Enter Don Fernando and Fabio, as in the room
in the inn.
Don F. Are all things ready, Fabio, in case
Don Julio, when he comes, conclude with me
That I should be gone presently?
Fab. Horses stand ready for you at the posthouse.
Don F. 'Tis well; attend without. [Exit Fabio.
Enter Don Julio.
I see you sleep not in your friend's concerns,
You are so early; and since so, the sooner
We fix a resolution, certainly
'Twill be the better. 'Twas no small point gain'd,
To frustrate for a night Don Pedro's aims,
As Fabio tells me you have done; for he
Ne'er quitted him an inch last night, until
He had harboured him.
Don J. What, has he left his lodging?
Don F. That he has,
And (which is more considerable) taken one
Close by your house, which evidences clearly,
Where his suspicions lie: that being so,
I'm confident you'll be of my opinion
For my dislodging from Valencia
Immediately; for, Elvira being
Already so well settled, nothing can
So much endanger her discovery
As my remaining longer in these parts.
Don J. Were I but free as yesterday, Fernando,
To think of nothing but Elvira and your
Concernments, I must confess your absence
From hence were to be wish'd: but, cousin,
There's fallen out this very night a thing,
Which shows how little I beholden am
To fortune that, having so newly lent me
The means of serving handsomely my friend,
Calls back the debt already, and makes me
As needing of your aid, as you of mine.
Don. F. Ho! Fabio, forbid the horses presently.
[Fabio looks in.
The least appearance, Julio, of my being [To Julio.
Useful to you by staying puts an end
To all deliberation for myself;
Say, what's the accident? you have me ready.
Don J. Such and of such a nature, my Fernando,
That, as to be communicated to none
But you (another self), so I am sure
It will astonish you with the rehearsal.
Ah! could you think it possible, that Blanca
Should raise disturbance in the heart of Julio,
As to the honour of his family?
Don F. Heavens forbid!
Don J. Never was brother so secure as I,
Or so unalterable in his persuasion,
Of having a sister of unmatch'd discretion;
Nor e'er could less than evidence itself
Have shaken such a confidence.
Don F. For God's sake, Julio,
Hold me no longer in such pain of mind.
But, sure, we shall be better there within,
Free from the noise of the street.
Don J. You say well. [Exit Julio.
Don F. [As he follows him, aside.] This is what Fabio told me he saw last night,
Discovered by some accident to Julio;
It can be nothing else. O women, women! [Exit Fernando.
Enter Don Pedro and Fulvio, as in their new lodgings.
Don P. I am glad you have lighted on so fit a place
For all I intend, as this is, Fulvio.
I shall repair the last night's disappointment
By early care this morning: in the meanwhile,
Fail not of your part in the discovery
Where my enemy dwells, and i' th' observation
Of all his motions; that's the important part.
Fulv. Rely, sir, on my care and vigilance.
[Exeunt Don Pedro and Fulvio.
Enter Don Julio and Don Fernando, as in the
outward room of the inn.
Don J. It is a quarter
Always reserv'd to my own privacy.
There lying unsuspected, if, whilst I
Continue late abroad, under pretence
Of being at Violante's, you keep watch
Carefully within, he cannot 'scape us:
So you be sure to observe punctually
The sign agreed, and bolting of the doors,
When he is once within.
Don F. Since you have so resolv'd and laid your business,
Dispose of me, and lead the way, whilst I
Give Fabio his instruction what to do
During my absence. [Exeunt Fernando and Julio.
Enter Donna Blanca and Francisca, as in
Blanca's antechamber.
Fran. Since the black cloud, that threaten'd you last night
With such a storm, is luckily blown over
Without a sprinkling, I hope, madam, you
Will imitate the Fates, and grow serene
From all those clouds which so much threaten'd others.
Blan. Ah! Francisca, canst thou—
[She stops, seeing Elvira coming.
Enter Elvira, with a fine basin of flowers.
But here's Silvia.
O, the sharp thorns she brings me at this time,
With flowers in her hand, by the constraint
Her presence gives me! [Aside.
Elv. Madam, I wish the 'ranging of these flowers
May be to your mind; but alas, I fear
I am too dull for works of fancy.
Blan. 'Tis me you find too dull to relish them:
Anon they may be welcomer.
Elv. I'll wait that happy hour.
[Aside.] She's in ill humour. [Exit Elvira.
Blan. But tell me now, didst ever see, Francisca,
So false and bold a creature? The impudence
He had to clothe his treachery with new courtships,
Provokes me most of all.
Fran. Last night indeed, incens'd as you were, madam,
I fain would know what air so soft and gentle
He could have breath'd, would not have blown the flame
Higher and higher; but methinks your pillow
Should in so many hours have had some power
T' allay and mollify: I then complied
(He present) with your anger; but now, madam,
You must allow me to speak reason t' you
In his behalf, before you go too far,
And put things in your passion past recal,
Which, that once over, you would give your life
To have again.
Blan. Pray, think me not so tame.
Fran. So tame, say you? I think you wild, I swear,
To take so much to heart, what at the most
Deserves but some such sparkling brisk resentment,
As, once flash'd out in a few choleric words,
Ought to expire in a next visit's coyness.
Blan. Make you so slight of infidelity?
Fran. Cupid forbid! I'd have men true to love;
But I'd have women, too, true to themselves,
And not rebuke their gallants by requiring
More than the nature of frail flesh will bear.
I'd have men true as steel; but steel, you know,
(The purest and best-polish'd steel) will ply,
Urg'd from its rectitude, forsooth; but then
With a smart spring comes to its place again.
Blan. Come, leave your fooling, and speak soberly.
Fran. Why then, in sober sadness, you're i' th' wrong—
I do not say in being angry with him,
And nettled at the thing—that's natural.
We love no partners, even in what we know
We cannot keep all to ourselves: but, madam,
To think the worse of him for it: or resolve
A breach of friendship for a slight excursion,
That were a greater fault than his, who has
For one excuse long absence; and in truth
Another you'd be sorry he wanted—youth.
Blan. You talk as if——
Fran. [interrupting her.] Stay, madam, I beseech you,
And let me make an end: I have not yet
Touch'd the main point in his excuse, a suit
At court, enough I trow for any dog-trick.
Blan. How like a goose you talk! a court pretension!
What has that to do, one way or other,
With his faith to me?
Fran. So one, displeased to find his crawfishes
Shrivell'd within and empty, said to his cook
(Who laid the fault upon the wane o' th' moon):
What has the moon to do with crawfishes?
Marry, she has, 'tis she that governs shell-fish;
And 'tis as true, in courts that love rules business
By as preposterous an influence.
Blan. I prythee, make an end, or come to th' point.
Fran. Why, then, I'll tell you: you may believe me
(Having been train'd up in my youth, you know,
In the best school to learn court mysteries,
An aunt of mine being mother of the maids),
Love holds the rudder, and steers in all courts.
How oft, when great affairs perplex the brains
Of mighty politicians to conjecture,
From whence sprung such designs, such revolutions:
Such exaltations, madam, such depressions,
Against the rules of their mysterious art;
And when, as in surprising works of nature,
Reason's confounded, men cry those are secrets
Of the high pow'rs above, that govern all
Grave lookers on, stroking their beards, would say,
What a transcendent fetch of state is this!
These are the things that wisdom hides and hatches
Under black cap of weighty jobbernowl;
I mean Count Olivarez. All the while,
We female Machiavels would smile to think,
How closely lurking lay the nick of all
Under our daughter Doll's white petticoat.
Blan. All this, I grant you, may be true, and yet
Ne'er make a jot for his excuse, Francisca.
His suit had no relation to such matters.
Fran. Whate'er the thing be, 'tis all one. D' you think
Suits, be they what they will, can be obtain'd
By such as pass for fops, as all young men
Without a mistress or a confidant
Are sure to do there? A sharp-pointed hat
(Now that you see the gallants all flat-headed)
Appears not so ridiculous as a younker
Without a love-intrigue to introduce
And sparkify him there. Madam, in short,
Allow me once to be sententious:
It is a thing that always was, and is,
And ever will be, true to the world's end:
That, as in courts of justice, none can carry
On business well without a procurator,
So none in princes' courts their suits make surer,
Than those that work them by the best procurer.
Blan. [Smiling a little.] Well, hast done, Francisca?
Fran. Madam, I have.
Blan. Then letting pass
Thy fine reflections politic, now vented
To shew thy skill in courts, I'll tell thee freely,
I'm not transported in my jealousy
So far beyond the bounds of reason, as
Not to know well the difference betwixt
Such escapades of youth, as only spring
From warmth of blood or gales of vanity,
And such engagements as do carry with them
Dishonour unto those, whose quality
And love leave little to the serious part,
Once embark'd by them in a gallantry.
Fran. I see the clouds disperse. There's no such art
Of compassing one's ends with those above us,
As that of working them into good humour
By things brought in by the by. [Aside.
Why, surely, madam, unless anger lend you
Its spectacles to see things, I cannot think
You judge Don Zancho's fault to be any other
Than of the first kind, so well stated by you.
Blan. Francisca, were I otherwise persuaded,
I am not of an humour that could suffer
Such parleys for him, much less intercession;
But since, upon reflection, I find cause
To think what he has done a sally only
Of youth and vanity, when I shall find him
Sufficiently mortified, I may pardon him.
Fran. Heavens bless so sweet a temper! but, madam,
Have a care, I beseech you, of one thing.
Fran. That, whilst your pride of heart
Prolongs his readmission, his despair
Urge him not to some precipitate attempt
That may expose your honour, safe as yet.
You see what danger the last night's distemper
Had like t' have brought you into: transported lovers,
Like angels fallen from their bliss, grow devils.
Blan. What, would you have me appear so flexible?
Is't not enough
I tell you I may pardon him in due time?
Fran. Good madam, be advis'd: I do not press you
For his sake, but your own. Trust my experience,
To women nought's so fatal as suspense;
Whose smartest actions ne'er did cast such blot
On honour as this—shall I? shall I not?
Blan. I'd rather die, than have him think me easy.
Fran. Your spirit never can be liable
To that suspicion. Madam, leave to me
The conduct of this matter, I beseech you:
If, ere you sleep, you do not see the gallant
Sufficiently humbled at your feet,
Ne'er trust Francisca more.
Blan. You are so troublesome: do what you will.
[Blanca turns away, and exit as into her closet.
Fran. What, gone away?
I'll do what she would have, but dares not say. [Exit.
Enter Don Julio and Elvira, as in Blanca's chamber.
Don J. Where's my sister, Silvia? [Looking about him.
Elv. In her closet, sir:
As yet not ready.
Don J. And where's Francisca?
Elv. She's with her, dressing her.
Don J. Why then, Elvira,
Let me not lose this opportunity
Of telling you how sad a man I am
To see you in this posture, and to assure you
How gladly I would lay down life and fortune
To serve you in Don Fernando's absence.
Elv. Your generosity I make no doubt of:
But is Fernando gone?
Don J. I cannot say
That he is gone; for he was not himself,
With the thought of leaving you, and yet less
Himself, whene'er he thought of staying near you;
Tortur'd by two such contrary passions,
As love and sharp resentment.
Elv. He is gone then?—— [She pauses.
Ah, generous Don Julio, [Putting her handkerchief to her eyes.
You needs must be indulgent to a weakness
Which, whilst that he was present, indignation,
And a just sense of what I am, had pow'r
To keep within myself; but now I find
That check remov'd, nature will have its tribute,
And you must pardon my withdrawing, where [She weeps.
Such grief may pay it with unwitness'd tears. [Exit Elvira.
Don J. Can a demeanour so compos'd, so noble,
And yet so tender, want true innocence?
It cannot be. It grieves my heart, I swear,
T' have given her new affliction; but the secret
Of Don Fernando's close concealment here
Is so important, it necessitated
My saying what I did, since secrets are
Ever kept best by those that know them least.
Enter Blanca and Francisca.
Now, high dissimulation play, thy part! [Aside.
Good morrow, sister, have you rested well?
And do you rise serene, as does the sun?
Free from distemper, as the day from clouds?
Your looks persuade it me, they are so clear
And fresh this morning.
Blan. The pleasure of seeing you puts life into them,
Else they'd be dull enough, this ugly headache
Having tormented me all night. You might
Have heard me call Francisca up at midnight.
Fran. That was well thought on, for 'tis possible
He may have heard some noise. [Aside.
Don J. How cunning she is! [Aside.
Faith, now you put me in mind of it (I think)
'Twixt sleep and waking, I once heard some stirring.
Blan. The worst of my indisposition is,
That 'twill, I fear, hinder me again to-day
From visiting Violante, to thank her
For Silvia.
Don J. I charge myself with all your compliments;
For this whole afternoon, till late at night,
I needs must pass with her, to make amends
For yesterday's failings, caus'd, as you know,
By Don Fernando's being in town.
Blan. I must not hope to see you then again
To-day, when once gone out?
Don J. Hardly; unless to wait on Violante,
In case she come to see you, as 'tis likely,
When I shall tell her you are indispos'd:
And so farewell. [Exit Don Julio.
Blan. All's well, I see, Francisca, as to him:
I wish my heart were but as much at rest
In what concerns Don Zancho.
Fran. It shall be
Your own fault if it be not quickly so,
As I'll order the matter.
Blan. Take heed you make him not grow insolent,
By discovering to him my facility.
Fran. I'm too well vers'd to need instructions.
Blan. I leave all t' you. But how does Silvia
This morning?
Fran. I think she has been crying,
She looks so dull and moped.
Blan. I'll in and see her. [Exeunt.
Scene changes to Don Zancho's house. Enter Don
Zancho, and Chichon limping.
Don Z. What, not yet gone, thou lazy, trifling rascal?
Chi. What juster excuse, sir, for not going,
Than is a broken leg?
Don Z. If you find not your own leg quickly, sirrah,
I shall find you a wooden one.
Chi. Be as angry as you will, sir, I'll not go
Till I have made my conditions: the true time
For servants to stand upon points is, when
Their masters stand upon thorns.
Don Z. What are they, owl's face?
Chi. Assurance, sir, but of free air within,
With fair retreat upon an even floor;
And that it shall not be in a slut's power,
After having kept me in a nasty place,
To empty me out at window.
Don Z. Prythee, Chichon,
Ha' done, and miss not th' opportunity
By fooling. Unless you take Francisca,
Just as she comes from mass, this day is lost,
And I lost with it.
Chi. Come, I'll hobble to her.
Expect a sorry account, but yet a true one;
Truth always comes by the lame messenger. [Exeunt.
Scene changes to a fine pleasant apartment. Enter
Don Julio, and knocks, as at the door of his
private apartment: Fernando opens the door
and lets him in.
Don F. Y' have given me here a very pleasant prison:
But what news, my Julio? Are things disposed
For clearing of your doubts? My own concerns
I cannot think on during your disquiet.
Don. J. And I come now so strangely mov'd with yours,
I scarce have sense or memory of my own.
A heart of adamant could not be hinder'd,
I think, from liquefaction into tears,
To 've seen and heard Elvira, as I have done,
Upon th' occasion of my telling her
That you were gone.
A sense so gallant and so tender both
I never saw in woman.
Don. F. Can that high heart descend to tenderness?
Don J. Not whilst (you present) noble pride upheld it;
But, nature once set free from that constraint,
O, how pathetic was her very silence!
And the restraint of tears in her swol'n eyes,
More eloquent in grief than others' torrents.
If she be guilty, all her sex are devils.
Don. F. O, say no more; for were there room but left
For self-deceit, I might be happy yet.
Ah! evidence too cruel to deny me that! [A noise without.
Don. J. But what can be the noise I hear without—
In the next room? [Fernando peeps through the key-hole.
Don F. 'Slife! I see Don Pedro,
Elvira's father: there's no avoiding him;
He'd not a' come up so, without being sure
You are within.
Don J. Farther put-off would be of little use,
Since first or last he must be satisfied,
Being come hither upon such an errand.
The sooner now we see what 'tis he drives at,
The sooner we shall take from thence our measures;
I'll therefore go out to him, and be sure
To entertain him still so near the door,
That you may hear what passes.
Don F. I shall be attentive, and expect the issue
With much impatience. [Exit Don Julio.
Scene changes to Don Julio's antechamber. Enter
Don Pedro and his Servant, and Don Julio
and a Page.
Don P. My business, sir, is to Don Julio Rocca;
[Addressing himself to Don Julio.
If you be he, I shall desire the favour
Of some few words with you in private.
Don J. Sir, I am he to serve you. Page, set chairs.
[He points to the Page, and makes him set the
chairs by the door where Don Fernando
is, and then the Page and Don Pedro's
man retire. [They sit down.
Don P. Having not the honour to be known t' you, sir,
'Tis fit this letter make my introduction:
'Tis from the Duke of Medina.
[He gives Don Julio the letter, which he receives
with great respect; and going a little aside,
reads it.
"Don Pedro de Mendoça, my kinsman and
most particular friend, goes to Valencia in pursuit
of one who hath highly injured his family, whose
righting I am so much concerned in, as, could it
have been done without too much publication of
the thing, I would have accompanied him myself,
but my presence will be needless in a place where
you have power: I do therefore conjure you, and
expect from your regard and kindness to me, that
you employ it thoroughly in his behalf, and what
service you shall do him, put it upon my account,
whom you shall always find
"Your most affectionate cousin to serve you,
The Duke of Medina."
Don J. [giving the letter to Don Pedro, and he taking it.] Sir, it is fit you see how heartily
The Duke hath recommended your concernments,
Whose will's a law to me.
[Don Pedro having read it, and restoring it.
Don P. He told me, indeed, how very sure he was
Of your friendship and dependence.
I am proud to find he makes
So obliging use of it to my advantage.
Don J. I do avow myself his creature, sir;
Therefore the sooner you shall let me know
In what I may be useful t' you, the sooner
You'll see my readiness to serve you.
Don P. Your personal reputation, sir, as well
As your relation to the duke, assur'd me
Beforehand of what I find; and therefore
As hard a part as it is for a gentleman
Of my blood and temper to become
Relater of his own shame, unreveng'd
On the author of it, I shall tell you in short:
I live under an affront of th' highest nature
To the honour of my family; and the person
Who did it makes Valencia his retreat.
'Tis against him, Don Julio,
That your assistance must support me here:
I have already got some notice of him,
And when I shall be ascertain'd, I'll repair
Again unto you for your friendly aid,
And for the present trouble you no farther.
[Don Pedro offers to rise, as going away.
Don J. A little patience, I beseech you, sir.
I have express'd my readiness, and be sure
I am a man never to fail, where once
I have engag'd my word; but, sir, withal
You must consider with a fair reflection,
That in this place are all my chief relations
Of blood and friendship; and though neither shall
Have power t' exempt me from the serving you
In any just pretension, yet you know
That men of honour ever ought to seek,
How to comply with one duty without
Violating another.
Don P. I understand you, sir; and as 'tis that
Which well becomes a person of your worth
To have reflected on, so it becomes me
To satisfy, before I engage you farther.
Then give me leave to ask you, whether or no
Don Zancho de Moneçes be of the number
Of those, towards whom y'are under obligation
Either of blood or friendship?
[Don Julio showing some little surprise, but
presently recovering.
Don J. Don Zancho de Moneçes, say you?
Don P. Sir, the same—
He startled at his name. [Aside.
Don J. He is a person I have always liv'd
In friendly correspondence with, without
Any such tie upon me towards him,
As ought to hinder my frank serving you.
Don P. You have reviv'd me; and since I have now nam'd
My enemy, I can conceal no longer
The grounds on which he is so. That Don Zancho,
About a fortnight since, was late at night
Found in my house, run newly through the body,
And welt'ring in his blood, ready to expire.
I by the outcry brought upon the place,
Surpris'd as you may imagine, and enrag'd,
Was yet so far master of my passion,
As to disdain the owing my revenge
To an unknown hand, perhaps as guilty
Towards me as was the sufferer. I made
Him straight be carried to a surgeon, where
I thought it generous to give him life,
Then dead, that living I might give him death.
Recover'd sooner than I thought, he fled,
And with him, as I have reason to believe,
My only daughter, who the very night
Of the accident was missing. O, the curse
Of men, to have their honours subjected
To the extravagance of such vile creatures!
Don J. [Sighing.] 'Tis our hard fate indeed.
Don P. I presently employ'd all diligence
To know what way he took, and having learn'd
'Twas towards this place, hither I have pursued him;
Confirm'd in my pursuit by information
Along the road, that an unknown gallant
Had, with his servant, guarded all the way
A conceal'd lady in a coach. And thus, sir,
You have the story of my injury;
Whereof I doubt not but your generous heart
Will wed the just revenge.
Don J. You may rely on't, sir, without reserves,
To th' utmost of my power.
Don P. May the gods reward you
The life that you renew to these grey hairs!
I'll take my leave at present, and return t' ye,
As soon as from the diligences used
I shall have clearer lights.
Don J. Here you shall find me waiting your commands.
[Exit Don Pedro, Don Julio waiting on him
out.
Scene changes. Enter Don Julio and Don Fernando,
as in the private apartment.
Don J. I hope you overheard us?
Don F. All distinctly,
And with surprising joy at his mistake.
Did ever bloodhound, in a hot pursuit,
Run on so readily upon the change?
Don J. I hope it bodes good fortune in the rest.
Don F. Were e'er two friends engag'd in an adventure
So intricate as we, and so capricious?
Don J. Sure, never in this world: methinks it merits
A special recapitulation.
You, at the height of all your happiness,
Supplanted with your mistress by a rival
You neither knew nor dreamt of, evidence
Anticipating jealousy.
Don F. And when that rival, fallen by my sword
In her own presence, is by miracle
Revived, and fitter to serve her than I,
That faithless mistress with the same assurance
She could have done, had she been true as fair,
And for my sake expos'd to fatal hazards,
Flies to my arms for her protection.
Don J. And whilst that you, refining point of honour,
In spite of rage expose yourself to serve her,
She asks and takes, with a vow'd indignation
To be beholden t' ye, new obligations.
Don F. I have recourse unto my only friend,
To help me in protecting my false mistress,
And he, at the same time, by highest powers [is]
Impos'd upon to be her persecutor.
Don J. Whilst the same friend, and by the selfsame pow'rs,
Is urg'd to act in their revenge against
The man, on whom you most desire to take it:
And then, to heighten all beyond invention,
That very friend is forc'd, even in that instant,
To a dependence on your only aid,
In his honour's nearest and most nice concerns.
Don F. Heaven, sure, delights t' involve us in a kind
Of labyrinth will pose itself t' unwind. [Exeunt.