Count Alarcos | Page 8

from all That multitude of cares and charms that
waits But on companionship; and then to feel These joys another shares,
another hand These delicate rites performing, and thou'rt remembered,
In the serener heaven of his bliss, But as the transient flash: this is not
love; This is pollution.
I:4:53 KING. Daughter, I were pleased My cousin could a nearer claim
prefer To my regard. Ay, girl, 'twould please me well He were my son,
thy husband; but what then? My pleasure and his conduct jar; his fate
Baulks our desire. He's married and has heirs.
I:4:54 SOL. Heirs, didst thou say heirs?
I:4:55 KING. What ails thee?
I:4:56 SOL. Heirs, heirs?
I:4:57 KING. Thou art very pale!
I:4:58 SOL. The faintness of the morn Clings to me still; I pray thee,
father, grant Thy child one easy boon.
I:4:59 KING. She has to speak But what she wills.
I:4:60 SOL. Why, then, she would renounce Her heritage; yes, place
our ancient crown On brows it may become. A veil more suits This
feminine brain; in Huelgas' cloistered shades I'll find oblivion.
I:4:61 KING. Woe is me! The doom Falls on our house. I had this
daughter left To lavish all my wealth on and my might. I've treasured
for her; for her I have slain My thousands, conquered provinces,
betrayed, Renewed, and broken faith. She was my joy; She has her
mother's eyes, and when she speaks Her voice is like Brunhalda's.
Cursed hour, That a wild fancy touched her brain to cross All my great
hopes!
I:4:62 SOL. My father, my dear father, Thou call'dst me fondly, but
some moments past, Thy gentle child. I call my saint to witness I would
be such. To say I love this man Is shallow phrasing. Since man's image

first Flung its wild shadow on my virgin soul, It has borne no other
reflex. I know well Thou deemest he was forgotten; this day's passion
Passed as unused confrontment, and so transient As it was turbulent.
No, no, full oft, When thinking on him, I have been the same. Fruitless
or barren, this same form is his, Or it is God's. My father, my dear
father, Remember he was mine, and thou didst pour Thy blessing on
our heads! O God, O God! When I recall the passages of love That
have ensued between me and this man, And with thy sanction, and then
just bethink He is another's, O it makes me mad. Talk not to me of
sceptres: can she rule Whose mind is anarchy? King of Castille, Give
me the heart that thou didst rob me of! The penal hour's at hand. Thou
didst destroy My love, and I will end thy line -- thy line That is thy life.
I:4:63 KING. Solisa, I will do all A father can, -- a father and a King.
I:4:64 SOL. Give me Alarcos!
I:4:65 KING. Hush, disturb me not; I'm in the throes of some
imaginings A human voice might scare.
END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II
SCENE 1
A Street in Burgos.
[Enter the COUNT OF SIDONIA and the COUNT OF LEON.]
II:1:1 SIDO. Is she not fair?
II:1:2 LEON. What then? She but fulfils Her office as a woman. For to
be A woman and not fair, is, in my creed, To be a thing unsexed.
II:1:3 SIDO. Happy Alarcos! They say she was of Aquitaine, a
daughter Of the De Foix. I would I had been banished.
II:1:4 LEON. Go and plot then. They cannot take your head, For that is
gone.
II:1:5 SIDO. But banishment from Burgos Were worse than fifty deaths.
O, my good Leon, Didst ever see, didst ever dream could be, Such
dazzling beauty?
II:1:6 LEON. Dream! I never dream; Save when I've revelled over late,
and then My visions are most villanous; but you, You dream when
you're awake.
II:1:7 SIDO. Wert ever, Leon, In pleasant Aquitaine?
II:1:8 LEON. O talk of Burgos; It is my only subject -- matchless town,

Where all I ask are patriarchal years To feel satiety like my sad friend.
II:1:9 SIDO. 'Tis not satiety now makes me sad; So check thy mocking
tongue, or cure my cares.
II:1:10 LEON. Absence cures love. Be off to Aquitaine.
II:1:11 SIDO. I chose a jester for my friend, and feel His value now.
II:1:12 LEON. You share the lover's lot When you desire and you
despair. What then? You know right well that woman is but one,
Though she take many forms, and can confound The young with subtle
aspects. Vanity Is her sole being. Make the myriad vows That
passionate fancy prompts. At the next tourney Maintain her colours
'gainst the two Castilles And Aragon to boot. You'll have her!
II:1:13 SIDO. Why! This was the way I