MMSMBi. 
 
Olotnell nniuetBttg SItbracg 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 BENNO LOEWY LIBRARY 
 
 COLLECTED BY 
 
 BENNO LOEWY 
 
 1854-1919 
 BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 2494.081U5 1869 
 
 Ugo da Este— Uberto— The Cid of Seville 
 
 3 1924 022 067 494 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022067494 
 
UGO DA ESTE - UBERTO 
 
 THE CID OE SEVILLE 
 
 TRAGtEDIES 
 
 LATJGHTON OSBOKN 
 / 
 
 'mi/- ■ 
 
 NEW YOKK 
 JAMES MILLEB, 647 BROADWAY 
 L' MUCOOLXIX 
 
 UNIVi|#|fMTY 
 L If. irARY 
 
 Ltt 
 
^ .^^^ PJif 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 
 
 LAUOHTON OSBORN, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 District ijf New York. 
 
 
 
 The Ne\w Vdbk iRrIniiii^cs Oompanv, 
 
 8j, 83 a«rf 85 Ceiitre Si„ 
 
 ' Nev« 'Yohk-! i i ! 
 
 Y?l/UtU 
 
UGO DA ESTE 
 
 MDGOCLXI 
 
CHARACTERS, etc. 
 
 NiocoLO III, Marquis of JSstS, — Signor of Ferrara. 
 Ugo, AJs son by his first wife} 
 
 LlONELLO, 
 
 !LLO, ) 
 0, J 
 
 •n f his natural sons, 
 
 BORSO, 
 
 Alberto de la Sale, his Minister. 
 Ubpzione de' Contbarii, Counselor of State. 
 ZoEsil, a Gentleman of Niccolo's household, 
 Aldrovandino Rangon6, Oerdleman of the Bedchamber. 
 A Priest, Confessor to the Marquis. 
 Captain of the Qvard. 
 
 Parisina, wife of Niccolo. 
 Alo'inda, Lady of the Bedchamber. 
 FiLiPPA, Mistress of the Wardrobe. 
 
 Jailer. Executioner. 
 
 Scene. Th« Castle of Ferrara. 
 Time. That occupied by the action. 
 Era of the event. The year 1425. 
 
UGO DA ESTE 
 
 AoT THE First 
 
 Scene I. A Hall m the Castle. 
 
 Parisina. Zoese. 
 
 Paris. This is somewhat too much. I thought that I 
 Was wedded, was thy master's spouse, was born 
 A lady, and by natural right might claim 
 Respect from all, but most from such as thou. 
 Who hold'st thy place, thy very life perhaps, 
 But at my pleasure. Tempt me not to try 
 How much I may do to restore thy senses. 
 
 Zoe. Have patience, madam I 
 
 Paris. Patience? Hast thou done? 
 Begone I Or wilt thou venture, sir, perhaps. 
 To do more than incense me with thy looks 
 Of insolent worship and thy crazy hints 
 
UGO DA BSTE 
 
 Of admiration of my charms 1 Go down, 
 Do, on thy knees, and proffer love outright 
 To thy hegelord and master's lady. Go I 
 
 Zoe. One word ! one moment ! if in justice only. 
 Gladly would I go down upon my knees, 
 O honor'd lady, but it were to pray 
 That for your own sake, who I not forget 
 Are my lord's lady, are by natural right 
 Entitled to regard, you will not deem 
 My offence premeditated. What I said, 
 
 What did, was in blind [hesitating. 
 
 Paris. What ? Thou wilt not say, 
 In passion ? Thou wilt not so dare to add 
 Insult to insolence. Have I liv'd for this ? 
 The Lady of Ferrara, to be eyed 
 With amorous purpose, in my lord's own halls, 
 By one of his paid servants ? Hence ! away 1 
 
 Before I call the guard to 
 
 Zoe. On my knees 
 
 Paris. This is too insolent! On my lord's return 
 
 Zoe. You will not be so cruel, for one act 
 Never to be repeated, and unweigh'd 
 Because unmeditated, give me over 
 To my lord's fury, when I thus repent. 
 
 And vow henceforth 
 
 Paris. To better know thy place. 
 No ; but beware ! — [Turning quicUy, as if hearing 
 footsteps. 
 Away I 
 
ACT I. SC. 1. 
 
 Enter Ugo. 
 
 My gentle lord ! \with 
 
 emotion. 
 Uoo manifests embarrassment. Zoese observes 
 them, at first with an expression of surprise, 
 then of suspicion, and Exit. 
 I have been wishing for thee all the morn. 
 "Where hast thou kept thyself? It is so lonely 
 
 Since 
 
 Ugo. My sire's absence, is it ? 
 
 Paris. Tes — since then. 
 And yet he does not give me of his time 
 Many spare moments. It was not so once, 
 In those days when I thought he came to woo 
 
 Not for himself, but Whither wilt thou go ? 
 
 Ugo. Madam, I 
 
 Paris. Have no leisure, like my lord 1 
 Thou wilt not say so, now I have told thee too 
 I was so lonesome and did long for thee. 
 That were too ungallant. And yet, in sooth, 
 Thou dost forget too oft, too oft of late. 
 That though thy father's wife I am not thy mother, 
 And we are near of age. Be not impatient I 
 And do not go. Thou hast not told me yet, 
 Where thou hast been the morn, and how thou lik'st 
 The horse I gave thee. 
 
 Ugo. I have just return'd 
 From trying him. Madonna. 
 
 Paris. And thou found'st him ? 
 
8 UGO DA ESTE 
 
 Ugo. All I could wish; so gentle, yet so proud, 
 
 So fall of fire, yet yielding to a touch. 
 Paris. Even Hke thyself In fact, he fits thee well. 
 I do avow I watch'd thee from a window 
 When thou didst mount him, and my heart beat high 
 When I beheld thee pat his shining neck, 
 And bend thy cheek, which redden'd with delight, 
 Over his mane. But was it with delight ? 
 I know I hop'd so. And I felt so glad. 
 And yet so envious too ! I would have given 
 Half of my life to be within the breast 
 
 Of that proud barb and have thee so But truly, 
 
 Dost thou indeed well like him ? 
 
 Ugo. Could I else ? 
 Didst thou not give him, lady ? From this day, 
 1 shall bestride no other steed, because — 
 
 Because 
 
 Paris. I gave him ? 
 
 Ugo. Lionello says 
 He would become an emperor to ride. 
 Thanks yet again. Madonna ; and adieu. 
 Paris. What presses thee ? I have so much to say. 
 I like not Lionello. Art thou sure 
 He is indeed thy friend ? 
 
 Ugo. very sure ! 
 He is so noble. 
 
 Pam. But so cold. T wonder, 
 Thou being gay and ardent, there should be 
 Such liking 'twixt you. 
 
ACT I. SO. 1. 
 
 TJgo. 'T is that I approve 
 What I am all too feeble to adopt, 
 And he in his large charity endures 
 What taste and reason censure. 
 
 Paris. Say not so. 
 Thy temper suits thy years. They who are grave 
 And cautious in the heyday of their blood 
 Are crafty and designing. Have a care I 
 
 Thy brother is ambitious ; and But stay, 
 
 This is no place for converse. Rest thou here. 
 I '11 send my bower-maiden in brief time, 
 To bid thee come to me. Thou wilt not go ? 
 I must have further speech with thee ; I must — 
 Show thee thy danger, Ugo. Thou '11 not go ? 
 In hrief time, Messer Ugo. Stay thou here. 
 In brief time, TJgo. \ExAt. 
 
 Ugo. Has it come to this ? 
 
 Does she indeed ? I dare not breathe the word, 
 
 Even to myself. It should awaken horror, 
 But fills me with delight. My father's wife I 
 God, that I had taken heed to this 
 Before it was too late ! a twelvemonth since. 
 When in her eyes I redd what stirr'd the sense 
 With a yet unknown pleasure, and the touch 
 Of her soft fingers thrill'd through all my nerves, 
 Awaking thoughts which had as yet been dreams. 
 She '11 send for me ? For what 1 For further talk j 
 That she may be with me, and I again 
 May hear her tremulous tones and tender speech, 
 1* 
 
10 UGO DA ESTB 
 
 And in her pretexts to detain me read 
 
 What she in turn, in my averted eyes, 
 
 And burning cheek and stammering tongue, too well 
 
 Must gather. 'T is delirium ! And, God, 
 
 What horrible sin it is in me, in her. 
 
 To obey that longing of the hungry heart 
 
 Which urges us together ! To what end ? 
 
 Shall I be easier after ? or will she ? 
 
 I will not stay. We must not meet again, — 
 
 Not where there are no eyes but Grod's to watch ua. 
 
 Scene II, 
 
 A gallery, with a window. Zoese 
 
 standing' in the embrasure, leaning pensively 
 
 on the frame. He comes, thoiightf ally, forward. 
 
 Zoe. It must be so. How many doubtful things 
 Rise now to mind, which, in those better days 
 
 Ere I was parcel-mad to love this Death I 
 
 That I should so commit myself I She holds 
 My life on her breath. But haply I do hers. 
 For I remember well what, in those days 
 When I was wiser, had for me no sense. 
 My eyes are sharper now and see the signs 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 11 
 
 In their true meaning. Tliere is that between 
 
 The Count and his proud stepdame Who comes yon ? 
 
 [looking up the gallery. 
 'T is Aloinda I and my soul revolts 
 From her familiar charms. [Going, — pauses. 
 
 Yet may I use her 
 To serve my purpose. 
 
 Enter Aloinda. 
 
 Aloinda ! What ! 
 Wilt thou not take my hand ? Thou silly wench I 
 I am not tired of thee. 
 
 Aloin. Time was once 
 Thou 'dst not have us'd those words, Zoese. 
 
 Zoe. Nay, 
 'T is thou art captious, not myself am rude. 
 Dry up those water-drops, and let me hug thee. 
 Tou women think we men when once entrapp'd 
 Must lie forever in your laps. Yet love 
 Has his four seasons, like the air around us. 
 The snow is melting from me now. Then smile 
 That the warm spring is toward. [Icisses her. 
 
 But hark thee, child. 
 When our lord comes from Milan, — and thou know'st 
 We look for him by the hour, — it needs must be 
 Thou wilt not find me always at thy beck. 
 
 So, if thou 'rt lonely But our mistress too, 
 
 Is she not lonely while our lord's away ? 
 
 I would be sworn she is dull at times as thou, 
 
12 " UGO DA BSTJE 
 
 Moping, and sighing, if not quite in tears. 
 Is 't not so, minion ? 
 
 Aloin. Partly, and at times. 
 My lord is too inconstant that his lady 
 Should much bewail his absence. 
 
 Zoe. Yet he loves her. 
 She once was fond of him. 
 
 Aloin. Indeed is still. 
 I have seen her by the hour with cheek on hand 
 Sit lost in thought. 
 
 Zoe. What, lately ? Art thou sure 
 'T was lately ? since this visit to the Duke ? 
 Aloin. Nay, I bethink me now, before my lord 
 
 "Went on this journey, months and months ago, 
 I mark'd the same abstraction. Sometimes too, 
 Thus yesterday, I found her bath'd in tears. 
 Zoe. All from this loneliness ? 
 
 Aloin. And the amours, 
 It may be — but I know not — of our lord. 
 Zoe. Lonely, and so surrounded I In a court 
 "Whereof she is the centre — giving rays 
 To all around, yet void herself of heat I 
 It is not loneliness. And there 's the Count, 
 In who.'se society she takes such joy, — 
 Though 'twas not always so. 
 
 Aloin. And is not now. 
 >She is his stepdame still. But this to speak 
 Reminds me of my duty. I was sent 
 To call him to the Marchioness. 
 
ACT 1. SC. 2. 13 
 
 Zoe. For what? 
 Why he was with her in the Eastern Hall 
 A brief while since. 
 
 Albin. And thence it is I come, 
 Having sought him there. 
 
 Zoe. By her desire ? 
 
 Aloin. By hers. 
 What is there strange in that ? Why art thou dumb ? 
 
 [Zoe. still absorbed in thought. 
 Adieu, Zoese ; I must seek the Count. 
 Zoe. Stay. Thou dost know I love thee, Aloinda ? 
 
 Aloin. I fain would think so. But 
 
 Zoe. I have been cold. 
 I did avow it, and as frankly said 
 
 'T is springtime with me now. Wouldst have, my girl, 
 That season turn to summer, and at once? 
 Place me where I can hear them, and observe 
 This meeting. 
 
 Aloin. 'Twixt my lady and the Count? 
 I dare not. For what purpose ? 
 
 Zoe. What to thee 
 My purpose, if thou dar'st not. Say I feel 
 An itch to know what is between the two : 
 Art thou made wiser 1 
 
 Aloin. Scarce by that reply. 
 But thou mean'st something more. Thou dost impute 
 Wrong to my lady. 
 
 Zoe. Say I do ; what then ? 
 It is my duty, if I think there 's wrong. 
 
14 UGO DA ESTE 
 
 To expose it for my good lord's sake. Thou canst, 
 Canst thou not ? aid me. 
 
 Aloin. Not in this. Thou think'st, 
 Like all men who have found one woman frail, 
 There is none chaste. I dare avouch, who know, 
 My lady is as innocent as I. 
 Zoe. Perhaps. Thou wilt not aid me then ? 
 
 Aloin. I dare not. 
 Zoe. Wonder not therefore, if thou find me cold : 
 I can reciprocate. [ Going. 
 
 Aloin. Zoese — stay. 
 Will nothing else content thee ? 
 
 Zoe. Naught but this. 
 I offer'd for this trifle all my love. 
 I know now how thou count'st it. 
 
 Aloin. Speak not so. 
 I would do aught to please thee. But this act, 
 It is so wrong, so perilous. 
 
 Zoe. The wrong. 
 The peril are both mine. Thou art not ask'd 
 To share in either. 
 
 Aloin. Thou wilt then conceal. 
 In any case, my service ? 
 
 Zoe. Why reveal it ? 
 It would not stead me. 
 
 Aloin. And thou wilt not stay 
 Longer than needful ? 
 
 Zoe. Am I quite a fool ? 
 Aloin. And — and — Zoese, thou wilt 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 15 
 
 Zoe. Evermore 
 Be thy most humble servant ? Silly child 1 
 While thou art so obliging can I else ? [kissing her. 
 Aloin. Indeed thy coldness chill' d me to the heart. 
 Zoe. The frost-time now is over. — Lead the way. — 
 Henceforth thou shalt have summer. 
 
 Aloin. Follow quick. 
 
16 UGO DA KSTB 
 
 Act the Second 
 Scene I. The Court of the Castle.. 
 
 TJgO. LlONELLO. 
 
 Lion. Thou hast lost the game because thou wast so dull : 
 Thou play'st at all times better than I do, — 
 Even for thy hghtness, and that happy mood 
 Which now thou lackest. 
 
 Ugo. Having caught thy own. 
 Lion. No, by St. George I that is no mood of mine. 
 Do I smile so ? 
 
 Ugo. Thou dost not smile at all. 
 Lion. Rarely, perhaps ; but never in that wise. 
 
 See now I thy head droops and thy eyes are fix'd 
 On something that has no existence here. 
 
 So twice amid our game He hears me not. 
 
 Ugo! 
 Ugo. What is 't? What saidst thou, Lionello? 
 Lion. Not that thou art in love ; though these be signs, 
 According to the love- learn' d. 
 
 Ugo. What I pray ? 
 
 \loohing uneasily up the Court 
 
ACT n. sc. 1. IV 
 
 lAon. That reddening cheek for one. Why surely now, 
 
 [following with his own the direction of Ugo's eyes. 
 'T is not fair Aloinda ? 
 
 Enter Aloinda. 
 
 Have a care I 
 Thou hast a rival there. . 
 
 Aloin. My lord the Count, 
 The Marchioness entreats to see you briefly. 
 Ugo. Yes, yes. — For what ? {with sudden gloom. 
 
 Aloin. About the horse she gave. 
 
 Ugo. That cannot be ; it is but now {checking himself 
 
 and recovering.} Yes, yes. 
 My dutiful regard present, and say 
 I '11 come on the instant. 
 
 Aloin. In the blue room east 
 My lady sits. Shall I await, my lord. 
 To show you thither ? 
 
 Ugo. No. [Exit Aloin. 
 
 Enter Pkiest. 
 
 Priest. Peace with you, sons. 
 Lion. For one of us 't is needed, holy father. 
 
 That is the Count. Thou seest, he is sore perplex'd. 
 
 I doubt he is in love with Aloinda. 
 
 But love 's a question never reach'd by thee. 
 Ugo. With that grave face thou 'dst never think he jested ; 
 
18 UGO DA ESTB 
 
 But Lionello has had luck to-day. 
 
 Hence his good-humor. [Mmt, with a slow and reluctant 
 step, after Aloinda. 
 
 Enter, from the opposite direction, 
 
 CONTEAEIO. 
 
 Lion. Thus we may suppose 
 
 That twice being beaten Ugo is made sad. 
 
 But truly, father, he was so before. 
 
 Once when I threw the ball, he let it hit him 
 
 Full on the breast, he was so lost in thought. 
 Priest. I too have mark'd this sadness for some days. 
 Contr. [joining them.'] Is 't of the Count you speak ? 
 
 Priest. It is. And thon, 
 
 Messer Uguzion', hast thou not noted 
 
 This change of mood ? 
 
 Contr. But slightly, and at times. 
 
 The Court is dull now. With my lord's return, 
 
 Revive its splendor and the Count's gay mood. 
 Priest. Our lord is hourly look'd for, is he not? 
 Contr. I ride forth soon to meet him. Come, young sir, 
 
 Wilt thou not take to horse and join me 1 
 
 Lion. Grladly. 
 Contr. There will be stirring times for thee anon. 
 
 Pomp and high festival, when Padua gives, 
 
 Under the goodly auspice of our liege. 
 
 Her tournament in Venice for the Doge. 
 
 I look to see thee break a lance or two 
 
ACT n. SC. 2. 19 
 
 In gay St. Mark's, with that strong arm of thine, 
 Messer Lionello, for some dame's bright eyes. 
 Father, adieu. 
 
 Priest. Adieu, and bless you, sons. 
 [Mceunt, Lion, and Contr. one way, the Priest a/nother. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 A private chamber in the Castle. 
 
 Paeisina, 
 walking to and fro uneasily. 
 
 Paris. Not yet ? not yet ? — What, if he should refuse 
 To come at all ? That cannot be ! I redd 
 In his own eyes, his speech, his changing cheek, 
 His very dread to look on me, be with me. 
 That yearning of the soul which burns in me 
 Lilce fire in my heart's blood. He mvst come. 
 
 If he come not ! Oh G-od I and if he come, 
 
 What is my purpose ? I have none — none else 
 Than to behold him, hear him, be once more 
 Beside him ere my lord returns. My lord ? 
 His sire 1 [covering her face with her hands. 
 Oh horrible ! — 
 
 Too late ! too late I 
 
20 UGO DA ESTB 
 
 If it were death — as 't is deserving death — 
 
 To see thee, dearest Ugo, in the hope 
 
 To make the opinion certain that thou — lov'st me, 
 
 Which but to think, which but to name in thought, 
 
 Makes my heart sick with pleasure, — if 't were death, 
 
 I 'd spring to meet it. 'T is — it is — his step ! 
 
 Ugol 
 
 Miter ITgo. 
 
 Parisina hastens to Mm. Ugo stands 
 
 embarrassed and defected. 
 
 Ugo. Madonna, [slowly. 
 
 Paris. Is it thus thou meet'st me ? 
 How cold thou art I 
 
 Ugo. Madonna — thou didst send 
 
 [Pauses, embarrassed. 
 Paris. Didst thou not know I 'd send ? thou wast prepar'd. 
 
 I told thee I should send. Didst thou not wait? 
 Ugo. Alas ! 
 
 Paris. What means that heart-cry of distress ? 
 
 Oh Ugo ! I had thought [Pausei, looking on him 
 
 tearfully. 
 Ugo. What didst thou think ? [turning 
 away his eyes. 
 Paris. Think? — That I was not sole in my despair; 
 That thou didst sympathize, didst suffer with me ; 
 That the sharp longing which gnaws in my heart — 
 That vacancy which like a burning coal 
 
ACT II. SC. 2. 21 
 
 Dries up my blood and marrow, daily, nightly, 
 Till it is fill'd, as now that thou art near — 
 That thou didst feel this too. — 
 
 XJgo. Heaven! Madonna — 
 Think where thou art, think what thou art ! 
 
 Paris. Tes, yes, 
 I know : I am thy father's wife, thy stepmother. 
 
 [ Wringing her hands, and laughing hysterically. 
 Ugo. Hush ! hush ! In pity, for thy own sake, hush ! 
 I thought I heard a movement in yon chamber. 
 There on my right. 
 
 Paris. There is no danger, none. 
 The door is lock'd. But I will be more calm. 
 Ugo. Tes, yes ; for this is frightful. Thou didst send 
 To speak with me about the barb. 
 
 Paris. The barb ? 
 "Who told thee that ? 
 
 Ugo. 'T was Aloinda. 
 
 Paris. True, 
 I gave that reason. 'T was for her, not thee. 
 Ugo. 'T was then of Lionello thou wouldst speak. 
 Thou saidst thou 'dst show my danger. 
 
 Paris. Sit then down. 
 Ugo. Ask me not to be seated. Let us stand. 
 
 It is — it is 
 
 Paris. Why mince the word ? Thou think'st 
 It is thus safer, [smiling sadly. 
 
 Ugo. Seated, we might lose 
 The thought of time. Thus standing, I am warn'd 
 
22 UGO DA ESTE 
 
 To make this meeting brief for both our sakes. 
 What of my brother ? 
 
 Paris, [ahstractedly.'] Of — thy — brother. — Teg. 
 Why wilt thou call him brother 1 him, the fruit 
 Of an amour with Stella d' Assassino, 
 While thou wast lawful-bom of Gigliola, 
 High daughter of Francesco da Carrara, 
 ThelordofPadua.= 
 
 Ugo. Thou hast forgotten, 
 My sire himself comes from an unbless'd bed. 
 Paris. No. And the lawful ruler of this realm, 
 The lawfully begotten Marquis, Azzo, 
 How fared he with thy misbegotten sire ? — 
 Look not displeas'd ; I speak but for thy good. — 
 Driven from his throne, and banish'd into Crete, 
 Where he liv'd wretchedly. And such may be 
 Thy fate from Lionello. 
 
 Ugo. Lady, no. 
 Thou dost not know him. 
 
 Paris. And dost thou ? He wears 
 At all times that grave mask, and speaks few words 
 From impulse ; and who know him best declare 
 He is high-soul'd, aspiring, brave. 
 
 Ugo. Those traits 
 Are not deem'd vices, lady. 
 
 Paris. But may prove 
 The elements of danger, when he comes 
 With foreign help to oust thee from thy rights, 
 As Niccolo did Azzo. Thou hast heard 
 
ACT II. SO. 2. 23 
 
 How the Venetians and the Bolognese 
 
 And Paduans help'd thy sire. They may again. 
 
 Or other powers, aid his spurious heir 
 
 Against the true one. Precedents still tempt 
 
 That lust to imitate so strong in man. 
 
 And once I heard one practis'd in state-art, 
 
 My sire I mean, pronounce this phrase : that men 
 
 Are everywhere so prone to covet change. 
 
 The spirit of revolt, however wild. 
 
 Causeless or hopeless, never lacks support. 
 
 Heed what I say. 
 
 Ugo. I do, but cannot think 
 
 It touches Lionello. 
 
 Paris. Wilt not think. 
 
 Thou art thyself so generous, thou deem'st 
 
 All men are like thee, \looking at Mm fondly. 
 
 Thou wilt learn anon. 
 Ugo. How shouldst thou know, who art younger than myself?' 
 Paris. Women see better into men than men. 
 
 Then, my — regard for thee has clear'd my eyes. 
 
 Thou wilt be careful ? Thou at least wilt keep 
 
 Thy secrets from him 7 Thus, thou wilt not say 
 
 How I have favor'd thee, nor fill his ear 
 
 With my wild sorrow ? 
 
 Ugo. Have I earn'd this doubt ? 
 
 Was it a child or fool then thou did'st favor ? 
 
 Could I have known I stood thus in thine eyes, 
 
 It would have sav'd me terrible remorse. 
 Paris. Forgive me 1 But thou art so fond of him, 
 
24 ^ UGO DA ESTB 
 
 Forever with him. I should not have spoken. 
 It was a flying thought — a woman's terror, 
 Startled at shadows she herself creates, 
 forgive me, TJgo. [tahing his hand. 
 
 How thy fingers tremble ! 
 Why dost thou snatch them from me ? look aside ? 
 Do not despise me, Ugo ! do not — do not ! 
 
 Isohbiiig, covers her face luith her hands. 
 Ugo. Despise thee? Madonna! ItaMng one of her hands; 
 
 then drops it suddenly. 
 Paris. Let me then 
 Lean on thy shoulder thus. It hides my shame, 
 And is such bliss for me I It may be well 
 
 The last time that we meet thus ; and thy sire 
 
 Ugo. [breaking from her. 
 
 Oh God ! "t is well reminded. Let me go. 
 Hold not my hand, Madonna. It is madness. 
 Thou art my father's wife ; and I must hence, 
 Before destruction overtakes us both. 
 Paris. One moment, Ugo ! 
 
 Ugo. No, while I am sane — 
 Ere thou hast taken from me all remorse, 
 And shame, and fear. 
 
 Paris. Say only thou dost Say 
 
 But thou art sorry — to — to 
 
 Ugo. Can I say 
 More than I have implied in look and word ? 
 Wicked in both, as I am in my thoughts 
 Horribly criminal. Let us part at once — 
 
Aor n. sc. 3. , 25 
 
 Now and forever. [ Ooing. 
 
 Paris. Yes — yes — now. And bless thee ! 
 I am not now alone ; thou lov'st as I. 
 
 [Exit ITgo. Paeisina weeping 
 bitterly, under her hands. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 The GdUery, as in Act I. Sc. II. 
 
 Aloinda. 
 ZoESE, entering hurriedly. 
 
 Aloin. What hast thou seen ? What hast thou heard ? Thou 
 
 look'st 
 
 As though thou wast delighted. Can that be ? 
 
 Zoe. [to himself, exultingly, clenching his hand, and about to pass 
 
 Aloinda. 
 
 I have her now. Still, henceforth, as the grave. — 
 
 Why dost thou stop me ? 
 
 Aloin. Speak'st thou thus to me ? 
 
 Art thou beside thyself? With joy, or what? 
 
 Zoe. With nothing. I am only in great haste. 
 Vol. II— 2 
 
26 UGO DA ESTB 
 
 Aloin. Thou hast seen something, thou hast heard. 
 
 Zoe. Perhaps. 
 Aloin. Whom didst thou threaten ? 
 
 Zoe. No one. 
 
 Aloin. Thou didst say, 
 
 Thou hadst her now. Thou didst not mean the ? 
 
 Zoe. [putting his hand to her lips.] Hush ! 
 Thy ears deceiv'd thee. 
 
 Aloin. No, nor do my eyes. 
 Thou hast some mighty secret. 
 
 Zoe. [after a pause, and regard- 
 ing her gravely.'] Aloinda, 
 I promis'd thee, the peril of my act. 
 Its guilt, thou shouldst not share. My secret then, 
 If I have any, let me keep, myself. 
 My words forget ; they in no wise concern thee. 
 And might, remember'd, bring thee unto harm. 
 If falsely constru'd. But adieu awhile ; 
 My lord by this time must be near the gates : 
 My function will not suffer me to tarry. [ Going. 
 Aloin. And no more thanks ? 
 
 Zoe. yes, this brief embrace. [Mmt 
 Aloin. And this that summer-time of love he promis'd! 
 Thus men reward us when we give them all. 
 Forget thy words ? They were too strange tor that. 
 
 If they betoken malice to my lady 
 
 I have done one wrong. But it shall end with this. 
 
ACT UI. SC. 1. 27 
 
 Act the Third 
 
 Scene I. As in Act II. Sc. II. 
 
 Paeisina. 
 
 Paris. Nearer and nearer I In an hour perhaps — 
 In less — the echo of his horse's hoofs 
 Will sound upon my heart. It is the kneU 
 To all my joy, my peace of mind forever. — 
 And Ugo will ride out to meet the train. 
 I must behold him once again — I must ! 
 
 \rings a hand-bell. 
 Before the light goes with him, and the uight 
 Without a star shuts-in my soul. That night ! 
 'T were better for me were it of the grave ; 
 Better for both of us. This craving void, 
 This hunger of the heart that gnaws unceasing, 
 And most when newly fed on what it craves, 
 What shall appease it ? Yet I must, I must, 
 Once more be with him, ere it is too late. 
 Perhaps even now it is too late ! perhaps 
 He is gone already ! gone to meet my death ! 
 
 Miter Aloinda. 
 
 Qro Aloinda ; quickly ; tell the Count 
 
 I must have speech with him before he starts. 
 
28 UGO DA E8TB 
 
 Aloin. \reluctanthf] Madonna — 
 
 Paris. Is he gone then ? is he gone ? 
 
 Aloin. The Count has not yet mounted. But 
 
 Paris. How now ? 
 Didst thou not hear me ? I would speak, I said, 
 With the Count on the instant. 
 
 Aloin. Yes, Madonna, but 
 
 Forgive me. [kneels.'] Do not bid me go to him. 
 Paris. What threatens ? Whathashappen'd ? Woman, speak I 
 
 Aloin. Nothing that 'T is my fear for you. Zoese 
 
 Paris. Zoese — and thy fear for me ? Presumptuous I 
 
 What hast thou done ? what dar'd 1 Speak out ! speak all. 
 Tears will not answer me. 
 
 Aloin. Be not angry, pray. 
 Tou frighten me, Madonna. I but fear'd, 
 
 Zoese 
 
 Paris. Fear thou for Zoese's self. 
 I have suspected forsome time thy fondness 
 For that base wretch. What has he dar'd to say ? 
 Aloin. "E was but a word. Madonna. Make me not 
 Betray him. 'T was alone for your dear sake, 
 My honor'd and lov'd lady, that I spoke. 
 I may have fancied danger. Madonna, 
 
 Send me not to the Count again ! Zoese 
 
 Paris, [passionately. 
 
 Is a lewd villain. I could tell of that 
 Would ruin him in thy eyes, and with my lord 
 Put him in instant peril of his life. 
 Let him beware, foul traitor I Thou, begone. 
 
ACT m. SC. 2. 29 
 
 Send me my gentleman. He shall, instead, 
 Carry my message to the Count. Away ! 
 
 [Mcif. — Aloinda in 
 the opposite direction, weeping. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 As in Act I. Sc. I. 
 
 Miter simulta/neously, hut from different sides, 
 ZoESE and Aloinda. 
 
 She makes towards him. He is about to avoid her, 
 hut suddenly goes towards her. 
 
 Zoe. Why, thou art bath'd in tears ! What hath betid ? 
 Aloin. My lady order'd me to call the Count 
 Again to her. 
 
 Zoe. So soon ! So hot ! The ! Well ? 
 
 Aloin. I show'd reluctance; for thy words, Zoese, 
 Had fiU'd me with vague terror. 
 
 Zoe. Well? 
 
 Aloin. Displeas'd, 
 She bid me call her gentleman. 
 
 Zoe. In sooth, 
 A very proper Bettor he than thou : 
 
30 UGO DA ESTB 
 
 Nature design'd him for it. Was 't for that — 
 Envy of his nice fiinction, or because 
 Thy lady was displeas'd, thine eyes be wet? 
 Thou weep'st too easily. Now, had she beat thee, 
 Or in her passion sought to tear those eyes, 
 
 Grrudging their brightness 
 
 Aloin. Thou wilt cease to mock, 
 When thou hear'st all. 'T was not my lady's wrath — 
 Though, hadst thou seen her haughty look, Zoese," 
 Her lips curl'd up with scorn, and glittering eyes 
 
 Widely dilated 
 
 Zoe. I have seen it all. 
 I mean — elsewhere. All know her passionate blood. 
 And pride like Lucifer's. But this hot wrath 
 Had surely other cause. 
 
 Aloin. Ah yes, 'twas thou. 
 
 Zoe. Me ? She did not ? Thou didst not, Aloinda, 
 
 Tell what had paas'd between us? 
 
 Aloin. Surely, no. 
 But, in my trouble and dismay, thy name 
 Bscap'd my lips. 
 
 Zoe. Hal And she said? — What said she? 
 A loin. Must I tell all ? She bid thee to beware. 
 For she knew what would ruin thee with me, 
 And put thy life in peril with thy lord ? 
 Why art thou silent ? 
 
 Zoe. Seeking for a cause. 
 But find none — other than, that she is mad. 
 Buf tarry not, nor chafe her in this mood. 
 
ACT III. SC. 2. 31 
 
 Seek with all haste Messer Aldrovandino : 
 I '11 talk with thee anon. [Eidt Aloinda. 
 
 But not of this. — 
 Now, 't is a game of death and life between us, 
 Thou haughty lady. And 'tis I shall win. 
 I meant to use thy secret for my need ; 
 That I might bind thy lips, and in thy sin 
 Find palliation for my grave delict, 
 And amorous advantage. But thou wilt not. 
 Thou art so steel'd with pride, and thy hot blood, 
 Distemper'd with incestuous passion, swells 
 Thy heart so big with daring, my firm plans 
 Break into bubbles. Love that smooth-oheek'd boy, 
 Thou virtuous wanton, that wast mad with scorn 
 That I durst love thee ! love thy husband's son I 
 Tempt him, who is as rash and weak as thou. 
 Knowing the right and wishing to be good. 
 Yet strengthless to achieve it, tempt the boy ; 
 And when he falls, look to thyself and him ! 
 The sky is black with thunder, and I see 
 Even now the flash that shall avenge my shame 
 And by your common ruin rescue me.* 
 
 [Exit. 
 
32 UGO DA ESTB 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 A room of Ugo's Apartment in the Oastle. 
 
 Ugo 
 
 seen at a table, leaning with his head in 
 
 hath his hamds. His plumed cap is on the table. 
 
 Enter Rangone. 
 
 He hows profoimdh/ at the door 
 
 and waits, but is unnoticed — approaches the table tuith 
 
 more noise and bows again as before. 
 
 Ugo. [slowly lifting his head. 
 
 What is thy will, Messer Aldrovandino ? 
 Bang, [again bowing. 
 
 The lady Marchioness, my lord the Count, 
 Desires the favor of your lordship's presence 
 For a brief space. 
 
 Ugo. Again? I mean What, now? 
 
 Rang. If my lord please. Before my lord the Count 
 Rides forth to meet my lord the Marquis. 
 
 Ugo. Ah! — 
 There is scant time. Thou wilt take back my answer. 
 Thy lady must excuse me. I dare not 
 Be wanting in this duty. I will come 
 
ACT ni. SC. 3. -33 
 
 On my return. 
 
 Rang. With pardon of my lord, 
 The Marchioness would see my lord the Count 
 Especially, some brief command to give 
 Before his going. 
 
 Ugo. Have my brothers left ? 
 Rang. Long since, my lord. Indeed the Marquis, now. 
 
 Our sovereign, must be very nigh the gate. 
 Ugo. Ah Heaven ! I have forgot myself. Yet, yet 
 
 'T is not too late. [Rising hastily, he puts on his cap. 
 
 Rang. My lord then will not come ? 
 'T is but a moment — so my lady said. 
 She earnestly entreated 
 
 Ugo. Come ? Yes, yes. 
 Say I will come, Messer Aldrovandino. 
 Rang. Shall I attend my noble lord the Count? 
 Ugo. No. Thanks. 
 
 Rang. I humbly take my leave. [Exit. 
 
 Ugo. Come? Come? 
 
 Oh, she is mad ! And I What wiU my sire 
 
 Deem of my dallying ! But I have no thought 
 Now save for her. And she ? Where will this end ? 
 Each draught of this forbidden joy — this joy 
 Which yet is pain, is sadness, is despair — 
 Inflames the thirst for more. We must not drink. 
 We must dash down the cup, or thirst till death. 
 that my sire had come before we tasted ! 
 that he now were here ! that this great sin 
 Might stand where it is now, but in the thought. 
 2* 
 
34 • ugo da estu 
 
 Act the Fourth. 
 
 Scene I. As in Act I. Sc. I. 
 
 Enter the Marquis, 
 
 attended hy La Sale, Contrario, Lionello, 
 
 BoRSo. Zoese, following at a distance. 
 
 Marq Faithful La Sale ! with thy weight of years 
 Thou 'rt nimbler in thy welcome than some be 
 Whose nearer tie might challenge their young limbs 
 To readier service. Why appears not yet 
 Our Marchioness ? 
 
 Oontr. My lord perhaps has come 
 Earlier than look'd for; and the joyous cries 
 That hail'd his safe return might not have reach'd 
 Her distant chambers. But the grateful news 
 Must now have bless'd our lady, and we soon 
 Shall see her here. 
 
 Marq. Why was the County Ugo 
 Not with your train ? Where is he now ? 
 
 Lion. My lord, 
 I join'd Messere Uglizion. Borso staid 
 To ride with TJgo. 
 
 Borso. And I found him wrapt 
 In gloomy meditation, seeming lost 
 
ACT IV. SO. 1. 35 
 
 To all external things. He bade me naount 
 Without him ; he would follow in brief time. 
 Marq. I fear the boy is ill. But, gentlemen, 
 Thanking I will dismiss you. My fatigue 
 Makes, with the dust of travel, privacy 
 More needful than lov'd faces. {Exeunt, La Sale 
 
 and Contrario. 
 Lionello, 
 Gro thou to Ugo. If not too unwell. 
 Bid him attend me. Else, see that he hath 
 The needful service, and I '11 go to him. 
 Zoese, wait. [Exeunt Lion, and Borso. 
 
 Now, what hast thou to say ? 
 Thou hast sought my eyes with thy uneasy looks 
 Three several times, and ventur'd upon signs 
 Of anxious haste to speak to me. What means 
 This mystery ? 
 
 Zoe. My lord — my duty 
 
 Marg[. Quick I 
 Dispense with all professions ; and be brief. 
 Zoe. May I then claim beforehand from my lord 
 His pardon for the dreadful news I bring ? 
 Marq^. Pardon ? and dreadful ? Thou didst look at me 
 With glances of strange meaning, when our speech 
 Was of thy mistress and my sou the Count. 
 Is it of them, thy news ? 
 
 Zoe. My lord — it is. 
 Marq. Wretch ! dar'st thou ? 
 
 Zoe. Nothing, that will not bear proof 
 
36 UGO DA ESTB 
 
 I have weigh'd the risk with duty ; and I take it, 
 For my lord's honor. 
 
 Marg^. Thou dar'st not imply ? 
 
 Speak ! or I'll strangle thee. 
 
 Zoe. My lord well knows 
 The Marchioness at first dislik'd the Count, 
 Then took him into favor. 
 
 Marg^. On thy life ! 
 To the p6int at once 1 
 
 Zoe. They now are loek'd together 
 In the blue chamber of the eastern wing. 
 
 Marq. Liar ! — But no, thou wouldst not dare How came 
 
 This thought to thee ? 
 
 Zoe. Her gentleman was sent 
 To call the Count, the lady of her Chamber 
 Having refus'd, — this she averr'd to me, — 
 A second tune to serve her in that way. 
 Marq. Villain ! and is this all ? 
 
 Zoe. My lord, my life 
 Rests on the fact. See for yourself; and then 
 Punish the guilty, me or them. 
 
 Marq. But how ? 
 Zoe. I have the key which locks the adjoining room. 
 There is a door between. 
 
 Marq. And thou hast us'd it? 
 Zoe. My lord, I not deny it. But for that use, 
 To which what I had heard and seen already 
 Prompted me as a duty, were unknown 
 That which, even now, my lord himself may see 
 
ACT IV. SC. 2. SI 
 
 Through the look's aperture. 
 
 Marq. Lead then the way. 
 If thou hast wrong'd them, ere the set of sun 
 Thy head shall feed the ravens. 
 
 Zoe. Quickly then. 
 They may ere this have parted. But if there, 
 My lord will have assurance of their guilt. 
 
 MarQ. And if I do not ! Mark ! thy Ufe or theirs. 
 
 [Mceunt 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 As in Act II. Sc. II. 
 
 Ugo. Parisina. 
 
 Paris. G-o not, dear Ugo I 't is so little while 
 Thou hast been here. 
 
 Ugo. Forget'st thou, dear Madonna, 
 Why we should part ? My brothers both have gone 
 To welcome-in my sire. What must he think, 
 Not seeing me with them ? 
 
 Paris. There is yet fall time. 
 
 Ugo. No, Borso, waiting for me, came to me 
 Before Rangone sought me, and I promis'd 
 To follow straight. We lose the flight of time 
 
38 trOO DA ESTE 
 
 While thus together. Should my sire return 
 
 Heavens I what were he in the Castle now ? 
 Paris. Thy fears confound thee. We should hear the cries 
 Of those who welcome him, perhaps like us 
 Hating his coming, and the horses' hoofs 
 Resounding in the courtyard. 
 
 Vgo. No, not so. 
 We are too distant, and our throbbing hearts 
 Would deaden to our minds all other sounds. 
 Madonna, if I fear, 't is not alone 
 For my own honor, for my life perhaps, 
 But oh, far more for thine. Why should I stay ? 
 We must part — now. Think only where thOu art, 
 And what thou art. Madonna. 
 
 Paris. I but think 
 That thou art with me, Ugo, and but dread 
 To lose thee now forever. 
 
 Ugo. Ay, forever. 
 Thou didst protest, Madonna, when I came, 
 It was to be the last time, promis'd me 
 Thou wouldst not seek again what is such sin 
 Even to long for. 
 
 Paris. Yet, save in the thought. 
 How are we guilty ? Can it be such sin, 
 That we, of kindred age, and kindred hearts, 
 Should feel this passion ? which we not create. 
 Ourselves, and cannot at a voice make cease, 
 Because that voice is reason's or is honor's, 
 More than we can the other natural longings, 
 
ACT rv. SC. 2. 39 
 
 Our hunger and our thirst. 
 
 Ugo. O speak not thus! 
 Enough that we are guilty in the thought. 
 Let us not stifle conscience, nor ourselves 
 Court new temptations which we should eschew. 
 Let me, for thy own sake, for mine, and, dare I say, 
 My lord my father's, let me go. Farewell ! 
 Paris. ITgo I 
 
 Ugo. Madonna? 
 
 Paris. 'T is the first, last time. 
 
 She puts up her lips to him, and they embrace. 
 
 As they part, Pakisina soibing, 
 
 Enter, 
 
 hurriedly and with dismay in her looks, 
 
 Aloinda. 
 
 Paris, [at first, haughtily. 
 
 How now ? What means this ? {checks herself, 
 
 observing Aloinda's looks. 
 But — "What is there wrong ? 
 Is my lord come 1 
 
 Aloin. worse, worse, worse. Madonna I 
 You are betray'd. He stands now in yon room, 
 Seeing and hearing all. I saw Zoese, 
 Some minijtes since, on tiptoe, lead him thither. 
 I know not what is wrong, but I am come. 
 At peril of my life, soon as I durst, 
 To give you warning. 
 
40 UGO DA ESTE 
 
 Paris. Thanks, kind Aloinda. 
 I do repent me of my hasty speech, [eaotendmg Tier hand. 
 Aloin. {kissing it, and weeping. 
 
 Mind me not, dear my lady. 
 
 Paris. Leave us now. 
 
 [Exit Aloin. 
 TJgo, it is our death. Why art thou pale ? 
 Pear'st thou ? 
 
 Ugo. Not death. Madonna : not for me. 
 But oh this shame I my sire — my brothers — thou I 
 Paris. Yet we are innocent — save in having lov'd. 
 And in perhaps the flery thought of that 
 Which passion in the blood will prompt to all. 
 But which is only crime with those who yield, 
 As we have not. Yes, now indeed we part. 
 And part forever. Even if life be spar'd us. 
 Yet shut in prison for perhaps all time. 
 Never again to view thee, Ugo — never I 
 O that we both were dead ! 
 
 Ugo. that we were ! 
 Paris. Yet thou wilt think of me when in thy dungeon, 
 
 And dying breathe my name, as I shall thine. 
 Ugo. Yes, yes. Madonna. 
 
 Paris. Call me, call me once 
 By my own name, as I call thee, dear Ugo. 
 Let me hear those lov'd lips, since now indeed 
 We must be parted, speak as those that love. 
 Lov'st thou me, Ugo 1 
 
 Ugo. Ever, Parisina. 
 
ACT TV. SC. 3. 41 
 
 Pwis. [clinging to him convulsively, and soiling. 
 
 Now then — now then — once more. IPuUing up 
 her lips as lefore. They embrace 
 passionately and parti Cr°d ! 
 
 ZTgo. Forever I 
 [Exit hurriedly. 
 Paeisina, soiling, remains standing, 
 her face luried in her hands. 
 
 Scene III. 
 As in Act II. 8c. I. 
 
 BORSO. LlONELLO. 
 
 Borso. What is this strange commotion ? All was joy 
 A half-hour since. Now in each other's face 
 Men look inquiringly, and sadly too. 
 The Captain of the Gruard is call'd in haste, 
 With two of his men, to our father. Let us go 
 And see what is to do. What ponderest thou 1 
 
 Lion. Is not that, Ugo coming ? 
 
 Borso, Yes ; his eyes 
 Are red as if with weeping, and his mien 
 
42 UGA DA ESTE 
 
 Is strangely troubled. See, he marks us not. 
 Dion. And lo, the Captain of the Guard behind him. 
 
 Miter Ugo : 
 
 After him, the Captain of the Guard. 
 
 As Ugo is about to pass Lionello and Bokso, without noticing 
 
 them, the Captain confronts him. 
 
 Capt. My lord the Count, by order of my liege 
 The Marquis, I arrest you. 
 
 Ugo. I obey, [delivering his sword. 
 Poor Parisina ! Imurmured. — Ugo and Capt. pass on. 
 Borso [following.} What is his offence ? 
 Capt. Messer', this is my duty. Aught beyond 
 I am not bound to know. 
 
 Borso. Where lead'st thou him? 
 Capt. To the Lion's Tower. 
 
 lAon. Ugo, take my hand. 
 Capt. Messer', he is forbidden all discourse. 
 
 [Mceunt Ugo and Capt. 
 Borso. What, even to ns ? 
 
 Lion. Heard'st thou not what he said? 
 Borso. " Poor Parisina ! " 'T is our lady's name ! 
 Lion. Now art thou answer'd as to what I ponder'd. 
 
 Borso. Thou didst not then suspect ? 
 
 Lion. No, I remember'd — 
 And weigh'd the past with what I saw this morn. 
 Borso. And think'st thou him then guilty ? 
 
 lAon. Of the crime 
 
Acrr IV. sc. 3. 43 
 
 That lies in flagrant act ? No more than thou ; 
 But of an ardent love between the two. 
 I have seen what now I reason on, and draw 
 Conviction from what once scarce woke a thought. 
 
 Enter Conteabio, 
 from the side at which Ugo and Captain have disappeared. 
 
 Contr. Alas, young sirs, I need not ask your theme. 
 
 The Count has pass'd you. 
 
 lAon. And the Marchioness ? 
 Contr. Has likewise been arrested, and Rangone, 
 
 And both her women. Already sits the court 
 
 That will pronounce and sentence. 
 
 Lion. In such haste 1 
 Contr. Our liege your sire is furious, and will hear 
 
 Of no delay. — Permit me : I am summon'd. 
 Lion, [detaining Mm. 
 
 One word — and for us solely. Dost thou deem 
 
 Poor Ugo guilty ? 
 
 Contr. Scarce two hours ago, 
 
 We were discoursing of his sadden'd mood. 
 
 'T was, we now see, the sadness of a lover, 
 
 But in the first stage of an innocent love. 
 
 There has been as yet no indulgence of the blood. 
 
 Or, in the alter'd and corrupted visage. 
 
 The wasted cheek, the darken' d and sunk eye, 
 
 We should have redd it, as those other signs. 
 
 The Count, I do believe, is pure in body, 
 
44 UGO DA ESTE 
 
 However in the soul he may have sinn'd. 
 
 I must pass on. Grod help us to a verdict 
 
 Righteous at once and merciful. [JEhiit, hwrriedly. 
 
 Borso. ) 
 
 \ Amen I [Exeunt, slowly, 
 Lion. ) 
 
 in sa/me dvrecUon. 
 The Drop falls. 
 
ACT T. SC. 1. 45 
 
 Act the Fifth 
 
 Scene I. A Chamber of the Mistress 
 of the Wardrobe. 
 
 Enter Filippa : 
 ZoESE, following reluctantly. 
 
 Zoe. Why hast thou brought me hither ? Speak : and quick. 
 Filip. Why art thou sad and sullen ? 
 
 Zoe. What to thee ? 
 Filip. I 'd have thee joyful, now thy cause and mine 
 Are both aveng'd. 
 
 Zoe. My cause and thine ! Art mad ? 
 Filip. In silence, now for more than twenty years, 
 I have watoh'd thee, with such love as only she 
 Who bore thee in her body, and who fed thee 
 Prom her own breasts could feel. 
 
 Zoe. What dost thou mean ? 
 Who art thou ? 
 
 Filip. Who but she, Zoese, 
 Who bore thee in her body and who fed thee 
 From her own breasts ? 
 
 Zoe. My mother? O myGrod! 
 
46 UGO DA ESTE 
 
 lUip. Does it then grieve thee ? 
 
 Zoe. Who my father then ? 
 
 Filip. Who but our lord the Signor of Ferrara ? 
 
 Zoe. Woman ! is this then real ? Dar'st thou mock 
 At my distress, and in a time like this ? 
 
 Mlip. At thy distress? Why, was it not thy hand 
 That led thy sire to where he might behold 
 The impudent harlot who usurps my place 
 Wanton with his own son, thy younger brother ? 
 
 Zoe. Stop ! thou wilt drive me mad. Is 't not enough 
 They are doom'd to death within this very hour, 
 With all who were thought to abet them in their crime ? 
 And that through me ? No more ! Prove what thou 
 
 say'st. 
 Why hast thou kept this secret until now ? 
 Why now reveal it ? 
 
 Filip. Ere thou saw'st the light, 
 The Marquis wedded his first spouse, the dam 
 Of this incestuous Count. The high-born wretch — 
 I hate her memory even now — was proud 
 And fiercely jealous. Hence it was my lord, 
 In his own interest, and perhaps for mine, 
 Engag'd me to conceal thy birth alike 
 And our amour. His bounty, always large. 
 Made my faith easy, as this spar'd my shame. 
 Time pass'd. Strange hands had rear'd thee. Not to 
 
 know thee 
 Was grown a habit and cost no more pain. 
 Hence, when in after days I saw thee here, 
 
ACT V. SC. 1. 47 
 
 Well-plao'd and prosperous, I had blusii'd to claim thee, 
 
 Even had I dar'd. 
 
 Zoe. And through this pride and shame, 
 
 This avariee, woman, if thy tale be true. 
 
 Thou hast foul'd my soul with murder, with the blood 
 
 Of my own father's son, shed foi: a crime 
 
 Wherein I envied him. 
 
 Mlip. What ! thou didst love 
 
 Zoe. No, but I envied him, as all men hate 
 
 The joys in others which they love themselves 
 
 But are debarr'd from. If thou be my mother 
 
 Mlip. Thou shalt have proof anon. But look thou there. 
 
 My pale shrunk visage and thy fresher face 
 
 Seem, in that mirror, to have had one mould, 
 
 Vary'd but in the casting, — thine more bold. 
 Zoe. There is better proof within me. In this heart, 
 
 Where mix his. blood and thine, my father's lust 
 
 Throbs with my mother's vengeful ire. But here 
 
 Is something more which neither of them has — 
 
 Repentance and the gnawing of remorse. 
 
 Let me go hence ; the air is liot ; I am stifled. 
 BWp. Thou go'st not to betray me ? not to help 
 
 Thy guilty stepdame ? 
 
 Zoe. Help her ? Could I now? 
 
 I would I could ! Betray thee ? And for what ? 
 
 To whom ? Thy lord — my sire ? \laugMng bitterly. 
 
 Betray thee, woman ? 
 
 Keep thy accursed secret, if thou be 
 
 Indeed my mother ; not a mother's love, 
 
48 UGO DA ESTE 
 
 But a bad woman's malice has divulg'd it : 
 I never shall betray a being more. 
 
 [Mvit, precipitately. 
 
 PiLiPPA makes a step toward him, as if 
 
 to stop him, but remains standing, fixed in amazement 
 
 and consternation; and the Scene closes. 
 
 II. 
 
 The dungeon where Parisika is confined. 
 Parisina. Pkiest. 
 
 Paris. But for a minute 1 but for one brief minute ! 
 
 Only that I may hear from his own lips 
 
 That he forgives me his untimely death. 
 Priest. Daughter, that may not be. The Count himself 
 
 Pray'd with like earnestness to see his sire, 
 
 That he might beg forgiveness of his crime. 
 
 My lord refus'd. How couldst thou then, daughter. 
 
 Hope for this greater grace ? Nor shouldst thou so. 
 
 Even I, had I the power, should have no will 
 
 To help thee to thy wishes. 
 
 Paris. Take thou then 
 
 To Aloinda all thy ghostly cares ; 
 
ACT V. SO. 2. 49 
 
 To Aloinda, whom thy despot lord 
 Dooms to the axe, though innocent as thou. 
 I want them not. 
 
 Priest. This, daughter, is no mood — 
 Paris. To die in ? 'T is to live in. I have learn'd, 
 Young as I am, and of a sex you men 
 Deem feeble-minded, to arrange "my thoughts, 
 And weigh my actions for myself; and now. 
 In my last hour, my mind is still self-pois'd. 
 I not repent me I love Tlgo ; no. 
 He who condemns us whips his own gross sins 
 Over our backs, he, whose whole wedded life 
 Has been adulterous, and whose bastard sons 
 Swarm in Ferrara. No, my sin has been, 
 Not that I love, but that I let my love 
 Find utterance, and indulg'd its natural thirst 
 To see, and hear, and be with, him I love, 
 Till it involv'd its object. For his life, 
 
 for his life, so causelessly oondemn'd, 
 
 1 would relinquish, not alone my life, — ■ 
 
 That were as nothing, — but my deathless soul. 
 
 Priest. Daughter 1 
 
 Paris. 'T is true, and would be not less true 
 Were it not utter'd. Could I be assur'd, ' 
 Ugo hereafter would be doom'd to wo, 
 As I am not, who cannot think that Heaven, 
 Like vengeful man, would punish as a crime 
 The wandering of the heart, the heat of blood, 
 The unstableness of reason, when nought more 
 Vol. II.— 3 
 
50 . UGO DA BSTE 
 
 Has been the sin of Ugo, whate'er mine, 
 Could I be sure of this,, and that my soul 
 Might make, for his, atonement, I would take 
 A twofold torture, and so spare him his. 
 
 Priest. Madonna, in this mood 
 
 Paris. No more ! no more I 
 G-o to my lord, and plead for tJgo's life ; 
 Plead on thy knees, as I kneel in my heart. 
 Remind him that at Ugo's age all men. 
 That be ingenuous, are before us women 
 Shamefao'd and shy, nor dare to offer love 
 Where they are not invited. Bid him judge, 
 Whether a youth like Ugo would have dar'd. 
 Would even have thought, to lift eyes of desire 
 Unto his father's wife, had she not tempted. 
 Do this. Remind him too, what all men know, 
 That Ugo's soul is facile to a fault, 
 And takes, against the advisement of his reason, 
 The shape that others will. Do what thou canst 
 To move his sire, as thou mayst safely do, — 
 For I protest to that All-conscious One 
 Before whose throne I shortly must appear, 
 Ugo is guiltless, — and when thou comest back. 
 And tell'st me that his sentence is remov'd, 
 Bid me kneel down, and I will gladly pray. 
 And make full shrift with an unburden'd heart, 
 And, after, lay my head upon the block 
 More cheerfully than for long months I have done 
 Upon the pillow where repos'd my lord. 
 
ACT V. SC. 2. 5 J 
 
 Priest. Daughter, what may be doae, that will I do ; 
 Not for Count ITgo's sake alone, though sure, 
 Prom all I have heard, the bloody doom pronouno'd 
 Is too severe, but for my liege himself. 
 Meanwhile give heed, my daughter, to thy soul. 
 Try to subdue this passion of regret. 
 This wild despair for him tliou hast destroy'd. 
 And think on that concerns thee in this hour. 
 
 Paris. Deem'st thou that possible ? But I will try. 
 
 [Exit Priest. 
 Try ? With this anguish gnawing in my heart ? 
 
 TJgo I would that fate which now must be 
 
 1 had forestall'd, and by my willing death 
 Sav'd thee the shame, the horror of this hour ! 
 Curse me not, TJgo I Kneel not unto G-od 
 
 Without one word for me ! They have shorn thy locks 
 That the axe may cut sheer I They force thee down, 
 Tliy pale face to the block ! Help ! save him I save him I 
 Kill me ! kill me I I only am to blame ! 
 
 [Falls senseless. 
 
62 UGO DA ESTE 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 A room in the Marquis's Apartments, 
 
 Marquis. 
 La Sale. Conteaeto. 
 
 Marq. These reasons not suffice. Think ye, my friends, 
 That what your hearts might whisper would not plead 
 Loudly to mine, a father's ? If young blood, 
 Temptation, and thai weakness of the will 
 Which perils virtue, be a plea for crime. 
 Who shall stand guilty ? 
 
 La Sale. Who, my liege, escape, 
 Where nothing palliates ? Suffer me to pray, 
 Here on my knees, — kneel thou too down, with me, 
 Messer Ugiizion, — that you would regard — 
 Pardon, my lord ! the honor of your name. 
 For more than twice a hundred years your House, 
 Princes before, are sovereign in Perrara ; 
 Nor has the Marquisate in all that time 
 Been ever spotted with a crime like tliis. 
 See in these tears, which are men's tears, my liege, 
 Not flowing readily, — in mine, I think. 
 Not since my mother died, — see ip our tears 
 The witness of our love, our t>v\et our shame, 
 
ACT V. SO. 3. 53 
 
 And give us hearing when we humbly pray 
 You will not by this pubhc stain of blood 
 Connect your name, for all succeeding time, 
 With this most heinous wickedness. 
 
 Qontr. Dear my liege I 
 Yield to our prayers, our tears. Heed good La Sale, 
 This wise and just old man, who never yet 
 Has counsel' d falsely. 
 
 Enter Lionello. 
 
 Marq. Else up, gentlemen. 
 Were your plea valid, not your prayers were needed, 
 Far less those tears. Your urgence comes too late ; 
 The crime once judg'd is bruited to the world. 
 And the death-sentence stamps its heinous kind 
 Forever, even were itnot enforc'd. 
 Leave me, good friends. 'T is vain to utter more. 
 
 [Exeunt La 8. and Contr, 
 Now, Lionello ? 
 
 Lion. Let me too, my liege, 
 My father, kneel for Ugo. 
 
 Marq. Hast thou seen 
 The virtuous La Sale on his knees. 
 By him Oontrario, and both denied. 
 And hop'st thou to prevail ? 
 
 Lion. Not I, but truth, 
 But justice. Ugo was seduo'd. I know it. 
 I can establish it. 
 
54 UGO DA BSTE 
 
 Marq. I do believe it 
 
 Without thy proofs. He was seduc'd. — God ! 
 
 By her who ! Patience ! — Was seduc'd ? What then ? 
 
 It is the plea of half the world in crime, 
 
 And may avail hereafter, but not here. 
 
 J/ion. But haply Ugo's crime was not 
 
 Marq. Enough ! 
 
 Hast thou aught else to ask, that thou awaitest ? 
 
 If so, be quick, and leave me to my wo. 
 Idon. I fain, my lord, would see him. May that be ? 
 Marq. Ay, 't is my wish. Thou only. Take this ring : 
 
 The wardens will respect it. Bid the boy 
 
 In his last hour remember who he is. 
 
 And bear himself as fits a princely name. 
 
 I shall deplore him, though I may not pardon. 
 
 [Mcit LioneUo. 
 
 Enter Priest. - '' 
 
 What now ? Hast thou confess'd them ? 
 
 Priest. But the Count. 
 
 I come to intercede 
 
 Marq. When will this cease ? 
 Am I so feeble-minded that thou too 
 Shouldst hope to set aside my stern resolve ? 
 Priest. Not were it bas'd on justice. 
 
 Marq. Dar'st thou, priest? 
 Priest. — In nothing venture to provoke my lord. 
 But higher than the reverence he inspires 
 
ACT V. SO. 3. 55 
 
 Is that I owe to truth and unto Grod. 
 
 Hear me. I will be brief. 'T is all but sure, 
 
 And, would my liege but give the time, the proofs 
 
 Might yield full certitude, no actual crime 
 
 Has been committed. 
 
 Marg^. Hush ! What said the Lord 
 Thy Master ? He who on a woman looks 
 To covet her has in his heart already 
 Committed the vile act. Where this is done, 
 The prelude and propulsion to gross sin. 
 What needs to make the corporal guilt complete 
 But the enticement of an apt occasion. 
 And the hot madness of a lecherous piilse ? 
 I saw her in his arms — press'd face to face, — 
 Her red lip, pouted toward him, touch'd his own, 
 And the unnatural — no, the natural wretch 
 Eeturn'd the passion of his father's wife. 
 Will the most horrible crime — as even now 
 It is most horrible, — will it, when again 
 They come together, will the crime stop there ? 
 Priest. But separate them ; put them in close ceUs, 
 In yonder towers, if so thou wilt, for aye ; 
 But, my lord, stain not thy princely name, 
 Stain not the name of Este, with a blood 
 That is thy own ! 
 
 Marq. And should I die, what then ? 
 What keeps them in the dungeon, when the doors 
 That look them in must yield to his command 
 Who then is master ? No, I have search'd my mind, 
 
56 UGO DA ESTB 
 
 And pray'd to Heaven for guidance. Did I find 
 
 One moment's doubt, one feeling of remorse, 
 
 'T should count for them, for Ugo. There is none. 
 
 [waving off the Priest. 
 
 Priest. But didst thou hear, my lord, what Ugo said? 
 
 Marq. No, nor what yet the abandonVl woman said : 
 But I beheld. What matters it, their speech ? 
 The act condemns them. 
 
 Priest. Pardon me. The Count 
 Averr'd it was the last time he would see her. — 
 
 Marq. [vnterrupting. 
 
 And she, no doubt, responded to this vow. 
 After much sobbing and heart-breath'd farewells. 
 Know we not all, who know what passion is. 
 That easier 't is to break the vow than make it ? 
 Go to thy cloister, priest; thou knowest not man. 
 Or rather, go prepare hira for a fate 
 Which nothing but my Own death shall avert. [Exit, above. 
 
 Priest, [looking after him, sadly, for a while. 
 He who himself is so inexorable. 
 How shall he look for mercy in that day 
 When his own crimes are counted ? Men avenge 
 Their proper vices on the sins whose seed 
 They haVe themselves implanted in their sons. 
 If thou forgive man's trespasses, G-od, 
 Only as he forgives his fellow here, 
 Thy single all-unpardon'd crime, poor Ugo, 
 Will scatter to the winds thy sire's last prayers I 
 
 [Mat, moumfuUi/. 
 
ACT T. SC. 4. , 57 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 An inner chamber of the same apartment. 
 
 Enter Marquis. 
 He paces slotuly to and fro. 
 
 Enter Zoese, from the left. 
 He remains standing at the entrance. 
 
 Marq. Come forward. — What -want'st thou ? How pale"thou 
 art I 
 Hast thou too come to add thy knees to those 
 Thy betters bend, who hope that prayers may win 
 What neither justice nor a father's love 
 Can wring from me ? thou ? 
 
 Zoe. No, my lord ; I know. 
 That it were useless. 
 
 Marq. What mean'st thou by that ? 
 Zoe. Thy justice is inflexible. 
 
 Marg_. But why 
 Art thou so pale ? Art thou affrighted too ? 
 Wouldst thou undo what thou hast done ? 
 
 Zoe. My lord, 
 I falter not. If I am pale, the cause 
 Is but my purpose. 
 3* 
 
B8 TJGO DA ESTE 
 
 Ma/rq. Speak. 
 
 Zoe. If I have done 
 Service unto my lord, then suffer me 
 In the same cause, as recompense, to lead 
 My lady to her death. 
 
 Marq. Hast thou no shame ? 
 Peel'st thou no pity 1 
 
 Zoe. Much. But more the longing 
 To see her face the headsman. 
 
 Marq. [after a pause."] Be it so. 
 Whatever be thy motive, take thy wish. 
 Thou shalt observe her, and shalt bring to me 
 The frightful story. — Follow, to receive 
 The order requisite. Then bid the ushers 
 See that no person but thyself, this day. 
 Be sufiFer'd to intrude on me again. 
 
 \M)XU/Kt. 
 
 Scene V. 
 
 The dungeon in the lAon's Tower. 
 
 Ugo. Lionello. 
 
 Ugo. She did not do thee justice. She believ'd 
 Thou wast too cold to be indeed my friend. 
 But thou art warmer to me than my sire. 
 
ACT V. SO. 5. 59 
 
 And thy ambition, hast thou nurtur'd such, 
 Has not endear'd to thee thy brother's ruin. 
 lAon. I can forgive her. It was love of thee — 
 Alas 1 the guilty love that fear'd my gaze — 
 That sought to estrange us, that it might be safe. 
 Heaven be with her, TJgo, as with. thee, 
 In this dread hour I Hast thou no word to send 
 To our sad father ? ^ 
 
 TJgo. None, but that I die 
 Gruilty against him less than he believes. 
 And penitent for all ; and that I die 
 Firmly, as he enjoins. Bid Borso take 
 My last farewell, and love, which next to thee 
 He of all men possesses. Lionello, 
 The father enters. I must shrive me now. 
 
 Enter Priest. 
 
 G-o ; and if thou be one day sovereign here. 
 Think on poor Ugo, and think nothing ill. 
 Lion. Grod ! my brother ! [throwing himself into Ugo's arms 
 Ugo. Isoftly.] Hush ! And now — farewell I 
 [Exit Lion. 
 
 Ugo drops on his knees he/ore the Priest, 
 
 and Scene closes. 
 
60 cgo da este 
 
 Scene TI. 
 
 The Dungeon, as in Act V. Sc. II. 
 
 Paeisina, on her knees.^ 
 
 Miter, 
 
 behind her, Zoesb. 
 
 She turns, and rises indignantly and scornfully. 
 
 Paris. What! thou? 
 
 Zoe. [slowly and gravely. 
 
 And to abide with you, Madonna, 
 Till the trump sound. 
 
 Paris. There wanted this — this insult - 
 Zoe. This assuagement. Hear me through, Madonna. 
 Our time is brief. The bell will shortly toll 
 That gives my brother TJgo to the axe. 
 Hapless like me, but far less guilty. 
 
 Paris. Wretch! 
 Or — art thou mad ? Thou look'st not as thou didst 
 
 [regarding him more nearly. 
 Why com'st thou, double murderer, to thy victim ? 
 Zoe. To make atonement. Stand there still, Madonna, 
 Till you have heard me. In this very hour 
 I have come to know I am Filippa's son. 
 
ACT V. SC. 6. 61 
 
 And by the Marquis. — 
 
 Paris. Thou art pale as death, 
 And haggard. Wicked as thou art approv'd, 
 Thou wouldst not mock me now. Speak'st thou mere 
 truth? 
 
 Zoe. The horrible truth. I too have dar'd to love 
 My father's wife, and in my jealous rage 
 Prepar'd a double murder. But I come 
 Here at your feet to make two-fold atonement. 
 This dagger is for me ; this little drug 
 Saves you the horror of the axe, and blood, 
 Which should not stain that skin. 
 
 Paris. Art thou sincere ? 
 
 Zoe. See. [offering to stab himself. 
 
 Paris. Stop ! Not yet ! — Art thou indeed his son ? 
 
 Zoe. His oldest natural son ; that evil fruit. 
 Planted in wickedness, and gather'd now 
 To poison its producer. I have come 
 To die before you. Be not now displeas'd 
 I have again avow'd what once so vex'd you. 
 Here, at your feet, I pray for your forgiveness, 
 As I invoke my G-od's for all the wrong 
 Done to the Count and thee. 
 
 Paris. Thou art forgiven. 
 I, who through passion have myself so sinn'd, 
 Should have no wrath for jealous rage like thine. 
 Thou must in turn forgive. I do repent me 
 Of my too passionate scorn, and freely own 
 I have notoh'd the shaft that slays me. Take my hand. 
 
62 UGO DA BSTE 
 
 Zoe. Let me once kiss it. And now let me die. 
 Paris. One minute. Thou dost well to die. For thus 
 Thou makest expiation for my life, 
 It may be for thy brother's. But this drug, 
 For which I thank thee, is it sure and quick ? 
 Zoe. Certain, and almost instant in efifect. 
 I sought to spare thee lingering pain. 
 
 Paris. Fresh thanks. 
 
 I '11 wait until the tower-bell tolls, and then ! 
 
 But haply first the priest will come, and bring me 
 News of his respite. 
 
 Zoe. No, Madonna, no I 
 I overheard him plead in vain. My lord 
 Bid him go shrive the Count. 
 
 Paris. Thou awful Q-od ! 
 Hear'st Thou, and wilt Thou let this heart of stone 
 
 Beat happily, while Ugo ? [Bell tolls without. 
 
 Ah ! the bell I 
 [Gazing vacantly and speaking gaspingly. 
 
 The axe ! They have kill'd him ! Ugo ! God ! God 1 
 
 [Falls into Zoese's arms. 
 Zoe. Hush, hush. Madonna, and arise, for pity ! 
 Or they will intercept us I 'T is thy hour. 
 Paris, [standing up instantly. 
 
 And TJgo waits me. Thus. [About to swallow the poison. 
 
 Zoese stops her arm. 
 Zoe. No, let me lead. 
 
 [stabbing himself. 
 Pardon : I would expire before thee. 
 
ACT V. SC. 6. ■ 63 
 
 Park. Blood? 
 Oh Grod ! thou 'rt — {stooping, as to standi, the wound. 
 Zoe. [smiling sadly. 
 
 — Well dispateh'd. Stay not the flow. 
 
 Look to thyself, dear lady : their • — • their feet 
 
 [Noise heard at the door. 
 Paris. I hear. 
 [swallows the poison. 
 'T is done. 'T is well done. Thanks, my brave Zoese. 
 Art thou quite gone already ? 
 
 Zoe. [lifting his head with diffi- 
 culty.'] Was 't thy voice ? 
 I see thee dimly. I expire ' — gladly. 
 Grood night — Ma — donna ! [Dies. 
 
 Paris. So ? Farewell ! 
 They come — but are too late : the poison works. 
 
 Enter Priest. 
 Behind him the Jailer and Executioner. 
 
 See there the informer, and the bloody proof 
 Of his repentance I 
 
 Priest. Didst thou do this deed, 
 Unhappy lady ? 
 
 Paris. No — I have done one like it — 
 And robb'd — the headsman. Ugo ! now — with thee 1 
 
 [Dies. 
 
 Curtain falls. 
 
NOTES TO TTGO DA ESTE 
 
 1. — p. 4. . . his son by his first wife.] See p. 22, verse 5. 
 
 2. — P. 22. While thou wast lawful-bom, etc.] See PosisCErPT. 
 So also, for the first and fourth succeeding verses. They give 
 Bandello's story. But Nicholas was not himself " misbegotten ", 
 although his father and predecessor was. 
 
 3. — P. 23. . . who art younger than myself.'] This is fiction, 
 not history. Consult page 74; where it will be found, that Pa- 
 risina had at this time been married seven years, which would 
 make her at least three years older than Ugo ; a degree of ma- 
 turity that might be inferred from the circumstances of the story, 
 and which is inadvertently conveyed in the very conduct and lan- 
 guage ascribed to her throughout the play. 
 
 4. — P. 31. The sky is black with thunder, etc] Omit, for the 
 Stage, these three last verses. 
 
66 NOTES TO 
 
 5. — p. 60. Pariaina, on lier knees.] Otherwise: 
 
 Pahistna, lying senseless. 
 Enter Zoese. 
 ffe lifts her tenderly. 
 Zoe. Dead ? Would thou wert, unhappy ! But thy pulse 
 Tells of life still. How little time ago 
 My heart had bounded but to even hope 
 To hold thee thus ! — If thou wouldst only die 
 While in this trance ! — But thou must be awak'd 
 To welcome death. — So — \_aetting her up, with her hack to the wall, 
 
 — let me place thee so : 
 It would not do for thee, nor yet for me — 
 Me whom thou justly scom'st and well mayst hate — 
 That thou shouldst find me hanging o'er thee thus. 
 She wakes, Alas I — lRetreati7ig. 
 
 Paris, \looking about her vacaruiy — then reeoUecttng 
 herself.'] How came I thus ? Ah me ! [Rises. 
 Whatl thouf 
 
 Zoe. [slowly and gravely. 
 And to abide, etc. etc. 
 
 The advantage of this reading would be that it marks the brevity 
 of the time that has elapsed since the close of Sc. II. The objec- 
 tions to it are, 1st: The shrieks of P-arisina, in that Scene, must 
 have brought assistance to her ; so that she would not Ue senseless 
 till Zoese entered. 2dly : If so lying, the Jailer, who admits Zoese, 
 would observe her situation. 
 
 6, — P. 63, — I expire — ] This is full rythm : it is pronounced 
 slowly, as a trisyllable. The hemistich might read however, and 
 without much diminution of force : " I expire now — gladly ", or, 
 " T expire — ihvs — gladly ", or again, with a change of sense : " I 
 am dying — gladly". But that in the text is the true and natural 
 expression. 
 
UGO DA ESTE 67 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 In presuming the legitimacy of Ugo, I have been led astray by 
 fiction. In his 44th novel, Bandello makes the Signora Bianca da 
 Este, consort of the Signor Amerigo Sanseverino, relate the partic- 
 ulars of so fearful a tragedy. And this lady commences by naming 
 herself the grandchild of Niccolo III. As in the main parts of the 
 story, as well as in certain details of contemporary history, or 
 allusive thereto, the narrator agrees with the historians, it is some- 
 what remarkable that she should have made Ugo the oldest legiti- 
 mate son of Niccolo. She does this more than once, and with 
 intentional contradiction of the historical assertion that he was one 
 of Niccolo's numerous natural children. In the commencement, 
 after asserting that Niccolo was himself illegitimate, but through 
 the favor of the Venetians, Florentines and Bolognese, had suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining the Signory, banishing the rightful lord, Azzo 
 lY., his cousin, to Candia,* she proceeds : •' Prese pot egli per 
 
 * The line of succession of the Marquises of Este is perplexing to follow, 
 because of the illegitimacy of so very many of them, and the freqnent changes 
 (partly thence arising, partly caused by the usurpation or the preferred succession 
 of brothers) which make the line diverge again and again, so that even the collateral 
 branch tralineates. If the Azso above, who never had the fortune to reign, is 
 entitled to be numbered, his name should read Asso X, there having been nine 
 before him of that designation, direct rulers or associated in the Signory of Fer- 
 rara. So far as I can disentangle the genealogy, I shall endeavor, in elucidation 
 of the text, to show how Nicholas HI. came to his petty sovereignty, and the le- 
 gitimate line of princes was made to end in banished Azzo. 
 
 The House of Este, from whose stem proceeds the ducal race of Brunswick, 
 and consequently the present royal family of England, commence their line, 
 as sovereigns, with Alberto Azzo H., Marquis of Italy^ Count of t/te Luni- 
 gkina^ Lord of Este^ Hovigo, etc., who died in 1097, over a hundred years old. 
 Passing the list of his insignificant successors for nearly two centnries, we come 
 to the reign of Obizzo II. in 1264. And here I beg leave to call attention to two 
 facts ; 1. the ruling Marquis names as his successor or successors whom of his 
 
68 NOTES TO 
 
 moglie la Signora G-igliuola, figliuola del Signer Francesco Giovine 
 
 house he will, and, 2. the people have a voice in confirming them. Thus of thia 
 Obizzo II. we are told by Muratori : Arid altlwugh he was but seventeen years pld^ 
 nevertheless tJie I^eople ofFerrara aid not fiestiate to give him tJie dominion of 
 their dty and district. For, when the fungal of the deceased Marquis was over, 
 all the citizens and stravnera [note this] being called togethet^ in the Square, the 
 Marquis Obieso IT. was pronouncedly aeclamation Lord of Ferrara^ Tie andajter 
 him hisHeir. AnticJdta Ss«e7i*i (Modena^ in fol. 1740) : P. II. Cap. 2. adinU. In 
 1283, the Paduans threatening war, Obizzo confers inter vivos on his son FRAN- 
 CESCO, freed of his filial allegiance ( " eraancipato," ) the lands of Este, etc. (") In 
 1293 Obizzo dies, and by his will makes all his sons, Azzo (VIII.), Aldrovandino 
 (II.) and Francesco, joint heritors of all his estates, dominions, and hOTiors. (ib, 
 p. 39.) The Council general of Modena elects for its perpetual lord Azzo VIII. 
 Miarchese d'Este e cCAncona. In various instruments, F7-a7icesco is named along 
 with his brothers, e. g., "Lega fra i Marchess Estensi Azzo VIII. e Francesco, 
 ttc." (title of document). And the words follow, in the instrument itself : 
 . . " Procuratores Magnifici viri D. Franclsci cadem gratia Estensis et Ancho- 
 nitani Marchionis [Marchese d'Bsie e cCATicona, as Azzo above], Fratris ejusdem 
 D. Azonis, etc." {ib. p. 60.) This Azzo dying, 1308, appoints his universal heir 
 Folco, legitimate son of Fresco his bastard son. The author of the Cronica Es- 
 tense asserts that Azzo, being reconciled to his brothers, made a new will in which 
 he named as his heirs those brothers ; but Muratori says, that he had never seen 
 any authentic writing of this other disposition, nor was any seen, ^0 years be- 
 fore his time, by Pellegrino Prisciano ; and that it appears contrary to fact, since 
 it is certain that the said Fresco, as paternal guardian of Folco, succeeded wil-h 
 the aid of the Bolognese. (p. 68.) I do not see that this proves it, and the clause 
 I italicize would tend to confirm the contrary. The will may have been destroyed. 
 At all events, it is noticeable for my purpose, what stress is put upon the testa- 
 ment of the ruling prince as conferring the right of succession. Observe too 
 what follows. The legitimate princes appeal to Clement V. Pope, and he sup- 
 ports their claim. The people of Ferrara, repenting of Imving accepted Fresco 
 as their ruler, and desiring the government of legitimate Princes^ revolt, and 
 with such earnestness that Fresco came near yielding. But he obtains the assist- 
 ance of the Venetians. Then the Papal army enters Fe?Ta7'a amid the jubila7U 
 acclaim of the people and to shouts of Live the Jfarquis Francesco : (p. 69.) 
 Here ive see Francesco (observe this, for lie is the lineal ancestor of the Azzo 
 
 (a) Nempe distinKucndns orat MarchlonatuH, fcudnm RcealCi ab nUodlall ollm tcrrai qnnlli erat 
 Eatonals . . Leid\. Serip, Brunts. (Ilanov. Tol. llld.) Intted, in T. II, p, 7. 
 
UGO BA ESTE 69 
 
 da Carrara, che in quel tempi signoreggiava Padova. Da questa 
 
 of the text) having both the Papal sanction and the popular acclaim, of 
 which two ratifloations Muratori will be found to make so much for Nic- 
 colo III. who excluded Ajszo. In 1313> this Francmco was treacherously slain 
 by the soldiers of Dalmazio Signer of Bagnolo, Vicar of the Card, di Pelagrua. 
 His possessions were restored to his sons, Bertoldo and A^o, Now we have living 
 A^o and Bertoldo^ sons of Fravweaeo ; and Rinaldo, Obizzo, and Niccolo, sons of 
 Aldrovandino. This ^sso, son of Francesco I., is called Aszo IX. The people 
 ( note again ! ) pronounce by acclamcUion the Marquises Rinaldo and O&festo sons 
 of Aldrovandino, and Aszo son of the Marquis Francesco their lords, (p, 73.) Then 
 anlve in Ferrara Niccolo, third son of Aldrovandino, and Bertoldo the other son 
 of Francesco, ajid they too Iiad their part in the Signor?/, tliough the Mar. 
 Rinaldo, as being Jb'St-horn, lOas considered priTicipal in tlm government. ( ib. ) 
 Aldrovandino remains in the background, for reasons given by the historian. 
 Pope John XXII, fulminates excommunication against the Ferrarese and places 
 their city under interdict. ( p. 73. ) In 1318 died in Ferrara the Mar. A^o^ leaving 
 no offspring, — as shown by his testament, in which he appoints his universal 
 heir his brother the Mar. Bertoldo, ( ^&. ) i w^o thus becomes sole successor to the 
 rights of Francenco L Bemember the importance ( as above shown ) attached to 
 a will under the circumstances. This Bertoldo in 1333 has a son born to him 
 called Francesco ( Franc. II. ) In 1339, a buU of P. John XXII. releases the Marr. 
 Buialdo IV., Obizzo III,, and Niccolo, sons of Aldrovandino, deceased in 1336, 
 from the Papal censure and concedes to them the Vicariate of Ferrara. ( This 
 was the whole object of Papal interference, to obtain from the weakness of the 
 Princes an acknowledgment of vassalage to Eome. ) In this and other bulls, 
 Muratori remarks, the name of Bertoldo is not mentioned. Binaldo dies, 1335 ; 
 Bertoldo, 1343 ; Niccolo, 1344. Obizzo die^, 1353. Now this Obizzo, third of the 
 name, was a bastard son of the second Obizzo, whose father was illegitimate, and he 
 had eleven bastards by the beautiful Lippa dogU Ariosti of Bologna. Just beforo 
 her death, to satisfy consclejice ( as Muratori unphilosophicaUy supposes ) aiid to 
 legitimate 7iiit children, but more probably moved by her entreaties, he had 
 himself mamed to her, this partner of perhaps a twenty years' concubinage. Up 
 to this time, says the historian, Frakcesco Jiad nourished hopes of succeeding to 
 i/te Signory qf Ferrara and the otfier Stated of tJie Etozise of Este, bnt^ seeing t/ie 
 marriage take place and the bull arrive of P. Clement IT, in which the sole sons 
 of Mar. Obizzo were called to the Vica^Hate of Ferrara, from, that tlmeforward lie 
 ceased to smile, meditaiing what lie subsequently put into e^ect a few days after 
 the death of the Mar. Obieso. ( Cap. V. p. 118. ) In fact, F7'ancesco combuied 
 with Rinaldo, son of the deceased Niccolo. But without effect. In 1358 peace 
 
70 NOTES TO 
 
 egli ebbe uu bellissimo jagliuolo sensa piO, clie TJgo Conte di Rovigo 
 
 was made between the brothers, and Francesco^ included in the treaty, received 
 back his conflscated poaseesione. But he never afterward saw Ferrara ( p. 127. ) 
 Aldrovandino III. dies in 1361. And thereupon hia brother Niocolo II. takes the 
 reins of government to the exclusion of Aldrovandino's son Obizzo IV. The lat- 
 ter however, and Niccolo's brother Alberto, appear to have a nominal share in the 
 government, for we find their names combined in sundry instruments of the time ; 
 but the uncles always take precedence, and Niocolo, the actual ruler, is named 
 first. Thus in 1376 the Archbishop of Ravenna, tmable to defend a portion of his 
 territory, conveys it for a stipulated annual sum, not to Obizzo, but to Obizzo and 
 his uncles, making the transfer in this wise : " . . la Terra di Lugo e la Villa di S. 
 Potito a i Marchesi N)ccol6 ed Alberto e ad Obizzo loro Nipote, figliuolo del fu 
 Aldrovandino Marchese ea.i loro figUuoli e eredV Here the reversion is to the 
 sons and heirs of all three 1 certainly a ciu^ons instance of the looseness, in those 
 d^ys, and the chance of complication therein involved, of the rights of succession 
 in the House of Este. The Marquis Francesco dies in 1384, leaving a son by the 
 naipe of Azzo. And this, the tenth Marquis of that name, is the unhappy prince 
 whom Parisina speaks of in the play. In 1388, Niccolo II. dies, and Alberto sac- 
 ceeds. Thus again the claims of Obizzo are set aside. In 1398, Alberto dies, and 
 solemnly makes over the succession to his own son, Niccolo III. Niccolo was but 
 nine years old when recognized as Lord of Ferrara, having to back him the aid 
 of powerful neighbors, to whom his father, either politic himself, or at the sug- 
 gestion of sagacions ministers, had on his deathbed commended him. To his 
 sitpport, writes Muratori, art'tved from Venice^ Florerme^ Bolognrx and JtfatUua, 
 various squadrons of soldiers. Such precatUions were taken, because it was 
 already foreseen, t/utt Azzo Marquis, son of the heretofore mentioned Francesco 
 Marquis of Este, not unlike his fatfier, would Iiave inade attempts to wrest hy 
 ttsurpation the Signory of Ferrara from the Marquis Niccold, tilthough this 
 latter, both by the bulls of the Pope ( repealed again in 1.394 ) and by the election 
 of the People, was the legitimate possesso?; to the exclusion of the said Azzo, 
 deprived of title to lay claim to that dominion. ( u. s. p. 159. ) Azzo has recourse 
 to arms. In 1395, a proposition was made to certain of the Council of Ferrara, 
 and accepted by them, to take Asto off. But the pretended assassins, men of 
 rank, substituted, for the promised victim, a poor devil of a servant, who had 
 the misfortune to resemble him in visage and whom they dressed up in Azzo'a 
 clothes. Crofi. Nov. Jac. de Delayto. ( Rer. Ital. Scrip, xviii. coll. 919, 30. ) 
 Finally, after a petty battle, Azzo was taken prisoner and carried to Faenza, 
 and being delivered to the Venetian government, was confined, as above said, it) 
 Candia, ( ib. 959. ) See final subnote, p. 76. 
 
UGO DA ESTE 71 
 
 fu chiamato." And at the close, after reciting the death of the 
 lovers and Iheir burial in San Francesco, she says: "Hora, veg- 
 gendosi il Marohese senza moglie e senza figliuoli legitimi, si 
 maritfi ia terza volta, e prese per moglie la Siga. Eicoiarda, fighuola 
 del Marchese di Saluzzo ; de la quale nacquero il Duca Heroole, 
 padre del Duca Alfonso, ed altresi il Sign. Sigismondo da Este mio 
 padre. lo so, che sono alcuni che hanno openione, ohe lo afortunato 
 Oonte non fosse figliuolo dela prima moglie delMarchese Niccolo,* 
 ma che fosse il primo fighuol bastardo che havesse ; ma essi forte 
 s'ingannano, perchS fu legitirao, ed era Conte di Eovigo, come 
 pid volte ho sentitodire si la buona memoria del Signer mio Padre." 
 This is very positive, and as it is difficult to see what motive there 
 could be in altering the facts, when the legitimacy of Ugo would 
 rather, by reason of the prejudices of mankind, add to the enor- 
 mity of his crime, a bastard's virtue being always looked upon with 
 suspicion, — otherwise, not so much being expected of him, — I 
 can only suppose the memory of the narrator-to have been at fault. 
 Yet, what are we to think of the name and rank of his mother 
 being given 7 If such a story really was told, Bandello may him- 
 self through fault of memory or through indifference to facts, have 
 slightly, yet materially, distorted some of its detaUs.f Still, with 
 
 * Nicholas wa.^ espoused to GigUola, daughter of Francesco II. of Fadua, in 
 1397, when he had just passed his thirteenth year, she being about fifteen. ( De- 
 layto n. s. ) Supposing that he had a son by her eight years afterward, the 
 period would be 1405. If wc add to this twenty years, the age assigned to Ugo, 
 wo have 1425, the epoch of the tragedy. Thus there is no discordance in the 
 date to give unlikelihood to the assertion in Bandello, who adds that the 
 mother died soon after giving him birth. Ugo was bom in 1405. AddU, arion, 
 aiinal. B. I. S. XV. 536. 
 
 t " Ultimamente la S. Bianca ne recit6 una, che k me parve, per gli accident! 
 suoi, molto notabile. II perchfe io, che presente vi era, havendola ben notata, la 
 scrissi, e la eollocai con Taltre mie." Tl Bandello al Conte B. Gastiglione. Nov. 
 V. I. p. 289, ed. di Londra. 4to. 1740. 
 
 ITie personage to whom he writes this, in a brief and graceful proem and dedi- 
 cation, was the illustrious Baldassar Castiglionc, the poet and ambassador, the 
 
72 NOTES TO 
 
 even this presumption, and all allowance made for the license of a 
 novelist, the ascription, deliberate and circumstantiated, of legiti- 
 macy to Ugo, if there were no grounds for it, in tradition or other- 
 wise, appears u singular freak of the imagination or perversion of 
 judgment. It is to be observed that though Sigismondo, the second 
 of the legitimate sons of Nlccolo by Ricciarda, was not bom till 
 seven or eight years after the death of Ugo,* he yet must have been 
 fully informed of all the particulars ; and it is his daughter who is 
 made to declare that those who ietieve that Ugo was not horn in wedlock 
 are greatly deceived, for she had often h^a/rd h&r father say he was 
 legitimate and was Cormt of Rovigo. Moreover, it is remarkable that 
 to Nicholas III., who had so numerous a family of bastards, are 
 assigned no children by either Gigliola or Parisina. The same year 
 
 beloved and honored of Popes and Princes, the author of the "golden book'' of 
 the Courtier. How can we suppose, that, to such a man and such a writer, 
 Bandello would send, in return for one of his fastidious compositions (*), what he 
 bimself Icnew to be a jumble of truth and falsehood ? 
 
 It was just one hundred years after the event of the tragedy that Bandello, 
 flying from his native territory ( the Milanese ) where the battle of Pavia had 
 made the Spaniards masters, took refuge, after various wandering, In France. 
 Here he became Bishop ad interim of Agen, in 1550, and died in the neighborhood 
 of that city about eleven years afterward. As he was bom toward the end of the 
 preceding century, he may be supposed to have been between twenty and thirty 
 years old when present, as he says, at the recital of the Lady Blanche's story, 
 and, as Castigliorie died in 1529, he must have \vritten it down within a very few 
 years after he had heard it. So that, whatever may be said of slighter errors, 
 the chief and Important discrepancy from historical accounts, namely In the birth 
 of Ugo, remains, as implied above, not easily explainable. 
 
 * In 14S3, the Emperor Sigismund, returning, after receiving ttie Boman crown, 
 to Germany, arrived at Ferrara. There he created " Cavalieri cinque figliuoli 
 del medesimo Principe [Nice. III.], cio6 Liojiello, Borao, e Folco non legittimi, 
 ed Eh'cole e Sigismondo fanolulU loglttiral ; Tultimo de' quail fu anche tenuto da 
 loi al sacro forte." Aiiticfi. Est. II. p. 196. Ercole was bom 1431. 
 
 (a) . . " hBTendoml TOi mandata qoolla TbBtra belllMlma Elegio, ebe io alrona coBetta de le mte vl 
 Jebbia mandnrp, non per flt^nmblo, eo." u. j. 
 
UGO DA ESTB 73 
 
 ia which ho married Riooiarda, 1429, ho obtained from the Pope 
 ( Martin V. ) the legitimation of Lionello. 
 
 However, the accuracy of Bandello is Buffloient for the purposes 
 of tragedy, and, as I have not hesitated to use the privilege of a 
 dramatist in certain other points, as in the consanguinity of Zoese, 
 and in malcing Parisina to die by poison, and the execution of Ugo to 
 follow immediately the condemnation, it cannot be thought material 
 that I should have made Lionello ( the immediate successor of Nio- 
 colo) the oldest of his illegitimate sons, and by Stella,* who in 
 Frizzi's history is said to be represented as the mother of TJgo. 
 Had I been certain that there is no historical warrant for what is 
 maintained by the noveUst, I should probably not have made Ugo 
 a legitimate son of Niccolo, who appears to have had but two male 
 ehUdreu that were born in wedlock. But the plot of the tragedy 
 was formed years ago ( probably soon after reading the tale in 1840 ) ; 
 and it was only when the worlj was fairly under way, ( 1861, ) that 
 I had it in my power to consult any particular history of Ferrara. 
 I have not yet been able to find a copy of either Frizzi ( cited by 
 Byron in the notes to his Parisina ) or Sardi ( therein named ), but 
 I have searched the volumes of Muratori, from which I make the 
 following extracts. 
 
 The old annalist of the family of Bste, Joannes Ferkaeibnsis, 
 (ap. MuRAT. Eer. Ital. Scriplor. Tom. xx.) enumerates seventeen 
 children of Nicool6, male and female. He gives the additional name 
 of Aldrovandino to TJgo, whose decease he simply chronicles, as if 
 it was an ordinary death : " Ugone Aldrovandino mortuo " ( ib. 453.) 
 His annals were written in the principality of the first Duke ( Borso), 
 
 * "II primo do i figliuoli bastardi fu Leonello, che d'una giovanc bellishna 
 ( che Stella era nomata ) nacque. E questo successe al padre ne la Signoria de la 
 CittiL dl Ferrara. n secondo fu il famoso Borso, generate in ana gentildonna 
 Senese, de la nobile e antica casa de 1 Tolomei ; il quale di Marchese fu da Paolo 
 II. sommo Ponteflce create Duca di Ferrara, e da Federico d' Austria Imperadore 
 fatto Duca di Modcna e di Reggio." BAND. Nov. xliv. 
 
 Vol. II.— 4 
 
74 KOTBS TO 
 
 to whom he addresses them, and out of reverence to whom he may 
 be supposed to have suppressed the particulars of the occurrence. 
 
 From the "Diario Ferrarese" (Di autori incerti) — ap. Mueat. 
 ib. xxiv. I learn that Niccold espoused Parisina in 1418. As the 
 tragedy occurred in 1425, she had therefore been married to him 
 seven years at the time of that atrocious crime, or at least of its 
 discovery and punishment. — Borso, it says, was the son of Stella : — 
 " Eodem Millesimo — Adi xi di Lujo, moritte Madonna Stella da 
 I'Assasino, Madre di Messer Borso,* ohe fu poi Duca, ed era stata 
 a posta de lo lUustrissimo Marohexe lficcol6 da Bste, e fu sepolta 
 a S° Francesco oon grande onore." 184. 
 
 " MCCCCXXT. Del mese di Marcio. Uno Luni a hore xviiii fu 
 tajata la testa a 0go Kgliolo de lo Illustre Marchexe Niecolo da Este, 
 e a Madonna Farexina, che era Madrigna di dicto Ugo; e questo 
 perche lui avea uxado camalmente con lei; ed insieme fu decapi- 
 tado uno Aldrovandino di Rangoni da Modena famio del dicto 
 Signore, per essere stato oasone di questo male ; e furono morti 
 in Castel Vecchio in la Torre Marchexana, e la nocte furono por- 
 tati suso una caretta a Sto Francesco ; . e ivi furono sepulti." 
 Id. ib. 184, 5. 
 
 Neither of these Chronicles, it will be seen, (the first, for obvious 
 reasons,) speaks of Ugo as illegitimate, but the Oron. di Bologna and 
 the Memoriak Bietor. Matt, de Oriffonibvs ( E. I. S. xviii ) both do. 
 
 " In esso anno 1425, passata la meti di Marzo occorse un funesto 
 accidente al Marchese Niocold. Informato egli da una mal' aocorta 
 damigella, che passava disonesto commerzio fra Parisina de' Mala- 
 testi sua mogUe, e Ugo suo figliuolo bastardo, e chiaritosene con gli 
 occhi proprj, li fece prendere amendue, e formato il processo, ne 
 
 * It will havo been seen ( subnote *, p. 73 ) that the Lombard noTelist makefi 
 him to have been the son of a noble lady of Siena. As in the case of TJgo and of 
 Lionello, what ground s he had for misrepresenting histoiy in this particular, while 
 borrowing from it other details for the very purpose of giving the color of verily 
 to his narration, 1 have no means of ascertaining ; and perhaps none axist 
 
UGO DA ESTE 15 
 
 Begui la oondanna, per cui fu loro levato il capo dal bu3to. La me- 
 desima pena tocod a,d Aldrovandino Rangoue, e a due damigolle, 
 complici del misfatto. Delia lor morte fu incredibilmente afflitto il 
 popolo di Perrara, perohe amava forte II suddetto TTgo, giovane di 
 vent' anni, di rara belti e prodez^a. Maggiore nondimeno fu di 
 gran lunga la doglia, che svaporato il bollore della collera ne Bofl'ri 
 poscia il Marehese, troppo tardi pentito della precipitosa giuatizia ; 
 di modo die per molti mesi non seppe aramettere conforto o conso- 
 lazione alcuna." Antichitd Estensi. P. Ila. Cap. vii. p. 191. 
 
 The antiquarian (iS. cap. viii. ) calls LioneUo the eldest of Nic- 
 colo's sons. He characterizes him as a prince of consummate piety 
 arid amiability, p. 202. Borso is lauded as endowed with rare pru- 
 dence, of tried humanity, and possessed of other incomparable gifts, ib. 
 Cap. is. p. 207. Eulogies which, as they are founded on the char- 
 acterization of the old annalists, and other inconsiderable liistorians 
 of the period, who endow even Nicholas III. with every princely 
 virtue, must be accepted, like all contemporaneous judgment, with 
 caution. Of Nicholas indeed and his last act, Muratori thus speaks : 
 ... " ceased to exist Nicholas III., Marquis of Este, a prince 
 magnificent and just, of fine aspect, of agreeable manners, of vigor- 
 ous constitution, of rare prudence, and adorned with other signal 
 virtues, among which nevertheless was wanting continence ; for he 
 left behind him not a few bastards, whom moreover in the succes- 
 sion of his States he preferred to Hercules and to Sigismund who 
 were legitimate. He had time to make a will . . and in this de- 
 clared inheritor of those States Lionel, his bastard, though legiti- 
 mated, son ; for he did not deem fitted for such a burden, and 
 surely in times so full of discord and danger, Hercules, although 
 the first of his legitimate sons, born to him by Ricciarda da Saluzzo, 
 but who at that time had scarcely passed the tenth year of his age." 
 ib. p. 201. Tet Nicholas himself had been set over the same States 
 when he had scarcely passed his ninth year. The epithet of just 
 appears hardly then to be applicable. Apart from which particular. 
 
76 NOTES TO 
 
 it is to be observed that Muratori wrote under the auspices of Fran- 
 cis III, Dulie of Modena and Marquis of Este, to whom he was 
 librarian, and the same doubts may be entertained of his impartiality 
 as I have expressed in regard to that of GaUuzzi, the historian of the 
 Granduoal House of Medici.* In the historical passage I have be- 
 fore alluded to as appended to Byron's Parisina, we are told that 
 this " Principe . . giusto . . di dolce maniere . . di rara prudenza, 
 e d'altri insigni virtu omato " completed his Castle tragedy, like a 
 king of the Arabian Nights, pr the Pharaoh of Herodotus, by order- 
 ing to be put to death every woman in Perrara who was known to 
 have violated her marriage bed ; a despicable act as weE as atro- 
 cious, and which probably was done quite as much to make his 
 precipitous punishment of his own wife and own son appear the 
 result of an immeasurable detestation of the crime itself, as in the 
 passionate impulse of outraged honor and offended self-love. It was 
 certainly, this general slaughter of the non-innocents, a curious action 
 on the part of a wholesale adulterer, one whose offences against con- 
 jugal fidelity were so notorious, that it could be said of him ( however 
 
 '^ Again, though an admirable annalist and indefatigable antiquary, he does 
 not appear to have been endowed with philosophical acumen, nor indeed to have 
 had a desire to fathom the motives of action or to analyze on general and moral 
 grounds the characters of his personages. He commits, too, great oversights 
 when venturing upon political judgment. For example, the really irregular suc- 
 cession of Niccolo III. he ju.stifies, as we have seen, by the voice of the people 
 and the bulla of the Pope, confirmatory of the will of the bastard Alberto, who, 
 neither directly nor indirectly had any right to bequeath what was not esclu- 
 sively, even if it was in any wise properly, his own ; yet precisely the same sanc- 
 tion, popular acclaim and acceptation and the Pontifical edicts, establishes, through 
 his own historical evidence, the real lineal claim of Francesco I., one of the joint 
 heirs of Obizzo II., and of Francesco's son Bertoldo, who, acquiring by the will of 
 his brother Azzo all the latter's rights, combined thus in his own son, Francesco 
 II., the separate rights of both according to the usage of the House of Este, and 
 somixdethe true and legitimate representative of its princes, dating from Alberto- 
 Azzo II., the imprisoned and exiled Azzo, who is declared to be ab.soIutely mth- 
 out any claim whatever to the raarquis.ate. 
 
UGO DA E8TE 77 
 
 in a novel and jocosely ) " tanta turba di figliuoU baatardi gli nacque, 
 che haverebbo fatto di loro un' esseraito. E per questo su il Fer- 
 rarese aneora ei costuma di dire, dietro al flume del Pf), trecento 
 figliuoli del Marchese Niccold hanno tirato I'altana de le navi." 
 
SONNET 
 
 PEELIMINAET TO 0BEETO 
 
 Isle where my lady dwelleth ! where the hills 
 Are green forever with the fadeless pine, 
 Thy aspect, lovelier by the distance, fills 
 My soul with longing, making me repine 
 
 At the hard measure of a fate that wills 
 Her pleasant dwelling-place shall ne'er be mine, — 
 Even while I own it were the worst of ills, 
 Her bloom should with my yellow leaves entwine. 
 
 Home of Gismonda I as thy green hills fade 
 In the dim distance while I sail from thee, 
 
 I am as sad as if my hands had laid 
 Some lov'd one in the tomb ; for such to me 
 
 Thou seem'st, and living every wood and glade. 
 With but one soul to all, and that is she. 
 
 September 30, 1859. 
 
TJBEETO 
 
 MDCCCLIX 
 4* 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Mortals 
 
 TIbebto degli Uberti. 
 Anselmo Mozzo. 
 TJgo de' Pazzi. 
 
 GrISMONDA. 
 
 Floea. 
 
 &IOCONDA. 
 
 Immortals 
 Michael, Archamgel. 
 Ltjoifee. 
 Sammael. 
 
 Chorus of Angelic Spirits (invisible). 
 Chorus of Infernal J^rits. 
 
 Date of the acHon : the commencement of the lith century. 
 
UBERTO 
 
 Act the First 
 
 Scene I. Interior of a Castle on the Lake of Como. 
 
 A Study, lighted solely by the moon, whose 
 
 rays stream through a window at 
 
 the upper end. 
 
 TJberto, in a melancholy attitude, on one of the benches 
 
 in the embrasure of the window, looking out, at 
 
 the open casement, upon the lake. 
 
 Tiber. Even as I gaze, — but not with such a thought — 
 For he was married — not alone as I, — 
 Graz'd on yon flood, twelve hundred years ago. 
 The younger Pliny. Nature does not change ; 
 Her youth renews itself; and years, which mar 
 All that is comely in man's physical form. 
 Nor even spare his soul — though there, their work 
 Is slower — make no visible change in her. 
 Still o'er the mountains rises the same moon : 
 
84 UBEETO 
 
 Still on the water sparkle the same beams ; 
 
 And by them sleep the shadows, stiE the same — 
 
 Save where the houses stand — and them man made. 
 
 And this must be. The universe, whose life 
 
 Is haply for all time, can ne'er grow old : 
 
 But man, whose being is scant a hundred years. 
 
 Must, like her other offspring, brook decay. 
 
 If that decay were constant — in all parts, — 
 
 If the vex'd spirit would wrinkle like the brow. 
 
 And the tired heart grow bald, ere half the sands 
 
 Of life's allotted hour were well run out, — 
 
 'T were less to plain ; but that the heart, unworn 
 
 By its long throbbing, should beat youthful still, 
 
 The spirit be vigorous, nay, the limbs themselves. 
 
 With all the strength and bound of their best days 
 
 Obey each impulse of the fiery soul. 
 
 And have their grace and rounded beauty still, 
 
 Yet the denuded head and care-worn face 
 
 Point to senescence, — that we should love on. 
 
 When we have lost the bloom that wakens love 
 
 He rises uneasily and comes down the scene. 
 Grismonda ! [with a soft accent. 
 
 Men, more ag'd than I, have won 
 Maidens as young and beautiful as thou. 
 But then they were of eminent rank, had fame, 
 Or large possessions, or all these combin'd, 
 While I in social place am but thy peer. 
 And poor as thou ; and honor, for whose crown 
 I have toil'd for thirty years, men still deny me, 
 
ACT 1. SC. 1. 85 
 
 Nor ever will yield perhaps till this sad heart 
 
 Has ceas'd to beat for honor or for love. 
 
 And better thus when thou art in the count, 
 
 For I must be accepted for myself. 
 
 And thou dost not disdain me ; but I deem 
 
 Thy vanity alone is touch'd : to love — 
 
 Love such as I ! with this disfurnish'd crown 
 
 And faded cheek ! — Oh, that I could put back 
 
 The hand upon life's dial for ten short years ! 
 
 The hand should stop the sooner for it ; and life, 
 
 In the duration which my strength foretells, 
 
 Nay the long hope of fame wherewith deferr'd 
 
 My heart has sicken'd, all should be exohang'd — 
 
 For what ? Oh madness ! Yet the torturing sense 
 
 Of what I am and what I cannot be 
 
 Prompts desperate counsel. Were the Devil to tempt me 
 
 In this vex'd hour, I might my very soul 
 
 Yield for the heart's fruition What is that ? 
 
 Lucifer, 
 
 in the shape of a man 
 
 tall and stately^ appears in the moonlight 
 
 which floods the centre of the scene. 
 
 'T is but the phantom conjur'd by my brain : 
 My head is wild with study, and with what 
 Has well-nigh murder' d study, as they both 
 Have kept me wakeful ; and my long unrest 
 Has made me feverous. But the shape comes on 1 
 
86 UBBETO 
 
 A light gleams o'er its features, as from fire 
 That burn'd within, and shows its eyes — how grand I 
 And yet how mournful 1 and a beautiful smile, 
 That lures and yet repels, about the mouth 
 Perfect as chisel'd work. This cannot be 
 Wholly a dream ; I was but now awake. — 
 'T is within reach, and grandly lifts its hand ! 
 Who art thou ? [stepping hachward. 
 
 iMcif. Men assign me various names, 
 But none that flatter. Thou hast mention'd one. 
 
 Uher. The Devil? 
 
 Ludf. If thou wilt. But Lucifer 
 Is courtlier far, and will suit both as well. 
 
 Uher. Either I am mad, or This will solve it. 
 
 lights a taper. "l Still ? 
 
 In human robes ! and like a king in mien, 
 But beautiful as the most cherish'd forms 
 That I have sigh'd to model. 
 
 I/ucif. And so, well. 
 If I were come to sit to thee. But thou 
 Art poet more than artist — in man's phrase, — 
 And something more than either. Doubt'st thou yet 1 
 
 Uher. Doubt what ? That thou art more than human 1 Ay, 
 Thou playest with my fancy, or thou art 
 But fancy all ; for I'll not so offend 
 Against that lordly port and beautiful form. 
 Which my mind worships, as to deem thou art 
 A vulgar cheat. What art thou ? Say ; and prove it. 
 iMcif. Poor skeptic ! I would touch thee ; but thy frame 
 
ACT I. SC. 1. 87 
 
 Would not endure my contact. Touch thou me, 
 If so thou darest, and see. 
 
 Uberto attempts to touch him, and 
 
 his hand passes as through empty air ; the figure 
 
 seeming to disappear, and then, as he 
 
 retires, appearing again. 
 
 Uber. It is a dream. 
 I have seen mere shapes before, but none so real. 
 Sometimes in sickness, sometimes when the brain 
 Was almost wild with long-continued toil. 
 And yonder are the moon, the lake, the mountains ; 
 Ton candle burns ; I speak. Or I am mad, 
 Or this is fever's phrensy. [Puts his fingers on his wrist as 
 
 if to mark the pulse. 
 Ludf. No, thou art 
 But philosophic, as thou wouldst say, and sham'st 
 To think as think the vulgar. Yet I come, 
 Thou seest, without those attributes the herd 
 Of men assign me. Why then count thy pulse ? 
 Thou speak'st, and knowest what ; yon candle burns ; 
 The moon, the lake thou seest, and the hills : 
 Am I less real ? or dost thou credit only 
 What thou canst understand ? Who taught thee then 
 What makes the moon revolve, what gives the lake 
 Its properties, and the solid mountains theirs. 
 Why flames yon candle, and why flames destroy ? 
 Thou knowest not half of what thou seest and hearest. 
 
88 UBBKTO 
 
 And why then question me f Or giv'st thou not 
 Belief unto thy soul as well as sense, 
 Because, thou seest thy organs, not thy mind? 
 
 Uher. I credit both ; I doubt but what I see 
 
 And listen now are my distemper'd thoughts. 
 I am asleep, and shall to-morrow know it. 
 
 iMcif. Know it at once — that thou art wide awake. 
 Do something that shall prove it. I would bid thee 
 Call up thy servant ; but at this strange hour, 
 Without known cause, 't would peril thy good name. 
 Wilt add a sonnet to the twelve thou 'st written 
 Already in Grismonda's praise ? Thou startest : 
 Is that enough ? Or wilt thou bathe thy brow 
 In yonder basin ? Or look — that 's better still — 
 Into that mirror ? [ Uberfo holes. 
 
 See ! [malidondy. 
 
 thy head is shorn 
 Clean as a monk's, — or worse ; Grismonda's eyes 
 Will find no lovelock on thy forehead now. 
 Dost thou remember, in her father's grounds, 
 When she would point thee out that landscape broad 
 Thou thought'st so beautiful, but wherefrom thou turn'dst 
 To gaze upon her profile, ; — which she saw, 
 And, seeing, smil'd, well-pleas' d, — how, when the breezo 
 Upon her native hill had lifted up 
 The broad leaf of thy summer hat, and thou 
 Snatch'd at it, fearing it would fall and thus 
 Remind her of thy baldness, — how, I say. 
 She turn'd aside, and thou didst love her more 
 
ACT I. SC. ]. 89 
 
 For that she did so ? By the stars I with cause: 
 
 It had been droll, that bald front so reveal'd ! 
 
 Where Cupid would not find ten good-siz'd hairs 
 
 To twist into a bowstring, or a fly-trap. 
 Uher. Ah 1 now I know thou art the Devil. Say then, 
 
 What art thou come for ? 
 
 Lucif. What was now thy wish 1 
 Uher. If thou art he I nam'd, thou know'st already. 
 Lucif. Still skeptical ! still human ! — Thou art, then. 
 
 In love, as mortals say, with 
 
 Tiber. Name her not. 
 Lucif. Even as thou lik'st. I say, thou hast made this girl 
 
 Thy paramount thought. Thou livest now for her. 
 
 And to live with her wouldst give up thy soul, 
 
 Or think'st thou wouldst. Thou mayst. 
 
 Uier. I may without. 
 Imdf. True ; 't is in nature maids are lightly won : 
 
 But are they kept as lightly ? Seems she pleas'd 
 
 With her first conquest, t is that 't is the first : 
 
 She may grow wiser some day, and remember. 
 
 What now she has forgot as well as thou. 
 
 Her father was scarce older. 
 
 Uher. I have not. 
 Lucif. Not since thou wast her lover; but, at first 
 
 Hadst thou remember'd, wouldst thou so have fed 
 
 Thine eyes upon her beauty ? Thou mayst win her, 
 
 I grant, without surrendering up thy soul ; 
 
 By the mere flattery of thy over love 
 
 Mayst win her. Thousands are so won. Wouldst thou, 
 
90 UBBRTO 
 
 With thy exacting spirit, be so content ? 
 Uher. No, I woo not her vanity. 
 
 Imcif. Because 
 Thyself art vain and must have heart for heart. 
 Save thou canst put the shadow on the dial. 
 Thou spak'st of, back a dozen years or more, 
 Thou wooest in vain. She may esteem, revere, 
 Admire, since thou art wise in human lore, 
 A man so old as thou ; but ask not love. 
 Lift but thy hat, her dream, if she have one. 
 Will seem a jest. But I can make it sad 
 As that enwraps thy senses. 
 
 Uher. By what means ? 
 I/udf. By putting back a dozen years or more 
 
 The shadow on the dial of thy age. 
 Uler. And at what cost 1 
 
 Ludf. Thyself hast said. 
 
 Uher. My soul ? 
 What wouldst thou do with it ? 
 
 lAuAf. Kot roast it. That 
 
 Would scarce amuse me. But Canst thou believe 
 
 The Devil can speak the truth ? 
 
 JJher. Ay, men, that are 
 Not over scrupulous else, may, from mere pride, 
 Or when it suits their interest, do so. 
 
 I/acif, Well. 
 Shouldst thou die now, invested with the pomp 
 Of what thou callest virtue, thou wouldst rise 
 Unto a higher state of being ; what. 
 
ACT I. SC. ]. 91 
 
 And where, it matters not, — I am no more 
 
 In Heaven's secrets. Shouldst thou make thy soul 
 
 Over to me, it will be under me. — 
 Uher. And thus be diabolical. 
 
 Jjucif. Call it so. 
 
 If the name suits thee. It may well be great, 
 
 Being of no common order, but no more 
 
 In the same quiet way. I can insure thee 
 
 Uher. Nothing ! Begone, foul tempter ! For a crown 
 
 I would not make myself the thing I hate. 
 
 Nor wear Hell's livery. 
 
 Lucif. For thy lady's heart ? 
 Uher. Not for ten times her heart I 
 
 Lucif. Be it as thou wilt. 
 
 But thou wilt haply change thy mind. Tou men 
 
 Are very apt to, when the passions move. 
 
 If so, thou need'st but wish, and I am here. 
 
 Lucifer vanishes. 
 
 Uher. [after a pause. 
 
 Gone as he came. And what a beautiful mien I 
 Though now I shudder as with mortal fear, 
 And feel to listen was itself a sin. 
 
 Help Heaven ! were men to hear, wert thou, Gismonda, 
 So pious in thy innocent faith, to hear 
 I have converse held with Him, they'd deem me mad, 
 And thou wouldst turn with horror from the look 
 Now gives thee pleasure. Tet it was for thee ! 
 
92 UBBBTO 
 
 For thee ? Help Heaven again ! nor let me cease 
 To know, this passion, whose exalted sweet. 
 Which yet hath bitterness, tempts me now to ill. 
 Will lose its heavenly savor and high zest 
 When I shall be less virtuous than art thou. 
 
 Se resumes his thoughtful attitu.de 
 in the window, and the 
 
 Scene closes. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 In a world yet incandescent, a portion 
 
 of the surface which has congealed and forms the 
 
 shore as it were to an ocean of fire. 
 
 /Several Evil Spirits standing on this shore, 
 
 and chanting. 
 
 Chobus of Spikits. 
 
 Up from the fathomless 
 Ocean of fire. 
 Rises the sulphur-cloud 
 Higher and higher. 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 93 
 
 1st Spirit. 
 Though unforgotten the light that has vanish'd, 
 
 2d Spirit. 
 Though from the regions of bliss ever banish'd, 
 
 3d Spirit. 
 Our senses, now custom'd, have oeas'd to deplore 
 The sights, sounds, and woe, that were anguish before, — 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 While from the fathomless 
 Ocean of fire 
 Rises the sulphur-cloud 
 Higher and higher. 
 
 1st Spirit. 
 Soon shall this globe, on its surface congealing. 
 Teem with new life, with new thought and new feeling. 
 
 2d Spirit. 
 Whither then shall we be helplessly driven, 
 
 3d Spirit. 
 Whom Hell will not hold, who are banish'd from Heaven ? 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 There where the fathomless 
 Ocean of fire 
 
 Throws up its sulphur-clouds 
 Higher and higher. 
 
94 UBEETO 
 
 1st Spirit. 
 Wherever it be, we shall bear with us thither 
 The same hearts and minds which came wing'd with us 
 hither ; 
 
 2d Spirit. 
 TJnbroke and unbending, 
 
 3d Spirit. 
 
 Though from the new ocean 
 Of Hell surge the billows with fiercer commotion : 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Though from the fathomless 
 Ocean of fire 
 
 Rise the blue sulphur-clouds 
 Higher and higher. 
 
 Miter LtTciFER, 
 
 no longer in human form, but in his proper shape 
 
 of an archangel ruined. 
 
 Beside, hut a little behind him, 
 
 Sammabl. 
 
 The other Spirits retire, with holes and gestures 
 
 of deference. 
 
 Samm. And was this all ? 
 
 lAicif. What more could be expected ? 
 His spirit is still sanguine though dejected, 
 Sees clearly and is free ; 
 
ACT li SC. 2. 95 
 
 But wild -with passion, as it soon shall be, 
 No more will then appal 
 
 Those terrors which preserve the Lord's elected 
 From Adam's fall : 
 
 And such as Adam, so call'd, was, is he. 
 His passion for the beautiful I see 
 May make him be in time even my adorer : 
 Thou shouldst have heard his compliments to me, 
 As I stood in the moonlight, and my dim 
 Face-glory made me visible to him ! 
 The woman's slave' was less oommov'd before her 
 Than before me, made human, head and limb. 
 Samm. But what will all thy pains avail ? 
 Lnicif. Oouldst thou not reckon, if thou hadst not heard ? 
 O'er the soul's-ruin of one man like this 
 Will be more wail 
 In the detested realms of bliss 
 Than when ten thousand of the common herd, 
 Who are true brutes in instinct, fail. 
 Why this lone poet, with his self-denial. 
 Is an epitome of the Christian code — 
 That is, as they profess it, not on trial 
 As it is praotis'd, in whatever mode. 
 He'd out himself to pieces, if thereby 
 He could but multiply his means of good, 
 And for this petty idol, this Grismouda, 
 Who would torment his life out if he own'd her, 
 And hardly shed ten tears were he to die — 
 Though that is more, if heartfelt, than most wives 
 
96 UBERTO 
 
 Could spare, unless in joy of widowhood — 
 Would readily lay down a thousand lives, 
 Had he so many. 
 
 Samm. 'Tis a hero. 
 
 Lticif. No, 
 It is a fool, — in that respect at least. 
 What steads him, I would know. 
 This frantic self-devotion in his world, 
 Where the unsensual spirit is downward hurl'd 
 While upward climbs the beast ? 
 Who lays him in the dust to ease another, 
 The latter treads on him, though 't were his brother, 
 And the self-victim rises, more than bruis'd, 
 His heart crush'd out, and wretched-sad to find 
 His fellow-creatures are not of his mind ; 
 As if this abnegation of his own 
 Had not, by its mere action, made them stone I 
 
 Samm. But, fool or hero, will he fall ? 
 
 Lucif. Did not, as men believe. 
 
 The common foresire of them all ? 
 
 This who should know but thou, who tempted'st Eve, 
 
 That tempted him, as mortals say. 
 
 Samm,. Poor butterfly ! with his brief summer-day ! 
 Almost for his disaster I could grieve. 
 
 Liicif. Out, hypocrite ! And would he pity thee ? 
 He might, if he beheld thee in that guise 
 Of a corrupting flesh which snar'd his eyes 
 When he saw me. 
 But come before him grim with smoke of Hell 
 
ACT 1. SC. 2. 97 
 
 And thy imagiu'd bestial marks besides, 
 
 Though thou shouldst all thy fearful tale relate, 
 
 Thy myriad human ages of punition, 
 
 To which the length of his assum'd perdition 
 
 Were not a summer's day in mortal date, 
 
 He'd turn from thee with horror, and with pride 
 
 Bid thee, as he bade me — me, who had sway, 
 
 And yet shall have, o'er other worlds as fair 
 
 As that whose crust 
 
 Gives breathing-space to this vain child of dust, 
 
 Who scarce is seen, and that but briefly, there ! 
 
 Would bid thee, as he now bade me, I say. 
 
 With haughtiness, to leave him. 
 
 He shall have guerdon : I will give him 
 
 What shall his arrogant self-love make elate, 
 
 Yet crush his heart. 
 
 Samm. And what will so deceive him ? 
 Ziucif. The fruit whereof he thinks the first man ate. 
 
 Mceunt Lucif. and Samm. / 
 when the meaner Spirits re-enter 
 and renew their chant : 
 "Up from, &c.," 
 
 and Scene closes. 
 Vol. IL— 5 - 
 
TTBEETO 
 
 AoT THE Sec ond 
 
 Scene I. A highway leading right and left. 
 
 Above, — a gateway 
 
 dosing-in a hilly road, which conducts to 
 
 Oismonda's hereditary home. 
 
 Miter 
 from the gate, shvMing it aftxr them, 
 
 Uberto and Anselmo. 
 
 Uher. Here our ways part ; but not so our fond theme. 
 I am surpris'd, Anselmo, thou shouldst doubt 
 My open meaning. Gladly would I see 
 Gismonda wed to such a man as thou. 
 Thou art of suitable age, art comely, good, 
 And hast a fair possession. 
 
 Ansel. And I say, 
 With the known liking which Uberto has 
 For the young Countess, I am morcsurpris'd, 
 That he should wish her other than his own. 
 Uher. Which she can never be. 
 
 Ansel. Why so ? 
 
 Uher. For this, 
 To say no more, — that I am old and worn, 
 
A.CT II. SC. 1. 99 
 
 While thou, good-looking, art yet in thy prime. 
 
 Ansel. But do good looks win -women ? Not to say, 
 I want thy lofty stature and fine form ; 
 If somewhat less my years, and hair unfallen, 
 My features cannot be compar'd with tliine ; 
 And where the tongue to woo as thou canst do ? 
 Women are caught not by the eyes, as we. 
 
 Uber. Yes, by our eyes, when they adore their own. 
 Hast thou e'er seen G-ismonda watch my features ? 
 
 Ansel. No, but all know she hangs upon thy words, 
 Repeats thy sayings, and bridles at thy gaze. 
 I do not interest her, as thou dost. 
 
 Uber. — Her vanity. She knows I will not sue. 
 
 What I at my age, think'st thou that I would wed 7 
 In ten brief years, suppose her now content, 
 I should have lost that fire which makes my soul 
 More young than thine, Anselmo, and my step 
 Its buoyant spring, my body, if not its strength. 
 At least its suppleness, while she then would be, 
 What thou art now, just thirty. Wliat woula keep 
 My passions at the full-flood mark of hers ! 
 Is 't / should make her miserable ? Then, 
 Where is the wealth should keep her in that state 
 She was broughtup to ? 
 
 Ansel. Very few give thought 
 To such conditions. 
 
 Uber. I am of the few. 
 I never have been selfish, nor will now 
 Unlearn that little merit which alone 
 
100 UBBETO 
 
 Uplifts me from the herd. If, then, thou wilt, 
 Press thy suit, counting on no let of mine. 
 And if thou win Grismonda, as thou mayst, 
 I'll wish thee joy of a good wife. Farewell. 
 
 They separate, Anselmo going to the left, 
 
 TJberto to the right. But, in a few moments, 
 
 re-enter TJberto. 
 
 Were never rivals on such terms as we I 
 Yet he so frank and generous, while calm, 
 It could not be that I, of hotter mood, 
 Should be less liberal. But I did not say 
 What pain 'twill give me, when I wish him joy. 
 
 And we to-night shall meet again, Gismonda, — 
 In a gay circle, scenes that I should shun 
 But thou art there, as now I haunt all places 
 Where I have hope to meet thee, for thy sake 
 Almost a child — as thou shouldst be to me. 
 
 I wonder if she lingers where we left her ? — 
 Would I could see her coming down the hill ! 
 
 He looks to the left, as if to see whether An- 
 selmo is in sight, then goes up to the 
 gate, and leans upon one of the 
 pillars in a thoughtful 
 attitude. 
 
 Scene doses. 
 
ACT U. SO. 2. 101 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Moonlight, A walk in the Garden of a villa. 
 
 Ahove, an arbor, thickly overhung 
 
 with vines and creeping plants. 
 
 Bnter^from the right, 
 Uberto. 
 
 JJher. How beautiful she look'd ! And in the dance, 
 With young Francesco, how her eyes still turn'd 
 To watch if mine pursu'd her I how they beam'd, 
 Radiant with innocent, undisguis'd delight, 
 To find they did so ! Yet they look'd not soft : 
 They never do on me. And now they should not, 
 For her as well as me. But mine on her I 
 I was bewilder'd. For her sake, I hope 
 None notio'd my heart-worship save herself, 
 Who, in the innocence of her virgin heart, 
 ITnoonsciously encourag'd it. I hear 
 The buzz of voices. I have fled the hall, 
 To escape the noise, the heat, the hghts, the crowd, 
 Which make my senses giddy. I will rest me 
 In this close arbor, till the party pass. 
 
102 UBEETO 
 
 Enter G-ismonda, 
 
 with Floea, Giooonda, and others of her friends. 
 
 They stop before the arbor. 
 
 Oism. Cease, Flora, do ! for pity ! for my sake ! 
 Flor, Oh yes, for tHne I for thou art strangely charm'd 
 With that old bachelor. What would Count Anselmo 
 Have said to see thy smiles of preference ? 
 
 Gism. Neither 
 Has any right to question why I smile, 
 Or whom I smile on. For the Count Anselmo, 
 Messer TJberto is as good as he : ^ 
 
 He far outshines him. 
 
 Flor. Certainly in the forehead. 
 Didst mark, G-ioconda, how the torchlight shone 
 On his bare sconce ? A proper cavalier! 
 He should have made thee dance with him, instead 
 Of his slim nephew. 
 
 Oism. He would do as well, 
 ( He is as lithe and active, ) did the dance 
 Befit his years. 
 
 Flor. Thou mean'st, his hairs, or rather, 
 A lack of them. 
 
 Oism. For shame ! 
 
 Flor. Shamfe thou, or he. 
 What does he woo thee for ? Is t to adopt thee, 
 Thou being orphan ? He might be well thy father, 
 But not thy husband. Thou shouldst scorn him, Gisma ; 
 
ACT II. SC. 2. 103 
 
 He keeps Anselmo from thee. 
 
 Gism. 'T is that then 
 Anselmo feels inferior, as he is. 
 
 Flor. If thou wouldst hg,ve thy lord be walking always, 
 And walkiug^om thee. Seated, face to face, 
 Anselmo's head, with its long chestnut hair 
 
 Cfism. But what isinit? Compar'd with him, Anselmo 
 Is but a boy or fool. 
 
 Flor. 0, if thou 'dst wed- him 
 For what is in his head ! Why not then marry 
 Some well-stuff 'd book at once ? Its written pages 
 Would make thy Count, too, either boy or fool. 
 , In fine, in seriousness, thou must be mad 
 Not to see what all others round thee see, 
 The ridicule of this man's proffering love 
 To a mere girl like thee. Were I as thou, 
 I 'd greet the would-be youngster not with smiles 
 Of pleasure, but of mockery or contempt. 
 
 Re-enter, from the bower, 
 Ubeeto. 
 
 Uber. Monna Grismonda knows not to requite 
 
 With mockery reverence, nor has learn'd to treat 
 The meanest of her servants with contempt. 
 
 He has taken the hand which G-ismonda had franMy extended 
 to him on his approach, and now, bowing over it, 
 
104 UBBKTO 
 
 half-raises it to his lips, — lut only to drop it Both show 
 
 emotion; and the gay party lavgh aloud; whereat 
 
 GiSMONDA indignamthj separates from them, 
 
 and again giving her hand to Uberto, 
 
 he puts her arm through his, 
 
 and leads her off 
 
 to the right, 
 
 the others going to the left. 
 
 Flor. Quite stately ! 
 
 CHocon. The rebuke was simply just. 
 
 [ Exeunt. 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 The Study — as in Act I. Sc. I. 
 
 Uberto 
 walking mneasUy to and fro. 
 
 Uher. I have deserv'd it. Happily it was not 
 From her lips, nor with her consent receiv'd. 
 Had 't been so, 't would have cur'd me. But to find 
 Her heart so good, and fiU'd with kindness more 
 Than I had thought for me 1 And then that smile 
 
ACT II. SC. 8. 105 
 
 Of captivating frankness ! Ah, G-ismonda ! 
 'T were folly to not love thee, as it has been 
 Madness in me to love thee. And this night! 
 Her charms — her goodness — that revolting scene ! 
 Were Satan now to tempt me ! 
 
 The form of Lucifer stands in the 
 moonshine, as in Act J, Sc. I. 
 
 What! already? 
 iMoif. Ay, at thy wish I come. 
 
 Uher. Not at my call. 
 Lvidf. To think what thou hast thought is call enough. 
 I'l.ou need'st me, mortal; for 't is I alone 
 Can give thee thy desire. Say but the word. 
 Thou shalt have manly beauty, wealth, rank, youth. 
 All qualities that women most admire in men. 
 Tiber. For what ? 
 
 Ludf. Thou knowest. In brief: While in the flesh 
 Thou only wilt be master of thyself; 
 Afterward, I shall be. 
 
 Uher. And that for ever ? 
 
 [ Lucifer is ^lent. 
 I ask : for ever ? 
 
 Imcif. What if I say, ay ? 
 Uher. Then are thy offers vain : I '11 none of them. 
 Lucif. [after anotlier pause. 
 
 Thou art hard to deal with. I will not deceive thee. 
 When thou descendest to that other sphere, 
 5* 
 
lOB UBBRTO 
 
 Thy spirit will not lose its power. If then, 
 After long struggling with my master-will, 
 Thou canst succeed in shaking, step by step. 
 Its influence off, thou wilt once more be free. 
 And haply reassurae thy ancient self. 
 Uber. I understand thee. That long course of trial, 
 By which through many states of being I am come 
 To be the thing I am, must count as nothing; 
 I must go backward in the race of soul. 
 And, retrograding, take the start afresh. 
 But haply with more vigor for the course, 
 Because the mind can not unlearn its lore, 
 Kor wholly sink to its primeval childhood. 
 Thou hesitatest. Have I redd thee right 1 
 
 Lucif. Partially. 
 
 Uher. Then I am not lost for ever ? 
 
 Liudf. No, not for ever. But how can I assure thee? 
 Tou mortals will not take me upon trust. 
 
 Uher. I will — in this affair. For well I know 
 Thou canst not wholly dominate my will. 
 In the worst passions that thou canst inspire 
 I shall somewhere be master of myself. 
 
 InuAf. Thou art valiant. 
 
 Vber. Sneer not. 
 
 I/imf. Nay, I have no wish. 
 In physical courage thou mayst be no hero ; 
 In moral daring thou outfacest Hell. 
 But to our bargain. Thou art to receive 
 Thy bloom again, have wealth, high rank, and fame; 
 
ACT II. SC. 3. 107 
 
 For which, I shall be master ol" thy soul 
 After this life, not for all time perhaps, 
 But for long ages, and in every sphere, 
 Till thou hast disenthrall'd thyself. 
 
 Uher. The terms 
 Are terrible. Let me ponder them awhile. 
 Lucif. [mdicating the mirror. 
 
 Thou needst but look upon thy forehead yonder, 
 Hear Flora's laugh, and weigh Gismonda's worth. 
 [ Uberto steps up nearer to Lucifer, 
 passionately and with a gesture of desperation. 
 Then be assured, wherever thou shalt be, 
 Thou never wilt be little nor be low. 
 Uber. I have sacrifie'd my duty for her sake. 
 
 And put in peril my good name. Why pause 
 To purchase by a life of wo hereafter 
 Long years perhaps of happiness here with her ? 
 I am decided. Shall I sign the compact ? 
 Lucif. Art thou Uberto, whom men quote as wise, 
 And givest credence to that childish tale 
 Of a steel point and letters writ in blood ? 
 When thou aocept'st my service, I become. 
 Even in that act, the master of thy soul. 
 Uber. Not in this life ! 
 
 Lucif. Mistrustful I I have said. 
 Not in this life, but when that life shall end. 
 What shape now shall I give thee ? what degree 
 Of human beauty ? 
 
 Uber. None but what I own'd. 
 
108 UBEKTO 
 
 Imdf. Thou art easily satisfied. 
 
 JJher. [indignanily and scornfully. 
 Thou art the Devil, 
 And yet thou hast not sounded all my heart. 
 Were there no reason why it should not be, 
 I would be beautiful as an angel wing'd, — 
 As thou perhaps, before thou wast hurl'd downward. 
 Lucif. What"! worm ! 
 
 Uher. Not more than thou perhaps. But when 
 Thou treadst on me, I turn, and am in mood 
 The serpent thou art painted. 
 
 Ludf. Pray, go on. 
 Thou art heroic to dart thy fang at me. 
 Uier. The first man's heel has trod upon thy head : 
 'T is not so brave. 
 
 Ludf. Tush ! with thy human wit. 
 Thou hast easy scope : I cannot boast proficience 
 In the same tongue. Proceed, without more cavil. 
 Uher. I would, I say, be beautiful ; for beauty 
 Is unto me the expression of what is perfect, 
 As in the external form, so in the heart. 
 But men would stare at me, and hint at thee. 
 Ludf. True ; nor Grismonda know thee. 
 
 Uher. Let me then 
 Be but as fine a man as once I was. 
 I shall be satisfied. 
 
 Ludf. Shall this be at once ? 
 Uher. No, by degrees. 
 
 Ludf. 'T is wise. The change shall be 
 
ACT II. SC. 3. 109 
 
 So gradual in thy hair and in thy skin, 
 None shall suspect a more than natural cause. 
 
 Uher. And for the wealth ? On that I shall insist, 
 For her sake. 
 
 Imcif. I shall first procure thy name 
 The lustre thou hast toil'd for. Men shall strive 
 To heap up honor on the wit and bard 
 They have so long neglected. Next, thy rank 
 Shall be exalted by some function high 
 In the affairs of state. That wealth attends 
 High place and power never moves to wonder ; 
 And if it did, you men so worship gold 
 You never will ask if brimstone lit the fire 
 Wherein the image took its cunning mold. 
 Art thou content ? 
 
 Uh&r. So she be won. Not els.e. 
 
 Imcif. Look in the glass. Thou seest, those large black eyes 
 Gaze on thee wooingly ; the short upper lip 
 Thou so. adorest raises its curv'd edge 
 To give the mouth and the immaculate teeth 
 Their most bewitching smile ; the small, round chin, 
 
 The stately nose, the 
 
 Uher. I could gaze for ever ! 
 ' Give me this sorcery, if thou canst ! 
 
 lAbmf. It needs not ; 
 This image is not more within thy chamber. 
 Than the true form shall ere a twelvemontli be. 
 This should suffice thee. But I '11 give thee more. 
 Thou art wise already, after man's conceit. 
 
110 UBEBTO 
 
 And hast that cunning which sees into the heart. 
 
 G-ismonda's soul is open as thy books, 
 
 And her frank speech hides nothing. 'T is not hard 
 
 To look into her eyes and watch her lips. 
 
 But, after marriage, thou shalt know her always. 
 
 Thou shalt behold her absent, and shalt hear 
 
 Her lightest accent were she miles reraov'd. 
 
 The tree of knowledge never bore before 
 
 Such fruit as thou shalt eat of. Now, no more. 
 
 Extend thy limbs on yon day-couch, and sleep. 
 
 J 
 Uberto obeys, and, as the Sell-god waves his hand toward j 
 
 him, seems to fall into a tranquil slumber. '• 
 
 Lucifer them moves his hand over the head and 
 
 face of Uberto, hut without 
 
 touching them. 
 
 Sleep, and awake for evermore unhappy. 
 Thou hast parted with thy virtue like a fool, 
 Hast parted with it for those baubles fools, 
 Fools only, sigh for. Hell can give no worse. 
 
 The form of the Archfiend melts away 
 into the shadows of the chamber. 
 
ACT II. SC. 4. Ill 
 
 Scene IV. 
 
 The Ether of Heaven. 
 
 Chant of 
 Invisible Angels. 
 
 1st Angel. 
 A star has fallen ! the spirit that so long 
 Wrestled in loneness, and through self-denial 
 Became, though human, like an angel strong, 
 Has yielded to its last, inglorious trial. 
 
 2d Angel. 
 Wo to the race of man I love's sweet sensation, 
 Through which frail Adam unresisting fell. 
 Is still the soul's most dangerous temptation, 
 And woman, as when dawn'd the world's creation, 
 Is oft the unconscious instrument of Hell. 
 
 3d Angel. 
 Wo to tlie fallen spirit ! what shall restore 
 The stainless hue of its long purifying? 
 Gone is its whiteness ; ever, ever more. 
 Is sunk in self-delight its self-denying. 
 
112 TTBEBTO 
 
 1st and 'id Angels- 
 Whatr shall restore him? Hark, the Archaagel's yoice 
 Sounds through the distant empyrean clearly : 
 " The love, for which he has sacrific'd so dearly, 
 Sha,!!, when the mangled soul has bled severely, 
 Save the self-victim in return." Rejoice ! 
 
 2d Angel. 
 Hosanna to the Highest ! From aU time 
 God has ordain'd this moral compensation : 
 The passion, whose excess has prompted crime, 
 Bears, though destructive, germs of restoration, 
 And often forms the spring of acts sublime. 
 
 The Three in Chorus. 
 Joy to the human race ! the Are of love, 
 That sometimes blasts, is virtue's best awaking. 
 The star shall rise unto its place above, 
 The wounded spirit be stronger for its breaking. 
 
ACT in. SC. 1. 113 
 
 Act the Third 
 
 Scene I. As in Act II. Sc. I. 
 
 Anselmo 
 
 standing gloomily be/ore the gate. 
 
 Enter from the left, 
 
 Ugo. 
 
 Ugo. The grave Anselmo ! With that clouded front 
 What art thou pondering there ? 
 
 Ansel, \after a 'pause. 
 
 I '11 tell thee, Ugo. 
 'T was at this gate, a twelvemonth since, I parted 
 With Count Uberto. We had just descended 
 Yon hill, where, at Gismonda's dainty home. 
 We had met by chance, and both, as I suppose. 
 Drunk freely of her beauty. Then the Count, 
 With his known frankness, talking of Madonna, 
 Deolar'd he would not wed her if he could. 
 For reasons grave, — as, his illsuited years. 
 His want of wealth, bald crown and wrinkled brow. 
 And urg'd me press my suit to her. Behold, 
 Grismonda now is Count TJberto's wife ! 
 
 TJgo. \laug}iing^ A wondrous circumstance to ponder truly ! 
 
114 FBBKTO 
 
 Though 't well may make thee grave. Why, seest thou not, 
 
 That, the conditions being no more the same, 
 
 Our gallant Count having now both wealth and hair. 
 
 Besides high place and wide-extended fame. 
 
 He was not bound to keep his word. , 
 
 Ansel. He was! 
 He made me think, in simple prudence only. 
 Looking unto the future, — when great age 
 Should have impair'd his fonctions, while his wife 
 Would yet be in her prime, — he would not wed her. 
 He has deceiv'd me. 
 
 Ugo. Then be even with him : 
 Make love unto his wife. 
 
 Ansel, {gravely.l Thou dost forget 
 Thou speakest of an honorable dame. 
 And of a man, who, though in this he hath wrong'd me. 
 Has ever been my good friend, and is still. 
 
 TIgo. Thou art over nice. One day, thou 'It change thy mind. 
 
 Ansel. Never m. this, while I am in my mind. 
 
 Ugo. Well, well. But this same change of which I spoke: 
 How very odd, that, after being bald 
 For several years, Uberto should regain 
 His fallen locks, have all his wrinkles gone. 
 And be, in look, to the full, as young as thou, 
 Whom haply he might sire ! I sometimes think 
 The Devil might explain it. 
 
 Arisel. So not I. 
 His hair has been these six months growing out. 
 'Tis known he dabbles in the chemic art : 
 
ACT III. SC. 1. 115 
 
 He may have found some unguent to promote it. 
 As for his brow, his new increase of flesh 
 Would rub out wrinkles that were never deep. 
 Joy and his great success might do the rest. 
 His person always has been young ; myself 
 Have often wish'd its lightness and its ease. 
 In that he is not altered. 
 
 Ugo. Not in that. 
 But did his unguent get for him his wealth ? 
 It might, if he would sell it : bald gallants, 
 That would have hair again, .would freely bleed 
 To have the secret. 
 
 Ansel. Why not ask as well. 
 If it had got him his great fame and rank ? 
 They both were sudden; and his sudden wealth 
 Was but the natural sequence ; if indeed 
 It was so sudden. Men are often prone 
 To underrate their riches ; and his sire 
 Was thought, they tell me, to have ample means. 
 
 Ugo. Be it so. But for this fancied joy, Anselmo, 
 I do not see it. He could not be more sad 
 If he had bought his honors with his soul. 
 
 Ansd. Shame ! There are passionate natures in which joy 
 May be too deep for utterance, men whose souls 
 May wear this sadness from excess of bliss. 
 
 Ugo. If there be any such — as much I doubt — 
 Thou knowest Uberto's is not of them. His 
 Would show excess of joy by overflowing. 
 Either his conscience is at work, or, markl 
 
116 UBEETO 
 
 This marriage is not happy on one side. 
 Ansd. That side is not G-ismonda's. She regards hin 
 
 With a devotion often makes me sigh. 
 Ugo. Which may not be in vain. Unless the Devil 
 
 Hath given indeed her spouse his youth forever, 
 
 She one day tires ; and then, thou 
 
 Ansd. Messer Ugo, 
 
 I have reminded thee of whom thou speakest, 
 
 And unto whom. We have been excellent friends, 
 
 And shall be long, I trust: but, so to be. 
 
 These libertine hints must cease. [Mat to the left. 
 Ugo. [looking after him.} Is 't so indeed 1 
 
 Either thou art a hypocrite, or fool. 
 
 Why stand'st thou musing at the lady's gate ? 
 
 Why sighest so often, — as thou sayst, to mark 
 
 Her lawful love ? I see in thee the cloud 
 
 Shall throw a shadow on Uberto's joy. 
 
 [Esdt to the right. 
 
Acrr III. so. 2. 117 
 
 Scene II. 
 A room in the castle of Ubeeto. 
 
 G-ISMONDA. GrIOOOKDA. 
 
 Qiocon. How gay thou art, Gismonda ! 
 
 Oism. Is that new ? 
 
 Oiocon. Ko, thou wast alway laughing. But thy mirth 
 Seem'd, in thy maiden state, of lighter sort ; 
 The frank expression of an innocent heart, 
 Pleas'd with itself and all things round it. Now, 
 Thy gaiety has more depth, as if thy soul 
 Was overflow'd with happiness. Is it so ? 
 
 Gism. How canst thou ask me ? Seest thou not, my lord 
 Is ever at my side, the most devoted. 
 As the most passionate of lovers. 
 
 Cfiocon. Yet, 
 The saddest too. 
 
 Oism, He was so from the first. 
 And to say truth, Gioconda, 't was this sadness 
 Did most to win my heart. It is so sweet 
 To know one's self belov'd, one loves in turn 
 Almost unconsciously. When, some months ago, 
 The pensiveness I had at times observ'd 
 Steal over his gayest mood when I was near, 
 
118 tTBEETO 
 
 Making him absent-minded, so that oft 
 
 He answer'd me at random, or scarce spoke, 
 
 "When I observ'd this deepen, and believ'd, 
 
 In my vain little heart, 't was all for me. 
 
 The interest he had known to waken in me. 
 
 So fine a man, so polish'd, and so good. 
 
 Became less tranquil and more warm. There needed 
 
 Scarcely the restoration of those locks 
 
 Whose loss deform'd his head and made him old, 
 
 Nor yet those honors the consciousness of which 
 
 Makes dignified his step ; there needed not 
 
 Any of this to win my maiden heart : 
 
 His sadness for the love of me did all. 
 
 CHocon. But why should it remain ? He is more sad, 
 Now after marriage, than he was before. 
 
 Oism. Because he loves me better than before. 
 
 Oiocon. Thou simpleton 1 His sadness, if for love, 
 Was for a love that wanted yet success, 
 Or for its hopelessness, as then he deem'd. 
 Now it has won its object, this should cease. 
 Besides, it is remark'd in every place. 
 And at all times, and more where thou art not 
 Than when he is fasten'd to thy side. Dost know 
 What Flora and her careless suitor TTgo 
 Say of this humor ? 
 
 Oism. No. What do they say ? 
 
 Oiocon. Thou wilt be'vex'd. 
 
 Oism. Nay, that I cannot be 
 With the ill words of either. 
 
ACT in. SC. 2. 119 
 
 CHocon. And thou then 
 Wilt not be angry ? 
 
 Oism. Surely not with thee. 
 
 CHocon. But 
 
 Oism. Now indeed, indeed, thou dost but tease me, 
 Thinking to make me long the more to know. 
 I will not listen, save thou tell at once. 
 What said they of his sadness ? 
 
 Oiocon. 'T is not I, 
 Remember, say it, G-isma ! — This they said : 
 The Count had made a compact with the Devil 
 To win thee, and was mourning for the terras. 
 Look not with such contemptuous anger, G-isma ; 
 'T was but a foolish jest. 
 
 Oism. This of my lord I — 
 Do those that bargain with the Devil pray ? 
 CHocon. No, surely ; 't would destroy them. 
 
 Oism. Tell them then. 
 My husband does. Last night I heard my name 
 Breath'd in his closet, and, thinking I was call'd, 
 Approach'd the door, but only to o'erhear 
 My lord invoking blessings on my head. 
 Tell that ; and thou mayst add to it, that I 
 Retired thereon to mine, and, kneeling down, 
 Pray'd Heaven's best favors on his head in turn. 
 CHocon. Thou art weeping, Gisma ! 
 
 Oism-. Ay, as when I pray'd. 
 'T is not for sorrow. — ■ Did the Count Anselmo 
 Credit this wicked malice ? 
 
120 UBEETO 
 
 GKocon. No, I think not. 
 Gism. No, I am sure not I Tell not thou my lord. 
 
 And yet thou mayst ; 't might win from him a smile. 
 Lo, where he comes. He does indeed look sad. 
 Yet what a presence ! Dear, thou shalt excuse me : 
 I '11 run to him and chase that cloud away. 
 
 Mcit, — Gioconda loohing permveh/ 
 after her. 
 
ACT IV. SO. 1. 12] 
 
 AoT THE Fourth 
 
 . Scene I. The study. As in Act I. Sc. I. 
 
 TTberto. 
 
 I may not doubt it longer: she I love, 
 The mother of my children, and my wife, 
 For whose possession I gave up all hereafter, 
 And here my peace of mind, is mine no more 
 Save in the bonds of flesh. Anselmo's manhood 
 Unbroken yet by years, and his long love. 
 Whose fire gives out its light through countless chinks 
 Himself sees not, but she has learn'd to mark 
 As well as I, have won the yet young heart 
 I am too old to fill. Thou juggling fiend ! 
 Who gav'st me but the semblance of my youth. 
 While life went on slow-ebbing as before, 
 Are these the terms I made ? Ten years are gone. 
 And should have brought me to that point of time 
 Where thou didst find me : now my hair is gray. 
 My strength sore minish'd. Thou didst set indeed 
 The shadow backward which life's dial mark'd ; 
 But the sun's light mov'd on for me the same. 
 Why hast thou kept thy promise in all else ? 
 Honors, titles, wealth are mine ; but gone the heart 
 
 ToL. II.— 6 
 
122 UBBRTO 
 
 For which alone I sought them ; and for this, — 
 
 That thou hast kept thy compact but in word. 
 
 I have call'd thee to a reckoning ; and tliou com'st not. 
 
 But thou shalt know I will not thus be wrong'd 
 
 Without resistance : must I yield my soul, 
 
 The price of its submission shall be paid, 
 
 Else is it free. I '11 call thee once again. 
 
 Come, though thou come in thunder and the smoke 
 
 Of deepest Hell ! so that thou blast not her, 
 
 I reck not. Q-ive me but to see thy face. 
 
 Though swollen with anger, though thou wear the mien 
 
 With which thou didst confront the Archangel Michael, 
 
 When taken in thy plot and Heaven's pavement 
 
 Was clear'd of thy audacious footstep ! come ! 
 
 With all thy horrors, come ! I '11 brave, bear all. 
 
 All but this anguish of the tortur'd heart 
 
 Which will not break. [Pauses.} Thou wilt not answer me, 
 
 My call, nor my defiance. Thou hast all. 
 
 Thou think'st, that thou didst bid for, and art glad 
 
 That I am cheated by a lying bait. 
 
 But thy fiends-malice has not full effect : 
 
 That fatal gift to read GHsmonda's heart, 
 
 Which my vainglory weloom'd, and thou didst hope 
 
 Would make the measure of my wo run over. 
 
 Has been but half pernicious : I have found 
 
 No wilful error in her innocent heart. 
 
 Only that physical yearning nature prompts 
 
 And the harsh counsels of religious faith 
 
 And reason in her are too frail to check, 
 
ACT IT. SC. 1. 123 
 
 Albeit they chide it hourly. This to see, 
 
 Now fills me for my own sake with despair 
 
 And grieves me to the heart for thee, G-ismonda, 
 
 Who wouldst be true, but canst not. Thou hast ask'd me, 
 
 Often, why I am sad. I could not tell thee 
 
 Of my remorse and of my ruin'd soul. 
 
 Were I to answer now, 't was that I saw 
 
 Thy heart was opening to another love, 
 
 And soon would shut out mine, thou'dst deem me mad ; 
 
 So far art thou from seeing to what thy blood 
 
 And thy young senses urge thee, though the gulf 
 
 Is visible to my eyes. as broad as day 
 
 And deep as Hell. I would the grave's full night 
 
 Md,y be around me, ere thou downward plunge I 
 
 Yet, thou art good and pious, and thy pure soul 
 
 May keep thee from tiiat ruin, and passionate grief, 
 
 Or brooding melancholy, worse than death. 
 
 Hold thee suspended pining at the verge. 
 
 Still, 't is a thought to drive me desperate-mad, 
 
 This loss of thy affection, for whose sake 
 
 I have sacrifio'd the harvest of my life. 
 
 All I have planted and have nurs'd so long 
 
 With my heart's sweat and tears. If now to die 
 
 Were not to hurry me to that unknown sphere 
 
 Of horror to which, rebellious and ingrate 
 
 To God and duty, I have given myself. 
 
 And the least thought whereof, now that my blood 
 
 Is less distemper'd, makes me cold with fear, 
 
 And with a loathing that is stronger still ; 
 
124 UBERTO 
 
 Were 't not for this, the debt I have incurr'd 
 
 For thy dear sake, Grismonda, I would now 
 
 Let me not think on it ; enough already 
 
 I have sinn'd, without self-murder. We must bear 
 
 The burden and incumbrance of my age. 
 
 Both of us, till that natural term shall come 
 
 Which binds me to my fate, and sets thee free. 
 
 Hi moves slowly up the stage, with head 
 depressed — And Scene closes. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 As in Act II. Sc. I. and in Act III. 8c. I. 
 
 Anselmo and TJgo 
 
 Ugo. At the same spot again we are met, Anselmo, 
 Where ten years since, and on this very day, 
 I gave thee warning. How demure thou lookedstl 
 Thou wouldst not listen, but, with knitted brow 
 And haughty bearing, turning short away, 
 Bad'st me remember who Gismonda was, 
 And who TJberto, and who. Heaven help us ! tliou. 
 
ACT IV. SC. 2. 125 
 
 How is it with thee now ? and witli ITberto ? 
 And with G-ismonda ? 
 
 Ansel. Ah ! I see thy drift. 
 Warning ? Tliou didst incite me to a love 
 That was dishonor. 
 
 Ugo. Art thou not in love ? 
 And is 't my doing? 
 
 Ansel. In love with whom ? Speak out. 
 
 Ugo. Thou wouldst not like it : 't is not nice in sound 
 To say one loves his friend's wife over well. 
 
 Ansel. And sayst thou that of me ? 
 
 Ugo. A thousand things 
 Might say it of thee, Count Anselmo Mozzo, 
 Had they but tongues as I ; as, for example, 
 The bust TJberto wrought of her in marble 
 With his own hands ; whereon I have seen thee gaze — 
 Not like a stone. And then, that ponoil'd head 
 Done after memory, ere their marriage, where 
 Her profil'd features have their loftiest grace, 
 Earnest and full of thought, — who was it saw thee 
 Making thy unbreath'd vows of love to that. 
 And blush'd that she so saw thee? Which I noted, 
 And Flora with me; and we drew therefrom 
 Certain conclusions, comforting to thee, 
 But not to Count TJberto. 
 
 Ansel. If thou meanest, 
 Ugo de' Pazzi, that 1 love that lady 
 More than is seemly, and that she, this knowing, 
 Does with full consciousness thereto incite me. 
 
126 UBEKTO 
 
 Thou dost, without the shadow of a cause, 
 Malign her grossly, and to me thy friend 
 Show'st thyself wanting in that faith a friend 
 Should have, or he is none, in my tried honor. 
 
 Ugo. I have at least one quality, Anselmo, 
 
 That fits a friend, — forbearance ; but for which, 
 
 "Well might I quarrel with a tone and mien 
 
 The more offensive that thou at all times 
 
 Art grave and calm. Who did impugn thy faith, 
 
 Or the known virtue of Uberto's spouse ? 
 
 I simply said, — thou lov'st her, and she sees it. 
 
 ATisel. That I deny. I never had a thought 
 To show her love. 
 
 Ugo. Yet show it thou dost still ; 
 And all the more for that thou giv'st thy heart 
 At no time audible vent. If thou dost not. 
 Why then I never yet made love to Flora, 
 Or better. Flora ne'er made love to me. 
 
 AtisA. Talk soberly, if thou canst, two minutes' space. 
 
 Ugo. More than that. Hear me. Has Gismonda eyes ? 
 Sees she not Count TJberto ag'd, — gray-hair' d. 
 Loose-skinn'd and wrinkled and unsure of step. 
 And looking older for a constant gloom, 
 Whose cloud appears to thicken ? while thy mien 
 If grave is tranquil, and thou bear'st with hghtness 
 And no unseemly change thy middle age. 
 Well, it is not in nature that the love 
 Of a fine woman, in the prime of life, 
 Should on an old man rest, when one of years 
 
ACT IV. SC. 2. 127 
 
 More meet is yearning for her as thou dost, 
 And as she sees and feels, do what thou wilt, 
 Or think'st thou wilt, thy yearning to conceal. 
 Anselmo, on my honor, which is fair 
 As thine is, I advise thee, leave this scene 
 Before thou make two persona more unhappy 
 Than now I know they are. [going. 
 Ansel. [ Ugo tarrying as he speaks.'] And is it thou, 
 TJgo de' Pazzi, who, ten years now gone. 
 Here by this gate, advis'd me do that wrong 
 Which now thou fearest I have done, or shall do ? 
 What has chang'd thee? 
 
 Ugo. Ten years, if I am chang'd. 
 I spake then as a bachelor. I now 
 Preach in the. interest of that threaten'd class 
 Whereof I am one. Take warning! [JSxit to the left. 
 Ansel. [ after a moment.'] Would I could ! 
 But thou hast prob'd my secret over well, 
 And with thy assum'd disclosure of her own 
 
 Made thrill my blood But is it hers indeed? 
 
 Has she divin'd my passion ? And does it wake 
 
 In her pure breast an. answering Help me God I 
 
 Nor let the simple pleasure of such thought 
 Hush reason's voice, high honor, and thy law. 
 
 [Mat to the right, slowly, and with 
 head cast down. 
 
128 UBERTO 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 As in Act I. Scene II. 
 
 Lucifer. Sammael. 
 
 Samm. Is 't that which makes thee smile ? 
 Lucif. Is that a wonder 1 
 
 This creature, who might tremble at the thunder, 
 
 If the red bolt should come within a mile 
 
 Of his weak-jointed walls of stone, 
 
 Dares summon me with haughty tone 
 
 As if I were his slave ; nor that alone, 
 
 But hurls defiance at me for my guile ! 
 
 G-uile ! Yet the terms we made were of his choosing. 
 
 He might have ask'd for all his mortal life 
 
 Unfading youth, both for himself and wife, 
 
 "Without the risk of my refusing. 
 
 He would seem young, to win her. She was won. 
 
 'T is not my doing, that he is undone. 
 
 Why growls the dog at my misusing ? 
 Samm. And is it this contents thee ? 
 
 Lucif. No, not all. 
 
 I smile to see this glowworm, who exulted 
 
 In the bright gift I gave him without asking, 
 
ACT IV. SC. 3. 129 
 
 Worn by the heart's continual overtasking, 
 Find small dehght from wisdom has resulted, 
 But, as with Adam, at the so-call'd Fall, 
 The fruit of moral lore, at first alluring. 
 Has in its taste no sweet that is enduring, 
 And to the soul proves bitterer than gall. 
 Not all the misery, which the mere forsaking 
 Of the long-worship'd altars of his G-od 
 Has given him hourly, has outpang'd the aching 
 His spirit felt, when, from its daydream waking, 
 It found a woman's heart was flesh and blood. 
 
 Samm. What will he do ? 
 
 Lucif. Ask what but now he did. 
 But for his dread of the unknown hereafter, 
 He would sheer o'er the precipice have slid 
 That bounds the gulf between him and his fate, 
 And, by an act forbid 
 To the self-torturing zealots of his creed. 
 Upon the doom, that waits him soon or late, 
 Have rush'd with frantic speed. 
 Amid Hell's laughter. 
 
 Samm. The deed deferr'd may yet in time be done. 
 
 Liicif. That shall I hasten. Ere around the sun 
 Man's petty globe has many times revolv'd, 
 The problem shall be solv'd 
 
 He has dar'd to raise between us ; and this thing 
 Shall learn 't is dangerous tampering 
 For such as he with supernatural aid, 
 And that the fools who with the Devil would trade 
 6* 
 
1 30 UBEETO 
 
 Must more than double eyesight with them bring. 
 
 IMmimt Imcif. and Samm., 
 
 and the Choir of Spirits 
 is heard within. 
 
 1st Spirit 
 What can the insects bring 
 
 Sprung of Earth's mire, 
 Who from Hell's awful king 
 
 Seek their desire ? 
 
 2d Spirit. 
 Shall that which knows no date 
 
 Guide the diurnal 1 
 Can- the sun's child be mate 
 
 With the eternal ? 
 
 3d Spirit. 
 As, in their orb of clay. 
 
 Drops on a river, 
 So shall they melt away, 
 
 Swallow'd for ever — 
 
 Chorus. 
 Where from the fathomless 
 
 Ocean of fire 
 Eises the sulphur-cloud 
 
 Higher and higher. 
 
ACT T. SO. 1. 131 
 
 Act the Pitt h 
 
 Scene I. An anteroom in the Oastle of Uberto. 
 Night. 
 
 Q-ISMONDA. AnSELMO. 
 
 Ansel. Ask me not why, Madonna. Are our moods 
 
 Always the same, or always at command ? 
 Oism. No, or I hope I should not need inquire 
 Why Count Anselmo for two days has been 
 So absent-minded, gloomy, and reserv'd. 
 Yet have we done our best to make his stay 
 Pleasant as usual. 
 
 Aiisel. True ; nor Count Uberto, 
 Nor thou, dear lady, hast neglected aught 
 To dissipate my sadness. On the morrow 
 Suffer me take my leave. 
 
 Oism. [luith emotion.] So soon ? 
 
 Ansel. Thou 'dst add : 
 And so abruptly ? But 't is better thus : 
 My malady is stronger than I deem'd. 
 Cfism. Art thou not well 1 [same tone. 
 
 Ansel. A sickness of the "mind. 
 Not here, Madonna, must I seek the cure, 
 Where — thou art. 
 
132 UBHRTO 
 
 Qism. Let us join our friends, [going. 
 Ansel. Stay, dearest lady ; let me ask in turn 
 
 Why thou of late art sad . Art thou not well ? 
 Oism. Should I not answer too, in thy own words : 
 
 Can we be gay at will ? or always gay ? 
 Ansel. No, 't would not be to answer as thyself; 
 
 For thou hast still been frank since first I knew thee. 
 Would I had been ! 
 
 Gism. What should that say, Messere ? 
 Ansel. — Or prompter ! 
 
 Qism. Sir ! 
 
 Ansel. — But now it is too late. 
 Gism. Let us join Monna Flora and the rest. 
 We have been too long away. 
 
 Ansel. Thou : I can not. 
 Thou wilt permit me to retire, Madonna. 
 To-morrow, I shall bid farewell. 
 
 Qism. l/aintly.] To-morrow ? 
 Have I displeas'd thee ? 
 
 Ansel. Thou ? displease me, lady ? 
 Alas ! thou bast known to please me over well I 
 Pardon this madness. Look not so confounded. 
 I know not what I say. What was 't I said ? 
 Gism. [collecting herself, — but with difficulty. 
 Art thou distracted ? 
 
 Ansel. Yes, I am distracted ; 
 
 I have been so many months — since Let me hence. 
 
 Before I speak what never should be spoken. 
 Never to thee. 
 
ACT V. SO. 1. 133 
 
 Qism. Heaven ! [sinhiTig into a chair, and cov- 
 ering her face with her hands. 
 Ansel. Can it be ? 
 Weep'st thou, Madonna ? [kneeling hefore her and attempt- 
 ing to take her hand. 
 Gism. Ipreserving same attitude. 
 Xeave nae, thou unhappy ! 
 Ansel. Yes, yes, unhappy ; yet, how happy too ! 
 
 Thou knowest my passion now. For twelve long years, 
 Before perhaps my bolder, happier rival 
 Oonoeiv'd a thought of making thee his own, 
 
 I, dear Gismonda 
 
 Oism. [who has already dropped her hands with 
 a look of dismay, — now recoiling 
 from him.] Ah, 't was said in time ! 
 Thou dost remind me who and what I am. [rising. 
 Rise, Count Anselmo, and henceforth remember, 
 He whom thou call'st thy rival is my lord. 
 Nor so degrade thy honorable self 
 As to descend to thoughts and acts and words 
 'T would make thee cower with shame to have him know. 
 
 [going. 
 Ansel. Hear me ! — one word ! — but one ! 
 
 Oism. Not on this theme ; 
 A thousand on aught else, [again turning to go. 
 Ansel. "I was but to pray. 
 
 Humbly and from the heart, thy pardon. But 
 
 Gism. No I nothing more ! I will not risk, for thee 
 Nor for myself, a single phrase might add 
 
134 UBEETO 
 
 To this night's shame. 
 
 Ansel. Alas! I had thought, Madonna 
 
 Gism. Think nothing, Count — nothing again of this — 
 Which now, thank God ! is ended — and forever 1 
 This shall secure it. By the cross, I swear, 
 If ever from this time thoa look again, 
 Or speak, as thou hast spoken and look'd but now, 
 To my remorse and to my lord's dishonor, 
 I never will exchange word with thee more ! 
 Ansel, [after a pause.] 'T is cruel; but 't is right. I wiU obey. 
 [She extends her hand to him ; hut, on 
 his offering to lift it to his lips, 
 withdraws it hastily. 
 Gism. Ah ! thou forgott'st already. We must do more. 
 To-morrow, Flora and thy friend her lord 
 Take their departure. With them goes G-ioconda. 
 Seize thou this pretext and make one with them. 
 Then travel for some months ; no matter where, 
 So that we meet not soon. 
 
 Ansel. For many months! 
 Gism. Hush! it must be. Thou wouldst not forfeit all ? 
 My friendship shall go with thee, my esteem. 
 Now leave me — quick, — in pity to thyself. 
 
 [Exit Ansel. 
 Gism. [after he has completely disappeared. 
 
 And unto me. Hadst thou had less command 
 
 Over thyseltj or hadst been modest less 
 
 But if thou wert less modest, could I — like thee ? 
 As I do now, more than befits me do, 
 
ACT V. SC. 2. 135 
 
 Or I dare own, by name, even to myself. — 
 But I will root this growing weakness out : 
 It shall not make me, more than now I am, 
 False to my G-od, my husband, and myself. 
 
 [Mat, as the Scene shifts to 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 The Study. As in Act I. Sc. I. 
 
 Ubeeto 
 
 clasping his hands together with an 
 
 expression of relief. 
 
 Uher. The agony is over! thou hast conquer' d. 
 Thy spirit is good, Gismonda, as I thought it, 
 And far more strong. Thou shalt have thy reward. 
 
 [ Sings a small handbell. 
 Enter a Servant. 
 Bid come to me thy lady. 
 
 Servt. [with embarrassment 
 Signer Count, 
 She is with the Count Anselmo. 
 
 Uher. Was, but now. 
 
136 tTBERTO 
 
 The Count has left. Bid come to me thy lady. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 The rumhling of distant thunder. 
 Ueerto moves slowly to the open casement, and looMng 
 out a moment, slowly returns. 
 
 The lake is blackening, and the angry clouds 
 Come onward fast. I could have rather chosen 
 To leaye this sphere, whose beauty I so love, 
 When the sweet moon was spreading all around 
 Her magic light and shadow, or the stars 
 Were looking on me with their calm bright eyes. 
 But when the mind is fix'd on its own thoughts, 
 It matters little that outward things wear not 
 The dress we like : I shall not see the darkness; 
 And the loud thunder and the rushing wind. 
 If heard at all, will seem to sound my dirge. 
 
 Enter Gismonda. 
 She appears consdoiis and embarrassed. 
 
 ' Gism. My lord — thou hast sent 
 
 Uber. Be reassur'd, Gismonda. 
 I have sent for thee to praise thee, not to chide. 
 Thou hast been tempted, and hast stood the proof. 
 Look not aghast : she who has not been tried 
 Cannot be counted virtuous, albeit 
 In life she may be chaste. But thou art both. 
 
 [ taking her hand in both his, 
 while her embarrassment increases. 
 
ACT V. SO. 2. 137 
 
 Thou art my faithful partner, and shalt find 
 I can reward thee. I would bid thee kiss me ; 
 But 't were to put thee to an act of pain. 
 Qiam. My lord! my Igrd! [ahoui to kiss him. 
 
 He gently puts her bach. 
 Uber. No, no ; thy heart would n )t 
 Gro with it, as I deem'd it did of old. 
 Let me kiss thee. Thou pure and good Gismonda, 
 Whom I have so much wrong'd to marry — it was 
 My sole act that was selfish ; but my last 
 Shall make atonement for it — stoop to me. 
 Thou whom I love so well. [ Ife is about to Jdss her 
 
 on the lips ; hut he only touches 
 her forehead.'] Thus. It is now 
 As it should be, and only should have been, 
 A father's kiss to a, good and tender child 
 Oherish'd as she deserves. And now — good night. 
 God's blessing on thee, my Gismonda ! And if — 
 
 And if 
 
 Qism. "What means my lord ? Art thou not well 
 To-night, TJberto ? 'T is a fearful night. 
 
 Thunder heard. Gismonda shrinking and 
 clinging to Uberto. 
 
 Let me be with thee. Oh, do not put me from thee I 
 It was not so of old ! " 
 
 TJher. No, not of old. 
 But am I as I was of old ? 
 
 Oism. My lord I 
 
138 FBEETO 
 
 Uler. Speak not, G-ismonda, counter to the sense 
 
 Which the heart warrants. Hush 1 thou knowest not 
 
 Thyself as I know thee. Thy soul is good 
 
 And generous as it ever was — were 't not, 
 
 Could I have lov'd thee, as I have lov'd and love ? — 
 
 But there is that in it which was not once; 
 
 No double image can divide it ; where 
 
 Anselmo is, [^She hides her face.l Uberto cannot be. 
 
 It is but natural. Hence, I blame thee not. 
 
 Thou feelest, this night, a sympathy for me ; 
 
 Thou 'dst be with me, and, with a woman's care, 
 
 Wouldst watch my fever, as thou think'st it, well : 
 
 But in the solemn hours, when I was still, 
 
 Thy heart would beat for him ; and on the morrow 
 
 Tempted again — nay, answer not • — would iind 
 
 Perchance less power to resist. Go then. 
 
 To-morrow thou wilt learn to know me better. 
 
 To esteem me better, than thou dost, to love 
 
 As thou canst love me ; that thou canst not more 
 
 Is not of thee. G-ood night! 
 
 He puts her gently and courteovsly_ from the room. 
 It is now over. 
 The last look of those eyes, for whose dear light 
 I have given my soul forever, has departed. 
 And the world henceforth is all black to me. 
 Farewell. I have borne it better than I thought. 
 The thunder, which has been heard at intervals, 
 now increases in frequency 
 and loudness. 
 
ACT V. SC. 2. 139 
 
 The storm comes nearer. Thou, whose awful voice 
 Speaks in these turbulent elements ; but not more 
 Than in the softest whisper of the breeze ; 
 Thou, whom I dare not pray to bear me up, 
 As in my hours of trouble once I us'd. 
 Suffer me on my knees to cry for them, 
 My innocent wife and children, [kneeling. 
 
 Spare them, Godi! 
 Kor let the father and the husband's sins 
 Be, through men's hands, nor through the engender'd 
 
 taint 
 Of the soul's passions, visited on their heads. 
 Thy lightnings do not blast me as I kneel. 
 Perhaps Thou wilt have mercy, though condemning 
 Injustice my great crime, and make more brief 
 My horrible probation and that scale 
 Of the soul's painful reascent to virtue 
 Whereto I have given myself — alas I for nought. 
 That I precipitate this selfwill'd fate. 
 Impute not unto me for added sin. 
 Even for that end I seek — which is not nought. 
 He rises. 
 One more adieu to ye, dear native hills ! 
 going to the casement. 
 Then, after a few moments, returning. 
 The thunder's flash reveals them and the lake, 
 Not in their gladsome aspect, like to her. 
 But lurid as my fate. Perhaps 't is well : 
 We part with less regret. Good night, forever! 
 
140 UBERTO 
 
 My soul shall haply bear with it no trace 
 Of all life imag'd on it, fair or foul. 
 
 Tie takes a 'poniard from, a shelf and hares it. 
 
 This is my last of instruments. Nor hook, 
 Pencil, nor chisel, e'er wrought such effect 
 As this, which in an instant, with one stroke. 
 Severs the chain that separates the world 
 On which I stand from that to which I go. 
 But for our doubts, how few of us would pause 
 Who find this life what I of late have done ! 
 Looking on the blade. 
 
 I would that thou hadst given my heart, Gismonda, 
 No worse a pang than this sharp knife will cause. 
 Stabs himself. 
 
 As he simks in an arm-chair 
 Enter Gismonoa. 
 
 Qism. What didst thou mean, my lord? Thou hast fiU'd my 
 soul 
 With strange forebodements — [ Observing his state as she 
 
 approaches, hastens to him. 
 
 Thou art my God! 
 
 What means this blood ? 
 
 Uber. [smiling on her.] Thy strange forebodements prov'd 
 Truer — than most are. But the knife struck — ■ false. 
 
 [ throwing down the poniard. 
 Qism. [shrieking. 
 
 Ah ! — Help there I 
 
ACT T. SO. 2. 141 
 
 Uher. 'T will be useless. Yet thou comest — 
 Thou dear Grismonda — as — -I could have wish'd. 
 
 Gism. Oh God ! — Help I — Speak not. Let me 
 
 [ endeavoring wildly to stay the hlood. 
 XJher. 'T is in vain. 
 The blow was — ■ sure, if not 
 
 Enter, hurriedly, 
 
 Flora, Giooonda, Ugo, 
 
 and immediately after, from another door, 
 
 Anselmo. 
 
 Ugo. "Who did this deed ? 
 Uber. I only — for — for her sake, good Anselmo — 
 And — and for thine. 
 
 Oism. Call in the children ! 
 
 Uber. No — 
 There is no time — I kiss'd them ere they .slept. 
 I should be dead, before — before they came. 
 And pity it were — to wake them — who can sleep 
 In such a storm, — to look upon a sight 
 'T were best they should not see. Let them not know — 
 If so it may be — I died by my own hand. 
 Are these thy tears, Anselmo ? Be a friend — 
 A good friend to my — children : they are hers. 
 Raise me. Were 't not — for one thought — I could die — 
 
 A flash of lightning enters through the casement, 
 
 succeeded instantly hy the rattle of thunder. 
 
 Uberto stands up from the chair. 
 
142 
 
 I come I — [falling forwa/rd. 
 
 ffism. Uberto ! [swoons over him. 
 Uber. — Happy. [Dies. 
 
 Ugo. What an end ! 
 
 Anselmo, falling on one knee, covers his face 
 with both hands. G-ioconda stoops 
 to raise the senseless form of G-ismonda. 
 Ugo and Flora stand in differ- 
 ent attitudes of 
 horror.^ 
 
 Scene ITI. 
 
 A part of the ethereal space beyond the atmosphere 
 of Earth. 
 
 Archangel Michael. Lucifer. 
 
 Mich. Hence to thy proper realm ! 
 
 Lucif. And this to me, 
 
 Who once in Heaven stood before thee ? 
 Mich. I might deplore thee, 
 
 Unhappy ! but for what I see. 
 
 Why hast thou sought this spirit to enchain ? 
 
ACT V. SC. 3. 14a 
 
 Lucif. Because the worm had sold himself to be 
 My vassal after death, and shall remain 
 Subject forever to the laws I have given, 
 Until by his self-struggling he regain 
 His former human heart and human brain, — 
 When thou mayst take him if thou wilt to Heaven. 
 His last expenditure of blood, I wot. 
 Will not have much improv'd therein his lot. 
 
 Mich. Thou miserable scoffer I who with jests 
 Striv'st to conceal the anguish of thy soul, 
 And thy outbreaking passion to control, — 
 I scarce can think thou art that mighty one 
 Who stood with me in order next the Son, 
 When in the star-strown region of the skies 
 The uufinish'd Earth began to roll, — 
 Whom even the Seraphim accounted wise. 
 Know that this being's self-sacrifice arrests 
 The doom which else had on his soul descended 
 Who for another's good himself divests 
 Of his last blessing, and, deliberate, 
 Forestalls the horrors of an awful fate 
 To make that other happy, though too late, 
 Has by the sacrifice his fault amended. 
 And the All- Just his soul will reinstate 
 In its first partial good. 
 
 Ludf. It shall not be ! 
 
 Mich. It is. Look back, and see 
 
 The spirit rescued from thy thrall forever. 
 
 Lucif. Curse on the perjur'd slave ! 
 
144 UBEETO 
 
 Mich. It was not lie : 
 Curse thine own craft : 
 Thou art thyself thy own forsworn deceiver. 
 'T was this alone at which thy demons laugh' d. 
 Hadst thou but given this man his youth indeed, 
 The woman would have lov'd him still, and thou 
 Have held his spirit still bounden, nor, as now. 
 Have had thy head bruis'd by Eve's hated seed. 
 I/acif. [departing. 
 
 I yet shall meet him, in some other sphere. 
 Mich. And baffled find thyself again — as here. 
 
 [ExxMnt different ways. 
 
I^OTES 
 
NOTES TO UBERTO 
 
 1. — p. 142. / come ! — etc. etc.] This is the catastrophe as it was 
 first designed. But while writing, it occurred to me, that, besides 
 the thunderbolt to which Uberlo answers as if it were a sum- 
 mons, another might be made to strike him and at the same time 
 Gismonda. Such a catastrophe would be more tragic, and more — 
 to my impression — in the true spirit of tragedy. The objection to 
 it lies in the unpleasant effect it would have on the mind of the 
 reader, whose disappointment would be greater even than his 
 surprise, which itself would be painful. 
 
 I come ! [/alUiig forward.'] — now happy. [I>ies. 
 
 Qivm. TJberto 1 [Swoons over him. 
 At t/iat instant, another Jiash appears to strike the bodies. 
 
 Oiocon. Ah ! 
 
 Ftor. The bolt 
 Has struck them both together I 
 
 Ugo. What an end I 
 AHSisLMO, falling cm one knee., hangs over the body of 
 Gismonda, while the rest stand in various 
 attitudes of liorror. 
 
 PS. Dec. 22, 1868. 
 
 I see I have used, above, the word " reader." The piece was not 
 intended for representation. Tet it might easily be adapted to the 
 stage ( in a day when less of bustle shall be required in the action 
 than at present, ) by omitting the 3d Scene of Act T., and perhaps 
 the 4th of Act IT., or by removing the Choruses altogether. 
 
PEEPACB 
 
 THE OID OF SEVILLE 
 
 Twenty years ago, when for the first time I redd the play of 
 Samho Ortiz de las Boelas, not knowing then how improperly it was 
 ascribed to Lope de Vega,* its subject, which is wholly Lope's, 
 struck me as one of the noblest that could be selected for the 
 Stage, and I entered it in the list of those which 1 had set 
 down for themes of future composition. My opinion is not altered, 
 and having, since the completion of my own piece, gone over the Cid 
 of Corneille and its original, I think that there can be no comparison 
 between Lope's design, certainly under its modern guise, and ttife very 
 
 * It is the first play in tlie collection El Teatro Efipaflol, published in London 
 in 1817, where it appears under the double title, " Sancho Ortiz de las Roelaa^ 6 
 La Eatrella de SevUla^ Tragedia de Lope Felix de Vega Carpio^ The commen- 
 tator merely tells us in a foot-note, "Este drama es uno de los arreglados por 
 Don Cfindido Maria Trigueros." But, as I shall presently show, we should have 
 almost as much right to call the Cid of Corneille a translation from Las Mocedadea 
 of Guillen de Castro, as this a mere adaptation of the EstreUa. of Lope, 
 
150 PREFACE TO 
 
 similar but inferior one of that part of Castro's double play* 
 
 * Zas Mocedades del CUl is divided into two Parts, or rather is composed of two 
 playa of wbich, each forms a Part under that general title. It is the first alone 
 of these divisions that gave origin to the famous drama of Le Cid, But there is 
 another play on the same subject by another Spanish dramatist, contemporary 
 fl'ith Oomeille, El Honrador de su padre of J. B. Diamante, which ia so like the 
 French tragi-comedy ( as Comeille originally, and rightly, termed his piece ) that 
 it has given rise to a very curious question as to which of the two borrowed of the 
 other, and this notwithstanding the priority of publication is by twenty-three 
 years in favor of Comeille. For aught I know, it is not yet decided. ( a ) it was 
 not, to some men's thinking, in 1856 ; for Lemcke, whose San^ueh der Span- 
 isehen Literaiur was published in that year ( Leipzig, in 8". ) has in his third vol- 
 ume ( p. 291 ) a note in which he refers without disapprobation to Von Schack's 
 opinion that Oomeille was really indebted to Diamante. This latter critic, in his 
 Qefichichte der di'amaiiaaken IMercUur u. Kunst in Spanien^ ( Berlin, &>, 1845, 6, ) 
 had at first ( S' Band^ S. 431. Anm,. ) maintained the contrary, but, the succeed- 
 ing year, in his third volume ( p. 372, sq. ), he took back his first assertion, on the 
 ground that Diamante's play bears too much the trails of an original work^ and 
 is too thoroughlJ/ Spanish in Us stj/le, to lei us supjyose it an imitatioJi of a foreign 
 model. " Bei naherer Priifuug des Honrador de au padre hat sich uns ?,ber nun 
 die XTeberzeugung aufgedrangt, dass dieses Stiick zu sehr die Ziige eines Original- 
 werks triige und zu durchgehends im Spanischen Nationalstyl gehalten sei, als 
 dass man an Nachahmung eines anslandischen VorbUdes denken konnte, und 
 dieser innere Gmnd erscheint als geniigeud, nm auch ohne entsprechende aussere 
 Daten die Abfassung vor das Jahr 1636, in welchem Comeille's Cid erschien, zn 
 setzen." This is a most extraordinary assumption. In no case, should we have 
 the right to accept merely internal evidence as conclusive ; but, when it conflicts 
 with positive facts as Ifo time, it should be set aside without hesitation. There ia 
 no reason why a Spanish author should not borrow a certain form of words to a 
 certain extent, and copy certain traits, as well as the management of certain 
 scenesf from a French author, and yet preserve throughout the national charao- 
 
 ( a } It is Btrange to me, that, with a date so modern as the middle of the ITth century, there 1b not aoine 
 tcBtimonramons SpnntHh wrlterR of the period to iint this matter beyond contToverey. Fontcnelle says 
 ( Viadt Comeille.— Oeuvroi de P. C. Paris 1631) : "Comeille avail dans boh cabinet celts piece tradalte 
 cti taut«a lea lansues de I'Europe, hors I'eeclavone et la tnrqao .... EUb ^tatt en Uallcn et, cc qui est 
 plus 6tt>an!int, en expaevol: les Espognola avaicnt blen Tonlu copier cax-mtimes unc piece dont I'orlginal 
 IvuT appurtenalt." Supposing this to be correct, — for, obsorve, CornelUe himself does not aver it ; he 
 mentions in his notice merely the Ilatian, Flemuh luid Enelith, ( ..." lea tradnotions qu'on en a faitet 
 en toutcs les langues qui serrent aujourd'hui li la solne, et chez tons les peoples oh I'on Tolt des th£Birei, Js 
 vcux dire, en italien,flamand, cl anglait . •" ) — supposlDE this grave assertion to be faltbral, Is not that 
 translation in Spanish lomcwherc extant 7 It vonld of Itseir bo* erldcnce conclusive. But that It never 
 has been broueht forward throws more than a doubt upon Its alleged existence. 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 151 
 
 which furnished to the French tragedian the plot, and somethiog 
 
 teristics which were common to iiim with all other Spanish writers of the drama. 
 But when, to this probability, there is added the fact that the same source from 
 which the Frenchman drew so largely was open to him and nearer at hand, he 
 being bom as it were on its very brink and baptized in it, it will be seen that thero 
 is not the least diflfiuulty in supposing that the latter, while taking as his model 
 the same play which was the model of the Frenchman, lent to his copy, here and 
 there, what he might consider the grace and embellishment and other improve- 
 ment added by the latter. He might do this even to disguise his obligations to 
 that model. That he did not copy also the mere form, it is sufficient to say that 
 he was a Spaniard and composed his drama for a Spanish audience. The German 
 critic adds in a note (i6. ): "Da mirvon der grossen alteren Sammlung Span- 
 ischen Comiidien, wclche den Titel Cometiias de dif&rentes Autores fiihrt imd -von 
 welcher schon 1636 zu Valencia ein 39ster Theil erschien, nicht die ganze Eeihe, 
 sondem nurelnzelne Theile bekannt sind, so bleibt mich die Vermuthung often, 
 dass sich f iir Diamante's friihcres Austreten auch ein aiisseres Zeugnies finden 
 werde." Now, Mr. Ticknor, who had the rarest opportunities for knowing the 
 very earliest editions of all Spanish authors, says decidedly that Diamante took 
 from ComeiJle, and the Spanish version of his exhaustive work ( Hist. Sp. Lit. ) 
 gives his note to that effect without contradiction. "We may therefore consider 
 this point settled. If my own opinion after his is of any worth, I should say that 
 I have compared the three plays, Las Mocedades^ El ffonradur, and Le Cid to- 
 gether, line after line, in the Scene between the Coiide and Diego^ and that between 
 Hodrigo and the Conde, and as it is impossible that so like results, especially in 
 the former Scene, should ensue from the imitation by two different authors of one 
 other, from which other there is etUl so great a divergence, it follows that 
 Diamante must have plagiarized from Le Cid. In one particular in that Scene 
 he has improved upon his copy. In Comeille we read the stage-dh'ectiou 
 (after ^^ II hct donne un soi^et^'' ) "D. Di^gtie mettant Vipie a la main.'''' lu 
 Diamante, Diego ^^ saca la espada, y cdeaele d los piis del Conde,'''' with the words : 
 
 " D. i Para que quiero la vida, 
 
 Despues de tan grande ofesa ? " 
 CoraeiUe's words : 
 
 " Ach6ve, et prends ma vie aprSs un tel affront, 
 Le premier dont ma race ait vu rougir son front — " 
 
 are not so good, even with a like action, because the second verse of the couplet 
 is not in nature and enfeebles the simple passion of the first. 
 
 Ochoa ( Eug. de ), who in the 5th vol of his Tesoro del Teairo Espaflol (Paris, 
 8», 1838 ) gives ns the whole of Diamante's' play, touches in his brief preface with 
 
152 PREFACE TO 
 
 more, of his justly celebrated, but over-estimated, serious drama.* 
 
 more fairness than acumen on this question. Leaving it undecided, he says: "No 
 es probable que Diamante copiase A Comeille, pero tampoco lo es que Comeille, cuya 
 buena fe es notoria, ocultase que habia copiado d Diamante, si en efecto le copi6.^' 
 
 As to Oomeille's good faith or frankness, I do not see that it is evinced in his 
 acknowledgment of his obligations to Castro. He would appear to own an adapta- 
 tion merely of the subject, or, at the most, of the plot ; yet we trace, in his origi- 
 nal, passage after passage, some of which, even those that are unnatnral and 
 affected, (<*) are directly borrowed, sentiment and phrase, without any avowal. The 
 yery fraffmeni oi. the Spanish historian, which ushers-in his "Avertissement," 
 appears to be put forward as a mask to conceal the real extent of his obhgations 
 to the Spanish poet : " Voili," he says, " ce qu'a pr6t6 Thistoire h D. GuiUem de 
 Castro, qui a mis ce fameux Svenemerit sur le thedtre avant moil''' Again, citing 
 certain Spanish verses, which, he says, seem made expressly to defend his heroine : 
 "Us sont du mSme auteur qui ta trattee avant moi, D. Guillemde Castro . . ." 
 And in adding at the close the two romances, I think he works to the same pur- 
 pose, that is, to conceal, or to obscure, his indebtedness to the real source of all 
 his drama, and make it be supposed that he borrowed, not so much from another 
 dramatist, as from the ballads directly, in which this latter foimd the rude out- 
 lines of the dominant part of his design. 
 
 The principal obligation of Le Gid^ however, is to that fehcitous invention of 
 the antecedent love between Chimine and Eodfigue, to which, notwithstanding 
 what the author says of the two great coiidttions exacted for a perfect tragedy by 
 Aristotle, and to the observation of which alone he claims the success of his work 
 was due, may be ascribed a great share of the interest excited. Indeed it is a 
 main pillar in his edifice. And this invention belongs to Castro. Schack claims 
 it as the source of the principal interest : " Das Motiv aber, welches das Haiipt- 
 interesse des Drama's \_La8 Mocedades"], den Kampf zwischen Liebe und Ehre, 
 bedingti, scheint dem Guillen de Castro eigenthiimlich zu gehoren ; denn die Ro- 
 manzen erwahnen einer friihem Liebe des Cid zu Ximenen nicht." w. ». p. 431. 
 Still, though felicitous, it was of easy devising, and, I may say, could not have 
 escaped any practiced dramatist, belonging as it does almost to the necessities of 
 a plot of the kind. Though Comeille has borrowed it, he would have made it. 
 
 * . . . . " dans Le Cid, le choix du sujet, que Ton a bl&m6, est un dea 
 grandes m^rites du poete. C'esfc k mon gr6 le plus beau, le plus intfiressant que 
 Comeille ait trait6." La HARPK. Comm. (Euvr. de Corn. ( fid. cit ) T. 1. p. 339. 
 
 " El argument© de la Tragedia de Sancho Ortiz de las Eoelaa es semejante k la 
 
 ( a ) See, Tor one instuDcc, the passage from Act III. Sc. IV. cited, p. IBS, note t. 
 
TOE CID OF SEVILLE 153 
 
 Comeille avowedly, or rather with a partial I'ecogriition,* took the 
 elements of his play from Guilleu de Castro, but was probably also 
 assisted, in the spirit of his composition, by this one of De Yega's, 
 to which, as refounded by Trigueros, I think the Gid^ even as a 
 composition, is every way inferior, in naturalness, in sentiment, in 
 diction, if in the diction of a drama naturalness is, as I maintain de- 
 terminedly, the first essential, without whioh pomp is but a blemish 
 and artifice of arrangement degenerates into aflfectation. Lope is 
 not always Hfelike, not even when remodeled, as for example in Act 
 IIT. Sc. IIL S. 0., but superior as a whole is his colloquy, so re- 
 modeled, to the false turns, and the elaborate antithesisf and tedious 
 
 del Cid de Comeille, pues si en 6sta se representa la accion dc un hfiroe que para 
 vengar una afrenta hecha k su padre mata al de su amante, en aquella se mu- 
 estra la de un hombre tan honrado como valiente, el qual creyendo desagraviar d 
 su rey desafia y d& la muerte al hermano de la que le es destinada por esposa. La 
 diferencia que hay entre efltos dos dramas as que el de Lope tleue un desenlaoe 
 mas noble, pues la heroina que ha sido la causa inooento de una funesta catAstrofe, 
 prefiere la soledad y lobreguez de un olaustro k la satisfaccion de pasar su vida 
 con un hombre k quien adora, pero que ha derramado la sangre del mas querido 
 de 8US deudos." Ob/iervac, — Tealro Enp. T. 1, p. '3. 
 
 * See note on p. 152 ; first paragraph. 
 
 + This artificial contrast in phrase and sentiment, carried often to a wearisome, 
 if not disgustiag extent, and bandied to and fro between two speakers ( sometimes 
 among three ) like a shuttlecock, is one of the mmatural peculiarities of French 
 playa in general, nor is wholly unknown to the English school. Shakspeare, 
 among other vices, has given us many disagi-eeable specimens ; for example in 
 Sickard IIT. ComciUe, who in previous plays had shown somewhat more than 
 a fancy for the bauble, is blinded by his predilection so far, that he does not see 
 its insignificance and inappositeness even in his model. Thus the following : 
 
 " D. Bodrigue. O miracle d'amour ! 
 
 CMnUtie. O comble de misfires ! 
 B. Sod. Que de maux et de plcurs nous coAteront nos p6res ! 
 Chim. Rodrigue, que relit era . . . 
 
 jD. Bod. Chimfine, qui I'eut dit . . . 
 Chim. Que notre heur f (It si proche, et si tdt se perdit ? 
 D. Bod, Et que si pr6s du port, contre toute apparence, 
 
 Un orage si prompt bris&t notre espbrance ? 
 Chim. Ah 1 mortelles douleurs I 
 
 D. Rod. Ah ! regrets snperflus ! 
 
154 PREFACE TO 
 
 and equally unreal amplification of the Frenchman, nor is there any- 
 where so faulty a scene in Sancho OrUz as the Second of Act I. in 
 Le Cid. In the latter play I do not know where to find any pas- 
 sage, not directly borrowed, that equals in sentiment any one of these 
 in the former : 
 
 "Estrella" [the King is speaking — to that absurd and 
 misei-able creation of almost all plays, a covjidant. Trigueros might have gone 
 a step further in bis alterations, and changed the creature into something reason- 
 able, something less artificial and conventional, and within the probabilities of 
 human existence] 
 
 " Esfcrella en tanto, mi Estrella, 
 Tampoco Gobr6 altivez, 
 Mas modesta cada vez, 
 Como cada vez mas bella. 
 Mat6me con &u humildad. 
 Tan reverente y severa ; 
 Que si ella Be envaneciera 
 Fuera mia su beldad. 
 
 Chim. Va-t'en, encore un coup, je ne t' 6coute plus : " 
 
 which may be thus translated : 
 
 He. O miracle of love ! 
 
 She. O sorroto's overjlow t 
 He. Wkat ills, how many tears, our sires zoill cause to Jlow I 
 She. Rodrigue, wtio had believ'd . . . 
 
 He. Chimene, who would have said . 
 She. Ourjoi/ would come so near, and yet so soon have fled f 
 He. And when the Iieaoens shone fair, oicr Jiaven too in view, 
 A sudden storm should rend our baj'gue of hope in two ? 
 She. Ah^! mortal stivg of grief 1 
 
 He. Regrets in vain gone o'er 1 
 She. Begone, again Ibid, I will not listen mare : 
 
 is an imitation, with more refinement, but less naturalness, of 
 
 " Rod. I Ay, Jimena 1 i Quien dijera 
 
 Jim, I Ay, Rodrigo I i Quien pensara 
 
 Rod. Que mi dlcha se acabara ? 
 Jim. Y que mi bien finiciera ? &a.'* 
 
 He. Ah, MimAna I Who would have said - — 
 
 She. Alt, JRodrkgo I Who would have thought 
 
 He. That my blins would come to nought f 
 She. And my joy so soon be sped f etc. 
 
 Jorn. II., Ese. 2, in Las Mocedades. 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 155 
 
 Me pasm6 
 Don Arias, con su respuesfca : 
 Siu rigor, y muy modeBta, 
 Todo mi incendio le hel6, 
 Pareceme que la esoucho : 
 Soy^ dixo d mi furor loco, 
 Para mposa vuestrn poco. 
 
 Para dama vuentra mucho.''^ Act. 1". Esc. 1. 
 
 • 
 
 And then the rencounter of the King with Bustos, which is not 
 enacted as in Lope, but is thus related by the monarch : 
 
 " Seducir logr6 la esclava, 
 Que anoche entrada me di6, 
 Mas Bustos me descubri6 
 Quando mas ufano entraba. 
 La espada osado sa.c6. 
 Con valor, mas con respeto, — 
 Que, aunque lo neg6, en ef eto 
 Pienso que me conoci6. 
 Dixe quien soy, y arrogante 
 Me respondi6 que mentia, 
 
 Y que un rey no coraetia 
 Jamas accion semejante." ib. 
 
 And I am tempted to add, since the extravagance is characteristic 
 both of the nation and of the speaker, Bustoa' response to the King 
 in Scene III : — 
 
 '•'■Bustofi. SeBor, es mi hermana Bstrella 
 
 Por mi desgracia tan beUa ■ 
 
 Bey, i t*ues en esto qu6 perdeis, 
 
 Si es su virtud extremada ? 
 Btcs&os. Eslo sin duda : es Tabera ; 
 
 Y ya yo muerta la hubiera, 
 Si fuera m6nos lionrada." 
 
 This Ust of examples, which, be it observed, are absolutely tho 
 composition of Trigueros and not of Lope, might bo carried out to 
 considerable length, were it necessary to show to anyone, but per- 
 haps a French reader, who has compared the two, the inferiority izi 
 point of sentiment as well as action, and, as I have implied above, 
 in propriety of diction, of the Gid of Oomeiile, whose most natural 
 
156 PREFACE TO 
 
 and most touching passages are borrowed directly, or by imitation, 
 from De Castro.* 
 
 As the original play by Lope is not always to be had, I shall now 
 give an analysis of its plot, with sufficient extracts to enable the 
 
 * As for instance in Act III. Sp. VI. 
 
 " D. Bi&gue. Rodrigue, enfin le ciel pcnuet que je te voie I 
 B. Rodr. H6las ! * 
 
 -D. Die, Ne mSle point de soupirs h. ma joie ; 
 Laiese-moi prendre haleine afin de te loner. 
 Ma valeur n'a point lieu de te dtisavouer ; 
 Tu Vas bien imitfie, et ton illustre audace 
 Fait bien revivre en toi lea lieros de ma race. 
 C'est d'eux que tu descenda, c'est de moi que tu viens ; 
 Ton premier coup d'6p6e 6gale tous les miens ; 
 Et d^nne belle ardeur ta jeunesse anim^e 
 Par cette grande ^preuve atteint ma renommee. 
 Appui de ma vieillesse, et comble de mon heur, 
 7'ouchs ces chevev^x bla7ic8 d qui tu rends Vhonnew^ 
 Viena baiser cette jou&, et reconnaii la place 
 Oil fut empreint Vagront que ton courage efface.'''' 
 
 Tbe greater merit of tlie original ( notwithstanding the slight conceit which I 
 
 find in "aliento tomo para, etc" and which Comeille, who wanted the feeling to 
 
 imitate the pathetic " Como tardaate tanto ? " abandoned nature to paraphrase) 
 
 will be directly manifeat ; — 
 
 ^^ Saie Bodriffo, 
 JHego. I Hijol 
 
 Hod. I Padre! 
 
 Die. I Eb posible que me hallo 
 Bntre tus brazos ? Hijo, aliento tomo 
 Para en tus alabanzaa empleallo. 
 l Como tardaete tanto ? Pues de plomo 
 Te puao mi deseo, y pues veniste, 
 No he de canaarte preguntando el como. 
 Bravamente probaste, bien lo hiciate, 
 Bien mis pasados brios imitaste, 
 Bien me pagaste el ser que me debiste. 
 Toca las blanccts canas que me honravte, 
 Llega la tiema boca & la mejilla 
 Doiide la 'mancha de mi honor quitaste.^^ Jom. II"». Esc. III. 
 
 Thoae who are familiar with Spanish, and what is more, understand the true 
 expression of nature in any tongue, need not be told how superior is the model to 
 the copy. As for the three italicized verses of the Spanish poet, corresponding 
 to the three above, so much admired in OoraeiUe, nothing of the kind can be more 
 tender and touching ; nor, if we except the redundancy in " blancas canas," 
 is there anything to mar their perfect beauty, whereas the " recomiaie la place " oi 
 the Prenchman gives to the clause where it occurs something of the color of a 
 oouccit. 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 155 
 
 reader to form a good idea of ita character. I find the copy of La 
 Estrella de Sevilla in Leracke's Handbuch^ previously mentioned, Yol. 
 Ill, where are also printed in fuU both Parts of Las Mocedades del Cid. 
 
 Ada Frimero. 
 Esc. II. The King ( Don Sancho IV. ) and Anas ( his confidant. ) — 
 The King appears as a profligate voluptuary, ( which is contrary, so 
 far as I know, to the truth of history. ) Various ladies are de- 
 flcribed by the King, till at last he comes to Estrella^ whose fantas- 
 tical picture I subjoin, as it gives a specimen of Lope's very frequent 
 extravagance. 
 
 *' i Quien es la que rayos son 
 Sus dos ojoB fulminantes, 
 En abrasar semejantes 
 A loa de Jiipiter fuerte, 
 Que estdu dandome la muerte, 
 De su rigor ignorantcs ? 
 "Una que, de negi-o, hacia 
 Fuerte competencia al sol, 
 y al horizonte espafiol 
 Entre ebano amanecia, 
 Tina noche, horror del dia, 
 Pues de negro, luz le daba, 
 Y ^1 eclipsado quedaba ; 
 Un borron de la luz pura 
 Del sol, pues con su hermosura 
 Sus puras Uneas borraba." 
 
 Don Arias says she Is miscalled " la JEstrdla " ( the Star ). To which 
 the King : 
 
 ^^ Bey. Si es mas bella 
 
 Que el sol, j como asi la ofende 
 
 Sevilla ? i Como no entiende 
 
 Que merece su arrebol 
 
 Llamarse Sol, pues es sol 
 
 Que vivifica y enoiende ? 
 D. Arias. Es dofla Estrella Tabera 
 
 Su nombre, y per mara villa 
 
 La llama Estrella de Sevilla. 
 Rey. Y Sol Uamarla pudiera." 
 
 They continue, both, quibbling on the words star and sun ; and the* 
 
158 PREFACE TO 
 
 King is inflamed witli the desire to see Estrella the next night at 
 her home. 
 
 In Esc. V. the King seeks to corrupt Bvsto ( Bstrella's brother) 
 by extraordinary favors. Busto shows his sense of justice and his 
 generosity by preferring others for the high office the King holds 
 out to him, and departs suspicious of the royal motives. 
 
 Esc. VI. The King concludes with saying* 
 
 " Viva yo, y diga Castilla 
 Lo que quisiere decir, 
 Que, ray ciego, he de seguir 
 A la Estrella de Sevilla." 
 
 Trigueros, with all his emendations, has scarcely improved the char- 
 acter, when he makes the royal Ubertine, with equal coolness, if 
 with less pertness, exclaim : 
 
 "Ay, Estrella, 
 Temo tu segurldad. 
 Veo quo es una maldad, 
 Don Arias, mas v(?y & hacella." ( Sancho Ortiz. 1, 2. ) 
 
 Esc. VIJ. Follows an interview between the lovers, Sanclw Ortiz 
 and Bs^ella, where a great deal of extravagance is uttered on both 
 
 *'Z>. Saneho. \ Ay, amorosa Estrella, 
 
 De fuego y luz vesfcida I 
 Estrella. \ Ay, piadoso homicida ! 
 D. Sancho. \ Ay, sagrados despojos, 
 
 Norte en el mar de miq confusos ojos 1 " 
 
 It is not wonderful the servants ( GlwriTido and Matilda ) should 
 have their burlesque : 
 
 " Clar. \ Ay, hermosa muleta ! 
 [ap. d Maiilde. 
 De mi amante desmayo 1 
 Mat. \ Ay, hei*moso lacayo ! 
 
 Que al son de la almohaza erea poeta ! " Sia. 
 
 In Esc. X Clarindo says : 
 
 " Por esta estrella bermosa 
 Morimos como liuevos estrellados. 
 Mejor fuera en tortilla," 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 159 
 
 In this impertlneney of low humor, which makes us pmile by 
 its grotesqueness, and perhaps by its absurdity, for the pun is im- 
 perfect and has no applicability,* we recognize between Lope and 
 his contemporary, Shakspeare, another trait of resemblance besides 
 extravagance of .metaphor and love-conceits. — Tlie rhyme to 
 " tortilla " is in a verse whose pomposity of indignation, repeated like 
 a burden, concludes the Scene with a facetiousness which must 
 have been relished by an audience. It is a good specimen of the 
 
 * " Huevos estrellados" — starred eggs, are of course eggs which, broken into 
 the fryingpan, assume in the hot oil or lard in which they are to be cooked, 
 something of the form ascribed to stars, and "tortilla" is an omelet. EffTRELLA 
 corresponding to our STELLA, the quibbling nonsense may be thus rendered, with 
 observation of the metre : 
 
 Because of this stellar beautp 
 We perish, like to heiCs efuis that are stellar'd. 
 It would be better wi an omelet. 
 
 ClabindO is the gradoso, that is, the merrymaker, sometimes the buffoon of 
 the piece, corresponding in a measure to the clown of Shakspeare and of his 
 modem imitators, the real representative of which in our time is the " clo\vii" of 
 the circus. Trigueros has not only excluded all this and other folly ( " ), but also 
 the entire part of Matilda, nor has given a greater share to the servant in the 
 confidence of his master than ( with whatever unlikelihood ) is the long-established, 
 but reprehensible custom of the Stage in all countries, whereas Comeille, in re- 
 taining without consideration the part of Urraca ( V Infante ), has made her per- 
 
 (a) None but a Trritcr Ignnrant of the prlnc-ipliSB of tnio art, nr indifTcrent thereto, 'would justify this 
 Ddmlxtnrc nf the comic with the tragic en the plea that In sctnal life the grave and gay are oftentimes con- 
 faunded. The object of a trageUy ia not to describe the whole of life, bnt a particular portion or single ounr- 
 rencc of a life ; end to cross the solemnity or horror of that occurrence with ludicrous allusions, jeetV, or 
 Incidents, is to show an execrable want of taste that would be instantly detected and reprobated In a picture. 
 In my boyhood) when It was a fashion to have portfolios of One engTavIngB open for the entertainment of 
 cviinlng visitors) I was particularly struck by one, a French copperplate which depicted the storming of the 
 Bastile. In the midst of all the horrors of the scene, the nrtlat had inserted, as a touch of nature, and perhaps 
 nsostrolcoof satire, a dog in the act of relieving hia bowels. Like that picture Is a tragedy whose unity 
 of BombTeneas is broken by the intrnaion of what is diHCordani with the principal incident, or even with 
 the prcdomlnnnt tone. That this violation of good taste is entertaining, especially to the large plurality of 
 every audience, is true. It is not less true, that the main object of the playwright, and withant which all 
 his efforts, be they never so noble, ore in vain. Is to interest. But he should be able to do this withoot a 
 desecration of true art, r.or should the fact, that because of the greater rarlly of sound literary criticism 
 anch defects are not so noticeable os they are in a painting, or wonld be in on opera, where ( at the present 
 day) they spldom or never occur, nor yet the success of great writers whose real eminence does not neces. 
 barily moke them models, blind him or render bim Indifferent to what is both simple propriety and the 
 very consummation of high art. 
 
^60 PREFACE TO 
 
 comic use of a rhyme upon occasion ( but not in serious drama. ) 
 
 "No goces los imperios de Castaia." 
 Sancho Ortiz, who is about to show so absolute and heroic a loy- 
 alty, has not maintained his character, or prepared us for it, in this 
 Scene. He has inveighed against the King ( an improbable impru- 
 dence too, before his servant ) as a tyrant, and threatened to leave 
 Seville for Gibraltar, to shed his blopd for him there. So in the 
 beginning he is made to say : 
 
 " Tirano, que veniste, 
 A perturbar mi dulce casamiento, 
 Con aplauso & SeviUa, 
 No goces loB imperios de Castilla." 
 
 Thup, Trigueros is more consistent. 
 
 petrate such nonsense as the following, confeseing her love to her governess, 
 while at the same time declaring she would die rather than forget her rank : 
 
 " Vljtf. Ma tristesse redouble k la tenir secrSte, 
 I^coute, 6coute enfin comme j'ai combattu, 
 Kcoute quels assauts brave encor ma vertu. 
 
 L'amour est un tyran qui n'epargne personne. 
 Ce jeune cavalier, cet amant que je donne, 
 Je i'airae. 
 
 Zeo7i. Vous Taimez ! 
 
 VIvf. Mets la main sur raon coeur, 
 Et vois comme il se trouble au nom de son vainqueiu-, 
 Comme il le reconnait. 
 
 Lion. Pardonnez-moi, madame, 
 Si je sors du respect pour bMmer cette flamme. 
 it * * * 
 
 Vous souvient-il encor de qui vous fites fille ? 
 VlTif. II m'en souvient si bien que j'epaudrai men sang, 
 
 Avant que je m'abaisse & dementir mon rang." Le Cid. 1.2. 
 
 Trigueros, aa just implied, makes Ortiz give vent to his happiness before his 
 servant ; but then it is in a flush of joy caused by the sudden and unexpected news 
 of his immediate marriage with Estrella : his heart is full and nms over. ITc 
 does not utter such unnatural commonplaces as the above ; and moreover, what 
 he says is brief, gentlemanly ( so to speak ), and to the point. This false senti- 
 ment, whose utterance, except in soliloquy, is even more unnatural than its con- 
 ception, finds no condemnation in the criticism either of the French Stage or of the 
 English, which latter, in the days of Addison, adopted its duhiess and its absurdity ; 
 and the Caio of that author is an apt illustration of all that is false in passion and 
 improbable in its expression. 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 161 
 
 Esc. XI. In the street — Busto presents a manly resistance to 
 the King's desire to enter his house, and speaks his mind with great 
 frankness as to the King's motives. 
 
 Esc. XII. — Arias, in the house of Busto, tries to tempt Estrella 
 by open offers from tlie King. He asks her at the close : 
 
 " Qu6 respoudes ? 
 
 Eetr. Qu6 respondo ? 
 Lo que ves. *\puelve la e^palda."^ 
 
 Contrast this familiarity, natural indeed, but offensive to the tragic 
 muse, with the noble expression, "Soy . . para esposa, etc." 
 cited on page 156. 
 
 Esc. XIII. -^ Arias gains over the slave Matilda, who is to admit 
 the King that night to Bstrella's chamber. 
 
 Ado Segundo. 
 
 Esc. I. Street. — King, Arias and Matilda, at the door of Busto's 
 house. When Matilda receives her reward ( a certificate of freedom, 
 etc. ) Don Arias says ( apa/rte al Rey) : 
 
 " Todas con el interns 
 Son, Scllor, de un mismo modo." 
 
 From which profound reflection the King, who seems to regard his 
 desperate adventure as a frolic, derives this deduction : 
 
 " Rey. Divina cosa es reinar ; " • 
 
 which perhaps is as downright a libel as was ever put upon a king ; 
 for Sancho IV., far from being a fool and fop, was a man, evidenced 
 by his deeds, as shown in all histories, wary and astute, and not 
 likely to make a remark whose flippancy, if it was meant for wit, 
 though it has more the sound of a sly sarcasm of the poet's, would 
 have fitted Charles 11. of England. — The courtiers, who have 
 been commissioned to entertain Busto, so as to keep him absent, 
 cannot prevent his untimely return, and [Esc. V.) the King and 
 
162. PREFACE TO 
 
 he encounter. The former cannot release himself from Busto until 
 he avows who he is. 
 
 " Bey. Detente ; 
 Que Boy el Rey. 
 
 Busto. Bb engaflo. 
 ^f * * * 
 
 "No puede ser, y & su alteza, 
 Aqui, villano, ofendeis, 
 Pues defecto en 61 poneia, 
 Que es una extrana bajeza.'* 
 
 The dialogue is rather too long for the emergoncy, as well as to 
 
 quote, but Busto finally says, and says nohly, — in the first four 
 
 lines beautifully; 
 
 "La Ilava me ha confiado [el Eey] 
 He Bu casa, y no podia 
 Yenir sin 11a ve & la mia 
 Cuando la suya me ha dado. 
 
 Y no atropelleis la ley ; 
 Mirad que es hombre en efeto : 
 Esto 08 digo, y os respeto 
 Porque ob fingisteis el Bey. 
 
 Y de verme no os asombre 
 Piel, aunque qnedo afrentado ; 
 Que un vasallo estfi obligado 
 A tener respeto al nombre : " 
 
 etc. : aU of which is among the best passages of the piece. — The 
 King- cannot stand this, and, after more words, they fight. 
 
 JBsc. VI. — Servants enter wth lights. The King, dreading detec- 
 tion, turns his back and escapes in the confusion, expressing ( as 
 he is always a common man ) a hope of vengeance. 
 
 Esc. VII. Between Bitsto and Matilda : where Matilda, who con- 
 fesses her guilt, is made absurdly to play upon the name Estrdla ; 
 and this fine language, out of place anywhere, is passed between 
 the two. 
 
 Btui. Y i sabe Estrella 
 Algo deato ? 
 
 McU. Pienso que ella 
 En BUS rayos & abrasar 
 Me viniera, si entendiera 
 4?' * Mi conclerto. 
 
THE CID OF SETILLE 163 
 
 Bus. Cosa es clara ; 
 Porque si acaso enturbiara 
 La luz, estrella no fuera. 
 Mat. No permite su arrebol 
 Eclipse ni sombra oscura ; 
 Que es su luz brillante y pura 
 Participaila del sol." 
 
 The sliive's extravagance is equaled only by its insipidity, and it is 
 the more remarkable as this sort of language suggested by the name 
 is so frequently repeated by all the characters. 
 
 Esc: YIIX. — The King and Arias find the slave's dead body 
 dangling from a grating of the palace windows. 
 
 " B. Arias. En el alcAzar estd 
 
 Tin bulto pendiente al viento. 
 * * * * 
 
 Rey. Mira que es. 
 D. Arias. La esclavilla 
 
 Con el papal en las-manos." 
 
 Compare the passage from Sancho Chiiz : " Del alcazar a la puerta, 
 
 efc.," in Note 5. The certificate in her hands is, however, a capital 
 
 feature. 
 
 Esc. IX. Busto and EsireUa. — There is an unnatural dialogue 
 
 between these in which also Busto alludes to the name; as ex. gr, 
 
 '■'■Bus. Esta nocho fu epiciolo 
 
 Bel sol ; que en ella esta noche 
 Se troc6 de Estrella el signo." 
 
 Estrella might well respond : 
 
 " Estr. Leis llanezas del honor 
 No con asti'6logo estil'o 
 Se han de decir : liabla claro." 
 
 She does not utter a word of pity, or exclamation of horror or sur- 
 prise, when he tells her how he has served Matilda. 
 
 Esc. XI. "Where the King commits the charge to slay Busto to 
 Saucho Ortiz. This fine Scene Trigueros has preserved with scarcely 
 an alteration. 
 
 Esc. XIV. BusU) and Sancho fight ; and the former falls. Here, 
 I think, though Trigueros Itas done well to abbreviate tho dialogue, 
 
164 PEEFACE TO 
 
 which he otherwise alters materially so as to make it his own, he 
 has lost the effect of the actual comhat. But this was in the order 
 of his worlc, — wherein Bustos meets Sanoho as he is about to leave 
 the palace, and they go out together to fight. 
 
 Esc. XY. and XVI. Sancho arrested. 
 
 Esc. XVII. curid XVIII. EstreUa and Tendora ( her maid ), after the 
 former has arrayed herself for her bridal ; and the same with Ola- 
 rindo, who tells Bstrella, when she gives him a diamond for the 
 jacinth he had received from Ortiz, that this last has split from 
 melancholy. To which she replies : 
 
 " EstT. No importa que est6 partida; 
 
 Que es bien que las piedras sientan 
 Mis contentos y alegrias." 
 
 Before this, the mirror fell and broke from envy : 
 " Teod .... 
 
 Cay6 el espejo. De envidia, 
 
 [AlscUe. 
 Bl cristal, dentro la hoja, 
 De una luna hizo infinitas." 
 
 The dress-scene ( XVII ) is very brief in Lope, and has none of that 
 bewitching tenderness Trigueros has known to impart to the inno- 
 cent Bstrella, if you except this passage : 
 
 " E9tr. Ya me parece que llega 
 Baflado el roBtro de risa, 
 Mi esposo & dame la mano 
 Entre mil tiemas caricias. 
 Ya me parece que dice 
 Mil temezas, y que, oidas. 
 Sale el ahna por los ojos, 
 Disimulaudo bus niflas." 
 
 Esc. XIX., where ihe body of Busto is brought in. — Lope fails to 
 
 depict the effect on Bstrella ; and Trigueros, so far from bettering 
 
 it, increases the unnaturalness by amplification. The Scene is verj' 
 
 brief in the original. 
 
 " Eatr. I Desdichada 
 
 Ha sido la estrella mia ! 
 
 ] Mi hermano es muerto, y le ha muerto 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 165 
 
 Sancho Ortiz I el qnien divida 
 Tres almas de un corazon. 
 Dejadme ; que estoy perdida.'* 
 
 Sancho is not introduced, the Alcalde telling her at the outset that 
 they have arrested him and will do justice on him without fail on 
 the morrow. 
 
 Ado T&rcero. 
 Mc. III. Esirella before the King. — The same eternal quibbling 
 on her name ( and, by the by, almost the sole metaplior Lope uses 
 throughout is, with variations, that of the sun, rays, stars, etc.) She 
 says, after four verses of salutation : 
 
 " TJna deadichada estrella 
 
 Que st^ claros luyos cubre 
 
 Deste luto, que mi Uanto 
 
 Lo ha Bacado en ne^as nubes, 
 
 Jusfcicia & pedirte veuKO." 
 Then she adds : 
 
 " Quise & Tabera, rai hormano, 
 
 Que las sacras pesadumbres [?] 
 
 Ocupa, plsando estrellas 
 
 En pavimentos azules " — 
 
 and concludes her long oration with like uunaturalness and without 
 the least show of feeling. What can the King, who she knows to 
 her sorrow is a gallant man, but answer in this stupendous style : 
 
 " Rey. Sosegdos, y enjugad las luces bellas, 
 Si no qucreis que &e arda mi palaclo ; 
 Que iSgrimas del sol son las estrellas, 
 Si cada rayo suyo es uu topacio." dca. 
 King. Compose yourself^ those fine lights' moiature stop^ 
 If yoxi would not my palace net ablaze : 
 For Stellar fires are tears the sun lets drop^ 
 If topases are, eacli, one of his rays* 
 
 * I have sought of course to parody the quibble on the name Estrella ( Stella ), 
 
 Otherwise the third verse would read, more Uterally, 
 
 For stars are tears the sun himself let^ drop. 
 
 The way Trigueros has altered the passage is thus : 
 
 '■'- Rey. SosegAos, y enjugad 
 
 Unas lAgrimas tan bellas, 
 Que desperdiciais en ellas 
 Lo mejor de la Ucldad." 
 
100 l'l{ICKA(!10 TO 
 
 liitho I'l'lHoii {Kiii,VI. )| i1/(WiV(««,v oiitorttiln Sbiu'Imi. 'I'lio Aloalilo 
 ])Diilii(vntly ii«k»: 
 
 " Ciiiiiiiiii lu nmocUj itnr liunw 
 litt uiiHinuKh, tint, 
 I ik'u iittiHtoit Hit t>nM'pMpiii>y*' 
 
 liii\ VIll. 8UU In tho |ii'Im(iii. ]). Smivhu uiiil ('tdiiitUn — 
 Oliirliiilo lliliiliH (iiH III) vv«ll iniiy ) lii* iiiMHlCi' Iiiih UM U\» houhkh, 
 mid, Willi A «ly wink In tlio iukIIoiicc (n/mifc), letf) lliMi luiow lit> \» 
 aboiil tij liiiiiior hliii; and llin lullowlug oi-HMirN: 
 
 " /). Sumho, Vii (tHtfiriii)M nil Id nl.rn vlitil. 
 atilliii, Y iiliKiBii nuo wi 111 InllnriKi. 
 I>, Siiiiv/w, J litii III tiilturiiu, (Mitrliiilnli 
 
 i mniinMa vo«t 
 i'luiln. lOii MiH' vi'i", 
 
 Hnnor, nil iti|iii<l nitHl.l1l(i 
 
 MuMdti mil malwH iiiIiiIIkiiiIii." 
 
 And HO tlio Siidiio, long nun, (•(Jiitlniii'H, till Hie conilcnl Chllinv 
 thlnkfi 11 timo Ui blinft Imck hln iiiuntor In I'cnllly, Tlic wlmln Simiid 
 Im litid fiiiil I'lircli'iil. 'I'liii illiilorfiio rninliidlil urn noiiKiwImt dC ArlN- 
 topliiiiiuH, lull iiul i'avorublyi uml Imx a tlnvor ul' Unn (julxoi» nml 
 Hiuidliii l'nii/,11, 
 
 A'w:, /.v. Vaiii'jiu.'- Tliiil. ftl)Nurdll.y uC llid tlii'iili'h, tt Invcr'n iiul. 
 knowing liln miNlruNN ( wIikm Lou Ixi Uhi Iml lali<ly piii'lnil wllli li('i' ) 
 booiiiiNO Ilur fadd In ronuimlcd, alUnniKli *<lid InlkM iiiiil iiinvdM, I* Ik'I'k 
 jirdwiiitod. 'I'lio (llnldKiid I* wlUioiit any pil.li w nvini i>li'KHii(id m 
 wlUi TrIgUOro»i and wlion Handlio, wlHi mdrn ijliii|.liiiidy, wlllidiil. any 
 ol'llio ndlildiidHH lid dliiplayil In Uii> nanldrii play, puriillilM In rdl'iiHliiK 
 to OHiMipd, (did (InlNtidM liy HoylnUi 
 
 *' Nntr, I'liPM vi'iln, liinii, A iiiorlr, 
 
 l^lln h llllit'lr l-iiiiiliU<a Inn viiy.*' 
 
 Thus Mrtl-rdllu Id rddilddd In -™- tin ( Uial. Wdiild lid, M' Kliti liail np 
 poardil at all iiH 'IVlKiidroK pnlnU lidr, ) Iml, rdiiiuliiH — n vnry ordU 
 nary woman, 
 
 JiJhc. A'l. Klna tdllH llici Aldnydo ( kovitiiih' nl' Hid (Innl.ld, who 
 
THE Cn> <^ ^v . r ir~ I^^ 
 
 t^ t^ie to "rfii in Mm «f w&i^ has tm^ned ^^^Its feiag.iB 
 
 eeir-rf D_ SiZ':i: so Tii'i poiaca. 
 
 sirs' l&e lifir ami £>^ii-i &ri l H i Bi» of Ae i^Boiekii ^zsa. 
 
 TH ll jiJIi^i I I 
 
 ft^OK. X&BB 
 
 A .Sr. Mftir 
 
 £»©r:. ^vtSOK. 315 ^ & Sir n^ i^?cvsv 
 ■A. ■>£«. T;^ SiAiC flic- soaciat. 
 
 J^ 
 
 Aai 
 
168 PEEPACE TO 
 
 Esta tragedia os conBagra 
 Lope, dando & La Eatreila 
 Se Sevflla etema fama. 
 Cuyo prodigioso caso 
 Immortales bronces guardan." 
 
 A prediction which has been realized, though whether it would 
 have been had it been other than Zope, or the drama had not had 
 the good fortune to be wrought into so delectable a shape by a later 
 and inferior poet, is more than questionable. The whole piece is 
 deficient in the tone of tragedy, is, save in its exaggerated portions, 
 merely metrical prose, and those exaggerated parts have but the 
 poetry which is puerile and commonplace. The action is lively, the 
 plot ingenious, the design more than happy ; but the entire work, 
 and the development of the characters, including the libel on 
 Samcho el Bravo, indicate the hasty performance for which Lope is 
 both known and renowned. 
 
 Perhaps, after this analysis of the original play, it may be advi- 
 sable to show the main features of its modification, if such may be 
 called what is in fact the E^rdla remodeled and almost entirely 
 rewritten. 
 
 Samcho Oiiiz de las Roelas is divided into five Acts, iu which the 
 unessential unity of place, that is, unity of place as it is usually un- 
 derstood, is not rigidly observed, for the Scene shifts from Act to 
 Act, from the Palace to Bustos' house, then back to the Palace, thence 
 to the Oastle in Triana, and back again to the Palace. In this respect, 
 however, it is quite as regular as the Cid of Comeille, which is 
 considered, even by Toltaire, to fulfil sufBciently the requisites.* 
 
 * ..." oar cotte unit6 ne coneiste pas ft reprfiseubor toute Paction dans nn 
 cabinet, dans une chambre, mats dans phisieurs endroits contigns que Toeil pnisse 
 apercevoir sans peine." ( (Euv, de Com. 6d. c. I. p. 212. ) — No, this is not its 
 definition. As the spectator may as well .see one place as another, there is no 
 reason why the action should not shift from one Scene to half a dozen, even in 
 the same Act, provided always that the time of the action is not the same in the 
 different Scenes, still more does not go back from a later Scene to one that is 
 earlier, but moves by proper intervals, in which the course of events i« progi-es- 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 1C9 
 
 Acio Primero. 
 Esc. I. King and Arias. — The former relates his experience 
 in his endeavors to corrupt both Esi/rella and her brother Bvstos ; 
 and under the instigation, or rather encouragement of his confi- 
 dant, — for, at the very opening of the Scene, the monarch says, 
 
 " Mientras que Bustos Tabera 
 Goarde & su henuana, 6 no muera, 
 Estrella no seri mia," — 
 
 resolves to put Bustos out of the way. See passage cited, page 
 154, above. 
 
 Esc. II. King alone. — A brief colloquy with his conscience. 
 
 Esc. III. — Bustos comes to request permission to have his 
 sister married. See passage cited on p. 155; with which the fol- 
 lowing connects directly, the King having first responded: "Bien 
 lo crdo de vos, Bustos : " — 
 
 " £Tist. Con ser tan honrada y pura, 
 
 sive and the distance from place to place is duly observed. Thus, if I can see into 
 the palace of Don Sancho, I can also see into a street of Seville, and into any 
 chamber of Tabera's house ; but I cannot do the impossible, which would be to 
 make Bustos reach his house from the palace in an iuLerval marked merely by the 
 shifting of a scene. Time must elapse sufficient, at least seemingly, for the pur- 
 pose ; and this is to be effected by continiiing the action in the palace, while 
 Bustos is making his way home. 
 
 The limits of this Preface, already ten times exceeding what I had proposed to 
 myself, will not allow a full examination of this important principle. I reserve 
 it, with other points connected with a right judgment of dramatic action and the 
 laws which ought to regulate the drama, for a future and general preface to pre- 
 cede the First Volume of these plays. I would observe however, that in Uberto 
 there are two illustrations of a faulty deviation from the rule I have laid down, 
 namely, in Act II. Sceiiea 2 and S. How this happened, even in a romantic 
 drama, I do not now know. Perhaps it was, that Uberto being intended for the 
 closet and not the stage, I did not deem the point necessary to observe, where to 
 observe it would, on account of the paucity of characters and of events, have 
 been difficult. Vlrfftnta^ The Silver Head^ The School for Critics, Ugo da Eate^ 
 and the present play, are all Instances of a perfect observation oi the three 
 unities. 
 
 Vol. II.— 8 
 
170 PREFACE TO 
 
 Siempre estft por su hermosura 
 Mi honor cercado de sustoB ; 
 Ojo8 bay de gran denuedo 
 Que se encienden por Estrella. 
 Gu&rdola, y se guarda ella ; 
 Mas contra todos no puedo. 
 Gru&rdola por jnsta ley 
 Que me obliga, y es tan rara. 
 Que aun de vos no la fiara 
 Con ser mi padre y mi Bey," 
 
 Perhaps a knightly boldness never had, even in a Spaniard, so 
 beautiful expression as in the two last verses. It is the Busto of 
 Lope, — I had almost said, aggrandized and ennobled ; but Lope 
 ( cenain extravagancies set apart ) has made him also ehivalric and 
 lofty. He is, in fact, the salient character in the EsirelXa. 
 Esc. IV. King and Arias. — King says : 
 
 " Bey. Hasta aqui pudo llegar : 
 Su muerte al fin resolvi." 
 
 Esc. V. Sancho Ortiz, whom the King has sent for, arrives. 
 Here we have the popular surname attributed to him : 
 
 " Dicen quo valiente es. 
 Llamanle el Cid Sevillano." 
 
 Lope, who invented the designation, uses " Cid Andaluz." 
 
 In the whole of this fine Scene, the modern poet follows pretty 
 closely his original. The King gives two papers, the first of which, 
 assuring immunity, Sancho refuses to accept, relying nobly on the 
 King's honor : the second contains the name of the party he is 
 to slay. 
 
 Esc. VI. Glarindo brings Ortiz a letter from Estrella, announcing 
 their approaching marriage. Then follows, admirably as to posi- 
 tion, the Vllth Scene, in which Sancho Ortiz, alone, opens the 
 paper containing the name of the man he has engaged to kill. It 
 is one of those soliloquies, a conflict between love and duty, pre- 
 ceded by amazement and horror, which are touchstones of the true 
 
THE CID OP SEVILLE l7l 
 
 artist, and I have to say, that though as well done aa such mono- 
 logues in general, and better than moat of Lope's, it disappoints. 
 As Ortiz goes out, enters Tabera; and this forms the Vlllth Scene, 
 where the defiance takes place. It is well done, Bustos, stung to 
 passiou, says, much as in Lope (the third aud fourth verse being 
 taken directly thence ) : 
 
 ^^ Bus. Si presumis 
 
 Encontrar mancha en mi fS, 
 
 Como un villano mentis, 
 
 T aqui ob lo sustcnar6. [Ecfiando mano & la espada. 
 San, Tened, Tabera, la espada, 
 
 Que en casa del E,ey estamos. 
 J3u8. En casa tan delicada 
 
 Bstarlo no iraporta nada 
 
 Quando tal panto tratamos." 
 
 They go out together, and the Act closes. 
 
 Acto Segundo. 
 Esc. I. Estrella just arrayed for her bridal. — It is excellent, 
 barring the great fault ( in my eyes ) that Estrella says to her 
 servant what she would only say to herself. But she says it better 
 -than under similar circumstances in Lope. This is very fine : 
 
 " Quisiera hoy ser la mas bella 
 De quantas hay en Sevilla, 
 Porque el placer de Don Sancho 
 Con mi contento compita. 
 I Qu6 gloria serd ser suya 
 Despnes de tales fatigas, 
 Tales sustos, dudas tales, 
 Tanto suyas como mias 1 " 
 
 Again she says : 
 
 " Par6ceme que le veo 
 Baftado el rostro de risa 
 Acercarse, el mas gallardo, 
 De Sevilla : — qu6 Sevilla I 
 Ni todo el orbe a mis ojos 
 Contiene igual gallardia. 
 I C6mo al alargar la mano 
 Se esmerarA sii caricia 1 
 Pienso escucharle, y que dice 
 
172 PREFACE TO 
 
 Mil cosas tan bien sentidas, 
 Que sale el alma d los ojos 
 Con el amor que las dicM." 
 
 Shakspeare has not surpassed this in his Juliet, (I mean, in his 
 
 best parts, -:- that is, those that are natural. ) 
 
 Then follows ( Esc. II. ) the dialogue with Clarindo, from which 
 
 may he cited this fine, though in the mouih of a servant, doubly 
 
 misplaced compliment : he is telling EstreUa how Sancho received 
 
 her letter : 
 
 "... tan desusada luz, 
 Tan desusada delicia, 
 Brillaba en Ru beUa frente 
 Quando la carta leia, 
 Que ui la he visto jamas, 
 Ni 66 yo c6mo se pinta, 
 Slno llamdndola igual 
 A la que mostrais vos misma." 
 
 Trigueros takes care, in the interchange of the jewels, to say noth- 
 ing of the broken one. 
 
 Esc. III. The hloodstained corpse of Bustos is brought in. — In 
 this Scene a great artist would have made his genius unmistakable. 
 But Trigueros is not great, and where his original failed he has 
 shown still greater deficiency, and not only proves incapable of ren- 
 dering passion and the sudden conflict of violent contrary emotions, 
 but forgets even his usual taste and judgment. "When Estrella 
 says, what in Virgil is allowable enough in narration, 
 
 " La voz se pega h las fauces — 
 Lo8 cabellos se me erizan " — 
 
 she says what in her situation is merely ridiculous, and the poet, 
 borrowing extravagance to give warmth to what is cold-blooded, 
 out-Lopes Lope. 
 
 In Esc. IV., V. and VI, Sancho does better, and especially in VI, 
 where ho is questioned by Farfan ( the Alcalde ). 
 
 In Esc. VII., EstreUa, in coUoquy with Sancho, becomes reason- 
 
THE CID OP SEVILLE 173 
 
 able and affecting, although she speaks perhaps more than is natural 
 
 for the occasion. 
 
 " Estr. Dime, corazon de piedra, 
 Sancho, por mi mal nacido. 
 
 En qu6 te of endi6 mi hermano ? 
 Estrella en qu6 te ha ofendido ? " 
 
 But Ortiz, though he gives despite of himself certain indications of 
 
 who has set him on to slay her brother, will answer nothing 
 
 directly : 
 
 " Entended vos lo que callo 
 For lo mismo que no digo." 
 
 So that Estrella finally cries to the Alcalde : 
 
 " Quitad, Farfan, de mis ojos, 
 Quitad, OS mego, ese riBco, 
 Que es mas dure en la discnlpa. 
 Que fu6 en el mismo delito." 
 
 Again, Esc. VIII. is unnatural, especially as the long monologue 
 which Estrella delivers is not a soliloquy ( as it should be, a self- 
 discourse representing to an audience what is really said inaudibly 
 in the speaker's brain ), but is spoken in the presence of Teodora 
 and Clarindo ; which would deprive it of all truth-likeness, even did 
 it accurately describe what might be supposed to pass in the mind 
 of a person plunged, like her, from the top of all but complete 
 felicity to the very bottom of the most tragical distress. 
 
 Ado Tercerv. 
 Esc. I. The King, in presence of Arias, confers with the Alcaldes 
 about Sancho Ortiz, and finally, through them, puts Sauclio's gen- 
 erous and loyal reticence to this extraordinary trial : 
 
 " De mi parte le decid, 
 Que diga por quien le di6 
 Muerte, 6 quien le persuaci:6 
 A ello, y le prevenid 
 Que uno diga, aunque sea yo. 
 Mas si callar es su intento. 
 
114: 
 
 PEEPACE TO 
 
 Que hoy mismo de su desliz 
 Dar& publico escarmiento." 
 
 Bsc. II. The confidant ( Arias ), .this time, advises the King on 
 the side of honor, namely, that he should in any event save Ortiz. 
 
 Esc. III. The King lalks briefly with his conscience. 
 
 Esc. IV. ; where Estrella comes to sohcit of the King that the 
 homicide shall be delivered to her. — It is well done. Tlie King 
 gives her a writing and his ring, that she may effect her purpose, 
 but accompanies the act with the commonplace gallantry of a com- 
 pliment suggested by her supposed cruelty on this occasion and his 
 own experience of it in another form. He says : 
 
 " Sed tirana, si en Cielo 
 Es posible haber tdranos, 
 Aiinque conocido Uevo, 
 Que en vos y en vuestra beldad, 
 Bien que parezcais deidad. 
 El ser inuy cruel no es nuevo." 
 
 To which she answers proudly, or indignantly, or coldly, or perhaps 
 with an air of all three modes combined : 
 
 " Eatr. Si fuera mi beldad rara 
 Causa de que peli^ase, 
 Antes de que me daflase 
 De mi beldad me librara : 
 To misma horrible me hioiera 
 Antes que injuriarrae yo ; 
 Que si un Tabera murio, 
 Ha quedado una Tabera,^' 
 
 The last haughty sentiment is after Lope's 
 
 " SI un Tabera muri6, qued6 una Tabera." 
 
 Esc.V. The King, repenting his complacency, is advised by 
 Arias to have Estrella arrested, which, after rejecting the idea as 
 unworthy, he consents to do if no other mode remain of effecting 
 his object, and the lady is to be appeased by a marriage mth some 
 graudee. 
 
 The King, left alone ( Esc. VI. ), communes again with the god 
 
THE CID OP SETILLE 175 
 
 withiu him, and conchides with a good moral in the form of a moni- 
 tion to crowned heads in general : 
 
 '' Reyes, huid del furor, 
 Huid de un consejo fiero ', 
 Sea mi exemplo el postrero ; 
 Vn error llama otro eiTor ; 
 Libraos bien del primero." 
 
 Acta Quarto. 
 
 In the prison. — Esc. I. The Alcaldes cannot extort from Ortiz 
 the true impulse to the homicide. In Esc. II Arias tries it after 
 the maimer prescribed by the King ; but, though Sancho is made 
 (I think, injudiciously) to throw out intimations that could be 
 interpreted only in one way, he will not implicate the King. His 
 language throughout is lofty, whUe free from exaggeration. And 
 when Arias concludes with a serious warning, Ortiz answers : 
 
 " San. El que con su debor cumple 
 Ve dcsplomarse los cielba. 
 Sin que el su.sto de los otros 
 Le prive de estar sereno : 
 Es inocente, y no teme 
 Ni el negro nombre de reo." 
 
 Esc. III. Sancho soliloquizes at great length, but well ; and his 
 loyalty, which gives rise to noble sentiments, is consistent through- 
 out. It is seldom, in any writer, that we find a true soliloquy so de- 
 scrying of commendation, and so little censurable for want of exact 
 observation of nature. The reveries in which he indulges contrast 
 strongly with the partial lunacy of the same character in Act III. 
 Sc. Til. of the original, and when Olarindo appears ( Esc. IV. ) we 
 have a dialogue reasonable and to the point. 
 
 Esc. VI. Estrella enters. — Sancho does not mistake her ( and 
 indeed she removes her vaU almost at once ; ) but the poet, with 
 excellent judgment, has made him speechless for sumo minutes ; 
 and when she tells him that a horse awaits him, and his servant 
 
176 PREFACE TO 
 
 will want nothiag for their journey, he pays no attention to it, but 
 answers only when she repeats her exhortation to go : 
 
 " San. Sefiora 
 
 Ay Sanciio Ortiz desdichado 1 
 Estrella del alma mia, ! 
 E8ti\ Vete, y se de hoy maa feliz : 
 Ya haciendo lo que debia, 
 Estrella soy que te guia, 
 Clara antorcha en tu desliz. 
 Yete, y Bi amor atropella 
 For el mas justo rigor, 
 Ve, conservando el amor 
 Que merecisteia d Estrella." 
 
 There is g^'oat tenderness, with much of flowing sweetness, in the 
 ■whole Scene. It is but justice to transcribe a considerable portion : 
 
 " Esti: Si no conociera yo. 
 
 Que si un hermano perdi, 
 
 Tanto pesar te costo 
 
 Como el que me cuesta ii mi, 
 
 Quizd no te libertara : 
 
 Pero te conozco, Ortiz ; 
 
 Todo mi amor lo repara : 
 
 A un criminal no salvara, 
 
 Pero salvo k un infeliz. 
 San. La desdicha de mi suerte 
 
 Me entrega d la muerte fiera : 
 
 Ya Rolo puede la muerte 
 
 Cambiar mi suerte severa, 
 
 Que me abruma, aunque tan fuerte. 
 Eatr. Vive, yo vida te doy. 
 8a7L. Y yo A la muerte me voy, 
 
 De que tii librarme quieres ; 
 
 Que si obras como quien ores, 
 
 Yo he de obrar como quien soy. 
 Estr. Por qu6 mueres ? 
 San. Por vengarto. 
 Estr. De qu6 ? 
 Sun. De mi alevosia. 
 Eatr. Si pudiera iraaginarte 
 
 Capaz de accion tan impla, 
 
 No pensaria on librarte ; 
 
 Pero conozco bien yo 
 
 Qual OS tn procedor jusfta 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE I*?/ 
 
 La pasion no mc c(;g6 : 
 
 Quando Ortiz mat6 d Don Busto,* 
 
 Grande fuerza le oblig6. 
 Sail. Ah ! nunca yo le matara, 
 
 Si no matarle*pudiera. 
 Etit7\ Ni yo jamas te salvara, 
 
 Si imaginara 6 creyera, 
 
 Que Ortiz de otro modo obrara ; 
 
 Te forzdron k raatar, 
 
 Lo conozco, y no te oliligo 
 
 A que digas tu pesar ; 
 
 Mas yo tamblen se callar ; 
 
 Lo conozco, y no lo digo. 
 
 Vive pues, por vida nda," 
 
 If there is no remarkable vigor ia the passage, there is a dignified 
 calmness and eminent propriety. Though passion might have heen 
 allowable to Sancho. perhaps in a degree to Estrella also, yet 1 
 know not but that, under the depressing melancholy of the circum- 
 stances, the tone observed has more of the color of reality. Sancho 
 of course does not yield : 
 
 '■'■San. De vos ausente, 
 
 Y de esperanza apartado, 
 Perdiendo la f6 detaida, 
 
 I A qui6n debo dedicar 
 Ann estoB restos de vida ? 
 Despues que me hice homicida, 
 Vivir fuera mas pesar. 
 Dexadme en el mal que estoy, 
 Puea es mas mal el vivir, 
 
 Y ya mi sombra no soy : " 
 
 and the last words between them are : 
 
 '■'■Estr. A Dies, y olvidad a Estrella. 
 San, No OS acordeis vos de Ortiz." 
 
 * I had canceled Don, supposing it an error; for the metre, owing to the ac- 
 cented 6 in "mat6 ", is complete without it, and its use would be an absurdity fcjr 
 EstreUa in tliis place. But, just before the page was to be cast, I came across a 
 copy of the play with the imprint of Madrid (18<» 1804), and there it stood also. It 
 may still be an oiTor, copied from one book in another ; foi" the TeaZro EspaHol 
 was published in London in 1817. I can hardly think that tlie poet, had ha 
 wanted an additional syllable, would not have fonnd it preferably in sit or mi. 
 
 8* 
 
178 PEBFACE TO 
 
 Ado Quinto. 
 
 In (lie palace. Esc. I. King and Alcayde. — A good Scene, to 
 the same effect as in Lope. The latter's characteristic anachronism 
 has not been overlooked, and the King orders Sancho to he brought 
 to him in a liUer, with every precaution for secrecy. The King 
 ahne ( Esc. II. ) resolves fully to release Sancho, although he ex- 
 presses fears because of the rectitude of the judges. 
 
 And with cause. Esc. Ill, IV, and V. : — the King having 
 sounded and flattered, both together and separately, the two Al- 
 caldes, thinks (-Esc. VI. ) that he has found them mere men after all. 
 Follow a brief reflection and moral on the efficacy of the weakest 
 words of a king, and he is promising himself to reward Sancho while 
 ostensibly punishing, by banishing him to the command of a fron- 
 tier, when 
 
 ( Esc. VII. ) enter the Alcaldes with the sentence. ( By the by, 
 the interval is too brief to admit of its having been written, let 
 alone considered.) It pronounces decapitation. One of them says 
 to the King: 
 
 " Como d vasallos nos manda ; 
 Mas como Alcaldes mayores 
 Somos la misma ley sacra. 
 y si eUa no lo permlte, 
 Ni empefios ni ruegoa baatan ; 
 Que el Cabildo de Sevilla 
 Es quieu es." — 
 
 The King interrupts impatiently : 
 
 "Sej/. Basta ya, basta. &a." 
 
 Esc. VIII. — Arias introduces Estrella, which adds to the King's 
 perplexity and vexation. 
 
 Esc. IX. , and the last. — The Alcayde and Ortiz are added to 
 the group. The King's desire to set Ortiz free is enforced by Es- 
 trella's supplication. But Parfan, the Alcalde, remonstrates, and the 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 179 
 
 King, put upon his mettle, acknowledges himself to have been 
 
 the inciter of the crime : 
 
 ^'- Farf. Mirad, Seflor, os suplico, 
 Que la justicia se agravla : 
 Pedir la parte por 61 
 No es descargo de bu falta ; 
 Pues la pilblica vindicta 
 Estd clamando. — 
 
 Rey. Ya basta. 
 Todos, menos yo son heroes 
 En esta dichosa patria : 
 Tambien yo ser quiero hablaiido 
 Tan h^roe como el que caUa. 
 Matadme d mi, SeviUanos, 
 Que yo solo fui la causa 
 De esta muerte : yo mandfi 
 A Ortiz que A Busfcos matara." 
 
 Arias is rewarded for his flattery and bad advice bj exile. And 
 the piece concludes with Estrella's declaring her purpose to bury 
 herself in a cloister, while Sancho requests permission to depart 
 immediately for the frontier. 
 
 . . no es Estrella muger, 
 Que aunque le adora y le ama, 
 
 T aunque ru hermano Don Bustoa 
 Con gran placer lo aprobaba, 
 Consienta jamas en ver 
 A su lado d quien le mata. 
 * * * # 
 
 permitid 
 Que sola y desamparada 
 En la lobreguez de un claustro 
 Mi6nti-as viviere, encerrada 
 Me castigue de querer 
 Bion al que t Bustos matara. 
 San. To, Seflora, al Bey su empefto, 
 Y k Toa suelto la palabra ; 
 Que fuera etemo tormcnto 
 Morar en aquella cafia 
 Donde mi mano cruel 
 Os di6 penas tan amai^as . 
 
3 80 PREFACE TO 
 
 Vivid, y sed venturosa, ■ 
 
 Y olvidad al que os agravia. 
 Estr. No 08 olvidar6, Don Sanclio. 
 San. Tanta serA mi desgracia, — 
 
 Seflor, contra el fiero Moro 
 
 Permitid que luego parta. 
 Rey. id con Dies, y dexad tiempo 
 
 Be admixar vuestras hazafias, 
 
 Que me tiene sorprehendido 
 
 Ver en solo un dia tantas. — 
 
 Oh pasion I Oh mai coneejo ! 
 Farf. Que vos lo conozcaia basta. 
 TodOH. La heroicidad da priiicipio 
 
 Donde la flaqueza acaba.''* 
 
 It would have been better if the two last verses, which, as assigned 
 to all the interlocutors, destroy the actuality of the Scene and are 
 besides insignificant, had been omitted, or perhaps the three last; 
 for FarfarHs remark, even if it be interpreted as a compliment, is 
 rather too bold to be addressed to the King. Tet contrast this 
 close with Lope's, and say which has the advantage ? 
 
 "What reputation Trigueros' play enjoyed I know not,* hut Cor- 
 
 * "Like the subsequent attempts of Trigueros to accommodate some of Lope 
 de Vega's plays to the same system of opinions," [to bring them, that is, "under 
 the canons that g(tvemed Comeillo and Ilacine,"] "it was entirely unsuccessfuL 
 The difference between the two different schools was so great, and the effort to 
 force them together so violent, that enough of the spirit and grace of the original 
 could not be found in these modernized imitations to satisfy the demands of any 
 audience that could be collected to listen to them." TiOKKOR. Hist. Sp. Lit. 
 
 (N. Y. 80. 1849) in. p. aso. 
 
 In a note to the Introduction ( by A. Anaya ) to the Teatro Espanol^ I read : 
 "Dos sugetos benemeritos han contribuido en nuestros dias d realzar el cr6dito de 
 Lope de Vega. El uno es Don Antonio de Sancha, ... el qual public6 la edicion 
 de las obras sueltas de este autor. .... y el otro es Don Cdndido Maria Tri- 
 gueros, quien ref"undi6 vdrios de sus dramas, cuyo trabajo ha merecido la aproba- 
 cion del pfiblico Espaflol." 
 
 Mr. Ticknor's opinion, always to bo respected, m in the present case so unten- 
 able, as I think my analysis will have shown, that I can hardly believe he had 
 redd the modernized, remodeled and almost newly-written play. It is impossible 
 that a drama like Sancho Ortiz should not please, yet it is very possible also that 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 181 
 
 neille's, it might be said, was world-renowned. Yet, as I have 
 declared, there can be no comparison between them.* In all the 
 
 a mixed audience in Spain would prefer the romantic drama and dramatic 
 romance ( » ), the tragi-comedy of Lope, to the pure tragedy of the test school 
 which is Trigueros', precisely as a like audience with us would sit out with interest 
 the performance of the longest mixed drama of BhaTcspeare's, and prefer it to 
 any the noblest modification that could of it be made. If popular success is a 
 test of the merit of dramatic representations, then Hwmpty-Dumpty^ which has 
 been enacted nearly 400 times in continual succession, and draws still its nightly 
 audience, is the masterpiece of the age. 
 
 * Herr von Shack, — who, I must observe, is rather too enamored of his sub- 
 ject, and, a true German, v& apt to lose in enthusiasm the coolness whioh is need- 
 ful for judgment, — Shack has much the same opinion that I hold as to ie Cid ; 
 but he carries his depreciation to an extent that transcends somewhat the limit of 
 fairness. He writes, I think, with a prejudice, that may be said to be natural to 
 one of bis country, against that form of the serious dra,ma of which the French 
 school, at its moBt flourishing period, afEords by no means the happiest exemplifica- 
 
 ( d) See, Ijesldea Mr. Tlcknor's comprcbensiTe work, ( which, with cbaracterlatic coinplete&»s, U fvUf 
 Indexed,) Lemoke — Handb. d. 8p. Lit. Sr. B. s. ie& : VUrdot — Mtudea lur I'HUt, de* Inatit., da la LttlSr., du 
 TliiStre »t dst Beaua-Arti en E$pagna {Ta.T\a, So. 1835, ) oomtaentslng at p. S33, and observing particularly 
 pp. S36, Bqq. The author does not seem to have known the Ettretla ol Lope, except, aa I first knew It only. 
 In Its modern form, for he names It Sanoho Ortit de la* Ro»lat, and must bare been allogether lEnorant of 
 Dtamante's play, itince wc find him with a. doable IncorrectncBB saying : " PerRonna o'lgnore qae La Cid eat 
 lmlt£ des deax antcars CBpagnoIa Quillen de Caatro et Diamante, qui avaient tralte ce a^jet nalional soua 
 le titre do fat Moeedadei del Cid." Also, on Spanleb Comedy, Bouterwck'u HiiU of Span, and PoriuguMe 
 Lit., vol. 1. p. 305 Bqq. of the English version : ( Lond. Bo. 1620. ) : and, for a comparative view of both the 
 French and Spanish drama, tbe Sd volume of Adolphe de Pulbusque'a Hi»t. Comparte det Litt. Sip. et 
 f ran^aiK i Parla, 1843. In 8o :} pp. S5-11T with Notes 6 and 7. The anthor gives there an analysis of 
 Oulllen dc Castro's two-fold play. But he has aUehtly misreprcBcntod the final Scene of tbe Qd Tart j for 
 the Cid, who has chafed his sovereign by making him go through, with great solemnity, three forms of an 
 oath ( V. Mariana. Hiit. On. de Etp. ed. Babau. Tom vi, p. 74, note : Sandoval, ifi'it. de lot Reyei de Ctut. 
 |t de Leon, Ac. { Pampl. 4to. 1615 ) ff. 38, 39.) averring that ho has had no part 
 
 " Nl aun con solo el ppnaamitinto " 
 Id the murder of hie brother, leaves at first IndispleRsuTp : — 
 
 vhlch Is nature as well ad \itlors and traditton. And then, after tbcBO two verses, enter Urraoa and Zaida 
 (dangbterof the K. of Seville, whom Alonso VI. sub be qucntly married under the name of Iiabel); and 
 Drraca says ; 
 
 " Urr, I Dondc vas, Cid castellano 1 
 L Dondo vas, Rodrigo fuerte. 
 Tan compuesto y tan airndo j 
 Cid. Voy, Infanta, voy, seSura, 
 A dejarde servasallo 
 De nn Key que me csttma poco." 
 
 The Cid havever rotams at the desire of Vrraca, and Alonao ( at the whispered suggestion of Arias) 
 appeases him, ho as to receive at his bands the crown. But there is no real reconciliation, certainly not on 
 the side of the King. 
 
182 PREFACE TO 
 
 merits of a tragic drama SaTicho Ortiz is as far before Le Gid, as the 
 latter is before the Cato of Addison. Corneille improved upon hia 
 copj, but only partially, and he lost, in empty and drawn-out 
 declamation and the monotony of his artificial verse, the liveliness, 
 the variety, and rapid action of De Castro, vrhile he added to his 
 frequent unnaturaluess and extravagant conceits an impossible dia- 
 logue of his own. Trigueros, on the contrary, excluding all unneces- 
 sary characters, modifying or rewriting entirely the dialogue, and 
 adding to the tragic tone, has not lost any of the merits of his 
 original, whose fluent and melodious verse he often improves upon, 
 whose sentiments he prunes of their extravagance, or imitates, 
 where best, by others of his own, while, to condensation and the 
 beauty of regularity, he adds the charm of an harmonious tragic 
 tone which gives unity of color to his work and makes its chiaros- 
 curo still more effective. When one reads Sanclw Ortiz first, as I 
 did, then, years afterward, retaining the impression made upon him, 
 opens eagerly the Estrella, anticipating increased delight, and finds 
 
 tion. See, in the work and volume abovenDited, pp. 437, 439 — 442. Tlie criticism is 
 too long to copy here in full ; but the following eloquent passage may be admitted : 
 
 . . "waser [Corneille] von posltiven Gutem hat, ist dem Spanischen entlehnt. 
 Aber wie erstarrt und vergrobert Allea I Wo isc jener bald zarte, bald machtige 
 Hauch der Poesie geblieben, der uns aus dem Spanischen Stiicke erquickend und 
 belebend entgegenweht ? Statt seiner finden wir den hohlsten rednerisohen 
 Pomp, statt der Sprache der Empfindung [which he forgets De Castro does not 
 always give ns ] eine bombastiohe Phraseologie, statt des bei Guillen de Castro so 
 treffiich motivirten Kampfes zwischen Ehre, Liebe und kindlicher Pflicht eine 
 widerwartige Kokefcterie mit diesem Gellilil, statt der Heldengestalt Rodrigo'e, 
 die sich in lebendig vorgef tihrten Thaten spiegelt imd entfaltet, einen prahlenden 
 Grosssprecher. . . . Bedenken wir mm, dass diese Tragodie noch immer eine 
 der besten der franzosichen Biihne ist, so mussen wir erstaunen, wie dieso Armael- 
 igkeit den Spaniem einer spatem Zeit so imponiren konnte, dass sie den reichen 
 Flor ihres Nationaltheatera daruber vergassen." [This last clause indicates of 
 itself the writer's preference of the romantic drama, even in that extravagant 
 form in which it might be truly called a romance in dialogue.] 
 
 His animadversion may be thought in part too severe, — and one of its ex- 
 pressions, "vergrobert," is undoubtedly ill-considered; but its general bearing 
 on the merit of the Cid is, of course in my opinion, only just. Perhaps the con- 
 clusion might be excepted, where, speaking of the epithet great as applied to 
 Corneille, he does not hesitate to say, that if it is grounded on the Cid^ we can 
 only adopt it in an ironical sense. 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 183 
 
 that the former was superior not only in the symmetry and stateli- 
 ness of the whole body, but in the beauty and even vigor, and cer- 
 tainly the harmonious adaptation, of its various members, he 
 experiences a disappointment that is greater still than his surprise, 
 lu Sanclio Ortiz the interest excited does not flag, our sense of pro- 
 priety and love of probability are seldom shocked, and the mag- 
 nanimity of the sentiments, if it ever seems constrained, never 
 degenerates into pomposity by inflation of the language. Add to 
 these attractions what is said above about the tone, — though Uiat 
 is a delicate property of coloring which is not perhaps so easily 
 perceptible to every reader, — and he who has not redd the recon- 
 structed and emended drama has yet before him a pleasure to which 
 I am glad to furnish this incitement. 
 
 As for my own play, it will be seen that I have taken but the 
 bare skeleton of the story, which I have clothed with flesh after 
 my own fashion, and given it motion as my sense and taste directed. 
 In two instances where I have imitated the Spanish poet directly, 
 one in a sentiment, the other in a briefly related incident, accessory 
 but not essential to the plot, I have cited the corresponding pas- 
 sages among the Notes. 
 
THE OID OF SETILLE 
 
 MDCCCLXVIII 
 
CHARACTERS, etc. 
 
 Sancbo.IV., King of Castile. 
 
 Luis' Gonza'lez de Lara, a nobleman attached to the King's 
 
 2ierson, and his favorite. 
 
 RiJT Oktiz, / 
 
 > Cavaliers. 
 Perrar' Montoya, \ 
 
 Pedro Loriguillo, / 
 
 Diego Aleonso de Ribilla, \ 
 
 An UsHEE. 
 
 A Franciscan Friar. 
 
 A Page. 
 
 Alda, Montoya's sister. 
 
 Alda's Maidens. Citizens. Guards. 
 
 Scene. Seville, in the Tear 1294. 
 Time. That occupied hy the action. 
 
THE OID OF SEVILLE 
 
 Act the First 
 
 Scene I. An antechamber in the Alcdzar, or royal residence, 
 
 Febrar Montoya. Luis de Lara, entering. 
 
 Ferr. Encounter'd well. A word with thee. 
 
 Luis. I hear. 
 
 'T would please me could I say, with pleasure hear. 
 • But Don Ferrar' Montoya's tone is rough, 
 
 And his demeanor haughty ; let me add. 
 
 His throat too broad for chamber of the King. 
 Ferr. So have that straiten'd. For the roughen'd tone, 
 
 It suits the occasion and my instant scope. 
 
 Which points at thee. And let these dainty walls' 
 
 Echo it to Don Sancho's self, I reck not. 
 
 Where the Moor trod in freedom, shall the feet 
 
 Of a Castilian be less proud ? Despite 
 
 My prohibition, Don Luis' de Lara, 
 
188 THE CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 Thou com'st more near my sister tlian I like, 
 And giv'st her umbrage. Thou wast there to-day. 
 
 Luis. What gives thee right ? 
 
 Ferr. Be anger'd not too soon. 
 When thou hear'st all, thou wilt not lack for cause. 
 If such thy bent. If for thyself alone 
 Thou wooest my sister, or, what to suppose 
 Dishonors thy great blood and brands thy soul 
 Bastard of lineage, thou the insulting suit 
 
 Of one who is mightier than thou 
 
 Usher presents himself at the door above and hows. \ 
 
 I am summon'd. 
 Ponder my words. [^Exit above. 
 
 Luis. I will. I have weigh'd their sense 
 Already, and thy life and mine hang pois'd 
 In the unequal balance. Blame thyself, 
 
 Thou arrogant braggart, if thine shall kick the beam. \ 
 
 i 
 
 Scene changes to 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 The King's Cabinet. 
 The King. Feekae approaching. 
 
 King. What shall be done to pleasure Dori Ferrar, 
 Whom the King loves to honor ? 
 
 Ferr. This to hear 
 
Aca: I. sc. 2. 189 
 
 Is from the King more honor in itself 
 Than my poor state deserves. . I have a sister, 
 Who forms at once my solace and sole care. 
 Orphan'd vi^ith me, her beauty and rare worth 
 Are unto me, who know no other joy, 
 The bloom of Paradise. How shall I keep 
 The Devil from the wall ? 
 
 King. That should her worth, 
 Beauty's best fortalice. 
 
 ■ Ferr. That will her worth. 
 When openly assail'd. But lust has arts 
 As well as warfare. By a traitor's stroke 
 Tour royal foresire fell, when off his guard.' 
 So may be taken Alda. Tester night. 
 Some lover who had brib'd my house-slave stole 
 Darkling into my hall, — and would have died there. 
 Had he not dar'd to call himself the King. 
 I dropp'd my sword, but told him that he lied, 
 For never king would stoop to act so base.' 
 King. Thou shouldst have cut the tongue out by the roots, 
 That durst the treasonous falsehood. 
 
 TTerr. Even for that 
 My hand sunk nerveless. In the name of King, 
 Though falsely worn,* sounds what in loyal hearts 
 Wakes reverence next to G-od's. Bndanger'd thus, 
 Alda were safer as some brave man's wife. 
 Therefore, as orphan of a noble honse, 
 She appeals through me that I may have her wed. 
 Does the King grant it ? 
 
190 THE OID OF SEVILLE 
 
 King. Hast thou chosen well ? 
 Ferr. Her lover is of lineage and worth, 
 Loyal and valiant. 
 
 Kimg. Be it as thou wilt. 
 Ferr. I thank Your Majesty, and take my leave. [^Retires. 
 King, [to Usher'] Waits Don Luis' Gronza'lez ? [ Usher hows low. 
 
 Bid him in. 
 [Mceunt Ferrar and Usher. 
 
 Ah, traitor ! And to this my lawless love 
 
 I should have stabb'd thee then, when in the dark 
 Thou durst confront me, nor have left that throat 
 To mock me with the echo of my shame. 
 
 Perhaps Why, it were well this dragon brother 
 
 And loud-voic'd subject, who dares pluck my beard 
 Even with the hand of reverence, should lie there 
 Where he will rant no longer, nor keep guard 
 Over the golden apples. No ! he spar'd. 
 Though hot with ire, my life 
 
 Fnter De Lara. 
 The Usher, at a signal from the King, retires. 
 
 Ah, Don Luis' ! 
 My friend and counselor, though evil oft. 
 As all who counsel to our passions are. 
 When they offend not. 
 
 Zuis. But my lord will own, 
 I have ventur'd, even while aiding him to win 
 What I could not divert from, — ventur'd more 
 Perhaps than fits a liegeman, — to denounce 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 191 
 
 As wild and full of risk to royal honor 
 This amorous pursuit. I venture still. 
 
 King. And with a mien so grave I Hast thou too, friend, 
 Met with the Achilles and been hufif'd ? 
 
 Luis. I had 
 From Don Perrar Montoya a reproof 
 Not to be soon forgotten. His eyes are open 
 Unto my simular suit. He all but nam'd 
 Your Grace as the true lover. 
 
 King. And was that all? 
 Why, that was modest. In our very teeth 
 He threw last night's bad venture, though my voice, 
 When, taken by surprise, confus'd I ory'd 
 "I am the King," could scarce have been unknown. 
 
 Luis. That was not strange, as he had thrown already 
 At the Alcazar's gate the unhappy slave 
 Piero'd by those death wounds.' 
 
 King. Ay, for very shame 
 I durst not charge him with the insolent act ; 
 It had been to accuse myself Nor did he dare 
 To allude to his prompt vengeance. 'T was enough 
 To hint my sceptre was not borne of right. 
 Why dost thou start ? 
 
 Lull. Permit me for a while 
 Suspend reply, and be not wroth I ask 
 Why Don Ferrar sought audience of my lord. 
 
 King. 'T was a new insult under lowly guise. 
 
 He would have Alda marry'd, to entrench her 
 From amorous onslaught. How could I contend ? 
 
192 THE cm Ol? SEVILLE 
 
 Even had I thought it, taken all unarm'd, 
 And haply conscience-wounded. 
 
 Luis. Knows Your Grace 
 The husband chosen ? 
 
 King. I did not care to ask, 
 Dissembling even while troubled. 
 
 Luis. It is, believe, 
 Don Ruy Ortiz, long the brother's friend 
 And Donya Alda's lover. 
 
 King. He said well, 
 Valiant and loyal. 'T is my foremost knight, 
 Brave as a lion, stanoher than a hound. 
 Luis. And, pardon that I dare to add, the man 
 
 Most lov'd in Seville, where the people call him, 
 Finding, a harmony 'twixt his name and deeds. 
 The Second Cid. Sees not Your Highness, then, 
 
 The danger that, pursuing this amour 
 
 I fear to offend my sovereign. 
 
 King. Pray, proceed. 
 Say what thou wilt, Luis' ; but be it new : 
 I am weary of old saws, and moral texts 
 Come handier still to me than thee." 
 
 Luis. So let 
 Example speak for me. When King Eodrigo 
 In the look'd tower beheld the arrow'd MoOr 
 And redd the warning,' little did he deem, 
 A natural passion, peaceful in itself 
 And peace-persuading, would bring men like that 
 To strip him of his kingdom ; men whose tracks 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 193 
 
 Through half a thousand years have not worn out, 
 While trampled Spain sees yet embath'd in blood 
 Her fertile valleys in perennial war, 
 All for one woman's beauty. 
 
 King. Am I then 
 Eodrigo ? is Ferrar the traitor sire, 
 And Alda a Florinda ? 
 
 Luis. Ah my lord, 
 But for the brother's guard upon the casket. 
 The emerald had been broken all the same.' 
 The royal Goth was mark'd by many traits 
 
 That fit a monarch," till 
 
 King. Why dost thou pause ? 
 Till lust had shorn the seven locks of his soul 
 And his gross life prepar'd him for a spoil 
 To the Philistine. Am I such a dog ? 
 Or dar'st thou make my paragon of him. 
 Because hke me he vaulted to a throne 
 Whereon the natural claimants '" could not sit ? 
 There needs no protest ; I suspect thee not. 
 Look through yon lattice, Don Luis' Q-onza'lez. 
 Thou seest the body of the mighty river," 
 His strength and current; not his source ; though that 
 Thou hast in mind, as that he seeks the sea. 
 Think'st thou that any one day's sun, or week's. 
 Would drain the stream? Such is my passion, whose 
 
 source 
 I scarcely can recall : but well I know 
 Its outlet. Alda is the sea whereto 
 Vol. II.— 9 
 
194 THE CID OF SEVIIXB 
 
 Rushes my soul's broad river, nor can the sun 
 Of reason dry it up, even shouldst thou dart 
 For a whole week its rays upon the flood. 
 Cease to dissuade. This marriage must be cross'd. 
 Luis. That can be only by the brother's death. 
 Or by the lover's. 
 
 King. By the brother's, then. 
 For scarce so much, my brother lost his head." 
 This insolent merits it. 
 
 Lui$. More than knows Tour Grace. 
 King. Ah I Speak. 
 
 Luis. Your Majesty ask'd me, why I started. 
 'T was that Ferrar's word-treason call'd to mind 
 What I have heard imputed to him. 
 
 King. What? 
 Luis. I speak it with reluctance. It is said. 
 He favors the pretenders to your throne, 
 If not in league with them." 
 
 King. This thou hast heard 7 
 Luis. Your Majesty should know too well my faith 
 To need asseveration. 
 
 King. So our course 
 Is plain. He shall be given to the law 
 On thy sworn charge. 
 
 Luis. Your Highness will permit: 
 This is but surmise, or a whisper'd tale. 
 Taken with what was ofifer'd to your face. 
 It is to me conclusive, and should be 
 To your high self. But will it be enough 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 195 
 
 To force oonviotion ? Not to say, 't were wise 
 
 Not to wake interest in La Cerda's claims 
 
 Where i t now dozes ; for all faiths, not less 
 
 In politics than in religion, rise 
 
 From under pressure, and example calls, 
 
 Even where its voice is feebler than with men 
 
 Of Don Ferrar's repute, to active life 
 
 The imitative power, perhaps most strong 
 
 Of all the instinctive forces as 't is most prompt. 
 
 Besides Your Highness' scope is not attain'd 
 
 Save by the traitor's death. 
 
 King. But law ? 
 
 Luis. Laws take 
 What course the King directs. So said shrewd wits, 
 When the Cid's master back into the flames 
 Threw the Goth's book and forc'd the forms of Rome 
 To come out paramount." And so will say. 
 With different emphasis, in some bolder age. 
 Bold men and false, like Don Ferrar Montoya, 
 Who find no violence legal but their own. 
 King. Well said, Luis'. Thyself shalt put in s.at 
 Thy own suggestion. In thy generous veins 
 Flows his brave blood who challeng'd and o'erthrew 
 In single fight Gonzalo's three strong sons 
 That back'd VeUido," and 't was thy prompt arm 
 That lopp'd the audacious Haro's at the wrist 
 And made thy King thy debtor." Slay Ferrar, 
 And let me once more owe thee. 
 
 LuU. O my lord. 
 
196 THE CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 In the poor deed you honor me to mention, 
 
 Promptness was passion. I liad done the same, 
 
 Were the vile ingrate twenty men in one. 
 
 Or the great Champion " himself. But now 
 
 In cooler blood to venture were to imperil 
 
 Your interests and my honor ; for Don Ferrar 
 
 Stands, save one hero, first in skill and strength 
 
 In all this kingdom." It is not my life : 
 
 That is your Highness' : but 't were not to serve you 
 
 To fling myself against a rook. 
 
 King. Then hire 
 Some villain to perform the deed. 
 
 Luis. My lord 
 Forgets it must be instant. In broad day 
 Who durst assail him ? There is but one man, 
 I have said, in Seville, who can measure swords 
 With Don Ferrar. It is the Cid of Seville. 
 
 King. The intended husband I 
 
 Luis. Either way, my lord, 
 Killing or kill'd, Don Ruy wins for you : — 
 Alda remains unwed. 
 
 King. That were a stroke 
 Of subtle poUoy, but lawless-cruel. 
 
 Luis. Is treason then less lawless ? Shall the King 
 Not strike when he is injur'd ? Must he wait 
 The law's long trial like the meanest churl ? 
 He who is master makes and unmakes laws ; 
 A.nd cruelty lacks not sanction where the act 
 Is one of pressing need. Whereto might serve 
 
ACT I. SC. 2. 197 
 
 Your royal sire's example." In that fierce day 
 Of sudden justice when De Haro fell, 
 Your own hand smote Diego Lopez dead.'" 
 Now, by another's hand, and at one blow, 
 You strike down treason and break through all let 
 To your heart's longing. 
 
 King. But will Ortiz act 
 Against his friend, his lady's brother ? 
 
 Luis. Against 
 Any or all, to serve his King. Exact 
 Obedience from him, ere your Highness names 
 The foe you dread. 
 
 King. But thou art sure, Luis', 
 Of this man's treason ? thou canst bring me proofs ? 
 Luis. Not open, nor varied, for I had the tale 
 At second hand, but in themselves complete. 
 Might I, to one inur'd as is my lord 
 To personal danger, who has fao'd unshaken, 
 Arm'd and unarm'd, in palace and in camp, 
 Treason and mutiny,^' venture to suggest 
 A thought of peril, I would say revenge 
 Might make Montoya's dagger more to dread 
 Thau Dolfos' javelin or the unslieath'd sword 
 Of the ungrateful Haro. 
 
 King. Bring thou proof. 
 The insolent traitor shall not live an hour. 
 
 The King retires by the door above, and 
 the Drop falls. 
 
198 THE CID OP SEVILLE 
 
 AoT THE Second 
 
 Scene I. An apartment in the Jiouse of Montoya. 
 
 EuY. Alda. 
 
 Rny. Truly, thou art so, Alda. Thougli at times 
 
 I have seen thee thought-weigh'd, never was as now 
 Thy fair brow shadow' d, nor the cloud came back 
 So often. What bears on that gentle breast ? 
 Which should not have a sorrow hid from me, 
 And was till now so open that it seem'd 
 To have a window where the sun shone in. 
 That all men might behold what was so good 
 And beautiful, nor lattice-bars shut out 
 The tell-tale ray. 
 
 Alda. When we are wedded, Euy, 
 Thou shalt not need a window to look in. 
 I had a dreadful vision in the night, — 
 Outrage and blood, a gulf between us two 
 Bridgeless for ever, and the fathomless deep 
 Of darkness over me : and that starless sky. 
 With blackness which is felt and air that stifles. 
 Hangs o'er me now ; nor will the dawn break forth 
 Till we are married. On that happy day. 
 
ACT. 11. SC. 1. 190 
 
 Ask me, and, hiding on thy breast my eyes, 
 
 I '11 tell thee all, and never more be sad. 
 
 Thou art my sunshine, Riiy. In thy light 
 
 And warmth my soul shall bask by the hour, and know 
 
 Never more chillness and no gloom as now. 
 
 Enter 'Pebrab. 
 
 Ferr. I come from the Court. Lov'st thou my sister, Euy ? 
 She loves thee better than she loves aught else 
 Save me, whom she has spoil'd, and better still 
 I think than me. The King has given consent. 
 Ye shaU be wed on the instant. 
 
 Alda. Ferrari 
 So sudden ! 
 
 Fsrr. I have had a hideous dream. 
 
 Ruy. Why so hath Alda 1 
 
 Ferr. 'T is belike the same : 
 Dishonor, ruin, the Devil in Paradise, 
 And two souls blasted by a serpent's guile. 
 Alda is beautiful : she needs an arm 
 Stalwart as thine, Don Ruy,- and a heart 
 As true as thine, a husband's heart and arm, 
 To guard her treasure. Wilt thou take her now ? 
 
 Ruy. Take her ! I have no breath to speak. brother! 
 
 Ferr. So get thee ready, Alda ; and thou, Ruy, 
 
 Make what dispatch thou canst. An hour or two 
 Should be enough, and ere the sun goes lown 
 
 Alda.. But why this haste, my brother ? 
 
200 THE CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 Ferr. 'T is not alone 
 What the dream orders. I have on my mind 
 A sad foreboding, — vague, yet black as death. 
 I would see Euy's arm about tliee thrown 
 Ere my own withers. — Here is from the King. 
 
 Enter Page. 
 
 Potge. His Majesty commands Don Euy Ortiz. 
 AMa. To honor and wish thee joy. 
 
 Ferr. I hope it is. 
 Ruy. Assure the- King of my obedient homage. 
 I come on the instant. \BxU Page. 
 
 O Ferrar ! my friend ! 
 How shall I thank thee ? Alda, looks this change 
 Too sudden to thee ? Let thy brother's love, 
 Which tenders thee so dearly, speak for mine, 
 And, giving him contentment, bless thou me. 
 AWia. \to Suy.] Has not the shadow vanish'd ? 
 
 Ferr. Hasten back. 
 And make thou no announcement more than needs. 
 Till thou and Alda are one, I shall not know 
 What is contentment. [Fxit Ruy. 
 
 Alda, listen. Briefly, 
 Know'st thou who stole into the house last night? 
 Alda. I tremble to suspect. 
 
 Ferr. And dost suspect 
 Because I slew him not. 'T was He. I saw it 
 But now in his reddening visage, as'I heard it 
 
ACT II. SC. 1. 201 
 
 Last night in his hurried voiqe. I need not name him : 
 
 Wo must not speak dishonor of the King; 
 
 A bird of the air shall carry it. He knows 
 
 I am not blind nor deaf, knows by whose will 
 
 The slave was butcher'd and her carcase laid 
 
 At his palace gate. 
 
 Alda. brother ! 
 
 Feirr. It was just, 
 If cruel: a warning to home-traitors. Thus, 
 I have cause for dread. A king's hand reaches far ; 
 His sword is in a thousand scabbards. But more 
 My peril from the favorite's secret spite. 
 Alda. What hast thou done 1 
 
 Ferr. What every man should do 
 When time and place serve, spoken out my mind. 
 I warn'd him from my door. 'T is like he comes 
 On the part of the King-. Pledg'd to BMna Gruzraau, 
 He scarce would court, I think, ElSna's friend. 
 Why turn'st thou pale ? 
 
 Alda. Ask not, not now, Ferrar. 
 But beware ! De Lara has the ear 
 And heart of the King. 
 
 Ferr. For the time, alas, as had 
 
 A greater favorite, and will fall as he. 
 
 Honors and gifts when lavish'd on the unworthy 
 
 Breed vanity, not gratitude, and kings - • ' 
 
 Strangle, sometimes in blood, the o'erweening pride 
 
 Born of their own indulgence. But, this day. 
 
 Let omens vanish. It is so great a joy 
 9* 
 
202 THB CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 To have thee Euy's wife. How well I love him I 
 
 As well I think as thou, albeit indeed 
 
 In other wise. Henceforward when in battle 
 
 I help to ward the javelin from his breast, 
 
 As I have done, I shall be shielding thee, 
 
 Dear child, as well. Now, get thee to thy bower, 
 
 And dight thee out as well as time will let. 
 
 How fair thou art now ! [kisses her.] I go to call the priest. 
 
 Until this knot be tied, my foot rests not. 
 
 As he turns to withdraw, 
 Scene changes to 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 As in Act I. Sc. II. 
 
 King. De Laka. 
 
 A Citizen of Seville, at a little distance, 
 
 standing before the King. 
 
 King. 'T is confirmation more than proof. There, go : 
 And be thou ready, when thou shalt be call'd 
 To make the assertion good. [Mnt Citiz. 
 
 I like him not ; 
 And but Ferrar's hold act, and insolent words 
 
ACT II. SC. 2. 203 
 
 Tell their own tale, should doubt. Here comes Don Ruy. 
 Leave us so long. [Moit De Lara, as 
 
 Miter Rdt. 
 
 Come nigher, Ortiz. 
 
 The King extends his hand, which Ruy 
 puts to his lips. 
 I have sent for thee as best of all my knights, 
 Don Ruy Ortiz. Thou art stanch and brave 
 As thy fam'd namesake, true to mother-land 
 As was Pelayo, and, as I have heard, 
 And love to think, so faithful to thy King, 
 That thou wouldst snap all ties of blood and love 
 That fetter'd duty, so he enjoin'd. 
 
 Suy. A king, 
 Who is himself surnam'd the Strong and Brave," 
 Finds easily valiant warsmen. For my love 
 To country, I would pour my mother's blood, 
 "Were she now living, life-drop after drop, 
 On its broad altar, so I could make it great. 
 And free as it was ere gluttony and lust 
 Let in the Moor. 
 
 King. Well, well ! And for thy faith 
 Unto thy King ? 
 
 Ruy. Let but the King command. 
 King. What merits he who is faithless to that King ? 
 Ruy. Death. 
 
 King. If he were thy heart's twin, or thy brother ? 
 Ruy. Still, death, — though he were my sire. Duty knows 
 
204 THE CID 01" SEVILLE 
 
 No qualification, but is in lierself 
 
 Absolute, looking neither right nor left 
 
 In the path before her, which she treads the same 
 
 Though it cross the hill-tops or go down steep gulfs; 
 
 And treason parts at once the false and loyal 
 
 By space as vast as yawns 'twixt Heaven and Hell. 
 
 He who to king or country is forsworn 
 
 Is not my brother, nor could be my father. 
 
 King. Wouldst thou then slay thy father or thy brother, 
 If false to me ? 
 
 Ruy. No, I would hand him over 
 To the law's vengeance. 
 
 King. Law sometimes draws-in 
 Her unsure talons, and delays her clutch 
 Till the prey 'scapes her. If a sudden blow 
 Were needed to crush treason, wouldst thou give it? 
 
 Ruy. For my lord's welfare, at my lord's behest 
 I would. 
 
 King. In secret ? 
 
 Ruy. No. The King calls not 
 To murder, nor would make the man he honors 
 A vile assassin. 
 
 A pause, the King loolnng fixedly at Env. 
 
 King. Euy Ortiz, hear. 
 A man I have honor'd, have sought to make my friend, 
 Would seat my brother's offspring in my place 
 And drench the land with blood. This very day, 
 To wrong he has added insult, my strong claims, 
 
ACT II. SC. 2. 205 
 
 Vouch'd by the Cortes and my people's will,-' 
 Scoffd at as false, and at my house's gate 
 Wrought scandal and done outrage. At thy hand 
 I look for vengeance. Wilt thou wreak it ? 
 
 Ruy. Tea, 
 So be it openly. 
 
 King. Thou wilt this do, 
 Whoever be my wronger ? 
 
 Ruy. Though he be 
 .My heart's sure friend, my brother, or my sire, 
 In public place, in palace-yard, church-porch, 
 Wherever I shall find him, will assault, 
 And with God's help will slay him in fair fight. 
 For my King's sake. 
 
 King. Swear that upon my sword. 
 Ruy. [kissing the hilt. 
 
 By my lord's head, I swear. Who is the man ? 
 King. It is thy friend, and brother that should be. 
 
 Ruy. Ferrar ! 
 
 King. Ferrar Montoya. 
 
 Ruy. my lord I 
 Is the crime proven ? I had thought as soon 
 Myself could be a traitor. Who avers it ? 
 King. Luis' de Lara, and brings forward one 
 
 Who ply'd between my enemies and Ferrar. 
 There where thou stand'st the traitor fac'd thy King, 
 And with word-insult pluck'd him by the beard. 
 Ruy. 'T is my life's death, the blasting of all hope. 
 Would I had died ere this ! 
 
206 THE CID OF SEVILLB 
 
 King. Dost thou repent ? 
 Wilt thou too be forsworn ? 
 
 Ruy. Not now, nor ever. 
 
 But might some other hand 
 
 King. No hand but thine 
 Is able. Saving thee, Ferrar Montoya 
 Is the best blade and body in all my realm. 
 Here, take this writing, Ruy, and know beforehand 
 Sanoho is not ungrateful. Read aloud. 
 Rm/. [reading. 
 
 Know all who see this deed, how we, Don Sanoho, 
 By Grace of God King of Castile and Leon, 
 Galicia, Sev'ille, Cor'dova and Muroia, 
 Of Jaen and the Algar've, for the service 
 Done us by Don Ruy Ortiz, give to him 
 And covenant the tower call'd of Baiez, 
 
 With its broad grange 
 
 Returning the parchment.} Your Majesty will pardon ; 
 I cannot take reward for such a deed : 
 It were the price of blood. 
 
 King. No, in nowise. 
 But guerdon of self-sacrificing faith 
 And valor prov'd before. Be it as thou wilt. 
 
 [King lays down the parchment. 
 This service done, thou shalt be plao'd in honor, 
 As fits thee, on the frontier next the Moor. 
 Till then, bear thou this letter of protection : 
 It shields thee from the law. 
 
 Ruy. Nor that, my lord : 
 
ACT II. SC. 2. 207 
 
 It were to doubt your honor. I serve the King : 
 
 He will not see me suffer by the law 
 
 For doing his bidding in my heart's despite. 
 
 King. Keep it for thine own honor. 
 
 Ruy. I obey, — 
 To use it only when my lord commands. 
 
 King. Be secret ; and be wary. Brave and true, 
 Where should I find another like to thee ? 
 
 King extends his hand, 
 which EuY raises to his lips as before. 
 
 Drop falls. 
 
208 THE CID OF SEVrULE 
 
 Act the Thied 
 
 Scene I. A public square near Monfoya's house. 
 
 Miter 
 
 Rut and Ferrak, encountering ; the latter 
 
 moving quickly and gayly. 
 
 Ferr. Ha, friend and brother 1 — St. Francis' monk is toward. 
 
 Art thou too ready ? Why, what a mien thou wear'st ! 
 
 Thou look'st not like a bridegroom, not like one 
 
 O'erjoy'd to take what I so joy'd to give. 
 Ruy. I can take nothing from Montoya's hand. 
 Ferr. 'Fore Q-od I it is a noble hand. A king 
 
 Might take from it what I give ; and what I give 
 
 Is worthy of a king. 
 
 Ruy. Not from thy hand. 
 Ferr. Mine ! Art thou mad ? Or wouldst thou drive me so ? 
 
 I am thy equal at thy best, Don Ruy, 
 
 And, talk'st thou thus, I am thy better too. 
 Ruy. Never my better, and, take men's report, 
 
 Scarcely my equal. 
 
 Ferr. 'T is a baseless boast. 
 
 Thou owest thy popular title's short-liv'd sound 
 
 More to thy forename's accident than sword. 
 
ACT III. SC. 1. 209 
 
 My sword and lance have done as valiant vv^ork 
 As thine. 
 
 Ruy. They are a traitor's sv^ord and lance. 
 Ferr. Ah I [drawing. Then, putting back his weapon : 
 But thy senses wander. 
 
 Ruy. They are home. 
 And tell me thou art perjur'd, — false to king, 
 To country, and thus false to Alda and me. 
 Draw, if thy sword is not a coward's. And quick; 
 There comes thy useless friar. 
 
 Jerr. His cord, this time, 
 Shall make no distaff of Montoya's blade."* 
 Ruy. Beware the nettles in the Ortiz' hand ! "' {They fight. 
 
 Enter, hurriedly, 
 
 several Citizens ; among them, the one who was before 
 
 the King in Ad II. ; a Franciscan Friar ; 
 
 and finally the Alcalde Pedro. 
 
 Friar. Part them I {running up to them, with his cross extended. 
 Pedr. In the King's name ! 
 
 Ferr. [falling.} Dead. Poor Alda I "' 
 
 Ruy is arrested, gazing continually on 
 
 the hody as they lift it, 
 
 and 
 
 Scene closes. 
 
210 THE CID OP SEVILLE 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 As m Act 11. Scene I. 
 
 Enter Alda 
 Attended by her maidens. She is in her wedding-robes. 
 
 Alda. Leave me, my maidens, now. And thanks to both ; 
 Ye have deck'd me skilfully. [Mceunt Maidens. 
 
 I wiU but add 
 One flower which Euy gave me. [Takes a white flower 
 from a vase and places it in her hair : then, comes down. 
 
 Dear, dear Ruy! 
 How I do love him ! Love him 1 Poor Ferrar, 
 He has almost shut thee out from this weak heart 
 Where thou once stood'st a god. All loves I have lov'd. 
 To father, mother, to my childhood's friends. 
 All seem concentred and made one in him, 
 All but thy share, Ferrar, and that made less. 
 Yet him I yet Ruy ! If my whole heart's strength 
 Could at a wish swell out a thousand fold, 
 'T were not enough for him. What did he see 
 To admire in such as I ? I am too small 
 In the world's eyes, in all eyes but Ferrar's, 
 For one like him. Q-od, make me grow more fit; 
 Let me catch some reflection from his brightness. 
 Inbreathe some essence of his great heart's worth. 
 To make me more his mate. What there shall lack 
 
ACT III. SO. 2. 211 
 
 I must make up in duty and in devotion, 
 Serving him as the angels worship God. 
 Will the time come when I shall worship not, 
 Or do as many, who with their wedding-robes 
 Put off their smiles, and by indifference lose 
 The prize of their heart's labor ? Not with me. 
 My soul would pine should Buy love me less, 
 But still I should love on. — Ere many minutes — 
 ( I wonder that El€na is not come. ) 
 
 Ere many minutes, the rites O my poor heart, 
 
 How shall I hush thy beatings ? But to think 
 
 I shall in a little while be his, be Euy's, 
 
 And all for life, and he be mine, mine only. 
 
 Nor any but me have any part in him ; 
 
 That I may be with him all alone, for hours. 
 
 Day after day, may gaze upon his face. 
 
 Nor be asham'd to tell him how I love ! 
 
 Then shall his broad breast shield me, and 'neath his arm, 
 
 As under its mother's wing the callow bird. 
 
 My heart sha,ll fear not. Then the King Ah me 1 
 
 The shadow comes again that Euy saw. 
 I was too happy. Who shall foretell the morrow ? 
 We go to sleep with the stars above us shining. 
 And wake to clouds and rain. 
 
 Enter the Friar and 
 
 the Alcalde Pedro ; afterwards^ 
 
 the two Maidens. 
 
 Is it the priest'? 
 
212 THE CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 But who is with him ? And where is Ruy then ? 
 My women ! and terrified ! my foreboding ! 
 Friar. Daughter, prepare for sorrow. 
 
 Alda. I am prepar'd. 
 Frighten me not too much. Let me sit down. 
 Friar. 'From Heaven flow out the springs of life and death. 
 Alda. [starting up.'] Is Ruy dead ? 
 
 Friar. No, daughter. 
 
 AUa. Is 't Ferrar? 
 Pedr. Sit again, Donya Alda. I am the Alcalde, 
 
 Pedro Loriguillo." A grievous crime 
 
 Alda. Keep me not tortur'd. Tell me all at once. 
 Pedr. [facing the door. 
 
 Bring in the body. 
 
 The Maidens go to the support of Alda, 
 
 ivho stands aghast. Miter Citizens with the corpse 
 
 of Ferrar, uncovered, on a hier, 
 
 his naked sword beside him. 
 
 Alda. Ferrar! Deadl Not a pulse ! 
 No breathing ! my brother ! [Kneels heside the body, 
 and hissing the face bends her own over it for some momenii. 
 All aronnd stand ivith various looks of sympathy, the 
 Citizen who 'was witness before the King appearing 
 discomposed. After this pause, Alda rises. 
 Warm ! and bloody ! 
 What means his unsheath'd sword ? He has been fighting. 
 Where was his friend, my husband ? where was Ruy ? 
 
ACT III. SC. 2. 213 
 
 "Where is he now ? What keeps him from me ? " 
 
 The Alcalde makes a sign, and the OiUzen-witness 
 
 opens the door, whereat he remains with evident trouble, while 
 
 Miter EuT, guarded. 
 
 Alda, seeing his position, stands as if stupefied, 
 
 till he speaks, which is after some moments, and with eyes down. 
 
 Buy. Alda, 
 Alda. Art thou the assassin ? 
 
 Ruy. I am. 
 
 Alda. What had he done ? 
 Ruy. Nothing to me : I loT'd him. 
 
 Alda. And he thee. 
 He would have given his life for thee. And thou 
 Hast taken his. Was it murder ? Or did ye fight ? 
 Ruj/. We fought. He was unwilling ; and I provok'd him. 
 Pedr. Take heed, Don Euy, nor speak against thyself. 
 Buy. What matters it? It is the truth. I sought 
 To slay him. 
 
 Alda. Yet lov'd him ? It is past belief. 
 Art thou gone wild ? 
 
 Buy. I am in my senses. I know 
 My duty, and I did it. Ask no more : 
 The seal is on my lips, nor shall be broken. 
 Alda. I shall grow mad myself. [Putting both hands to her 
 forehead. In so doing, she touches the flower, and 
 takes it out.\ This is the flower 
 Thou gav'st. I press'd it to my heart and lips 
 
214 THE CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 Before I plac'd it where I meant it should be 
 
 My only jewel. Now that my bridal is made 
 
 A funeral, I would lay it on the dead 
 
 But that thou gav'st it. So let it deck the dust. [Drops it. 
 
 This is my bridal robe, with one red spot 
 
 Taken from the wound thou mad'st. Thy eyes drop tears, 
 
 And make mine flow, which have been dry till now. 
 
 Will either cleanse that stain ? 
 
 Huy. My sword is dimm'd 
 With the like spot. They have taken it away, 
 
 [looking rownd. 
 Or I should bid thee turn its point on me, 
 Or do it for myself. 'T is only blood 
 Will wash out blood so taken. 
 
 Alda. Even ,so. 
 Therefore I hand thee over to the law, 
 For that blood's sake. Remove him. 
 
 Ruy. [raising his eyes to 
 her for the first time.} Alda ! 
 
 Alda. God ! 
 [sinks into the arms of her maidens. 
 
 Drop falls. 
 
Acrr rv. so. 1. 215 
 
 Act the Fouuth 
 
 Scene I. As in Act I. So. II. 
 
 The King. De Laea. 
 
 King. What can I do ? I cannot stretch the law, 
 Even for equity, while its servants hold 
 The meshes close, nor let aught out or in. 
 
 Luis. Has Tour Grace try'd the levers of self-love ; 
 The tongue of flattery and the bribes of place ? 
 The Northwind made the traveler draw his cloak 
 The closer for its blasts ; the subtil Sun 
 Piero'd serge and lining, and he cast it off. 
 
 King. It is that I have play'd the Sun, have tried 
 The tongue of flattery and the bribes of place. 
 That I am wilder'd. Ortiz gasps for me 
 In the law's net, nor can I draw him out 
 Except by rupture. Himself betrays me not; 
 And silence is his death before such judges. 
 One of thenj haply saw the deed perform' d. 
 The other tells me proudly to my teeth : 
 " The law hath more of majesty than kings : 
 The sceptre of a king may stretch o'er all, 
 Save Justice only ; for her throne is higher 
 
216 THE CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 Than all the mountains, and on its unseen top 
 The Spirit of Grod with never-folded wings 
 Hovers to form its cope." I should be proud, 
 That three such men as Euy and my Alcaldes 
 Honor one city ; yet their emulous worth 
 Makes me perplex'd of purpose. Thou Luis', 
 Who hast plung'd me into the pit, now lift me out. 
 
 Luis. 'T is not Airdn."' My lord may let the law 
 Pronounce on Ortiz : then his grace steps in, 
 Changing the death to exile. 
 
 King. With dishonor 
 To him who would not tarnish by a word. 
 Even for life's sake, mine. Wouldst thou then put 
 Thy King below his subject ? 
 
 Luis. Who, my lord, 
 Compell'd him to the assumption of the guilt? 
 I hear, the Alcalde warn'd him. 
 
 King. When too late ; 
 Thus giving substance to what else were void. 
 
 Luis. Since then the arrested has condemn'd himself, 
 Tour Majesty has but one choice, between 
 Ortiz' dishonor and your own ; and this 
 May not be thought of. 
 
 King. Ah, behold, Luis', 
 The well thou hast plung'd me into. 
 
 Enter Usher. 
 
 Speak, Varalba. 
 Ush. May it please Your Majesty, the lady Alda 
 
ACT IV. SC. I. 21V 
 
 Montoya, witli two maidens, craves access 
 To my lord the King. 
 
 King. Admit the lady, but not 
 Her servants ; or no, ( that were not safe for me ) 
 
 \aside to Luii. 
 Let them in also. [JSxit Usher. 
 
 Luis. Suffer me withdraw. 
 King. But to return. 
 
 Enter Alda 
 
 with her Maidens, who remain at the door. 
 
 She wears only the temporary mourning of a black mamtle, 
 
 and a long crape vail falling on both sides of her 
 
 head." De Lara, in passing, salutes 
 
 her formally, but is not noticed, and Mdt, 
 
 Bend not the knee to me, 
 Fair Donya Alda. Rather I should kneel. 
 Were worth and beauty worship'd, as behooves. 
 Alda. My lord, I have left the body of my brother 
 Scarcely yet cold. 
 
 King. Forgive, that in the sun 
 I reck'd not of the shadow. What can I do 
 To stead you, Donya Alda ? 
 
 Alda. Let my lord 
 Have patience with his servant, while she speaks. 
 My brother is yet unbury'd, but the people 
 Already talk of rescue for — for him 
 Who was his murderer, whose great popular name 
 Stands in the light of justice, and by its bulk 
 Vol. TI.— 10 
 
218 THE CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 Shuts out the law. If this is so or not, 
 If — he who slew him, has had cause or not, 
 I know not, but shall know. To me belongs. 
 Who am sole of his name, to avenge my brother's death. 
 I pray my King will not then with the law. 
 Always uncertain and most often slow. 
 Leave the assassin, but give him unto me." 
 King. What wouldst thou do, lady ? 
 
 Alda. What is fit. 
 King. I can refuse thee nothing. Take this ring. 
 But 0, be merciful. 
 
 Alda. I shall be just. 
 King. For my sake ! 
 
 Alda. Was Tour Majesty then by. 
 Urging the assassin, when my brother fell, 
 Pierc'd by his stronger sword ? [King shows confusion. 
 King. There. As thou wilt. 
 
 Se extends his hand, which Alda, lifting it towa^ 
 her lips, bows over, hut does not kiss. 
 
 Thou shouldst breed heroes. When thy weeds are gone, 
 Some Rico-0'me^ shall be glad to take thee 
 Prom Sancho's hand. 
 
 Alda. I never now shall wed. — 
 With the King's leave. \_Exeunt Alda and Maidens, 
 and 
 
 Enter De Lara. 
 
 King. The knot is cut, Luis'. 
 
Acrr IV. sc. i. 210 
 
 What dost thou think she came for ? 
 
 Luis. To implore 
 Mercy for Euy. 
 
 King. That would scarce divide 
 The entangled cord. No, Donya Alda pray'd, 
 The assassin, ■whom she seem'd to fear to name, 
 Might be surrender'd to her. 
 
 Luis. Not for vengeance ? 
 King. What else ? Thou shouldst have seen her. Why, Luis', 
 She paragons Urraca.^' 
 
 Luis. Not in life. 
 King. That understood, or how had come this coil? 
 Even could .such win favor. No, I meant 
 In mettle. 'T was a tigress' eyes that glar'd 
 Under that mask of beauty. 
 
 Luis. And my lord 
 Surrender'd Euy ? 
 
 King. I gave my signet-ring. 
 Which lets her in his prison. Had she ask'd, 
 I should have given my poniard. Well for me. 
 That we were not alone ! Why look'st thou grave 1 
 Luis. The woman may o'ercome the sister. If mov'd 
 By love for Ruy, in vain the tigress' claw 
 Opens upon, her prey : the scent of blood 
 Fresh on his hand will vanish, and the fur 
 Covers the nails again. What then might pass 
 Between them, when the prisoner's mind is sooth'd 
 And weaken'd to confession ! It may be 
 She goes to him to entice it. 
 
220 THE CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 King. Thou forgett'st 
 She has had no time for thought. And saw I not 
 The fire in her eyes ? no flickering glare, 
 But steady and wrath-kindled. 
 
 Imis. Will my lord 
 Have me forgiven, if I dare suspect 
 That fire of wrathful purpose threw its light 
 On its true object ? 
 
 King. Which it would consume ? 
 Meaning ourself, ha ? 
 
 Luis. With my lord's forbearance. 
 I fear she has stumbled on the hidden spring 
 Of Ortiz' deed and dumbness, and now seeks 
 To lay it open. 
 
 King. That should be thyself, 
 Who didst suggest the deed, though thou meant'st us. 
 For whose sake he is dumb. I heard her speak, 
 And know she has no thought beyond revenge. 
 Besides, it is too late. 
 
 Luis. She cannot yet 
 Have reach'd the Castle." 
 
 Kiifig. What then ! the lady bears 
 Our signet. Shall I call it back ? the King I 
 Not for a thousand fears. And these are vain. 
 Thou look'st perturb'd. What though the fact were told, 
 The deed was just, and traitors may be crush'd 
 By the King's heel, where law suspends her sword 
 Over their necks too long. Let Ortiz speak, 
 'T is but a short-liv'd shame, and throws me off 
 
ACT IV. SC. 2. 221 
 
 My burden of gratitude, should his throat escape 
 The tigress' blood-clutch. 
 
 Luis. May it prove no worse. — 
 Commands my lord no further ? 
 
 King. Learn for me 
 What rumors stir the town. Then come again. 
 
 De Lara retiring, 
 
 with an anxei-ous looh,^ as the 
 
 Scene closes. 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 A prison in the Castle of Triana." 
 
 EuY is seen 
 
 walh'ng to and fro, with arms folded and head deject. 
 
 He pauses, and comes down. 
 
 Buy. I will not think it. 'T was the King that spake. 
 Would the King lie ? It may be that Ferrar 
 Believ'd Alfonso's rights by natural claim 
 Better than are the King's, and, so believing 
 Gave secret aid No, that were not Ferrar I 
 
222 THE CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 He was too fiery-open so to burrow, 
 In any cause ; he would have taken the risk, 
 Grone back to his Castile, and hke a man 
 Fought for the cause he favor'd." It must be 
 The King was misinform'd. But outrage, — insult, — 
 To his very heard I at his house's gate ! The King 
 Would not inyent such baseness. I have done 
 A liegeman's duty. But at what a cost I 
 Slain my heart's friend, and lost my heart's peace ever, 
 With thee, poor Alda ! Poor indeed ! Ferrar 
 Thought of thee thus, as Ufe went out. — That haste 
 To have thee married, and thy shadow'd mien. 
 My thoughts still end in this : that haste — that haste. 
 He long'd to have my arm — a husbancCs arm, 
 About her thrown : he had had a hideous dream : 
 And Alda too : outrage and bloodshed, and a hridgeless gtilf 
 Between us two. Alas ! the blood is shed ; 
 And the gulf, what shall span it ! Then his words : 
 " Dishonor, ruin, and the Devil in Paradise, 
 And two souls blasted by a serpent's guile." 
 Why this has come : dishonor and ruin ; and our two- 
 fold soul, 
 
 Or his and hers Who play'd the Serpent then ? 
 
 One high in place. I do remember now : 
 Ferrar dislik'd Luis' de Lara's visits ; 
 
 And she [A noise at the door. His looks up, and, see- 
 ing Alda, at first with joy : 
 Herself! [Then sadly, but still to himself: 
 The moon unto my prison, — 
 
ACT IV. SO. 2. 223 
 
 But in eclipse myself have caus'd. 
 
 Enter Alda. 
 
 Alda ! [ciloud, as she 
 approaches. 
 
 Alda. No nearei'. 
 
 Ruy. No, I meant not. "With these hands 
 
 Seom me not, Alda! 
 
 AMa. Does this look like scorn ? 
 I hated thee — I thought so — till I came : 
 Now I behold thee, even my brother's blood 
 Cries out in vain, and thou art Euy still. 
 But no, my brother, who lov'd thee, sent me hither. 
 Hear. I was on my knees beside his bier. 
 My face was on his breast, and my wrist touch'd 
 The cross hilt of his sword, which lay beside him. 
 Then, of a sudden, it seem'd I heard his voice. 
 Which whisper'd : " Treachery. Ruy will tell all." 
 A light shone in me, and made clear my path. 
 I rose, as if inspir'd, and as I rose 
 One of my maids came in. She had pass'd the crowd. 
 Which still bethrongs our door, and heard them say 
 Thou wouldst not suffer ; for one was there, maintain'd 
 Thou hadst pleaded duty, and he knew thy sword 
 Was not drawn willingly. Then I too recall'd 
 Thy words, and hasten'd to the King ; thence hither, 
 To free thee. 
 
 Ruy. Not to frpe me. In the law 
 Alone, is death or freedom. 
 
 Alda. In the law 
 
224 THE CIl) OF SEVILLB 
 
 Is death. The Alcaldes are determin'd. Think 
 The people what they may, thy great renown 
 Will not redeem thee, save thou shalt speak out 
 And prove thy innocence, as I feel thou canst. 
 
 Ruy. My innocence ? Yet I slew him. 
 
 Alda. Not of hate ; 
 For he had honor'd, had lov'd thee, past all count. 
 In sudden ire ? 
 
 Ruy. Oh no I 
 
 Alda. For what cause, then ? 
 
 Rwy. Ask not. I have said, a seal is on my lips. 
 
 The power that plao'd it there alone can break it. 
 
 A Ida. That power then is above thee. 'T is the King. 
 Thou art the victim of thy simple faith 
 And o'erstrain'd loyalty, Either of himself, 
 Or mov'd to it by some villain's arts, the King 
 Drove thee to crime, that thou and poor Ferrar 
 Might not be in his way. Art thou still dumb ? 
 
 Rvy. Touch not the King, Alda I ■ Of himself 
 
 Never Don Sancho {^Stxips abruptly. 
 
 Make me not untrue : 
 Not even for thee should faith be broken. Enough, 
 There was need Ferrar should die. I would have laid 
 My life down for him else. 
 
 Alda. Know I not that ? 
 Had I not known it, think'st thou I were here ? 
 Here for the purpose which has brought me hither ? 
 Listen, unhappy. Oftentimes the King 
 Sought, by high promise, flattery, office, wealth, 
 
ACT IV. SO. 2. 225 
 
 All which Ferrar disdain'd, to bring him over 
 To his own shame and mine. — 
 
 Rtiy. That cannot be. 
 Our lord has honor for his virtuous spouse, 
 The mother of his children.** 
 
 Alda. As he had 
 For his illustrious sire, and Absalom 
 May err where David stray'd with meaner kings."" 
 
 Must I pursue ? Last night Recall the gloom, 
 
 Which scarce an hour now gone 
 
 Buy. Ay me 1 Grod ! 
 That was thy vision ! 
 
 Alda. I had none, nor he. 
 Each took that way to symbol to thy thoughts 
 What neither durst reveal. 
 
 Ruy. I had divin'd it, 
 Even as thou enter'dst. But I deem'd, another 
 
 It was that not he — not our Oh, oh, God I 
 
 Alda. Tears again, Ruy ? on those bold mans-cheeks ? 
 I may not kiss them oflf, as late I thought 
 'T would be my right to do for all thy tears. 
 Dry them with indignation. Keep'st thou faith 
 For such a king ? 
 
 Ruy. For any king. My faith 
 Is perfect in itself and self-sustain'd, 
 Not chang'd by others' un-faith, nor my word 
 Null'd by their undeserving. 
 
 Alda. But thy life ? 
 Can it be safe with such ? Thou art free to go ; 
 10* 
 
22(J TUB CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 Free by my act, not his. 'T is Alda saves thee, 
 The sister of thy victim, who through me 
 Pardons and pleads with thee to go, for me. 
 Ruy. 'T were to dishonor. Life were nothing worth. 
 My good name gone forever. Here I bide, 
 Till I be call'd to acquittal or to death. 
 Alda. 'T will be to death. Think'st thou thy lord will save 
 
 thee? 
 Rv/y. If it be his wiU. 
 
 Alda. If it be Who was that other 
 
 Thou saidst thou thought'st of? 
 
 Ruy. Don Luis' &onza'lez. 
 J.Z(fo. Lui.s' Gronza'lez ! 'T wa-s well thought. Twice traitor; 
 
 To his king, to his lady. It was he that came 
 
 This day high words pass'd 'twixt Ferrar and him. — 
 No, touch me not! [as, in his emotion, Ruy appears about 
 to grasp her wrist.l "What makes thee turn so pale ? 
 
 Ruy. Why, it was he ! 
 
 Alda. Thou wilt not then speak out ? 
 Thou need'st not. Spirit of my dead Ferrar, 
 Thou didst well prompt me ! Thou shalt be aveng'd 
 Of thy true murderer, and before thy gore 
 Is fully dried. Wo, Ruy, to us both. 
 Who are the living victims, of the three I 
 He is least unhappy. Bide here, since thou wilt, 
 Mute and devoted : I go to do my duty. [Turns to the door, 
 while Ruy stands motionless ; and the 
 
 Dropfidls. 
 
ACT V. SO. 1. 22? 
 
 Act the Fifth 
 
 Scene. As m Act J. iSc. II. 
 
 The King. De Lara. 
 
 King. This thou hast heard ? 
 
 Iflds. It is the common talk. 
 
 Kituj. And the stout knight prefers liis prison-wall, 
 
 With Death at the window ? nor betrays by word, 
 
 Or sign, his spring of action ? 'T is my Cid I *° 
 
 He brings the King to himself. My tongue shall speak. 
 
 Jms. [in alarm. 
 
 Beware I ( Forgive, my lord, my warmth ! ) No good 
 Can come of this generous frankness. 'T will be still 
 Pardon at most for Euy, or change from death 
 To honorable exile, while the evil 
 Of giving life to the Infante's claims, 
 Even here, where toil'd my uncle for your sake " 
 To bury them out of sight, and, let me add. 
 The shame to my lord of baring to the gaze 
 Of popular mistrust his secret act. 
 
 Sure of harsh misconstruction 
 
 King. By St. James ! 
 'T was thine own act ; and thine will be the fault 
 
228 THE CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 If 't be misconstru'd. Bring thy evidence out, 
 And show the dogs his treason. 
 
 Imis. Even then, 
 My lord would find, to stir the half-quench'd fires 
 Of popular discontent, at all times smouldering 
 Somewhere beneath their ashes, and to stoop 
 The ermine of his pride to violent chafe 
 Of vulgar hands, were detriments no thought 
 Of generous right to Ortiz could repay. 
 King. Thou art a graceless counselor, Luis', 
 
 To warp thy King from good ; and much I doubt 
 Thou art pleading from thy fears. 
 
 Enter Usher. 
 
 Varalba, well ? 
 Ush. May it please my lord the King, the two Alcaldes, 
 Don Pedro Loriguillo and Don Diego 
 Alfonso de Eibilla : with whom come 
 A brother of St. Francis, and, besides, 
 Don Ruy Ortiz, under guard. They are here 
 By my lord's summons. 
 
 King. By our summons, ha I 
 We g.ave none. And for what ? 
 
 Ush. They pray 
 For audience. Likewise, hath return'd the lady 
 Alda Montoya, with her maidens. 
 
 King. Give them 
 Instant admission all. [Exit Ush. 
 
 I could have wish'd 
 
ACT V. sc. 1. 229 
 
 For nothing better. Notv, this coil of care 
 Shall be at once unwound, come good or ill. 
 
 Enter 
 
 The two Alcaldes; Euy, witlwut the guard; 
 
 and the Fbanoiscan. Then, Alda, 
 
 without her Maidens. 
 
 What have to say our well-esteem' d Alcaldes ? 
 PedA-. The King has summon'd us. — 
 
 King. No. But let that pass. 
 
 We are glad that you are come. What would you say ? 
 Pedr. 'T is our grave duty to complain, my lord. 
 
 Of slight to our office, and intended wrong 
 
 To the law, whose majesty. we represent. 
 
 The AloSyde,*^ reverencing Your Highness' signet, 
 
 G-ave Donya Alda entrance to the prison, 
 
 Who thereupon would break Don Euy's chains. 
 
 This she avow'd. Was it then your rO^al order ? 
 King. Not to release him. Did she do so ? 
 
 Pedr. No, 
 
 The prisoner refus'd to flee. 
 
 King. Behold 
 
 The enforcement of onr plea. We have sought of both 
 
 Forbearance for Don Ruy. Now of both 
 
 We ask for absolute justice. Would a man. 
 
 Conscious of crime deserving deatli by law, 
 
 Choose to abide the sentence of the law. 
 
 His prison-house set open ? Free him, then. 
 Pedr. My lord, the act was recent. Justice waits 
 
230 THE CID OF SEVILLE 
 
 To give a patient hearing. I myselt^ 
 Likewise this holy friar, and many more 
 Saw the completion of the deed. 
 
 King. 'T was then 
 Without concealment. Murder is not done 
 I' the sunlight before witnesses. 
 
 Pedr. The King 
 Will suffer me again. The intent to kill, 
 Put into action, makes at all times murder, 
 Where neither warfare, nor the law's behest. 
 Nor the King's service sanctions or exacts it. 
 In my own hearing, and of the friar here, 
 And others, in presence of the newly slain 
 
 And his wrong'd sister 
 
 King. See ! thou mak'st her weep. 
 Pedr. The eyes of Justice, blind to outward things 
 That would distract her judgment, see no tears. 
 Her ears are shut to suffering and the appeal 
 Of simple pity. — This the prisoner said : 
 His victim fought unwilling, and he provok'd him, 
 Meaning to slay. 
 
 King. But not without a cause. 
 Don Ruy Ortiz is not mad. He stands 
 High among men for sense as well as valor. 
 What did ho plead, then ? 
 
 Pedr. Vaguely, this alone : 
 He knew his duty, and did it. 
 
 King, {turning to Ruy!\ la this true ? 
 Speak, Ruy Ortiz. 
 
ACT V. SC. 1. 23 J 
 
 Ruy. I repeat, my lord : 
 My duty I did, and I have kept my faith. 
 
 King. Seest thou, Don Pedro ? seest thou, Don Diego ? 
 This killing had some cause. Behold, 't is Ortiz, 
 Foremost of all men in our people's hearts. 
 Who know his valor and his love of truth. 
 And honor him therefore, as I do. Is 't likely, 
 A man of such repute, our Seville Cid, 
 Would set upon his friend, his lady's brother, 
 And kill him without cause ? Himself hath said, 
 He did therein his duty. What means that ? 
 Don Euy is known to us our loyalest knight ; 
 His duty was to his king ; and, for some cause 
 Which duty to his king would keep conceal'd. 
 Has for his king, in sudden, secret need. 
 Done this bold action. It can not be else. 
 Therefore we pray you, honoring you ourselves, 
 To find it right to free him for our sake. 
 
 Dieg. The King has done us honor. We aspire 
 To show ourselves deserving of that honor, 
 Refusing at his request to strangle justice 
 And bind the hands of law. If it is his will. 
 My lord may free the prisoner ; but, that done^ 
 We give to his hands again our lofty function. 
 We cannot keep the body, its hfe once out ; 
 And this the Sovereign will have taken away. 
 Let us inearth the corpse. 
 
 King. 'T is nobly said. 
 But has that function fully been discharg'd ? 
 
232 IHE CID OP SEVILLE 
 
 Did you bid search the prisoner ? 
 
 Dieg. No, my lord. 
 The crime has just been done, the guilty doer 
 Scarcely committed to abide the law, 
 ■Por which we were preparing when hurry'd hither. 
 King. Then, search him now. But no, the knight we honor 
 Should not be so abas'd. Don Euy Ortiz, 
 What bear'st thou with thee that regards this crime ? 
 Ruy. Only one paper. 
 
 E3,ng. Let it be surrender' d. 
 Ruy. My lord commands. {Bowing over it, he is ahout to Iring 
 
 it to the King!^^ 
 King. No, not to me, — the Alcaldes. 
 Pedr. A letter from Your Highness. 
 
 King. Eead aloud. 
 Pedr. [reading. 
 
 " To punish treason, and for offences given 
 Mortal unto our honor, we have chosen 
 And hereby order our valiant and true servant, 
 The cavaHer Don Ruy Ortiz, to slay. 
 By open assault or otherwise, wherever 
 He shall be first encounter' d, Don Ferrar 
 Montoya, cavalier, and for the same 
 Command all judges, officers and servants 
 Of justice, in this our faithful town of Seville, 
 To have him free and protected. 
 
 I the King." " 
 The law resigns the prisoner. 
 
 Dieg. And acquits. 
 
ACT T. SO. 1. 233 
 
 King. What ! feel'st thoii, Donya-Alda, no surprise, 
 Nor pain ? 
 
 AUa. My lord, the facts, though not tlie paper, 
 Were Isnown to me before. Will it please the Zing 
 To let me speak ? I sought to free Don Euy. 
 Why not? his was the weapon, not the crime. 
 But strong in his pure heart he would not yield. 
 Unwilling to ransom even life itself 
 At cost of shame. Your Majesty will pardon. 
 If, seeing this, and well assur'd the law 
 Would have no pity, I avail'd myself 
 Of what I now restore, \retwrnmg the signet. 
 
 to summon hither 
 Don Euy and the Alcaldes. 
 
 King. We are bounden 
 To Donya Alda, — ouraelf, and all around. 
 AUa. I had found a plot against the royal honor 
 And my poor brother's life. ( Let Don Luis' 
 Remain, my lord. ) 
 
 JKing. Nor he, nor any here. 
 Shall leave till I command. 
 
 Alda. W'nen Don Luis', 
 Time after time, came to my brother's house. 
 To court me in another's suit, his faith 
 To him alike and his own betroth'd forgotten. 
 He woo'd but for himself 
 
 King, [turning rapidly to De La/ra, 
 and half-raising his sheathed sword, with his right hand 
 on the hilt.] I see the lie 
 
234 THE CID OP SEVILLE 
 
 Work in the traitor's face. Proceed. 
 
 Alda. This day 
 Met 'neath the Alcazar's roof, my brother told him 
 Sharply his mind. 
 
 King. Yes, yes I 'Fore God ! 
 
 Alda. A man 
 Who had sought me at the house, and trac'd me thence 
 To the Castle gate, and waited at the bridge " 
 My coming-out, compunction-mov'd, avow'd 
 He had taken a bribe to swear against Perrar, 
 Not knowing 't would touch his life. He waits without. 
 There stands his employer. 
 
 King. I know it. Let the wretch 
 Be brought in to confront him. 
 
 Luis. It needs not. 
 Lust and revenge have push'd me to this crime. 
 
 King. Hear'st thou, Don Ruy ? If thou cutt'st him down, 
 It will not anger me, even on this floor. 
 I '11 lend my sword to do it. But no, thy looks 
 Are sharper, and a brave man's death fits not 
 Traitors like that. Ho I drag him to the block. 
 
 Ruy. My lord ! permit me. Let the miscreant live. 
 Will his death fill again the veins he has open'd ? 
 Make whole the hearts he has wounded and made twain ? 
 Stain to thy name ! look on that vail and mantle : 
 There is a deeper mourning in my heart : 
 And all of thee, to whom I ne'er did harm. 
 
 King. I render him to your justice, grave Alcaldes. 
 This time, the King's ring will not come between. 
 
ACT V. SC. 1. 235 
 
 GrtTAEDS enter, and De Lara unbuckles his sword. 
 
 Lady, forgive me : I can say no more. 
 But pardon him also, who is scarce more guilty 
 Than by an accident had he slain Ferrar. 
 Let the King see you take him by the hand. 
 Or hope one day to do it. 
 
 Alda. Not now, nor ever. 
 My lord, my brother's body is scarce cold. 
 Let me return to it. When the rites are over, 
 I shall withdraw for dver from the world. 
 The bride of Christ alone. 
 
 King. And thou, my Cid ? 
 Rvy. She is right, my lord. The blood-spot on my hand 
 Will never off. For that upon my sword, 
 Let the Moor cleanse it. 
 
 King. Be it to thy wish. 
 Thou shalt to the frontier, to our valiant Captain, 
 Perez de Gruzman." 
 Ruy. [bowing to retire.] With your Highness' leave. 
 Aldai — Forgive me. 
 
 Alda. God be with thee, Ruy. 
 Bvy. And thee for ever, Alda. 
 
 Alda. G-o in peace. 
 
 Curtain falls. 
 
NOTES TO THE CID OF SEVILLE. 
 
 1. — p. 187. Aiid let these dainty walls, etc] Seville was first 
 taken possession of by St. Ferdinand (grandfather of Sanoho IV. ) 
 less than fifty years before this period. The delicate ornaments 
 ■with which, in the peculiar taste of the Moorish people, the walls 
 of the Alcazar were profusely decorated, and of which traces still 
 remain, may be supposed to hare been intact. See Conca — Sescriz. 
 Odeporica delta Spa^a ( Parma, 1795, in 8°. ) Tom. III. p. 259, sqq. : 
 Cuendia — Spanien und die Spanier (Briissel u. Leipz. 8°. 1849) s. 
 335. The Alcazar was built by the Moorish king Abdalasis sixty- 
 seven years before the occupation of Seville by the Christians. Ar. 
 de Tarflora — Compend. Hist. Descrip. de SeoiUa ( Sev. 1790, in 8°. ) 
 p. h. See ib. p. 78. 
 
 In that excellent work. History of the Mdhommedcm Empire %n 
 (^ai?i(Lond. 1816, in 4to. ), one of the four principal characteris- 
 tics of Arabian architecture is made to be : " The prodigious quan- 
 tity of ornaments either in relief or in areua,, the composition of 
 which is extremely varied." 
 
 2. — P. 189. By a traitor's stroke Tow royal foresvre feU, when 
 off his jpttard.] Sancho III., under the walla of Zamora, by the 
 hand of Tellido Dolfos. . . " estando descuidado y sin recelo do 
 
238 NOTES TO 
 
 Bomejante trayoion, Vellido Dolfoa le tiro un venable que traia en la 
 mano, con que le paso el cuerpo de parte 6, parte " . . Maeiana. 
 Hist Gen. de Espana. lib. IX. c. ix. Tom. VI. (ed. de Sabau: 
 Madrid io 8°. 1818 ) p. 67. There i3 a particular applicability in the 
 example to Don Sancho IV. ; for the murdered king is said to have 
 declared, that he owed his fate to his filial disobedience and his 
 violation of his oath not to deprive his brothers of their dominions : 
 Jut. DE Castillo. Mist, de los Reyes Godos (Madr. in foL 1624. ) Lib. 
 IV. Disc. II. p. 203. 
 
 It is this treason which forms a main incident in the 2d Part of 
 Las Moeedades del Cid, — where we have the siege of Zamora, the 
 assassination of Sancho, the triple duel fought before the walls ( v. 
 Note 15, infra. ) and of which the Cid is umpire, and finally the 
 expurgation by oath of Alonso, as mentioned on p. 181 above 
 ( Pre/, to O. of 8. ) subnote a. 
 
 3. — P. 189. / dropp'd my sword, hvi told him thai he lied, For 
 never king would sloop to act so hase.'] This is borrowed from Sancho 
 Ortiz, where the King, in that fine passage I'have cited on p. 155 
 ( Pref. ) Oige quien soy, &a., .tells to Arias what here Perrar relates 
 to the King, and what in the EstreVa is directly said by Busto to 
 the King in their encounter at the former's door. 
 
 4. — P. 189. In the name of King, Though falsely worn —'] Don 
 Perrar, speaking but a generality, and applying it to the event he 
 mentions, does not allude to the King's rebellion when Infante, nor 
 yet to his actual usurpation of the rights of his brother's son, 
 although Don Sancho, conscience-smitten, so interprets him. 
 
 In the sentiment itself there may seem to be an imitation of Lope's 
 "Que un vasallo estd, &a.," cited on p. 162. But my piece was 
 completed and copied before I met with the Estrella. 
 
 5. — P. 191. — as lie had thrown already At the Alcazar's gate, 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 23R 
 
 etc.] Thia incident is from Sancho Ortiz, where it is well related 
 by the King to Arias : 
 
 *' Del alcdzar & la puerta, 
 Ya supiste que hoy estaba 
 La desventurada esclava 
 Con trcs pnflaladas muerta." 
 
 In La Estrdla, as I have shown, the King and Arias find the un- 
 fortunate hanging. See, back, p. 163. .Bjwto tells his sister that he 
 inflicted the punishment himself: 
 
 , . . "camino 
 Al alcazar, y en sus rejas 
 La colgn6 por 8u delito." 
 
 This would have been a difficult act, at the window of any. house ; 
 but it passes probability as alleged to haye occurred at the palace. 
 The transaction, as related by Trigueros, is, though audacious and 
 dangerous, yet within the bounds of verisimilitude. 
 
 6. — P. 192. — aTid moral texts Gome handier still to me than 
 thee.] Sancho IV". wrote a book of admonition and instruction for 
 the use of his son and successor. Some extracts from its chapters 
 are gathered, we are told, iu Castro's collection, T. II. pp. 125-729. 
 See Ticknor's Sp. Ut. I. 55. ( Bost. ed. ) note. 
 
 1. — P. 192. When King Rodrigo In the locKd tower belield the 
 arroyfd Moor And redd the warning — ] After Roderio had set 
 aside the children of Witiza ( v. infra, Note 10. ) and caused his 
 own election as sovereign, he made Toledo his capital. There was 
 there, the story runs, a house that had been shut for ages and was 
 forbidden to be opened. Whenever a king was crowned the cus- 
 todians of the house asked him for a lock, and added it to all the 
 others. Roderic refused to give one and removing those that were 
 already there, entered in the hope of finding treasure. But he saw 
 within nothing but a single chest also locked, on opening which 
 
240 NOTKS TO 
 
 there appeared the hkeness of an Arab * equipped for battle, and 
 an inscription intimating that when the locks should be removed, 
 etc., a figure like that would enter Spain, subdue it and possess it. 
 This account, which purports to be after the Arabian historians, is 
 given in the History of the Mahom. Empwe in Spain already cited, 
 p. 55 sq. 
 
 The fable, which is probably of Arabic invention, is found with 
 much amplification of imaginative detail in Julian del Castillo, Hist, 
 &a. as above, Lib. YI. Disc. xi. p. 113. After describing the site^ 
 aud so forth, of the enchanted tower ^ about a mile from Toledo, he 
 proceeds thus in very good style : 
 
 . . " y abaxo en una mny linda quadra della estava una estatoa de bronce de 
 grande fiereza y estatura, con una maza de armas en las manos, con la qnal heriti 
 al snelo cruehnente, dando en el muy grandes golpes, y moviendo el ayre causava 
 grandissimo estruendo." — The king enters ; and, in the middle of the night 
 affcenvard ( which by the by is anticipatory, and out of the order of the Arabic 
 original) were heard "grandes vozes y alaridos, que parecia genero de batalla : y 
 estremeciendose toda aquella tierra, con un bravo estruendo se hundio todo el 
 eJificio de la torre." — The tower had many locks ; for it was common fame thai 
 the king who should open it would min Spain : wherefore, instead of opening it, 
 each successive monarch added a lock. But Boderic, etc. . . *' y en medio della 
 un herraoso pilar, y una area arrimada a el, y en el pilar unas letras Griegas, por 
 donde se entiende ser el encatamento de Hercules el Griego Alcides Thebano, y 
 dezian las letras bueltas en nuestra lingua : Qnien esta area abriese, maraviUas 
 hallarA." Eoderic opens the chest . . "y halld dentra della un lienzo cogido 
 entre dos tablas, y descogiole, y parecieron en el pintadas muchas figuras de 
 hombres a cavallo, de vista y semblantes fieros, espantables, vestidos de muchas 
 colores, y todos a la manera que andan los Alarabes, con espadas y ballestas en las 
 maaoB, y vanderas y pendones alzados de diversas invenciones y pinturas, y 
 cncima de las pinturas avia otras letras Griegas, que bueltas en lengua Castellana 
 dexian : Quien eate lienzo estendiere^ perdera las Esiianas^ y gariarlas han tales 
 gentea cqmo en el estan pintados.'''' They shut up the tower, when behold, in 
 Bight of the King and all who were with him, an eagle desoended with a brand of 
 
 * The Arabian historians tell us that the army of T&rik was "almost wholly 
 composed of Barbars [any other people than mere Arabians, and particularly 
 those of Barbary,] but very few Arabs being among them." STu/t. MaJtomm. 
 Emp. in Sp. as above, p. 59, note. This also is the popular notion ; and conse- 
 quently, I have used in the text "arrowed 3/bw", as more directly intoUigiblo 
 than " plctur'd chief " or " Arab chief ", whioh were among the readings. 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 241 
 
 fli-o in bis beak and placed it at the loot of the tower, "yaleando ihiei-tamente 
 con sua alas la encendio en Tivas llamas, y se qnemd al pmito, sin queJar scflal 
 della mas de las cenizas : y luego se levant6 un gran vlento que las Ilov6 por 
 nrnchas partes de Espafia, y doude caian se convertian en sangre." pp. 113. 114. 
 
 The writer goes on to tell us, with admirable simplicity, that the 
 prediction would seem a fable, if it was not known that, besides 
 Hercules, many persons and some saints had prognosticated the same, 
 and that Merlin also foretold that Spain would he destroyed by the 
 Arabians ; and the Venerable Bede likewise said it, and St. Jsidme 
 and otiiers. p. 115. He does not decide himself,/or though the stars, 
 planets, etc. etc. 
 
 There is another detailed account of the wonders of the enchanted 
 palace of Hercules in Lozaiio : Reyes Moros de Toledo ( Madr. 4to. 
 161i) p. 9, sqq. But I have only glanced over it. — Mariana tells 
 the story, but more briefly, and without- so much of marvel in the 
 detail: Hist. ffm. ed. c. IV. p.32'7. — The same narrative, mainly, 
 as that of Castillo, with even in part the very language he uses, 
 will be found in a translation of the Arabian historian Abulcacim 
 Tarif hy M. de Luna, under the title : Hist. Verdadsra del Hey Don 
 Bodrigo (Keiiv. sm. 4to. 1676.) c. VI. p. 24. But the opening of 
 the enchanted lower is made to have taken place after Eoderio heard 
 the news of the disembarkation of TSrik and Coimt Julian, in his 
 hope to find therein treasure to support the coming conflict. The 
 romantic conclusion of the eagle, which fanned into flame the en- 
 kindled tower, and of the great wind that arose immediately after 
 the tower was destroyed and carried to many parts of Spain the 
 ashes, which as they fell were turned to blood, is not there. It 
 may have been, for aught I know, the invention of Archbishop 
 Rodrigo, and is a good one whoever was the author. 
 
 8.— P. 193. The emerald had been broken all the same.] The story 
 of Florinda, surnamed La Cava, discredited ( I think on insufficient 
 grounds ) by the editor of Mariana, and by others, is one of the 
 Vol. II.— 11 
 
242 KOTES TO 
 
 most familiar iu history. According to the account in Bleda 
 ( Gronica de los Moros en Espcma — 1618, in fol. — p. 127, ) the girl 
 informed her father of her misfortune figuratively by an emerald 
 ring, which, she said, as it lay uncared for, the king's svford ( tuck — 
 " estoque " ) split iu two, dividing the green stone. 
 
 ^'La Kcyna . . . criava en su caea. por bub damas . . . las hijas de los xnrinci- 
 pales del reyno. Era muy hermosa etitre ellas una hija del Conde llamada 
 Florinda, y por mal nombre la Ilamaron la Cava. — ... Cometio el Rey el adnl- 
 terio, seg-iin Vasco, en Pancorvo villa cerca de Cambria, en la provincia que agora 
 Uaman Bureba cntre las ciudades de Burgos y Victoria, — . . Florinda . . de- 
 termino de escrivir a su padre ima carta, en la qual por circumloquios le die a 
 entender la desgracia que le avia acontecido con el Rey ; la qual carta dize assi. 
 * El gran deseo que me causa la ausencia de padre tan querido ( y con razon ) por 
 carecer de bu viftta, junto con mi soledad, me haze escrivir tan larga y enfadosa 
 carta : y avisando de mia nueva, harto nueva para mi, aunque vieja en Espalia, 
 entre muchas que ay dignas de memoria en este Palacio, sola esta contare por 
 mas notable, ni jamas acontecida a Bey : y es que teniendo yo esta sortija, que 
 va dentro desta carta, con esta engastada esmeralda, sobre una me?a Buelta y 
 descuydada ( joya de mi, y de los mios tan estimada, como es razon ) cayo sobre 
 eJla el estoque Real, y desgraciadamente la hizo dos pedazos, partiendo por medio 
 la verde piedra, sin ser yo parte de remedialla.' " v 
 
 Mariana, who gives no other name throughout than Cava, makes 
 the king to have become enamored in somewhat of the same fashion 
 as David of Bathshebah. He makes the letter to Count Julian tell 
 without conceabaent, though with sufficient delicacy, the outrage 
 done her. Hist Gen. de Esp. ( Sabau ) T. iv. pp. 314, 315. A note 
 in this edition says : 
 
 " Todo lo que Mariana refiere en esto capitulo debe reputarse por f&bula pues 
 las Oronicones de Isidore, de Dulcidio, el Emilianense y el del Rey D. Alonso, que 
 son los mas antiguos, no hablan una palabra ni de la Cava ni del Conde D. 
 Julian." 
 
 Setting aside the fable of the " palacio encantado " after " Arzo- 
 hispo T>. Rodrigo,'' which is probably, as I have said, an Arabic 
 invention, espanded and decorated or developed by the fancy of 
 various Spanish writers, this want in the Chronicles does not seem 
 to me sufficient to condemn the whole story of Bou Roderic and 
 Count Julian's daughter. Indeed, by a parity of reasoning, if we 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 243 
 
 are bound to reject as fabulous all that the chroniclers do not give 
 us, are we to accept as veritable all that they do ? I have no doubt 
 that there was some such affair, although whether the damsel was 
 dishonored against her will as well as in violation of the king's im- 
 plied trust, or yielded without resistance, is a point that will admit 
 of a twofold conjecture. It is to he hoped, if only for the romance 
 of the story, that the more charitable supposition is the truer. As 
 for the letter, it must be equally a fiction in Mariana and in Bleda ; 
 and the figure of the broken jewel is more agreeable, if not more 
 probable, and, allowing that concealment would be prudent as well 
 as decorous, is in better keeping with the rest of the narration.* 
 
 It must be acknowledged, however, that modem historians are 
 in general incredulous of the story as a whole, or of that part of it 
 which is connected with Morinda. Conde, ascribing the invasion 
 of the Arabs wholly to the dissatisfaction of the people, rejects the 
 name of JuUan entirely, and says : " Los nombres de la Caba, de su 
 doncella Alifa, y toda la s6rie de este cuento descuhre que fue ficcion 
 morisca, fundada en las hablillas y canciones vulgares que corrian 
 entre Moros y Crislianos." Hist de la Dmrdnaaon de las Ardbes en 
 Eap. Tom. I. ( Madr. 8°. 1820 ) c. viii. p. 25, mle. But from what 
 did these idle tales and popular songs arise ? Like the ballads and 
 romances of the Oid, they had a foundation. It seems to me, that 
 the mere dissatisfaction of the Christians with Eoderic [*.] could 
 not of itself lead to such a treachery ; nor do I find it alone In the 
 disappointed ambition of the sons of Witlza and the jealousy of the 
 chieftains. There needed to be some concentration such as was 
 afforded by the single yet terrible outrage done to Count Julian ; or 
 let it have been merely insulted jealousy, not even the dishonoring 
 of a wife, as some would have it, but the abstraction or appropria- 
 tion of a mistress; some personal and violent offence, I say, is 
 
 * The letter, as Bleda gives it, wlU be found almost word for word in the trans- 
 Intion, before-named, of Abuloacim, Cap. IV. p. 16. 
 
244 NOTES TO 
 
 needed beside the dissatisfactioa or the ambition which Don Julian 
 had in common with others, to account for his putting himself at 
 , the head of that fatal movement. But his name is omitted alto- 
 gether,* and one reads with surprise of a body of men, rather than 
 an individual, so despicably base, so irreflective, as to invite a 
 foreign people, of a faith hostile to their own, to take possession 
 of their kingdom. 
 
 M. Morey, in his able Eist. WEspagne ( Paris, 8°. 1839, ) Tom. in. 
 p. 29, note, says well, that the silence of contemporary chronicles as 
 to Julian does not decide anything against the testimony'of a great 
 number of Arabic authors who all speak of Julian. He might 
 have asked, how comes it that the Arabians themselves ascribe the 
 movement to revenge 1 It had been more to their credit, to have 
 given no other ground for the invasion than their own spirit of 
 valiant enterprise and the glory of carrying into new and nobler 
 realms the standard of their prophet, — that prophet who himself 
 enjoined the propagation of his faith at the edge of the sabre. 
 
 As for Julian, the French historian says ( ib. p. 30, ) lie was of the 
 family of thejons of Witiza, and that explains all. " 11 ne fit que ce 
 que firent les fils de Witiza et leur onde Oppas, miitropoUtain de 
 Seville. Pour relever leur famille, ils appel^rent les Sarrasius en 
 
 * Dozy ( liecherclies aur VHist. et la Litt. de TEsp. pendaM le 3foyen Age, 2d 
 ed. — Leyde 8". 1860 ) in an ingenious section (V. — Tom. I. p. 04, sqq. ) exam- 
 ine.s this question of Count Julian, and finds him named in Isidore as Urbanus, 
 which he considers an error of transcription for Julianuft, and, tammg the ea>- 
 ortus ( because of bad Latinity in the grammatical construction ) into ExarcJius^ 
 remarks : "nous voyons qu^un auteur beaucoup plus ancien que les chroniqueurs 
 arabes parle d6j& de Julien, ce qui met hors de doute Texisteuce de ce personnage, 
 et nous aixivons en outre k ce resultat, que Julien n"6fcait pas vassal on sajet du 
 roi Visigoth, comme on I'a cni, mais gouvemeur, pour Tempcreur de Constanti- 
 nople, do ce petit coin de TAfrique que les Arabes n'avaient pas encore an-achd 
 aux faibles successeurs de Constantin-le-grand, c^estft-dire de Ceuta et des lieu:r 
 circumvoisins." 
 
 On the treason of the sons of Witiza, v. ibt % VI. 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 245 
 
 quality d'auxiliaires, et demeur^rent enveloppes dans' la d^faite 
 commune." 
 
 I have not the least doubt niyself, that the Arabians had long 
 looked upon the Mediterranean coast of Spain with an eye to con- 
 quest,* and that the discontent of tho Grothic chieftains, the dis- 
 satisfaction of the people, thence arising and fanned by them, and 
 more than all the defeated ambition of the family of Witiza, includ- 
 ing its connections, among whom was Count Julian, were the indi- 
 rect causes of the invasion : they suggested it and rendered it 
 feasible. But the treasonous co-operation of the Christians, — if 
 we reject the actual inoitation ascribed to them by historians, who 
 make them, self-exiled on the Moorish shores, paint to the Mussul- 
 mans the riches of their native land and the ease with which it 
 might be conquered, — a treason so peculiarly repugnant under the 
 circumstances, so shortsighted as to be almost if not absolutely 
 blind to the plainest of the results which must inevitably follow, 
 how are we to explain this except by that which has often been the 
 spur to treason everywhere and is so still, the passion namely of 
 revenge, whether for insult, shght, or injury 7 And whence came 
 the woman ? The name Oava is shown by Lembke ( libi infra ) to 
 bo dearly an Arabic word signifying meretrix. She may have been, 
 as I have just suggested, a mistress of Julian's, and at all events 
 was looked upon by the Arabians vrith contempt. It does not 
 follow that because that tale of the bringing-up at the court 
 of Eoderic may be, or is, pure invention, the story in all its 
 parts is absolutely without a basis. — The acute historian last 
 mentioned, while admitting as an inciting cause personal hostility 
 on the part of Julian, argues as a matter of chronology tho unlikeli- 
 
 * In SBljnote p. 249, it will be seen that seventeen years before the battle ot 
 Xeres and the fall ol Ilodei-io, there was apprehension in Spain of an invasion 
 trom the neigliboring coast oJ Africa. In fact, this was inevitable, considering 
 the position of the two countries, and the power and warUke character of the 
 Saracen monarchs. 
 
246 NOTES TO 
 
 hood of such a crime (that ib, in the manner recorded) as is as- 
 cribed to Roderic: — 
 
 "Denn wenn Tloderich erpfc im Jahre 711 den Tlaron bestieg, wie war es dann 
 mOglicli, dass Julian in demselben Jahre nach Toletum ging, wieder zuruckkam, 
 Bich mit dem Musa in Verbindnng setzte, dass Ijetzerer an den Walirl schrieb, 
 dieser demselben antwortete, und dass dann endlich, wie nicht zu bezweifeln, die 
 Eroberiing noch in dasaelbe Jahr flel V Die Peindschaft zwischen Bodericb. und 
 Julian BChelnt also einen friiheren Ursprang gebalt zu haben und muss noch in 
 die Zeit Witizas falten, gegen welcheu Roderich vermutlich sich emporte." 
 Oeschichte v. Spanien ( Hamb. 8». 1831. ) Ir. Band. Ss. 257, 8. Aiim. 
 
 This, it will be seen, is no argument against the probabihty of the 
 wrong itself to Julian ( of whatever nature that might have been ), 
 but of its occurrence in the same year with the successful invasion 
 by the Mohammedans.* 
 
 I think it not improbable that the day will come when even Don 
 Roderic will be lightened of much of the abuse that through many 
 centuries has been laid upon him, heap affcer heap, but always of 
 one material. It appears likely to me that whereas the people were 
 happy under ihe lax and beneficent rule of Witiza ( see sequel to 
 
 * Ordinary historians do not make the conquest to have occurred till 713, or 
 even 714 ; and we find with some that the outrage islmputed to Witiza. Mariana 
 himself puts the battle in which Eoderic was routed in the y, 714. The note by 
 Sabau (IV. p. 325 ) corrects him thus : "El Marques de Mondexar prueba con 
 argumentos no despreciables, que la famosa batalla en que fu6 derrotado D. 
 Bodrigo se dii el dia 3 de Octubre del alio 711.*' The Arabic historians fix the 
 year also as 711 of our era, but they make the precise period two months earlier. 
 T. Moharmn. Emp. p. 61. The date of the imputed letter of Florinda is thus 
 given in the ffintoria Verdadera after Abolcacim : " de Toledo k tres de Diziem- 
 bre de la era de Cesar de setecientos y cinqnanta aflos:" in the nmrgin, "En- 
 tiendese este data 38 afios antes del nacimento de N. S." ; which would make it 
 therefore 712. 
 
 However, for the propriety of the allusion m the play, it is enough to remind 
 the reader, that the story of Julian comes down especially from the Chronicle of 
 Sakcho's own father, Alonso el Sahio. *' Debi6 de ser esta ofesa la de los amores 
 del Rey D. Rodrigo con la Caba, hija del Conde D. Julian, como se refiere en la 
 cr6nica general que mand6 escribir el Rey D. Alfonso el Sabio," Condo : p. dt n. 
 supra cit 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 247 
 
 next note ), they found in his successor, obliged to defend himself 
 against the jealousy and insubordination of his rivals and to crush 
 intrigues among his people, a sterner and less generous master. 
 Hence the occasion furnished Bishop Oppas and his coadjutors of 
 maligning him ; and if, besides, he made himself the object of per- 
 sonal hatred and revenge to one of the dethroned monarch's con- 
 ,. nections,* it is not tp be wondered at that one act of imprudent, or 
 say criminal, passion should come down to us multiplied into a 
 thousand indulgences of bestial sensuality. History abounds in 
 misrepresentations, and is sometimes nothing else where princes 
 are concerned; but, of all, the most unscrupulous and inveterate 
 are those invented and repeated by a bigoted or vindictive priest- 
 hood. 
 
 9. — P. 193. The royal Goth was Tnarh'd ty m.any traits That fit 
 a monarch — ] Had he not been, he never would have obtained 
 supremacy, or found acquiescence and submission among his peers 
 as well as the people. Castillo (uli s. v. p. 112) says, that imme- 
 diately after he had procured his election he seemed to lay aside 
 these eminent qualities, as if no longer of use, and abandoned him- 
 self to what must have been his natural passions. Mariana gives 
 the same account, for and against, lib. VI. u. 20 (Tom. iv. p. 312 
 ed. c. ). Prom any historian it is improbable. Men do not put oif 
 good habits, or assume them, so easily. See concluding paragraph 
 of Note 8. 
 
 * Count Julian was married to Wltiza's sister. ( Mar. It. 307. ) Between 
 Rodrigo and the sons of Witiza the rivality was in this wise. Ervigio, who, by 
 what might be called a romantic act of treason, had superseded Wamba, endeavored 
 to give a kind of legitimacy to his usurpation and to make through a qnasi- 
 poUtical atonement the crime which preceded it overlooked, by marrying his 
 daughter to Egica, a chief of Wamba's family. Witiza was the offspring of this 
 marriage. Rodrigo was of the rival race of Chindasuinth, being son of the sec- 
 ond sou uf that prince, as from Favila, another of the sons, came the famous 
 Pelayo. 
 
248 NOTES TO 
 
 The fact of Roderic's having by a sort of usurpation, as com 
 monly assumed, become king to the exclusion of the sons of Witiza * 
 
 * Witiza himself is dcBCribed by Bicda (w. s, p. 118) as abominable in all 
 sensual pleasures, especially with women, and the padre makes the corruption 
 thence arising, first in the court, and then spreading to the clergy, to whom 
 Witiza, in reveuge of the interference of his prelates and to neutralize their influ- 
 ence, gave permission to have as many wives and concubines as they pleased, to 
 have been the first among the causes to which he ascribes the ruin of Spain. He 
 makes Archbishop Oppas ( Bishop : there were no Archbishops in Spain at tliat 
 time, ) King Witiza's brother, an accomplice in the treachery of Count Julian. 
 ( This, which is aclmowledged by better historians, and is from all the circum- 
 stances one of the most probable of facts, furnishes a due to the chief motives of 
 the perpetrators of that act of consummate folly as well as turpitude. ) 
 
 ^Q\.a,z2ir {Moiiarquia de Esp. Hb. I. c. xii. — Tom. 1. p, 80. Madr. foL 1770) re- 
 peats this story, and recounts that Witiza ordered under capital penalty that no 
 obedience should he rendered hy ibe clergy to the Pope of Rome, that tJie Jews 
 should retitm to the kingdom^ and that the walls of certain cities and towns 
 should be demolished. 
 
 According to Ferreras {Hist. Gen. cCEsp.T. IV. Sldcle VIII. — T. II. p. 415, 
 sqq. Trad. d^H&rmilly. Paris et Amst. 4to. 1751 ) Witiza was a perfect monster 
 of libertinism, — a beast rather in every carnal excess. The story, of the demo- 
 lition of tho walls with three exceptions, he disproves, but credits and relates 
 with emphasis the sanction to the clergy of concubinage. He rejects the story 
 of his throwing ofE pontifical authority. He maintains the tradition of Count 
 Julian, argues why it should be true, and concludes by asking if it is credible 
 that Don Julian, who had defended Ceuta against Muza, would have solicited tbe 
 aid of the Moors except from powerful motives. The sum of which is this. 
 Ferreras assumes, with the early ecclesiastical writers of Spanish history, that the 
 corruption of Witiza, whom he calls tyrant as well as tnonsier^ paved the way for 
 the ruin of Spain, and through tha dissatisfaction of the people caused the first 
 invasion of the Moors, which howevoj; he considers to have been inspired by am- 
 bition and lust of conquest. 
 
 It ia to be observed that these unfavoroble accounts of tho Grothic king are 
 primarily the composition of churchmen. If now wo look at the main chaises 
 agamst him, we arc startled instantly by strong suspicions, ( a ) which, not easily 
 
 ( a ) ThoBc suapicioDfi, which (loBhcd upon my own mind even while reading the two allegations I hiTc 
 particularized, I have the satisraction la flnd condrmcil by the nrgumenU*, or rather the critical examina- 
 tion find compnrlson ot F. W. Lembkc ( u. t. ) rp- 118 1^- 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 249 
 
 gives poiot to tlie example; aud Don SanchOj seeming to have felt 
 it, says below ; 
 
 Or dar'Bt thou make my paragon of him, 
 Because like mo he vaulted to a throne 
 Whereon the natural claimants could not sit ? 
 
 SoG Note 10. 
 
 entertained by earlier writers, become in oiu* more liberal and enlightened and 
 wisely distmstf ul times one of the commonefrfi suggestions caused by all such 
 wholesale and vehement denunciations, especially on the part of ecclesiastics. 
 Of the four public acts wliich are charged against Witiza, one, which would be 
 that of a madman, is disposed of by Ferreras as unworthy of consideration, and is 
 probably founded on a politic dismantling of some outworks either useless or likely to 
 fall into the hands of an invader and thus to become a sotirce of danger to the towns 
 themselves. The accusation of licensing and enjoining marriage and even concu- 
 binage to the clergy is as little tenable ; for we know that marriage was at that 
 time not forbidden to ecclesiastics, and we may see therefore how the concubinage, 
 which at a later day, when restive under the unnatural restraint newly put upon 
 them by the Pope, they indulged in, to the scandal of religion and the demoral- 
 ization of the laics, became easily mixed up with a charge which in itself could 
 have no foundation. But we are told that this ' ' tyrant " wished to have the Jews 
 return to his dominions. His father Egica, probably prompted by the bishops, 
 had had the cruel impolicy to propose in the last Council of Toledo ( y. 694 ) the 
 moat tyrannical measures with a view to tJie eoztirpaiioii of the Jews from eiyer-y 
 part of the kingdom^ on the absiird charge, to which lie testified in a mSmorial 
 presented bi/ hlni to the Council ( easily concocted by the prelates who were to 
 act upon it) tJiat they had agreed toith tlietr brethren of Africa to revolt and 
 deliver up Spain to the Moors ! Unhappy people ! that for their own bigotry 
 and narrowminded adherence to antiquated uses have been, tlirough all ages and 
 in every country, the victims of religions intolerance or unreflecting prejudice. 
 ThU proposed the King : Tlie Prelates loill resolve tJiat all the J&u^r surrender 
 tlwmselves for slaves, atid in order ifiat loUh puvertj/ tliey may be more sensible of 
 toil, that all their goods be confiscated : in addition to wMch^ thai their children 
 be taken from them so soon a^ arrived at the age of seven years and delivered to 
 Christians to be reared and instructed: Mariana. lY. £01, sq. After this ac- 
 cursed proposition, followed by the Act passed by the Council : " Que los Judlos 
 que despues de bautizados perscv6ran en sii religion, 6 conspiran contra el Tley 6 
 contra el estado, sean reducidos d la csclavitud y sua bienes confiscados, y que lea 
 quiten sns hijos para educarlos en L\ religion cristiana : " ( Aguirre, Adas de este 
 
 11* 
 
250 NOTES TO 
 
 10.— P. 193. — the natmal claimcmts — ] I do not therefore 
 mean to say, that they were the legal and ahsolute ones. In those 
 days the monarchy was elective, and the sons of Witiza could have 
 no other claim than a natural one. the claim arising from their eligi- 
 bility, if such it should be conceded, as sons of the deceased mon- 
 arch: "porque en aquellos tiempos no eran Reyes proprietarioa, ni 
 herederos, sino que el Reyno elegia su Eey hbremente en muriendo 
 el que Reynava." Sandoval, u. s. fol. 40. 
 
 K"evertheless, as the sovereignty had . been in their family for 
 several generations, the sons of "Witiza would naturally, and had 
 probably como to look, upon it as their prepcriptive right. And 
 indeed, but for such a result, there could have been no rivalry be- 
 
 Coric. ibi in annot. cit. ) — after these abominalDle measures, can any one 
 doubt that Witiza was prompted by intelligence and by indignant justice to 
 undo what was at once the foulest tyranny and the most despicable folly ? 
 But along with this impious expression of an infidel liberality, he had the 
 hardihood to set his kingly face against the supremacy of the self-styled 
 successors of a Hebrew fisherman. To this latter point Sandoval alludes in a 
 way that makes it credible, saying that Witiza refused to recognize Spain to 
 he a hingdoin of the Churchy and to obey the Pope of BoTue : ( it. s. fol. 40. ) We 
 accept them both. Was not then this tmfortunate Gothic king in advance of las 
 benighted age ? Do we not find here, in these combined and kindred allegations, 
 one of the main causes of his defamation by the Eomish clergy? What in our 
 own day, supposing we had nothing but two such facts to guide us, should wc 
 pronounce of such a monarch ? and at such an epoch ? Undoubtedly, that he 
 was a true patriot, a bold assertor of his own and the right of his people to na- 
 tional independence, a man who was not fettered by narrow prejudices, but, doing 
 justice to all men, set nothing by creeds and found in no variance of religious 
 customs a cause for exclusion from equality of political rights, or else, with a 
 statesman's view, saw the impolicy of expatriating or disfranchising an indus- 
 trious and w^ealth-producing, if not wealthy class of his subjects. AH men who 
 are before their time are crucified by public opinion during life, sometimes for 
 long ages after it, and the seed of truth, when, after it has lain so long buried in 
 the rot of their obloquy, it germinates at last, throws out so small a shoot and of 
 BO slow-and feeble growth, that few even of those who seek it find its verdiure, and 
 the mass behold it not at all, unconscious of nor caring for its existence. 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 251 
 
 tween two races, each of which had furnished monarchs to the 
 Gothic throne. See, above, p. 247, subnote to Note 8. 
 
 11. — P. 193. — the migMy river — ] The Guadalquivir; which 
 name is said to have that sense, being scarcely altered from the 
 designation originally given it by the Moors : Kwad dl keier ( Sio 
 Grande. ) — Mendcz Silva : Poblacion General de Esp. (Madr. fol. 
 1645 ) p. 85. Pedro de Medina : Libra de GroMdezas &a. y cos. mem. 
 de Esp. ( Madr. fol 1568 ) fol. xlviiL 
 
 12. — P. 194. For scarce so much, my brother lost his head.'] TMs 
 was one of those acts of violence that were characteristic of the 
 age, and one that especially disgraced Alonso el SaMo as well as 
 Scmcho el Bravo, and was by its consequences the cause of great 
 trouble to both. At the same time that the Infante D Padriqoe 
 was beheaded ( some say suffocated, others again, burned m his own 
 house ), D. Simon de Haro was burned to death by order of Don 
 Sancho, and both without being heard in their defence. It was 
 after the Cortes, assembled at Segovia in 1276, by Alonso, had de- 
 cided, and mainly under the influence of D, Lope de Haro, a rela- 
 tive of D. Simon's, in favor of Don Sancho for the succession, 
 setting thus aside the sons of his deceased elder brother. The 
 queen Dofla Tiolante, dissatisfied with -^his wrong done to her 
 grandchildren, and fearing for her owi^ safety as well as theirs, 
 managed to get with them under the protection of the King of 
 Aragon, her brother. Alonso, greatly enraged, vented his despite on 
 all who had aided her, and seized at Burgos the Infante D. Padrique 
 and D. Simon Buyz de Haro, with the results just mentioned. See 
 Mariana: ed. cit. VIII. pp. 162, 163, with note. 
 
 13. — P. 194. He favors the pretenders to yovr throne, Ice. \ These 
 were the King's nephews, mentioned in the preceding note. Sancho, 
 
252 NOTES TO 
 
 having by his rebellion, alienated the favor of Alonao, that unhappy 
 monarch, correcting his injustice just before his death ( 1 284 ), named 
 in his will the eldest of his grandsons as his successor and after 
 him the second. These, the Infantes de la Oerda, as they are known 
 in history, were under the protection, as already said, of the King 
 of Aragon, and all the artifices of Sancho to get them into his pos- 
 session, and all his advantages in valor, prudence, and experience 
 as a ruler, and the resources which actual sovereignty put at his 
 command, could not prevent them, with the support of that king 
 and occasionally with the favor of France, from givhig him trouble 
 more or less throughout his reign. For they were the focus where 
 met all the latent fires of revolution, and at the date I liave chosen 
 for my play, which was just a year before the death of Sanoho, 
 intrigues in their behalf were, if not as active as they had been, yet 
 by no means quiescent. In fact, Sanoho IT., through the whole of 
 his reign of eleven years, was either struggling, more or less ear- 
 nestly, with the noauy-handed demon evoked by his misdeed, or tor- 
 mented by its phantom. He labored not merely for himself, but for 
 his succession, determined to shut out forever his brother's heirs, 
 against whom he seemed to have conceived that antipathy which is 
 not uncommon with men against the victims of their wrongdoing. 
 Hence when-crowned in Toledo (1284, ) he caused the oath of alle- 
 giance to be taken to his daughter, a child of two years, providing 
 thus anxiously against the two contingencies, of Ms own premature 
 death and of his never having male issue.' Nor, with all his real abil- 
 ity, were his fears, any more than those of other usurpers, without 
 foundation, Mariana indeed considers, that but for mismanagement, 
 a want of promptitude and zeal, the Cerdas might even so late as 
 1290 have regained their rights. But their forces were weakened 
 by delay, which not only cliilled their ardor and added animation to 
 the King's, but tended materially to increase these latter, while it 
 gave liim time to gain over powerful adherents and to strengthen 
 himself by alliances : Tom. VJII. p. 2'7'i. Which is but to say, that 
 
THE OID OF SBVILLK 253 
 
 the two forces were pretty nearly balanced, but that Don Saneho 
 was the better soldier and more capable statesman. 
 
 14. — P. 195. Laws take_ What course the Xing directs. So said. 
 etc.] " AUil van leyes ado quieren reyea " ( Laws go still whither 
 kings will ) : a proverb which is said to have had its origin in the 
 reign of Alonso VX. of Leon and Castile, in this manner. The whole 
 body of the people of Toledo, including not only the military but 
 oven the clergy, were strongly attached to the ancient Gothic forms 
 of their faith. The King, under the influence of his spouse, a 
 Frenchwoman, daughter of Robert of Burgundy, was determined 
 on introducing the Romish ritual. It was agreed to have the ques- 
 tion decided by judicial combat. The champion of the Gothic ritual 
 came off, to the great dehght of the Toledans, victorious. There- 
 upon the King declared that the trial was not conclusive, and 
 ordered the books containing the two forms to be thrown mto a 
 large fire. Of course, the decision of Heaven was solemnly in- 
 voked ; yet, when the Roman book was burned, while the Toledan 
 leaped forth uninjured ( " illaesus prosiUit " ), the King, despite the 
 tears and supplications of his people, ordered that the Romish forms 
 should be everywhere adopted, threatening the disobedient with 
 death and confiscation. Ross, de St. Hilaire, after Roderic of To- 
 ledo: Hist. d'Sspagne (Paris 8°. 1839) IT. p. 251, sqq. Archbishop 
 Roderic was of the same mode of thinking with his flock. The 
 padre Bleda, while relating the duel on the same authority, is silent 
 as to the fire-ordeal. It is Mr. Ticknor, III. p. 201 (Best. ) note, — 
 who gives, after Sarmiento, the particular of the King's action, 
 mentioned in the text. It is a good trait in an interesting story. 
 It is not impossible that Alonso, finding that the Gothic ritual did 
 not burn so fast as its rival, caused it to be pushed farther into the 
 flames, or pushed it himself, that, the results being equalized, he 
 might have the casting-vote himself. . But when one reads of such 
 an act of sudden tyranny as the royal ordinance, one is tempted to 
 
254 NOTES TO 
 
 doubt the Archbishop's assertion of the imaDimity of the Toledaa 
 people. It would have required an astonishing amount of moral 
 courage and no little physical audacity to face such a universal out- 
 break of distressful feeling and outcry of supplication as the mon- 
 arch ia said to have defied and disregarded. 
 
 Mariana, however, attributes no such unworthy or impolitic con- 
 duct to Alonso ; and apparently with reason. He says, the Eling 
 pronounced that ioth the breviaries were pleasing to the Almighty ; and 
 the contest was decided ty an arrangement that the ancienvt forms 
 should still exist irl the ancient Moza/rahic chv/rches : a compromise even 
 now observed in certain annual festivals, when in those temples the 
 offices aire performed, after the manner of the MozaraMans. He adds 
 the remarkable statement, that tha-e is a chapel in the principal 
 church, where, by an endowment of the Cardinal Ximenes (in order 
 that the memory of so signal am, affair and of rites so ancient might not 
 be lost, ) certain Moza/rahic chaplains pray and say mass conformity 
 to the ancient missal and breviary. In the recently erected churches of 
 Toledo, it was ordered that the offices sliould be celebrated in accordance 
 with the Roman forms. " De aquf naoio en Espana aquel rofran muy 
 usado : AIM van leyes do quiereu Reyes." Hist. &a. lib. 9°. c. xviii. 
 ( T. TI. 124-'?. ) The occurrence took place in the y. 1088. 
 
 15. — P. 195. — wlw challenged and o'erthrew, etc.] Don Diego 
 Ordonez. This incident forms a chief, if not the chief part, and cer- 
 tainly the most interesting, of the sequel or second division of Las 
 Mocedades del Gid. The Cid is the umpire in the triple duel, and 
 decides it in favor of Arias Gonzalo, whose last son, though he 
 falls, had by a prodigious stroke in true paladin-fashion split the 
 head as well as divided the reins and saddlebow of Diego's steed, 
 which, instead of dropping dead, carries his rider beyond the 
 barriers. 
 
 " Urr. . . . Deimtajo 
 
 Le parbtd de arnba abaio 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 255 
 
 Cabeza, riendas y arzon 
 
 Al caballo de don Diego. 
 
 Huyendo k los vientos sigue, 
 
 Y Rodrigo le persigue 
 
 Saugriente, turbido y ciego. 
 Nu. De la estacada ha salido. 
 Qare. El caballo le sac6, 
 Nu. Y Hodrigo Arias cay6 
 
 Del suyo/" — Jorn. III. Esc. 2, 
 
 The comment on p. 68, Tom. VI. of Mariana ( ed. cit. ) shows that 
 the story of the challenge and D. Diego's comhat with tlie three 
 sons of Arias is not founded on any real account, aud adds from 
 Ferreras : " Los retos que hubo despues de don Diego Ordonez y 
 los hijos de Arias Gonzalo los dexo 6, la credulidad del lector, pare- 
 ciendome cuentos de libros de caballeria.'' Why so ? If not true, 
 the tale is well invented. It was the age of the Cid ( " El Campea- 
 dor " — the Defier ), and very soon after the threefold duel, occurred 
 the judicial comhat mentioned in the last note, not to establish the 
 guilt or innocence of parties charged with complicity in treason and 
 king-murder, but to decide between two rival forms of church wor- 
 ship. Ferreras swallows with greediness the absurd impossibility 
 of Witiza's sanction of clerical concubinage, yet turns with repug- 
 nance from a fact so natural and characteristic both of the age and 
 of the nation. 
 
 16. — P. 195. — H was thy prompt arm That lopp'd the audacious 
 Ha/ro^s at the wrist — ] Sauoho had repaid his obligations to D. 
 Lope Diaz de Haro, lord of Biscay, by loading him with honors and 
 possessions to a degree that swelled his natural arrogance and ex- 
 cited the dissatisfaction of other nobles, especially those of Galicia 
 and Leon, who said that De Haro was the actual ruler, whUe Saucho 
 wore the crown. Among other causes that increased the vanity 
 and presumption of the favorite, he had succeeded in espousing his 
 daughter Mary to the Infante Don Juan, the King's brother. After 
 various acts of ingratitude and insolence toward his benefactor, 
 
256 NOTES TO 
 
 when he was flaally sent to mediate with the King of Aragon, whom 
 Sanoho was soliciting to deliver up the Cerdan, Don Lopo purposely 
 embroiled everything. Sanoho returned to Alfaro, on the confines 
 of Aragon and Navarre. Here the Infante D. Juaii and De Haro 
 came to do him reverence, without sufficient guard for their per- 
 sonal security. There was present a large assemblage of men of 
 rank, including prelates, such as the Archbishop of Toledo, the 
 Bishops of Placentia and Calatrava, and others, all called to council. 
 The King orders the Infante and Don Lope to surrender their castles 
 and other places, to release the garrisons from their oaths, etc. On 
 their excusing themselves, the King commands their arrest. Don 
 Lope, transported by passion and uttering ( it is said ) abusive lan- 
 guage, enveloped his left arm in his mantle and, sword in hand, 
 made toward the King with intent to kiU him. So at least it is 
 asserted by the historian ; but it seems far more probable that he 
 sought but to protect himself and make good his escape. But the 
 nobles rushed upon him, and liis right hand being cut off at the first 
 blow, he fen easily a victim. These are the words of Mariana : 
 
 "D. Lope cle Haro, puesta mano & la espada, y revuelto el manto A brazo, con 
 palabras muy injuriosas, y Uamar al Iley tyrano, f ementido, cruel, con todo lo 
 demds que se le vino d la boca y que el furor y rabia le daban, Be fu6 para 61 con 
 intento de matalle. Locura grande y demasiado atrevuniento, que le acarre6 su 
 perdicion : los que cstaban presentes pusieron asSmismo mano d sus espadas, y 
 del primer golpe le cort&ron la mano derecba y consiguicntemente le acabdron." 
 T. VIII. p. 247. 
 
 See Note 20, where the part the King himself took in the affair. — 
 which occurred in 1288, — is related from the Chronicle of Don 
 Saucho 
 
 11. — I'. 196. — the great Champion himself.] El Campeador : a 
 well-known popular surname of the Cid Buy Diaz, sometimes an- 
 nexed to the more usual aftername or forename of honor, as el Cid 
 Campeador. Dozy ( liecherches, &a. ut s. Tom. II. p. Go ) shows 
 (hat Oampeadur is not rightly explained by the usual sense of cam- 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 257 
 
 peon, but that it is derived from a chlvalric usage of the timo with 
 both Moors and Christians, but adopted by the Christians from the 
 Moors, and signifies more truly defier. Our word chamjiion in its 
 ordinary sense, and its application rather to the challenger and 
 martial assertor of a right than to the challenged and its denier 
 translates it well. 
 
 18. — P. 196. In all this kingdom.] Seville, not Spain. 
 
 19. — P. 197. Tour royal sire's example^] See, above. Note 12. 
 The allusion is to the assassination ( it was nothing less ) of the 
 Infante Don Padrique. 
 
 Alonso X., suruamed el Sahio ( the accomplished — full of know- 
 ledge — " wise ", as it is usually rendered ) was ( a combination not 
 unfrequent ) imprudent throughout his reign, and therefore unhappy 
 more or less to its close. It may he questioned whether the se- 
 verity with which he is reproached by the chief Spanish historian, 
 and especially the precipitate cruelty which stained him in the pres- 
 ent instance, were not more the result of a fatal facility in following 
 the suggestions of others, than of any real inhumanity. 
 
 20. — P. 197. Your own hand smote Diego Lopez dead.] The 
 
 Chronicle of Don Sancho, Cap. 5°., gives in detail the tragic scene 
 
 at Alfaro. The King's part therein is thus recorded ( I quote from 
 
 the comment, vol. viii. p. 250. Mariana): — 
 
 . . " y luego ditii'onle [sc. d don Lope Diaz] con nna maza en la cabcza que cayd 
 en tien-a miierto, non lo mandando el Rcy.* Y torn6 el Rey contra Diego I.opez 
 qne estaba ai, que le corriera d ciudad clc CastU-Rodrigo, y dixo : Diego Lopez, 
 que vos mereci, por qu6 me corriades la tierra mia, seyendo mi vasallo ? y 61 non 
 supo razon ninguna que le decir ; y el Eey di61e con una espada en la cabeza 
 trea golpes en guisa que flnc6 muerto." 
 
 * This is most likely, especially if De Haro's action was believed to be aggi-es- 
 sive. But the obscure historian cited in Note 21 ( below ) says that the homicide 
 was by the King's order, and presents it as an iUustration of his cruelty : " Cum 
 
258 NOTES TO 
 
 21. — P. 191. — wTw lias fac'd vmsliaken, ArnHd, and marm'd, 
 etc.] Roderious Sautius ( Hist. JSispanicae Part IIII. C. vii. — in 
 Rer. Hisp. Script Tom. I. ( Pranoof. fol. 1579 ) p. 319. ) relates, how, 
 on the occasion of a mutiny in his army, Saueho went before the 
 soldiers, clothed only with his shirt ( " niidus sola indutus camisia," ) 
 and desired them to turn their swords against him, not their fel- 
 lows. This not answering, he seized a lance and struck therewith 
 two of the ringleaders. — Previously ( ib. ) it is said, in illustration 
 of the cruelty whioh marked his conduct at times: " Saepe . . pro 
 parva inobedientia milites virgis caesi, manus amputavit, inobe- 
 dientesque in mediis eastris securi jussit percuti, nonnunquam pro- 
 pria manu cecidit." 
 
 Mariana gives more than one instance of a cruelty which in 
 Sancho seems to have been something more than an indifference 
 to human life common to the age and, as its own historians gay, to 
 his country. Thus, in the affair at Badajos, when the party known 
 as Beja/ranos surrendered on promise of their lives, he put them all 
 to the sword to the nwmber of 4000, both men and women. T. VIII. 
 p. 261. So at Talavera, to impress terror on the partisans of 
 Alonso, 400 of the noblest were publicly executed and quartered, (ib.) 
 He adds however, that the story is one of tradition and not of 
 authority ; and we may believe with assurance, that whatever the 
 foundation, there is great exaggeration in every such account. 
 
 22. — P. 203. Who is himself surnamed the Strong and Brave — ] 
 
 enira apud oppidum de Alfaro moram traheret, celeri judicio eb irato ac turbato 
 animo pariter et vultu, ocoidl juBsit nobilem virum Xiupum Comitem et domjjium 
 Vizcaiae." Her. Bisp. Script. T. I. p. 380. The King would not need to give an 
 order. His loolc would be sufficient, when the violence and audacity of De Haro 
 had reached their height ; and his own part in the scene shows that if the tn^cedy 
 was not of his direct designing, its catastrophe was not to him unwelcome. It is 
 a noticeable trait of the time, the King's taking upon himself the execution of an 
 audacious or troublesome subject. — It is therefore in character, that I have 
 made him put his hand to his sword in Aot V. p. 2.^3. 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 259 
 
 In addition to the usual surname el Bravo, Saneho had the anal- 
 ogous one of Fuerte. "Era sin duda osado," adds Mariana, 
 " diestro, astuto, y de industria singnlar en qiialquier coaa a que 
 se apliease." VIII. 200. He had also the highest kind of human 
 bravery, namely what is called moral courage. Por example : when 
 the king his father obtained against him ( 1283) the excommunica- 
 tion of P. Martin IT., ■with its attendant interdicts, the closing of 
 the churches, etc., the rebel strong and bra/iie did not hesitate, but 
 threatened with death the papal agents and aU who should act 
 against him in conformity with the edict. Mar. VIII. 1 95. Tho 
 note there (p. 196. ed. cit. ) teUs us, after the Chronicle of D. Alonso 
 el Sdbio : . . " el infante D. Saneho mandd que matasen al qne 
 traxese estas cartas, apelando al Papa future, 6 para el primer con- 
 ciho que se tuviese, 6 para delante de Dies, del agravio que se haoia 
 i Bu tierra." Garibay tells the particulars very neatly, c. ivi. 
 lib. ziii. Com/p. Historial de Sspana (Barcel. 1628. in fol. ) Tom. 
 II. p. 222. 
 
 23.— P. 205. Touch'd by the Cortes — ] The establishment of 
 the Cortes begins with the Gothic monarchy, and the Kings of Leon 
 and CastUe always held them to be the grand ornament and support 
 of their thrones. 
 
 . . " bien 16]'os de desconfiar 6 de recelarse de estas grandes juntas 6 de repu- 
 tarlas por contrarias al 6rden 6 depresivas de la Real dlgnidad, 6 mdecorosas & 
 la majestad, y mucho menos por ln(itiles y perjudiciales, las miraban como fuen- 
 tes de luz y de verdad, como el mas bello omamento del trono y firmiaima columna 
 de la justicia, del sosicgo y prosperidad publica. 
 
 "Ad pensaba el Rey don Fernando IV [son and successor of Saneho IV.], 
 cuajido en las cortes del Valladolid del aflo 1298 aaegurd haberlas convocado — 
 ' porque sabemos que es & servicio de Dies 6 nuestro 6 muy grande pro de todos los 
 nuestros regnos e mejoramiento del estado de toda nuesfcra tierra.' " MiR. 
 Mabina. Teoria de las Cortes. ( Madr. 8°. 1820. ) Tom. I., p. 37. The 
 heading of the Chapter (Cap. IV. ) expresses briefly: "En los reynos de 
 Leon y Castilla se obBer\'6 inviolabalmente la pratica de los Godos. Loa 
 reycs y los aibditos miraron siempre las cortes como una de las instituciones 
 mas litiles y ventajosas al estado." 
 
 Tn the second Chapter, will be foimd an account of the Cortes as they 
 
260 NOTES TO 
 
 existed during the Gothic empire. 
 
 It need not be said that these national assemblies, having their 
 origin in pnblio freedom and being its best, if not sole guardian 
 through so many ages, yet sometimes were the surest agents the 
 liings could find in the execution of decrees that were contrary alilce 
 to justice and to liberty. All legislative and functional bodies are 
 liable to corrupt influences ; and when the Junta at Segovia, under 
 the instigation of Don Manuel the King's brother and Don Lope de 
 Haro, made the Infante Don Sancho heir to the throne, they fur- 
 nished an example of the facility with which the right arm of politi- 
 cal freedom and justice might be used to put forward and sustain 
 measures that were inimical to both. 
 
 24.— P. 209. His cord, this time, Shall malee no distaff of Mbn- 
 toya's Uade.J In a note to p. 66, Tom. II. of the sumptuous work 
 of D. Francisco Piferrer, Nobiliario de los Reinos y Senorios de Es- 
 pana, '2d ed. (Madr. imp. 8° 1857), it is told, in relation to the 
 bordure of the arms of Tabera, that a cavalier of that house had a 
 single combat witli one of the house of Montoya, but a religious of 
 the order of San Francisco threw his cord over the swords, en- 
 tangling them, and put an end to the fight without dishonor to 
 either. In commemoration of which event both the families as- 
 sumed, the cord in their escutcheon, either as a bordure directly 
 ( Tabera ), or within a bordure ( Montoya. ) 
 
 MoiUoya. "El antiguo solar de este noble linage fue en la provincia de Alava. 
 Sns armas son : Escndo de azur y diez panelas de plata ; bordura de siiiople ecu 
 el cordon de San Francisco de plata." Nobil, ut s. 119. 
 
 25. — P. 209. Beware the nettles in the Orli:i hand!] In Tom. I. 
 p. 104, of Piferrer, I find two famihes of Ortiz: one from Garcia 
 Ortiz, in 1014, of Navarre, the other from Ortnn Ortiz, 1214, of Cas- 
 tile, ricos-horribres : whose noble descendants passed to Andalusia 
 among other provinces. It is thus seen, he adds, that the lineage of 
 
THE CID OP SEVILLE 261 
 
 Ortiz is very ancient and of quality ( " calificado " ) in Spain. So Cas- 
 tillo {Hist. &a. ut a. p. 409): "Ortiz es appelido uoble en estoa 
 RejTjos, y ay muchos dellos hijosdalgo eon notoria hidalguia, y 
 Cavalleros, &a." 
 
 On p. 2&1 of the same vol. of Piferrer there occurs still another 
 Ortiz, a valiant warrior who distinguished himself against the Moors. 
 He bore, Or, a hand dexter proper grasping a maniple of nettles vert : 
 a pregnant bearing and allusive to the name ( Ortiga — XJrtica, Lat. ) 
 
 Oj'tiz. " TJn estorzado ^erriero del apellido Ortiz Be sellal6 en las guerras contra 
 loB moros en tiempo del rey Don Jaime. . . Traia por armas : Escudo de oro 
 y una mano teniendo un manoio de ortigas." 
 
 26.— P. 209. Part them I — In the King's name! — Dead! 
 Poor Alda .'] This verse, though of proper length, according to 
 the usual licentious mode of accenting the final unaccented syllable, 
 really ends with a half-foot. Tet is the rythm exact, an emphasis 
 being put on the word King's. 
 
 2V. — P. 212. I am the Alcalde Pedro Lmiguillo.'] Among the 
 Alcaldes of Baeza, temp. Sant. IV., are enumerated Diego Alfonso 
 de Eibilla and Pedro Loriguillo. Arg. de Molina : Nohleza del Anda- 
 luzia (Sev. in fol. 1588) foL 1G4. I have placed them in Seville. 
 "What their virtues were, I know not : I borrow but their names. 
 
 28. — P. 213. Where is he now ? — What keeps him from me?] 
 Omit, on the stage, the latter half of this line. It did not belong to 
 the piece as written. But coming to copy, I found the verse defec- 
 tive. Such a scene when finished is not to be altered with im- 
 punity. But in this instance there was no way of avoiding it. 
 Hence the addition, " What keeps him from me ? " or ( as addressed 
 more directly, and with a start, almost impatient, to the Alcalde ) 
 "Where is Don "Ruy?" Neither is of advantage, except to the 
 completeness of the versification : but if either be used upon the 
 
262 NOTES TO 
 
 stage, let it \ie Where is Don, Say f said in the manner just in- 
 dicated. 
 
 29. — P. 216. 'Tis not AirSn.] There was formerly in Granada 
 a well so called, of very great depth, and from which escaped con- 
 tinual blasts of air ; whence its name. Hence arose the proverb, 
 To fall into the well Airon ( " Oaer en el pozo Airon " : In ■profundus- 
 simum putewm, demergi : ) signifying, of anything that is lost, that it 
 will be difficult to find it, or to take it out from the place whereinto 
 it has fallen. Dice, de la E. Acad. JEspafi. 1726. — "Pozo Airon. 
 . . un pozo que hai en Granada en la falda del Albaicin a espaldas 
 de la calle de Elvira, y que se creido fu^ abierto por los moros con 
 el objeto de dar sahda y respiraciou & los gases subterraneos y 
 precaver la violencia de los terremotos [ a gratuitous and absurd 
 popular notion.]" Don Quijote. Com. por Olemenoin (Madr. 8". 
 1835.) Tom. IV. p. 238. There is another Fozo Airon; in the 
 province of Cuenca ; a lake however, circular in form and of great 
 depth, and whose water is so salt that no animal will drink of it. ib. 
 
 30. — P. 217. She wears only, etc. etc.] Let not the actress make 
 the mistake of assuming here fuU mourning. Doiia Alda would 
 have no time for such a change. She has quit the house on a sud- 
 den impulse, not half an hour after her brother's death. 
 
 31. — P. 218. I pray my King will not then with the law, . . . 
 
 Leave the assassin, tut give him unto me.] In Sancho Ortiz, Estrella 
 
 claims this as a right, according to the ancient law in such cases : — 
 
 " Fijadalga & vos me humillo 
 Como quien soy, y no cspero 
 Que me disputeis el fuero 
 Antiguo del homicillo." Ac. III. Esc. 4. 
 
 32. — P. 218. . . Rioo-0'me . . ] Sico ffombre. Equivalent to 
 the more modern Grande ( Grandee. ) 
 
 "La voz Bico- Ome, algunOR la entendierou por la Iliqueza ; y otros dccian. 
 
THE CID OF SEVXLLB 263 
 
 quo Bignificava Orandesa con Biqueza, y noblesa con dign4dad^ yesta dlsputa, 
 entre eruditoa esciltores, cess6 por la declaracion que hizo el Bey Don AUEonso el 
 Sabio ( Ley 6. tit. 9. part. 2.)'. & saber^ Bico-Ome por Idnage ypor Bondad, En- 
 tendldo y Vatoroso d^enaor del Rey.^ Bemi ; Creadon, Antig. y FrioilegiOB de 
 loa Tltulos de CmtUla ( loL «.<!■.)§ 22. p. 84. 
 
 " . . el titolo de Grande de Espafia, que equivale k Bico-Ome en lo antiguo.". 
 ». §26. p. 8B. 
 
 33. — P. 219. She paragons Urraca.'] This princess, mother of 
 the " Emperor " Don Alonso VII. of Castile, was of a daring and 
 irrepressible spirit, and of a warmth of temperament that did not 
 add much to her reputation. She figures in Las Mocedade-s, and is 
 the Infante of Le Cid, where nothing is preserved of her character 
 but its amativeness, and that made imbecile. She is said to have 
 suddenly died ( bwrst) while robbing a church, one foot within the 
 door and one without: a story in which the retributive mode of 
 death, perhaps altogether and certainly in part, is probably the crea- 
 tion of popular superstition, if not invented directly by the priests, 
 but the intention of sacrilege may have been reality. Some histo- 
 rians deny it altogether ( Ferreras, for ex., Tom. III. p. 365 of the 
 Fr. transL see too Jul del CastiUo p. 231 ) and vindicate her 
 memory in other respects. The more reasonable account of her 
 death maizes it to have occurred in childbed ; Zurita says, in tlie 
 Castle of Sajdana, of a son : Anal, de la Corona de Aragon, 1. I. xliv 
 ( Zaragoza. 4ta 1669 ) I. 48. See Oronica del Emp. B. Alonso ¥11. 
 por Sandoval: 0. XV. p. 40. (Madr. fol. 1600, ) : where the popu- 
 lar account is detailed, but with evident distrust. She entered the 
 monastery of S. Isidro de Leon, to take the treasure of the sacristy, 
 given to it by her father and by her grandfather, the founder, and 
 was going out loaded with the rich spoil [an absurdity] when, just as 
 she set her foot without the door of the church, " rebento en el 
 umbral deUa, cayendo subitamente muerto, quedando el un pie 
 dentro del templo, y el oltro fuera." 
 
 The Bishop of Pamplona attributes, to her intelligence and ca- 
 
264 NOTES TO 
 
 paoity for government, tho consideration in which was held Alonso 
 VI. ( her brother ), whom he makes to have been inspired by her in 
 his policy : " que fue Priucesa de tan buena cabeza, quo don 
 Alonso, guiado por ella, fue tenido por uno do los mejores Reyes 
 de Espafla." Hist, de los Heyes de C. &a. u. s. p. 39. 
 
 She may have had a share in tho assassination of her brother, 
 Sanoho III. Ross, de St. Hilaire {ITist, WEsp. u. s. ) plainly implies 
 it, and Castillo says figuratively, that the assassin took refuge under 
 her mantle : " El Iraidor Vellido, eutrado en Zamora, se fue a meter 
 debaxo del manto de la Infante dona TTrraca," ( Heyes Godos u. s. 
 p. 203. ) This would make her an accomplieo after the fact ; satis- 
 fled with the result, for the sake of her favorite, Alonso. 
 
 34. — P. 220. She cannot yet Have reach'd the Casife.] It will 
 have been seen in tho Preface, p. 174., that Arias in the " Tragedia 
 arreglada " suggests the arrest of Bstrella. It is a mere coinci- 
 dence, arising naturally out of the situation. Besides, the inten- 
 tion and the motive are different with De Lara. He desires merely 
 to have Alda intercepted and recalled ; and this, in order to save 
 his own audacious double-deaUng from a detection which must 
 result in Ms death or ruin. 
 
 35. — P. 221. De Laba retiring, with an anxious look — ] I 
 have here, in the margin of the Ms., " Would the courtier not sup- 
 press it ? " It is a nicety that I think worth noticing for the 
 reader's sake, as well as for my own. But before an audience, 
 which has not the time to consider such minutiae, it is one of those 
 slight divergences from absolute truth-likeness that are not only 
 unimportant in themselves, but often greatly useful. 
 
 36.— P. 221. — tho Castle of Triana.] Tho Moorish fortress in 
 that suburb, which is separated from the city by the Guadalquivir. 
 It was made, at the close of the IGth century, the residence of the 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 265 
 
 Inquisition, and Conca ( Descr. Odepor. &e. 1190. T. III. 280 ) 
 speaks of it as still occupied by that body, whioh within a few 
 years has had its offices in the stately edifice formerly occupied by 
 the Jesuits. Ford tells us ( Handbook of Spain, 2d. ed. Murray, 
 1 847 ) that the Moorish Castle, ruined by an overflow of the river, 
 has been taken down and its site is occupied by a market. 
 
 37.— P. 222. Gone lack to his Castile, and Wee a man Fought for 
 the cause hefavor'd.'] The claims of Don Sancho's nephews were at 
 one time supported materially by the King of Aragou, by means 
 of hostile enterprises in the kingdom of Castile. 
 
 38. — P. 225. Our lord has honor for his virtuous spouse The 
 mother of his child/ren.'] This he evinced in 1286, when, after the 
 <'ailure of the interview which was to have taken place between him 
 and the newly crowned monarch of Prance, Philip le Bel, it was 
 proposed as a basis of treaty that the former, because of his affinity 
 to Doiia Maria, should repudiate her, and take one of the two sisters 
 of Philip. The historian says : " D. Sancho sinti6 esto gravamente. 
 Pareciale cosa pesada dexar una muger tan esclarecida, y en quien 
 tenia un hijo y una hija," Mariana. Till. 226. 
 
 When, to Don Euy's words above, Alda replies : 
 
 Ab he had 
 For his illustrioua sire : 
 
 it is severely, not in irony. Sancho had so much respect for him- 
 self, or so much sagacity, looking to the influence he vrished to 
 acquire with all classes of the King's subjects, that he never spoke 
 of his father but with reverence, even while in his ambition he 
 raised armies against him and intrigued hourly against his crown. 
 See again Mariana, ib. 197. 
 
 39. — P. 225. — and Absalom May err where David stray'd with 
 Vol. II.— 12 
 
266 NOTES TO 
 
 meaner kings. ] I have marked in the margin : " Out of character 
 
 and situation. " I am afraid that it is, but feel doubtful, because 
 
 indignation might give that nerve to Alda which would stimulate 
 
 her for the moment into forgetfuluess of the situation and make her 
 
 speak with masculine energy. Indeed she is more or less vigorous 
 
 throughout the Scene, and at all times since impassioned by her 
 
 brother's death. However, either of the following readings would 
 
 be unexceptionable in both particulars : 
 
 The mother of his children. 
 
 Alda. As he had 
 For his own father. A revolted son 
 May have the vice which sullies virtuous kings ; 
 
 or: 
 
 The mother of his children, and has shown it 
 More than one time. 
 
 Alda. Tet, as with other kings 
 
 Must I pursued etc. 
 
 40. — P. 227. 'Tis myCid!] The King is quoting, allusively, 
 from the old ballads. But the style mio Cid was not confined to 
 the ballads. See Sandoval: Hist, &a. n. s fol. 60, p. 2. " 'Mio Cid 
 ■ semper vocatus ', dit I'ancien biographe d'Alphonse VII." Dozy: 
 Recherches etc. a. s. p. 68. I hardly need repeat, after that schol- 
 arly critic, that the phrase is Arabic, and signifies my lord. But 
 though derived from the Moors, I doubt that it had the origin 
 ascribed to it in story. 
 
 41 . — P. 227. Of giving life to the Infante's claims, etc.] The title 
 of Infante is properly confined to the second and other junior sons 
 of the King. ( Bekni : Creation, &a. u. s. § 19, p. 83. ) Don 
 Alonso, or Alfonso, de la Oerda, was the eldest son of Don Sancho's 
 elder brother and had already styled himself King of Castile. " El 
 Infante don Alonso de la Cerda, hijo del Infante d. Fernando, se 
 llama en estos dias Bey de Castilla y Leon, y siendo favorocido ds 
 los Reyes de Prancia y Aragon y aun de Sicilia, 0Dtr6 en su liga 
 
THE CID OF SEVILLE 267 
 
 en estos dias Mahomed, queriendo favorecer al Infante Cerda." 
 Blbda: Cronica, &a. v,. s. p. 501. Therefore Don Luis used this 
 title artfully in depreciation. The distinction however is not always 
 observed by historians. Thus the Padre, in the passage just cited, 
 gives it not only to the Pretender as well as to his brother, but to 
 their father, who was the actual heir apparent of Alonso X. 
 
 By " uncle ", Don Lais ( who is a fictitious personage ) refers to 
 Don Alvar Nunez de Lara, who headed the people of Seville in their 
 opposition to the claims of Sancho's brother Juan to that city, 
 founded on their father's will, — thus insinuating the services to 
 which, by a reasonable inference, the fabulous Luis may be sup- 
 posed to have owed his first steps in the King's favor. _ 
 
 42.— P. 229. The Alcayde.] Grovernor of the Castle. 
 
 43.— P. 232. — he is about to bring it to the King, etc.] This 
 supposes Buy to be unwilling still to expose his sovereign. — 
 Otherwise : 
 
 My lord commands. [Karuts the paper to Pedro, who is next him. 
 
 Fedr. It bears the royal seal. 
 A letter of safe-conduct. 
 
 Sing. Read aloud. 
 
 44.— P. 232. I the King.'] To el Rey. This is the only mode in 
 which the Spanish monarchs give their signatures, as may be seen, 
 for example, in the JPrivUegio, or grant of exclusive rights, prefixed, 
 as was the custom a century or two ago, to newly published books. 
 
 45. — P. 234. — the bridge — ] so. of boats : whidi primitive 
 and inelegant mode of passage continued down to a very late day. 
 
 . . "el qual [Guadalquibir] se passa por eneima de una pnente de madera 
 hecha sobre diez y siete barcas grandes travadas con gruessas vigas y tablazon." 
 Pedro de Medina, u. «. u. xUv. fol. li. 
 
 There is a fuller description in Varflora : Hist. Ddscr. de Sevilla 
 u. s. p. 9?. 
 
268 NOTES TO 
 
 46. — P. 235. Peren, de Chmrmm.'] The celebrated ancestor of the 
 Dukes of Medina Sidonia. In the year preceding the date adopted 
 for the play, the Infante Don Juan, Sanoho's brother, always more 
 or less in rebellion against him, having again revolted, and being 
 forced by the King of Portugal, with whom he had taken refuge, to 
 leave his kingdom, received aid from the King of Morocco, who 
 sent him troops to enable him to besiege Tarifa. Alonso Perez de 
 Guzman, an experienced commander, who had served in Africa the 
 King of the Moors, was governor of the place. It so happened 
 that the invaders got possession of his only sod, and taking him 
 before the walls, threatened to put him to death before his father's 
 eyes unless the city was surrendered. The governor, apparently 
 unmoved, declared that if he had a hundred sons he would risk 
 them all rather than violate the trust reposed In him. And there- 
 with he threw from the ramparts a sword with which they might 
 execute their threats, if they chose. This done, he went to dine. 
 The Moors did as they had threatened. The soldiers on the walls 
 uttered a cry of horror. Whereupon Guzman came out, as if to see 
 what the matter was, and remarking coolly, he thought the enemy 
 had entered the. city, returned to eat with his wife. (Mariana. VIII. 
 ed. cit. 285, 6. ) A piece of affectation, which, if it reaUy was prac- 
 ticed, was carried too far. One may well admire the heroism of ihe 
 sacrifice, but its greatness is tarnished by a show of indifference, 
 where mute sorrow had more become him, in his soldiers' eyes as 
 before the world which would have one day to pronounce upon his 
 action. The story, with or without its romantic accessories, is 
 characteristic of the time. As for the barbarous deed itself, our 
 abhorrence of it is increased by the fact that it was countenanced 
 by the Prince, if not directly commanded by him, as is said In the 
 Chronicle of Don Sauoho, ( note to Mariana a. s. ) 
 
 " T el Infante D. Jnan .... envi6 & decir & eate D. Alonso Perez qne le diese 
 la villa, si non que le mataria el su hijo que 61 tenia, Y Don Alonso Perez le 
 dixo, que la villa que la tenia per el Roy, y quo uon gela daria : que quanto por 
 
THE CID OP SEVILLE 269 
 
 la muerte de su hijo que 61 Ic daria el cuchillo con que le matase : y lanz61es de 
 encima del adarve un cuohiUo, y dixo que dntes querla que le matasen aquel 
 hijo, y otros cinco si loB tuviese, que non darle la villa del Rey bu Seflor de que le 
 hiciera homenage, Y el lufante D, Juan con safla mand6 mataral hijo ante 61 ; y 
 con todo esto nunca pudo tomar la villa. '^ 
 
 It will be seen that the simple chronicler adds none of those 
 extravagant particulars which the historian, fond of romance and 
 not always regardful of the. substantiality of his adornments, thought 
 proper to insert in. his detail. Oonde relates that the governor's 
 son was in the service of D. Juan, which is more probable, while 
 it adds to the atrocity of his murder, and that, when the proposition 
 was made to surrender him for the fortress, with a threat of his 
 death in ease of refusal, the Alcayde made no reiply ( which too is more 
 probable, — though one regrets it, for the sake of the story ) other 
 than by baring his sword and flmgimg it to the plain ; whereu/pon he 
 retired. The Moslems, vnfu/riated. by the expression of this reply, be- 
 headed the youth, and kmched by a catapult his head v/pon the wall, that 
 his father might see it. After this uijeless act of barbarity, they 
 raised the siege and retired. to Algesiras. Dorainaeion de los Arabes, 
 u. s. P. rv. 0. xiii. Tom. III. p. 79. 
 
 About three months before his death, namely, in January 1295, 
 the King wrote a letter to Perez de Guzman, in which, praising his 
 loyalty and constancy, he compares him with Holy Abraham, and 
 commands him to put among his titles the surname of Bueno 
 ( Good ) which he had already gained by his virtues and the popu- 
 lar regard for his ample charities. This letter is preserved by 'the 
 Dukes of Medina Sidonia : u, treasure of more estimation than gold 
 and pearls of the Levant. Mariana, u. s. 281. 
 
NOW READT 
 
 The Mrsi and Fourth Volumes of 
 
 MR. OSBORN'S DRAMATIC WORKS, 
 
 COMPRISING 
 
 "CALVAEY"; "VIRGINIA"; "BIANCA 
 CAPELLO": Tragedies: 
 
 "THE SILVER HEAD"; 
 
 "THE DOUBLE DECEIT"; 
 "THE MONTANmi"; 
 
 "THE SCHOOL FOR CRITICS": 
 
 Comedies. 
 
 Fine paper ; cloth extra, $2.50. 
 
 IN PRESS: 
 
 "THE MAGNETISER"; 
 
 "THE PRODIGAL": 
 
 Comedies (in prose) 
 
 BY THE SAME AOTHOR. 
 
 JAMES MILLER, 
 
 647 Bkoadway.