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ACT THE FIRST.
THE SEA-SHORE, WITH PRECIPITOUS CLIFFS.
SCENE I.
The King EGERIUS, clad in skins, LEOGAIRE, POLONIA, LESBIA, and a Captain.
KING [furious]. Here let me die. Away!
LEOGAIRE. Oh, stop, my lord!
CAPTAIN. Consider . . .
LESBIA. Listen . . .
POLONIA. Stay . . .
KING. Yes, from this rocky height, Nigh to the sun, that with one starry light Its rugged brow doth crown, Headlong among the salt waves leaping down Let him descend who so much pain perceives; There let him raging die who raging lives.
LESBIA. Why wildly seekest thou the sea?
POLONIA. Thou wert asleep, my lord; what could it be?
KING. Every torment that doth dwell For ever with the thirsty fiends of hell -- Dark brood of that dread mother, The seven-necked snake, whose poisoned breath doth smother The fourth celestial sphere; In fine, its horror and its misery drear Within me reach so far, That I myself upon myself make war, When in the arms of sleep A living corse am I, for it doth keep Such mastery o`er my life, that, as I dream, A pale foreshadowing threat of coming death I seem.
POLONIA. How could a dream, my lord, provoke you so?
KING. Alas! my daughters, listen, you shall know. From out the lips of a most lovely youth (And though a miserable slave, in sooth I dare not hurt him, and I speak his praise), Well, from the mouth of a poor slave, a blaze Of lambent lustre came, Which mildly burned in rays of gentlest flame; Till reaching you, The living fire at once consumed ye two. I stood betwixt ye both, and though I sought To stay its fury, the strange fire would not Molest or wound me, passing like the wind, So that despairing, blind, I woke from out a deep abysm Of dream, a lethargy, a paroxysm; But find my pains the same, For still it seems to me I see that flame, And flying, at every turn See you consumed; but now I also burn.*
[footnote] *The Dream of Egerius, as given by Calderon, agrees substantially with Jocelin`s description, and differs only in one slight particular (the number of the flames) from that in Montalvan`s "Vida y Purgatorio de San Patricio". In the latter, the name of the Irish prince to whom Patrick was sold is not given; in Jocelin he is called "Milcho." Calderon was either ignorant of this, and gave the king a name that was purely imaginary, or, considering it less musical than he would wish, gave him the more harmonious one of Egerio. The following is Jocelin`s version: "And Milcho beheld a vision in the night: and behold Patrick entered his palace as all on fire, and the flames, issuing from his mouth, and from his nose, and from his eyes, and from his ears, seemed to burn him; but Milcho repelled from himself the flaming hair of the boy, nor did it prevail to touch him any nearer; but the flame, being spread, turned aside to the right and catching on his two little daughters, who were lying in one bed, burned them even to ashes: then the south wind blowing strongly dispersed their ashes over many parts of Ireland." -- "Jocelin`s Life of St. Patrick, translated by Swift" (Dublin, 1804), pp. 17, 18.
LESBIA. Light phantoms these, Chimeras which an entrance find with ease Into the dreamer`s brain. [A trumpet sounds. But wherefore sounds this trumpet?
CAPTAIN. It is plain Ships are approaching to our port below.
POLONIA. Grant me thy leave, great lord, since thou dost know A trumpet in my ear Sounds like a siren`s voice, serene and clear; Ever to war inclined, In martial music my chief joy I find; Its clangour and its din Lead my rapt senses on: for I may win Through it my highest fame, When soaring to the sun on waves of flame, Or wings as swift, my proud name shall ascend, There it may be with Pallas to contend. [Aside. A stronger motive urges me to go: If it is Philip`s ship I wish to know. [Exit.
LEOGAIRE. Descend, my lord, with me Down where the foam-curled head of the blue sea Bows at the base of this majestic hill, Whose sands, like chains of gold, restrain its wilder will.
CAPTAIN. Let it divert thy care, This snow-white monster fair, Whose waves of dazzling hue Shape silver frames round mirrors sapphire blue.
KING. Nothing can give relief; Nothing can now divert me from my grief; That mystic fire will give my life no rest,-- My heart an Etna seems within my breast.
LESBIA. Is any sight more fair? can aught surpass That of a vessel breaking through the glass Of crystal seas, and seeming there to be, As with light share it cuts the azure mass, A fish of the wind, a swift bird of the sea, And being for two elements designed, Flies in the wave and swims upon the wind? But now no witchery Were it to any eyes that sight to see; For lo! the roused-up ocean, Heaving with all its mountain waves in motion, Wrinkles its haughty brow, And suddenly awaking, Neptune, his trident shaking, Ruffles the beauteous face so sweet and calm but now. Well may the sailor in his floating home Expect a storm, for, lo! in heaven`s high vault Rise pyramids of ice, mountains of salt, Turrets of snow, and palaces of foam.
POLONIA returns.
POLONIA. O dire misfortune!
KING. What so suddenly Has chanced, Polonia?
POLONIA. This inconstant sea, This Babel of wild waves that seeks heaven`s gate, So great its fury, and its rage so great, Driven by a drought accursed, (Who would have thought that waves themselves could thirst?) Has swallowed in the depths of its dread womb, But now, a numerous company, to whom It consecrates below Red sepulchres of coral, tombs of snow, In silver-shining caves; For from their prison out o`er all the waves Has Aeolus the winds let loose, and they, Without a law to guide them on their way, Fell on that bark from which the trumpet rang, A swan whose own sad obsequies it sang. I from that cliff`s stupendous height, Which dares to intercept the great sun`s light, Looked full of hope along that vessel`s track, To see if it was Philip who came back; Philip whose flag had borne upon the breeze Thy royal arms triumphant through the seas; When his sad wreck swept by, And every sound was buried in a sigh, His ruin seemed not wrought by seas or skies, But by my lips and eyes, Because my cries, the tears that made me blind, Increased still more the water and the wind.
KING. How! ye immortal deities, Would you still try by threatenings such as these What I can bear? Is it your wish that I should mount and tear This azure palace down, as if the shape Of a new Nimrod* I assumed, to show How on my shoulders might the world escape, Nor as I gazed below Feel any fear, though all the abysses under Were rent with fire and flame, with lightning and with thunder.
[footnote] *Nimrod is here used for Atlas. "Nimrod aber ist hier, was den Profandichtern und auch dem Calderon oft Atlas ist." -- Schmidt, `Die Schauspiele Calderon`s` etc.,` p. 426.
* * * * *
SCENE II.
PATRICK, and then LUIS ENIUS.
PATRICK [within]. Ah me!
LEOGAIRE. Some mournful voice.
KING. What`s this?
CAPTAIN. The form, As of a man who has escaped the storm, Swims yonder to the land.
LESBIA. And strives to give a life-sustaining hand Unto another wretch, when he Appeared about to sink in death`s last agony.
POLONIA. Poor traveller from afar, Whom evil fate and thy malignant star On this far shore have cast, Let my voice guide thee, if amid the blast My accents thou canst hear; since it is only To rouse thy courage that I speak to thee. Come!
[Enter PATRICK and LUIS ENIUS, clasping each other.
PATRICK. Oh, God save me!
LUIS. Oh, the devil save ME!
LESBIA. They move my pity, these unhappy two.
KING. Not mine, for what it is I never knew.
PATRICK. Oh, sirs, if wretchedness Can move most hearts to pity man`s distress, I will not think that here A heart can be so cruel and severe As to repel a wretch from out the wave. Pity, for God`s sake, at your feet I crave.
LUIS. I don`t, for I disdain it. From God or man I never hope to gain it.
KING. Say who you are; we then shall know What hospitable care your needs we owe. But first I will inform you of my name, Lest ignorance of that perchance might claim Exemption from respect, and words be said Unworthy of the deference and the dread That here my subjects show me, Or wanting the due homage that you owe me. I am the King Egerius, The worthy lord of this small realm, for thus I call it being mine; Till `tis the world, my sword shall not resign Its valorous hope. The dress, Not of a king, but of wild savageness I wear: to testify, Thus seeming a wild beast, how wild am I. No god my worship claims; I do not even know the deities` names: Here they no service nor respect receive; To die and to be born is all that we believe. Now that you know how much you should revere My royal state, say who you are.
PATRICK. Then hear: Patrick is my name, my country Ireland, and an humble hamlet,* Scarcely known to men, called Empthor,** Is my place of birth: It standeth Midway `twixt the north and west, On a mountain which is guarded As a prison by the sea,-- In the island which hereafter Will be called the Isle of Saints, To its glory everlasting; Such a crowd, great lord, therein Will give up their lives as martyrs In religious attestation Of the faith, faith`s highest marvel. Of an Irish cavalier, And of his chaste spouse and partner, A French lady, I was born, Unto whom I owe (oh, happy That `twas so!), beyond my birthright Of nobility, the vantage Of the Christian faith, the light Of Christ`s true religion granted In the sacred rite of baptism, Which a mark indelibly stampeth On the soul, heaven`s gate, as it Is the sacrament first granted By the Church. My pious parents, Having thus the debt exacted From all married people paid By my birth, retired thereafter To two separate convents, where In the purity and calmness Of their chaste abodes they lived, Till the fatal line of darkness, Ending life, was reached, and they, Fortified by every practice Of the Catholic faith, in peace Yielded up their souls in gladness, Unto heaven their spirits giving, Giving unto earth their ashes. I, an orphan, then remained Carefully and kindly guarded By a very holy matron, Underneath whose rule I hardly Had completed one brief lustrum -- Five short years had scarce departed -- Five bright circles of the sun Wheeling round on golden axles, Twelve high zodiac signs illuming And one earthly sphere, when happened Through me an event that showed God`s omnipotence and marvels; Since of weakest instruments God makes use of, to enhance his Majesty the more, to show That for what men think the grandest And most strange effects, to Him Should alone the praise be granted.-- It so happened, and Heaven knoweth That it is not pride, but rather Pure religious zeal, that men Should know how the Lord hath acted, Makes me tell it, that one day To my doors a blind man rambled, Gormas was his name, who said, "God who sends me here commands thee In His name to give me sight;" I, obedient to the mandate, Made at once the sign of the cross On his sightless eyes, that started Into life and light once more From their state of utter darkness. At another time when heaven, Muffled in the thickest, blackest Clouds, made war upon the world, Hurling at it lightning lances Of white snow, which fell so thickly On a mountain, that soon after They being melted by the sun, So filled up our streets and alleys, So inundated our houses, That amid the wild waves stranded They were ships of bricks and stones, Barks of cement and of plaster. Who before saw waves on mountains? Who `mid woods saw ships at anchor? I the sign of the cross then made On the waters, and in accents, In a tone of grave emotion, In God`s name the waves commanded To retire: they turned that moment And left dry the lands they ravaged. Oh, great God! who will not praise Thee? Who will not confess Thee Master?-- Other wonders I could tell you, But my modesty throws shackles On my tongue, makes mute my voice, And my lips seals up and fastens. I grew up, in fine, inclined Less to arms than to the marvels Knowledge can reveal: I gave me Almost wholly up to master Sacred Science, to the reading Of the Lives of Saints, a practice Which doth teach us faith, hope, zeal, Charity and Christian manners. In these studies thus immersed, I one day approached the margin Of the sea with some young friends, Fellow-students and companions, When a bark drew nigh, from which Suddenly out-leaping landed Armed men, fierce pirates they, Who these seas, these islands, ravaged; We at once were captives made, And in order not to hazard Losing us their prey, they sailed Out to sea with swelling canvas. Of this daring pirate boat Philip de Roqui was the captain, In whose breast, for his destruction, Pride, the poisonous weed, was planted. He the Irish seas and coast Having thus for some days ravaged, Taking property and life, Pillaging our homes and hamlets; But myself alone reserved To be offered as a vassal, As a slave to thee, O king! In thy presence as he fancied. Oh! how ignorant is man, When of God`s wise laws regardless, When, without consulting Him, He his future projects planneth! Philip well, at sea might say so; Since to-day, in sight of land here, Heaven the while being all serene, Mild the air, the water tranquil, In an instant, in a moment, He beheld his proud hopes blasted. In the hollow-breasted waves Roared the wind, the sea grew maddened, Billows upon billows rolled Mountain high, and wildly dashed them Wet against the sun, as if They its light would quench and darken. The poop-lantern of our ship Seemed a comet most erratic -- Seemed a moving exhalation, Or a star from space outstarted; At another time it touched The profoundest deep sea-caverns, Or the treacherous sands whereon Ran the stately ship and parted. Then the fatal waves became Monuments of alabaster, Tombs of coral and of pearl. I (and why this boon was granted Unto me by Heaven I know not, Being so useless), with expanded Arms, struck out, but not alone My own life to save, nay rather In the attempt to save this brave Young man here, that life to barter; For I know not by what secret Instinct towards him I`m attracted; And I think he yet will pay me Back this debt with interest added. Finally, through Heaven`s great pity We at length have happily landed, Where my misery may expect it, Or my better fate may grant it; Since we are your slaves and servants, That being moved by our disasters, That being softened by our weeping, Our sore plight may melt your hardness, Our affliction force your kindness, And our very pains command you.***
[footnote] * The asonante in a -- e, or their vocal equivalents, commences here, and is continued to the commencement of the speech of Enius, when it changes to the asonante in e -- e, which is kept up through the remainder of the Scene, and to the end of Scene III.
[footnote] ** "Empthor" -- see note on this name.
[footnote] *** See note for some extracts from Montalvan`s "Vida y Purgaterio de San Patricio".
KING. Silence, miserable Christian, For my very soul seems fastened On thy words, compelling me, How I know not, to regard thee With strange reverence and fear, Thinking thou must be that vassal -- That poor slave whom in my dream I beheld outbreathing flashes, Saw outflashing living fire, In whose flame, so lithe and lambent, My Polonia and my Lesbia Like poor moths were burned to ashes.
PATRICK. Know, the flame that from my mouth Issued, is the true Evangel, Is the doctrine of the Gospel:-- `Tis the word which I`m commanded Unto thee to preach, O King! To thy subjects and thy vassals, To thy daughters, who shall be Christians through its means.
KING. Cease, fasten Thy presumptuous lips, vile Christian, For thy words insult and stab me.
LESBIA. Stay!
POLONIA. And wilt thou in thy pity Try to save him from his anger?
LESBIA. Yes.
POLONIA. Forbear, and let him die.
LESBIA. Thus to die by a king`s hands here Were unjust. [Aside.] (It is my pity For these Christians prompts my answer.)
POLONIA. If this second Joseph then, Like the first one, would unravel, Would interpret the king`s dreams, Do not dread the result, my father; For if my being seen to burn Indicates in any manner I should ever be a Christian, As impossible a marvel Such would be, as if, being dead, I could rise and live thereafter. But in order that your mind May be turned from such just anger, Let us hear now who this other Stranger is.
LUIS. Then be attentive, Beautiful divinity, For my history thus commences:-- Great Egerius, King of Ireland, I by name am Luis Enius, And a Christian also, this Being the sole point of resemblance Betwixt Patrick and myself, Yet a difference presenting: For although we two are Christians, So distinct and so dissevered Are we, that not good from evil Is more opposite in its essence. Yet for all that, in defence Of the faith I believe and reverence, I would lose a thousand lives (Such the esteem for it I cherish). Yes, by God! The oath alone Shows how firmly I confess Him. I no pious tales or wonders, Worked in my behalf by Heaven, Have to speak of: no; dark crimes, Robberies, murders, sacrileges, Treasons, treacheries, betrayals, Must I tell instead, however Vain it be in me to glory In my having such effected. I in one of Ireland`s many Isles was born; the planets seven, I suspect, in wild abnormal Interchange of influences, Must have at my hapless birth-time All their various gifts presented. Fickleness the Moon implanted In my nature; subtle Hermes With and genius ill-employed; (Better ne`er to have possessed them); Wanton Venus gave me passions -- All the flatteries of the senses, And stern Mars a cruel mind (Mars and Venus both together What will they not give?); the Sun Gave to me an easy temper, Prone to spend, and when means failed me Theft and robbery were my helpers; Jupiter presumptuous pride, Thoughts fantastic and unfettered, Gave me; Saturn, rage and anger, Valour and a will determined On its ends; and from such causes Followed the due consequences. Here from Ireland being banished, By a cause I do not mention Through respect to him, my father Came to Perpignan, and settled In that Spanish town, when I Scarce my first ten years had ended, And when sixteen came, he died. May God rest his soul in heaven!-- Orphaned, I remained the prey Of my passions and my pleasures, O`er whose tempting plain I ran Without rein or curb to check me. The two poles of my existence, On which all the rest depended For support, were play and women. What a base on which to rest me! Here my tongue would not be able To acquaint you `in extenso` With my actions: a brief abstract May, however, be attempted. I, to outrage a young maiden, Stabbed to death a noble elder, Her own father: for the sake Of his wife, a most respected Cavalier I slew, as he Lay beside her in the helpless State of sleep, his honour bathing In his blood, the bed presenting A sad theatre of crimes, Murder and adultery blended. Thus the father and the husband Life for honour`s sake surrendered; For even honour has its martyrs. May God rest their souls in heaven!-- Dreading punishment for this, I fled hastily, and entered France, where my exploits, methinks, Time will cease not to remember; For, assisting in the wars Which at that time were contended Bravely betwixt France and England, I took military service Under Stephen, the French king, And a fight which chance presented Showed my courage to be such, That the king himself, as guerdon Of my valour, gave to me The commission of an ensign. How that debt I soon repaid, I prefer not now to tell thee. Back to Perpignan, thus honoured, I returned, and having entered Once a guard-house there to play, For some trifle I lost temper, Struck a serjeant, killed a captain, And maimed others there assembled. At the cries from every quarter Speedily the watch collected, And in flying to a church, As they hurried to prevent me, I a catch-pole killed. (`Twas something One good work to have effected `Mid so many that were bad.) May God rest his soul in heaven!-- Far I fled into the country, And asylum found and shelter In a convent of religious, Which was founded in that desert, Where I lived retired and hidden, Well taken care of and attended. For a lady there, a nun, Was my cousin, which connection Gave to her the special burden Of this care. My heart already Being a basilisk which turned All the honey into venom, Passing swiftly from mere liking To desire -- that monster ever Feeding on the impossible -- Living fire that with intensest Fury burns when most opposed -- Flame the wind revives and strengthens, False, deceitful, treacherous foe Which doth murder its possessor -- In a word, desire in him, Who nor God nor law respecteth, Of the horrible, of the shocking, Thinks but only to attempt it.-- Yes, I dared . . . . But here disturbed, When, my lord, I this remember, Mute the voice in horror fails, Sad the accent faints and trembles, And as `mid the night`s dark shadows, The hair stands on end through terror; Thus confused, so full of doubt, Sad remembrance so o`erwhelms me, That the thing I dared to do I scarce dare in words to tell thee. For, in fine, my crime is such, So to be abhorred, detested, So profane, so sacrilegious (Strange upon thee so to press it), That for having such committed I at times feel some repentance. Well, in fine, I dared one night, When deep silence had erected Sepulchres of fleeting sleep For men`s overwearied senses, When a dark and cloudy veil Heaven had o`er its face extended -- Mourning which the wind assumed For the sun whose life had ended -- In whose obsequies the night-birds Swan-notes sang instead of verses, And when back from waves of sapphire, Where their beauty was reflected, The clear stars a second time Trembling lights to heaven presented:-- Well, on such a night, by climbing O`er the garden wall, I entered With the assistance of two friends (For when such things are attempted An associate never fails), And in horror and in terror, Seeking in the dark my death, Reached at length the cell (I tremble To remember it) in which Was my cousin, whom respectful Silence bids me not to name, Though all self-respect has left me. Frightened at such nameless horror, On the hard floor she fell senseless, When she passed into my arms, And ere she regained her senses, She already was outside Her asylum, in a desert, When if heaven possessed the power, It had not the will to help her. Women, when they are persuaded That the wildest of excesses Are the effects of love, forgive them Easily; and, therefore, pleasure Following tears, some consolation In her miseries was effected; Though, in fact, they were so great, That united in one person She saw violence, violation, Incest, nay, adultery even, Against God who was her spouse, And a sacrilege most dreadful. Finally we left that place, Being carried to Valencia By two steeds that well might claim From the winds to be descended: Feigning that she was my wife, But with little peace we dwelt there; For I quickly having squandered Whatsoever little treasure I brought with me, without friends, p 260 Without any hope of help there, In my dire distress appealed To the beauty still so perfect Of my poor pretended wife: If for aught I did I ever Could feel shame, this act alone Would most surely overwhelm me; Since it is the lowest baseness That the vilest breast descends to, To put up to sale one`s honour, And to trade in love`s caresses. Scarce with shameless front had I This base plan to her suggested, When concealing her design She gave seeming acquiescence; But I scarce had turned my back, Hardly had I left her presence, When she, flying from me, found Grace a convent`s walls to enter. There, a holy monk advising, She a saving port and shelter Found against the world`s wild storms, And there died, her sin, her penance, Giving all a great example; May God rest her soul in heaven!-- Seeing that the narrow world Now took note of my offences, And that soon the very land Might reject me, I determined To re-seek my native country; For at least I there expected To be safer from my foes, In a place so long my centre And my home. The way I took And to Ireland came, which welcomed Me at first as would a mother, But a step-mother resembled Before long, for seeking a passage Where a harbour lay protected By a mole, I found that corsairs Lay concealed within the shelter Of a little creek which his Out of view their well-armed vessel. And of these, their captain, Philip, Took me prisoner, after efforts Made in my defence so brave, That in deference to the mettle I displayed, my life he spared. What ensured you know already, How the wind in sudden anger Rising into raging tempest, Now chastised us in its pride, Now our lives more cruelly threatened, Making in the seas and mountains Such wild ruin and resemblance, That to mock the mountain`s pride Waves still mightier forms presented, Which with catapults of crystal Made the cliffs` foundations tremble, So that neighbouring cities fell, And the sea, in scornful temper, Gathering up from its abysses The munition it collecteth, Fired upon the land its pearls In their shells, wherein engendered By the swift breath of the morning In its dew, they shine resplendent Tears of ice and fire; in fine, Not in pictures so imperfect All our time to waste, the crew Went to sup in the infernal Halls themselves; I, too, a guest Would have equally attended With them, if this Patrick, here, Whom I know not why I reverence, Looking with respect and fear On his beauteous countenance ever, Had not drawn me from the sea, Where, exhausted, sinking, helpless, I drank death in every draught, Agony in each salt wave`s venom. This my history is, and now I wish neither life nor mercy, Neither that my pains should move thee, Nor my asking should compel thee, Save in this, to give me death, That thus may the life be ended Of a man who is so bad, That he scarcely can be better.*
[footnote] *See note as to Montalvan`s invention of this story.
KING. Luis, though thou art a Christian, Which by me is most detested, Yet I so admire thy courage That I wish, before all present, Between thee and him to show How my power can be exerted, How it punishes as rewards, How it elevates and depresses. And so thus my arms I give thee, That within them thus extended Thou may`st reach my heart; to thee Thus beneath my feet to tread thee; [He throws PATRICK on the ground and places his foot upon him. The two actions signifying How the heavier scale descendeth. And that, Patrick, thou may`st see How I value or give credit To thy threats, thy life I spare. Vomit forth the flame incessant Of the so-called word of God, That by this thou may`st be certain I do not adore his Godship, Nor his miracles have dread of. Live then; but in such a state Of poor, mean, and abject service, As befits a useless hind In the fields; and so as shepherd I would have thee guard my flocks, Which are in these vales collected. Let us see, if for the purpose Of this mystic fire outspreading, Being my slave, thy God will free thee From captivity and thy fetters. [Exit.
LESBIA. Patrick moves my heart to pity. [Exit.
POLONIA. Not so mine, for none I cherish. Had I any, none would move me Sooner than this Luis Enius.* [Exit.
[footnote] *It is difficult to account for Calderon giving the name of "Egerio" to the King of Ireland, when he bestows the proper one -- "Leogaire" -- on an inferior character. The name of the King of Montalvan. "Era Rey de aquella, y de otras islas comarcanas Leogardo, hijo de Neil." -- Cap. I., p. 19, ed. 1628. Calderon had to invent names for the king`s daughters, as he did not find them in Montalvan. In the Book of Armagh they are called "Ethne the fair" and "Fedelm the ruddy." -- Todd, p. 451. Miss Cusack gives the names "Ethna" and "Fethlema." -- "Life of St. Patrick", p. 291. Of their baptism, the distinguished poet to whom this drama is dedicated, has thus sung:--
"They knelt: on their heads the wave he poured Thrice, in the name of the Triune Lord: And their foreheads he signed with the Sign adored. On Fedelm the `Red Rose,` on Ethna `The Fair,` God`s dew shone bright in that morning air." - AUBREY DE VERE`S "Legends of St. Patrick".
* * * * *
SCENE III.
PATRICK and LUIS.
PATRICK. Luis, though a low position Mine is here, and I observe thee Raised to fortune`s highest summit, Yet I feel more grief than envy At thy rise. Thou art a Christian; Show thyself one now in earnest.
LUIS. Patrick, let me now enjoy The first favours fate has sent me After so much sad misfortune.
PATRICK. One word, then (if thou wilt let me So presume), I ask of thee.
LUIS. What is that?
PATRICK. Upon this earth here, Once again, alive or dead, That we two shall meet together.
LUIS. Such a word dost ask me?
PATRICK. Yes.
LUIS. Then I give it.
PATRICK. I accept it. [Exeunt.
* * * * *
SCENE IV.
A HAMLET NEAR THE COURT OF EGERIUS.
PHILIP and LUCY.
LUCY. Pardon, if I have not known How to serve you as I ought.
PHILIP. For much more than you have thought Must you my forgiveness own. For when I your kind face view, Pain and pleasure being at war, I have much to thank you for, And have much to pardon too. Thanks, with which my heart is rife, Are for life restored and breath; Pardon, for you give me death, As before you gave me life.
LUCY. For such flattering declarations Rude and ignorant am I, So my arms will give reply; Which gets rid of explanations. Let their silent interfacing Figure what my words should be.
* * * * *
SCENE V.
PAUL. -- THE SAME.
PAUL [aside]. Eh, sirs! what is this I see? Some one here my wife`s embracing. What`s to do? I burn, I burst. Kill her? Yes. `Twas fortune sent me. One thing only doth prevent me, Which is, she might kill me first.
PHILIP. For your hospitable care, Beauteous mountaineer, I would That this ring`s bright diamond could Far outshine a star of air.
LUCY. Think me not a woman who Lives intent her gain to make; But I take it for your sake.
PAUL. [aside`. What I wonder should I do? But if I`m her husband, then, As I saw him give the ring, Silence is the proper thing.
LUCY. In these arms I once again Give to you my soul, for I Have no other ring or chain.
PHILIP. Where I ever could remain:-- For such sweet captivity Lures me from the miseries Of remembering my sad fate, Caused, as you have seen, so late, By these crystalline blue seas.
PAUL [aside[. What! a new embrace! Halloo! Don`t you see, sir, Od`s my life, That this woman is my wife?
PHILIP. Here`s your husband full in view; He has seen us. I must straight Leave you and return -- [Aside.} Ah, me! Couldst thou this, Polonia, see, Thou mightst mourn, perhaps, the state Unto which I see me doomed. And. O heaven-aspiring sea, Say in what vast depths can be All the lives thou hast entombed? [Exit.
* * * * *
SCENE VI.
PAUL and LUCY; afterwards PHILIP.
PAUL [aside]. As he`s gone, I`ll louder speak.-- This time, Lucy mine, I`ve caught you, So a present I have brought you: See this window-bar, `twill wreak My revenge.
LUCY. Oh, how malicious! Bless me, grumbler, what grimaces!
PAUL. Then to witness two embraces Does not look at all suspicious?-- Was it malice, then, in me, Not plain seeing?
LUCY. Malice merely: For a husband, how so nearly He may pry, should never see More than half his wife doth do.
PAUL. Well, with that I`m quite content, To that condition I assent, And since twice embraced by you Has that rascal soldier been, Whom the sea spewed out in spite, I will juggle with my sight, And pretend but once to have seen; And as I for two embraces Meant to give a hundred blows, I but fifty now propose For one half of my disgraces. I have totted up the score; You yourself the sentence gave; Yes, by God I swear, you`ll have Fifty strokes and not one more.
LUCY. I`ve admitted far too much. For a husband it would be Quite preposterous; he should see But the quarter.
PAUL. Even as such I acknowledge the appeal. Patience, and your back prepare, For the now admitted share, Five-and-twenty blows you`ll feel.
LUCY. No, not so; you`re still astray.
PAUL. Then say what?
LUCY. Between us two, You`re to trust not what you view, But what I am pleased to say.
PAUL. Better far, I think, `twould be, Daughter of the devil, that you Held the stick and used it too, With it well belabouring me; Is`t agreed what I propose? Yes; then let us both change places. Give to him the two embraces, And to me the hundred blows.
[PHILIP returns.
PHILIP [aside]. Has the peasant gone, I wonder?
PAUL. At the nick of time you`re here, So, Sir Soldier, lend an ear. Obligation I am under For the favours you have meant To bestow so liberally On my cot, my wife, and me; And although I`m well content With you, yet as you`re progressing Day by day and getting stronger, It is best you stay no longer. Take the road, then, with God`s blessing, Leave my house, for it would be Sad in it to raise my hand, Leaving you dead flesh on land Who wert living fish at sea.
PHILIP. The suspicion that you show Is quite groundless, do not doubt it.
PAUL. Zounds! with reason or without it, Am I married, sir, or no?
* * * * *
SCENE VII.
LEOGAIRE, an Old Peasant, and PATRICK.
LEOGAIRE. So `tis ordered, and that he Serving here from day to day, In the open field should stay.
OLD MAN. Yes; I say it so shall be.
LEOGAIRE. But who`s this? O happiness! Since `tis Philip`s form I greet. Mighty lord, I kiss thy feet.
PAUL. Mighty lord does he call him?
LUCY. Yes. Now lay on the blows you owe. Now, friend Paul, the moment charms.
PHILIP. Give me, good Leogaire, your arms.
LEOGAIRE. Honour in them you bestow. Is it possible, once more That alive I see thee?
PHILIP. Here, Trophy of a fate severe, The sea flung me on this shore, Where, their willing aid secured, I have lived these peasants` guest, Till I could repair with rest All the sufferings I endured. And, besides, I thought with dread On the angry disposition Of the king: for his ambition When has it or bowed the head, Or with patience heard related The sad tragedies of fate? Hopeless and disconsolate In this solitude I`ve waited, Till some happy chance might rise When no longer I should grieve, And the king would give me leave To appear before his eyes.
LEOGAIRE. That already has been given thee; For so sad was he, believing Thou wert dead, so deep his grieving, All the past will be forgiven thee Since thou livest. Come with me, Fortune will once more embrace thee,-- In his favour to replace thee Let my happy privilege be.
PAUL. For that late unseemly brawl See me humbly bending low; You, my lord Prince Philip, know That I am one Juan Paul. My suspicion and abuse Pray forgive, your majesty, Think that what I said to thee Was but cackled by a goose. At your service, night and day, Are whatever goods I`ve got -- Lucy here, myself and cot; And God bless us all, I pray.
PHILIP. For your hospitality I am grateful, and I trust To repay it.
PAUL. If you must, Let the first instalment be Just to take my wife away. Thurs you will reward us two; She`ll be glad to go with you, I, without her, glad to stay.
[Exeunt PHILIP and LEOGAIRE.
LUCY [aside]. Was there ever love so vain As is mine, a brief caress Cradled in forgetfulness?
OLD MAN. Juan Paul, as we remain Here alone, `twere well to greet As a friend this labourer, Newly sent us.
PATRICK. Nay, good sir, I`m a slave, and I entreat That as such you understand me; I, the lowest of the low, Hither come to serve, and so I implore that you command me As a slave, since I am one.
OLD MAN. Oh, what modesty!
PAUL. What humility!
LUCY. What good looks, too, and gentility! I, in truth, can`t help being drawn By his face.
PAUL. Came ever here (This is quite between us two) Any wandering stranger who Did not draw you so, my dear? Eh, my Lucy?
LUCY. Boorish, base, Is your vile insinuation `Gains my innocent inclination For the whole of the human race! [Exit.
OLD MAN. To your sharpness and good will, Paul, I trust a thing that may Cost my life.
PAUL. Then don`t delay. Tell it, since you know my skill.
OLD MAN. This new slave that here you see, I suspect is not secure, And I hasten to procure Means by which he more may be. For the present I confide him To your care, by day or night Let him not escape your sight, Ever watchful keep beside him. [Exit.
* * * * *
SCENE VIII.
PATRICK and PAUL.
PAUL [aside]. I`m to keep what you discarded! Good in faith!-- [To PATRICK] Behold in me Your strict guard; in you I see The sole thing I ever guarded In my life; with such a care I can neither sleep nor eat. If you wish to use your feet You can go, your road lies there. Nay, in flying quickly hence You to me a good will do, Since my care will fly with you. Go in peace.
PATRICK. With confidence You may trust me, for I`m not, Though a slave, a fugitive. Lord! how gladly do I live In this solitary spot, Where my soul in raptured prayer May adore Thee, or in trance See the living countenance Of Thy prodigies so rare! Human wisdom, earlthly lore, Solitude reveals and reaches; What diviner wisdom teaches In it, too, I would explore.
PAUL. Tell me, talking thus apart, Who it is on whom you call?
PATRICK. Great primeval cause of all, Thou, O Lord, in all things art! These blue heavens, these crystal skies Formed of dazzling depths of light, In which sun, moon, stars unite, Are they not but draperies Hung before Thy heavenly land?-- The discordant elements, Water, fire, earth, air immense, Prove they not Thy master hand? Or in dark or brightsome hours, Praise they not Thy power and might? O`er the earth dost Thou not write In the characters of flowers Thy great goodness? And the air, In reverberating thunder, Does it not in fear and wonder Say, O Lord, that Thou art there? Are not, too, Thy praises sung By the fire and water -- each Dowered for this divinest speech, With tongue the wave, the flame with tongue? Here, then, in this lonely place I, O Lord, may better be, Since in all things I find Thee. Thou hast given to me the grace Of Obedience, Faith, and Fear; As a slave, then, let me stay, Or remove me where I may Serve Thee truly, if not here.*
[An Angel descends, holding in one hand a shield in which is a mirror, and in the other hand a letter.
[footnote] *For the earlier version of this prayer, see Note.
* * * * *
SCENE IX.
An Angel. -- THE SAME.
ANGEL. Patrick!
PATRICK. Ah! who calls me?
PAUL. Why, No one calls. [Aside.] The man is daft, Poetry should be his craft.
ANGEL. Patrick!
PATRICK. Ah! who calls me?
ANGEL. I.
PAUL [aside]. Who he speaks to, I can`t see. Well, to stop his speech were hard, I`m not here his mouth to guard. [Exit.
* * * * *
SCENE X.
The Angel and PATRICK.
PATRICK. Ah! it cannot be to me Comes such glory! For, behold! Pearl and rosy dawn in one, Shines a cloud, from which its sun Breaks in crimson and in gold! Living stars its robe adorning, Rose and jasmine sweetly blended, Dazzling comes that vision splendid, Scattering purple pomps of morning.
ANGEL. PATRICK!
PATRICK. Sunlight strikes me blind! Heavenly Lord, who canst thou be?
ANGEL. I am Victor, whom to thee God thy angel-guard assigned: With this scroll, to give it thee [Gives him the letter. I am sent.
PATRICK. Sweet messenger, Paranymph of all things fair, Who amidst the hierarchy Of the highest hosts of heaven Singest in melodious tone -- "Glory unto Thee alone, Holy, Holy Lord, be given!"
ANGEL. Read the letter.
PATRICK. With amaze, I see here "To Patrick" Oh, Can a slave be honoured so?
ANGEL. Open it.
PATRICK. It also says -- "Patrick! Patrick! hither come, Free us from our slavery!"-- More it means than I can see, Since I do not know by whom I am called. Oh, faithful guide, Speedily dispel my error!
ANGEL. Look into this shining mirror.
PATRICK. Heavens!
ANGEL. What seest thou inside?
PATRICK. Numerous people there seem thronging, Old men, children, women, who Seem to call me.
ANGEL. Nor do you Stay, but satisfy their longing. You behold the Irish nation, Who expect to hear God`s truth From your lips. Oh, chosen youth, Leave your slavery. The vocation God has given thee is to sow Faith o`er all the Irish soil. There as Legate thou shalt toil, Ireland`s great Apostle. Go First to France, to German`s home, The good bishop: there thou`lt make Thy profession: there thou`lt take The monk`s habit, and to Rome Pass, where letters thou`lt procure For that mighty work of thine, In the bulls of Celestine: Thou wilt visit, then, in Tours Martin, the great bishop there. Now upborne upon the wind Come with me, for thou wilt find God has given with prescient care His commands to all, that so Fitly thy great work be done; But `tis time we should be gone: Let us on our journey go. [They disappear.
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