is me!(Aloud.) Fret not. I did but threaten, gentle youth!I will not leave thee.D. Pas.Oh, say that again.Thou wilt not leave me.Inez.(Confused.)That is, not yet.I mean——D. Pas.Nay, qualify not what was once well said;I hold thee to thy word. Thou must not leave me.Inez.Thou wouldst extort a promise. Be but calm,Obey my orders until thou be well,And I know not what I may not promise.D. Pas.I will obey thee, maid.Inez.Then now be still.Gip. Q.(Aside.) Drift on, young turtle doves, adown the streamThe balmy course the stars map out for ye.Pepa can look on at the joys of othersThat were denied herself, unenvying.But mark, Pascual, if thou dost inheritBut one drop of thy hated father's blood,Whose cursed name shall ne'er more pass my lips,And thou, with subtle wile, like to thy sire,Should first attempt to gain the trusting loveOf this fair damsel, and then betray her,I, Pepa, though thy mother, with this handWill quench that spark of life I gave to thee.
Scene III.—Study of Don Silvio. D. Silvio is discovered pacing up and down dejectedly.
D. Sil.The day wears on, and still there is no signOf Pedro and my daughter. 'Tis full time.It wants an hour to sundown; and ere thenI dread another visit from Don Diego;Before this sand is spent he will be here.He never yet did come behind his time.Hark! I hear footsteps in the corridor.'Tis he. He's come for news about my daughter.This the very night, too, of the wedding.What shall I say to him, or how shall I——?An abrupt knock at the door of the study, and enterDon Diego.D. Die.Well, friend Silvio, well. Art thou nigh prepared?Where is the gentle Inez? Bring her forth.D. Sil.(Humbly.) Worthy Don Diego, I do much regretMy daughter Inez has not yet arrived.D. Die.Not yet arrived! Why it's long past the time.D. Sil.I doubt not but what she will soon be here.D. Die.Soon! Didst thou say soon? Ay, marry ought she,An she left St. Ursula's at daybreak.Stay, this casement that opens towards the westOught to command a wide extensive view.Lo! yonder lies the road that she should come;My sight is good, an yet I see no one.(Suspiciously) Hark ye, Don Silvio. Some new wile is this.D. Sil.Nay, on mine honour, Diego. Think not thus.Be patient yet awhile and thou shalt see——D. Die.Patience! What, patience! But I'll have my bond.EnterRodriguezfrantically.Rod.Oh, holy Virgin and good saints in Heaven!Oh, blessed martyrs! Souls in Purgatory!Would that Rodriguez ne'er had seen this day!Oh, holy saints! Have mercy on us now!D. Sil.How now, Rodriguez! What means all this riot?Rod.Oh, peace! my master! Hold me ere I faint.D. Sil.Speak! Rodriguez.Rod.Alack! Alack! the day.D. Sil.Nay, cease thy sobs, and more explicit be.Rod.Oh, holy San Antonio be our guide!My master, what ill luck's befallen the house!D. Die.Explain thyself, vile hag, and prate no more!Rod.Oh, mercy on us! I can't speak for sobbing.Oh, what disaster! Oh, what dire mishap!Help us, ye saints.D. Die.This is past all bearing!Speak out, thou limb of Satan, or I swearBy the foul fiend that 'gat thee, I will forceThe lying words from out thy strumpet's throat.Rod.Nay, good my liege, be calm. I'll tell you all.The Lady Inez——D. Die.Ha! and what of her?Rod.In sooth, my lord, but I am very faint.D. Sil. and D. Die.(Angrily.) Speak out! Speak out!Alack! and well-a-day!D. Die.Zounds!Rod.The Lady Inez and good PedroStarted from St. Ursula's this morningUpon their mules, and were about half-wayUpon their journey, when from ambush sprangSome dusky ruffians of the gipsy band,Who, having bound, robbed, and detained the pair——D. Sil.My daughter captured by the gipsies! Oh![Groans bitterly.D. Die.Foul hag, thou liest. Now hark ye, Silvio.This is some farce got up to play me false.But think not, sirrah, to elude me thus.[Drawing his sword and seizing Don Silvio by the throat.Traitor! tell me where hast hid thy daughter.Rod.(Rallying, and throwing herself between them.)Help! Murder! Help! Oh, help! What ho! Help! Help!Don Silvio to the rescue! Help! I say.D. Die.(Leaving hold of Don Silvio, fells Rodriguez with the pommel of his sword.)Peace, harlot, or this blade shall make thee dumb.Arise, and tell me whence thou hadst this news.Beware now how thou tell me aught but truth,For by this hand! an thou dost play me false,I'll have thee burnt alive, or gibbettedFrom the highest turret of this castle.Rod.My noble liege, would that it were not true.A hunter, an eye-witness of the scene,Did bring the news unto your servant Juan.D. Die.My servant Juan! Why, then the tale is true!No serf of mine would dare tellmea lie.Go, call him hither.Rod.He is at the door.[Exit Rodriguez.EnterJuan.D. Die.How now, Juan! Say, can this wild tale be true?What has happened to the Lady Inez?Juan.My lord, as I heard it you shall hear it.A certain hunter——D. Die.Stay, where is this man?Juan.He is without, my lord.D. Die.Then call him here.[Exit Juan and re-enter with hunter.Hunter.(Bowing to Don, Diego and Don Silvio.) My noble lords——D. Die.Hold! sirrah. Say, can'st thouUpon thy oath affirm, thy hopes of Heaven,That thou wert an eye-witness to this scene?If so, relate to us in fewest wordsHow the case happened, and the where, the when.Hunt.Then thus it came about, my liege. As IWas wandering, towards mid-day, among theMany rocks and fissures of these mountainous ranges,Armed with my carbine, in search of game,As is my daily wont, I came uponA deep ravine, yet hidden from my sightBy thorns and bushes and like obstacles,When soon I heard the hum of human voices.The spot, if I may judge well, I should sayWas half-way 'twixt St. Ursula's and here.Well, trampling down the brambles, I stood firmUpon the brink of a steep precipice;And lo! beneath me was the gipsy gang,And chief amongst them, one tall stately form,A woman's that would seem to be their queen.D. Die.(Confused) Ahem! Didst say the queen?Hunt.Ay, my good lord.And 'mongst the tribe I saw as captives, soon,A gentle damsel and young cavalier.D. Die.How, sayest thou, Sirrah? A young cavalier!Sure, 'twas an aged servitor you saw.Hunt.An aged serving-man, 'tis true, there was,And tightly-bound that he could not escape;I knew him instantly. 'Twas Pedro here,Don Silvio's servant.D. Sil.Alas! alas! 'tis true. I was in hopes,When the hunter spoke of a young gallant,That he had mistaken some other travellersFor my daughter Inez and my servant.But since he saith he knoweth Pedro——D. Die.Hold!The case is not quite clear to me e'en now,Silvio! Who's this gallant, as ye term him?Speak, for ye ought to know.D. Sil.No, faith, not I.D. Die.Proceed then, hunter, with thy story. Quick.Hunt.Well then, my lord, knowing good Pedro's face,I did presume that the young gentle pairWere visitors, bound for Don Silvio's castle.D. Die.(Musingly.) Young gentle pair—ahem! Well, man, proceed.Hunt.I watched in silence, and they saw me not;But still, from out my ambush I did takeThe whole scene in, and it appeared to meThat the young knight must have resistance made,For low he lay, sore wounded in the head,While ever and anon the gentle maidWould dress his wound, and gaze with tearful eyeAnd such a fond affection on her knight.D. Die.(Aside to Don Silvio.) Traitor, thou shalt account to me for this.(Aloud to Hunter.) Well, man, proceed. Hast thou ought more to say?Hunt.But little good, my lord; but as I stoodWatching this trusting, loving, pair——D. Die.(Aside.)Damnation!Hunt.I thought my heart would bleed from tenderness.D. Die.(Laughs diabolically). Ha, ha! Ha, ha!Hunt.So, rising to my feet,But still unseen of any, I did haste,As was my bounden duty, to this castle,T'inform my lord, Don Silvio, of the fateImpending both his servant and his guests.D. Die.Good; look ye, fellow. An thy tale be true,Prepare to marshal me the way thyself,Without loss of a moment, and may beThat thou shalt taste my bounty.Hunt.Good, my lord;The sun hath set, and it is growing dark.D. Die.No matter, thou shalt have the better pay.Hunt.As my lord wills.D. Die.And Juan, see my chargerBe forthwith saddled. Bid my men-at-armsTo mount, armed cap-à-pie; whilst such amongstThe populace as thou canst muster, quickArm thou with pikes and loaded carabines,And bid them follow me, their lord, Don Diego.Lose not one precious moment, but set forth.[Exeunt Juan and Hunter.What, gipsies! vagrants! bastard heathen dogs!I'llclear the country of this filthy scum,Were it but for the sake of Christendom;Maybe that some day they will dub me saint.[Exit.[Don Silvio makes a gesture of despair, and curtain falls.
D. Sil.The day wears on, and still there is no signOf Pedro and my daughter. 'Tis full time.It wants an hour to sundown; and ere thenI dread another visit from Don Diego;Before this sand is spent he will be here.He never yet did come behind his time.Hark! I hear footsteps in the corridor.'Tis he. He's come for news about my daughter.This the very night, too, of the wedding.What shall I say to him, or how shall I——?
An abrupt knock at the door of the study, and enterDon Diego.
D. Die.Well, friend Silvio, well. Art thou nigh prepared?Where is the gentle Inez? Bring her forth.D. Sil.(Humbly.) Worthy Don Diego, I do much regretMy daughter Inez has not yet arrived.D. Die.Not yet arrived! Why it's long past the time.D. Sil.I doubt not but what she will soon be here.D. Die.Soon! Didst thou say soon? Ay, marry ought she,An she left St. Ursula's at daybreak.Stay, this casement that opens towards the westOught to command a wide extensive view.Lo! yonder lies the road that she should come;My sight is good, an yet I see no one.(Suspiciously) Hark ye, Don Silvio. Some new wile is this.D. Sil.Nay, on mine honour, Diego. Think not thus.Be patient yet awhile and thou shalt see——D. Die.Patience! What, patience! But I'll have my bond.
EnterRodriguezfrantically.
Rod.Oh, holy Virgin and good saints in Heaven!Oh, blessed martyrs! Souls in Purgatory!Would that Rodriguez ne'er had seen this day!Oh, holy saints! Have mercy on us now!D. Sil.How now, Rodriguez! What means all this riot?Rod.Oh, peace! my master! Hold me ere I faint.D. Sil.Speak! Rodriguez.Rod.Alack! Alack! the day.D. Sil.Nay, cease thy sobs, and more explicit be.Rod.Oh, holy San Antonio be our guide!My master, what ill luck's befallen the house!D. Die.Explain thyself, vile hag, and prate no more!Rod.Oh, mercy on us! I can't speak for sobbing.Oh, what disaster! Oh, what dire mishap!Help us, ye saints.D. Die.This is past all bearing!Speak out, thou limb of Satan, or I swearBy the foul fiend that 'gat thee, I will forceThe lying words from out thy strumpet's throat.Rod.Nay, good my liege, be calm. I'll tell you all.The Lady Inez——D. Die.Ha! and what of her?Rod.In sooth, my lord, but I am very faint.D. Sil. and D. Die.(Angrily.) Speak out! Speak out!Alack! and well-a-day!D. Die.Zounds!Rod.The Lady Inez and good PedroStarted from St. Ursula's this morningUpon their mules, and were about half-wayUpon their journey, when from ambush sprangSome dusky ruffians of the gipsy band,Who, having bound, robbed, and detained the pair——D. Sil.My daughter captured by the gipsies! Oh![Groans bitterly.D. Die.Foul hag, thou liest. Now hark ye, Silvio.This is some farce got up to play me false.But think not, sirrah, to elude me thus.
[Drawing his sword and seizing Don Silvio by the throat.
Traitor! tell me where hast hid thy daughter.Rod.(Rallying, and throwing herself between them.)Help! Murder! Help! Oh, help! What ho! Help! Help!Don Silvio to the rescue! Help! I say.D. Die.(Leaving hold of Don Silvio, fells Rodriguez with the pommel of his sword.)Peace, harlot, or this blade shall make thee dumb.Arise, and tell me whence thou hadst this news.Beware now how thou tell me aught but truth,For by this hand! an thou dost play me false,I'll have thee burnt alive, or gibbettedFrom the highest turret of this castle.Rod.My noble liege, would that it were not true.A hunter, an eye-witness of the scene,Did bring the news unto your servant Juan.D. Die.My servant Juan! Why, then the tale is true!No serf of mine would dare tellmea lie.Go, call him hither.Rod.He is at the door.[Exit Rodriguez.
EnterJuan.
D. Die.How now, Juan! Say, can this wild tale be true?What has happened to the Lady Inez?Juan.My lord, as I heard it you shall hear it.A certain hunter——D. Die.Stay, where is this man?Juan.He is without, my lord.D. Die.Then call him here.
[Exit Juan and re-enter with hunter.
Hunter.(Bowing to Don, Diego and Don Silvio.) My noble lords——D. Die.Hold! sirrah. Say, can'st thouUpon thy oath affirm, thy hopes of Heaven,That thou wert an eye-witness to this scene?If so, relate to us in fewest wordsHow the case happened, and the where, the when.Hunt.Then thus it came about, my liege. As IWas wandering, towards mid-day, among theMany rocks and fissures of these mountainous ranges,Armed with my carbine, in search of game,As is my daily wont, I came uponA deep ravine, yet hidden from my sightBy thorns and bushes and like obstacles,When soon I heard the hum of human voices.The spot, if I may judge well, I should sayWas half-way 'twixt St. Ursula's and here.Well, trampling down the brambles, I stood firmUpon the brink of a steep precipice;And lo! beneath me was the gipsy gang,And chief amongst them, one tall stately form,A woman's that would seem to be their queen.D. Die.(Confused) Ahem! Didst say the queen?Hunt.Ay, my good lord.And 'mongst the tribe I saw as captives, soon,A gentle damsel and young cavalier.D. Die.How, sayest thou, Sirrah? A young cavalier!Sure, 'twas an aged servitor you saw.Hunt.An aged serving-man, 'tis true, there was,And tightly-bound that he could not escape;I knew him instantly. 'Twas Pedro here,Don Silvio's servant.D. Sil.Alas! alas! 'tis true. I was in hopes,When the hunter spoke of a young gallant,That he had mistaken some other travellersFor my daughter Inez and my servant.But since he saith he knoweth Pedro——D. Die.Hold!The case is not quite clear to me e'en now,Silvio! Who's this gallant, as ye term him?Speak, for ye ought to know.D. Sil.No, faith, not I.D. Die.Proceed then, hunter, with thy story. Quick.Hunt.Well then, my lord, knowing good Pedro's face,I did presume that the young gentle pairWere visitors, bound for Don Silvio's castle.D. Die.(Musingly.) Young gentle pair—ahem! Well, man, proceed.Hunt.I watched in silence, and they saw me not;But still, from out my ambush I did takeThe whole scene in, and it appeared to meThat the young knight must have resistance made,For low he lay, sore wounded in the head,While ever and anon the gentle maidWould dress his wound, and gaze with tearful eyeAnd such a fond affection on her knight.D. Die.(Aside to Don Silvio.) Traitor, thou shalt account to me for this.(Aloud to Hunter.) Well, man, proceed. Hast thou ought more to say?Hunt.But little good, my lord; but as I stoodWatching this trusting, loving, pair——D. Die.(Aside.)Damnation!Hunt.I thought my heart would bleed from tenderness.D. Die.(Laughs diabolically). Ha, ha! Ha, ha!Hunt.So, rising to my feet,But still unseen of any, I did haste,As was my bounden duty, to this castle,T'inform my lord, Don Silvio, of the fateImpending both his servant and his guests.D. Die.Good; look ye, fellow. An thy tale be true,Prepare to marshal me the way thyself,Without loss of a moment, and may beThat thou shalt taste my bounty.Hunt.Good, my lord;The sun hath set, and it is growing dark.D. Die.No matter, thou shalt have the better pay.Hunt.As my lord wills.D. Die.And Juan, see my chargerBe forthwith saddled. Bid my men-at-armsTo mount, armed cap-à-pie; whilst such amongstThe populace as thou canst muster, quickArm thou with pikes and loaded carabines,And bid them follow me, their lord, Don Diego.Lose not one precious moment, but set forth.[Exeunt Juan and Hunter.What, gipsies! vagrants! bastard heathen dogs!I'llclear the country of this filthy scum,Were it but for the sake of Christendom;Maybe that some day they will dub me saint.[Exit.
[Don Silvio makes a gesture of despair, and curtain falls.
Scene I.—Outside the castle of Don Silvio. The castle of Don Diego seen in the background, upon the opposite peak of the mountain. Time: Sunrise. Don Silvio and Donna Rodriguez.
D. Sil.My tears still blind my eyes. Look out, Rodriguez,And see if there be traces of my daughter.Alas! alas! this hoary head is bowedAs 'neath the weight of yet a score of years.Oh, Inez, Inez! What a fate is thine!An thy young life be spared, could ought repayTh' injury done thine honour at the handsOf these bold, lawless, gipsies? Woe is me!Let me not think on't, or I shall go mad.Rod.My lord, as I stand gazing towards the west,Methinks I see a dusty cloud advance;As were't a troup of horsemen at full speed,And bearing towards the castle. Now I seeThe limbs of horses and the arms of men;The sound of human voices, too, I hear,And, as they still approach, the distant trampOf horses' hoofs is plainly audible.And now, unless my eyesight play me false,Foremost among a file of glittering pikes,I do discern Don Diego's waving plume.'Tis he! and bearing at his saddle bowMy mistress Inez. Oh, thank God! she's safe.Do you not hear, my master, what I say?Your daughter's safe! Come, cheer up, good my lord.D. Sil.(Musingly). Safe! didst thou say! My daughter's honour safe?Rod.How say you, sir? Her honor! Nay, her life?D. Sil.(Musingly). Life without honor!Rod.Sure, my lord's not well!(Aside.) The blow has been too much for him, and turnedHis aged head. Oh, my poor, poor master!I tell him of his daughter's safe return,And straight he 'gins to prate about her honor.(Aloud.) Look! look! Señor, at yonder cavalcade,How it sweeps along; and now, behold,Next to Don Diego is his servant Juan;And there is Pedro. Bless his good old soul!There the valiant hunter. Then all the crowdOf vassals and retainers, and the guard,[Cheers without.With the armed populace. Hark! What cheering!D. Sil.Is it, indeed, my daughter? Let me see;'Tis she, 'tis she; Oh, Inez!EnterInez,accompanied byDon Diego.Behind,Pedro,Juan,Hunter,andAttendants.Inez.(Embracing Don Silvio.)Father! Father!Rod.My little mistress, Inez! What, no kissFor poor old nurse Rodriguez!Inez.(Embracing Rodriguez.)Good Rodriguez![Don Diego comes forward, whilst Inez in the background appears to be relating her adventures to Don Silvio and Donna Rodriguez.D. Die.(Sotto.) What work I had to quell the dusky band,And carry off my prize. God only knowsHow the black caitiffs fought! Like demons damned;Incited on by their own swarthy queen,My former love. Bah! why recall the past,The ebullitions of a youthful lust,Now five-and-twenty years agone and more?And that at such a moment, too, as this,When, acting bridegroom for the second time,I now do lay my heart and hand, my wealth,My land, and castle, all my fair domainAt fair Inez' feet. Poor Silvio's daughter!A few hour's more, and she will be my own.In my own private chapel at midnight,And not one minute later, there a priestOf my own choice, shall join our hands together.'Twixt this and then, I must so use the timeTo win her fairly, and by wiles t'effaceThe prejudice young hearts by Nature haveAgainst old age. If needs be, I must useDissimulation and well act the saint,That she may not give credit to the talesThat idle gossip may have crammed her withAgainst my moral character. And nowI do bethink me that the readiest wayOf all to win her over to my willWould be to tempt with goodly bribe her nurse(What will not such a woman do for gold?)To speak some little word in praise of me;Talk of my love for her, my name, my fame,My wealth, my virtues. How this match of hersWill please her aged father. And again,Should she be coy, and wickedly refuseThe fortune heaven has strewed along her path,Let her reflect upon the consequences.I would act fair with her, for I'd be loathTo lead to the altar an unwilling brideIn sight of all my vassals and retainers.Yet, an she yield not (for as yet it seemsShe looks with cold suspicion on my suit),Why, then; why, then, however loath to use it,Force must accomplish all when goodwill fails.I cannot well expect much help at sixtyFrom youthful graces, as when first I wooedMy gipsy queen.There!ever and anonFrom out the past these memories will arise,Like phantoms, threatening whether I will or no.Avaunt! begone! And yet I cannot chooseBut call to mind how, middle in the fray,The dead and wounded lying all around,Her dusky form arose before my path,And all undaunted stood with staff in handAnd glance so terrible, I would as liefMeet with the King of Terrors face to faceAs that same virago. Yet there she stood,And with uplifted arm, in clear tones cried,"Traitor, beware! Thy star is on the wane,Think not to conquer always, for a handMightier than thine shall yet subdue thee.Blood is on thy hand. Thine own blood shall flow.The stars foretell thy downfall, so look to it."I heard no more, for I had barely placedMy Lady Inez at my saddle bow,Mid smoke of carbines and the clash of arms:Myself with drawn sword cutting right and left,So could but pay slight heed to what she said,And set off homeward with my goodly prize,Leaving the baffled foe behind to moan.Yet, through the smoke and dust of horses' hoofs,Still, for a time, I heard the hellish cry:"Vengeance on the traitor! Vengeance, vengeance!"I know not why her words cut deeper thanHad they been the words of any other;But fromherlips they came with such a force,They seemed to rend the air, and enter deepInto the very caverns of my soul,Turning my blood to milk, so that my armFell nerveless to my side, and my good bladeDid well-nigh drop from out my hand. But hush!It never must be known that Don Diego,Though old in years, quailed before tongue of woman.Bah! away with all fear of childish threats.And, swarthy hag! do thou thy devilmost.[Inez comes forward, between Don Silvio and Rodriguez. Don Silvio motions for Rodriguez to retire. Exeunt Rodriguez and attendants.Inez.Nay, one thing still doth mar the joy I feelAt having passed the dangers of last night.Though I stand safely on my father's hearth,And see him 'live and well, and know that IHave henceforth naught to fear, yet still my thoughtsWill ever wander towards the gipsy camp,Close by the couch of that brave youth who foughtAt cost of his own life, to rescue meFrom out their hands.D. Die.How say you, lady fair?What youth? You dream. 'Twas I who rescued you.Inez.Your pardon, sir; but I was safe already.I thank you for your courtesy, the same.You thought to rescue me.D. Die.How now?Thought to?D. Sil.Friend Diego, the tale runs thus: My daughter,Accompanied by our old serving man,Had hardly been attacked by the gangAnd forced to dismount, when a comely youthOf gentle blood——D. Die.Ay, ay, the hunter's story!D. Sil.Just so. Well, my daughter says the gipsiesMeant her no harm. Merely would detain her.D. Die.Meant her no harm!Ha, ha! Gipsies ne'er do.Merely detain her!Good again! Ha, ha!Only so long as they might hope to getA pretty ransom. Why, friend Silvio?D. Sil.The pelf and trinkets that she had upon herWere not demanded.D. Die.No; 'twas nought to whatThey looked forward to as goodly ransom.Inez.Of their motives I know nothing; but sheWho seemed to be the queen of all the tribeDid use to me such courtesy and kindnessAs had she been my mother. Even whenThat noble youth, thinking us in danger,Rushed in upon them, killing and maimingAll who dared withstand him, till at lengthHimself, poor soul! fell wounded in my cause.E'en then the queen herself had pity on him,And helped me bind his wounds.D. Die.What of all this?Inez.To show you gipsies have good qualitiesE'en as Christians.D. Die.Bah! traitors, all of them.But, what of this young man? This—this——Inez.Ah!he,The noble youth whose bandaged head I stillWas tending when you did separate us,And bore me off? Did you not see him then?D. Die.Ay, some such bastard gipsy dog I saw.What!heof noble blood!Hea Castilian!Some half-bred gipsy. Lady, sure it wasA worse breed, far, than the pure gipsy born.What! think you, that because of borrowed plumesThe jay will pass for peacock? Or that he,A base-born mongrel gipsy, just becauseDecked in the garments of some plundered lord,Could e'er deceive the eyes of men like us?Nay, lady, I do compassionate you.You are young, and the world to you is fresh,You know not of its wiles, its vice, its crimes,But take all men to be just as they seem.Take my experience, lady. I am old.Notold; but old enough to know the worldAnd all its hollowness; and so most fitTo guide and counsel inexperienced youth.Lean then on me, lady. I'll be your staff;And trust me faithfully when I tell youNot all the learning of the convent cellIs worth one ace of that we gain by age.Inez.Enough, sir. That the world is full of sinAnd treachery I ever have been told.My aunt, the Lady Abbess, oft would sayWe ever should distrust the tongue of menWhen most persuasive, be they young or old.D. Sil.Come, Inez, thou art tired, and need restAfter thy troubles and fatigues. (To Don Diego.) My friend,You will excuse my daughter for a while,I've much to say to her in private.D. Die.Good.[Exeunt Don Silvio and Inez.Now for my ally. What ho! Rodriguez!EnterRodriguez.Rod.Here I am, good my lord.D. Die.(Caressingly.)Good Rodriguez,I know that thou'rt a good and trusty friendUnto this house. That thou lov'st well thy lordAnd also thy young mistress, unto whomFrom childhood thou hast acted as a mother.Rod.Well, sir, I've always tried to do my best.D. Die.I know it. I know it both by reportAnd mine own observation. Wherefore, nowFull persuaded of thy many virtues——Rod.Oh, my lord!D. Die.Nay, 'tis nothing but the truth.I say, once more, persuaded beyond doubtOf thy rare merits and good qualitiesAnd of the value of one such as thouTo my old and long loved friend Don Silvio,I do repent me of the hasty wordsThat lately 'scaped my too impatient tongue.Rod.My lord, pray say no more. Rodriguez everRemains your humble servant. (Aside.) Really heIs not so bad as once I thought he was.D. Die.Believe me, that those words but rose in haste,From o'er anxiety about the fateOf thy young mistress, whom thou lovest so well.Whom I, too, love so well. I, too, Don Diego.Rod.I doubt not, sir, with a true father's love.D. Die.Hark ye! Rodriguez, I must not waste timeIn coming to the point; but silence keep.Rod.Ay, my lord. Who better than RodriguezAt a secret.D. Die.Ha! Sayest thou so, brave wench?Then list to me, and thou shalt never wantFor bit or sup, kirtel, or farthingale,As long thou livest. First accept this purse.[Gives a heavy purse.Rod.Oh, my good lord! My generous, noble, lord!What can I do to deserve your bounty?(Aside.) Well, I remember to have heard folks say,"The devil's not so black as he is painted."D. Die.Rodriguez, hark! What thou hast in that purseIs nothing unto that which thou may'st earn,If thou succeedest in the task I set.Rod.Proceed, my lord. I'm all attention. Speak.D. Die.Know then that I love thy mistress Inez.Ay, with the passion of a younger man.Count not my age—the heart is never old.I've sought her of her father, and 'twas settledShe should be mine on her arrival homeAfter her studies at St. Ursula's,Ay, on the very day. So ran the 'pact.The marriage, therefore, I have said takes placeThis very night, at midnight, in my chapel.All is prepared.Rod.'Tis over soon, my lord.D. Die.Peace! peace! I'll brook no waiting, no delay;I've sworn it shall be so, and it shall be.What care I, think'st thou, if the wedding dress,Or this or that be ready, soIbe?Thou knowest our acquaintance is but short;She scarce has seen my face. No matter that.Now listen. What I ask of thee is this:Do thou use all thy influence with the child,T'induce her to look kindly on my suit,And to her father's prayers and tears add thine.But leave her not until she do consent.And should she e'en at the eleventh hourBe obdurate, why then, as last resource,Tell her her father's life hangs on a thread.Say that his castle and all that he hathWill instantly be sold over his head;And he and she, and you two servants bothSent all adrift at once, to beg your bread.If that work not, then must I fain use force,And that were against me. So, Rodriguez,Kind Rodriguez, I pray thee do thy best.Rod.My lord, you ever shall have my good wordWhat I can do I will. Albeit, I thinkYour grace is over hasty in the matter.A little time——D. Die.No, faith, not one minutePast the hour fixed. So see to't. I will nowOff to the castle, leaving thee one hourT'exercise thy powers of persuasionOn thy young noble mistress. After thatI shall appear again and try what IMyself can do to win her virgin heart.Use all thy art and strength. Till then, adieu.[Exit.Rod.A pretty fix, forsooth!Use all my art!I love the dear child well, and would, I'm sure,Do all I could to help her to a stateWorthy the better days of this old house.The Lady of Don Diego! That sounds well.Mistress of his castle and his servants,But wedded to a man who's old enoughTo be her grandsire! Had he been a gallant—Yet his money's good. Humph! I suppose I must.[Exit slowly; counting her money.
D. Sil.My tears still blind my eyes. Look out, Rodriguez,And see if there be traces of my daughter.Alas! alas! this hoary head is bowedAs 'neath the weight of yet a score of years.Oh, Inez, Inez! What a fate is thine!An thy young life be spared, could ought repayTh' injury done thine honour at the handsOf these bold, lawless, gipsies? Woe is me!Let me not think on't, or I shall go mad.Rod.My lord, as I stand gazing towards the west,Methinks I see a dusty cloud advance;As were't a troup of horsemen at full speed,And bearing towards the castle. Now I seeThe limbs of horses and the arms of men;The sound of human voices, too, I hear,And, as they still approach, the distant trampOf horses' hoofs is plainly audible.And now, unless my eyesight play me false,Foremost among a file of glittering pikes,I do discern Don Diego's waving plume.'Tis he! and bearing at his saddle bowMy mistress Inez. Oh, thank God! she's safe.Do you not hear, my master, what I say?Your daughter's safe! Come, cheer up, good my lord.D. Sil.(Musingly). Safe! didst thou say! My daughter's honour safe?Rod.How say you, sir? Her honor! Nay, her life?D. Sil.(Musingly). Life without honor!Rod.Sure, my lord's not well!(Aside.) The blow has been too much for him, and turnedHis aged head. Oh, my poor, poor master!I tell him of his daughter's safe return,And straight he 'gins to prate about her honor.(Aloud.) Look! look! Señor, at yonder cavalcade,How it sweeps along; and now, behold,Next to Don Diego is his servant Juan;And there is Pedro. Bless his good old soul!There the valiant hunter. Then all the crowdOf vassals and retainers, and the guard,[Cheers without.With the armed populace. Hark! What cheering!D. Sil.Is it, indeed, my daughter? Let me see;'Tis she, 'tis she; Oh, Inez!
EnterInez,accompanied byDon Diego.Behind,Pedro,Juan,Hunter,andAttendants.
Inez.(Embracing Don Silvio.)Father! Father!Rod.My little mistress, Inez! What, no kissFor poor old nurse Rodriguez!Inez.(Embracing Rodriguez.)Good Rodriguez!
[Don Diego comes forward, whilst Inez in the background appears to be relating her adventures to Don Silvio and Donna Rodriguez.
D. Die.(Sotto.) What work I had to quell the dusky band,And carry off my prize. God only knowsHow the black caitiffs fought! Like demons damned;Incited on by their own swarthy queen,My former love. Bah! why recall the past,The ebullitions of a youthful lust,Now five-and-twenty years agone and more?And that at such a moment, too, as this,When, acting bridegroom for the second time,I now do lay my heart and hand, my wealth,My land, and castle, all my fair domainAt fair Inez' feet. Poor Silvio's daughter!A few hour's more, and she will be my own.In my own private chapel at midnight,And not one minute later, there a priestOf my own choice, shall join our hands together.'Twixt this and then, I must so use the timeTo win her fairly, and by wiles t'effaceThe prejudice young hearts by Nature haveAgainst old age. If needs be, I must useDissimulation and well act the saint,That she may not give credit to the talesThat idle gossip may have crammed her withAgainst my moral character. And nowI do bethink me that the readiest wayOf all to win her over to my willWould be to tempt with goodly bribe her nurse(What will not such a woman do for gold?)To speak some little word in praise of me;Talk of my love for her, my name, my fame,My wealth, my virtues. How this match of hersWill please her aged father. And again,Should she be coy, and wickedly refuseThe fortune heaven has strewed along her path,Let her reflect upon the consequences.I would act fair with her, for I'd be loathTo lead to the altar an unwilling brideIn sight of all my vassals and retainers.Yet, an she yield not (for as yet it seemsShe looks with cold suspicion on my suit),Why, then; why, then, however loath to use it,Force must accomplish all when goodwill fails.I cannot well expect much help at sixtyFrom youthful graces, as when first I wooedMy gipsy queen.There!ever and anonFrom out the past these memories will arise,Like phantoms, threatening whether I will or no.Avaunt! begone! And yet I cannot chooseBut call to mind how, middle in the fray,The dead and wounded lying all around,Her dusky form arose before my path,And all undaunted stood with staff in handAnd glance so terrible, I would as liefMeet with the King of Terrors face to faceAs that same virago. Yet there she stood,And with uplifted arm, in clear tones cried,"Traitor, beware! Thy star is on the wane,Think not to conquer always, for a handMightier than thine shall yet subdue thee.Blood is on thy hand. Thine own blood shall flow.The stars foretell thy downfall, so look to it."I heard no more, for I had barely placedMy Lady Inez at my saddle bow,Mid smoke of carbines and the clash of arms:Myself with drawn sword cutting right and left,So could but pay slight heed to what she said,And set off homeward with my goodly prize,Leaving the baffled foe behind to moan.Yet, through the smoke and dust of horses' hoofs,Still, for a time, I heard the hellish cry:"Vengeance on the traitor! Vengeance, vengeance!"I know not why her words cut deeper thanHad they been the words of any other;But fromherlips they came with such a force,They seemed to rend the air, and enter deepInto the very caverns of my soul,Turning my blood to milk, so that my armFell nerveless to my side, and my good bladeDid well-nigh drop from out my hand. But hush!It never must be known that Don Diego,Though old in years, quailed before tongue of woman.Bah! away with all fear of childish threats.And, swarthy hag! do thou thy devilmost.
[Inez comes forward, between Don Silvio and Rodriguez. Don Silvio motions for Rodriguez to retire. Exeunt Rodriguez and attendants.
Inez.Nay, one thing still doth mar the joy I feelAt having passed the dangers of last night.Though I stand safely on my father's hearth,And see him 'live and well, and know that IHave henceforth naught to fear, yet still my thoughtsWill ever wander towards the gipsy camp,Close by the couch of that brave youth who foughtAt cost of his own life, to rescue meFrom out their hands.D. Die.How say you, lady fair?What youth? You dream. 'Twas I who rescued you.Inez.Your pardon, sir; but I was safe already.I thank you for your courtesy, the same.You thought to rescue me.D. Die.How now?Thought to?D. Sil.Friend Diego, the tale runs thus: My daughter,Accompanied by our old serving man,Had hardly been attacked by the gangAnd forced to dismount, when a comely youthOf gentle blood——D. Die.Ay, ay, the hunter's story!D. Sil.Just so. Well, my daughter says the gipsiesMeant her no harm. Merely would detain her.D. Die.Meant her no harm!Ha, ha! Gipsies ne'er do.Merely detain her!Good again! Ha, ha!Only so long as they might hope to getA pretty ransom. Why, friend Silvio?D. Sil.The pelf and trinkets that she had upon herWere not demanded.D. Die.No; 'twas nought to whatThey looked forward to as goodly ransom.Inez.Of their motives I know nothing; but sheWho seemed to be the queen of all the tribeDid use to me such courtesy and kindnessAs had she been my mother. Even whenThat noble youth, thinking us in danger,Rushed in upon them, killing and maimingAll who dared withstand him, till at lengthHimself, poor soul! fell wounded in my cause.E'en then the queen herself had pity on him,And helped me bind his wounds.D. Die.What of all this?Inez.To show you gipsies have good qualitiesE'en as Christians.D. Die.Bah! traitors, all of them.But, what of this young man? This—this——Inez.Ah!he,The noble youth whose bandaged head I stillWas tending when you did separate us,And bore me off? Did you not see him then?D. Die.Ay, some such bastard gipsy dog I saw.What!heof noble blood!Hea Castilian!Some half-bred gipsy. Lady, sure it wasA worse breed, far, than the pure gipsy born.What! think you, that because of borrowed plumesThe jay will pass for peacock? Or that he,A base-born mongrel gipsy, just becauseDecked in the garments of some plundered lord,Could e'er deceive the eyes of men like us?Nay, lady, I do compassionate you.You are young, and the world to you is fresh,You know not of its wiles, its vice, its crimes,But take all men to be just as they seem.Take my experience, lady. I am old.Notold; but old enough to know the worldAnd all its hollowness; and so most fitTo guide and counsel inexperienced youth.Lean then on me, lady. I'll be your staff;And trust me faithfully when I tell youNot all the learning of the convent cellIs worth one ace of that we gain by age.Inez.Enough, sir. That the world is full of sinAnd treachery I ever have been told.My aunt, the Lady Abbess, oft would sayWe ever should distrust the tongue of menWhen most persuasive, be they young or old.D. Sil.Come, Inez, thou art tired, and need restAfter thy troubles and fatigues. (To Don Diego.) My friend,You will excuse my daughter for a while,I've much to say to her in private.D. Die.Good.[Exeunt Don Silvio and Inez.Now for my ally. What ho! Rodriguez!
EnterRodriguez.
Rod.Here I am, good my lord.D. Die.(Caressingly.)Good Rodriguez,I know that thou'rt a good and trusty friendUnto this house. That thou lov'st well thy lordAnd also thy young mistress, unto whomFrom childhood thou hast acted as a mother.Rod.Well, sir, I've always tried to do my best.D. Die.I know it. I know it both by reportAnd mine own observation. Wherefore, nowFull persuaded of thy many virtues——Rod.Oh, my lord!D. Die.Nay, 'tis nothing but the truth.I say, once more, persuaded beyond doubtOf thy rare merits and good qualitiesAnd of the value of one such as thouTo my old and long loved friend Don Silvio,I do repent me of the hasty wordsThat lately 'scaped my too impatient tongue.Rod.My lord, pray say no more. Rodriguez everRemains your humble servant. (Aside.) Really heIs not so bad as once I thought he was.D. Die.Believe me, that those words but rose in haste,From o'er anxiety about the fateOf thy young mistress, whom thou lovest so well.Whom I, too, love so well. I, too, Don Diego.Rod.I doubt not, sir, with a true father's love.D. Die.Hark ye! Rodriguez, I must not waste timeIn coming to the point; but silence keep.Rod.Ay, my lord. Who better than RodriguezAt a secret.D. Die.Ha! Sayest thou so, brave wench?Then list to me, and thou shalt never wantFor bit or sup, kirtel, or farthingale,As long thou livest. First accept this purse.[Gives a heavy purse.Rod.Oh, my good lord! My generous, noble, lord!What can I do to deserve your bounty?(Aside.) Well, I remember to have heard folks say,"The devil's not so black as he is painted."D. Die.Rodriguez, hark! What thou hast in that purseIs nothing unto that which thou may'st earn,If thou succeedest in the task I set.Rod.Proceed, my lord. I'm all attention. Speak.D. Die.Know then that I love thy mistress Inez.Ay, with the passion of a younger man.Count not my age—the heart is never old.I've sought her of her father, and 'twas settledShe should be mine on her arrival homeAfter her studies at St. Ursula's,Ay, on the very day. So ran the 'pact.The marriage, therefore, I have said takes placeThis very night, at midnight, in my chapel.All is prepared.Rod.'Tis over soon, my lord.D. Die.Peace! peace! I'll brook no waiting, no delay;I've sworn it shall be so, and it shall be.What care I, think'st thou, if the wedding dress,Or this or that be ready, soIbe?Thou knowest our acquaintance is but short;She scarce has seen my face. No matter that.Now listen. What I ask of thee is this:Do thou use all thy influence with the child,T'induce her to look kindly on my suit,And to her father's prayers and tears add thine.But leave her not until she do consent.And should she e'en at the eleventh hourBe obdurate, why then, as last resource,Tell her her father's life hangs on a thread.Say that his castle and all that he hathWill instantly be sold over his head;And he and she, and you two servants bothSent all adrift at once, to beg your bread.If that work not, then must I fain use force,And that were against me. So, Rodriguez,Kind Rodriguez, I pray thee do thy best.Rod.My lord, you ever shall have my good wordWhat I can do I will. Albeit, I thinkYour grace is over hasty in the matter.A little time——D. Die.No, faith, not one minutePast the hour fixed. So see to't. I will nowOff to the castle, leaving thee one hourT'exercise thy powers of persuasionOn thy young noble mistress. After thatI shall appear again and try what IMyself can do to win her virgin heart.Use all thy art and strength. Till then, adieu.[Exit.Rod.A pretty fix, forsooth!Use all my art!I love the dear child well, and would, I'm sure,Do all I could to help her to a stateWorthy the better days of this old house.The Lady of Don Diego! That sounds well.Mistress of his castle and his servants,But wedded to a man who's old enoughTo be her grandsire! Had he been a gallant—Yet his money's good. Humph! I suppose I must.
[Exit slowly; counting her money.
Scene II.—The Ravine. Time: Sunrise. Don Pascual sleeping. The Gipsy Queen standing near, watching him. The Gipsy Camp in the background.