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_ ACT III - SCENE II
Chamber in the Royal Palace.
The INFANTA seated in despondency; the KING standing by her side.
KING.
Indeed, 'tis noticed.
SOL.
Solitude is all
I ask; and is it then so great a boon?
KING.
Nay, solitude's no princely appanage.
Our state's a pedestal, which men have raised
That they may gaze on greatness.
SOL.
A false idol,
And weaker than its worshippers. I've lived
To feel my station's vanity. O, Death,
Thou endest all!
KING.
Thou art too young to die,
And yet may be too happy. Moody youth
Toys in its talk with the dark thought of death,
As if to die were but to change a robe.
It is their present refuge for all cares
And each disaster. When the sere has touched
Their flowing locks, they prattle less of death,
Perchance think more of it.
SOL.
Why, what is greatness?
Will't give me love, or faith, or tranquil thoughts?
No, no, not even justice.
KING.
'Tis thyself
That does thyself injustice. Let the world
Have other speculation than the breach
Of our unfilled vows. They bear too near
And fine affinity to what we would,
Ay, what we will. I would not choose this moment,
Men brood too curiously upon the cause
Of the late rupture, for the cause detected
May bar the consequence.
SOL.
A day, an hour
Sufficed to crush me. Weeks and weeks pass on
Since I was promised right.
KING.
Take thou my sceptre
And do thyself this right. Is't, then, so easy?
SOL.
Let him who did the wrong, contrive the means
Of his atonement.
KING.
All a father can,
I have performed.
SOL.
Ah! then there is no hope.
The Bishop of Ossuna, you did say
He was the learnedest clerk of Christendom,
And you would speak to him?
KING.
What says Alarcos?
SOL.
I spoke not to him since I first received
His princely pledge.
KING.
Call on him to fulfil it.
SOL.
Can he do more than kings?
KING.
Yes, he alone;
Alone it rests with him. This learn from me.
There is no other let.
SOL.
I learn from thee
What other lips should tell me.
KING.
Girl, art sure
Of this same lover?
SOL.
O! I'll never doubt him.
KING.
And yet may be deceived.
SOL.
He is as true
As talismanic steel.
KING.
Why, then thou art,
At least thou should'st be, happy. Smile, Solisa;
For since the Count is true, there is no bar.
Why dost not smile?
SOL.
I marvel that Alarcos
Hath been so mute on this.
KING.
But thou art sure
He is most true.
SOL.
Why should I deem him true?
Have I found truth in any? Woe is me,
I feel as one quite doomed. I know not why
I ever was ill-omened.
KING.
Listen, girl;
Probe this same lover to the core; 'tmay be,
I think he is, most true; he should be so
If there be faith in vows, and men ne'er break
The pledge its profits them to keep. And yet--
SOL.
And what?
KING.
To be his Sovereign's cherished friend,
And smiled on by the daughter of his King,
Why that might profit him, and please so much,
His wife's ill humour might be borne withal.
SOL.
You think him false?
KING.
I think he might be true:
But when a man's well placed, he loves not change.
[Enter at the back of the Scene Count ALARCOS disguised.
He advances, dropping his Hat and Cloak.]
Ah, gentle cousin, all our thoughts were thine.
ALAR.
I marvel men should think. Lady, I'll hope
Thy thoughts are like thyself, most fair.
KING.
Her thoughts
Are like her fortunes, lofty, but around
The peaks cling vapours.
ALAR.
Eagles live in clouds,
And they draw royal breath.
KING.
I'd have her quit,
This strange seclusion, cousin. Give thine aid
To festive purposes.
ALAR.
A root, an egg,
Why there's a feast with a holy mind.
KING.
If ever
I find my seat within a hermitage,
I'll think the same.
ALAR.
You have built shrines, sweet lady?
SOL.
What then, my lord?
ALAR.
Why then you might be worshipped,
If your image were in front; I'd bow down
To anything so fair.
KING.
Dost know, my cousin,
Who waits me now? The deputies from Murcia.
The realm is ours,
[whispers him]
is thine.
ALAR.
The church has realms
Wider than both Castilles. But which of them
Will be our lot; that's it.
KING.
Mine own Solisa,
They wait me in my cabinet;
[aside to her]
Bethink thee
With whom all rests.
[Exit the KING.]
SOL.
You had sport to-day, my lord?
The King was at the chace.
ALAR.
I breathed my barb.
SOL.
They say the chace hath charm to cheer the spirit,
ALAR.
'Tis better than prayers.
SOL.
Indeed, I think I'll hunt.
You and my father seem so passing gay.
ALAR.
Why this is no confessional, no shrine
Haunted with presaged gloom. I should be gay
To look at thee and listen to thy voice;
For if fair pictures and sweet sounds enchant
The soul of man, that are but artifice,
How then am I entranced, this living picture
Bright by my side, and listening to this music
That nature gave thee. What's eternal life
To this inspired mortality! Let priests
And pontiffs thunder, still I feel that here
Is all my joy.
SOL.
Ah! why not say thy woe?
Who stands between thee and thy rights but me?
Who stands between thee and thine ease but me?
Who bars thy progress, brings thee cares, but me?
Lures thee to impossible contracts, goads thy faith
To mad performance, welcomes thee with sighs,
And parts from them with tears? Is this joy? No!
I am thine evil genius.
ALAR.
Say my star
Of inspiration. This reality
Baffles their mystic threats. Who talks of cares?
Why, what's a Prince, if his imperial will
Be bitted by a priest! There's nought impossible.
Thy sighs are sighs of love, and all thy tears
But affluent tenderness.
SOL.
You sing as sweet
As did the syrens; is it from the heart,
Or from the lips, that voice?
ALAR.
Solisa!
SOL.
Ay!
My ear can catch a treacherous tone; 'tis trained
To perfidy. My Lord Alarcos, look me
Straight in the face. He quails not.
ALAR.
O my soul,
Is this the being for whose love I've pledged
Even thy forfeit!
SOL.
Alarcos, dear Alarcos,
Look not so stern! I'm mad; yes, yes, my life
Upon thy truth; I know thou'rt true: he said
It rested but with thee; I said it not,
Nor thought it.
ALAR.
Lady!
SOL.
Not that voice!
ALAR.
I'll know
Thy thought; the King hath spoken?
SOL.
Words of joy
And madness. With thyself alone he says
It rests.
ALAR.
Nor said he more?
SOL.
It had found me deaf,
For he touched hearings quick.
ALAR.
Thy faith in me
Hath gone.
SOL.
I'll doubt our shrined miracles
Before I doubt Alarcos.
ALAR.
He'll believe thee,
For at this moment he has much to endure,
And that he could not.
SOL.
And yet I must choose
This time to vex thee. O, I am the curse
And blight of the existence, which to bless
Is all my thought! Alarcos, dear Alarcos,
I pray thee pardon me. I am so wretched:
This fell suspense is like a frightful dream
Wherein we fall from heights, yet never reach
The bottomless abyss. It wastes my spirit,
Wears down my life, gnaws ever at my heart,
Makes my brain quick when others are asleep,
And dull when theirs is active. O, Alarcos,
I could lie down and die.
ALAR.
[Advancing in soliloquy.]
Asleep, awake,
In dreams, and in the musing moods that wait
On unfulfilled purposes, I've done it;
And thought upon it afterwards, nor shrunk
From the fell retrospect.
SOL.
He's wrapped in thought;
Indeed his glance was wild when first he entered,
And his speech lacked completeness.
ALAR.
How is it then,
The body that should be the viler part,
And made for servile uses, should rebel
'Gainst the mind's mandate, and should hold its aid
Aloof from our adventure? Why the sin
Is in the thought, not in the deed; 'tis not
The body pays the penalty, the soul
Must clear that awful scot. What palls my arm?
It is not pity; trumpet-tongued ambition
Stifles her plaintive voice; it is not love,
For that inspires the blow! Art thou Solisa?
SOL.
I am that luckless maiden whom you love.
ALAR.
You could lie down and die. Who speaks of death?
There is no absolution for self-murder.
Why 'tis the greater sin of the two. There is
More peril in't. What, sleep upon your post
Because you are wearied? No, we must spy on
And watch occasions. Even now they are ripe.
I feel a turbulent throbbing at my heart
Will end in action: for there spiritual tumults
Herald great deeds.
SOL.
It is the church's scheme
Ever to lengthen suits.
ALAR.
The church?
SOL.
Ossana
Leans much to Rome.
ALAR.
And how concerns us that?
SOL.
His Grace spoke to the Bishop, you must know?
ALAR.
Ah, yes! his Grace, the church, it is our friend.
And truly should be so. It gave our griefs,
And it should bear their balm.
SOL.
Hast pardoned me
That I was querulous? But lovers crossed
Wrangle with those that love them, as it were,
To spite affection.
ALAR.
We are bound together
As the twin powers of the storm. Very love
Now makes me callous. The great bond is sealed;
Look bright; if gloomy, mortgage future bliss
For present comfort. Trust me 'tis good 'surance.
I'll to the King.
[Exeunt both.] _
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