Olla Podrida. Фредерик Марриет
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and so will Nina too. But can you prove it?
Ant. I can, but in strict confidence. Pledge me your word you never will divulge, not even to Nina, what I now confide; for the women have the power to sap the stoutest resolution. Swear on your knees.
San. (kneeling). I swear by Petronila, my adopted saint.
Ant. Well, then, this Lopez was a noisy braggadocio. Last night we had some words whilst waiting near the gate of Donna Serafina. From words we came to weapons, and, by a lucky thrust, I sent his prying soul the devil knows where. His body I secreted in the garden.
San. I envy you. Would he were alive again, that I might kill him too, my guardian saint assisting! I should be the better welcome.
Ant. Indeed!
San. Not that it matters; I am convinced she loves me well. I'll to her straight, and with these welcome tidings make her right happy.
Ant. Not quite so fast. When that you tell her, she will ask for proofs, and from whence you had your information.
San. Why, that is true; and she'll never rest till she worms the secret from me: Saint Petronila, lock my breast!
Ant. Therefore, Sancho, it must appear as if there was no secret. Tell her 'twas by your hand that Lopez fell; I am content that you shall have with her all the credit of the deed. She'll love you better.
San. Why, so she will. My dear Antonio, you are like my holy saint, a friend indeed!
Ant. If she doubts the fact, you'll come to me. I'll give you proofs most positive.
San. Thanks—thanks!
Ant. Now take advice. Women, like eels, are rather slippery; already she has once slipped through your fingers. Their minds are weathercocks, and there's wind always blowing. Press her, then, hard, and marry her at once.
San. I will, I will. Thanks, dear Antonio!—Saint Petronila will reward you.
Ant. I risk much to serve you. You'll meet me here to-night. I must now to confess this heavy deed. You'll come.
San. I will—addio! [Exit.
Ant. So, so the fondling, ever coaxing Nina Loves this soft fool, and wishes I were dead. I did think better of her. We men deceive, 'tis true; but still no longer Keep on the mask, when we've our purpose gain'd. With us 'tis tiresome; but with the women, 'Tis ne'er removed; for mask'd they live and die! [Exit.
Scene II.
The Monastery.
Gaspar, as Anselmo, enters with Jacobo.
Jac. Twice hath the brother Manuel sought for you; He came from the Superior. Gasp. You told him I was absent? Jac. I did, and also where you might be found. They sent a messenger, who soon return'd, Declaring there thou hadst not been to-day. Gasp. Truly, I had forgotten 'twas the day That I with Don Baltasar did appoint. 'Twas thus my treach'rous memory did beget This chapter of cross purposes. [Bell without. Jac. Someone rings. That jingling bell pursues me unto death; In faith, this porter's is a tedious office. [Exit. Gasp. More tedious still the wearing of the knees Upon this pavement. I am weary of it.
Enter Jacobo, with Antonio.
Jac. One who inquires for thee, Anselmo, Who would confess. Gasp. (Takes a confessional chair.) I know the man: Jacobo, leave us. [Exit Jacobo. My son, we are alone; now thou may'st profit By holy rite, and on thy bended knees Pour out thy soul to me in deep contrition. Hast thou perform'd the penance I enjoin'd For the sad stumblings thou did'st last confess? Ant. I have, most holy father, to my belief Obey'd thy strict injunction. I have so much to think of for my master, My thoughts are scarce mine own; Still do I often call upon the saints. Gasp. I trust thou dost—and not as I have heard That worldlings do, invoke them in mere blasphemy. Ant. Nay, father, when I call, I am sincere. Gasp. Thou dost evade, I fear, with double meaning. But to the purpose—by what sins hast thou, Since last we met, endanger'd thy poor soul? Ant. Father, my mind is ill at ease. I serve A master most equivocal—a false one In all he says and does; in love—in everything. I know not what to think. He's here and there— In fact, I do believe he is—the devil. Gasp. Give me the grounds for this thy strange suspicion. Ant. He keeps his chamber lock'd, his haunts unknown. He comes when least expected. How he comes I cannot tell. He goes, and Heaven knows where. I ne'er can make him out with all my prying. Gasp. It would appear thy master doth not trust thee. Why should'st thou watch, and seek to find out that He would conceal? This base prying nature Is a dark sin, and must be check'd by penance. Hast thou no more? Ant. Yes, father, I've a grievous fault to tell; One that I'm fearful thou wilt much abhor— An accident, 'tis true, and most unlucky— I have two wives in Seville. Gasp. Two wives! Thou hast profaned the holy rite! What! wedded twice! and say 'twas accident! Ant. An accident—they both have come to Seville. Gasp. It is a heinous sin—one that demands Justice on earth; scarce pardon claims from Heaven. Two wives! How long hast thou thus lived in sin? Ant. 'Tis now three years since I did wed the second! I had forgot, my memory is so bad, I wedded was before—till yesterday, I chanced to meet with both of them in Seville. Gasp. Thy memory's most convenient, but the law Will not o'erlook thy crime when it is known. Ant. We'll leave it to the law, then, please thee, father. The sin is one that carries its own penance. Gasp. How could'st thou venture on so foul a deed? Ant. Example, holy father! bad example. It is our masters who do ruin us. My present one, for instance, loves two ladies, And woos them both. Sad reprobate he is! Gasp. Another's fault can't sanctify thine own, Else all th' ordinances of our church were useless; Thou art more knave than fool, Antonio, And yet made up of both. For this thy crime I have no absolution. Haste thee hence, And tremble at thy state of sad perdition! [Exit Gaspar.
Ant. (looking after him). More knave than fool!—why, yes, that's true. What a scurvy fellow! No absolution! I shall take the liberty of changing my confessor. So, good sir, I give you your warning. Must not pry either! Does he not pry into my conscience as far as he can? Why, his whole life is a life of prying!—I have no opinion of these monks! They're no better than they should be. The law must take its course—there's the mischief. Let me only contrive to get out of its clutches now, and I'll take my chance for getting out of the devil's hereafter! [Exit.
Scene III.
A Street in Seville.
Enter Felix and Perez, meeting.
Felix. Perez, well met; I hoped to find you. Have you discovered who your rival may be? and what answer have you gained from Donna Serafina to your most urgent pleadings?
Perez. Confusion light upon her! She hath returned my letter without opening it; and sent a request that I will desist from useless persecution. Beppa, her confidante, I have contrived to parley with; and what with bribes and much entreaty, I have ascertained that this Don Gaspar is the rival who supplants me.
Felix. I doubt it, Perez—doubt it much. I, too, have gained some information from Sancho, who associates much with one Nina, Isidora's favoured woman. From this source I've learned that this Don Gaspar is her favoured cavalier, and that last night they had a meeting.
Perez. Yet I am sure my knowledge is correct, and that the Donna Serafina grants him those favours which I consider are but due to me.
Felix. Why, what a conscientious cavalier is this, who thus monopolises all our beauties! I fain would see him. What is he like? His properties must be wondrous indeed. Where is he to be met?
Perez. He often passes this way to the Prado. I wish to meet him also, but not in courtesy. Indeed! see, here he comes!
[Enter Don