ACT II.
SCENE I.--_A country inn in the Sierra Nevada. A table spread under avine._
_Enter_ DON ALFONSO _and_ DON PASCUAL.
D. PAS. Must thou then really leave me and return To 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 police Are ever on my track, or else that they Have 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 late For 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 unturned Until 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 thee Thou wast over ready with thy weapon. What! For a hasty word said in hot blood Must 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 gaze Of 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 skin That he would have me pale-eyed, flaxen-haired, Like the barbarians of northern climes? May not a Spaniard have an olive skin And jetty eye without being gipsy called? A mystery, I know, hangs o'er my birth; I ne'er knew my parents. Some secret hand Doth forward me remittances at times, That I might be enabled to pursue My 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 inquiries As to my origin. Those around me Told me but little, but I think I heard I 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 soul And I in truth should be a gipsy bastard. It may be that he spoke the truth. But how Did 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 fear My gipsy blood. Let who would call me bastard Prepare to feel the sting a bastard feels. [_Touching his sword hilt._
D. ALF. Chafe not thyself; the deed is done. No more Mar not the precious moments of our parting With 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 Penas Strive to forget all sorrow.
D. PAS. So say I; [_Seating themselves at the table._ And here's to thy safe journey and return To 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 these Keep 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 seems Thou art but little formed for study, being Of a too warm and hasty temperament To find much solace in the student's page, Preferring lone rambles and sylvan sports To the uncertain fame a scholar seeks. To thee, and such as thee, the love of woman Thy ardent nature will not fail to find Out 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 come When a woman's love and a happy home To 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 wine And 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 felt A strange affection for these gipsy tribes-- A sympathy for their wild wandering life And fierce impatience at the cold restraints By which well-bred society doth cramp Our 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 all The lore for which you students sap your youth. My book is nature. In the open fields I've loved to lie at night and watch the stars, The various aspects of the changing moon, Or on the giddy mountain peak at morn To view the first beams of the rising sun As from the rosy horizon it climbs Up towards the purple zenith. At midday I love to rest me in the sylvan shade And 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 slake My parching thirst from out the neighbouring brook. Full oft in my wild wanderings I have passed Through desert places, where no dwelling was, And, overcome by hunger and fatigue, Have well nigh fainted, but in such cases, When human hospitality doth fail Nature comes to the rescue and procures Its 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 free Without heavy ransom. More than once I'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 child They stole me from my friends, whoe'er they were, But I was rescued, and the dusky tribe Were driven out from that part of the land. Among my early reminiscences I can recall the tall and bronzed form Of 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 bore A countenance as beautiful as day. I have not seen her now for many years. When last I met her I could plainly see That time and trouble and a roving life Had left their stamp upon her dusky brow. But I had nought to fear from _her_. The crone Would call me to her and caress me, too; Call me endearing names, and, as a proof Of 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, O
n seeing this token they would let me pass Without 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 time I ne'er have doffed it. And now tell me, friend, If what I've just told you does not prove Me sprung from gipsy blood?
D. ALF. We cannot help Our 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'er Did hear of legal marriage in a case Of 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 adrift And 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 mate A 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 lustre Of 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 follow Thou'lt find will not be insurmountable; I mean, to gain the parents' full consent. But he must fight who'd win. And now, adieu I have no time to tarry longer. See, My mule is saddled, and I must away. Detain me not, my friend, for I would fain Reach 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 mule Has borne its gallant freight far out of sight. Farewell, Alfonso. Fortune be thy guide, Truest of comrades, best of counsellors, Ride _thou_, 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 attempt To bring my name to light sign my death warrant? My friend thought not of this. For such as I The monast'ry's sequestered cell were good, Rather than fame. But courage yet! I feel The 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 frame Shall win the fame I seek. For I recall The words long spoken, and but all forgot, By that same gipsy queen when first she gazed Into 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 steel Unto 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, inambush._
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.
_Enter_ DONNA INEZ _and_ PEDRO, _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 mind By monkish legends and low superstition, Unworthy ladies of your rank. Look ye! I, Pedro, now am old, and yet I never Have 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 help Is 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 one Who 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 lady Unless 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 hands Of thy half-savage subjects, wherefore then Detain a poor and simple maiden bound For her paternal castle, having left The 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 not By the aspect of the heavenly bodies All events that are about to happen? As to my object in detaining you Let 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 hastily_ PASCUAL _with a drawn sword_.
PAS. This way I heard the cries. How now! What's this? Hell and furies! A chaste and lovely maid Attacked by dusky ruffians! Halt! Forbear! For, by my soul, I swear I will not leave One black hide whole among ye, an ye dare To 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 blood Flows freely in my veins. By heaven, I swear I 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 console My parting spirit somewhat but to know That it hath rid the surface of the earth Of even a few of such vile scu
m 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 youth Who, 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 'scape The 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 works The principles of manhood. Would that thine Had 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 gape With sheer wonder, and stand aghast with awe At's prowess, when we should have been fighting.
SECOND GIPSY. Ay, none but a madman tired of his life Had 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 knees For 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 we Did 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 rill Doth yield thee medicine. [_Pascual drinks._ Ha! what is this? Shade of my father Djabel! it is _he_! My long lost son! my own, my valiant boy: Methought I knew that semi-gipsy form. The very ring, too, wrought in virgin gold And graven o'er with mystic hieroglyphics-- An heirloom of our tribe that I him gave With 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 step May 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 Queen But 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 he Don Silvio's servant Pedro? Sure it is, For oft I've parleyed with him when at times I've brought the game up to his master's hall. And these two gentle-folks I ween must be Guests 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, though They 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! Senor. It ill becomes a maid of gentle blood Unblushingly to listen to the vows And fervid protestations of a knight Upon such slight acquaintance.
D. PAS. Lovely child! Bid me but hope, and I will rest content.
INEZ. Nay, talk not thus, Senor. Pray calm yourself. Bethink you that your wound is not yet healed. You're faint from loss of blood. These ecstacies May 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, Senor, I pray. I may not listen. I am your debtor, or I'd take offence At too much boldness.
D. PAS. Be not harsh, fair maid, I meant not to be overbold. I swear I would the tongue that could give thee offence Were 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 to The care and guidance of the gipsy queen.
D. PAS. Thou couldst not be so cruel. What! debar Your 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 repent That 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 stream The balmy course the stars map out for ye. Pepa can look on at the joys of others That were denied herself, unenvying. But mark, Pascual, if thou dost inherit But 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 love Of this fair damsel, and then betray her, I, Pepa, though thy mother, with this hand Will quench that spark of life I gave to thee.
SCENE III.--_Study of Don Silvio. D. Silvio is discovered pacing up anddown dejectedly._
D. SIL. The day wears on, and still there is no sign Of Pedro and my daughter. 'Tis full time. It wants an hour to sundown; and ere then I 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 enter_ DON 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 regret My 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 west Ought 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.
_Enter_ RODRIGUEZ _frantically_.
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 swear By the foul fiend that 'gat thee, I will force The 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 Pedro Started from St. Ursula's this morning Upon their mules, and were about half-way Upon their journey, when from ambush sprang Some 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 gibbetted From 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 tell _me_ a lie. Go, call him hither.
ROD. He is at the door. [_Exit Rodriguez._
_Enter_ JUAN.
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 thou Upon thy oath affirm, thy hopes of Heaven, That thou wert an eye-witness to this scene? If so, relate to us in fewest words How the case happened, and the where, the when.
HUNT. Then thus it came about, my liege. As I Was wandering, towards mid-day, among the Many rocks and fissures of these mountainous ranges, Armed with my carbine, in search of game, As is my daily wont, I came upon A deep ravine, yet hidden from my sight By thorns and bushes and like obstacles, When soon I heard the hum of human voices. The spot, if I may judge well, I should say Was half-way 'twixt St. Ursula's and here. Well, trampling down the brambles, I stood firm Upon 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 travellers For 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 pair Were 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 take The whole scene in, and it appeared to me That the young knight must have resistance made, For low he lay, sore wounded in the head, While ever and anon the gentle maid Would dress his wound, and gaze with tearful eye And 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 stood Watching 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 fate Impending 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 be That 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 charger Be forthwith saddled. Bid my men-at-arms To mount, armed cap-a-pie; whilst such amongst The populace as thou canst muster, quick Arm 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'll_ clear 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._
END OF ACT II.
Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume III Page 6