Count Alarcos | Page 7

line depart. Listen, ye saints of Spain, I'll have his hand, Or by our faith, my fated womb shall be As barren as thy love, proud King.
I:4:37 KING. Thou'rt mad! Thou'rt mad!
I:4:38 SOL. Is he not mine? Thy very hand, Did it not consecrate our vows? What claim So sacred as my own?
I:4:39 KING. He did conspire --
I:4:40 SOL. 'Tis false, thou know'st 'tis false: against themselves Men do not plot: I would as soon believe My hand could hatch a treason 'gainst my sight, As that Alarcos would conspire to seize A diadem I would myself have placed Upon his brow.
I:4:41 KING.
[taking her hand] Nay, calmness. Say 'tis true He was not guilty, say perchance he was not --
I:4:42 SOL. Perchance, O! vile perchance. Thou know'st full well, Because he did reject her loose desires And wanton overtures --
I:4:43 KING. Hush, hush, O hush!
I:4:44 SOL. The woman called my mother --
I:4:45 KING. Spare me, spare --
I:4:46 SOL. Who spared me? Did not I kneel, and vouch his faith, and bathe Thy hand with my quick tears, and clutch thy robe With frantic grasp? Spare, spare indeed? In faith Thou hast taught me to be merciful, thou hast, -- Thou and my mother!
I:4:47 KING. Ah! no more, no more! A crowned King cannot recall the past, And yet may glad the future. She thou namest, She was at least thy mother; but to me, Whate'er her deeds, for truly, there were times Some spirit did possess her, such as gleams Now in her daughter's eye, she was a passion, A witching form that did inflame my life By a breath or glance. Thou art our child; the link That binds me to my race; thou host her place Within my shrined heart, where thou'rt the priest And others are unhallowed; for, indeed, Passion and time have so dried up my soul, And drained its generous juices, that I own No sympathy with man, and all his hopes To me are mockeries.
I:4:48 SOL. Ah! I see, my father, That thou will'st aid me!
I:4:49 KING. Thou canst aid thyself. Is there a law to let him from thy presence? His voice may reach thine ear; thy gracious glance May meet his graceful offices. Go to. Shall Hungary frown, if his right royal spouse Smile on the equal of her blood and state, Her gentle cousin?
I:4:50 SOL. And is this thine aid!
I:4:51 KING. What word has roughed the brow, but now confiding In a fond father's love?
I:4:52 SOL. Alas! what word? What have I said? what done? that thou should'st deem I could do this, this, this, that is so foul, My baffled tongue deserts me. Thou should'st know me, Thou hast set spies on me. What! have they told thee I am a wanton? I do love this man As fits a virgin's heart. Heaven sent such thoughts To be our solace. But to act a toy For his loose hours, or worse, to find him one Procured for mine, grateful for opportunities Contrived with decency, spared skillfully From claims more urgent; not to dare to show Before the world my homage; when he's ill To be away, and only share his gay And lusty pillow; to be shut out 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