Chapter IV: Act III: SCENE I.--A long Street

JULIO _enters from a Garden Gate in flat, with precipitation; a_ SERVANT, _within, fastens the Gate_.

_Julio._ Yes, yes, bar the gate fast, Cerberus, lest some other curious traveller should stumble on your confines.--If ever I am so caught again--

GARCIA _enters_ L.; _going hastily across_, JULIO _seizes him_.

Don Garcia, never make love to a woman in a veil.

_Gar._ Why so, pr'ythee? Veils and secrecy are the chief ingredients in a Spanish amour; but in two years, Julio, thou art grown absolutely French.

_Julio._ That may be; but if ever I trust to a veil again, may no lovely, blooming beauty ever trust me. Why dost know, I have been an hour at the feet of a creature, whose first birth-day must have been kept the latter end of the last century, and whose trembling, weak voice, I mistook for the timid cadence of bashful fifteen!

_Gar._ Ha! ha! ha! What a happiness to have seen thee in thy raptures, petitioning for half a glance only, of the charms the envious veil concealed!

_Julio._ Yes; and when she unveiled her Gothic countenance, to render the thing completely ridiculous, she began moralizing; and positively would not let me out of the snare, till I had persuaded her she had worked a conversion, and that I'd never make love--but in an honest way, again.

_Gar._ Oh, that honest way of love-making is delightful, to be sure! I had a dose of it this morning; but, happily, the ladies have not yet learned to veil their tempers, though they have their faces.

_Enter_ DON VINCENTIO, R.

_Vin._ Julio! Garcia! congratulate me!--Such an escape! [_Crosses to_ C.

_Julio._ What have you escaped?

_Vin._ Matrimony.

_Gar._ Nay, then our congratulations may be mutual. I have had a matrimonial escape too, this very day. I was almost on the brink of the ceremony with the veriest Xantippe!

_Vin._ Oh, that was not my case--mine was a sweet creature, all elegance, all life.

_Julio._ Then where's the cause of congratulation?

_Vin._ Cause! why she's ignorant of music! prefers a jig to a canzonetta, and a Jew's-harp to a pentachord.

_Gar._ Had my nymph no other fault, I would pardon that, for she was lovely and rich.

_Vin._ Mine, too, was lovely and rich; and, I'll be sworn, as ignorant of scolding, as of the gamba!--but not to know music!

_Julio._ Gentle, lovely, and rich! and ignorant only of music?

_Gar._ A venial crime indeed! if the sweet creature will marry me, she shall carry a Jew's-harp always in her train, as a Scotch laird does his bagpipes. I wish you'd give me your interest.

_Vin._ Oh, most willingly, if thou hast so gross an inclination; I'll name thee as a dull-souled, largo fellow, to her father, Don Cæsar.

_Gar._ Cæsar! what Don Cæsar?

_Vin._ De Zuniga.

_Gar._ Impossible!

_Vin._ Oh, I'll answer for her mother. So much is Don Zuniga, her father, that he does not know a semibreve from a culverin!

_Gar._ The name of the lady?

_Vin._ Olivia.

_Gar._ Why you must be mad--that's my termagant!

_Vin._ Termagant!--ha! ha! ha! Thou hast certainly some vixen of a mistress, who infects thy ears towards the whole sex. Olivia is timid and elegant.

_Gar._ By Juno, there never existed such a scold!

_Vin._ By Orpheus, there never was a gayer tempered creature!--Spirit enough to be charming, that's all. If she loved harmony, I'd marry her to-morrow.

_Julio._ Ha! ha! what a ridiculous jangle! 'Tis evident you speak of two different women.

_Gar._ I speak of Donna Olivia, heiress to Don Cæsar de Zuniga.

_Vin._ I speak of the heiress of Don Cæsar de Zuniga, who is called Donna Olivia.

_Gar._ Sir, I perceive you mean to insult me.

_Vin._ Your perceptions are very rapid, sir, but if you choose to think so, I'll settle that point with you immediately: But for fear of consequences, I'll fly home, and add the last bar to my concerto, and then meet you where you please. [_Crosses_, L.

_Julio._ Pho! this is evidently misapprehension. [_Crosses_, C.] To clear the matter up, I'll visit the lady, if you'll introduce me, Vincentio;--but you shall both promise to be governed in this dispute, by my decision.

_Vin._ I'll introduce you with joy, if you'll try to persuade her of the necessity of music, and the charms of harmony.

_Gar._ Yes, she needs that----You'll find her all jar and discord.

_Julio._ Come, no more, Garcia; thou art but a sort of male vixen thyself. Melodious Vincentio, when shall I expect you?

_Vin._ This evening.

_Julio._ Not this evening; I have engaged to meet a goldfinch in a grove--then I shall have music, you rogue!

_Vin._ It won't sing at night.

_Julio._ Then I'll talk to it till the morning, and hear it pour out its matins to the rising sun. Call on me to-morrow; I'll then attend you to Donna Olivia, and declare faithfully the impression her character makes on me.--Come, Garcia, I must not leave you together, lest his crotchets and your minums should fall into a crash of discords. [_Exeunt_, VINCENTIO, L., JULIO _and_ GARCIA, R.

SCENE II.--_The Prado._

_Enter_ DON CARLOS, R.

_Car._ All hail to the powers of burgundy! Three flasks to my own share! What sorrows can stand against three flasks of burgundy? I was a damned melancholy fellow this morning, going to shoot myself, to get rid of my troubles.--Where are my troubles now? Gone to the moon, to look for my wits; and there I hope they'll remain together, if one cannot come back without t'other. But where is this indolent dog, Julio? He fit to receive appointments from ladies! Sure I have not missed the hour--No, but seven yet--[_Looking at his watch._]--Seven's the hour, by all the joys of burgundy! The rogue must be here--let's reconnoitre. [_Retires_, R.

_Enter_ VICTORIA _and_ OLIVIA, _veiled_, L. U. E.

_Oliv._ Positively, mine's a pretty spark, to let me be first at the place of appointment. I have half resolved to go home again, to punish him.

_Vict._ I'll answer for its being but half a resolution--to make it entire, would be to punish yourself.--There's a solitary man--is not that he?

_Oliv._ I think not. If he'd please to turn his face this way----

_Vict._ That's impossible, while the loadstone is the other way. He is looking at the woman in the next walk. Can't you disturb him?

_Oliv._ [_Screams._] Oh! a frightful frog!

[CARLOS _turns on_ R.

_Vict._ Heavens, 'tis my husband!

_Oliv._ Your husband! Is that Don Carlos?

_Vict._ It is indeed.

_Oliv._ Why, really, now I see the man, I don't wonder that you are in no hurry for your weeds. He is moving towards us.

_Vict._ I cannot speak to him, and yet my soul flies to meet him.

_Car._ Pray, lady, what occasioned that pretty scream? I shrewdly suspect it was a trap.

_Oliv._ A trap! ha! ha! ha!--a trap for you!

_Car._ Why not, madam? Zounds, a man near six feet high, and three flasks of burgundy in his head, is worth laying a trap for.

_Oliv._ Yes, unless he happens to be trapped before. 'Tis about two years since you was caught, I take it--do keep farther off!--Odious! a married man!

_Car._ The devil! is it posted under every saint in the street, that I am a married man?

_Oliv._ No, you carry the marks about you; that rueful phiz could never belong to a bachelor. Besides, there's an odd appearance on your temples--does your hat sit easily?

_Car._ By all the thorns of matrimony, if----

_Oliv._ Poor man! how natural to swear by what one feels--but why were you in such haste to gather the thorns of matrimony? Bless us! had you but looked about you a little, what a market might have been made of that fine, proper, promising person of yours.

_Car._ Confound thee, confound thee! If thou art a wife, may thy husband plague thee with jealousies, and thou never be able to give him cause for them; and if thou art a maid, may'st thou be an old one! [_Going_, R. _meets_ DON JULIO.] Oh, Julio, look not that way; there's a tongue will stun thee!

_Julio._ Heaven be praised! I love female prattle. A woman's tongue can never scare me. Which of these two goldfinches makes the music?

_Car._ [_Crosses to_ VICTORIA.] Oh, this is as silent as a turtle--[_Taking_ VICTORIA'S _hand_.]--only coos now and then,--Perhaps you don't hate a married man, sweet one?

_Vict._ You guess right; I love a married man.

_Car._ Hah, say'st thou so? wilt thou love me?

_Vict._ Will you let me?

_Car._ Let thee, my charmer! how I'll cherish thee for't. What would I not give for thy heart!

_Vict._ I demand a price, that, perhaps, you cannot give--I ask unbounded love; but you have a wife.

_Car._ And, therefore, the readier to love every other woman; 'tis in your favour, child.

_Vict._ Will you love me ever?

_Car._ Ever! yes, ever; till we find each other dull company, and yawn, and talk of our neighbours for amusement.

_Vict._ Farewell! I suspected you to be a bad chapman, and that you would not reach my terms. [_Going._]

_Car._ Nay, I'll come to your terms, if I can;--but move this way; [_Crosses_, L.] I am fearful of that woodpecker at your elbow--should she begin again, her noise will scare all the pretty loves that are playing about my heart. Don't turn your head towards them; if you like to listen to love tales, you'll meet fond pairs enough in this walk. [_Forcing her gently off._

_Julio._ I really believe, though you deny it, that you are my destiny--that is, you fated me hither. See, is not this your mandate? [_Taking a letter from his pocket._

_Oliv._ Oh, delightful! the scrawl of some chambermaid: or, perhaps, of your valet, to give you an air. What is it signed? Marriatornes? Tomasa? Sancha?

_Julio._ Nay, now I am convinced the letter is yours, since you abuse it: so you may as well confess?

_Oliv._ Suppose I should, you can't be sure that I do not deceive you.

_Julio._ True; but there is one point in which I have made a vow not to be deceived; therefore, the preliminary is, that you throw off your veil.

_Oliv._ My veil!

_Julio._ Positively! if you reject this article, our negotiation ends.

_Oliv._ You have no right to offer articles, unless you own yourself conquered.

_Julio._ I own myself willing to be conquered, and have, therefore, a right to make the best terms I can. Do you accede to the demand?

_Oliv._ Certainly not.

_Julio._ You had better.

_Oliv._ I protest I will not.

_Julio._ [_Aside._] My life upon't, I make you. Why, madam, how absurd this is!--yet, 'tis of no consequence, for I know your features, as well as though I saw them.

_Oliv._ How can that be?

_Julio._ I judge of what you hide, by what I see--I could draw your picture.

_Oliv._ Charming! pray begin the portrait.

_Julio._ Imprimis, a broad high forehead, rounded at the top, like an old-fashioned gateway.

_Oliv._ Oh, horrid!

_Julio._ Little gray eyes, a sharp nose, and hair, the colour of rusty prunella.

_Oliv._ Odious!

_Julio._ Pale cheeks, thin lips, and----

_Oliv._ Hold, hold, thou vilifier! [_Throws off her veil; he sinks on one knee._] There! yes, kneel in contrition for your malicious libel.

_Julio._ Say, rather, in adoration. What a charming creature!

_Oliv._ So, now for lies on the other side.

_Julio._ A forehead formed by the graces; hair, which cupid would steal for his bow-strings, were he not engaged in shooting through those sparkling hazel circlets, which nature has given you for eyes; lips! that 'twere a sin to call so; they are fresh gathered rose leaves, with the fragrant morning dew still hanging on their rounded surface.

_Oliv._ Is that extemporaneous, or ready cut, for every woman who takes off her veil to you?

_Julio._ I believe, 'tis not extemporaneous; for Nature, when she finished you, formed the sentiment in my heart, and there it has been hid, till you, for whom it was formed, called it into words.

_Oliv._ Suppose I should understand, from all this, that you have a mind to be in love with me; would not you be finely caught?

_Julio._ Charmingly caught! if you'll let me understand, at the same time, that you have a mind to be in love with me.

_Oliv._ In love with a man! Heavens! I never loved any thing but a squirrel!

_Julio._ Make me your squirrel--I'll put on your chain, and gambol and play for ever at your side.

_Oliv._ But suppose you should have a mind to break the chain?

_Julio._ Then loosen it; for, if once that humour seizes me, restraint won't cure it. Let me spring and bound at liberty, and when I return to my lovely mistress, tired of all but her, fasten me again to your girdle, and kiss me while you chide.

_Oliv._ Your servant--to encourage you to leave me again?

_Julio._ No; to make returning to you, the strongest attraction to my life. Why are you silent?

_Oliv._ I am debating, whether to be pleased or displeased, at what you have said.

_Julio._ Well?

_Oliv._ You shall know when I have determined. My friend and yours are approaching this way, and they must not be interrupted.

_Julio._ 'Twould be barbarous--we'll retire as far off as you please.

_Oliv._ But we retire separately, sir; that lady is a woman of honour, and this moment of the greatest importance to her. You may, however, conduct me to the gate, on condition that you leave me instantly.

_Julio._ Leave her instantly--oh, then I know my cue. [_Exit together_, R. U. E.

_Enter_ CARLOS L., _followed by_ VICTORIA, _unveiled_.

_Car._ [_Looking back on her._] My wife!

_Vict._ Oh, Heavens! I will veil myself again. I will hide my face for ever from you, if you will still feast my ears with those soft vows, which, a moment since, you poured forth so eagerly.

_Car._ My wife!--making love to my own wife!

_Vict._ Why should one of the dearest moments of my life be to you so displeasing?

_Car._ So, I am caught in this snare, by way of agreeable surprise, I suppose.

_Vict._ 'Would you could think it so!

_Car._ No, madam! by Heaven, 'tis a surprise fatal to every hope with which you may have flattered yourself. What! am I to be followed, haunted, watched!

_Vict._ Not to upbraid you. I followed you because my castle, without you, seemed a dreary desert. Indeed, I will never upbraid you.

_Car._ Generous assurance! never upbraid me--no, by Heavens! I'll take care you never shall. She has touched my soul, but I dare not yield to the impression. Her softness is worse than death to me! [_Aside._]

_Vict._ 'Would I could find words to please you!

_Car._ You cannot; therefore leave me, or suffer me to go, without attempting to follow me.

_Vict._ Is it possible you can be so barbarous?

_Car._ Do not expostulate; your first vowed duty is obedience--that word so grating to your sex.

_Vict._ To me it was never grating; to obey you has been my joy; even now, I will not dispute your will, though I feel, for the first time, obedience hateful. [_Going, and then turning back._] Oh, Carlos! my dear Carlos! I go, but my soul remains with you. [_Exit_, L.

_Car._ Oh, horrible! had I not taken this harsh measure, I must have killed myself; for how could I tell her that I have made her a beggar? better she should hate, detest me, than that my tenderness should give her a prospect of felicity, which now she can never taste. Oh, wine-created spirit! where art thou now? Madness, return to me again! for reason presents me nothing but despair.

_Enter_ JULIO, _from the top_, R. U. E.

_Julio._ Carlos, who the devil can they be? my charming little witch was inflexible. I hope yours has been more communicative.

_Car._ Folly! Nonsense!

_Julio._ Folly! Nonsense! What, a pretty woman's smile!--but you married fellows have neither taste nor joy.

_Car._ Pshaw! [_Crosses, and exit_, R.

_Julio._ Pshaw! that's a husband! Humph--suppose my fair one should want to debase me into such an animal; she can't have so much villany in her disposition: and yet, if she should? pho! it won't bear thinking about. If I do so mad a thing, it must be as cowards fight, without daring to reflect on the danger. [_Exit_, R.

SCENE III.--_An Apartment in the house of_ DON VASQUEZ, MARCELLA'S _Father_.

_Enter_ DON CÆSAR _and_ DON VASQUEZ, L.

_Cæsar._ Well, Don Vasquez, and a----you----then I say, you have a mind that I should marry your daughter?

_Vasq._ It is sufficient, signor, that you have signified to us your intention--my daughter shall prove her gratitude, in her attention to your felicity.

_Cæsar._ Egad, now it comes to the push! [_Aside._] hem, hem!--but just nineteen, you say?

_Vasq._ Exactly, the eleventh of last month.

_Cæsar._ Pity it was not twenty.

_Vasq._ Why, a year can make no difference, I should think.

_Cæsar._ O, yes it does; a year's a great deal; they are so skittish at nineteen.

_Vasq._ Those who are skittish at nineteen, I fear, you won't find much mended at twenty. Marcella is very grave, and a pretty little, plump, fair----

_Cæsar._ Ay, fair again! pity she isn't brown, or olive--I like your olives.

_Vasq._ Brown and olive! you are very whimsical, my old friend!

_Cæsar._ Why, these fair girls are so stared at by the men; and the young fellows, now-a-days, have a damned impudent stare with them--'tis very abashing to a woman--very distressing!

_Vasq._ Yes, so it is; but happily their distress is of that nature, that it generally goes off in a simper. But come, I'll send Marcella to you, and she will--[_Crosses_, R.]

_Cæsar._ No, no; stay, my good friend. [_Gasping._] You are in a violent hurry!

_Vasq._ Why, truly, signor, at our time of life, when we determine to marry, we have no time to lose.

_Cæsar._ Why, that's very true, and so--oh! St. Antony, now it comes to the point--but there can be no harm in looking at her--a look won't bind us for better for worse. [_Aside._] Well, then, if you have a mind, I say, you may let me see her. [_Exit_ VASQUEZ, R.

[_Cæsar puts on his spectacles._] Ay, here she comes--I hear her--trip, trip, trip! I don't like that step. A woman should always tread steadily, with dignity, it awes the men.

_Enter_ VASQUEZ, _leading_ MARCELLA, R.

_Vasq._ There, Marcella, behold your future husband; and remember, that your kindness to him will be the standard of your duty to me. [_Exit_, R.

_Mar._ Oh, Heavens! [_Aside._]

_Cæsar._ Somehow, I am afraid to look round.

_Mar._ Surely he does not know that I am here! [_Coughs gently._]

_Cæsar._ So, she knows how to give an item, I find.

_Mar._ Pray, signor, have you any commands for me?

_Cæsar._ Hum!--not nonpluss'd at all! [_Looks around._] Oh! that eye, I don't like that eye.

_Mar._ My father commanded me----

_Cæsar._ Yes, I know--I know. [_To her._] Why, now I look again, there is a sort of a modest--Oh, that smile; that smile will never do. [_Aside._]

_Mar._ I understand, signor, that you have demanded my hand in marriage.

_Cæsar._ Upon my word, plump to the point! [_Aside._] Yes, I did a sort of--I can't say but that I did----

_Mar._ I am not insensible of the honour you do me, sir, but--but----

_Cæsar._ But!--What, don't you like the thoughts of the match?

_Mar._ Oh, yes, sir, yes--exceedingly. I dare not say no. [_Aside._]

_Cæsar._ Oh, you do--exceedingly! What, I suppose, child, your head is full of jewels, and finery, and equipage? [_With ill humour._]

_Mar._ No, indeed, sir.

_Cæsar._ No, what then? what sort of a life do you expect to lead, when you are my wife? what pleasures d'ye look forward to?

_Mar._ None.

_Cæsar._ Hey!

_Mar._ I shall obey my father, sir; I shall marry you; but I shall be most wretched! [_Weeps._]

_Cæsar._ Indeed!

_Mar._ There is not a fate I would not prefer;--but pardon me!

_Cæsar._ Go on, go on, I never was better pleased.

_Mar._ Pleased at my reluctance!

_Cæsar._ Never, never better pleased in my life;--so you had really, now, you young baggage, rather have me for a grandfather, than a husband?

_Mar._ Forgive my frankness, sir--a thousand times!

_Cæsar._ My dear girl, let me kiss your hand.--Egad! you've let me off charmingly. I was frightened out of my wits, lest you should have taken as violent an inclination to the match, as your father has.

_Mar._ Dear sir, you charm me.

_Cæsar._ But harkye!--you'll certainly incur your father's anger, if I don't take the refusal entirely on myself, which I will do, if you'll only assist me in a little business I have in hand.

_Mar._ Any thing to show my gratitude.

_Cæsar._ You must know, I can't get my daughter to marry; there's nothing on earth will drive her to it, but the dread of a mother-in-law. Now, if you will let it appear to her, that you and I are driving to the goal of matrimony, I believe it will do--what say you? shall we be lovers in play?

_Mar._ If you are sure it will be only in play.

_Cæsar._ Oh, my life upon't--but we must be very fond, you know.

_Mar._ To be sure--exceedingly tender; ha! ha! ha!

_Cæsar._ You must smile upon me, now and then, roguishly; and slide your hand into mine, when you are sure she sees you, and let me pat your cheek, and----

_Mar._ Oh, no farther, pray; that will be quite sufficient.

_Cæsar._ Gad, I begin to take a fancy to your rogue's face, now I'm in no danger; mayn't we--mayn't we salute sometimes, it will seem infinitely more natural.

_Mar._ Never! such an attempt would make me fly off at once.

_Cæsar._ Well, you must be lady governess in this business. I'll go home now, and fret madam, about her young mother-in-law--by'e, sweeting!

_Mar._ By'e, charmer!

_Cæsar._ Oh, bless its pretty eyes! [_Exit_, L.

_Mar._ Bless its pretty spectacles! ha! ha! ha! enter into a league with a cross old father against a daughter! why, how could he suspect me capable of so much treachery? I could not answer it to my conscience. No, no, I'll acquaint Donna Olivia with the plot: and, as in duty bound, we'll turn our arms against Don Cæsar. [_Exit_, R.