DON CESAR DE BAZAN. ACT I. SCENE I.-A Public Place in Madrid. A group of Singers and Dancers discovered. Chorus and Dance. Comrades, tread a merry measure, See! already, coin in plenty From their purses they have sent ye; Omnes. Maritana! [Music.] Enter MARITANA, U. E. R., back of wine house, gaily dressed (as a street dancer), the group make way for her. She is following the KING, who is disguised in a cloak, &c.; he regards her attentively. DON JOSE follows at a distance, watching. Marit. A maravedi, sir; only one; ah! [The King takes out his purse.] I have lost the power of charming coin from purses. [The King drops money in her tambourine, and exits hastily, L. No, no! what, gold! a doubloon! yes, and yet I feared to approach that noble cavalier, he seemed so cross and melancholy. [She turns to group, and converses with them as though narrating her good fortune.] Don J. (L.) [Looking off] I was not mistaken-it is the King! Thrice have I found him watching this pretty wench, seemingly spell-bound by her grace and beauty. Marit. To the group.] Yes, friends, it is my birth-day: therefore I devote these pieces to mirth and revelry. There! [Throws them money.] Away with you! I'll join you presently. [Exeunt U. E. R., into wine store, all but Maritana and Don Jose. Music, Marit. [Going, pauses.] A doubloon! neither song nor dance was worth so large a recompense. Don J. Your good fortune seems to have made you thoughtful. Marit. Signor! Oh, no, no! Don J. A golden piece, was it not? Here is its fellow. Marit. For me ? Don J. Yes, pretty one, for you. [Gives money. Marit. The influence of this glittering tempter. [Holds up money.] When I was a child, my step was light, and my the tuneful echo of my merry heart; but now, when the hopes and fears of womanhood have made both heart and step less buoyant than of old, my reward is greater, song should I not fear? Don J. I do not understand you. Marit. You will not, Signor. Think you that I am a woman, and know not that I am fair? Men tell me so by words and looks a hundred times a day. Think you that I am a woman and love not the incense that is offered to my beauty? or that I seek not to adorn the shrine that claims so many worshippers? Don J. Go on. I see no cause for fear. Marit. Ah! again you will not. The songstress of the street, the mime who treads the measures for the pleasure of the crowd, knows well the worth men set upon her, Signor; she covets gold to free her from bondage, and grows ambitious of a higher sphere. Each word of praise is as a breath to fan the sleeping flame; each gift is fuel to the growing fire. Don J. [Aside.] The very instrument I need! Don J. No. Marit. No! when thus I'm tempted, [Shows money.] haunted as I am by a vague presentiment, a secret hope Don J. Indeed! Marit. Yes, yes; since I attracted the gracious notice of the Queen, I have thought my ambition no longer criminal. Don J. Let me be prophet of your future fortunes; confide in me, and all you desire shall be accomplished. Marit. All accomplished? Don J. I have the power to make your dreams realities. Your wish shall be the law of nobles. Madrid. Marit. [Aside and pleasantly excited.] I cannot breathe. Don J. Come! to-morrow shall see you the glory of [Takes her hand. Marit. No, no! [Flourish heard, L. U. E. Shouts within. Viva! the Queen! viva! the Queen! Marit. Ah! the Queen! I will trust alone to her. The [Exit, L. U. E. Don J. Indeed, fair maiden! I have mastered more difficult intrigues than the conquest of a woman. King admires this pretty piece of vanity; hem! The mistress of the King must care for him who raised her to dignity. One obstacle alone presents itself: the humble origin of Maritana. That must be concealed. The Queen will learn the wrong she has sustained, and, woman-like, resent it. [Goes up.] Oh, dare I hope so full a consummation of my wildest dreams? [A noise within, L. U. E, and cries of "Down with him."] What tumult's this! [Looks off:] The followers of Maritana? Ah! she appears amongst them, and by her presence has silenced them. The object of their anger comes this way; what strange fantastic fellow have we here? Enter DON CESAR, L. U. E., followed by a crowd, murmuring, and MARITANA, who repels them, and then exits with them, R. U. E. Don C. The curs! but that it would have disgraced my sword, I'd have spitted them like larks. That black scoundrel's stiletto would have found a sheath in the noble Don Cæsar de Bazan, but for yon pretty dancing girl. Where have I seen her? Ah! I remember-at Seville, when I pinked a coxcomb who thought that the cherries on her lips were to be plucked gratis. [Crosses, L. Don J. [Aside. As I live, 'tis Don Cæsar de Bazan ; my old college friend at Salamanca. Don C. [Feeling his pockets.] Not a maravedi! By the aid of the dice box, the rogues have cleaned me out as though they had been noblemen and men of honour. I must now trust to the air and the sky for board and lodg ing; well, my supper will be light and my room airy. Don J. Am I mistaken in addressing you as Don Cæsar de Bazan? Don C. Eh! no, Signor; what, Don Jose de Santarem? Don J. Giving his hand.] The same. Don C. [Aside.] His doublet is of three-pile velvetwhat can he want with me? Don J. When last we met, you were young and pros perous. Don C. Ah! you perceive the alteration, [Looks at his dress.] but I was always fond of change. Don J. You inherited a noble name and a princely for tune. Don C. True; I've preserved the one and spent the other. Is my name of any service to you? Don J. I thank you, no. I had hoped you would have done great things, Don Cæsar. Don C. So I have; if you doubt me, ask my creditors. Don J. I thought your father paid your debts when you quitted Salamanca. Don C. So he did, worthy soul! so he did; but then, from the force of habit, I acquired new ones. Don J. You have paid somewhat dearly for a life of pleasure. Don C. Possibly; though I have freed myself now from all anxieties. I've no money, so I am not teazed by poor relations. I've no lands, so am without grumbling tenantry. I've no particular destination, so never take a wrong turning. I've nothing to support but my sword, [Points to broken scabbard.] and that keeps a sharp look-out for itself. Don J. Why have you visited Madrid? Don C. Tenderly.] Madrid! my native city! why have 1 revisited thee? But for the hope, Don Jose, the sweet, though foolish hope, that I should there find I had lost all, ay, all[Pauses and covers his face-Crosses, R. Don J. Your follies? Don C. No, all my creditors; but I was deceived; creditors never die--their number is increased. Don J. Indeed! how? Don C. Most of them have children; creditors will have children, heirs to their ledgers; and the amount of my debts will mingle with their earliest recollections. Don J. What plans have you got for profit? Don C. None. I've not wherewithal [Shows empty pockets.] to make stakes with a street beggar. Don J. Your enjoyments, then, will be few, for pleasu:0 is costly. Don C. Hem! I must content me with what I can get; a brisk quarrel is easily procured; so I will amuse rayself with fighting. Don J. There, too, fortune is against you. Don C. How? [Crosses, L Don J. The Carnival Week commences to-day; and the King has issued an edict making it death to engage in a duel. Don C. What! death for the thrust of a sword? How human nature has degenerated! Don J. Nay, the restriction is but for one week, the Carnival Week; you will have the rest of the year to enjoy yourself. Don C. A whole week! 'tis hard for one who has nothing but a hot temper to warm his thin blood; but you who are by the bye, Don Jose, what are you? Don J. I-I am nothing. Don C. Nothing! then we are still on an equality. Enter LAZARILLO and PACOLO, a water carrier, L. H. S. E.; they get, c. Pacolo. Nay, Signor Lazarillo, do not spurn my good offices; you have been cruelly used, that's the truth on't. Laza. Thank you, comrade, thank you. Think me not proud or ungrateful; I have but one desire, and that is— to die. [Crosses, L.-Don Jose muses aside. Don C. To die-before your beard grows ? Pacolo. Ay, Sir, he would drown himself. Don C. How! Drown? In water? Exchange this bright and lovely earth for muddy water! The thought on't gives one the ague; at your age to wish for death, you-you can't be plagued by creditors! |