Olla Podrida. Фредерик Марриет
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Now could I weep, and tear my hair, like Donna Serafina. My secret is worth nothing. 'Tis strange, too, that he should be o'ermatched by Don Perez, whose sword he so despised; I cannot yet believe it; and yet, she saw the body, and her mistress weeps. What can she gain by this, if 'twere deceit? Nothing. Why, then, 'tis plain Don Gaspar's dead. His foot slipped, I suppose, and thus the vaunted skill of years will often fail through accident. What's to be done now? I'm executor of course. Here comes Don Felix.
Enter Don Felix.
Felix. Art thou the lacquey of Don Gaspar?
Ant. (pulling out his handkerchief, and putting it to his eyes). I was, most noble sir.
Felix. You've left him then?
Ant. He hath left me. Last night he fell, in combat with Don Perez.
Felix. 'Tis false. He hath slain my friend, whose body now lies in my house.
Ant. Indeed, sir! may I credit this?
Felix. I tell you it is true. Where can a message find your master?
Ant. Wherever he may be, sir.
Felix. And where is that? Trifle not with me, knave, or you'll repent it sorely.
Ant. I do not trifle, sir. Don Gaspar's motions are unknown to me. Give me your message; when he re-appears I will deliver it.
Felix. Then tell him he's a villain of no parentage; a vile impostor whom I mean to punish;—that if there's manhood in him he will appoint a time and place where we may meet.
Ant. You seek his life then?
Felix. You may so construe by the message.
Ant. Pardon me, sir; but will you risk your noble person against one but too well practised in the sword? Excuse me, sir, you're hasty: there are other means more fitting for your purpose. I have his secret; one that will administer to your revenge, and win a triumph far greater than your sword.
Felix. Tell me this secret.
Ant. Why should I sacrifice a liberal master, whom, just now, you saw me weep for? and that to one to whom I have no obligation?
Felix. I understand thee, knave! Thou'lt sell it me? (Takes out a purse.)
Ant. Softly, Don Felix! it bears no common price, nor can I tell it here. I've paid most dearly for it, and from distress alone am now obliged to sell it.
Felix. And I will buy it dearly. In half an hour come to my house; there will I exchange a heavy purse for what you may confide to me, if, as you say, it leads to his perdition. [Exit Felix.
Ant. So, this works well; and yet my conscience smites me! Why does it smite me? Because 'tis heavily laden. With what? This secret. Then must I unburthen myself of it; and as, till lately, I have confessed to one Don Gaspar, I will now confess to one Don Felix. The former refused me absolution—the latter offers me a purse. I was right when I gave warning to my old confessor; the new one is more suited to me. Here come my ten plagues of Egypt in one.
Enter Beppa.
Bep. Well, Antonio, you have lost no time, I hope. What have you collected? You often quote the proverb, "Service is no inheritance."
Ant. Service is no inheritance; yet you would that I constituted myself my master's heir. I cannot do it, Beppa—I dare not! There's something tells me it is wrong to rob so good a master; I am more honest than you take me to be.
Bep. Then is the devil turned saint! Think not that you deceive me. There's nought but cowardice that will prevent your knavery. Now tell me, how long have you been thus scrupulous?
Ant. Ever since I found out that my master was not dead.
Bep. Not dead?
Ant. Don Perez 'twas who fell.
Bep. A holy friar who shrived the dying man told me the name of him who fell was Gaspar.
Ant. He was a holy friar, said you? I see it all (aside).
Bep. He said he had a scarf to give to Donna Serafina, at the request of him who died.
Ant. Hath he delivered it?
Bep. No; and Donna Serafina in frantic grief awaits his coming.
Ant. (aside). She'll wait till doomsday; I understand it all. (Aloud.) Beppa! Don Gaspar now will soon be here; go and console your mistress.
Bep. Then it must have been a plan of Don Gaspar's to rid himself of my mistress. I do not understand it, but believe you do. When master and man are so much alike, they cannot deceive each other. I'll to Donna Serafina, and tell her of this base stratagem, which, with his wooing of another, will make her cease to grieve for the treacherous villain, and turn her ardent love to deadly hate. [Exit Beppa.
Ant. As I have mine for you, I was about to say; only I do not recollect that I ever loved you. I think I married her to keep myself from starving: but I forget why exactly, 'tis so long ago. What a fool is a man who marries—but a double fool is he who, like me, am doubly——I can't bear to mention it. [Exit Antonio.
Scene II.
Donna Serafina's Chamber.—Donna Serafina discovered.
Ser. They tell me I am fair: yet what avails This gift of nature? Could those who envy me but see my heart— My bleeding, lacerated, breaking heart! How would their bitter nature change to pity! I did require but him in this wide world; My beauty valued, but to gain his love! My wealth rejoiced in, but to share with him! He was my all! and every other 'vantage Was but of value as subservient to him. As is the gold of costly workmanship Round the fair gem imbedded in the centre. Oh! Gaspar, were I sure I could o'ertake Thy spirit, soaring up in its young flight, This little steel should free my anxious soul, To join thine in the high empyrean, And, fondly link'd, in joy ascend to Heaven. Why waits the friar? Some idle mummery, To him more sacred than my Gaspar's relic, From his dull memory hath chased his promise. Why waits my woman, whom I have despatch'd To learn the history of my Gaspar's death? Alas! alas! they know not love. Enter Beppa. Bep. Madam, I've news for you; but news so strange That I can scarce impart it. Dry your tears, Nor more lament Don Gaspar—for he lives! Ser. He lives? say that again! You said he lived— Did you not, Beppa? Then may Heav'n reward you For those blissful words!—He lives!—support me— (Faints in Beppa's arms.) Bep. I should have first inform'd her he was false. Now will the shock be greater.—Dear lady—(Serafina recovering gradually). Ser. (faintly). Now do I feel like some poor criminal, Who, having closed his eyes, to look no more Upon the world he is about to leave, With curdling blood, and faint and flutt'ring pulse, Waits for the last terrific moment When the sharp axe shall free his trembling soul. So wakes he at the distant shouts of men, Rolling the waves of sound until they dash Against his worn-out sense the glad reprieve. Don Gaspar lives! Oh Heav'n, I thank thee! Bep. At the cup's brim the sweets have kiss'd your lips. But, madam, like some weak, distemper'd child, You've yet to taste the nauseous dreaded draught Which is to cure you. Ser. What mean you? Cure me! Bep. 'Tis true Don Gaspar lives—as true he's false. Ser. False! Beppa—false? Bep. Most false and treacherous! He loves another. Ser. (after a pause). Did I hear rightly? Impossible! It was but three days gone, He swore such oaths, if true, as Heav'n would register— Should they prove false, as hell might chuckle at. Bep. And yet it is so, I am most assured. Ser. If it be true, then everything is false. It cannot, cannot be. Have I not lavish'd All I could bestow, myself and mine, Rejected all, to live within his arms, To breathe one breath with him, and dwell in ecstasy Upon his words. Oh no! he is not false You must belie him. Bep. Nay, I would I did: I wonder not your doting heart rejects Such