Father Avenged, A - Scene 3
Scene [III] — The Square of the old Moorish Palace, the Vesper-bell going Enter L OZANO and P ERANZULES .
Loz . Nobody here — This is a stately place,
Fit for some great encounter.
Per . It was here
Mudarra fought with all that crowd at once.
Loz . Mudarra! So it was We paint our ancestors
Too stout, I fear, if he escaped so well
He was gigantic.
Per . Yes.
Loz . I wonder that
The king exchanges not his present house
For this, as he intended.
Per . There was something
Said of his coming here to-day to see it;
But it grows late.
Loz . Those Moors were singular architects,
Flowery and grand at once; arch, pile, and ornament,
Like mountain-building Nature. Is it not so?
Per . 'Tis true — Will you then fight, Count, if the son
Or father dare it?
Loz . Fight! 'Tis not called fighting,
When you put back a bough that scratches you,
Or ruffles in your face. 'Tis idle.
Enter R ODRIGO
Loz . Well, Sir,
You are alone? What message from your father,
The reverend old Count?
Per . Reverend! Old!
You have bethought yourself, it seems ( aside ) I saw her;
Great God! I saw her, as I came along;
And yet his presence makes me long to cut him
Down like a monster.
Loz . Youth, bethink yourself,
And state your errand briefly.
Rod . Count Lozano —
You have insulted a grey-headed man —
A man near eighty years of age, my father.
You struck him: yes, you suffered your strong hand
To fall on an old warrior, now grown helpless.
Loz . Well, young Sir.
Rod . Well! You should forget to use
That word in any way. I'll tell ye, Count;
My father has been intercepted by
A message from the King. I come instead,
To offer you the choice between a common
And an uncommon thing; the uncommon one
An honour to you, if you understand it;
The common one, a mere necessity.
Loz . I wait while you repeat your lesson
Rod . Have you
The spirit to undo a thing ill done?
Loz . What, you turn catechist! Your meaning, Sir.
Rod . Can you acknowledge to two noblemen
Whom you have done a wrong to, and dishonoured,
That you have done so?
Loz . Two! What mystery now?
Rod . You own to one: — the other is yourself.
Loz . Insolent minion!
Rod . 'Twas impossible,
I thought, that you should comprehend me. Well, Sir;
The alternative may still be understood.
Loz . Pray let us hear it
Rod . He to whom you gave
A blow, is old and helpless; I am his son.
Loz . What, would you trick me into another blow!
Rod . Trick you! The thought begins to make me doubt
Whether you have any the least sort of courage.
Loz . Away, boy: have you not forgotten yet
The smell of the red paint upon the handle
Of your toy sword?
Per . Let me, brave youth, advise you.
Rod . Advise your friend, Sir, if you think him one;
I say his valour 's equal to his knowledge.
Loz . Well, well; I should but turn the flat of my sword
Into a ferula, and teach the boy.
Rod . You teach me!
'Tis you that are the boy; you know not yet
Man's alphabet, one single jot of sentiment,
Nor how much magic strength it can put into
The weakest learner. Boy! By heaven, I tell you,
Your spirit is a child; and, were your body
As small, I'd take you here upon my knee,
And dandle you in pity.
Loz . Idle boy!
I've spoilt your house enough.
Rod . Then, since you're teachable
Neither by calmness, nor most just rebuke,
Nor seem to think there 's any way of teaching
But one, I'll meet your understanding Now; —
My father sends you this.
Loz . Back, Peranzules. This must be chastised.
Rod . Ay; and for your own sake, let me advise you,
Spare not the edge. ( Aside .) O that I yet could wound him
All but to death; — or else that I myself
Might — and yet then — Ximena! Father! Aye,
Mudarra and my father!
Loz . 'Tis better play than I expected.
Rod . Aye,
It makes you breathe a little, and look grave.
Enter X IMENA with F ATIMA hastily
Xim . Rodrigo Diaz! Father! For God's sake!
Loz . Cousin, convey away that foolish girl.
Rod . That terrible sweet sight again!
Loz . You're pale, Sir.
Rod . Sir, for the sake of your own child, be noble.
Loz . You seek a proper second in a girl
Entreat your life.
Enter D IEGO with Officers and Guards
Dieg . ( Crying aloud ). Me! me! I'll die instead.
Rod . Who talks of dying, father? Sit you down
Upon the stone of justice! Sit you down:
I am not breathed yet.
So you seek my life
At last, now stoop to that old reverend man,
Or I shall make you.
Loz . Scorn upon you, both! —
Have I not bowed him down too low for any
But his own child to stoop to? Fall, and see —
By heavens, I'm fiercely wounded.
Rod . To the heart!
Pardon him, Sir, for he 's a dying man.
Dieg . He asks it not.
Rod . Then pity him the more,
For more his folly wants it.
Dieg . Fly, my son;
Fly, and I will.
Dieg . ( holding his hands over L OZANO ). I do pardon thee,
Thou low-laid man, at my great son's request.
Loz . Heap of dishonour! Hide — I die in the faith.
Enter X IMENA wildly
Xim . I'll die! There 's some one dead! — I should have told it —
And now I'll tell it all — my heart — I — Father !
Scene [IV] — A Room in the late Count's Palace. Enter F ATIMA from a door opposite the stage, listening, and looking cautiously about her .
Fat . She comes.
Enter X IMENA
Xim . You missed me, I fear, Fatima.
Fat . Dearest and best, I did. How pale you look,
And how you speak!
Xim . I'll tell you bye and bye;
Not now, — not now.
Fat . Well, I have seen a man,
Was present at —
Xim . Rodrigo's taken?
Fat . No;
Escaped.
Xim . Escaped! Thank God! and yet I should not
Thank God.
Fat . Oh yes, you should: you should do everything
Your nature prompts you to
Xim . My father — my father!
You make me recollect, cousin, that he
Was now and then a little ungentle with you.
Fat . I never felt it half so much, as those
Ungentle words. But I'll forget them.
Xim . Do,
Pray do. I think, grief made Rodrigo cruel;
And then it bows me so, it makes me mean;
You know I utter desperate words at times,
And they revenge themselves — I will have justice;
Ay, you may look as wild as I do, cousin;
But I have asked it of the King already.
My father's — he, I mean, who said he loved me, —
Would have reproached me, and called me a bad child,
Had I not done it. — Fatima, — last night, I dreamt
My father slowly passed by my bedside;
An angel led him, one with silvery wings
And a grave happy face. I thought they trod
On clouds, though close to me; and as they went,
The angel said, " 'Tis painful to leave children:"
At which, methought, my father looked at me —
Oh, with so dreadful an indifferent face!
Not meant for such, — but just as if he passed
A stranger at a door, and answered, " Yes,
But I had none!" — And it is true;
No child; no, no; Rodrigo cut off father
And child at once, or she would not stay thus;
The slaughterer did not stay. I will have justice,
Justice, most proper justice.
Fat. O take patience.
You took it but just now.
Xim. I was too wretched,
Even to be impatient. But to hear
He has escaped, and I have scarcely stirred
In my great task meantime!
Fat. He has not quite
Escaped; not quite; he has escaped awhile;
But they may reach him yet
Xim. Who may?
Fat. The officers
Of justice
Xim. God forbid! I shall denounce him
Again, but not when present: no, not face
To face; nor even in my neighbourhood.
They will not find him: no, no; he is wise
As the serpent: — I thought him harmless as the dove.
Fat. But those who harbour him may give him up:
They may be told to do it: — a price may be
Set on his head.
Xim. A price upon his head!
Oh, I have gazed at it, until I thought
It made the air about it still and sacred.
Oh, blessed heaven! had but my father known
How I did love him! — Yes, yes, I alone,
I must denounce him; aye, and find him too,
I think I must do that. How can I do it?
Were he but here — .
Fat ( Hastily ). What would you do?
Xim. I'd take him
And throw this heap of tears and wretchedness
At the king's feet, and say, this is the man;
And I am sure I should have done all then,
For then my heart would break.
Rod. Behold him taken,
O that I could have flung down at your feet
My heart like shattered glass. And yet not so,
Ximena; for 'twould pain your eyes to see
Even me punished.
Xim. O that voice! that face!
What a most dreadful thing has happened, since
I saw it last; and not to be recalled, —
No more than infancy. How couldst thou come,
Killer! within these walls, and yet not fear
That they would crush thee? Dost thou know who lies
I' the room above us?
Rod. One in blest forgetfulness.
Xim. How couldst thou think of him, and come?
Rod. I thought
Scarcely of anything but thee; and came
For nothing but to do as I do now,
And so begone again, as I will straightly,
Unless you bid me die.
Xim. You thought not of me
Before, before.
Rod. I did, Heaven is my witness!
How could I not? And when my father, after
I had engaged to be his champion, spoke
The name of him to whose renowned sword
I was to oppose myself, the fear of thee
Alone smote on me. Ere I went, I prayed
For thee, and called on thee through blinding tears:
And when I saw thee in that dismal place,
I could have wept blood at thy father's feet
To turn his heart, but he —
Xim. Ay, boast of that;
Boast that you begged him, as they say you did,
In my behalf, and that he cared not for me.
Rod. I said not so. He was too proud to think
His life in any danger from my hand.
I'll fly yet, if I can, and live: — and let me
Say, while those tears loosen thy gentle heart,
That if Lozano's daughter, as she will,
Plead to the king against me, I do not think
In any case, that he would take my life.
Banished I may be, ever; and with those
Who knew some happy hopes which I was building
Here in Castile, and do not hate me as
A human being, 'twill be held enough.
Xim. Surely — I'll leave thee now. — Thou hast a wound.
Rod. I have, but 'tis not dangerous.
Xim. If it pain thee,
My cousin here —
Rod. I would it pained me more.
'Tis very bearable.
Xim. 'Twill be night-fall soon,
When thou canst go without the hazard of
Making me risk the safety of a guest.
Rod. 'Twill be a dark thick night; and, as I hoped,
Rainy and stormy. I shall thus go shrouded
Xim. Cousin, I'd say one word with you, before
You take your leave.
Fat. Now?
Xim. When you please.
Fat. Well, now;
I have no speech.
Rod. ( to F ATIMA ). I'll wait till you're at leisure —
Ximena!
Xim. Yes, I own here in the sight
Of Heaven, which pardons us our weaknesses,
That I must wish the task I have successless
And I could wish more, but I must not — no —
'Tis past. And if Rodrigo recollects,
He has been known to say, that in hard trials
Such as these are, they show the kindest hearts
Who keep abstaining looks, — who do not fret
The ear of sad necessity, nor show
They love their grief before another's quiet.
Rod. 'Tis well reminded. I'll not even thank you
For those kind words. If ever you should have
Your peace again, as I believe you will,
Being good and wise, I shall be told of it,
And pass the day-time lightly — I believe
'Twere right I should go first.
Xim. It must be spoken
It must; but wake not, thou dead angry one,
To hear it; nor do thou, Rodrigo, utter
One word in answer, but be dumb to the last,
And help me against thyself, when I declare
I love thee to the last; I do, as full
And quick as my tears run — Oh Lord, how much!
From this day forth, my life is as a life
Borne in a world from which the sun has gone,
A desolate and ever-raining twilight,
Drenching the downward heads of dreary hours,
That creep to their own funeral. — Away,
For I shall pain him; and I do, — being always
Of an inferior nature. Pardon me,
I cannot bear that smile; only not that;
There 's hope in it: — nay, pardon me again:
I owe your quietness thanks — now — now — he 's gone.
Loz . Nobody here — This is a stately place,
Fit for some great encounter.
Per . It was here
Mudarra fought with all that crowd at once.
Loz . Mudarra! So it was We paint our ancestors
Too stout, I fear, if he escaped so well
He was gigantic.
Per . Yes.
Loz . I wonder that
The king exchanges not his present house
For this, as he intended.
Per . There was something
Said of his coming here to-day to see it;
But it grows late.
Loz . Those Moors were singular architects,
Flowery and grand at once; arch, pile, and ornament,
Like mountain-building Nature. Is it not so?
Per . 'Tis true — Will you then fight, Count, if the son
Or father dare it?
Loz . Fight! 'Tis not called fighting,
When you put back a bough that scratches you,
Or ruffles in your face. 'Tis idle.
Enter R ODRIGO
Loz . Well, Sir,
You are alone? What message from your father,
The reverend old Count?
Per . Reverend! Old!
You have bethought yourself, it seems ( aside ) I saw her;
Great God! I saw her, as I came along;
And yet his presence makes me long to cut him
Down like a monster.
Loz . Youth, bethink yourself,
And state your errand briefly.
Rod . Count Lozano —
You have insulted a grey-headed man —
A man near eighty years of age, my father.
You struck him: yes, you suffered your strong hand
To fall on an old warrior, now grown helpless.
Loz . Well, young Sir.
Rod . Well! You should forget to use
That word in any way. I'll tell ye, Count;
My father has been intercepted by
A message from the King. I come instead,
To offer you the choice between a common
And an uncommon thing; the uncommon one
An honour to you, if you understand it;
The common one, a mere necessity.
Loz . I wait while you repeat your lesson
Rod . Have you
The spirit to undo a thing ill done?
Loz . What, you turn catechist! Your meaning, Sir.
Rod . Can you acknowledge to two noblemen
Whom you have done a wrong to, and dishonoured,
That you have done so?
Loz . Two! What mystery now?
Rod . You own to one: — the other is yourself.
Loz . Insolent minion!
Rod . 'Twas impossible,
I thought, that you should comprehend me. Well, Sir;
The alternative may still be understood.
Loz . Pray let us hear it
Rod . He to whom you gave
A blow, is old and helpless; I am his son.
Loz . What, would you trick me into another blow!
Rod . Trick you! The thought begins to make me doubt
Whether you have any the least sort of courage.
Loz . Away, boy: have you not forgotten yet
The smell of the red paint upon the handle
Of your toy sword?
Per . Let me, brave youth, advise you.
Rod . Advise your friend, Sir, if you think him one;
I say his valour 's equal to his knowledge.
Loz . Well, well; I should but turn the flat of my sword
Into a ferula, and teach the boy.
Rod . You teach me!
'Tis you that are the boy; you know not yet
Man's alphabet, one single jot of sentiment,
Nor how much magic strength it can put into
The weakest learner. Boy! By heaven, I tell you,
Your spirit is a child; and, were your body
As small, I'd take you here upon my knee,
And dandle you in pity.
Loz . Idle boy!
I've spoilt your house enough.
Rod . Then, since you're teachable
Neither by calmness, nor most just rebuke,
Nor seem to think there 's any way of teaching
But one, I'll meet your understanding Now; —
My father sends you this.
Loz . Back, Peranzules. This must be chastised.
Rod . Ay; and for your own sake, let me advise you,
Spare not the edge. ( Aside .) O that I yet could wound him
All but to death; — or else that I myself
Might — and yet then — Ximena! Father! Aye,
Mudarra and my father!
Loz . 'Tis better play than I expected.
Rod . Aye,
It makes you breathe a little, and look grave.
Enter X IMENA with F ATIMA hastily
Xim . Rodrigo Diaz! Father! For God's sake!
Loz . Cousin, convey away that foolish girl.
Rod . That terrible sweet sight again!
Loz . You're pale, Sir.
Rod . Sir, for the sake of your own child, be noble.
Loz . You seek a proper second in a girl
Entreat your life.
Enter D IEGO with Officers and Guards
Dieg . ( Crying aloud ). Me! me! I'll die instead.
Rod . Who talks of dying, father? Sit you down
Upon the stone of justice! Sit you down:
I am not breathed yet.
So you seek my life
At last, now stoop to that old reverend man,
Or I shall make you.
Loz . Scorn upon you, both! —
Have I not bowed him down too low for any
But his own child to stoop to? Fall, and see —
By heavens, I'm fiercely wounded.
Rod . To the heart!
Pardon him, Sir, for he 's a dying man.
Dieg . He asks it not.
Rod . Then pity him the more,
For more his folly wants it.
Dieg . Fly, my son;
Fly, and I will.
Dieg . ( holding his hands over L OZANO ). I do pardon thee,
Thou low-laid man, at my great son's request.
Loz . Heap of dishonour! Hide — I die in the faith.
Enter X IMENA wildly
Xim . I'll die! There 's some one dead! — I should have told it —
And now I'll tell it all — my heart — I — Father !
Scene [IV] — A Room in the late Count's Palace. Enter F ATIMA from a door opposite the stage, listening, and looking cautiously about her .
Fat . She comes.
Enter X IMENA
Xim . You missed me, I fear, Fatima.
Fat . Dearest and best, I did. How pale you look,
And how you speak!
Xim . I'll tell you bye and bye;
Not now, — not now.
Fat . Well, I have seen a man,
Was present at —
Xim . Rodrigo's taken?
Fat . No;
Escaped.
Xim . Escaped! Thank God! and yet I should not
Thank God.
Fat . Oh yes, you should: you should do everything
Your nature prompts you to
Xim . My father — my father!
You make me recollect, cousin, that he
Was now and then a little ungentle with you.
Fat . I never felt it half so much, as those
Ungentle words. But I'll forget them.
Xim . Do,
Pray do. I think, grief made Rodrigo cruel;
And then it bows me so, it makes me mean;
You know I utter desperate words at times,
And they revenge themselves — I will have justice;
Ay, you may look as wild as I do, cousin;
But I have asked it of the King already.
My father's — he, I mean, who said he loved me, —
Would have reproached me, and called me a bad child,
Had I not done it. — Fatima, — last night, I dreamt
My father slowly passed by my bedside;
An angel led him, one with silvery wings
And a grave happy face. I thought they trod
On clouds, though close to me; and as they went,
The angel said, " 'Tis painful to leave children:"
At which, methought, my father looked at me —
Oh, with so dreadful an indifferent face!
Not meant for such, — but just as if he passed
A stranger at a door, and answered, " Yes,
But I had none!" — And it is true;
No child; no, no; Rodrigo cut off father
And child at once, or she would not stay thus;
The slaughterer did not stay. I will have justice,
Justice, most proper justice.
Fat. O take patience.
You took it but just now.
Xim. I was too wretched,
Even to be impatient. But to hear
He has escaped, and I have scarcely stirred
In my great task meantime!
Fat. He has not quite
Escaped; not quite; he has escaped awhile;
But they may reach him yet
Xim. Who may?
Fat. The officers
Of justice
Xim. God forbid! I shall denounce him
Again, but not when present: no, not face
To face; nor even in my neighbourhood.
They will not find him: no, no; he is wise
As the serpent: — I thought him harmless as the dove.
Fat. But those who harbour him may give him up:
They may be told to do it: — a price may be
Set on his head.
Xim. A price upon his head!
Oh, I have gazed at it, until I thought
It made the air about it still and sacred.
Oh, blessed heaven! had but my father known
How I did love him! — Yes, yes, I alone,
I must denounce him; aye, and find him too,
I think I must do that. How can I do it?
Were he but here — .
Fat ( Hastily ). What would you do?
Xim. I'd take him
And throw this heap of tears and wretchedness
At the king's feet, and say, this is the man;
And I am sure I should have done all then,
For then my heart would break.
Rod. Behold him taken,
O that I could have flung down at your feet
My heart like shattered glass. And yet not so,
Ximena; for 'twould pain your eyes to see
Even me punished.
Xim. O that voice! that face!
What a most dreadful thing has happened, since
I saw it last; and not to be recalled, —
No more than infancy. How couldst thou come,
Killer! within these walls, and yet not fear
That they would crush thee? Dost thou know who lies
I' the room above us?
Rod. One in blest forgetfulness.
Xim. How couldst thou think of him, and come?
Rod. I thought
Scarcely of anything but thee; and came
For nothing but to do as I do now,
And so begone again, as I will straightly,
Unless you bid me die.
Xim. You thought not of me
Before, before.
Rod. I did, Heaven is my witness!
How could I not? And when my father, after
I had engaged to be his champion, spoke
The name of him to whose renowned sword
I was to oppose myself, the fear of thee
Alone smote on me. Ere I went, I prayed
For thee, and called on thee through blinding tears:
And when I saw thee in that dismal place,
I could have wept blood at thy father's feet
To turn his heart, but he —
Xim. Ay, boast of that;
Boast that you begged him, as they say you did,
In my behalf, and that he cared not for me.
Rod. I said not so. He was too proud to think
His life in any danger from my hand.
I'll fly yet, if I can, and live: — and let me
Say, while those tears loosen thy gentle heart,
That if Lozano's daughter, as she will,
Plead to the king against me, I do not think
In any case, that he would take my life.
Banished I may be, ever; and with those
Who knew some happy hopes which I was building
Here in Castile, and do not hate me as
A human being, 'twill be held enough.
Xim. Surely — I'll leave thee now. — Thou hast a wound.
Rod. I have, but 'tis not dangerous.
Xim. If it pain thee,
My cousin here —
Rod. I would it pained me more.
'Tis very bearable.
Xim. 'Twill be night-fall soon,
When thou canst go without the hazard of
Making me risk the safety of a guest.
Rod. 'Twill be a dark thick night; and, as I hoped,
Rainy and stormy. I shall thus go shrouded
Xim. Cousin, I'd say one word with you, before
You take your leave.
Fat. Now?
Xim. When you please.
Fat. Well, now;
I have no speech.
Rod. ( to F ATIMA ). I'll wait till you're at leisure —
Ximena!
Xim. Yes, I own here in the sight
Of Heaven, which pardons us our weaknesses,
That I must wish the task I have successless
And I could wish more, but I must not — no —
'Tis past. And if Rodrigo recollects,
He has been known to say, that in hard trials
Such as these are, they show the kindest hearts
Who keep abstaining looks, — who do not fret
The ear of sad necessity, nor show
They love their grief before another's quiet.
Rod. 'Tis well reminded. I'll not even thank you
For those kind words. If ever you should have
Your peace again, as I believe you will,
Being good and wise, I shall be told of it,
And pass the day-time lightly — I believe
'Twere right I should go first.
Xim. It must be spoken
It must; but wake not, thou dead angry one,
To hear it; nor do thou, Rodrigo, utter
One word in answer, but be dumb to the last,
And help me against thyself, when I declare
I love thee to the last; I do, as full
And quick as my tears run — Oh Lord, how much!
From this day forth, my life is as a life
Borne in a world from which the sun has gone,
A desolate and ever-raining twilight,
Drenching the downward heads of dreary hours,
That creep to their own funeral. — Away,
For I shall pain him; and I do, — being always
Of an inferior nature. Pardon me,
I cannot bear that smile; only not that;
There 's hope in it: — nay, pardon me again:
I owe your quietness thanks — now — now — he 's gone.
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