Chapter XXVII: Act II: SCENE I.--The Queen's Antechamber

_Enter_ ALPHONSO _and_ PEDRO.

_Alph._ When saw you my Lorenzo?

_Ped._ I had a glimpse of him; but he shot by me, Like a young hound upon a burning scent; He's gone a harlot-hunting.

_Alph._ His foreign breeding might have taught him better.

_Ped._ 'Tis that has taught him this. What learn our youth abroad, but to refine The homely vices of their native land? Give me an honest home-spun country clown Of our own growth; his dulness is but plain, But theirs embroidered; they are sent out fools, But come back fops.

_Alph._ You know what reasons urged me; But now, I have accomplished my designs, I should be glad he knew them. His wild riots Disturb my soul; but they would sit more close, Did not the threatened downfal of our house, In Torrismond, o'erwhelm my private ills.

_Enter_ BERTRAN, _attended, and whispering with a Courtier, aside._

_Bert._ I would not have her think, he dared to love her; If he presume to own it, she's so proud, He tempts his certain ruin.

_Alph._ [_To_ PED.] Mark how disdainfully he throws his eyes on us. Our old imprisoned king wore no such looks.

_Ped._ O! would the general shake off his dotage to the usurping queen, And re-enthrone good venerable Sancho, I'll undertake, should Bertran sound his trumpets, And Torrismond but whistle through his fingers, He draws his army off.

_Alph._ I told him so; But had an answer louder than a storm.

_Ped._ Now, plague and pox on his smock-loyalty! I hate to see a brave bold fellow sotted, Made sour and senseless, turned to whey by love; A drivelling hero, fit for a romance.-- O, here he comes! what will their greetings be?

_Enter_ TORRISMOND, _attended;_ BERTRAN _and he meet and jostle._

_Bert._ Make way, my lords, and let the pageant pass.

_Tor._ I make my way, where'er I see my foe; But you, my lord, are good at a retreat. I have no Moors behind me.

_Bert._ Death and hell! Dare to speak thus when you come out again.

_Tor._ Dare to provoke me thus, insulting man!

_Enter_ TERESA.

_Ter._ My lords, you are too loud so near the queen; You, Torrismond, have much offended her. 'Tis her command you instantly appear, To answer your demeanour to the prince. [_Exit_ TERESA; BERTRAN, _with his company, follow her._

_Tor._ O, Pedro, O, Alphonso, pity me! A grove of pikes, Whose polished steel from far severely shines, Are not so dreadful as this beauteous queen.

_Alph._ Call up your courage timely to your aid, And, like a lion, pressed upon the toils, Leap on your hunters. Speak your actions boldly; There is a time when modest virtue is Allowed to praise itself.

_Ped._ Heart! you were hot enough, too hot, but now; Your fury then boiled upward to a foam; But since this message came, you sink and settle, As if cold water had been poured upon you.

_Tor._ Alas! thou know'st not what it is to love! When we behold an angel, not to fear, Is to be impudent: No, I am resolved, Like a led victim, to my death I'll go, And, dying, bless the hand, that gave the blow. [_Exeunt._

_The_ SCENE _draws, and shews the Queen sitting in state;_ BERTRAN
_standing next to her; then_ TERESA, _&c. She rises, and comes to
the front._

_Leonora._ [_To_ BERT.] I blame not you, my lord; my father's will, Your own deserts, and all my people's voice, Have placed you in the view of sovereign power. But I would learn the cause, why Torrismond, Within my palace-walls, within my hearing, Almost within my sight,--affronts a prince, Who shortly shall command him.

_Bert._ He thinks you owe him more than you can pay; And looks as he were lord of human kind.

_Enter_ TORRISMOND, ALPHONSO, PEDRO. TORRISMOND _bows low, then
looks earnestly on the Queen, and keeps at Distance._

_Teresa._ Madam, the general.--

_Leo._ Let me view him well. My father sent him early to the frontiers; I have not often seen him; if I did, He passed unmarked by my unheeding eyes:-- But where's the fierceness, the disdainful pride, The haughty port, the fiery arrogance?-- By all these marks, this is not, sure, the man.

_Bert._ Yet this is he, who filled your court with tumult, Whose fierce demeanour, and whose insolence, The patience of a god could not support.

_Leo._ Name his offence, my lord, and he shall have Immediate punishment.

_Bert._ 'Tis of so high a nature, should I speak it, That my presumption then would equal his.

_Leo._ Some one among you speak.

_Ped._ Now my tongue itches. [_Aside._

_Leo._ All dumb! On your allegiance, Torrismond, By all your hopes, I do command you, speak.

_Tor._ [_Kneeling._] O seek not to convince me of a crime, Which I can ne'er repent, nor can you pardon; Or, if you needs will know it, think, oh think, That he who, thus commanded, dares to speak, Unless commanded, would have died in silence. But you adjured me, madam, by my hopes! Hopes I have none, for I am all despair; Friends I have none, for friendship follows favour; Desert I've none, for what I did was duty:-- Oh that it were!--that it were duty all!

_Leo._ Why do you pause? proceed.

_Tor._ As one, condemned to leap a precipice, Who sees before his eyes the depth below, Stops short, and looks about for some kind shrub To break his dreadful fall.--so I-- But whither am I going? If to death, He looks so lovely sweet in beauty's pomp, He draws me to his dart.--I dare no more.

_Bert._ He's mad, beyond the cure of hellebore. Whips, darkness, dungeons, for this insolence.

_Tor._ Mad as I am, yet I know when to bear.

_Leo._ You're both too bold.--You, Torrismond, withdraw, I'll teach you all what's owing to your queen.-- For you, my lord,-- The priest to-morrow was to join our hands; I'll try if I can live a day without you.-- So both of you depart, and live in peace.

_Alph._ Who knows which way she points? Doubling and turning like an hunted hare;-- Find out the meaning of her mind who can.

_Pedr._ Who ever found a woman's? backward and forward, The whole sex in every word. In my conscience, when she was getting, her mother was thinking of a riddle. [_Exeunt all but the Queen and_ TERESA.

_Leo._ Haste, my Teresa, haste, and call him back.

_Ter._ Whom, madam?

_Leo._ Him.

_Ter._ Prince Bertran?

_Leo._ Torrismond; There is no other he.

_Ter._ [_Aside._] A rising sun, Or I am much deceived. [_Exit_ TERESA.

_Leo._ A change so swift what heart did ever feel! It rushed upon me like a mighty stream, And bore me, in a moment, far from shore. I loved away myself; in one short hour Already am I gone an age of passion. Was it his youth, his valour, or success? These might, perhaps, be found in other men: 'Twas that respect, that awful homage, paid me; That fearful love, which trembled in his eyes, And with a silent earthquake shook his soul. But, when he spoke, what tender words he said! So softly, that, like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.--

_Enter_ TERESA _with_ TORRISMOND.

_Ter._ He waits your pleasure.

_Leo._ 'Tis well; retire.--Oh heavens, that I must speak So distant from my heart!-- [_Aside._ [_To_ TOR.] How now! What boldness brings you back again?

_Tor._ I heard 'twas your command.

_Leo._ A fond mistake, To credit so unlikely a command; And you return, full of the same presumption, To affront me with your love!

_Tor._ If 'tis presumption, for a wretch condemned, To throw himself beneath his judge's feet: A boldness more than this I never knew; Or, if I did, 'twas only to your foes.

_Leo._ You would insinuate your past services, And those, I grant, were great; but you confess A fault committed since, that cancels all.

_Tor._ And who could dare to disavow his crime, When that, for which he is accused and seized, He bears about him still! My eyes confess it; My every action speaks my heart aloud: But, oh, the madness of my high attempt Speaks louder yet! and all together cry,-- I love and I despair.

_Leo._ Have you not heard, My father, with his dying voice, bequeathed My crown and me to Bertran? And dare you, A private man, presume to love a queen?

_Tor._ That, that's the wound! I see you set so high, As no desert or services can reach.-- Good heavens, why gave you me a monarch's soul, And crusted it with base plebeian clay? Why gave you me desires of such extent, And such a span to grasp them? Sure, my lot By some o'er-hasty angel was misplaced In fate's eternal volume!--But I rave, And, like a giddy bird in dead of night, Fly round the fire that scorches me to death.

_Leo._ Yet, Torrismond, you've not so ill deserved, But I may give you counsel for your cure.

_Tor._ I cannot, nay, I wish not to be cured.

_Leo._ [_Aside._] Nor I, heaven knows!

_Tor._ There is a pleasure, sure, In being mad, which none but madmen know! Let me indulge it; let me gaze for ever! And, since you are too great to be beloved, Be greater, greater yet, and be adored.

_Leo._ These are the words which I must only hear From Bertran's mouth; they should displease from you: I say they should; but women are so vain, To like the love, though they despise the lover. Yet, that I may not send you from my sight In absolute despair,--I pity you.

_Tor._ Am I then pitied! I have lived enough!-- Death, take me in this moment of my joy; But, when my soul is plunged in long oblivion, Spare this one thought! let me remember pity, And, so deceived, think all my life was blessed.

_Leo._ What if I add a little to my alms? If that would help, I could cast in a tear To your misfortunes.

_Tor._ A tear! You have o'erbid all my past sufferings, And all my future too!

_Leo._ Were I no queen-- Or you of royal blood--

_Tor._ What have I lost by my forefathers' fault! Why was not I the twentieth by descent From a long restive race of droning kings? Love! what a poor omnipotence hast thou, When gold and titles buy thee?

_Leo._ [_Sighs._] Oh, my torture!--

_Tor._ Might I presume,--but, oh, I dare not hope That sigh was added to your alms for me!

_Leo._ I give you leave to guess, and not forbid you To make the best construction for your love: Be secret and discreet; these fairy favours Are lost, when not concealed[1].--provoke not Bertran.-- Retire: I must no more but this,--Hope, Torrismond. [_Exit._

_Tor._ She bids me hope; oh heavens, she pities me! And pity still foreruns approaching love, As lightning does the thunder! Tune your harps, Ye angels, to that sound; and thou, my heart, Make room to entertain thy flowing joy. Hence, all my griefs and every anxious care; One word, and one kind glance, can cure despair. [_Exit._

SCENE II.--_A Chamber. A Table and Wine set out._

_Enter_ LORENZO.

_Lor._ This may hit; 'tis more than barely possible; for friars have free admittance into every house. This jacobin, whom I have sent to, is her confessor; and who can suspect a man of such reverence for a pimp? I'll try for once; I'll bribe him high; for commonly none love money better than they, who have made a vow of poverty.

_Enter Servant._

_Serv._ There's a huge, fat, religious gentleman coming up, sir. He says he's but a friar, but he's big enough to be a pope; his gills are as rosy as a turkey cock's; his great belly walks in state before him, like an harbinger; and his gouty legs come limping after it: Never was such a ton of devotion seen.

_Lor._ Bring him in, and vanish. [_Exit Servant._

_Enter Father_ DOMINICK.

_Lor._ Welcome, father.

_Dom._ Peace be here: I thought I had been sent for to a dying man; to have fitted him for another world.

_Lor._ No, faith, father, I was never for taking such long journeys. Repose yourself, I beseech you, sir, if those spindle legs of yours will carry you to the next chair.

_Dom._ I am old, I am infirm, I must confess, with fasting.

_Lor._ 'Tis a sign by your wan complexion, and your thin jowls, father. Come, to our better acquaintance:--here's a sovereign remedy for old age and sorrow. [_Drinks._

_Dom._ The looks of it are indeed alluring: I'll do you reason.
[_Drinks._

_Lor._ Is it to your palate, father?

_Dom._ Second thoughts, they say, are best: I'll consider of it once again. [_Drinks._] It has a most delicious flavour with it. Gad forgive me, I have forgotten to drink your health, Son, I am not used to be so unmannerly. [_Drinks again._

_Lor._ No, I'll be sworn, by what I see of you, you are not:--To the bottom;--I warrant him a true church-man.--Now, father, to our business: 'tis agreeable to your calling; I do intend to do an act of charity.

_Dom._ And I love to hear of charity; 'tis a comfortable subject.

_Lor._ Being in the late battle, in great hazard of my life, I recommended my person to good Saint Dominick.

_Dom._ You could not have pitched upon a better; he's a sure card; I never knew him fail his votaries.

_Lor._ Troth, I also made bold to strike up a bargain with him, that, if I escaped with life and plunder, I would present some brother of his order with part of the booty taken from the infidels, to be employed in charitable uses.

_Dom._ There you hit him; Saint Dominick loves charity exceedingly; that argument never fails with him.

_Lor._ The spoils were mighty; and I scorn to wrong him of a farthing. To make short my story; I inquired among the jacobins for an almoner, and the general fame has pointed out your reverence as the worthiest man:--here are fifty good pieces in this purse.

_Dom._ How, fifty pieces? 'tis too much, too much in conscience.

_Lor._ Here, take them, father.

_Dom._ No, in troth, I dare not; do not tempt me to break my vow of poverty.

_Lor._ If you are modest, I must force you; for I am strongest.

_Dom._ Nay, if you compel me, there's no contending; but, will you set your strength against a decrepit, poor, old man? [_Takes the Purse._] As I said, 'tis too great a bounty; but Saint Dominick shall owe you another scape: I'll put him in mind of you.

_Lor._ If you please, father, we will not trouble him 'till the next battle. But you may do me a greater kindness, by conveying my prayers to a female saint.

_Dom._ A female saint! good now, good now, how your devotions jump with mine! I always loved the female saints.

_Lor._ I mean, a female, mortal, married-woman-saint: Look upon the superscription of this note; you know Don Gomez's wife. [_Gives him a Letter._

_Dom._ Who? Donna Elvira? I think I have some reason; I am her ghostly father.

_Lor._ I have some business of importance with her, which I have communicated in this paper; but her husband is so horribly given to be jealous,--

_Dom._ Ho, jealous? he's the very quintessence of jealousy; he keeps no male creature in his house; and from abroad he lets no man come near her.

_Lor._ Excepting you, father.

_Dom._ Me, I grant you; I am her director and her guide in spiritual affairs: But he has his humours with me too; for t'other day he called me false apostle.

_Lor._ Did he so? that reflects upon you all; on my word, father, that touches your copy-hold. If you would do a meritorious action, you might revenge the church's quarrel.--My letter, father,--

_Dom._ Well, so far as a letter, I will take upon me; for what can I refuse to a man so charitably given?

_Lor._ If you bring an answer back, that purse in your hand has a twin-brother, as like him as ever he can look; there are fifty pieces lie dormant in it, for more charities.

_Dom._ That must not be; not a farthing more, upon my priesthood.--But what may be the purport and meaning of this letter? that, I confess, a little troubles me.

_Lor._ No harm, I warrant you.

_Dom._ Well, you are a charitable man; and I'll take your word: my comfort is, I know not the contents; and so far I am blameless. But an answer you shall have; though not for the sake of your fifty pieces more: I have sworn not to take them; they shall not be altogether fifty. Your mistress--forgive me, that I should call her your mistress, I meant Elvira,--lives but at next door: I'll visit her immediately; but not a word more of the nine-and-forty pieces.

_Lor._ Nay, I'll wait on you down stairs.--Fifty pounds for the postage of a letter! to send by the church is certainly the dearest road in Christendom. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.--_A Chamber._

_Enter_ GOMEZ _and_ ELVIRA.

_Gom._ Henceforth I banish flesh and wine: I'll have none stirring within these walls these twelve months.

_Elv._ I care not; the sooner I am starved, the sooner I am rid of wedlock. I shall learn the knack to fast o' days; you have used me to fasting nights already.

_Gom._ How the gipsey answers me! Oh, 'tis a most notorious hilding.

_Elv._ [_Crying._] But was ever poor innocent creature so hardly dealt with, for a little harmless chat?

_Gom._ Oh, the impudence of this wicked sex! Lascivious dialogues are innocent with you!

_Elv._ Was it such a crime to inquire how the battle passed?

_Gom._ But that was not the business, gentlewoman: you were not asking news of a battle passed; you were engaging for a skirmish that was to come.

_Elv._ An honest woman would be glad to hear, that her honour was safe, and her enemies were slain.

_Gom._ [_In her tone._] And to ask, if he were wounded in your defence; and, in case he were, to offer yourself to be his chirurgeon;--then, you did not describe your husband to him, for a covetous, jealous, rich, old hunks.

_Elv._ No, I need not; he describes himself sufficiently: but, in what dream did I do this?

_Gom._ You walked in your sleep, with your eyes broad open, at noon-day; and dreamt you were talking to the foresaid purpose with one Colonel Hernando--

_Elv._ Who, dear husband, who?

_Gom._ What the devil have I said?--You would have farther information, would you?

_Elv._ No; but my dear, little, old man, tell me now, that I may avoid him for your sake.

_Gom._ Get you up into your chamber, cockatrice; and there immure yourself; be confined, I say, during our royal pleasure. But, first, down on your marrowbones, upon your allegiance, and make an acknowledgement of your offences; for I will have ample satisfaction. [_Pulls her down._

_Elv._ I have done you no injury, and therefore I'll make you no submission: but I'll complain to my ghostly father.

_Gom._ Ay, there's your remedy; when you receive condign punishment, you run with open mouth to your confessor; that parcel of holy guts and garbadge: he must chuckle you and moan you; but I'll rid my hands of his ghostly authority one day, [_Enter_ DOMINICK.] and make him know he's the son of a--[_Sees him._] So;--no sooner conjure, but the devil's in the circle.

_Dom._ Son of a what, Don Gomez?

_Gom._ Why, a son of a church; I hope there's no harm in that, father?

_Dom._ I will lay up your words for you, till time shall serve; and to-morrow I enjoin you to fast, for penance.

_Gom._ There's no harm in that; she shall fast too: fasting saves money. [_Aside._

_Dom._ [_To_ ELVIRA.] What was the reason that I found you upon your knees, in that unseemly posture?

_Gom._ O horrible! to find a woman upon her knees, he says, is an unseemly posture; there's a priest for you! [_Aside._

_Elv._ [_To_ DOM.] I wish, father, you would give me an opportunity of entertaining you in private: I have somewhat upon my spirits that presses me exceedingly.

_Dom._ This goes well: [_Aside._] Gomez, stand you at a distance,--farther yet,--stand out of ear shot;--I have somewhat to say to your wife in private.

_Gom._ Was ever man thus priest-ridden? would the steeple of his church were in his belly: I am sure there's room for it. [_Aside._

_Elv._ I am ashamed to acknowledge my infirmities; but you have been always an indulgent father, and therefore I will venture to--and yet I dare not!--

_Dom._ Nay, if you are bashful;--if you keep your wound from the knowledge of your surgeon,--

_Elv._ You know my husband is a man in years; but he's my husband, and therefore I shall be silent; but his humours are more intolerable than his age: he's grown so froward, so covetous, and so jealous, that he has turned my heart quite from him; and, if I durst confess it, has forced me to cast my affections on another man.

_Dom._ Good:--hold, hold; I meant abominable.--Pray heaven this may be my colonel! [_Aside._

_Elv._ I have seen this man, father, and have encouraged his addresses; he's a young gentleman, a soldier, of a most winning carriage: and what his courtship may produce at last, I know not; but I am afraid of my own frailty.

_Dom._ 'Tis he, for certain;--she has saved the credit of my function, by speaking first; now must I take gravity upon me. [_Aside._

_Gom._ This whispering bodes me no good, for certain; but he has me so plaguily under the lash, that I dare not interrupt him. [_Aside._

_Dom._ Daughter, daughter, do you remember your matrimonial vow?

_Elv._ Yes, to my sorrow, father, I do remember it; a miserable woman it has made me: but you know, father, a marriage-vow is but a thing of course, which all women take when they would get a husband.

_Dom._ A vow is a very solemn thing; and 'tis good to keep it: but, notwithstanding, it may be broken upon some occasions. Have you striven with all your might against this frailty?

_Elv._ Yes, I have striven; but I found it was against the stream. Love, you know, father, is a great vow-maker; but he's a greater vow-breaker.

_Dom._ 'Tis your duty to strive always; but, notwithstanding, when we have done our utmost, it extenuates the sin.

_Gom._ I can hold no longer.--Now, gentlewoman, you are confessing your enormities; I know it, by that hypocritical downcast look:--enjoin her to sit bare upon a bed of nettles, father; you can do no less, in conscience.

_Dom._ Hold your peace; are you growing malapert? will you force me to make use of my authority? your wife's a well disposed and a virtuous lady; I say it, _In verbo sacerdotis._

_Elv._ I know not what to do, father; I find myself in a most desperate condition; and so is the colonel, for love of me.

_Dom._ The colonel, say you! I wish it be not the same young gentleman I know. 'Tis a gallant young man, I must confess, worthy of any lady's love in Christendom,--in a lawful way, I mean: of such a charming behaviour, so bewitching to a woman's eye, and, furthermore, so charitably given; by all good tokens, this must be my colonel Hernando.

_Elv._ Ay, and my colonel too, father:--I am overjoyed!--and are you then acquainted with him?

_Dom._ Acquainted with him! why, he haunts me up and down; and, I am afraid, it is for love of you; for he pressed a letter upon me, within this hour, to deliver to you. I confess I received it, lest he should send it by some other; but with full resolution never to put it into your hands.

_Elv._ Oh, dear father, let me have it, or I shall die!

_Gom._ Whispering still! A pox of your close committee! I'll listen, I'm resolved. [_Steals nearer._

_Dom._ Nay, if you are obstinately bent to see it, use your discretion; but, for my part, I wash my hands of it.--What makes you listening there? get farther off; I preach not to thee, thou wicked eaves dropper.

_Elv._ I'll kneel down, father, as if I were taking absolution, if you'll but please to stand before me.

_Dom._ At your peril be it then. I have told you the ill consequences; _et liberavi animam meam._ Your reputation is in danger, to say nothing of your soul. Notwithstanding, when the spiritual means have been applied, and fail, in that case the carnal may be used. You are a tender child, you are, and must not be put into despair; your heart is as soft and melting as your hand. [_He strokes her face, takes her by the hand, and gives the letter._

_Gom._ Hold, hold, father, you go beyond your commission; palming is always held foul play amongst gamesters.

_Dom._ Thus good intentions are misconstrued by wicked men; you will never be warned till you are excommunicated.

_Gom._ Ah, devil on him; there's his hold! If there were no more in excommunication than the church's censure, a wise man would lick his conscience whole with a wet finger; but, if I am excommunicated, I am outlawed, and then there is no calling in my money. [_Aside._

_Elv._ [_Rising._] I have read the note, father, and will send him an answer immediately; for I know his lodgings by his letter.

_Dom._ I understand it not, for my part; but I wish your intentions be honest. Remember, that adultery, though it be a silent sin, yet it is a crying sin also. Nevertheless, if you believe absolutely he will die, unless you pity him; to save a man's life is a point of charity; and actions of charity do alleviate, as I may say, and take off from the mortality of the sin. Farewell, daughter.--Gomez, cherish your virtuous wife; and thereupon I give you my benediction. [_Going._

_Gom._ Stay; I'll conduct you to the door,--that I may be sure you steal nothing by the way. Friars wear not their long sleeves for nothing.--Oh, 'tis a Judas Iscariot. [_Exit after the Friar._

_Elv._ This friar is a comfortable man! He will understand nothing of
the business, and yet does it all.
Pray, wives and virgins, at your time of need,
For a true guide, of my good father's breed. [_Exit._