THE 
 
 PLAYS 
 
 OF 
 
 CLARA GAZUL. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2013 
 
 http://archive.org/details/playsofclaragazu01meri 
 
8Z4 
 
 THE 
 
 PLAYS 
 
 CLARA GAZUI 
 
 SPANISH COMEDIAN 
 
 WITH 
 
 MEMOIRS OF HER LIFE. 
 
 Pensaran vuesas mercedes ahora que es poco trabajo liinchar un 
 perro. Miguel de Cervantes. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED FOR GEO. B. WHITTAKER, 
 
 A VE-MARI A LANE. 
 
 1825. 
 
 WtiSE U6RA8Y J 
 
LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED £Y COX AND BAYLIS, GREAT QUEEN STREET. 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 OF 
 
 CLARA G A Z U L. 
 
 It was at Gibraltar, where I was in garri- 
 son with the Swiss regiment of Watteville, 
 that I first saw Clara Gazul ; she was then 
 fourteen years of age (1813), Her uncle, 
 the licentiate Gil Vargas de Castaneda, cap- 
 tain of an Andalusian guerilla, had just been 
 hung by the French, leaving Donna Clara 
 to the guardianship of Father Fray Roque 
 Medrano, her relation, and an inquisitor of 
 the tribunal of Grenada, This venerable per- 
 sonage had forbidden his ward to read any 
 books but her missal ; and, to secure the ob- 
 servance of the prohibition, he had committed 
 to the flames the few volumes left by the poor 
 licentiate Gil Vargas to his niece. Thence, I 
 believe, the hatred of the author, for the 
 members of a religious order which the King 
 a 3 
 
vi 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of Spain in his wisdom has suppressed. I had 
 amongst my scanty baggage three or four 
 odd volumes, which I gave to Clara ; and this 
 gift, valuable in her eyes, led to our acquaint- 
 ance, which I sedulously cultivated during my 
 long sojourn in Spain, after the war of inde 
 pendence; and I am, therefore, enabled to 
 select the truth from a cloud of falsehoods 
 which have been bandied about in her country 
 upon this singular woman. Little is known 
 of her earlier years : however, the following 
 I had from herself. One evening, as we were 
 smoking round her brazero, a cure, who was 
 amongst us, asked her where and of what 
 parents she was born. Clara, who was fond 
 of recounting her origin, gave us the following 
 history, which I do not pretend to guarantee. 
 " I came into the world," said she, " under 
 an orange-tree on the road side, not far from 
 Matil, in the kingdom of Grenada. My mother 
 exercised the profession of fortune-telling. 
 I followed her, or rather she carried me on 
 her back, until I was five years of age ; she 
 then took me to the house of a canon of 
 
CLARA GAZUL. 
 
 vii 
 
 Grenada (the licentiate Gil Vargas), who re- 
 ceived me with great demonstrations of joy. 
 My mother said to me, 1 kiss your uncle,' and 
 I kissed him. She then embraced me and in- 
 stantly quitted the house ; I have never seen 
 her since." To put an end to our questions, 
 Donna Clara then took her guitar and sung 
 us the gipsy's song, Cuando me par id mi madre 
 la git ana. 
 
 As to her genealogy, she manufactured 
 one after her own fashion. Far from pre- 
 tending to be descended from old Christians, 
 she said she was of Moorish blood, and one 
 of the descendants of the tender-hearted 
 Moor Gazul, so famous in the old Spanish 
 ballads. However this might be, the some- 
 what wild expression of her eyes, her long 
 and raven-black hair, her tall and slender 
 shape, white and regular teeth, and her com- 
 plexion slightly tinged with olive, did not 
 belie her origin. 
 
 When tranquillity was re-established in the 
 south of Spain, Donna Clara and her guardian 
 returned to Grenada. He was a kind of 
 a 4 
 
viii 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 Cerberus, and a most inveterate enemy of 
 serenading. If a barber's boy but thrummed 
 his crazy mandolin, Fray Roque, who saw 
 lovers in all directions, hobbled up to the 
 chamber of his ward, reproached her bitterly 
 for the scandal caused by her coquetry, and 
 exhorted her to secure her salvation by enter- 
 ing a convent (probably with the condition of 
 renouncing in his favour what had been left 
 her by the licentiate Gil Vargas). In fine, 
 he did not quit her till after he had satisfied 
 himself that neither bolts nor bars were strong 
 enough to convince him of her prudence. One 
 day he stole so softly into her chamber that 
 he surprised her writing — not a comedy, for 
 she had not yet begun — but the most im- 
 passioned of billets-doux. The anger of the 
 reverend father was proportioned to the 
 crime ; the criminal was shut up in a convent. 
 Fifteen days after her entrance into the clois- 
 ter, she made her escape over the wall, and 
 for three months baffled all attempts at dis- 
 covery. At the end of this period, Fray 
 Roque learned with horror that the timid 
 
CLARA GAZUL. 
 
 ix 
 
 dove confided to his care had made a most 
 successful debut at the principal theatre (Teatro 
 Mayor) of Cadiz, in the character of Donna 
 Clara in the Mogigata. 
 
 Fray Roque quitted Grenada, resolved to 
 take her away by force from the singular 
 asylum she had chosen. The lovers of scandal 
 were joyfully anticipating the future lawsuit 
 between an inquisitor and theatrical manager, 
 when a fit of gout in the stomach deprived the 
 holy office of a zealous member, and freed 
 Clara from a troublesome guardian. Various 
 motives were assigned for her adoption of the 
 stage : some attributed it to a natural taste 
 for the profession of an actress ; others would 
 have it, that it was owing to an inclination 
 she had for the joven galan ; # others again 
 seemed to think that poverty alone compelled 
 her to become an actress. 
 
 A short time before the insurrection of the 
 troops stationed in the Isle of Leon, Donna 
 Clara had come into possession of her uncle's 
 legacy, and her house became the rendezvous 
 
 * The actor who fills the lovers' parts. 
 
X 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of all the wits and constitutionalists of Cadiz. 
 Her reputation as a liberal was near costing 
 her dear, during the massacre of the 10th of 
 March. One of the leaks de Fernando Sep- 
 lir/io, meeting her in the street, raised his sabre 
 to cut her down, when one of his comrades 
 stopped him, saying, " Do not you see, you 
 fool, that it is Clarita, who has made us laugh 
 so heartily in the saijnete de la Ghana?" — " I 
 know it," said the other, " but is she not an 
 enemy of God and the King?" — "No matter," 
 replied his comrade ; M I wish to see her play 
 again la Ghana" and in this manner he saved 
 her life. 
 
 Some days after Clara appeared upon the 
 stage, wearing the national cockade, and sing- 
 ing patriotic songs with such graceful effect, 
 that she turned the head of even the seniles 
 themselves. All the officers of Quiroga's re- 
 giment made her the " lady of their thoughts." 
 Two young officers of the battalion of Ame- 
 rica quarrelled upon her account — she had 
 given to one of them a cockade of green rib- 
 bon made with her own hands, which the 
 
CLARA GAZUL. 
 
 xi 
 
 other, it is said, endeavoured to wrest from 
 his comrade. They went out to fight : which 
 becoming known to Clara, she repaired to the 
 place of meeting. It was never known what 
 means she took to calm their fury, but she 
 returned in the evening to Cadiz, leaning 
 upon the arms of the two rivals, whom she 
 had reconciled. She took them home to sup- 
 per, and their friendship was never after 
 troubled by the slightest difference. 
 
 Her literary reputation began with the 
 piece entitled, A Woman is a Devil! The 
 public were completely ignorant of the subject 
 of the piece ; and we may judge of the sur- 
 prise of a Spanish audience, at seeing for the 
 first time inquisitors in full costume intro- 
 duced upon the stage. This trifle had the 
 most astonishing success. It gave the spec- 
 tators pleasure similar to that of school-boys 
 who should see their master wincing under 
 the rod. However, the bigots began to rally, 
 and cry scandal : three or four duchesses 
 and marchionesses, who were in despair at 
 finding their drawing-rooms deserted for that 
 
xii 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 
 of Donna Clara, obliged their husbands to 
 make a complaint to the government. But 
 Clara had also powerful protectors ; the co- 
 medy kept its place on the stage ; and there 
 was added to it, by way of moral, the pro- 
 logue which w r e give at the head of this trans- 
 lation. Clara intended to bring forward a 
 second part of A Woman is a Devil ; but her 
 confessor, the chaplain of the regiment of 
 the constitution, was so shocked at it, that he 
 prevailed upon her to throw it into the fire. 
 From that moment her reputation w r ent on 
 increasing, and her comedies succeeded each 
 other rapidly, until her flight into England 
 at the restoration, However, as they were 
 not printed until 1822, and had not been 
 represented at the Madrid theatre till a 
 short time before the restoration, they are 
 scarcely known in Paris, where, within the 
 last few years, a taste has sprung up for 
 foreign productions. 
 
 An edition of her complete works, in two 
 small quarto volumes, had been published at 
 Cadiz j but, immediately after the discomfiture 
 
CLARA GAZUL 
 
 xiii 
 
 of the constitutionalists, the royalist junta did 
 every thing in their power to suppress it : 
 the original is therefore very scarce. The 
 present translation will be found a faithful 
 one, having been made in England under the 
 eyes of Donna Clara, who had even the kind- 
 ness to give me one of her inedited pieces 
 to add to the collection. This is the last in 
 the volume, and is entitled Heaven and Hell ; 
 it has been played only in London, and at a 
 private theatre. 
 
 JOSEPH L'ESTRANGE. 
 
C ON TENT S. 
 
 Page 
 
 THE SPANIARDS IN DENMARK, a Comfdy ix 
 
 Three Days* 1 
 
 A WOMAN IS A DEVIL 129 
 
 AFRICAN LOVE 161 
 
 INES MENDO (First Part) 183 
 
 INES MENDO (Second Pabt) 225 
 
 HEAVEN AND HELL 293 
 
 * The translator has rendered the Spanish Jornada by the word 
 Day. Clara Gazul made use, in preference, of this term, already 
 ancient, for which the Spanish classical writers have substituted long 
 since the term Act. It is easy to be seen, thatZ)o?/ does not indicate 
 the time which passes between the rising and setting of the sun. — 
 See the Alcade of Zalamia, and Don Tiempsal Tiempy of Calderon. 
 
THE 
 
 SPANIARDS IN DENMARK; 
 
 A 
 
 COMEDY IN THREE DAYS. 
 
 Quel el orbe se admire, 
 Y en nosostros mire 
 Los hijos del Cid. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 PERSONS OF THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 A SPANISH GRANDEE, A CAPTAIN, A POET, 
 CLARA GAZUL. 
 
 Dressing- 11 'oom of Clara Gazul. 
 
 GRANDEE. 
 
 At length you're dressed ! 
 
 POET. 
 
 And beautiful as an angel ! 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 How is this? without basquina or mantella? (,) 
 
 CLARA GAZUL. 
 
 I am not to play a Spanish character. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 So much the worse. 
 
 GRANDEE. 
 
 Who is the author ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 I do not know. 
 
 POET. 
 
 Always discreet ! How much we poor authors 
 should be obliged to you ! ( They sit down.) 
 
 b 2 
 
4 PROLOGUE. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 This is very fine, gentlemen ! you seat yourselves 
 down as if you were resolved to pass the evening in 
 this room. Most excellent Signor, if you once fix 
 yourself in that arm-chair, you will fall asleep, and 
 miss the comedy. 
 
 GRANDEE. 
 
 You know very well I am not to shew myself before 
 the second day. 
 
 roET. 
 
 Oh, I hope that the new piece is divided into acts. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 You are mistaken ; but the comedy is not the worse 
 for that. 
 
 POET. 
 
 No, nor does it become better. Besides, the title 
 is a nonsensical one ; since there never, as far as I 
 know, were any Spaniards in Denmark. Is it not so, 
 your Excellency ? 
 
 GRANDEE. 
 
 In the time of the wars of Pavia, under the great 
 Marquis de Condova, they probably took it in 
 their heads to cross over — the distance I believe is 
 not great to Denmark — eh 1 am I not right, Mr. 
 Licentiate ? 
 
 poet ( bowing J. 
 Undoubtedly — but the shortest way 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 5 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 You say, Mr. Licentiate, that the Spaniards never 
 went to Denmark — eh ! did I not go there myself 
 with the grea*t Marquis de la Romana ? and, zounds ! 
 was I not near leaving my nose behind me there ? 
 It was frozen so hard you might have taken it for a 
 piece of ice. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Bravo, Captain ; you have guessed the subject of 
 the comedy. 
 
 ALL. 
 
 What, the Marquis de la Romana ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Precisely. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Well then, blood-o'-me but the comedy must be 
 excellent ; mind, I tell you so. The marquis was 
 a great man. — It was he that organized the quadrille 
 warfare* 2 ' amongst us, which drove the French out of 
 our Old Spain. 
 
 GRANDEE. 
 
 Do you call Romana a great man ? He was the 
 most unjust of men. He would not give me even 
 the command of a regiment me ! 
 
 POET. 
 
 But it is impossible to write a comedy about per- 
 sons who are scarcely yet dead. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 What say you ? not yet dead ? Ah ! would to 
 God the Marquis were not so ! 
 
 b 3 
 
6 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Zounds ! I recollect the day we met in Gali- 
 cia (3) with our old allies of Poland. We looked as 
 if we had fallen from the clouds. Unfortunately, the 
 Marquis was not then with us — and — 
 
 GRANDEE. 
 
 Come, Clara, tell us what this comedy is about. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Patience, and you'll know all. 
 
 POET. 
 
 If such be the case, the comedy must commence 
 in Denmark and finish at Espinosa in Galicia — a 
 pretty little bit of a journey ! But your romantic- 
 writers have such commodious vehicles ! 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 You know nothing at all about it. The whole 
 action passes in the island of Fuenen. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Right enough, — the island of Fuenen. It was 
 there I had nearly left my nose in pledge. 
 
 POET. 
 
 And the unities ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Faith, I do not trouble my head about them. To 
 judge of a piece, I do not think it necessary to ascer- 
 tain whether the events pass within the space of 
 twenty-four hours, or if all the personages appear in 
 the same place — some to get up a conspiracy, others 
 to be assassinated, and the rest to poniard them- 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 7 
 
 selves upon the dead bodies, as the practice is on 
 the other side of the Pyrenees. 
 
 grandee ( who has heard only the concluding words ). 
 
 And do the French really cut each other's throats 
 in that manner ? However, when I was in France, 
 I never saw any thing of the kind, and yet I knew 
 every one in Paris. 
 
 poet ( aside ). 
 What stupidity ! how comes it that a man like me 
 should be reduced to write verses upon such a being? 
 ( Aloud ) But to return to our unities. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Come, Mr. Licentiate, what concern is it of 
 your's, whether there be a unity or not? you are 
 always picking holes in other men's coats. 
 
 POET. 
 
 What I have said is merely in the interest of the 
 art. It is much to be desired that we should imitate 
 our neighbours the French. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 No ! in nothing ! except in loading their muskets, 
 which they do quicker than we can. 
 
 GRANDEE. 
 
 And in their respect for the noblesse ! In France 
 it is always to a nobleman they give the situation of 
 minister; whilst with us at present — (4) 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 No doubt that is the crying sin of this cursed 
 b 4 
 
s 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 constitution — a ministerial department would suit 
 you so well ! 
 
 GRANDEE. 
 
 And why not? Have I not birth and political 
 talents ? Ask Mr. Licentiate — he understands these 
 things. 
 
 POET. 
 
 There is no family in Spain more ancient than 
 that of your Excellency. 
 
 CAPTAJX. 
 
 Gad s life ! equality for ever ! It is now a long 
 time that I have been a captain ; and what a pretty 
 thing it would be, were some milksop of a lord to 
 get the colonel's epaulets I have been so long looking 
 for ! 
 
 GRAXDEE. 
 
 Captain ! captain ! It is not to a guerilohro — w 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Do not become quarrelsome, gentlemen, or I must 
 shew you all the door. You are going to see the 
 new piece, which will, I hope, unite all your suf- 
 frages. You, most excellent Signor, will feel inte- 
 rested for a noble Marquis. — Your hero, Captain, 
 will be the Aide-de-camp of La Romans, who bears 
 a name dear to every Spaniard. 
 
 CAPTAIX. 
 
 And what name ? I knew one of La Romana's 
 aides-de-camp who gained his epaulets in the anti- 
 chambers of Godoy. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 9 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Your hero's name. Captain, is Don Juan Diaz. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Don Juan Diaz Porlier ? By heavens the Mar- 
 quisito ! 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 I do not say that ; but he is called Juan Diaz. — 
 You, worthy Licentiate, who love every thing that 
 is French, will no doubt be charmed with the heroine, 
 who is a French woman. 
 
 POET. 
 
 How ! a French woman in Denmark ! what should 
 she be doing there ? 
 
 GRANDEE. 
 
 La Romano was the most unjust of men, and the 
 comedy must be detestable. 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 The piece and the author may go to the devil, if 
 the heroine be a French woman. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 How ! not one of you satisfied ? I am certainly in 
 bad luck to-day. — Is it possible, Captain, that you 
 will not applaud your general ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. 
 
 Oh ! certainly, if the French are abused enough in 
 the piece. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 And you, learned escolastico ? since some of the 
 characters are French ! 
 
10 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 POET. 
 
 That would be very well if they represented per- 
 sons who died at least four hundred years ago. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 And if they were dead only three hundred and 
 fifty, would the comedy then be good for anything? 
 
 POET. 
 
 I have my doubts. 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 Well, then, it will become good with the time. 
 Oh ! how I should like to return in four hundred 
 years, and see it applauded ! — Let me entreat your 
 Excellency to applaud a Spanish Marquis. 
 
 GRANDEE. 
 
 What, one of a family which has stolen seven of 
 my names from me ? 
 
 CLARA. 
 
 The deuce take you all ! — ( To the Public.) 
 You, gentlemen, are reasonable persons, and will 
 listen indulgently to the new piece. The author 
 confides himself to you. 
 
 END OF THE PROLOGUE. 
 
CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. 
 
 MARQUIS DE LA ROM AX A. 
 DON JUAN DIAZ. 
 
 THE FRENCH RESIDENT in the Isle of Fuenen. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC, a French Officer. 
 
 WALLIS, an English naval Officer. 
 
 THE WAITER of the Three Crowns Hotel. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE, alias Madame Leblanc. 
 
 M ADAME DE COULANGES, alias Mademoiselle Leblanc. 
 
 Scene— Isle of Fuenen, in 1808. 
 
THE 
 
 SPANIARDS IN DENMARK ; 
 
 A 
 
 COMEDY IN THREE DAYS. 
 FIRST DAY. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 The Residents Closet 
 Spanish Military Music heard in the Distance. 
 resident (alone). 
 
 La, la, la ! the devil take their detestable music. 
 The parade is over. I do not relish at all finding my- 
 self in the midst of these old bronze-visaged soldiers. 
 ( Looking out of the window ) Ah ! there is General 
 Romana galloping by; he is returning to his lodg- 
 ings. Let us repose ourselves. Good God ! what hard 
 work it is ! My instructions oblige me to be continu- 
 ally with these officers.- — I have just been walking a 
 
1 1 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 Pay I. 
 
 whole mortal hour with them. — Faugh ! my clothes 
 smell of tobacco sufficient to make one faint. In 
 Paris I should not dare to shew myself for six weeks 
 after such a smoking : but in the Isle of Fuenen, 
 in this barathrum, people are not so fastidious. ( Sits 
 down.) Umph ! they almost frightened me with 
 their long mustachios, and their black and savage- 
 looking eyes ; and the fact is. they do not appear to 
 be over and above in love with us French ; and these 
 plaguy Spaniards are so ignorant, they cannot 
 comprehend that it is in order to secure their happi- 
 ness, that my master gives them his august brother 
 for their sovereign. They complain of the island 
 being cold. By the bye, I find it is so too. I pay 
 dearly the honour attached to this mission of mine. 
 Besides, when I entered upon the career of diplo- 
 macy, I imagined I should have been first sent to 
 Rome or Naples: in tine, into some country where 
 good company was to be found. I went to solicit 
 the minister, and in the course of conversation, had 
 the misfortune to mention that I knew Spanish. 
 "What! you know Spanish/" said he. I was in 
 ecstasy. On returning home. I found passports and 
 instructions, as I thought, for Madrid; but. alas ! how 
 different ! they were for the Spanish division under 
 Romana. in the Isle of Fuenen. Isle of Fuenen ! 
 Good God ! how they must be astonished in Paris, 
 to hear that I am in the Isle of Fuenen ! And, more- 
 
SCEKI I.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 15 
 
 over, they make me trot about here and there, as if 
 I were one of the military. It would he something 
 if I were in Denmark with the army of the prince ; 
 I should there find Frenchmen to speak to. But, 
 alas ! I must remain here with a crew of Spaniards, 
 Danes, Germans, Hanoverians — all which good peo- 
 ple love each other like cats and dogs. I must 
 watch them, amuse them, and speak to them the 
 language of reason, nature and civilization, as my 
 instructions prescribe me. Faith ! the task is not so 
 easy. I cannot beat it into their heads that the 
 English, with their sugar, are their mortal enemies. 
 They wish to have colonial coffee, and a hundred 
 other things ; but as we do without them, they must 
 also manage to get their health without these luxu- 
 ries. My God ! when shall we take England ? It is 
 the English who force me to remain in this cursed 
 island with these gibberish-speaking Spaniards. Ah, 
 how damp the air was to day ! I'm sure I shall be very 
 lucky if I escape a fluxion on the chest. I am almost 
 tempted to go to bed ; but I must, however, make out 
 my report. Cursed calling ! Never an instant of 
 repose ! A report ! and what can I say ? The prince 
 writes to me that he has reason to suspect the fidelity 
 of the Marquis de la Romana ; that I must strictly 
 observe his conduct, and sound the dispositions of 
 his soldiers. Yes, sound them — that is easily said; but 
 how am I to look into their hearts ? The skin of these 
 
hi 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day I. 
 
 dingy dogs is so black, that nothing can be seen 
 through it. Oh ! by the Lord, that is not badly 
 imagined ; why is there not some one present to 
 hear it ? I shall write that to the Prince de Ponte- 
 Corvo ; it will make him laugh ; and it is by making 
 people laugh, that one gets on in the world ; that's 
 it — I shall write that to my friends in Paris also; 
 ( writes) —the idea is not bad — 
 
 servant [enters). 
 A lady requests to speak to you, Sir. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 A lady ! and what kind of lady ? 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 Why, a French woman, Sir; she is well dressed, 
 and of a genteel appearance. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 A French woman in the Isle of Fuenen ! a French 
 woman at Nyborg ! Oh, unexpected happiness ! 
 La Fleur, give me my blue coat, and my w r atch and 
 trinkets — a comb.— Good ! — shew her in. 
 ( Enter Madame de Coidanges, in a travelling dress.) 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 Madame de Coulanges. ( Servant retires ). 
 resident ( aside ). 
 
 The devil ! — she is certainly the wife of a general. 
 ( Aloud) I am quite in despair, Madame, at receiving 
 you in the midst of the diplomatic horrors of a 
 cabinet, which 
 
Scene I.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Have the goodness to read this letter, sir. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Let me first request you to take a seat. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Sir 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Oh ! I beseech you, take this arm-chair. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 If 
 
 resident ( without reading the letter J. 
 No doubt, madame is just arrived from Paris ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Yes, sir. That letter 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 I scarcely dare to hope, madame, that you will 
 prolong your stay in this frightful country ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I cannot say ; but if you will take the trouble to 
 
 read that letter 
 
 resident ( speaking ?*apidly). 
 
 Nybourg is very dull. It is here that the Spa- 
 niards are stationed. They and the Germans are 
 most heartily tired of themselves, and each other. 
 We have scarcely any French here. They are, un- 
 fortunately, in Denmark, at the other side of the 
 Belt, with the Prince de Ponte-Corvo. However, 
 madame, your presence at Nybourg w r ill be sufficient 
 c 
 
IS 
 
 THE SPANIARDS [Day I, 
 
 to attract hither the whole of the prince's staff. A 
 desert inhabited by a Cenobite such as yon 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Sir, if 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Apropos : and Talma — what has become of him ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I go but seldom to the theatre. If you 
 
 resident ( still speaking rapidly J. 
 
 I cannot express to you, madame, how charmed I 
 am to have met, in the midst of eternal snows, a rose 
 of Paris — Eh ! eh ! eh ! — so amiable a countrywo- 
 man ! I most earnestly desire to have it in my power 
 to be useful to you, if you have need, madame. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I entreat you to take the trouble of reading that 
 letter. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Since you permit it. — ( Opens the letter.) Ho ! 
 ho ! the devil ! You need not blush for that. But 
 what on earth do you wish I should tell you, my 
 charming lady ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Bring me acquainted with the Marquis de la 
 Romana. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 But, what do you wish that I should tell you ? I 
 
Scene L] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 ID 
 
 have closely observed him — there is nothing to be 
 done with a man like him : he is buttoned up to the 
 very chin ; and, then, observe — he is old ; and beau- 
 tiful as your eyes may be, they have not the power of 
 resuscitating the dead. Eh ! eh ! eh ! ( He draws 
 his chair close to Madame de Coulanges.) 
 madame de coulanges ( drawing back her chair.) 
 He has, probably, a friend — an intimate friend, 
 who possesses all his confidence ? 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Yes, he has ; but he is a queer sort of person. He 
 is aid-de-camp and nephew to the general, who keeps 
 nothing a secret from him, as I have been told. As to 
 the rest, this aid-de-camp is a wild, hectoring sort of 
 fellow, who, not more than fifteen days ago, killed a 
 French officer of the greatest promise ; and do you 
 know for what? Because the French officer pro- 
 posed the health of his Majesty the Emperor, and 
 threatened to cut off his ears if he did not drink it. 
 The aid-de-camp not only did not drink the toast, 
 but he killed the officer. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Well, sir, what kind of man is he ? — What is his 
 character ? 
 
 RESIDENT, 
 
 His character ? — Faith, what, do you wish that 
 I should tell you ? I do not well know : he is always 
 twirling his mustachios. Ah ! and then he is a smoker, 
 
 c 2 
 
•20 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 a most inveterate smoker. Yes. he sometimes passes 
 whole hours shut up with the Marquis: while they 
 smoke together in a singular manner, with little 
 cigars of paper which they make themselves. What 
 I tell you is strictlv true, for I have seen it mvself. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 You have, no doubt, received some notes relative 
 to him ? 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 To tell you the truth, something of this kind has 
 been sent me : but. faith ! I know not what has 
 become of them. I have such a heap of papers ! They 
 could, however, not have been of much importance, 
 as I recollect nothing of them. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 'Tis very well : but. at least, you can tell me his 
 name. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 He calls himself Don — you know all the Spa- 
 niards call themselves Don — Don Juan Diaz. They 
 have most extraordinary names. Don Juan Diaz ! 
 It is true he has another name : but I cannot recol- 
 lect it at present. He lives at the Three Crowns, an 
 inn upon the sea-shore. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 That is sufficient. I have to return you many 
 thanks for your information. I must have a thou- 
 sand crowns. 
 
Scene I] IN DENMARK. 21 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 You shall have them. This letter gives you an 
 unlimited credit — and then, with your face ! eh ! 
 eh ! eh ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Could you enable me, sir, to transmit, free of 
 portage, a sum of money to my brother, who is Ser- 
 jeant in the guard ? This money is the produce of 
 some French merchandize that I sold in Germany. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Without the least difficulty; almost every day I 
 send smoked beef to my friends by the diplomatic 
 courier. But may I reckon upon a little gratitude ? 
 eh! eh! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 The bill is at sight. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 At sight upon Moor and Company. This Mr. 
 Juan Diaz is a fortunate rascal; for we, who are in 
 the diplomatic way, easily see through the motives 
 of things : you are going to seduce him ! eh ! eh ! I 
 am tempted to become a conspirator myself! eh ! 
 eh ! eh ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 It would not be an easy task, sir, to penetrate your 
 secrets. I am sorry for having interrupted your 
 diplomatic occupations for so trifling an affair. 
 
 c 3 
 
22 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day I. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 You will permit me, charming creature, to call 
 sometimes on you, and forget the fatigues of diplo- 
 macy in your presence. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Pardon me, sir; you must have, no doubt, for- 
 gotten that I ought not to receive the French Resi- 
 dent in the Isle of Fuenen. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 The devil ! You are to a certain degree right ; 
 but, with a large dark cloak, such as the Spaniards 
 wear, in the evening, and under favour of a fog 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 No; this is my first and last visit. My mother 
 will bring you the notes I may have occasion to 
 write to the prince. ( She puts on her veil and is about 
 to retire, ) 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Permit me, at least — 
 
 SERVANT enters. 
 
 That aide-de-camp, that you know well, the aid- 
 de-camp of General La Romana, wishes to speak to 
 you, sir. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 The devil fetch him ! Lafleur, let madame out by 
 the little private stair-case. Quick, quick ! Adieu, 
 syren. — (Exit Madame de Coulangcs.) — What a pity ! 
 
Scene I.] IN DENMARK. 23 
 
 Never did I find myself so full of esprit ; and I was 
 making way so fast ! To the devil with this impor- 
 tunate fellow ! — Not to have a moment to one's-self. — 
 ( Don Juan enters.) — Ah, sir, I have the honour of 
 presenting you my respects. How do you do ? I am 
 charmed ; and the dear General ? Always the same ? 
 I am enchanted ! Take the trouble of sitting down. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Will you take the trouble of listening to me ? 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 I am entirely at your orders. Dispose of me. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 It is now, sir, six months since we have had any 
 news from Spain. Various reasons lead me and the 
 officers of our division to believe that you, sir, have 
 received orders from your government to intercept 
 our letters, and 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Pardon me, Colonel, you are altogether mistaken ; 
 and in order to convince you completely of your 
 error, I shall feel a sincere pleasure to shew you 
 the despatches I have just received from your coun- 
 try. Here is a proclamation of his Highness the 
 Grand Duke of Berg; and here is a bulletin an- 
 nouncing 
 
 C 4 
 
'2\ 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 Day I. 
 
 DON J L AN. 
 
 And what have I to do with your proclamations 
 and your bulletins ? It is not about such things we 
 are anxious. What we wish for is news of our 
 families, and not of the Grand Duke of Berg. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Sir, there are so many accidents which may prevent 
 a letter from reaching its address : for instance, it is 
 possible that your friends may have forgotten to pay 
 the postage of the letters in Spain — a circumstance of 
 frequent occurrence : or else 
 
 DON JEAN. 
 
 A pretty excuse ! 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Will you do me the honour of breakfasting with 
 
 me ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Thank you much. Mr. Resident : I have waiting 
 for me at my lodgings some smuggled chocolate, 
 and you will excuse me if I prefer it to your imperial 
 coffee. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Oh. young man. young man ! can you so far forget 
 the irreparable injury you are doing to commerce? 
 Has not this chocolate been brought you by our 
 cruelest enemies ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 How does that concern me. provided it be good? 
 
ScLNE I.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 25 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Sir, sir ! the chocolate of the tyrants of the sea 
 ought always to appear detestable to an officer who 
 has the honour of serving under the ever-victorious 
 banners of his Imperial Majesty. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 And his Imperial Majesty means, assuredly, to 
 recompense us for all the continental drugs he makes 
 us swallow — thanks to his blockade ! 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Undoubtedly, sir. Is it not his Majesty's desire 
 that the sun of civilization should dart his rays be- 
 yond the Pyrenees, and shed that light upon you 
 which has been hitherto concealed from you by the 
 mists of anarchy ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! What paternal solicitude ! How 
 very touching it is ! But, sir, I will tell you very 
 frankly, that we love the shade in Spain, and that we 
 can do very well without his sun. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 What you say is a further proof of the need you 
 have of a legislator to remodel you. Permit me, 
 Colonel, to develope the whole of my idea: you 
 Spaniards are not on a level with the age, and even — 
 who could believe it ? — you shut your eyes to the light 
 that is brought you. Now, sir, I will lay a wager 
 that you have never read Voltaire. 
 
86 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 LDa? I 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I beg your pardon, sir; I know a great part of his 
 works by heart. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 That being the ease, I shall speak no more of them 
 to you. But, to be brief, you are still tainted — (not 
 you, sir, who are an esprit fot% like a Frenchman, but 
 the mass of your compatriots) — you are still tainted 
 with superstition ; you are as yet so little advanced, 
 that what you most respect are monks and friars. Is it 
 not rendering you a service to import into your 
 country the philosophy of the nineteenth century, 
 and to divest you of your ancient prejudices, the 
 offspring of ignorance and error ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Sir, we shall always receive philosophy with open 
 arms when it comes to us in cases of good books ; but 
 escorted as it is at present by eighty thousand sol- 
 diers, I confess to you that it has but little attractions 
 for us. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 His Majesty is anxious to preserve you from the 
 yoke of the island despots. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Apropos : it is said that, in Portugal, upon the sea- 
 coast, near a certain town called Vimeira m 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Oh, sir, you are very inaccurately informed. 
 
Scene I.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 27 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 How ? I have advanced nothing as yet. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 But I anticipate what you are going to say. 
 Permit me to tell you the real state of affairs. The 
 English landed at Vimeira, it is true ; so far you are 
 well informed ; but we attacked them, turned them, 
 cut them in pieces; in fine, made a most frightful 
 carnage. It appears, even, that a great number of 
 their generals have fallen — their army, in a word, 
 was most irretrievably disorganized ; after which, our 
 brave troops, in consequence of superior orders, 
 embarked for Brest, in France. This is, sir, the 
 exact truth. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 This is quite admirable ! A thousand thanks ! I 
 shall go and communicate to my friends the intel- 
 ligence you have given me. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 If you permit me, I will give you in writing a less 
 succinct and clearer account. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Oh, your statement is quite excellent, and per- 
 fectly clear, and I shall content myself with it. 
 Adieu, sir; I wish you a good appetite, which is 
 quite necessary to enable you to drink the coffee of 
 the Grande Nation. [Exit. 
 
28 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day I. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Your servant, sir : my respects to the Marquis. — 
 Impertinent sneerer ! But, let him laugh as much as 
 he wishes, I have nicely taken him in with my ac- 
 count of the battle of Vimeira. It is most extraor- 
 dinary ! Since I have become a diplomatist, I can 
 detail falsehoods with an a plomb and intrepidity that 
 I should have thought it impossible to acquire. 
 Here I am, making out bulletins as well as a major- 
 general. Patience, patience ! I am not nailed to this 
 island. One day, perhaps, I shall awake with the 
 portfolio of foreign affairs under my pillow. [EpU, 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Saloon in the Inn of the Three Crowns. 
 
 MARQUIS de la rom ANA ( walking up and down with 
 an air of anxiety; he looks at his watch J. 
 He should have arrived here an hour ago. I can- 
 not remain stationary. Probably I may discover 
 something from this window (opens it). No, not a 
 boat upon the sea. As far as the sight can reach, 
 there is nothing to be seen but waves — still waves ; 
 not a single black speck to give me a glimmering of 
 hope ( walks about ). They have probably been de- 
 terred by the bad weather. On the contrary, that is 
 the moment they should have chosen — Even if I 
 
Scene II.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 29 
 
 could be sure that they bad not embarked — The 
 sloop is going out to sea. Ah ! I see I shall be kept 
 in torture here another day. However, " no matter 
 how unfavourable the weather may be," the admiral 
 says in his letter, "you shall hear from me." I feel 
 as if I were burning. Not the least appearance of 
 any one quitting it. If, notwithstanding their pass 
 ports, they should have been stopped by the coast- 
 guards ! And should they not have taken the pre- 
 caution to conceal their despatches — which I so ear- 
 nestly recommended them to do ! Oh, my head is 
 splitting. I should prefer a thousand times finding 
 myself in the midst of the balls on a field of battle, 
 than shut up in this room waiting for this boat, 
 without being able to accelerate its arrival a single 
 instant. 
 
 don juan (behind the scenes J. 
 Lorenzo, unsaddle the mare. The weather is too 
 bad to let me think of going out {enters.) The 
 devil take this country of fogs and rain ! — Ah ! 
 General, I kiss your excellency's hands. Not 'yet 
 tired of looking out of that window since I quitted 
 you ? Tell me, have you reckoned how many waves 
 there are in the Belt ? 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Don Juan, what do you think of this country ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I look upon it as the anti-chamber of purgatory ; 
 
30 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 IDav I 
 
 and I hope, that, in the other world, the years I 
 have passed here will be deducted from those during 
 which I am destined to be roasted in expiation of 
 my sins. 
 
 marquis ( aside ). 
 
 No boat can now live in the sea — I hope they 
 have not quitted the vessel. 
 
 don juan (continuing ). 
 
 It is always raining here, unless when it snows. 
 All the women here are either light or red-haired ; 
 never a hand's-breadth of blue in the sky, nor a little 
 foot, nor a dark eye in the whole island. Oh ! 
 Spain, Spain ! when shall I again see your basquinas, 
 your delicate little shoes, your black eyes sparkling 
 like carbuncles ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Don Juan, is it only the black eyes and the little 
 feet of Spain that makes you desirous of returning 
 there ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Do you wish I should speak seriously to you ? 
 
 MAROUIS. 
 
 Yes — if you were capable of entertaining a serious 
 idea. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 If you were not my general, I should tell you a 
 very grave reason for my wishing to see Spain again. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Speak your mind freely. 
 
Scene II.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 31 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 You will promise not to put me under arrest ? 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Still, still jesting. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 You wish for something serious ? Well, then — if I 
 wish to return to Spain, it is for the purpose of find- 
 ing myself face to face with her oppressors ; it is to 
 plant the standard of liberty in Galicia ; h is to die 
 there if I cannot live in freedom there. 
 
 marquis ( pressing his hand ). 
 
 Oh ! Don Juan, I did not know you till now. 
 Under this appearance of frivolity you possess the 
 heart of a true Spaniard. It is to that heart, Don Juan, 
 that I wish to confide a secret worthy of its sympathy. 
 Although not loaded with chains, we are as much 
 prisoners in this island as if shut up in an immense 
 dungeon. Here there is a numerous army of 
 auxiliaries watching us. At the other side of the 
 Belt is the army of ihe Prince de Ponte-Corvo, 
 which, in a few days, might join the Germans and 
 Danes and exterminate us. But this sea which shuts 
 
 us out from our native land ; this sea 
 
 Enter Madame de Coulanges, Madame de Tour- 
 
 ville, the Host, and a Waiting-maid, ( Don Juan 
 
 observes them, and the Marquis goes to the window.) 
 
 HOST. 
 
 This is the assembly-room ; so you will have only 
 
32 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 ;day l 
 
 the lobby to cross : the most respectable families of 
 the place meet here every evening. General la 
 Romans occupies at present the greatest part of that 
 wing of the house where your apartment is. You 
 see it would be impossible to find a better frequented 
 hotel. The noble circle of the town hold their 
 evening parties here. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURYILLE. 
 
 This is quite delightful. 
 
 MADAME DE COl'LAN'GES. 
 
 Louisa, see the luggage taken to our apartment. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 I shall go with you. I wish to learn how to find 
 my way through the house.- (In a low voice to 
 Madame de Coidanges. y Come, be firm ! You are 
 now in the presence of the enemy : a £ood beginning 
 is of great importance. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Very well. I -hall remain here while you put 
 things in some order. — (Affecting surprise). Ha! but 
 there is some one here. 
 
 HOST. 
 
 It is the general of whom I spoke to you. and his 
 first aid-ck-camp. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 See. your excellency, what good fortune has fallen 
 upon us. These are real Andalusian eyes, as I hope 
 to be saved 1 
 
Scene II.] IN DENMARK. 33 
 
 MAROUIS. 
 
 Don Juan, come hither 
 
 HOST. 
 
 Most noble marquis, a French lady, who is abou t 
 to become your neighbour — Madame de Coulanges. 
 — Madame, this is General la Romana, and Colo- 
 nel Don Juan Diaz. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES ( to the Host). 
 
 So you undertake to procure me a servant ? 
 
 HOST. 
 
 I shall go this instant to seek for one. Excuse me 
 for leaving you ; without doubt these gentlemen will 
 feel a pleasure 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Madame, it is our duty, as the older lodgers_, to do 
 the honours of this poor house. Be kind enough to 
 take a seat. It can only, madame, be a shipwreck 
 that has driven you into this cursed island. For a 
 long time back I have been praying to Heaven for 
 one } but I did not hope that it would have sent a 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Pardon, Colonel! yourprayers have not been heard; 
 for 1 arrived here yesterday by the packet-boat, and 
 though I cannot boast of much courage, yet I had 
 not a single moment's fear. In looking at the sea to- 
 day, I congratulate myself at having crossed yester- 
 day. 
 
 D 
 
34 THE SPANIARDS [Day I. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Don Juan 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 You speak Spanish so well, madame, that I 
 must consider you a countrywoman. You have 
 taken compassion upon us unfortunate exiles. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 No, sir, I am not a Spaniard ; but I have lived a 
 considerable time in your fine country. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 From your excellent accent, and particularly 
 from the brilliancy of your eyes and the smallness 
 of your foot, I should have sworn you were an (4) An- 
 dalusian. Is it not so, your excellency? should 
 you not have supposed that Madame was from 
 Seville ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 And I, judging from your compliments, should 
 have taken you for a Parisian. You have said but 
 three words to me, and each is a compliment. I 
 must warn you that I do not like them. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ah, madame, you must pardon me ! it is so long a 
 time since I have seen a pretty woman ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Don Juan, I wish to speak with you in my own 
 room. [Exit. 
 
Scene II.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 35 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 The General appears to have something to say to 
 you. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Oh, let him want ! — I shall not quit a young and 
 charming woman to go and talk of barracks and 
 guard-houses with an old general. May we hope, 
 madame, to enjoy your presence here for any length 
 of time ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I do not know. On the death of my husband I 
 quitted Poland, and I wait here for my uncle, who is 
 to join your division of the army. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 A military man ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 He is colonel of dragoons. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 And the number of his regiment ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES (dSldeJ. 
 
 I tremble. — (Aloud ) The — the fourteenth, I 
 believe — 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ah, it is Colonel Durand, with whom I have 
 served ! But his regiment was at Holstein, and 
 he set out some time back for Spain. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 My uncle's name is Tourville — but he is at pre- 
 
 D 2 
 
36 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 sent, I believe, attached to the staff. He formerly 
 commanded that regiment— or, probably, I mistake 
 the number. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 You quitted Spain before the invasion — ( correct- 
 ing himself) before the French entered Spain ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Yes, sir. — The French are heartily detested in 
 Spain at present. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Such natives of France as you, madame, are loved 
 in every country ; and I am certain that our rebels, 
 
 as you call them 
 
 (Voice behind the scenes.) 
 
 They are lost — they have got into the current ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Oh God ! some unfortunate persons suffering 
 shipwreck ! ( They go to the ivindow). 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Oh ! see that boat below there, with three men in 
 it ! — Heavens ! what an enormous wave. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 They will be dashed to pieces on the rocks, if 
 timely aid be not given them — but it appears no one 
 dares venture. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Oh, if I were a man ! 
 
Scene II. J 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 37 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I will go myself. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Stop, stop, sir ! You are running to your ruin ! 
 Stop, I entreat you ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 No, no ; I cannot remain unconcerned, when I 
 see my fellow-creatures in danger of perishing. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 But you are not a sailor. Stop, in the name of 
 Heaven, sir ! you can only perish along with them — 
 stop, stop ! — ( She catches hold of his cloak, which 
 Don Juan leaves in her hands, and rushes out.) 
 Enter the Marquis, 
 marquis. 
 
 What's the matter? Whence this tumult? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Alas ! sir, — your aide-de-camp 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Well ?— 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 He rushed out — in spite of me. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Where is he ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 See, see him ! — Alas ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Don Juan ! Don Juan ! 
 
 d 3 
 
38 
 
 THE 
 
 SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day L 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Good God ! What a frightful tempest ! — and 
 their skiff is so small ! 
 
 marquis ( at the window J. 
 Here, my brave fellows — take this purse, and 
 hasten to stop that boat from proceeding ; those in 
 it are going to certain death — go ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Alas ! the danger is so great, that they dare not 
 accept it on that condition. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 How, cowards ! will you let your comrades there 
 perish in your sight ? Ah! my eyes grow dim— I 
 can no longer distinguish any thing — tell me, do you 
 still see him ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Yes, still— they are now bent down upon their 
 oars ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Great God ! Will you let him fall a victim to his 
 generosity ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Ah ! they are now covered by the waves — mercy, 
 mercy ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 No! Don Juan's boat is still visible— but the 
 others 
 
Scene II.] IN DENMARK. 39 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I cannot tear myself away from this frightful spec- 
 tacle, though it kills me ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Heavens ! he has disappeared ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I can no longer see his red sash ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Unfortunate ! What can I say to his mother ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 My eyes are blinded with tears — every thing ap- 
 pears to turn round ! ( She falls upon the window 
 seat) 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 He is dead ! he is dead ! ah ! his poor mother, 
 who confided him to me ! ( He runs about like a 
 madman : after a few moments cries are heard from 
 behind the scenes. ) — 
 
 There they are ! — there they are ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 They are saved ! — I see him ! — Don Juan ! — Don 
 Juan ! — Madame, he is saved ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 How ! — He is not dead ? 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 There is their boat ! they have picked up the men 
 belonging to the other — one effort more, Don Juan ! 
 
 d 4 
 
40 THE SPANIARDS [Day I 
 
 Madame de coulanges ( waving her handkerchief). 
 
 Courage, brave young man ! you were not des- 
 tined to die here ! 5) 
 
 MAROUIS. 
 
 Hold fast the rudder, Don Juan ! One wave 
 more —courage ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Oh ! I can bear no more ! ( Throws herself upon 
 a sofa.) 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Don Juan ! Don Juan ! — 
 
 {Cries from behind the scenes.) 
 They are saved ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Good ! this one breaker more — it is the last — 
 victory ! — they reach the shore — I shall die of joy ! 
 Madame, madame, come and see him bearing in his 
 arms the being he has saved ! Is not that courage ? 
 
 [Goes out. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 This, then, is that Don Juan ! miserable woman 
 that I am ! I expected to have met a fop — and I 
 find a hero. Ah ! how different is he from the man 
 my imagination pictured forth ! 
 
 Enter Don Juan, bearing in Wallis in a state of 
 insensibility, the Marquis, Madame de Tour- 
 ville, the Host, and Valets. 
 
Scene II.] IN DENMARK. 41 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Praise to God ! How I rejoice having learned to 
 swim ! Ah J you here, madame — may I entreat you 
 to make us a little room ? 
 
 HOST. 
 
 Take care of the sofa — put this napkin under 
 him. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 A pretty time to think about your sofa ! Lay 
 him down gently ! 
 
 marquis {embracing him). 
 My son ! my dear Don Juan ! 
 
 host {to the Valets). 
 Go and get ready a well warmed bed, while I go 
 for a physician. [Goes out. 
 
 don juan {to Madame de Coulanges). 
 Ah, madame, I dare say you have salts about you ! 
 No pretty woman is without them. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I will go and fetch them. [Goes out. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 He must recover — he was so very short a time 
 under water. Look, your excellency, under this 
 coarse waistcoat, what a fine frilled shirt ! For a 
 Norwegian fisherman, this is sufficiently elegant. 
 marquis {in a low voice). 
 
 Be silent ! 
 
42 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day I. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 And why so ? Rub his temples at your side, and 
 the palm of his hand. How firmly he keeps them 
 closed upon his breast ! Ah, ah ! a little box 
 attached to a ribbon — this tells a love-tale, or the 
 deuce is in it ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Let us see. 
 
 marquis {taking the box). 
 
 Let us give all our attention to this poor sufferer. 
 madame de coulanges {enters with a smelling-bottle). 
 
 Here it is. Ah ! he begins to breathe. Mother, 
 hold up his head. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 It is by the feet he should be held up, to let the 
 water that he has swallowed run out. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Yes, that would be a sure way of finishing all his 
 sufferings. 
 
 WALLIS. 
 
 Where am I ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Amongst friends, comrade. Well, how are you 
 now? 
 
 wallis {putting his hands to his neck). 
 My box?— 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 It is quite safe. The Marquis de la Romana 
 
Scene II.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 43 
 
 has it — he will restore it to you — so set your mind at 
 ease, and drink what is offered to you. 
 
 WALLIS. 
 
 The Marquis? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Here, swallow this cordial. — 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Let him be put into the bed of Pedro, my valet-de- 
 chambre. 
 
 don juan {to Madame de Coulanges). 
 Look, madame, upon this poor sailor. — You see in 
 him the model of lovers. He kept closely pressed to 
 his breast a little box, which the Marquis has just 
 taken, and which contains the portrait of a woman 
 that his excellency is going to shew us. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Don Juan, you should have a little more respect 
 for the secrets of this young man. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ah ! be it so ; but, for the trouble I have had, he 
 must let me see, some day or other, whether she is 
 pretty or not. 
 
 WALLIS. 
 
 Where is he who saved me ? 
 
 ALL. 
 
 There he is ! 
 
 WALLIS. 
 
 Give me your hand, sir. 
 
44 THE SPANIARDS [Day I. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Come, comrade, try and get a little sleep ; and 
 afterwards, to make you forget all the salt water you 
 have drank, I will make you empty a bottle of 
 genuine sherry that shall put the life-blood into your 
 heart again. ( WdUis is led out accompanied by all 
 except Don Juan and Madame de Coulanges.) 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Sir 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I would give I know not how much to see that 
 portrait ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I would fain find words to express my admiration ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 It is quite uncalled for — nothing was more simple 
 for any one who could swim so well as I do. Any 
 one in my place would have done as much ; but what 
 is really singular is, that I never dived so well 
 before : — what extraordinary force one finds in mo- 
 ments like these ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Oh sir, sir ! — I cannot speak as I would wish. I — 
 I — Let me embrace you ! (She embraces him.) 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 God be praised ! — I wish there was a shipwreck 
 every day in the year under my windows. — But 
 
Scene II.] IN DENMARK. 45 
 
 apropos, madame - there were three persons in the 
 boat we brought to shore ! 
 
 mabame de coulanges {embracing him again). 
 
 There — and again — oh ! I am a silly wretch — 
 but never in my life have I been so affected ! ( She 
 weeps.) 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 What is the matter? you alarm me — you have 
 become paler than our drowned man. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Oh ! sir — it is nothing — but I cannot keep 
 myself from weeping ! — Fool that I am ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ah, but where is my coat ? I left it behind me 
 in your hands, like the chaste Joseph. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Be careful of yourself — go and change your 
 clothes immediately — I entreat you. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 First permit me to conduct you to your apart- 
 ment — and may I beg to be allowed afterwards to 
 call and know how you are ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Yes, sir, — at all times. ( She goes out leaning upon 
 Don Juan's arm, with her handkerchief to her eyes.) 
 don juan ( re-entering alone ). 
 
 Here is an intrigue well begun — a man drawn out 
 of the water, and a secret to learn ! This certainly is 
 
46 THE SPANIARDS [Day I. 
 
 something to make the day pass agreeably. She is 
 a devilish pretty woman this, and appears to have an 
 excellent disposition. There is nothing I love so 
 much as your frank and sincere people who carrv 
 their hearts upon their lips. Oh faith ! it is time for 
 me to change ; for I feel the cold beginning to strike 
 me. ( He is going out when the Marquis enters.) 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 We are now alone, Don Juan. Yon are a brave 
 Spaniard, and I will open my heart to yon. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Speak, General— I am frying with impatience — 
 ( aside ) and dying with cold ! 
 
 MAROUIS. 
 
 Do yon know whom yon have saved ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 A fisherman — probably a smuggler. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 An English officer, the lieutenant of the Royal 
 George, sent by the admiral on the station, with whom 
 I have been in correspondence for some time back. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I understand — bravo ! — I see it all — by Saint Jago 
 this is delightful ! — and the honest admiral will whisk 
 us out of this devil of an island ! 
 
 MAROUIS. 
 
 And take us back to Old Spain ! 
 
Scene II.] IN DENMARK. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Spain ! oh, my beloved country, I shall then again 
 see you ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 And defend her, Don Juan ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 And die for her — for liberty ! Oh, death will ap- 
 pear sweet to me upon the soil of Spain ! — But how 
 the devil shall we spirit away our division? 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 All my soldiers will follow me — every thing is 
 arranged — the English fleet will cast anchor in the 
 bay before the prince can run hither, with his 
 Frenchmen, to hinder our design. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 As to the foreigners who garrison the island 
 with us 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 We have arms in our hands 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 And shall make use of them ! — Viva ! — But, confu- 
 sion — this project interferes a little with my new- 
 made conquest. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Is it possible, Don Juan, that you can harbour 
 similar ideas in such a moment ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 And why not? The country first, and afterwards — 
 a little love, by way of recreation. 
 
48 THE SPANIARDS [Day I. 
 
 marquis ( smiling J. 
 You are a madcap, but a brave fellow ; and in a 
 short time I shall put your zeal to the proof. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 That is all I ask — you shall see that though I am 
 sometimes too much given to laughter, yet never 
 shall I forget my honour or my country for a flirt- 
 ation. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 I am sure of it, my gallant boy ! Recollect that, if 
 the winds do not change, in a few days we shall 
 have quitted our prison. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 You transport me with joy — apropos, how goes 
 the Englishman ? 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Thanks to you, he has been enabled to give me 
 some most useful information. You must accompany 
 him on board, and bring me back the admiral's final 
 instructions. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Dispose of me as you think proper. — It was, 
 without doubt, the admiral's letters that he had hung 
 round his neck, like his mistress's portrait? 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Precisely — and vet you wished me to shew them ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Poor devil ! he held them fast locked in his hands, 
 
Scene II.] IN DENMARK. 
 
 49 
 
 even after he had become insensible- Did you 
 remark the first word he uttered was an inquiry 
 after his box? 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 And this brave fellow exposed himself to an igno- 
 minious death, to secure the success of an enterprize, 
 that interests his country but in a very trifling 
 degree. With what ardour ought we not to be 
 inflamed, who are going to avenge our country, so 
 basely betrayed — we, who are going to fight for all 
 that is dear to men of honour ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I hope we shall make ourselves talked of, one day 
 or another. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Of what consequence is it that posterity should 
 forget our names, provided it feels the effects of our 
 generous efforts ? — Don Juan, let the good you do 
 be for its own sake. — If, afterwards, Heaven should 
 send us a Homer, let us be grateful. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST DAY. 
 
 E 
 
50 THE SPANIARDS [Day II. 
 
 DAY II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 The Apartment of Madame de Coulanges, in the Three 
 Crowns. 
 
 Enter Madame de Tourville and Madame de 
 
 COULANGES. 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 What a simpleton you are ! — here are all your ideas 
 turned topsy-turvy, because you have seen him play 
 the diver. What a mighty fine thing it is to know 
 how to swim after one has been taught ! — and yet a 
 carp could still shew him some new tricks. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 But for a man of whom he knew nothing — and 
 the people of the house say the shore is so dangerous ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Well; even so — he can swim. He is a man of 
 courage, and that's all — but what affair is that of 
 your's ? Come, make me your report. 
 
Scene I.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 51 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I have nothing to tell you. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Do you know that I am tempted to believe that 
 you are smitten with this little olive-coloured officer 
 who swims like a duck ? You have got a dizziness, 
 my dear — you have seen nothing; while I, at the 
 first glance, have discovered a conspiracy. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 A conspiracy ! Truly these are discoveries you 
 are continually making. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 And much better is it to discover them where they 
 are not, than not to find out any at all. Do you not 
 know that there is always a recompense, besides the 
 fixed salary, for each new plot that is brought to 
 light? Tell me, did you not remark that the half- 
 drowned sailor wore a cambric shirt ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 And what is there extraordinary in that ? 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 What is there extraordinary in it? Come, 
 come ! it is quite clear your wits are gone ! — a cambric 
 shirt with a frill — must I repeat it to you ? — a cam- 
 bric shirt, eh ! It is the thread of a frightful con*- 
 spiracy — there- is enough in that to ruin twenty 
 persons. 
 
 e 2 
 
52 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day II. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 What profound penetration you have ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 And you, what profound stupidity ! — What ! you 
 cannot see at half a glance, that this man is either a 
 Swedish, a Russian, or an English spy — nay, it is 
 certain that he is English; for, if I mistake not, his 
 shirt is of English cambric. Does this appear clear to 
 you? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Clear ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Hear me. He had, besides, on his waistcoat, one 
 button different from the others, which bore the 
 figure of an anchor ; so that it is certain he comes 
 from an English vessel. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 But all sailors have buttons of the same kind. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Innocent creature that you are ! And portraits 
 hung about their necks ? How comical our little 
 aid- de-camp was with his portrait of a woman ! 
 Faith, he played his part well; he is a shrewd 
 spark, and counterfeited indifference to the life — and 
 our worthy General ! who instantly pocketed the box 
 before one could scarcely get a glimpse of it ! — 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 There may be much mystery under all this ; but I 
 
Scene I.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 53 
 
 shall certainly not go and tire them with a tale of 
 buttons and cambric shirts, and such like bagatelles. 
 It would be the sure way of getting myself instantly 
 recalled. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVIELE. 
 
 Bagatelles ! bagatelles ! ah ! Eliza, in affairs of 
 this kind, nothing, however so trifling, should be dis- 
 regarded. Strange as it may appear, it was a roasted 
 pullet that led me to the discovery of General Piche- 
 gru's place of concealment ; and without boasting, 
 that brought me no little honour, not to talk of the 
 profit. The circumstance was as follows : it was in the 
 time of your father, Captain Leblanc. He had come 
 back from the army, and was full of money, so that 
 we lived right well, and kept a good fire in the house. 
 One day, then, on going to order a roast fowl, the 
 poulterer said to me, 44 Good God, madam ! I am so 
 sorry, but I have just sold the last I had !" I, who 
 knew the whole neighbourhood, wished to learn to 
 whom, and I asked him who had bought it. He 
 told me it was Mr. Such-a-one ; and added, 44 he 
 cockers himself up finely : for the last three days he 
 has had a fowl every day for dinner." Nota bene, it 
 was exactly three since we had lost all traces of 
 General Pichegru. I turned all this in my head, 
 and said to myself - Zounds, neighbour, your appe- 
 tite has come back to you — you have got the hungry 
 worm. The next morning I returned, and chose a 
 
 E 3 
 
54 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day II. 
 
 brace of partridges which were not yet roasted, 
 remark, that I might, while they were doing, keep 
 my poulterer chatting. Soon after, in comes my 
 man with a big appetite, and buys a roasted turkey ; 
 a beautiful bird, upon my faith ! — " Ah !" I said to 
 him, " Mr. Such-a-one, you have an excellent appe- 
 tite — there is enough there for and during a whole 
 week." He, giving a wink of the eye, said, " The 
 fact is, that I have the appetite of two." A French- 
 man would sooner be hanged than miss a bon-mot. — 
 I stole a look at him — he turned away, took up his 
 bird, and was off. This was sufficient, for I was 
 certain that he knew General Pichegru. I had my 
 man soon whipped up, and, for a handsome reward, 
 he delivered up, safe and sound, my general — 
 and I got six thousand francs for my part in the 
 affair. (5) 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Oh ! you are an fait at these things ; but I have 
 no talent for divining. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Do as you think proper — it is your own concern — 
 for my part, I wash my hands of the business. If 
 another should get the reward, or the state suffer, 
 it will be no fault of mine. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Folly ! This Don Juan has the air of a 
 
Scene L] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 55 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Shall I tell you what he has the air of ? He ha s 
 the air of a man who loves dearly the women ; and 
 if you were of my mind, you would eat your provender 
 out of two mangers, and draw many a quadruple 
 from this Colonel ; who is moreover a Marquis, though 
 nothing is said about it, and his servants tell me that 
 he is rolling in riches. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Good God ! how fatigued I am — I have not been 
 able to close my eyes the whole of the night. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 He has a look as libertine as that of a sacristan. 
 Ah ! my dear girl, if I had been as handsome as 
 you, I should not be now where I am ; and yet, if 
 you had me not along with you in your missions, 
 what would you do ? I must divide myself in four — 
 be here, there, and every where, to bring game 
 to mademoiselle, who has only the trouble of stoop- 
 ing to take it, and say thank you for the money it 
 produces 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES ( ironically ). 
 
 To say nothing of the honour ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Bah, bah ! — Why should we trouble our heads 
 about that, -when there are birds of much finer fea- 
 thers who do dirtier work ? 
 
 e 4 
 
56 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 LDay II. 
 
 Enter a Waiting Maid, 
 maid. 
 
 Colonel Don Juan Diaz wishes to know if he may 
 be permitted to see you, ladies. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Certainly. — There is the advantage of being pretty. 
 She need not give herself any trouble ; it is only 
 to shew herself, and they run after her. 
 
 Enter Don Juan, 
 don JUAN. 
 
 Pardon me, ladies ; I present myself before you, 
 having no other claim to the favour than that of 
 being your neighbour. I have taken the liberty of 
 coming to inquire whether your health has not 
 suffered from the scene you witnessed yesterday, 
 madame ( to Madame de Coulanges ). 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I was certainly very much agitated ; but, yet, 
 never did I experience a more agreeable emotion. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE (aside). 
 
 Well said ! — ( Aloud ) Be good enough, sir, to take 
 a chair. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 You, I hope, sir, found no ill effects — and the 
 poor man whom you saved ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 He is quite fresh and sturdy, and already talks of 
 renewing his herring-hunting. - But, madame, you 
 
Scene L] IN DENMARK. 57 
 
 appear still to be indisposed. How much I reproach 
 myself for having brought the drowning man into 
 your presence— but in the confusion 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 After having seen you brave death ! — But, at 
 present, I am quite well. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE ( aside ). 
 
 She plays passion marvellously ! — ( Aloud ) You do 
 not tell us how you find yourself after the imprudence 
 you committed. — Ah ! young man, young man ! — 
 but this is the way with you all ! 
 
 madame de coulanges ( aside to her mother J. 
 
 All? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 The truth is, that I passed a most agreeable night, 
 delighted to have taken a salt-water bath at this 
 season. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 My daughter has never ceased talking of your 
 courage. She was alarmed lest you should have 
 taken a serious cold. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I am quite proud at having caused her to think of 
 me. But we military are proof against cold baths. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 You have probably, sir, in the course of your 
 campaigning, met with my sons, two officers of the 
 
58 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day II. 
 
 greatest promise ? The elder, General Tourville ; 
 and the younger, Colonel Augustus de Tourville. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I am ashamed to say, that I now hear their names 
 for the first time — but I scarcely ever read the 
 bulletins. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Ah ! you are right — they talk of nothing but blood. 
 Ah ! Monsieur Diaz, I very much fear my sons 
 will be sent into Spain, which would be a subject of 
 no little grief to us, for it is a most unjust war. 
 {Don Juan, instead of replying, plays with his sash.) 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I think you told me that you resided for some 
 time at Seville ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Sufficiently long to bring away a most grateful 
 impression of that noble city and its inhabitants. 
 But you, madame, with the exception of their com- 
 plexion, a little or so of the Moresco tint, recall to 
 me all the charms of the ladies of Seville. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 It is at Seville that your Junta sits ? Ah ! they 
 are sturdy, brave fellows — Romans of the time of 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Colonel, you are no doubt a musician. In your 
 capacity of Spaniard you of course know how to 
 
Scene!.] IN DENMARK. 
 
 59 
 
 play the guitar : I should bring your talent to the 
 proof, if I did not dread to annoy you. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ah ! madame, how could any thing, which tends 
 to amuse you, annoy me ! But, modesty apart, I 
 only play the guitar well enough to give a serenade 
 in case of need, or accompany the simple Spanish 
 ballads. You, madame, as a French woman, can 
 only be pleased with grand opera airs. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 You mistake altogether. Your plaintive melodies 
 please me much more than that music, without 
 colour or character, which it is so much the fashion 
 to admire. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Your music drives me away. Excuse me, Colonel 
 Diaz. ( Aside to her daughter.) The occasion is a 
 fine one-^take advantage of it ! \_Goes out. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Since you like our Spanish ballads, will you be 
 obliging enough to sing one for me ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 But it may probably give you the maladie du 
 pays. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Fortunately, the performer will counteract the 
 effect of the music. 
 
60 THE SPANIARDS [Day II. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Here is a collection of ballads — choose one. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 This one, judging from its title, should be an 
 old ballad. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES f aside J. 
 
 Alas ! what a choice ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 A Christian knight in love with a Moresco lady — 
 that is a favourite subject with our early poets. 
 
 ( Madame de Coulanges sings, and Don Juan accom- 
 panies her on the guitar.) 
 
 BALLAD. 
 My Don Alvaro di Luna 
 Was a Knight of glorious meed, 
 And Zamora was his birth-place ; 
 Aquilon his haughty steed ; 
 And his sword was named Steel-cleaver — 
 It had seen more Moslems bleed 
 Than the beads upon my chaplet. 
 Never Knight by valiant deed 
 Had surpass'd him ; and in duel 
 And in battle 'twas decreed 
 He should ever be the conqueror — 
 He the conqueror was indeed. 
 
 But two beaming eyes subdued him — 
 Zobedia's beaming eyes — 
 Cordova's Alcades' daughter — 
 Cordova, the great and wise. 
 
Scene I.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 61 
 
 In the fields he left his courser ; 
 
 To the ground his sword he flung; 
 
 His guitar he seized, and swiftly 
 
 On a sable mule he sprung — 
 
 On a sable mule, white-footed, 
 
 And with love upon his tongue, 
 
 Hurried to his Zobelda ; 
 
 And these simple words he sung: 
 
 " O, I love thee— mount behind me" — 
 
 To Zamora — maiden young ! 
 
 Softly sighed his Zobelda — 
 " Noble Knight, I love thee ! — Yes ! 
 With a perfect love I love thee — 
 But wilt thou my God confess ? 
 For my holy God is Allah — 
 Thine is Christ ! — in her distress 
 Soon the Moorish maid will perish, 
 For she cannot love thee less, 
 And her heart is wounded sorely ; 
 Thou canst not the maiden bless, 
 For she is a Moorish maiden, 
 Thou a Christian !" 
 
 Silently, 
 On his sable mule he mounted, 
 To Zamora hastened he — 
 That Zamora was his country, 
 Where in deeds of charity 
 All his wealth he scatter'd round him. 
 Thousand, thousand blessings be 
 On the meek and pious friar, 
 Who in peace and purity 
 
G2 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day II. 
 
 Honour'd long Inigo's convent — 
 Where he slumbers tranquilly ; 
 Where he died, the broken-hearted, 
 Odorous in sanctity : 
 For he loved a Moorish maiden, 
 And a Christian knight was he. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES ( Sorrowfully ) . 
 
 Well ! what do you think of it ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Charming ! divinely sung ! I wish they would 
 make a law in Spain, forbidding all madmen to be 
 monks, unless those who have run mad from love. 
 This would serve to diminish the number of con- 
 vents, and if there still remained any, that cause of 
 seclusion would give foreigners a good idea of us. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 What do you think of the words ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 They are like those of all our ancient ballads. 
 Such were the absurd manners of the good old time. 
 This Alvar de Luna was a pitiful animal ! God's 
 life, why did not he become a Mussulman instead 
 of a monk ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Ah ! there are certain obstacles that must separate 
 for ever persons made to love one another. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 How is that ? difference of religion or nation ? 
 
Scene I.] IN DENMARK. 63 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 There may be many others. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Which are they ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 For instance 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Well ! cannot you find an example ? — Ah ! tell 
 me, madame, would you find it impossible to renounce 
 your country, and follow a husband who had gained 
 your affections ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 On the contrary — it would be my duty as a wife, 
 — but 
 
 don juan ( warmly ). 
 
 But 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I shall not marry again (forcing a smile J — the con- 
 dition of a widow is so agreeable. 
 
 don juan ( aside ). 
 The devil take the ballad ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Shall we have more music ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I should dread to fatigue you, madame, — besides I 
 perceive that my visit is already too long. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 It will be always with the greatest pleasure that — 
 
64 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day II 
 
 but — {aside) what shall I say to him, to prevent him 
 from thus coming to throw himself into the nets 
 spread for him ? 
 
 Enter a Waiting Maid, 
 maid. 
 
 The Marquis de la Romana wishes to see you, sir. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 My General, before all other considerations. 
 These are the principles of Don Alvar. — Will you 
 permit me, madame ? [Kisses Madame de Coulanges' 
 hand and goes out. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES (to Maid). 
 
 Come and unlace me — I am suffocating. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 The Sea-Shore. 
 
 Don Juan, Wallis, and Sailors, in a boat at 
 the bottom of the Stage — A Sentinel pacing before the 
 Inn-door. 
 
 WALLIS. 
 
 See the sloop is nearing us. They have hung a 
 lantern to the mast-head. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I see it glimmering like a glowworm, about a 
 league from us. 
 
 WALLIS. 
 
 You have not yet got a sailor's eye — they are 
 
S< f.nf II 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 65 
 
 much closer than you think. In an hour I shall 
 land you here again, and all will be settled. — Lads, 
 have you put enough linen about your oars ? 
 
 SAILOR. 
 
 That will be soon done, and they shall make no 
 more noise than the paddle of a duck. 
 
 WALLIS. 
 
 While passing before the mole and the battery, 
 lie down upon your oars, and if they should hail us, 
 be sure to make no answer. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 There is no danger of that. Every night the 
 smugglers pass before the watch towers and the 
 coast, without being perceived. ( A window opens, 
 and Madame de Coulanges appears at the balcony 
 of the Inn.) Ha ! 
 
 wallis ( in a low voice ). 
 Somebody is watching us — push off. 
 
 don juan ( in a low voice ). 
 Fear nothing, who could recognize us in this trim ? 
 — ( To the sentinel.) You will still be on guard when 
 I return. 
 
 SENTINEL. 
 
 Yes, Colonel. 
 
 madame de coulanges ( singing, without seeing them ). 
 " For she is a Moorish maiden, 
 Thou a Christian." 
 
 F 
 
THE SPANIARDS [Day II. 
 
 DON J L AN. 
 
 To the devil with that burthen of a song ! 
 
 wallis (to the sailors). 
 Quick ! quick ! in the name of the devil — this is 
 rather an awkward place. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Even the freshness of evening cannot allay the 
 flame that burns me.— (Perceiving Don Juan). Ha ! 
 who are these men ? 
 
 WALLIS. 
 
 Thunder and blood ! Colonel, what are you doing 
 planted there under that balcony like a may-pole. 
 By Heavens there is some one approaching from this 
 side to cut off our retreat — hush ! not a word. 
 
 Madame de Tourville enters, followed by a 
 Waiting Maid. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Whoever you may be — go away from hence ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Ah, my God ! there are men marauding about the 
 inn — luckily the sentinel is here to protect us — and 
 my daughter out upon the balcony. ( She approaches 
 the boat. J 
 
 WALLIS. 
 
 Halt there ! we are smugglers — do not discover 
 us, and you shall have some tobacco for nothing. 
 
Scene III.] IN DENMARK. (>7 
 
 madame de tourville (going nearer). 
 Ah, my good fellows ! if you have any, I should 
 like to buy some. 
 
 WALLIS. 
 
 It shall be sent to you — but come no nearer — 
 push off — give me the rudder. [The boat rows away. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 I should know that voice — and this person muf- 
 fled up to the eyes in his cloak — and the sentinel 
 who does not call out the guard. — This is all very 
 singular — but I shall come to the bottom of it. Let 
 us go in. [ They go into the Inn. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Apartment of Madame de Coulanges. 
 
 Madame de Coulanges and Madame de Tour- 
 ville. 
 
 madame de tourville. 
 It is vain for you to say any more— I know it 
 was he. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I tell you it was not ; and you might have per- 
 ceived, as clearly as I did, that they were smugglers. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 It may be so ; but, nevertheless, I shall not go to 
 bed till I see them return. 
 
 f 2 
 
68 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day II. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 But, mother, you will injure yourself. — Let me 
 watch for you. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 No, no ! get you to bed. You must preserve 
 your complexion. But as I have none to lose, I 
 shall sit up. — Besides, in these sort of affairs, I wish 
 to see with my own eyes. Leave the shutter as I 
 settled it ; they must not perceive the light in our 
 room. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 But they will not return, probably, for two or 
 three days. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 No, no ! If these people are what I take them for, 
 they will be back before sun-rise. The General ap- 
 pears to be in a state of great anxiety since we have 
 come here. I heard him all the last night walking 
 about his room instead of being in his bed. — Come, 
 all that is not natural. — But let me have my own 
 way. They must rise early that can escape me. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Instead of fatiguing yourself by watching, cannot 
 you ask the Host if any of the lodgers are abroad? 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Simpleton that you are ! The Host is no doubt 
 bribed by them— and besides these people here 
 are so careless ! I have been playing bouillotte at 
 
Scene III.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 the French Resident's, and have eased them all of 
 their ready money. - Ah, what young ones they are 
 still !— But get you to sleep ; you quite teaze me— 
 do you know that it is nearly one o'clock ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I cannot sleep, while I know that you remain up 
 watching. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Oh ! just as you please. — There is still a light in 
 the General s room ; I see the reflection in the water. 
 If I dared, I should like to open the balcony 
 door. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Open it then — the air will relieve my head-ache. 
 
 MADAME DE TO URVILLE. 
 
 No, that would give the alarm to the old fox. — 
 Listen — he is walking. (Madame de Coulanges throws 
 down a chair). Confound you — cannot you remain 
 quiet ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Oh ! I have so hurt my foot ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Hush with your nonsense ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Oh ! I am in such pain ! — Oh ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 What light is that beyond there, on the sea ? 
 f 3 
 
70 THE SPANIARDS [Day H, 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 A beacon, probably, to shew the channel. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURV1LLE. 
 
 I rather think it comes from that vessel, under 
 Hamburgh colours, that has been cruising for 
 some days past about the entrance of the Belt. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Well, and suppose it is — what have you to do 
 with a Hamburgh vessel ? 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVJLLE. 
 
 Hamburgh ! Oh, it belongs as much to Ham- 
 burgh as I do. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 You are always making such strange suppositions. 
 I should be sorry so to load my conscience. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Conscience ! You are enough to make me laugh 
 with your conscience. You speak like a dirty monk. — 
 Hush ! Instead of one light., there are now two, but 
 very dim — ha, ha ! this becomes interesting. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES ( aSldeJ. 
 
 Alas ! — (Aloud). Are you acquainted, then, with 
 naval signals? 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 And there is the light put out in the General's 
 room — bravissimo ! 
 
•Scj.nl III.] 
 
 IN 
 
 DENMARK. 
 
 ; j 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 He is gone to bed, because he has more sense 
 than we have. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Yes, yes, simpleton ! believe that he is going to 
 rest. There, his light reappears. It is probable, you 
 will say, that his candle has-been blown out, and that 
 it has relighted itself, as sometimes happens. — Three 
 lights in the vessel ! — On our side eclipse. — Ah ! the 
 candle is again relighted. — Ah ! we have you, my 
 dear Marquis de la Romana. — How pale you are! 
 I told you it was bad for you to sit up so late. Go 
 to bed, my dear Eliza ; fortune will come to you 
 while sleeping, for our fortune is now made. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Would to Heaven it had been made long since ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Well said, upon my faith. If so, we should have 
 been at this time of the day rolling in our carriage 
 in Paris, instead of blowing our fingers in this 
 island. But patience — there is but one light at 
 present. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Let us retire to bed now. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Ah ! and my conscience ? No, I must stop to see 
 them land : until then I shall not have my conscience 
 clear. I must have proofs, and they are coming to 
 
 f 4 
 
72 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day II. 
 
 me in that boat. If I dared, I should instantly go 
 to the Resident's. But that would be to no purpose ; 
 he is such a silly animal. No, I shall write myself 
 to the prince. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I feel as if my head were on fire ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 On our return to France we shall make an ex- 
 cellent affair with the muslins. By giving a gown or 
 two to the custom-house officer's wife, we shall pass 
 as much as we want of them. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Ah ! would to God we had never done any thing 
 but smuggle. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Ah, child, it is necessary to take with both hands. 
 I should like to know what has become of your 
 brother Charles. It is now two years since we 
 heard from him. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Ah ! you know what he is. You gave him such 
 an excellent education, that he scarcely knows how 
 to write. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 No matter ; Charles is a lad that will push himself 
 far enough, if a bullet do not put an end to his 
 march. His colonel says, he has the heart of a lion. 
 
Scene III] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 73 
 
 He is always the first where blows are to be given and 
 taken. 
 
 MADAME DE CO I'LANGES. 
 
 Yes, and mischief to do ( Aside ). He should have 
 been here. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 He is the exact portrait of his father, Monsieur 
 Leblanc, who was captain of the Guards, and who 
 died bravely in the field of honour. His lieutenant, 
 w ho is the father of your brother Augustus, told me 
 that he had fifteen sabre-cuts upon his head alone. 
 
 MADAME DE CO ULANGES. 
 
 Oh ! horrible ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 I must confess I have always had an inclination 
 for your stout-hearted people. The first lover I 
 had was a general, who went to America, where 
 the savages eat him up, after having roasted him. — 
 What I tell you is true. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Oh, God ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 I shall never forget a counsellor of state, who 
 allowed me twelve thousand francs a year. One day 
 he took very patiently, in my presence, a couple of 
 slaps in the face from a little cornet of light-horse, 
 who was not worth a sous. Faith, I could not resist 
 the temptation of quitting my Croesus, and taking up 
 
?4 THE SPANIARD S [Day II. 
 
 with my little cornet. If I were a man I should 
 have gone into the army — that's certain. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 You see nothing at present. — It is as I told you. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 No, I see nothing yet. Hush ! I see something 
 black moving upon the water — it is either a wherry 
 or a whale. — Close the shutter a little more, Eliza. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 They are — smugglers ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 There is my man in the cloak — or rather your's. — 
 He shakes the hand of another, and jumps onshore. 
 — Will he enter the inn ? — Good night, Eliza. 
 
 [Goes out. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES (alone). 
 
 He is lost ! and it is I, miserable wretch, who 
 have ruined him. Cursed be the day I landed on 
 this island ! Would to Heaven we had perished 
 before reaching the port ! Thus, the only man for 
 whom I ever felt any thing like love is about to 
 perish, and it is I — I who love him — that have put 
 the cord round his neck ! He will believe that the 
 woman whom he loved, while she feigned a gene- 
 rous passion for him, was bargaining for the price of 
 his head. I sell Don Juan for gold ! How has it 
 happened that I could ever have consented to follow 
 this frightful calling ! The most wretched prostitute 
 
Scene III.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 75 
 
 that walks the streets is less degraded than L 
 A thief, a robber is estimable in comparison with 
 me. And I could — A great change must have 
 taken place in me in a short time — for, when coming 
 here, I only thought of the means of getting pos- 
 session of this young man's secrets, for the purpose 
 of betraying them. The atrocity of the act never 
 once occurred to me. My love for him has opened 
 my eyes. Ah ! Juan Diaz, it is you alone who can 
 draw me from the depth in which they have plunged 
 me. Yes, the die is cast — I will attach myself to 
 his fate — I will tell him every thing — I will aban- 
 don all to follow him. My country ! — of what im- 
 portance is my country to me ? My family ! — which 
 has only studied to destroy a naturally upright mind 
 and fashion me to vice, — my family is odious to me. 
 There is nothing left me to love but Juan Diaz. 
 But would he have me, knowing what I am ? And 
 to conceal from him — No, Juan Diaz is not a lover 
 from whom I could conceal any thing; — and yet 
 to tell him — he, who becomes fired with indignation 
 at the bare mention of an act of baseness ! He 
 would drive me far from him. He would, I am sure, 
 prefer the kitchen-maid of this inn, ugly, coarse, 
 and vulgar as she is, to the beautiful Eliza, who 
 makes a bait of her love to lead men to death. 
 Well, let him think what he may of me, I love him 
 too well to take any concern about myself. Sooner 
 
76 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day II. 
 
 or later he will know who I am. Probably, he 
 would think less unkindly of me should he learn it 
 from myself. He will be convinced of my love ; for 
 what but love could urge me to such an avowal ? I 
 will tell him all. I expose myself to his anger — 
 no matter — I will save him. Though he should 
 strike me; trample on me ; spit upon me; — I will 
 save him. I shall more willingly receive the blows 
 of Juan Diaz, than the bank bills stained with his 
 blood. Probably he will take pity on an unfortunate 
 creature, who was not born with a soul inclined to 
 infamy, but who has been forced into it by those 
 who surrounded her. They have not, however, suc- 
 ceeded in entirely destroying my conscience. — Con- 
 science ! No, it is dead within me ; for a long time 
 its voice has been silent. My present resolution is 
 not dictated by virtue nor conscience ; it is love 
 alone that can enable me to do one good action 
 before my death. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Bed- Room of Don Juan Diaz. 
 
 Madame de Coulanges. 
 
 madame de coulanges. 
 He is still with the General. How I tremble on 
 entering this room. This is the first good action of 
 my life, and yet I tremble ! It appears to me as if 
 
Scene IV.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 77 
 
 I saw him every where. (She looks upon a table). A 
 letter just begun. He was probably writing to the 
 woman of his heart in Spain — and when he shall 
 have returned to her, never will he write a word to 
 poor Eliza ! — This is his seal, with his arms engraven 
 on it — and my name is so obscure ! — A swan and 
 the motto, " Sans tache." Ah! never will he belie 
 his motto ! The portrait of a woman — it is certainly 
 
 that of his mother 
 
 Enter Don Juan, 
 don juan ( aside ). 
 What an agreeable surprise. — They have sworn, 
 it appears, not to let me have any sleep. 
 
 madame de coulanges ( not seeing him J, 
 These are like his features, but his mouth has not 
 this disdainful expression. 
 
 don juan (aside). 
 What the devil is she doing? 
 
 madame de coulanges ( perceiving him ). 
 Ah! 
 
 don juan ( throwing himself on his knees ). 
 You see at your feet, madame, the most ardent of 
 lovers. Charming Eliza, let me prove to you 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES ( aside J. 
 
 I shall never have the courage 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 All the passion you have lighted up in my heart. 
 Let us shut the door, and 
 
78 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 LDay II. 
 
 madame de coulanges {repelling him). 
 Colonel Don Juan, this is no time to speak of 
 love, when the sword is suspended over your head. — 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 But you are in my arms 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Cease, I pray you, and listen to me. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 What's the matter, madame ? you appear greatly 
 agitated. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 All your projects are known. You and your 
 General are lost. 
 
 don juan (aside). 
 Heavens ! — (Aloud.) What projects? I really do 
 not know to what you allude. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 You are in communication with the English. You 
 yourself have just had a conference with them on 
 board that vessel which is cruising in sight of our 
 windows. The General has made signals, which 
 have been observed. Many eyes are fixed upon 
 you. You are surrounded by enemies. It is for 
 you to make an effort to escape from them. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 But really, madame, I am shocked at my mistake ; 
 I have good reason to blush before you. 
 
Scene IV.] IN DENMARK. 79 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 No sir, you need not blush before me— look to 
 your safety — and command me if I can be any way 
 useful to you. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 You know all — what gratitude do we not owe 
 you ! how can we ever 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Speak ! have you any need of me ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ah ! let us know who it is that watches us — he 
 shall not be long in the land of the living. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Sir ! — I know not how 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Finish your work — save us — enable us to take a 
 just vengeance. Ah ! madame, speak, I beseech 
 you. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 But — I dare not— 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Fear nothing madam — am I not here to protect 
 you? Oh Heaven's ! if you should consent to trust 
 me 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I believe — that it is probably • 
 
80 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day II. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 The French Resident? I will run this instant 
 and blow his brains out. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 No, no ! I was up and at my balcony, and 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Your mother met us ; but 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Oh ! it is not she that will betray you ; she took 
 you for smugglers. But there were men concealed 
 who saw all — I observed them. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 They were placed there, then, by the Resident — 
 Life of God ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 He is so silly — that you have nothing to fear from 
 him. In fine, reflect, and make the best arrange- 
 ments you are able — and reckon upon me, if I can 
 be in any way useful to you. — Adieu ! [Goes out. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Stop, guardian angel — but she has fled. Here we 
 are in a pretty position — I must acquaint the Mar- 
 quis with it. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND DAY. 
 
ScEXE f.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 SI 
 
 DAY III. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Saloon. 
 
 Don Juan and Marquis. 
 
 don JUAN. 
 
 It is in vain that I have supplicated — it was im- 
 possible for me to see her. It appears that she is 
 unwell. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 This devil of a woman is a sorceress ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Well, General, you will allow at present, that it 
 is not so bad a plan to carry on an amorous intrigue 
 at the same time with a political one ? 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 I have strong suspicions of her mother. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Her mother ? She is a good-natured old fool. 
 She kept talking during two long hours to me to- 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 day, of her dear sons that are with the army. And 
 then she loves her daughter so tenderly ! Trust me — 
 she is a woman without a grain of guile in her com- 
 position. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 But, in fine, what had she to do upon the sea-shore, 
 at so late an hour — when you were setting off? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 How should I know ? She told me that she met 
 some smugglers yesterday evening, and that she had 
 informed the burgomaster, in order that he should 
 look to it. She recounted to me all the terrible 
 dreams she had had of poniards, spectres, &c. ; and 
 I told her, in return, so many frightful things, that 
 she will not see distinctly for some time. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 The English fleet will be soon in the bay, and put 
 an end to our inquietudes . God grant the wind may 
 not change ! 
 
 Enter Madame de Tourville. 
 don JUAN. 
 
 Ah ! madame, I beseech you, tell me how your 
 daughter is. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Something better this morning, God be thanked ! 
 The poor dear ! she frightened me not a little at 
 first ; but I hope it will be nothing. 
 
Scene I.: 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 83 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Have the kindness to present my respects to her. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Much obliged to you, General. — Oh, if you knew 
 what fright I had last night ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 I have heard something of it. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 First — to begin with the beginning — I went to the 
 French Resident's, who had invited me and my 
 daughter to pass the evening at his house ; there was 
 a great deal of company ; the drawing room was full ; 
 the time passes quick in company, and then, when 
 it was already late, we were obliged to sit down to 
 bouvillotte. I at first refused, but as they could not 
 make up a table without me, I sacrificed myself and 
 played. But once installed in my arm-chair^ you 
 would not believe how I carried all before me — im- 
 possible to throw me out ! In fine, it was I know 
 not what hour when the game was over. One of 
 your officers very gallantly offered me his arm ; but 
 I refused it, fearing the poor young man might be 
 scolded for returning so late to the barracks. My 
 
 son, when he was at the military school 
 
 don juan ( aside ). 
 
 Ah, we're in for it — a history. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 How many smugglers were there ? 
 
 g 2 
 
St 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 I saw two opposite the inn door : there was one 
 muffled up in a huge black cloak, a most murderous 
 looking fellow, with his belt stuck full of pistols ; I 
 thought he would have assassinated me. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Oh ! they never do any thing of that sort. Should 
 you not sometimes be glad to get a little Virginia or 
 Guatimala snuff, instead of that which comes from 
 your imperial manufactory ? 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 You take me by my weak side — but yet — I would 
 tell you something — if I did not fear that you would 
 take me for a tell-tale. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Speak, madam. — 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 The sentinel at your door saw all, and yet never 
 said a word — I do not tell you this in order that you 
 may punish him. 
 
 MAROUIS. 
 
 Hush ! you must not betray me — it was to me those 
 smugglers came : they brought me some American 
 cigars — we cannot smoke any others. Is it not so ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Most assuredly. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Very pretty doings, General — but be sure that I 
 
Scene I.] IN DENMARK. 85 
 
 shall denounce you, if you do not give me some Vir- 
 ginia or Saint Vincent snuff to stop my mouth. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Agreed — I am happy in having some of both to 
 offer you. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 No, no, no ! what I said was but in jest — I do not 
 wish to deprive you of any. 
 
 MAROUIS. 
 
 You must take some ; it is for my own security. 
 I wish that you should compromise yourself by 
 taking part in the fraud. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Well, here is my box. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Keep it, and let me have the pleasure of giving 
 you some bottles. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 When madame, shall I be permitted to present my 
 respects to your daughter — Ah, Madame de Tour- 
 ville ! I long ardently to see her. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 She will not see any one at present. — ( In a low 
 voice ) And yet she never ceases speaking of you. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Really ? and what does she say ? 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Oh ! a thousand things — but how should I recol- 
 g 3 
 
86 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 lect them — I must now go and keep her company. 
 Adieu, gentlemen. [Goes out. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 We kiss you hands. — Well, my Lord Marquis, 
 what think you of her? 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 She must be an excellent actress if she is deluding 
 us. At all events, we have now but a short time 
 to be afraid of her. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 French Resident's Cabinet. 
 
 resident ( alone ). 
 This will be worth to me at least a knight's cross of 
 the Legion of Honour. It is not so easy a matter to 
 discover a conspiracy ; and besides, I trust they will 
 take into account the sang froid and steadiness I 
 have shewn in the midst of enemies. However, I 
 hope the French troops will soon be here — I am 
 impatient to find myself amongst my dear country- 
 men. My position is frightful. With all the courage 
 possible — a single man against a division — one is not 
 displeased to receive a reinforcement. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 A gentleman wishes to speak to you, sir. 
 
Scene II. | 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 87 
 
 Enter Charles Leblanc. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 What can I do for your service, sir ? 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Nothing for mine, sir, but something for that of 
 his majesty. Such as you see me, sir, I am first 
 Lieutenant of Grenadiers in the Imperial Guard. I 
 have Gut off my mustachios, and put on a coloured 
 coat to come here — I am then, as you see, an officer 
 in the Imperial Guard. Bernadotte — the Prince de 
 Ponte-Corvo, I mean to say — has sent me hither. 
 Here is my order for bringing to reason a certain 
 Spanish General, who is inclined to play the truant. 
 You know what I wish to say ? 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Perfectly, sir — but you bring with you probably 
 seven or eight thousand men ? 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC 
 
 Pshaw ! do you imagine we can transport a divi- 
 sion of the army in a balloon ? Mr. Resident, you 
 appear to me to be a little green as yet. I came 
 alone — I have not even brought my sabre with me : 
 but I am a man of deeds, and I know how to manage 
 matters. 
 
 resident (smiling). 
 The thing appears to me a little difficult or so. 
 The Spaniards are numerous, and we cannot reckon 
 g 4 
 
88 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 much upon the Danes and Hanoverians who are 
 with them. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 No matter — we shall do without them. Now 
 listen to me ( sits down ). Ah ! my loins are dislo- 
 cated — I have killed three horses on the road. Listen 
 — the heads of our columns cannot make their ap- 
 pearance here these three days, and in the mean 
 time the oven is heating. The Heligoland fleet has 
 sailed, the wind is fair, the English will enter the 
 Great Belt before we shall have seen the little one, 
 and all will be lost. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 You have, very judiciously, put your finger upon 
 the wound. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 I know not what you mean by that — but between 
 you and me, the Prince de Ponte Corvo told me, 
 that as you were a little allied to the Dunderheads, 
 I should concert measures with a certain Madame 
 de Coulanges and Madame de Tourville who are 
 here. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Sir, you really have a manner of expressing your- 
 self, that I could not excuse — but in a military man. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC 
 
 Bring here your women. You see that I am 
 knocked up. I left the seat of my breeches, and a 
 
Scene II.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 89 
 
 part of my skin, sticking to the saddle of my horse, 
 and I have now no time to make long phrases. 
 Call up your mouchardes — let us arrange our affairs, 
 and then give me a bed, or a bundle of straw to rest 
 myself ; for, by the five thousand devils, my body is 
 beaten into the consistence of a roasted apple. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Madame de Tourville was to have called upon me 
 about this time, and I am surprised she has not 
 already come. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Is that your breakfast ? Good ! Call for a plate, 
 knife, and fork for yourself. To your health, little 
 papa — by the holy pipe but your wine is good — you 
 are an honest fellow, or the devil fetch me. — Oh ! I 
 am so ravenous, I could eat my father without salt. 
 resident ( aside,) 
 
 What a tone these people have. ( Aloud ) — Sir, I 
 beg you to make yourself perfectly at home. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC 
 
 You are right, parbleu ! you are right. I see that 
 you are an honest fellow — I like your frank-hearted 
 people. What's your name ? — not to be uncivil 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Baron Amadeus de Pacaret. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 To your health, noble Baron de Pacaret — there is 
 
90 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 IDay III. 
 
 some good wine of that name. I call myself Charles 
 Leblanc, first lieutenant in the Imperial Guard, 
 third battalion of Grenadiers. Come, drink to my 
 health, most noble Baron. You have got no glass — 
 take mine Morbleu ! when you are with the 
 army you must do as the army does. You have 
 served? 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Not in the army ; but I have served, in another 
 way, my emperor and my country. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 In the di — the diplomacy, with pen-strokes : so 
 much the better ; all that one runs the risk of catch- 
 ing in that way are a few ink spots. — But these 
 damned women, why do they not appear ? 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 I expect Madame de Tourville every moment. 
 It would seem, sir, that considering you are a French- 
 man and a Chevalier ( pointing to the ribbon of 
 Charles Leblanc ) — for you are a Chevalier, eh, eh, eh ! 
 — you entertain but little respect for that charming 
 sex, destined 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC 
 
 As charming as you please. I like women who 
 hold their tongues and do not make you pay too 
 much. To your good health, Monsieur Pacaret. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 I hear a woman's step — here she is. 
 
Scene II.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 91 
 
 Enter Madame de Tourville. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 A thousand thunders ! it is my mother. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Ah, my child ! embrace your mother, my dear 
 little Charles. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Well, well ! are you not done yet ? And is it 
 really you ? 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 My dear boy ! 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Your most obedient. You follow a pretty calling ! 
 If that should be known at the regiment, the devil 
 strangle me if 1 should not rather see you a corpse 
 than a moucharde. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Oh, Charles ! 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 My sister is, I suppose, enrolled in the same 
 regiment? Let her not come near me. There is 
 no filial respect due from me to her. — Hush ! At- 
 tention and silence ! Let me throw off a glass to 
 digest this intelligence. — Bah ! it is not much after 
 all. Listen, papa Pacaret — this is what I have de- 
 vised. You shall invite General la Romana to dine 
 to morrow. Do you hear ? 
 
92 
 
 THE SPANIARDS [Day III. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 But if he should refuse ? 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 He dare not. —You have here fifty French soldiers? 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 There is a company of light-horse here. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 That is sufficient. — Well, you will invite General 
 Romana, his staff, and the Danish officers. You will 
 place me next the General at dinner. — Then, between 
 the dessert and the cheese you will propose the health 
 of the Emperor ; that is the signal upon which we have 
 agreed. My light-horse men, who will be in readi- 
 ness, will then enter, and level their carbines at the 
 Spaniards. I shall seize the General by the collar 
 on one side, and you on the other. Should they 
 make any difficulty about surrendering themselves, you 
 and I will throw ourselves under the table, and our men 
 discharge their pieces each at his Spaniard. We shall 
 then barricade the doors, and the Danes and other 
 canailles will have an easy job of it with the dis- 
 organized and unofficered Spaniards. At all events, 
 we shall hold out as long as we can, and if the doors 
 should be forced, we will kill our prisoners, and 
 then blow each other's brains out ! — What do you 
 say to that ? 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Sir ! — but — the measure is — a little — violent. 
 
Scene II.] IN DENMARK. 
 
 93 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 It appears to me that we might 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Monsieur Pacaret, are you a good pistol-shot ? 
 
 resident ( affecting great firmness ), 
 I never miss my man at thirty paces. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 The devil you don't ! — so much the better. You 
 will give proof of your skill, should there be occa- 
 sion. You will act like a brave man — will you 
 not ? 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Undoubtedly — I am a Frenchman ! But we should 
 be more certain of success were we to wait 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 For the arrival of the English — is it not so ? 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 No ! but of the French. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Eh, morbleu ! have you forgotten that they cannot 
 be here these three days ? 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 There is a way of doing the thing with less risk — 
 with a little arsenic. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Arsenic ! thousand bomb -shells ! Do you take me 
 for a poisoner ? — me, a lieutenant in the Imperial 
 
94 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 Guard ? Do you suppose that I should suffer arsenic 
 to be given to brave soldiers, and let them die like 
 rats ? I would rather blow my own brains out than 
 administer any other but leaden pills to soldiers. — 
 Arsenic ! in the name of the devil ! arsenic ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 But 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC 
 
 Silence ! I am not a mouchard. Do not speak to 
 me of arsenic, or I shall forget that you are my 
 mother. — And you, my little Baron, have the good- 
 ness to execute the orders I bring you. Write your 
 invitations, and if they are not accepted, may a 
 cannon-ball serve me for a pill if I do not make you 
 eat the blade of my sabre. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Sir, sir ! — It is for the service of his majesty — if 
 my duty 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Come, your are a brave fellow, give me a hand- 
 ful of your hand, and tell them to make me a bed. 
 
 {He drinks off a glass, and goes out 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Faith, madame, I must congratulate you ; your 
 son is a pretty sort of youth. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Alas ! he is the image of his deceased father — 
 who knew nothing but his sabre. 
 
Scene II.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 95 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Here I am in a most pleasing position. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 However, his advice is not to be neglected — this 
 plan must be executed. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Well, be it so ; but you will dine with us madame? 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 But, sir, I could be of no manner of use to you ! 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Morbleu, madame ! you shall dine with us, or the 
 devil fetch me if I do not have you arrested. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Well, sir ! I accept your invitation. I will come, 
 and let you see that, though a woman, I have more 
 courage than youself, my little diplomatist. Adieu ! 
 
 [Goes out. 
 
 resident ( alone J. 
 Heaven and earth ! Death and fury ! May the 
 devil fetch me, if he would only take me away 
 from this. — Unfortunate man that I am ! what will 
 become of me? I should prefer even going to a 
 field of battle to finding myself in the midst of 
 this affray : in the one a man might contrive to 
 get out of reach of the balls. Miserable man that 
 I am ! And I thought diplomacy so easy a business 
 —and in this cursed island, I am so unprovided 
 with any thing. But why should he not await the 
 
90 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 coming of the French troops ? He will ruin every 
 thing with his precipitation. Ah ! if I had been 
 allowed to do it my own way, I should have made 
 sure of the cross of the Legion of Honour. And 
 now, it is this huge blustering shark of an officer that 
 will carry off the prize ; an ignoramus, that knows 
 nothing whatsoever of diplomacy — who has never 
 opened a Vatel ! — And I — Ah ! if they should commit 
 a mistake in the confusion? Cursed profession ! — dog's 
 life ! — infernal island ! These are the pistols I am to 
 make use of. — Let me see — I shall put twelve balls 
 in each, and whomever I fire at shall not escape. — 
 Come, come ! a man can die but once ! Let them 
 come on, these Spaniards ! let them come on. Every 
 Frenchman is a soldier ! {manoeuvres with the pistols). 
 But, softly — what an admirable idea ! — No, these are 
 not the arms of a diplomatist — {lays down the pistols). 
 Towards the conclusion of dinner, I shall say, " Per- 
 mit me to go and fetch you a few bottles of old and 
 excellent wine." — That's it — and they will manage 
 their affairs without me. — Parbleu ! see what it is to 
 have a head. This may be called getting hand- 
 somely out of the business. And should our lieu- 
 tenant be killed in the confusion, I shall draw 
 up a report. And then — then — it is a clear 
 case — I shall become an ambassador. Morbleu ! 
 what it is to have a little wit in one's anger ! A 
 blustering bully, like this Leblanc, may do for the 
 
Scene II.] IN DENMARK. 
 
 97 
 
 knock down work upon occasion. But we diploma- 
 tists, we always know — we know how to manage our 
 affairs. \ExiL 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Saloon in the Inn. 
 Don Juan— Madame de Coulanges. 
 
 don JUAN. 
 
 I beseech you, excuse my impatience — but — 1 
 found you alone — in my bed- room — at so late an 
 hour — and you came there to save us ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Let us say no more of that, sir. Are you sure of 
 succeeding ? Are all your arrangements made ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Yes. Our regiments are marching towards Nybourg. 
 The English fleet will be 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I do not ask you to tell me any thing — keep your 
 own counsel. But are you sure of success? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 As much so as human prudence can warrant. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I am very glad of it. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 In a short time I shall be in Spain. 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 What joy will you not feel on finding yourself in 
 the midst of your friends, after so long an absence ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Alas ! but a short time back I burned to return 
 to Galicia ; but now I feel unhappy at the idea of 
 quitting this savage island. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Think of the calls upon you, sir. You are going 
 to fight for your country. You will have a thousand 
 things to occupy your attention. As for me — I — I 
 hope, that no misfortune will befall you in Spain — 
 that peace will soon be restored ; and then, if you 
 should come into France — I shall feel great pleasure 
 in seeing you. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I see nothing but sorrow before me. You have 
 been my good angel — and now 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I shall see you once more before your departure. 
 I am embroidering a little purse, which I shall beg 
 of you to accept in remembrance of me. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I can no longer resist — Madame, give me either 
 life or death ! — Tell me, will you — I scarcely dare 
 propose it to you — will you accept my name, and 
 accompany me to my native country ? 
 
Scene III.] 
 
 IX DENMARK. 
 
 99 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Sir ! what is it that you propose to me ? ( Aside.) 
 Oh ! if I did not love him so much ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I know that Spain is but a dull place of residence 
 for a Frenchwoman, particularly in the state in 
 which it now is. A canvas tent, with only the straw 
 of a bivouac, must be the chamber of Juan Diaz's 
 wife for a long time to come. I do not speak to you 
 of my fortune and my birth — your mind is of too 
 elevated an order to be touched by such consider- 
 ations; but — if the most ardent love, and the most 
 profound esteem should appear worthy of your heart ! 
 You probably think, that I do not love you enough 
 for yourself — that I only offer you a share in mis- 
 fortunes and sufferings. But what can I do ? My 
 country calls me — and I feel that I cannot live with- 
 out you ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Sir, can it be possible ! — You offer me your hand 
 — I am a Frenchwoman without fortune. How can 
 you think of me, and renounce the brilliant alliance 
 which probably awaits you ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 And is it really true, that you have no repugnance 
 towards me ? — that you love me ? 
 
 h 2 
 
100 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 IDay III. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Yes, Don Juan, I love you, but I cannot marry 
 you — that must never be — ask me no more ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I am the happiest of men. Think no more of the 
 difference of fortune — of what consequence is it? — 
 If you were richer than I, would you not love 
 me? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Oh, would to Heaven it were so ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Well then, let me shew myself as generous as 
 yourself. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 No ! leave me. You have made me happy. I 
 am satisfied. — Adieu ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 What means this mystery ? Tell me your scruples 
 — my love will soon conquer them. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I cannot. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 You throw me into despair. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 My family is so numerous ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I have fortune sufficient for them all. 
 
Scene III.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 101 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 My mother 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I will prevail upon her to accompany us. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Impossible ! — she would never consent ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 You are concealing some vain scruple from me. — 
 Eliza, I entreat you by our love to tell it me. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Since you insist, listen, Don Juan. — You are 
 going to Spain, where the most important interests 
 will call for your attention. In the midst of the 
 tumults of war, what would become of me ? A wife 
 would be a burden to you — think of the vicissitudes 
 of war ! 
 
 don juan (striking his forehead). 
 I thought that a woman could love as I do ! 
 Adieu, madame — you have taught me my duty. — 
 Yes, I shall return to Spain, and I trust the first 
 cannon-ball fired, after my arrival, will reach me. 
 You will at least not have the misfortune of being a 
 widow. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Stop, Don Juan ! do not believe what I have said 
 to you. The ball which kills you will also strike 
 me to the heart. It is a much more terrible reason 
 that prevents me from marrying you ; and I love 
 h 3 
 
102 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 you too well to marry you without disclosing it to 
 you. — But, do not question me about it, if you wish 
 to preserve any affection for me. — Adieu, Don Juan ; 
 I shall never cease to think of you. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Eliza, Eliza, I swear to you, upon my honour, 
 that I will never seek to know that reason — never 
 speak to you of it — never have the least inquietude 
 relative to it — nothing can ever change my affection. 
 But, if you have really any love for me, consent to 
 accompany me. — What childish scruple can it be 
 that stops you ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Don Juan, in declaring to me your love, you have 
 rendered me more happy than I have ever been in 
 my life ; but, now you force me to yield all that 
 happiness. — However, it must be so — you insist 
 upon it ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 No, I do not. — Tell me nothing. — I swear to you 
 beforehand, that nothing you may tell me can 
 prevent me from loving you. After my honour, 
 you are to me the next dearest object in the world. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 No ! you shall never know my secret ! 
 
 [Goes into her room and shuts the door. 
 don juan ( alone ). 
 What is the matter ? — is she mad ? What can 
 
Scene III.] IN DENMARK. 103 
 
 this secret be that she dares not avow ? — ( Knocks at 
 the door ). (Eliza, Eliza ! — She answers not !— Eliza ! 
 Never was there a more miserable man. — All kinds 
 of misfortunes concur to overwhelm me. — I know 
 not what to think of her ! And yet, I never loved 
 her so much as at this moment. — Ah ! God be 
 praised ! — here comes her mother. ( Enter Madame 
 de Tourville.) Come, madame, and restore me to 
 life — I am a lost man, if you do not aid me. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 What is the matter, sir ? How can I be useful to 
 you ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ah ! madame — my destiny is in your hands — I am 
 very unhappy — I have just made an avowal of my 
 passion to your daughter — 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 How, sir ! — to my daughter ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Yes ! I adore her —I cannot live without her. — 
 She has confessed that she had no objection to me — 
 that she loved me; — and then — I know not what 
 singular idea took possession of her— she told me 
 that she would never be my wife. — Ah ! madame — 
 if you have any influence over her 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 You wish to marry my daughter ? 
 
 h 4 
 
104 THE SPANIARDS [Day III. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Oh ! if she would consent, I should be the happiest 
 of mankind. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 You ! — ( Aside.) What have I done ! Fool that 
 I am, I never thought of this ! 
 
 DON J CAN. 
 
 But, notwithstanding all my prayers, she refused 
 to tell me the motive or scruple 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 But, sir, the difference of fortune — may it not 
 be 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Oh ! do not speak to me of that — I have thirty 
 thousand piastres a year — I am rich — noble— but to 
 what purpose ? She has some extravagant scruple 
 —she conceals it from me, and dooms me to death. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE ( aside J. 
 
 Fool that I was — What could I have been think- 
 ing of ! — There was much more to be gained in this 
 quarter. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I entreat you, madame, in the name of Heaven — 
 go and speak to her — be, from this moment, my 
 mother — solicit for me — tell her how wretched I 
 shall be if she does not consent to be mine. — But 
 you, madame, probably entertain the same scruples as 
 your daughter ? 
 
Scene III.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 105 
 
 MADAME DE TOURV1LLE. 
 
 I, Colonel ! no — on the contrary, I have the 
 highest esteem for you. I desire the honour of your 
 alliance. — ( Aside.) Her head is turned. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 You overwhelm me. Hasten, my dear Madame 
 de Tourville — tell her that I do not wish to know 
 her secrets — say, if she does not hate me 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Believe me, Colonel, that there is nothing at the 
 bottom of all this but some childish absurdity. I 
 have brought up my daughter too well, to allow of 
 her having any thing serious to conceal. — ( Aside.) 
 I should be a pretty simpleton to miss the ball at the 
 rebound. The recompense would be trifling in 
 comparison to what I may derive from this — I will 
 tell him all. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ah, madame ! my only hope is in you. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Listen, young man, I have something very serious 
 to tell you. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 My dear Madame de Tourville — go to her — 
 bring her here — l ean listen to nothing at present. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 A little patience, rash youth. I have just come 
 from the Resident's, with whom I had some busi- 
 
106 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 IDay III. 
 
 ness. As there was some one with him, I waited 
 for a short time in the antichamber. The curiosity 
 natural to my sex, I must confess, made me listen 
 to what they were saying, and as the partition was a 
 slight one, I heard all. — And could you guess what 
 it was ? — he was plotting, Monsieur Juan Diaz, with 
 a young man as hot-headed as yourself, to invite the 
 General to dinner, where he was to be assassinated 
 or made prisoner, and kept in confinement until the 
 French troops, who are on their way, should arrive 
 here, and exterminate all the Spaniards in the 
 island. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Heavens ! — the Resident ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 The young man who was with him appeared to 
 be unwilling to consent to this, and endeavoured to 
 shew how atrocious such conduct would be; but the 
 villain of a Resident threatened to have him shot, 
 and he was obliged to consent, though very much 
 against his will, I am sure. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 There was only this misfortune wanting to me ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 You will not do any harm to this young man, I 
 hope ? — As to the Resident — he is a confirmed old 
 scoundrel, and deserving of your utmost anger. 
 
Scene III.] IN DENMARK. 107 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I must go to the Marquis de la Romana — be good 
 enough to come along with me. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 We must not let the Resident escape — I am still 
 trembling with horror at his infamous treachery — ■ 
 you should have him instantly shot, without listening 
 to him. As to the other 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 His affair is quite clear. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 You have promised me to pardon him — but hearken, 
 young man — hearken, my child — 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ah ! my good mother ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 I shall bring my daughter to you ; and while you 
 are making your peace with her, I will go and 
 inform the General of every thing, and by that 
 means we shall kill two birds with one stone. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Go instantly to her ! I shall return here in a 
 moment. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 No: remain here — 1 will bring her to you im- 
 mediately. She is so simple and innocent — this poor 
 Eliza — faith, between you and me, her first husband 
 was an old dotard. 
 
108 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Go, and return quickly. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Now for an ambush — don't say a word — stand at 
 that side of the door (knocks ). It is I — your mother 
 — open, Eliza. {Exit. 
 don juan ( alone ). 
 
 I know not whether it be a good angel or the devil 
 that conducts our affairs— but my head is splitting ! 
 I can hold out no longer — never was I so put to the 
 proof. — Hark ! her mother is entreating her — she 
 resists. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Help, Colonel ! Hasten here ! ( Don Juan goes 
 into the room, and returns with Madame de Coulanges, 
 followed by Madame de Tourville.) 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Oh ! you shall not again escape from me — you are 
 mine for life — your mother consents. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Ah ! this tender scene brings the tears into my 
 eyes. Come, my children — love each other and be 
 happy — it is your mother who blesses you. {Aside to 
 Don Juan) I am going to the General. [Exit. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 In the name of Heaven, look upon me, Eliza ! 
 What have I done to you ? Can it be that you no 
 
Scene III.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 109 
 
 longer love me ? Give me your hand — Ah ! it is in 
 vain that you struggle — you must take this ring 
 (he forces a ring upon her finger). There is now 
 nothing more to be said— you have my ring — long 
 live the Marchioness of * * * 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 You wish then to know all ? Leave me — take back 
 your ring, and keep it for some other Marchioness. — 
 Do you know, Don Juan, for what purpose I came to 
 this island ? They promised me six thousand francs 
 a year to come here and get into your confidence, 
 for the purpose of betraying your secrets — what 
 think you of that, Don Juan ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ah! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Now you know the honourable profession I follow 
 — my real name is Leblanc. If you wish to know 
 the story of my life, listen for a moment — you do 
 not yet know all, and have need of your courage. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 For pity's sake, cease ! you are jesting. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Hear me ! My mother brought me up with the 
 hope that my beauty and talents would prove a 
 source of wealth to her. Surrounded by a family 
 accustomed to infamy, is it to be wondei'ed at, that 
 
110 THE SPANIARDS [Day III. 
 
 I profited so well by the examples continually before 
 my eyes? — Yes, Don Juan, I am in the pay of the 
 police — they have sent me hither to seduce you — to 
 draw from you the secrets of your friend, and con- 
 duct you both to the scaffold. (She falls upon a sofa.) 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Eliza ! oh you have given me my death-blow, 
 Eliza. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 What ! have you not fled from me ? 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 You are ill, Eliza ! you are mad ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Leave me, sir — you will be polluted by touching 
 a wretch like me — I shall have strength enough to 
 get to my room unsupported. (She endeavours to rise, 
 but falls again.) 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Eliza ! all that you have said is false. Have not 
 you and your mother revealed to me the plan of 
 destruction prepared for us by our enemies ? 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I know not what my mother may have told you ; 
 but I, Don Juan, I have been paid — paid to find out 
 your secrets. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I cannot believe you. 
 
Scene III.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 Ill 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 The moment I came to know you, my whole soul 
 underwent a change — my eyes were opened — for the 
 first time it struck me that I was doing wrong — I 
 wished to save you ! — Oh ! Don Juan, the love that 
 I feel for you — suffer me to speak once more of that 
 love — my love for you has changed my being — I 
 begin to see what virtue is — it is — it is the wish to 
 please you. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Unhappy woman ! — Cursed be the barbarians who 
 corrupted your youth. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Oh ! Don Juan, you pity me ! But you are so 
 generous ! you feel even for your horse when he 
 suffers. Oh ! I shall think of you all my life — per- 
 haps God will have pity on me ; for yes, there is a 
 God in Heaven ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 But at present you love virtue ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I love you with all the strength of my soul — but I 
 disgust you — I see it — 
 
 don juan ( after a pause ). 
 
 Hear me, Eliza — be candid — one single question. 
 Have you ever been instrumental to the death of a 
 human being ? But no — answer me not. — What 
 right have I to ask you such a question ? — I, who 
 
112 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 fought at Trafalgar, at Eylau, at Friedland for the 
 despot of the world ! — Have I not assisted in the 
 destruction of brave men, fighting for the liberty of 
 their country ? But a few days ago would I not, at 
 the first sound of the drum, have sabred a patriot 
 for the good pleasure of the Emperor ? — And yet I 
 dare to ask you such a question. All men are wolves 
 and monsters ! — I am tempted to blow her brains 
 out, and then kill myself upon her body* 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 I shall answer, Don Juan. I swear to you by — 
 but who will believe an oath from my mouth? No ! 
 I never caused the death of any one. Rise up, Don 
 Juan — take back your ring — but thank the chance 
 that has protected me. — If these hands which you 
 kiss are unstained by innocent blood, I have to 
 thank chance alone for it. Had I not met with you, 
 I know not what I might have done. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 You are as virtuous, Eliza — you are more virtuous 
 than those puritanical beings, who, because they 
 have passed their lives in a convent, boast of having 
 resisted temptation. Eliza, you are my wife ! — Your 
 mother shall remain here — I will give her as much 
 money as she may wish for. But you — you shall 
 accompany me, and share in all my fortunes. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 You are mad — In a short time you will change 
 
Scene III.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 113 
 
 your mind ; and then you will be astonished that 
 you could ever have felt even pity for a creature like 
 me. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Never, never ! 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Yes ! I am sufficiently happy, since you have not 
 spurned me with your foot, as if I were some noxious 
 reptile. I am not willing to become the bane of 
 your life, by taking you at your word in a moment 
 of enthusiasm. You must find a wife who shall be 
 worthy of you. — Adieu ! 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Eliza, you shall not leave me — I cannot live 
 without you. — I shall never love any one but you. 
 Come with me — they will never know any thing 
 of your history in Spain. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Ah ! Don Juan ! — ( takes his hand.) Be it so — I 
 am yours. But I will not be your wife, I will be 
 your mistress —your servant ; when you become tired 
 of me, you can drive me away. If you can bear me 
 near you, we are united for life and death. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 You shall be my mistress and my wife. (Kisses her.) 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 My resolution is now taken, and I shall not change 
 
 it. 
 
 I 
 
 B-SHSE LIBRARY 
 
114 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 Enter Madame de Tourville. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 In one another's arms ! — At length I am satisfied 
 — I told you that she wished for nothing better. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Eliza, leave us for an instant — I will shortly re- 
 join you in my room. [Exit Madame de Coulanges. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 Faith, Colonel, you have made quick work of it. 
 But I came from the Marquis, who wishes to see 
 you. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 I know who you are, madame — and, if I 
 pleased, I might have you hanged. Will you take 
 ten thousand piastres to remain here, or go to the 
 devil if you will, on condition of never again seeing, 
 speaking, or writing to your daughter ? 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 But, sir, my dear daughter 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ten thousand piastres ! — reflect on it ! 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 So loving a mother 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Yes or no ? 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 I accept the piastres. — And yet it is rather hard 
 for a mother 
 
Scene III.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 115 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Return to your apartment — You shall have them 
 this evening. Do not attempt to quit the house, or 
 the sentinels shall fire upon you. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE. 
 
 At least, permit me for the last time 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Retire, and do not enrage me. 
 
 MADAME DE TOURVILLE (aside J. 
 
 What a cunning little baggage ! lExit. 
 Enter the Marquis, 
 marquis. 
 
 Faith ! I submit. — There is nothing like your 
 handsome fellows for finding out a secret. — Madame 
 de Tourville told us the truth — here is a letter from 
 the Resident inviting me to dinner. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Twelve bullets in his brain-pan — that's what he 
 deserves. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 I do not intend to throw so many away upon him. 
 I shall have his couriers arrested, and his dinner 
 shall finish in a very different way from what he 
 hopes. It will be also the last that we shall eat in 
 this island. The wind is favourable — To morrow 
 the English admiral will cast anchor before Nybourg. 
 I will make sure of the Danish and German officers, 
 in the same manner they purposed to do with us. 
 
 i 2 
 
116 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Shoot them ! shoot them ! shoot them ! — All of 
 them are such scoundrels, that they are scarcely 
 worth the cartridge which sends them into the 
 other world. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 The devil ! at what a rate you drive ! — I do not 
 intend to put any one to death, except the Resident, 
 whom I shall have well and duly hanged, to teach 
 him that a dining room should be held as sacred as 
 the place where the congress holds its sittings. To- 
 morrow he shall serve as an example to all future 
 diplomatists, and as a sign to this inn. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Amen ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Take this note to Colonel Zamora — let all the 
 couriers be arrested. — The flying artillery has ar- 
 rived — I am going to write to the commandant. The 
 fortress will be occupied by the grenadiers of Ca- 
 talonia. — -All the regiments will assemble at five 
 o'clock upon the parade, and if the devil does not 
 meddle with it, the Prince de Ponte Corvo shall not 
 find a single man here to answer to his call. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Ah ! General, I already long to find myself face 
 to face with the French. [Exeunt. 
 
Scene III.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 117 
 
 BALLET. 
 
 The Parade of Nybourg. 
 In the back Scene is seen a Park of Artillery • — Military Music. 
 
 FIRST GROUP. 
 
 Four cannoneers and four female suttlers. 
 
 SECOND GROUP. 
 
 A fandango. 
 
 THIRD GROUP. 
 
 Waltz. — Spanish soldiers and girls of Nybourg. 
 
 The Retreat is sounded, and the Dancing ceases. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 A Dining Room. 
 
 Marquis, Don Joan, the Resident, Charles Le- 
 blanc, Spanish, Danish, and German Officers, at 
 Table. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Let the dessert be brought in. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Eh ! not yet, not yet — it is not yet time. — We 
 have not dined yet. 
 
 i 3 
 
118 THE SPANIARDS [Day III. 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 What's the matter with you, Baron ? you appear 
 to be unwell. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Nothing, absolutely nothing, General — on the 
 contrary. — Mr. Leblanc, stop — I wished to tell you 
 not to drink that wine — I am going to bring in some 
 which is particularly excellent, that I have had by me 
 for a long time — I shall go for it myself. 
 
 charles leblanc ( in a, low voice J. 
 Send a servant. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 No, I never confide the keys of my cellar to them 
 — they are too awkward, they always break my 
 bottles. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC 
 
 Oh ! he is afraid of broken bottles. — Go then — we 
 shall not commence the dessert till you return. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 No ceremony, I entreat you — eat away. [Goes out : 
 the dessert is brought inJ] 
 
 marquis ( to Charles Leblanc J. 
 You appear to have been in the army, sir ? 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 It is not impossible — but for the present quarter- 
 of-an-hour I am secretary to the Resident : and more- 
 over, very much at your service. 
 
Scene IV.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 119 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Don Juan, do you recollect an officer that we 
 picked up in Friedland ? He had been covered with 
 wounds and thrown into a ditch by the cossacks. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 May the devil strangle them — it was I. — You have 
 a good memory, General. — Now, my good friends, 
 attention to the word of command. As I am the 
 representative, for a quarter of an hour, of Mr. 
 Resident, seeing he has abandoned his post — I am 
 » going to propose to you, the health of our own little 
 corporal. — Here is to the health of his majesty the 
 Emperor ! long live the Emperor ! ( Aside ) Why 
 the devil do they not make their appearance ? ( The 
 Danish and German officers rise to drink the toast.) 
 
 marcjuis (rising). 
 It is now my turn, gentlemen, and I have the 
 honour of proposing the health of his majesty Ferdi- 
 nand VII. King of Spain and the Indies ! 
 
 SPANISH OFFICERS. 
 
 Long live the king. ( Tumult.) 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Long live the Emperor. — On, on, light-horsemen ! 
 — General, I arrest you. — Come, you Danish canaille, 
 assist me ! 
 
 (Spanish Soldiers enter. Charles Leblanc is 
 disarmed — the windows of the back scene open — the 
 i 3 
 
120 
 
 THE SPANIARDS 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 English fleet, with all their flags flying, is seen firing 
 a salute — a joyful shout from the Spanish regiments 
 is heard.) 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 Your light-horsemen are in prison, Mr. Secretary. 
 — Danish and German officers — Gentlemen, it is 
 with regret that I must require your words of 
 honour, not to make any attempt to oppose our 
 design. All resistance would be vain, and your 
 courage is sufficiently known not to need any fur- 
 ther proof. Resume your swords — you are no longer 
 prisoners. Heretofore we have fought together 
 under the same banner — a future day may find us 
 combating in the same ranks, under the flag of 
 liberty. We quit you to fly to the defence of our 
 country, for before swearing to serve the Emperor, 
 we owed our blood to Spain. Farewell, gentlemen. — 
 Spanish officers — I know too well the corps I have 
 the honour of commanding, to doubt for an instant 
 the alacrity with which each of you will answer to 
 the call of his country. — You are going to measure 
 your swords with the tyrants and conquerors of the 
 world, and the crowd of foreign slaves whom they 
 are driving upon Spain. You will find our armies 
 disorganized and destroyed ; but every Spaniard has 
 become a soldier, and the mountains of the Morena 
 already attest that our peasantry can vanquish the 
 victors of Austerlitz.< 7) Treachery has delivered up 
 
Scene IV.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 121 
 
 our fortified towns to the enemy, our arsenals are also 
 in his power — but in each of our unwalled towns is 
 a Palafox, and our citadels have become as impreg- 
 nable as that of Saragossa. All our provinces are 
 over-run by the enemy — but every where the French 
 are besieged in their camps. Our king is a captive — 
 but we have still the Pelasgi. — For Spain, gentlemen, 
 — and war without quarter to the French I ft ' 
 
 ALL. 
 
 For Spain ! 
 
 MARQUIS. 
 
 I am going to pass the troops in review — do you, 
 Don Juan, make sure of that rascal the Resident — you 
 know my intentions. \_Exeunt Marquis and Spanish 
 and Danish officers. 2 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Faith, Colonel, this is a comical turning of the 
 tables ; but may I be hanged if it was not that 
 wretched mother of mine that sold this pass upon us. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 What is your name ? 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Charles Leblanc, Lieutenant of Grenadiers in the 
 Imperial Guard. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Can it be possible, sir, that an officer belonging 
 to a corps so justly esteemed, should descend to 
 the trade of an assassin ? 
 
122 
 
 THE SPANIARDS [Day III. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 That title does not apply to me. I did not intend 
 to assassinate any one. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 And those light-horsemen ? 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 In the first place, they were not to have fired but 
 at the last extremity ; and even in that case it could 
 not be called an assassination, but an ambuscade, 
 which is quite a different thing. To assassinate, 
 may become a scoundrel of a monk (9) or a mou- 
 chard — but an ambuscade is not degrading to a 
 brave officer. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Sir, you appear to be much better acquainted with 
 the articles of the military code than with the dis- 
 tinctions of right and wrong. — But will you tell me 
 what that soldier merits who comes to an ambuscade 
 out of uniform ? 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 I feel that if you order me to be shot, as you have 
 the right, I shall not have a word to say ; but still, 
 as I am very anxious not to be taken for a mouchard 
 by a brave officer, I beg you to remark (and note 
 that 1 do not ask for my life) that I have in no way 
 whatever sought to find out your secrets, to see 
 where your regiments were encamped, or your 
 
Scene IV.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 123 
 
 artillery placed — nothing at all of that kind. I laid 
 in ambuscade for you, as I have had already the 
 honour of telling you. —I avow that I was wrong to 
 come dressed like a pekin (10) — and yet this coat — 
 No ! I can never make it out a military one. Come, 
 I see I must have a bullet through my head, to teach 
 me never again to quit my uniform. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 No ! you have a name that saves you — Monsieur 
 Leblanc. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Ah ! probably you are in love with either my 
 mother or sister, who serve in the regiment of 
 mouchards. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Silence ! 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 The devil take the mouchards! — Order me to 
 be shot. I should not like to have it said that the 
 life of an officer of the Imperial Guard was spared 
 for the sake of such canaille. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 No ! I give you your life in consideration of your 
 courage. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 I accept it on that condition.— Colonel, you are 
 an excellent fellow — You have the look of a brave 
 
124 THE SPANIARDS [Day III. 
 
 soldier, though you have not yet bitten so many car- 
 tridges as I have. And yet I am but a poor devil 
 of a lieutenant, and you — Oh ! what an excellent 
 service that of Spain must be. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Should you wish for a company in our division ? 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC 
 
 No ! the devil take me if I do. I should prefer 
 being cut into quarters, rather than wear any but the 
 French cockade. 
 
 Enter a Serjeant. 
 
 SERJEANT. 
 
 Colonel, we have been seeking every where for 
 the Resident, but cannot find him. — However, the 
 rope is quite ready at the inn-door. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC 
 
 Ah, ah ! and so there is a halter dangling over 
 the door, instead of the sign of the three crowns. 
 Enter Madame de Coulanges, dressed in the uniform 
 of Don Juan's regiment. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Colonel, your regiment is about to march, and 
 only waits for you. 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 Oh ! my dear Eliza ! 
 
 charles leblanc ( aside and turning away J. 
 My sister ! — May the devil take her ! 
 
Scene IV.] 
 
 IX DENMARK. 
 
 125 
 
 DON JUAN. 
 
 There is the cannon giving the signal of departure 
 — Come, my dearest love. 
 
 MADAME DE COULANGES. 
 
 Farewell, France — I shall never see you again ! 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC ( aside ). 
 
 France is well rid of you. — {Aloud) Adieu, Colo- 
 nel, I do not thank you. [Exeunt Don Juan, Ma- 
 dame de Coulanges, and Spanish Soldiers.~] 
 
 charles leblanc ( at the window ). 
 
 Gallant looking troops, faith ! — a charming coup- 
 (Tceil. — What a fine thing to command a division 
 such as that ! By the right flank ! into column ! 
 march ! — How stupidly these Danes stare at them, 
 like so many plucked geese ! 
 
 Resident enters, opening the door cautiously. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 I hear no noise — all must be over — I may now 
 venture, as I no longer hear the voices of the 
 Spaniards. — Ah ! my dear Lieutenant, you here! — 
 Have we not managed our affairs in a gallant style ? 
 — I was obliged to make head against a dozen of 
 them below stairs. — Why the devil did you not wait 
 for me ? 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Look out of the window. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Heavens ! — La Romana at the head of the Spa- 
 niards !— What does all this mean ? 
 
126 THE SPANIARDS [Day III. 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 It means that we have been betrayed ; that I 
 should have been shot but for Colonel Juan Diaz, 
 and that they are looking for you to hang you ! 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 To hang me ! 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 They wish to make you serve as a sign to this 
 inn. — Do you see that halter ? — It is your neck that 
 it waits for. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 To hang me ! 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 Yes, truly — I wish you a happy time of it, Mr. 
 Resident ! 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Oh heavens ! and will you not defend me, Lieu- 
 tenant ? 
 
 CHARLES LEBLANC. 
 
 What can I do ? I am disarmed — the best thing 
 you can do, is to ask pardon of these gentlemen and 
 ladies. 
 
 RESIDENT. 
 
 Thus finishes the comedy — excuse the faults of the 
 author. ( Military music is heard.) 
 
Notes.] 
 
 IN DENMARK. 
 
 127 
 
 NOTES TO THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 <D It appears that Clara Gazul wished to represent the celebrated 
 and unhappy Portier, better known in Spain by the title del Mar. 
 quesito (the little marquis), a nick-name which his soldiers gave him. 
 Whether he followed the Marquis de la Romana to Fuenen is not 
 perfectly clear ; but it is certain that, after the entry of Ferdinand 
 VII. into his kingdom, Portier openly declared in favour of the con- 
 stitution of the Cortes, which he had so ably defended in the war o^ 
 independence. An attempt which he made, in September 1815, for 
 proclaiming the Constitution at Corogne obtained no success ; and, 
 betrayed by his unworthy companions, Portier was delivered to the 
 military authorities, condemned to death, and shot, October 3, 1815. 
 The following epitaph was composed by himself : " Here rest the 
 " remains of Don Juan Diaz Portier, General of the Spanish armies, 
 " who was successful in what he undertook against the enemies of 
 " his country, but who died a victim to civil dissentions. Souls of 
 " sensibility, respect the ashes of this unfortunate man !" 
 
 < 2) The basguina is a short and narrow petticoat, and the mantilla 
 a black veil without which the Spanish ladies seldom if ever go 
 out. 
 
 (3) The war of the Partizans. 
 
 < 4 > At Espinosa. The Marquis de la Romana was at that time in 
 England. 
 
 ( 5 ) It should never be forgotten that this comedy was written 
 during the constitutional government. 
 
 (6) A soldier of a free company. 
 
128 SPANIARDS IN DENMARK. [Notes. 
 
 NOTES TO THE PLAY. 
 
 Note in p. 16, line 4. — Bernadotte, then Prince de Ponte-Corvo, 
 now King of Sweden. 
 
 <2) Battle of Vimeira, gained the 21st June 1808, by Sir Arthur 
 Wellesley (Duke of Wellington) over General Junot and the French 
 army, which capitulated at Cintra, and embarked for France. 
 
 < 3 ) A German custom. 
 
 (4) The women of Andalusia are renowned all over Spain for the 
 smallness of their feet, and the sweetness of their accent. 
 
 ( 5 > The tragic death of the unfortunate Porlier is known to every 
 one. 
 
 (6) Historical. 
 
 (7) At Baylen, where the army of General Dupont was obliged to 
 capitulate to the levee s-en-masse of Castanos and the Swiss General 
 Reding. 
 
 W In Spanish guerra or cuchillo. The famous answer of General 
 Palafox, to the proposal of an honourable capitulation at the first 
 siege of Saragossa. 
 
 (9) See the bulletins and proclamations of Napoleon and Murat. 
 Mouehards are spies of the most contemptible kind. 
 
 (10) A name of contempt, by which the French military designate 
 the civilians. 
 
 END. 
 
WOMAN IS A DEVIL ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE TEMPTATION OF SAINT ANTONY. 
 A COMEDY. < ] > 
 
 DE IONIO. 
 
 " Yo hare que el estudio olvides, 
 " Suspendido en una rara 
 " Beldad.'- 
 
 Calderon. — El Magico Prodigioso. 
 
 K 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen : 
 
 The author of the comedy you are about to 
 judge has taken the liberty to diverge from the 
 beaten path : he has brought upon the scene, for 
 the first time, certain personages whom our nurses, 
 wet and dry, have taught us to revere. Many persons 
 will be scandalized at this boldness, and will term it 
 sacrilege; but to exhibit upon the stage the cruel 
 ministers of a God of clemency, cannot be justly con- 
 strued into an attack upon our holy religion. The 
 errors of its interpretors can no more obscure its 
 brightness, than a drop of ink can discolour the 
 crystal waters of the Guadalquiver. 
 
 Spaniards, now happily emancipated, have learned 
 to distinguish true devotion from hypocrisy. It is 
 by such the author wishes to be judged; confident 
 that they will look upon that only as a jest, in which 
 the worthy Torquemada would have found matter 
 for an auto-da-fe, with the full complement of san 
 benitos. 
 
PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 FRAY ANTONIO, 
 FRAY RAFAEL, 
 FRAY DOMINGO, 
 MARIQUITA. 
 Familiars of the Inquisition. 
 
 The Scene is at Grenada. 
 
A 
 
 WOMAN IS A DEVIL; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 TEMPTATION OF SAINT ANTONY. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A judgment hall in the Inquisition at Grenada, — On a 
 raised part of the floor to the right, and hung with 
 black, are three seats, the middle one higher than the 
 two others. In the back-scene are perceived several 
 instruments of torture lying confusedly about. Below, 
 and in front of the three seats, are a table and a chair 
 for the Register. The theatre is dimly lighted. 
 
 Enter Rafael and Domingo in the full costume of 
 Inquisitors. 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Signor Domingo, I tell you again it is a crying 
 injustice. I have now been an inquisitor of Grenada 
 for seventeen years, during which time I sent 
 twenty heretics every year to the flames — and is it by 
 appointing a beardless youth my superior, that my 
 lord the Grand Inquisitor recognizes my services? 
 
 k 3 
 
134 
 
 A WOMAN IS 
 
 [SCENE 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 This is quite atrocious, and I could tell you nearly 
 as much on my own account. Do you know what 
 all this proves ? it proves that my lord the Grand 
 Inquisitor is nothing better than an ass. 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 We knew that already ; but I did not know till 
 now that he was both fanatical and unjust. 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 And what grave matter of reproach has he against 
 us, after all ? 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 I know well what has ruined me in his good 
 opinion — a mere trifle. The story of the little 
 Jewess whom I converted, and who took it into her 
 head to become a mother all of a sudden, got wind, 
 and came to his ears : but, after all, what is there 
 in that so very extraordinary ? 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 Moreover, he accuses us, I am told, of not being 
 Christians. 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 To be an inquisitor, is it then so necessary to be a 
 Christian ? 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 Notwithstanding your conversion and its results, 
 I am noted in his tablets in still blacker characters 
 than you. 
 
I.] 
 
 A DEVIL. 
 
 135 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 You, probably, figure there as an atheist. 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 No, thank Heaven! but my rascal of a lay-bro- 
 ther, who makes up my room, shewed him the leg of 
 a fowl that he found — I know not how — and in Lent, 
 if you please ! 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Oh, heavens, that is a sad affair ! 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 But the worst of all is, that the new inquisitor, 
 whom he has named president of the tribunal, is a 
 demon sent as a spy upon us. And, to add to our 
 misfortune, this odd fellow is perfectly sincere in 
 his belief. 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 No ! — you cannot make me believe that ! 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 If I do not deceive myself, he is a second Loyola. 
 It is said that he does not yet know of any differ- 
 ence between a man and a woman — Oh I he is a 
 true saint ! 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Alas! 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 Alas! 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Zounds ! is it thus that our services are to be 
 k 4 
 
136 
 
 A WOMAN 
 
 IS 
 
 [Scene 
 
 recompensed ? I am in a horrible bad humour to day 
 — would to Heaven I were a Turk ! Woe to those 
 who shall be brought before us to day, for I must 
 wreak my ill-humour upon some one. To the 
 flames ! to the flames ! and again to the flames ! — 
 That is my last word. 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 Amen ! To day is Saturday, and it is always my 
 habit to condemn of a Saturday — on Mondays I 
 acquit. By that means, if there should be any mis- 
 takes, if the innocent should fall on my condemning 
 day, the fault must be with Providence. But, 
 apropos, tell me what has become of your Jewess ? 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 She is in the Lying-in-hospital — the little silly 
 slut ! 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 Slut enough, in all truth. — ( Aside ) And you 
 think that you sent her there, poor simpleton that 
 you are ! 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 What's that you are muttering between your 
 teeth ? 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 Oh ! I was cursing that imbecile Grand Inquisitor. 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 May the devil fly away with him ! 
 
I.J A DEVIL. 13T 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 Hush ! there's an echo here. — Move away ! here 
 comes our saint. ( They go to different sides of the 
 hall, and commence reading their breviaries.) 
 
 Enter Antonio, in grand costume. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 My very reverend fathers, we are going to take 
 cognizance of a very important affair, and for which 
 I see you are preparing yourselves. We have to 
 try a sorceress, a woman who has entered into a 
 compact with the devil, reverend fathers. The spirit 
 of darkness has, it is said, gifted this wretched being 
 with supernatural power. But do not be disheartened, 
 the cross that we wear will shield us from the talons 
 of the evil one, should he be able to appear within 
 the sacred walls of the Holy Office. 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 Satan would lose his time here. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Alas ! reverend father, do not say so. The flesh 
 is weak, the vessel is fragile. Miserable sinner that 
 I am ! my only force is in the knowledge of my 
 weakness. A long life passed in sanctity has ren- 
 dered you invulnerable to temptation — but as for 
 me, I am not only young in years, but also in pious 
 works. — Ah ! I shall have great need of your good 
 advice to enable me to escape the rocks and quick- 
 sands of life ! 
 
138 A WOMAN IS [Scene 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 We have all need of good advice. 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 Warned by each other, we shall resist more suc- 
 cessfully the attacks of the demon. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 c; Lord, lead us not into temptation !" such is 
 my prayer at every instant of the day. We are so 
 liable to fall. No matter how much the soul may 
 be on its guard, the enemy of mankind is so wily a 
 serpent, that he will make his way through the 
 smallest opening ; and one single drop of his venom 
 may gangrene a soul for ever. 
 
 rafael ( aside J. 
 
 He has something on his conscience — it must be 
 a curious case. — ( Aloud.) To what powerful tempta- 
 tion has God permitted you to be exposed ? 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 We have still time before the prisoners shall be 
 brought in, and a sincere avowal of our faults may 
 be a useful preparation for the task we have to ful- 
 fil. Listen then, reverend fathers. — I have always 
 thought that the most efficacious instrument of 
 damnation that the evil one can make use of, is a 
 woman. You are of my opinion, fathers. It is less 
 dangerous to meet with an aspic than a woman. 
 domingo ( with affected surprise J. 
 
 How ! it is a woman that is 
 
A DEVIL. 
 
 139 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 From my earliest infancy I was brought up in a 
 convent — beyond the wall of which I never strayed. 
 Until six months ago I had never known any woman 
 but my mother, and would to God that I had never 
 seen another of the sex ! 
 
 rafael ( with affected surprise J. 
 
 Holy Virgin ! — you make me shudder ! 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Satan afflicted me with a grievous malady, that 
 put my life in danger. I prayed to God to let me 
 die in my innocence, but my prayers were not heard 
 — I recovered ; and the physicians, to complete my 
 cure, ordered me to breathe a purer air in a little 
 country house belonging to the convent. Embold- 
 ened by the solitude of the place, I ventured out 
 alone to take some exercise in the neighbouring 
 fields. One day, on returning to the house, my 
 eyes encountered near the door a being whose dress 
 made me suppose it was a woman. This unexpected 
 appearance threw me into such trouble and con- 
 fusion, that I had not sufficient presence of mind 
 even to close my eyes ; bewildered, beside my- 
 self, I stood motionless before her, while her image 
 sunk deeper and deeper into my heart. In vain I 
 sought to fly — my feet remained rooted to the earth. 
 Like to a man under the influence of the night- 
 mare, I saw the danger, but had neither force to fly 
 
110 A WOMAN IS [Scene 
 
 it, nor voice to call for aid. I was like a bird under 
 the fascination of the rattle-shake — my blood boiled 
 in my veins — I trembled with affright ; and yet, if 
 the comparison be not a sacrilege, I felt that kind 
 of delicious extacy that I have sometimes experienced 
 when praying before our holy Madona — a few mo- 
 ments more and I should have dropped dead on the 
 spot. — I felt my soul ready to abandon me. — I should 
 have died, and died in sin — had not that creature 
 made an effort to approach me. This sudden move- 
 ment, by redoubling my fears, broke the charm — I 
 was able to cry " Jesus !" This holy name unbound 
 me ; and I rushed forward with all my strength, and 
 without once looking behind me, until, meeting my 
 confessor, I threw myself into his arms and relieved 
 my oppressed soul. 
 
 rafael ( with a profound sigh J. 
 I expected something worse. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Satan had not yet done with his victim. I had 
 fled, but I brought away with me the poisoned shaft. 
 Alas ! I must confess that it is still in my heart. — 
 Neither fastings, prayers, nor mortifications, can 
 drive from my thoughts the image of that woman. 
 She haunts me in my dreams — I see her every 
 where — her large black eyes, which, like those of a 
 young cat, are at the same time mild and mischievous, 
 are continually before me — even at this moment I see 
 
I.] 
 
 A DEVIL. 
 
 141 
 
 them ( he hides his face in his hands). And — must I avow 
 it?— often, when engaged in sacred study, my mind 
 remains insensible to the sublime words of the 
 evangelist ; my eyes see, and my lips pronounce the 
 words without conveying their meaning to my un- 
 derstanding, for my whole soul is occupied by that 
 woman. — Surely it was such a face that Satan as- 
 sumed to tempt my ever blessed patron. Great Saint 
 Antony, inspire me with your courage ! 
 
 RAFAEL and DOMINGO. 
 
 May the Lord be your help ! 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Amen ! Why should a miserable sinner be con- 
 demned to pronounce judgment on others, when 
 he himself may on the last day be sent into the 
 flames as a backslider? [Long pause.) Let us, how- 
 ever, go through with our task ; and painful though 
 it be, let us recollect that man is doomed to pass his 
 life in tribulation — {He takes his seat between Rafael 
 and Domingo). Register, call on the cause, and let 
 the prisoner be brought in. 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Why do you shut your eyes ? 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Would to God I were blind ! do you know that 
 it is a woman that is to appear before us ? 
 
 REGISTER. 
 
 Maria Valdez — come and appear before the tribu- 
 
112 
 
 A WOMAN IS 
 
 nal of the Holy Office. {Enter Maiuouita veiled, 
 between two Familiars of the Inquisition. 
 
 antonio ( his eyes closed). 
 Woman, what is your name ? 
 
 MARIgUITA. 
 
 I am called Maria Valdez, but more frequently 
 Mariquita, and sometimes mad-cap. These are all 
 my names and titles. 
 
 antonio (his eyes still closed). 
 
 Your age ? 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 That is rather a puzzling question to put to a 
 woman, if you Mash her to tell the truth. However, 
 I shall be candid — I am twenty-three years old — if 
 you doubt it, look at me. Do I appear older ? (I uts 
 aside her veil.) 
 
 RAFAEL AND DOMINGO (aside). 
 
 Gad's life ! what a lovely girl ! 
 antonio (his eyes still closed, and in a low voice). 
 Avaunt Satan ! demon of curiosity, you shall not 
 conquer me ! ( Aloud ) What is your profession ? 
 mariquita (hesitating). 
 I know not what the deuce to say — I sing, I dance, 
 [ play on the castanets, &c. &c. &c. 
 
 antonio. 
 
 It is then in those amusements, the names of 
 which, thanks to Heaven, are unknown to me, that 
 
J.] A DEVIL. 113 
 
 you waste a time that you should employ in weeping 
 and repentance ? 
 
 mari^uita. 
 
 And why, Signor Licentiate, should I weep and 
 repent, since I have never done any thing bad ? 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Nothing bad ? interrogate your conscience ! 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And what has it to reproach me with ? It is true 
 I have committed some little faults, but for which I 
 got absolution last Sunday from the chaplain of the 
 Royal Murcia Infantry. Let me go away, and do 
 not frighten me any longer with your black robes 
 and your 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Maria Valdez, you say that your conscience is 
 pure ; reflect, and do not perjure yourself. 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Since I have told you the truth, I hope you will 
 let me go away. 
 
 rafael ( to Antonio ). 
 Bring her to the point. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Do you know a woman named Juana Mendo ? 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Do I know her? Certainly; she is one of 
 friends. 
 
111. 
 
 A WOMAN IS 
 
 t Scene 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Have you never had a quarrel with her ? 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 No ! — Ah ! stop — Two or three days ago she wished 
 to squabble with me, pretending that I had stolen 
 her lover from her, which was not at all true, Mr. 
 Licentiate. All that was in it was, that Manuel 
 Torribio told her that my beautiful black eyes were 
 much handsomer than her ugly red ones. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Her black eyes ( putting quickly his hand before his 
 eyes J. SignOr Rafael, I beseech you to go on for a 
 moment with the interrogation. 
 
 rafael ( after looking over some papers, in a mild 
 tone of voice J. 
 
 Mariquita, did you not, on Friday the 15th Au- 
 gust, pass by the olive plantation of Juana Mendo, 
 while eating a pomegranate ? 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 How should I recollect ? 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Answer, yes or no ! 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 I believe I did. 
 
 rafael ( reading J. 
 
 Did you not throw the kernels into her plantation, 
 at the same time that you waved in the air a wand 
 made of hazle or some other wood, having two ends ? 
 
L] A DEVIL. 145 
 
 mariquita (laughing). 
 And what other way would you have it — with only 
 one end ? 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Recollect in whose presence you are. Having 
 
 two ends stripped of the bark ? — Answer ! 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 What should I know about all this ? 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Yes or no. 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Well— yes. 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Did you not sing an impious song, in which there 
 is frequent mention made of a certain John Barley- 
 corn ? 
 
 MARjgurro (laughing). 
 Ah, ah, ah ! Signor Licentiate, of what are you 
 talking to me ? I have sung an English ballad, 
 taught me by a trumpeter of Mackay's regiment, in 
 the army of Lord Peterborough — and, true enough, 
 it is upon the death of John Barleycorn. 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 Who is John Barleycorn ? one of the spirits of 
 darkness, perhaps? 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Ah, ah, ah ! John Barleycorn means a grain of 
 barley ; and the ballad tells how they make beer out 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 A WOMAN IS 
 
 [Scene 
 
 of barley. Let me go, and I will sing it for you, for 
 you have the look of a good-humoured fellow, and 
 are not like that grim one there {pointing to Antonio), 
 antonio (eyes still closed). 
 It is difficult to believe that there is not a hidden 
 meaning under this word. 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Honi soit qui mal y pense, as is written upon the 
 helmet of Captain O' Trigger. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 But how do you account for Juana Mendo's plan- 
 tation being destroyed by an inundation ? 
 
 mariquita (laughing). 
 
 How should I account for it ? — You had better ask 
 the river Geyar why it overflowed its banks. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 No, it is precisely from you that I will ask that 
 question. Why did you command it to overflow ? 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Are we still acting, or have we lost our wits ? Do 
 you take me for a witch ? 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Thou hast said it. 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Mercy on me ! If that gruff voice of your's did 
 not make me tremble, I should die of laughing. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Your laughter will be changed into weeping — you 
 
t] A DEVIL. 147 
 
 deny having cast a spell upon the olive-trees of 
 Juana Mendo ? 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 How should I know how to cast spells ? 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Every sin may be expiated. — Woman, I adjure 
 you, in the name of your Creator, to speak the truth 
 — if you do not wish the death of your soul. 
 
 MARIgUITA. 
 
 Surely, if I were a witch, I should long ago have 
 whisked up the chimney away from you. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Reflect and tremble — it is still time — hereafter it 
 will be of no use to retract. 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Signor Colleague, she is obstinate. Let me talk 
 to her a moment alone. 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 No, I shall take that task upon myself. — Signor 
 Rafael, you forget that you have a report to draw up. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 We cannot break through the rules of the Holy 
 Office. For the last time, Maria Valdez, I ask you, 
 are you a witch ? 
 
 MARJOUITA. 
 
 For the last time — I am not.— How obstinate he 
 
1 18 
 
 A WOMAN IS 
 
 [Scene 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Wretched woman ! I wash my hands of you ; 
 your blood be upon your own head. The forty-eighth 
 article of the Code of Interrogatories says, 6 4 That, if 
 the accused should persist in his or her denial, and 
 that the accusations should not be altogether devoid 
 of verbal or written proof, the president ought, in 
 order to confirm them, to apply the torture to the 
 accused." 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 The torture ! Jesus ! Maria ! You are then going 
 to tear me as a carder tears the wool ! — Signors 
 Licentiates, take pity on a poor innocent girl. I 
 conjure you not to put me to death by torture. 
 Shut me up in a dungeon — deprive me of the light 
 of the sun, but do not kill me ; do not torture me ! 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Signor Antonio, have pity on her youth ! 
 
 DOMINGO. 
 
 She is innocent, Signor Colleague. — Have a little 
 compassion on her. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 I can only listen to the rule. — Pedro Garcias, 
 torturer, come forth. (The executioner appears in 
 the back scene.) 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Oh ! do not say so ! — Mercy, mercy ! — Look upon 
 
1.1 
 
 A DEVIL. 
 
 119 
 
 me at least. (She rushes forward and embraces 
 Antonio's knees.) 
 
 antonio (opening his eyes, which had been closed 
 during the dialogue). 
 
 Ah ! 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Signor, have pity. — But what's the matter with 
 you? 
 
 antonio (in a trembling voice). 
 I know you well — you are come to lead me to hell 
 — you have stripped off your nuptial robe, and I see 
 the parched skin of the devil. I am then already in 
 hell — all the masses in the world, and Saint Anthony 
 himself, cannot save me from it. (Falls senseless.) 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 He is mad ! 
 
 domingo (to the Familiars). 
 
 Carry him to his cell. — (Aside to Mariquita) Fear 
 nothing, my dear child, you shall not be put to the 
 torture. 
 
 rafael (aside to Mariquita). 
 Don't be afraid. It is not for persons made like 
 you that these terrible instruments were designed. — 
 ( To the Familiars) Lead her out ; give her a good 
 chamber, but do not allow any one to speak to 
 her. 
 
 domingo (aside to Mariquita). 
 Beware of Rafael. — Trust to me; I Mill do every 
 thing in my power for you. 
 
 l 3 
 
150 
 
 A WOMAN IS 
 
 [Scene 
 
 Rafael ( aside to Mariquita J. 
 Put no confidence in Domingo — he is an old 
 hypocrite. I feel a great interest for you — Adieu, 
 my daughter (pats her on the cheek), I shall prove 
 your friend— Farewell ! — ( Aside as he goes out) I 
 shall take care to hinder you from seeing her. 
 domingo (going out). 
 I shall prevent you from going near her, old 
 satyr, or I shall forfeit my cassock. 
 
 {Mariquita is led away. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Antonio's Cell — On the wall is a picture of the Madona. 
 
 antonio (alone, and walking up and down with 
 great strides. ) 
 
 It is all over — I am lost — damned ! Had I sinned 
 with her I could not be more guilty. I can no longer 
 pray — and, besides, to what purpose ? — Now — I shall 
 never pray again — I am damned — so much the 
 better ! But, in the mean time, Maria, Mariquita, 
 I shall think only of you. Would that our two 
 souls formed but one ( a pause ). How is this ? I am 
 going to sacrifice my eternal salvation to a woman — 
 perhaps to a fallen angel, or the tempter himself. 
 Shall thirty years of prayers and mortifications be 
 thus thrown away ? Had I lived in the world I could 
 not have been worse off. — And I have passed a miser- 
 
II.] 
 
 A DEVIL. 
 
 151 
 
 able life — and yet I shall be damned ! — ( After a 
 pause.) She is always before me ! {Puts his hand on 
 his eyes and kneels down before the Madona). Holy 
 
 mother of God, take pity on me ! — I am a It is 
 
 herself, feature for feature — there are her black eyes! 
 — Oh, Mariquita ! {stretches his hands out to seize the 
 picture, but starts back affrighted.) Great God ! her 
 eyes dart lightnings at me — they reproach me with 
 my sacrilege ! — Shall I go ? — No : you shall be 
 witness of my fall. — Go {turns the picture towards the 
 wall. — Pause). If I should return to the world and 
 abjure my vows — but why encourage such thoughts ? 
 I shall quit this habit, that I have profaned, but it 
 shall be to enter into the convent of La Trappe. 
 It is said they die quickly there, and that is what 
 best suits me ! I shall die in pronouncing her name. 
 But why die ? — why impose upon myself so severe a 
 penitence ? — What have I done after all ? Are we 
 not miserable enough here below, without adding to 
 our sufferings the hair-shirt and the discipline ? — 
 Can I not?— Yes ! there have been saints who have 
 had wives and children. — I shall get married and 
 have children, and become a good father of a 
 family. — Thou liest, Satan — thou shalt not carry me 
 away for that. — I shall bring up my family reli- 
 giously, which will be at least as agreeable to God as 
 the smoke of our auto da-fes. Wretched fool ! have 
 I not sworn to renounce the world ? — has not God 
 l 4 
 
152 
 
 A WOMAN IS 
 
 [Scene 
 
 himself received my vows? — and is not his hell blazing 
 for the perjurers ? (A pause.) I am already too guilty 
 — there is no salvation for me — my piety ; ah ! a 
 single glance of that woman's eye has withered it in 
 my heart ; I have no longer the force to keep myself 
 from the brink of the precipice. — Well, then, let me 
 plunge into it ! — Hell opens for me ! [Runs out. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 An Apartment in the Palace of the Inquisition, 
 
 mariquita {alone, sitting upon the foot of her bed). 
 Poor Maria ! where are you ? What will become 
 of you ? Mariquita, the mad-cap, in the Inquisition ! 
 That makes me laugh. — But I shudder when I think 
 that the poor mad-cap will be burned. It is so pain- 
 ful to burn one's finger with a candle; but what will 
 it be when the whole body is in the flames ? [weeps.) 
 They wish to burn me, who am a good catholic ! 
 I, who refused to marry Corporal Hardy, merely 
 because he was a heretic ; and yet, he was such a 
 handsome man — five feet nine inches ! And then I 
 should have gone with him to England, and Captain 
 O'Trigger would have made him a Serjeant, as he 
 promised me, and I should have become a suttler. — 
 
 Ah ! what a fool I was ! "Z) their eyes, 1 as the 
 
 soldiers used to say, these devils of monks, they are 
 are all libertines. — There is nothing like a monk for 
 
III.] 
 
 A DEVIL. 
 
 153 
 
 peopling the foundling hospitals. Probably these 
 two big bloated inquisitors, who said such sweet 
 things to me, will hinder that tall meagre one from 
 sending me to the flames. — Ah ! let me not think of 
 that — misfortune comes soon enough of itself. — Bah ! 
 vive la Joie. Let me try and forget what awaits 
 me, by singing that song which they take for 
 Hebrew (2) (Sings). 
 
 " They laid him out upon the floor, 
 
 " To work his farther woe, 
 " And still, as signs of life appear'd, 
 
 " They toss'd him to and fro. 
 " They wasted o'er a scorching fire 
 
 " The marrow of his bones — " 
 
 Alas ! poor John Barleycorn, how he must have 
 suffered ! and it is thus I am to suffer. — Alas ! must 
 I then be burned ! 
 
 antonio (entering). 
 In this world — and the next. 
 
 mariquita (moving from him with affright). 
 Ah ! already ! already ! 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Maria ! 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 But one quarter of an hour more ! 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Maria - I am yours — entirely yours — I am no 
 
154 
 
 A WOMAN IS 
 
 [Scene 
 
 longer an inquisitor. — I am Antonio — I wish to 
 be- 
 
 mariquita (still frightened). 
 My executioner — You are my executioner ! 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 No, no ! not your executioner — Your friend. — 
 We shall be but one body and soul — Let us be like 
 Adam and Eve. 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 How, father — you my lover ! 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Lover ! lover ! yes, thy lover — let us love each 
 other for ever. 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Take me out of this place. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Yes— but love me first. 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 We shall have time enough afterwards — the first 
 thing to be done is to escape. 
 
 - antonio (with rapture). 
 
 Look you, Mariquita — I abjure my vows — I am no 
 longer a priest — I will be only your lover — your 
 husband — your lover. — We shall fly together to the 
 deserts, and live upon wild fruits like the hermits. 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Bah ! 'twill be much better to try and get to 
 Cadiz, where we shall find a vessel to take us to 
 
HI.] A DEVIL. 155 
 
 England. It is a fine country, and they say the 
 priests are married there ; and there is no inquisition 
 — Captain O' Trigger 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Cease, wife, to speak any more of these English 
 captains — I do not like to hear talk of them. 
 
 MARIOUITA. 
 
 Jealous already — let us fly quickly. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Immediately — but first shew me that you love me. 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Well ! quick — how innocent you are. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Innocent ! innocent ! no, I am the greatest of sin- 
 ners ; a reprobate, doomed to be damned — damned 
 — but I love you, and renounce paradise for the 
 pleasure of looking on these eyes. 
 
 MARIOUITA. 
 
 Let us go, let us go, and afterwards we shall be 
 as loving as two turtle doves. There — {kisses him). 
 antonio {shouting). 
 Who cares for hell when one is so happy as I am ? 
 Rafael enters, making the sign of the cross. 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Sweet Jesus ! what do I see ? 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Rafael ! 
 
150 
 
 A WOMAN IS 
 
 [Scene 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Wretch, is it thus you profane the cross that you 
 wear ? 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Signor Rafael, I am no longer a priest— I am the 
 husband of Mariquita. — Marry us, and give us your 
 benediction [throws himself on his knees), 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 The malediction of God be upon your head ! 
 
 antonio {seizing him by the collar). 
 Marry me, or I kill you. ( They struggle ; Rafael 
 is thrown down and draws a poniard). 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Look to yourself, innocent ! 
 
 antonio {wrests the poniard from him). 
 Take that, accursed villain ! — {Stabs him.) 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 Ha ! I am dead, and the devil awaits me. — Antonio, 
 you have anticipated me — who would have thought 
 it? — Go, I pardon you the stratagem — because I 
 ■ cannot revenge myself. — Farewell ! I go to prepare 
 the fire for you. In the mean time, enjoy the little 
 rest of your life — I have locked up Domingo — 
 and sent the others out of the way : but you have 
 been before-hand with me — you are not so stupid 
 
 as I thought — Ah ! that I had 
 
 antonio {horrified). 
 
 Why do you not say your prayers ? 
 
Ill,] A DEVIL. 157 
 
 RAFAEL. 
 
 My prayers ! — Ah, ah, ah ! Here I go— (Dies). 
 
 MARIQUITA. 
 
 I will put on his habit, and we shall get out 
 without being discovered. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 In one hour I have become a fornicator, a per- 
 jurer, and an assassin. 
 
 MARIQCTITA. 
 
 In seeing this tragic close, you will, I believe, be 
 of our opinion, that A Woman is a Devil. 
 
 ANTONIO. 
 
 Thus finishes the first part of the temptation of 
 Saint Antony. — Excuse the faults of the author. 
 
158 
 
 A WOMAN IS 
 
 [Notes. 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 (!) Clara Gazul affects to make use of the word Comedy ( Comedia), 
 employed by the earlier Spanish poets, to express every kind of 
 dramatic production, either grave or gay. 
 
 (2) An officer of the 42d regiment (English), who used to visit 
 at my house, taught me this song, which I translated into Spanish, 
 and to which I put an air of my own choosing — I was then thirteen 
 years of age (1812). 
 
 C. G. 
 
 JOHN BARLEYCORN, 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 There was three kings into the east, 
 
 Three kings both great and high, 
 And they hae sworn a solemn oath 
 
 John Barleycorn should die. 
 
 They took a plough, and plough'd him down ; 
 
 Put clods upon his head ; 
 And they hae sworn a solemn oath, 
 
 John Barleycorn was dead. 
 
 But the cheerful spring came kindly on, 
 
 And show'rs began to fall : 
 John Barleycorn got up again 
 
 And sore surpris'd them all. 
 
Notes.] A DEVIL. 159 
 
 The sultry suns of summer came 
 
 And lie grew thick and strong, 
 His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears, 
 
 That no one should him wrong. 
 
 The sober autumn enter'd mild, 
 
 When he grew wan and pale ; 
 His bending joints and drooping head 
 
 Show'd he began to fail. 
 
 His colour sicken'd more and more ; 
 
 He faded into age : 
 And then his enemies began 
 
 To show their deadly rage. 
 
 They've taen a weapon long and sharp 
 
 And cut him by the knee : 
 Then ty'd him fast upon a cart, 
 
 Like a rogue for forgery, 
 
 They laid him down upon his back 
 
 And cudgell'd him full sore : 
 They hung him up before the storm, 
 
 And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 
 
 They filled up a darksome pit 
 
 With water to the brim, 
 Then heaved in John Barleycorn, 
 
 There let him sink or swim. 
 
 They laid him out upon the floor 
 
 To work his farther woe, 
 And still, as signs of life appear'd, 
 
 They toss'd him to and fro. 
 
160 
 
 A WOMAN IS A DEVIL. [Notes. 
 
 They wasted o'er a scorching flame 
 
 The marrow of his bones : 
 But a miller us'd him worst of all, 
 
 For he crush'd him between two stones. 
 
 And they hae taen his very heart's blood, 
 And drank it round and round ; 
 
 And still the more and more they drank 
 Their joy did more abound. 
 
 John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 
 
 Of noble enterprize : 
 For if you do but taste his blood 
 
 'Twill make your courage rise. 
 
 'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 
 
 'Twill heighten all his joy : 
 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 
 
 Though the tear were in her eye. 
 
 Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 
 
 Each man a glass in hand : 
 And may his great posterity 
 
 Ne'er fail in auld Scotland ! 
 
 END. 
 
AFRICAN LOVE, 
 
 A COMEDY. 
 
 Amor loco 
 A dos fidalgos disparo la flecha. 
 
 Lope de Vega. El guante de dona Blanco, 
 
 M 
 
CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 ZEIN-BEN-HUMEIDA. 
 BABA MUSTAPHA. 
 MOJANA. 
 
 Scene — Cordova, during the reign of Abderam, 
 
AFRICAN LOVE, 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 A Pavilion in the Garden of Sidi Nouman. (l) 
 
 Sidi Nouman, — Baba Mustapha. 
 
 sidi nouman. 
 Well ! what's become of Zein? 
 
 BABA MUSTAPHA. 
 
 Omar, the Caliph's guard, has this instant given 
 me intelligence of him. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Speak ! 
 
 BABA MUSTAPHA. 
 
 He saw him yesterday in the slave-market : your 
 friend was speaking to one of the merchants ; all at 
 once he throws himself on his horse and gallops off 
 by the gate Djem-Djem. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 And the slave-merchant — which is he ? 
 
 BABA MUSTAPHA. 
 
 Your highness, I believe it's old Abou Taher ; 
 he who yesterday sold you the beautiful Mojana. 
 m 2 
 
164 AFRICAN LOVE. [Scene 
 
 SID I NOUMAN. 
 
 Have you been to speak to him ? 
 
 BABA MUSTAPHA. 
 
 I could not find him — he was with the Miramolin. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 What is the reason of this sudden flight ? what can 
 have happened to Zein ? 
 
 BABA MUSTAPHA. 
 
 As he went out by the gate Djem-Djem, I sup- 
 pose he is gone to the lands of Semelalia, to the 
 army of the Vizier. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 What ! can he have been to fight the infidels, 
 without having embraced his friend ? 
 
 BABA MUSTAPHA. 
 
 If you like, I'll return to Abou Taher. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Presently. — But have you carried Mojana the 
 presents I purchased for her ? 
 
 BABA MUSTAPHA. 
 
 Yes, your highness, and I dressed her myself in 
 her new habit. Allah ! how beautiful she was ! I 
 have seen many fine women in the course of my life, 
 but never one equal to Mojana. Ah ! If you 
 wished to sell her again, you would still get your ten 
 thousand dinars, ( > in spite of her having yesterday 
 lost the quality you so much esteem. 
 
I.J AFRICAN LOVE. 145 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Never will I sell her, Mustapha — and if my lord 
 the Caliph demanded her, I would refuse him, — 
 were I to take refuge amongst the Bedouins of Zei'n, 
 and live excommunicated. Did she appear satisfied 
 with my presents? (3) 
 
 BAB A MUSTAPHA. 
 
 She said, she rejoiced to possess such beautiful 
 things, if they made her more amiable in your eyes. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Charming creature ! 
 
 BABA MUSTAPHA. 
 
 What a difference between our women and those 
 of the infidel ! When I was a prisoner at Leon, I 
 saw the women, and their manners. With us they 
 are all submission, zealous to please their lords — two 
 eunuchs can govern twenty of them ; but go amongst 
 the Spaniards — one woman governs twenty men. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Bring sherbet and fruit, and let Mojana come 
 hither to keep me company. 
 
 BABA MUSTAPHA. 
 
 I fly, my Lord ! {Exit. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Zei'n, you will be for ever a Bedouin ! Constantly 
 occupied with the idea of the moment, he forgets his 
 friends, and their invitations, to follow some wild 
 caprice. The fancy may have seized him to break 
 m 3 
 
166 
 
 AFRICAN LOVE. 
 
 [Scene 
 
 a lance with some Christian knight. — Allah protect 
 him ! 
 
 bab a mustapha [entering). 
 My lord, your highness's friend Zein dismounted 
 tins moment at the gate. By Allah ! I fear some 
 misfortune has happened him, for Abjer is without 
 
 his beautiful broidered saddle : perhaps 
 
 Enter Zein, dressed very simply. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Zei'n-Ben-Humeida, may God be with you ! 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 And with thee, Sidi Nouman ! Have you five 
 thousand dinars to lend me ? 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Yes; do you want them immediately? 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 As soon as possible. 
 
 sidi nouman (giving a key to Mustapha). 
 Mustapha ! 
 
 BABA MUSTAPHA. 
 
 Instantly. [ Goes out. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 You have been at the tents of the Vizier ? — The 
 Bedouin is already weary of Cordova? 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 An affair of moment carried me to the army. I 
 have turned trader, Sidi Nouman, though like a 
 Bedouin, perhaps. 
 
I.J 
 
 AFRICAN LOVE. 
 
 167 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Have you attacked a caravan ? 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 From the time I entered into the service of Abde 
 rame those exploits of the desert were forgotten. 
 I have sold my horses and my jewels to make up a 
 sum. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN, 
 
 Why not apply to me ? 
 
 ze'i'n. 
 
 I thought of it, but rather too late. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 If I am not mistaken, you have sold almost every 
 thing, even the jewels of your khandjar? ( ) 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 Yes, and all my horses except Abjer, who, as 
 long as I live, shall share my last morsel of bread. 
 But tell me whether I have been cheated : the 
 mounting of the poniard given me by our glorious 
 Caliph — how much was it worth ? 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 From nine to ten thousand dinars, perhaps more. 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 Ten thousand bastinadoes to the dog of a Jew ! 
 May Nekir (5) with his scythe cut him into ten thou- 
 sand pieces ! I swear by the holy Casba the prohi- 
 bited, and by the tombs of the prophets, to cut } off 
 M 4 
 
168 
 
 AFRICAN LOVE. 
 
 [Scene 
 
 the heads of twelve Jews, in the first Spanish town 
 I enter. 
 
 SIDI NOUMA.N. 
 
 By your anger, one can see you have made a bad 
 bargain. 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 He gave me fifteen hundred dinars. 
 
 SIDI NO L' MAN. 
 
 Are you a fool, Bedouin, to traffic with a Jew ? 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 I must have had money at any rate. Passing 
 through the Bezestein, (7) I saw that old rascal Abou 
 Taher who was setting up slaves to sell. One of 
 them struck me, for whom he demanded nine thou- 
 sand dinars. Sidi Nouman, till that moment, I 
 would have called him fool who paid more for a 
 woman than a war-horse — but how the sight of this 
 creature has changed my sentiments ! — almost would 
 I have exchanged Abjer for this charmer — this 
 houri escaped from Paradise ! I thought it better 
 however, to hasten to Semelalia, where I sold all I 
 possessed, except my arms and my horse Abjer, and 
 yet could scrape together only four thousand dinars ! 
 — I count upon you for the rest. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Ah ! ah ! ah ! son of the desert, are you caught 
 at last ? How well in that I recognise my Bedouin, 
 who acts before he thinks ! Miserable ! you buy a 
 
ft] AFRICAN LOVE. 169 
 
 slave, though not a dinar remains upon which to 
 exist ? How will you contrive to maintain her and 
 Abjer ? 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 I never thought of it — but have I not a friend? 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Yes, who will think for you ; you must have ten 
 thousand dinars instead of five — they will be here 
 immediately. 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 I thank you, brother; you never cease covering me 
 with favours. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Ah, Zein ! I shall be always in arrears with you ! 
 Do you remember how we became acquainted ? 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Yes ! well enough. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Finding myself somewhat embarrassed to pursue 
 my pilgrimage to Mecca, you poured the whole con- 
 tents of your water bottle (8) over me, not keeping a 
 drop for yourself — what must you have suffered ! 
 ze'in. 
 
 We Arabs can endure more than you lords who 
 dwell in cities — besides, you were stretched upon the 
 sand, abandoned, and black as a dried scorpion : 
 what mussulman would not have acted in the 
 same manner ? 
 
170 
 
 AFRICAN LOVE. 
 
 [Scene 
 
 baba mustapha (entering). 
 Your highness, the five thousand dinars are in 
 bags, under the vestibule — if you wish to count 
 them, I 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 No, no ! get me an ass to carry them, and take 
 care to reckon out as many more. You shall have a 
 hundred for j'ourself. [Exit. 
 
 SIDI nouman. 
 
 Mustapha ! 
 
 BABA MUSTAPHA. 
 
 My Lord ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Let another slave execute Zein's orders — go you 
 conduct Mojana hither. Poor Zei'n ! this new 
 amour has turned his head — Exchange Abjer against 
 a woman ! — she must have made a wonderful im- 
 pression upon him ! Woe be to him who shoidd 
 venture to outbid him ! Zein has sold the jewels of 
 his khandjar, but the blade yet remains. ( Enter 
 Mojana conducted by Mustapha.) Approach, queen 
 of beauty ! Remove that envious veil — here is none 
 but your lord to contemplate your charms. 
 
 mojana ( taking off her veil). 
 
 What would my lion? 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Come hither, Mojana, seat yourself by my side 
 
I.] AFRICAN LOVE. 171 
 
 on this sofa, — slave, serve the collation. Well, Mo- 
 jana, are you satisfied with the dresses I sent you ? 
 
 MOJANA. 
 
 My lord, you have covered your humble slave 
 with your gifts — she has not words to express her 
 gratitude. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 In a short time you shall have something better 
 than those trifles. 
 
 MOJANA. 
 
 Ah ! my lord, I am sufficiently happy in possess- 
 ing your affections. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Amiable child ! I am rich and powerful — my riches 
 and power both are yours; form but a wish, and 
 your desires shall be fulfilled. 
 
 MOJANA. 
 
 Ah ! my lion, dare I demand a favour before. I 
 have merited it? 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Ask, and you shall have — demand not, however, 
 Abjer, the horse of my friend Ze'in. 
 
 MOJANA. 
 
 My lord, your slave is so happy with her lion 
 that she has but one desire. I was born in a country 
 far, I believe, from this, near a town called Damas. 
 My father was a merchant — but, because he did not 
 go to Mecca, according to his vow, Alia withdrew 
 
172 AFRICAN LOVE. {.Scene 
 
 his favour from him. In a single year he lost 
 all his property — my mother died — my brother 
 was killed by the Kurds— and my father was forced 
 to sell me( 9) to support himself and my three sisters. 
 Permit me, my lord, to send them a part of your 
 presents, that they may partake of the happiness 
 you have bestowed upon me. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 What an excellent heart ! — Is that all you ask ? 
 Your family shall remove to Cordova, and I'll marry 
 your sisters splendidly had they but a small part of 
 your beauty. 
 
 MOJANA. 
 
 I humbly thank my lord. 
 
 zein {behind the scenes). 
 Retire slave, or I kill you ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Who dares enter here ?— Mojana, your veil. 
 Enter Zein, a poniard in his hand. — Mojana conceals 
 herself behind the sofa. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Is it Zein enters thus, when his friend is with his 
 slave ? 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Sidi Nouman, when I bestowed upon you the 
 hospitality of my humble tent, did I save a crocodile, 
 destined one da}' to destroy me and to smile at the 
 deed?< ,0 > 
 
I.] 
 
 AFRICAN LOVE. 
 
 173 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 What do you mean, Zein ? 
 
 zein. 
 
 What has emboldened you to insult Zein, son of 
 Amrou, Schieck of the Humeidas? 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Ah ! which of us two is insulted ? 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Crafty Moor ! why offer me your gold ? — you have 
 plundered me of that I esteem more than all the 
 treasures of the Caliph. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 I! 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Have you not purchased Abou Taher's slave ? 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 What are your rights over her ? 
 
 zein {raising his poniard). 
 You shall soon see. 
 
 mo j an a {throwing herself between them — her veil falls.) 
 Hold, wretch ! kill me first. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 You are mad, Zein ! — Raise your poniard against 
 Sidi Nouman ! — What have I done ? — were not my 
 rights over this slave equal to yours ? — have I not 
 purchased her with my money ? — and is it my fault 
 you were so slow in concluding your bargain ? 
 
174 
 
 AFRICAN LOVE. 
 
 [Scene 
 
 zei'n ( regarding Mojana with a wild air,) 
 You are right. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 See then the extravagance of your passion ! Had 
 not this slave thrown herself between us, you would 
 have killed Sidi Nouman ! 
 
 zei'n. 
 
 Never could I kill you ! Gabriel covers you with 
 his bucklers — you are his favourite — but I am de- 
 voted to Eblis.< 12 > 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Zei'n, I pardon you, but 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 Fool ! — ( regarding Mojana.) — Order this woman 
 to replace her veil, or I can't answer for myself. 
 Nouman, I pray you pardon me. The Simoun (l3J is 
 not more burning and impetuous than the love of 
 an Arab. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 You are greatly agitated. 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 Listen ! when I saved your life, you told me to 
 make a request, and that you would grant it. Have 
 I yet demanded any thing ? Speak ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 No. 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 Give me this woman ! 
 
AFRICAN LOVE. 
 
 175 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Are you aware how much I love her? 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Do you love like me ? Would you act thus for 
 her ? {Piercing his arm with his poniard.) (,4) 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Ferocious tiger ! what could you do with this 
 timid fawn ? 
 
 zein. 
 
 Come ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 I cannot. 
 
 ze'i'n. 
 
 In the desert we respect our oaths ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Take all I have — I give you all. 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Pleasant exchange ! — and it is to Zein you propose 
 it — to Zein, who gave the old El-Faradje the entire 
 booty of the tribe of Zinebis, for my steed Abjer 
 alone. Well, I, Zein, offer you both Abjer and the 
 khandjar of Amrou, in exchange for this slave. 
 sidi nouman (in a suppliant tone). 
 
 Zein ! 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Have you not sworn by Casba the prohibited — by 
 the tombs of the prophets — by your sabre — to grant 
 my first demand ? 
 
176 
 
 AFRICAN LOVE. 
 
 [Scene 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 What would you do in my place ? 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 What would I do ? 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Yes, Zei'n, you ! 
 
 ZE1N. 
 
 I — I would kill you ! Draw your khandjar ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Me — I cannot draw upon him who saved my life 
 in the desert. Listen, Bedouin — there is a mode of 
 arrangement — Let Mojana choose her master. — If 
 she prefers you, she is your's. 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Is that fulfilling your engagement ? 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Choose, Mojana. 
 
 MOJANA. 
 
 Shall I hesitate between my best beloved, and this 
 ferocious savage ? Oh ! my lord, never will your 
 slave cease to adore you. — ( Throws herself into the 
 arms of Sidi Nouman.) 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Ah, Mojana ! — Zein, would you deprive me of a 
 slave who loves me so tenderly ? 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 You are made for each other. — Unhappy wretch 
 that I am ! My birth was the cause of my mother's 
 
I.] 
 
 AFRICAN 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 177 
 
 death. At twelve years of age, I struck out my 
 brother's eye with an arrow; and now, to-day, I 
 would have killed my friend ! I have reproached 
 him with a kindness ! Oh ! how unworthy an Arab ! 
 — Adieu, Sidi Nouman. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Zei'n, demand what is in my power to give. 
 ze'i'n. 
 
 I want nothing — I return to my tents in the 
 desert. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Remain with your friend. 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Impossible ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Why do you fly me ? 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Some day, perhaps, I should kill you. — I know 
 myself but too well. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 You have a right to my life; I deserve all your 
 anger. 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 What ! has a woman made you faithless to your 
 oath ? — has she almost made me an assassin ! — And 
 yet, to possess a few camels, how many widows and 
 orphans have I made ! 
 
 N 
 
178 AFRICAN LOVE. [Scene 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Remain with me, or I'll follow you to the desert. 
 ze'i'n. 
 
 This slave — would she accompany you ? 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 I have a sister, Zein, who is beautiful : I will 
 give her 
 
 ze'i'n. 
 
 Brother, order your slave to take off her veil, 
 that I may see her once more before my departure. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Mojana, do as he desires. — Cast a look of affection 
 on Zein, for he is my friend. 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Sidi Nouman, that Alia — hold — fight — the sabre 
 must decide ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Ah ! your frenzy returned ! — Retire, Mojana. 
 
 zein ( placing himself before the door ). 
 Stop, Mojana. — (To Sidi Nouman) Perjured cow- 
 ard ! — infamous traitor ! — You shall not escape me ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Unhappy Zein ! what are you doing ? 
 
 zein. 
 
 The woman is mine.- — What matters it to me 
 whether she loves or detests you ? I have mastered 
 many fierce stallions : and shall I not subdue this 
 
I.] AFRICAN LOVE. 179 
 
 she-colt ? Mojana, follow your master, or off goes 
 your head. 
 
 MOJANA. 
 
 Defend me, my lord ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Stop! 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Out with your sabre ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 You can't defend yourself — your hand trembles. 
 
 zein {wounding him). 
 What think you of that blow ? 
 
 sidi nouman {striking him). 
 And of this — — 
 
 zein {on the ground). 
 Rejoice, Cordovian ! you have struck down the heir 
 of Yemen. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Wretch ! I have killed the preserver of my life ! 
 
 ZEIN. 
 
 And I have drawn upon my guest ! — I, Schieck 
 of the tribe of Humeidas the hospitable ! — Allah ! 
 Allah ! thou art just ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 What torments do I not deserve ! I have broken 
 the oath sworn by Cuaba the prohibited — and have 
 murdered my friend ! 
 
 n 2 
 
180 
 
 AFRICAN LOVE. 
 
 [Scene 
 
 MOJANA. 
 
 My lord 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Miserable ! — 'tis you have killed him — you are no 
 woman, but some evil spirit — Eblis himself 
 ZEIN. 
 
 Eblis — he awaits me ! Adieu, brother. — Abjer — 
 forget him not! — A negress of Dongola is with child 
 by me. [Dies. 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 My brother ! Zein, Zein ! 
 
 MOJANA. 
 
 My lord, permit your slave 
 
 sidi nouman (striking her with his poniard). 
 There, wretch ! the blood of Zein mingles with 
 thine. Come, Zein, we are friends. — The woman is 
 dead! — Zein, Zein ! You don't answer, my brother ? 
 mustapha (enter ing). 
 My lord, supper is ready — and the piece finished ! 
 
 SIDI NOUMAN. 
 
 Ah ! that's another thing. [All rise. 
 
 MOJANA. 
 
 Ladies and Gentlemen : — 
 
 Thus finishes African Love ; a Comedy, or, if 
 you will, a Tragedy, as the phrase runs at present. 
 You are about to exclaim, " The two gentlemen were 
 very ungallant!" — Agreed: and our author was wrong 
 
AFRICAN LOVE. 
 
 181 
 
 not to have made his Bedouin more a Spaniard in 
 his sentiments. — To this he presumes to reply, by 
 pretending that the Bedouins are not in the habit 
 of going to Madrid to learn to distinguish between 
 persons; and, that their love partakes of the burning 
 heat of the Sahara. What think you of the argu- 
 ment? — Just what you please: — but excuse the faults 
 of the author. 
 
 n 3 
 
NOTES. 
 
 (1) The word Sidi, before a proper name, denotes a Mussulman 
 who has made the pilgrimage to Mecca. 
 
 (2) I leave it to the learned to determine the value of the dinar. 
 
 (3) The Caliphs united the temporal and spiritual authorities ; the 
 disobedient were cut off from the djemeat, or excommunicated. 
 
 W Poniard. 
 
 (5) One of the Angels of Death. 
 
 (6) Place to which the Mussulmen address their prayers : it is a 
 square house, said to have been built by Abraham. 
 
 (7) Market. 
 
 (8) Mode of resuscitating travellers overcome by the heat of the 
 desert. 
 
 (9) See Mr. Otter's Travels to Mount Libanus. 
 ( 10 > Allusion to an Arab superstition. 
 
 (H) Chief of a tribe. 
 (12) The Devil. 
 
 < 13 ) South-wind in the desert (see Travels of Ah Bey). 
 (I 4 ) See Lady M. W. Montague's Letters. 
 ( 15 > Evil Genius— a kind of Medusa. 
 
 END. 
 
INES MENDO; 
 
 OR, 
 
 PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 
 A COMEDY. 
 
 " Sease ella senoria, y venga lo que viniere." 
 
 Don Quixote, Part ii. chap. i. 
 
 N 4 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 This strange comedy was composed by Clara 
 Gazul, at the request of one of her friends — a lady, 
 who was passionately attached to moving and impro- 
 bable stories. The author, who studied to imitate 
 the old Spanish comic writers, has by no means en- 
 deavoured to avoid their usual faults — such as too 
 great rapidity of action, and imperfect development. 
 We are indebted to her, also, for not having copied 
 the style culto, so fatiguing to readers of the present 
 age. 
 
 Finally, Clara Gazul's intention in composing 
 this comedy, was only to make a kind of prologue 
 for the second part, or the Triumph of Prejudice. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 DON LUIS DE MENDOZA. 
 DON ESTEBAN (his Son). 
 DON CARLOS. 
 CURATE OF MONCLAR. 
 JUAN MENDO. 
 A NOTARY. 
 A CLERK. 
 
 POLICE OFFICERS— PEASANTS. 
 INES MENDO. U) 
 
 The Scene is at Monclar in Galicia, 1640.(2) 
 
1NES ME NDO; 
 
 OR, 
 
 PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 
 
 FIRST PART. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Mendo — The Curate, 
 mendo. 
 
 When I hear of a theft or a murder, I become 
 pale in spite of myself, as if I were the guilty person. 
 At present my hands are free from blood ; but, if at 
 some future period 
 
 CURATE. 
 
 Thank God the inhabitants of our village are 
 harmless, honest people : it is now more than ten 
 years since a crime has been committed in Monclar. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 No matter — this horrible idea presents itself con- 
 tinually to my mind ; each night the same dream 
 breaks in upon my slumbers. — I imagine myself in 
 the middle of the market-place; at my feet is a youth, 
 
188 INES MENDO; or, [Part I. 
 
 his eyes bound, his hands clasped in prayer: the 
 Alcade presents me the axe, and says, " Strike !" 
 
 CURATE. 
 
 Prayer, Mendo, will free you from these visions. 
 When I first took orders, I used to see in my dreams 
 the figure of my cousin, who intreated me to throw 
 aside my religious habit, and fly with her to Ame- 
 rica. Fasting and prayer have banished for ever 
 these vain shadows. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Ah ! never will they abandon me ! 
 
 CURATE. 
 
 Reflect, Mendo, how much more unhappy you 
 might be. An inquisitor who condemns a man on 
 slight grounds — think you he is more at his ease than 
 thou? The judge who signs the death-warrant — 
 does his conscience leave him to repose ? Yet he 
 has neglected no means of instructing himself in the 
 merits of the case. How difficult it is to discover the 
 truth ! God alone knows who is innocent, and who 
 is guilty. Y ou are disquieted, you say, about the judg- 
 « ment men may form of you ;— but you live retired, 
 and are little known — few of the villagers are old 
 enough to remember the profession of your father. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Ah ! sir, my father ! 
 
 CURATE. 
 
 The Alcade and myself are, I imagine, the only 
 
Scene I.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 
 
 189 
 
 persons aware that an unjust law obliges you to 
 assume your father's calling : but were its badge, 
 the badge of a profession declared by mankind in- 
 famous, fixed upon your forehead, even then, Mendo, 
 you should offer up your griefs to the Most High ; 
 glorify his name; and wait patiently till he deigned to 
 take you to himself. Excommunicated on earth, you 
 will become after death an associate of the elect. 
 You do not dread distinctions of rank in heaven ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 There is my only consolation. 
 
 CURATE. 
 
 You have no son, so at least you will not leave 
 behind you a being destined to be unhappy. You 
 ought to thank Heaven for this. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 But my daughter— my poor Ines — the ignominy 
 of my name will attach to her ! Alas ! she does not 
 yet know this horrible secret ; shall I ever be able to 
 confess it ? I ought to place her in a convent : but 
 would she find an asylum there ? 
 
 CURATE. 
 
 Yes, Mendo, she will there find a spouse who more 
 highly esteems a single pure heart than a thousand 
 unstained escutcheons. Adieu ! I must carry some 
 relief to a sick person, by order of the Count de 
 Mendoza. 
 
190 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 LP ART t 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Ah ! the noblest, the best of men. You know 
 that lord, great as he is, deigns to visit me ; a 
 favour he does not grant even to the Alcade. Should 
 he come to know 
 
 CURATE. 
 
 Don't be uneasy. — However, for prudence sake, I 
 advise you to avoid too great familiarity with him. — 
 Adieu ! {Exit, 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Your most humble servant. — Disgraced, driven 
 from society — none will breathe a requiescat-in-pace 
 over my tomb. — An assassin would be more fortu- 
 nate ! — And what have I done to deserve my fate ? 
 The scripture says, " The son shall not bear the 
 iniquity of the father. n (5) 
 
 ines (entering). 
 
 Good morning, papa. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Good morning, my child — you have an air of em- 
 barrassment, as if there was something you wished 
 ask to me. 
 
 ines. 
 
 Papa 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Come, speak. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Only, papa, that, as every thing is arranged in the 
 
Scene I.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 1*>1 
 
 house, I should like to take a walk towards the 
 Moor's-bank, if you will give me leave. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Is it to walk alone ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 Papa, — Don Esteban 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Listen, Ines — Go if you wish. I speak to you as 
 a friend ; as your father, I might command. We 
 are poor and of low birth — he whom you are going 
 to see is rich and noble. — Remember the fable of 
 the pot of earth and the pot of iron. 
 
 INES. 
 
 And yet Esteban's father — [correcting herself) Don 
 Esteban, I mean — Don Luis, is such an excellent 
 person ! — He comes often to see you — you know 
 the affection he has for you. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Don Luis, who has been about a month in this 
 country, and lives like ourselves at a distance from 
 the village, finding no human being except myself 
 within his reach, is obliged to visit us. As for Don 
 Esteban, you are the only woman in the neigh- 
 bourhood not absolutely black ; and it is not 
 extraordinary that he should evince a liking for 
 you : but beware — were the only distinction between 
 us that of rank, Ines Mendo could never become 
 the wife of Esteban de Mendoza. You don't desire 
 
192 INES MEN DO ; or, [Part I, 
 
 to become his mistress. — Shun then all connexion 
 with the family, except as far as politeness re- 
 quires. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Don Luis always says that, Count though he be, 
 he cares not for nobility, and has as much esteem 
 for a worthy honest peasant, as for a grandee of 
 Spain. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 All that is fine talk ; but when the question is to 
 put it into practice, one soon forgets such pretty 
 theories. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Don Esteban is a baron, and an officer in the 
 guards. — Well, he says a peer may marry a citizen, 
 because he ennobles her, and that the alliance does 
 not corrupt his blood. Besides, we all descend from 
 Adam, as the Curate says — it is only our professions 
 which make the difference. His grandfather was 
 chevalier — and mine — papa, what was my grand- 
 father? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 My father ! — he — he was of the same calling as 
 myself. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Dear papa ! I see you are grieved. If you realJy 
 wish it, I will see Esteban no more : but, my good 
 
Scene I.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 193 
 
 papa, I beg of you, let me bring him to you for to- 
 day only ; he has something to tell you. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 It is for your good I speak ; you must cease to see 
 him. 
 
 INES. 
 
 He loves me so much. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 You think so ! poor Ines ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 I am certain of it, papa. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Why? 
 
 INES. 
 
 Suppose he wished to marry me ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Ah! 
 
 INES. 
 
 Were he to tell you so ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Nonsense ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 Here comes Don Luis. 
 
 Enter Don Luis. 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 Good day, neighbour— Good day, my dear child. 
 Leave us alone a moment, and go into the garden, 
 where you will find company. 
 
194 INES MENDO; or, [Part I. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Ines ! 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 Be silent ; I wish her to go. You will remain ; 
 we must talk on a subject of which as yet you can 
 have no idea. [Ines goes out.~\ But first let me scold 
 you. Are you not a singular man, Mendo ? you are 
 the only friend we have in the country, and yet you 
 never come to see us ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Excuse me, my lord ; a poor peasant, such as I 
 am, is not fit company for a person of your quality. 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 All nonsense ! Count though I be, I care no 
 more for nobility than I do for my old boots. Sup- 
 pose I prefer your society to a grandee's — what 
 answer have you to that ? — Besides, are we not in- 
 debted to you ? when our mules were hurrying us 
 over the precipice, you caught them by the bridle 
 and saved us. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 All the world would have done the same thing. 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 Perhaps so ; but listen — I am not proud ; I am a 
 philosopher — I have read the ancients. Let me 
 tell you, my friend, men are fools with their preju- 
 dices about nobility. The house of Mendoza is one 
 of the most ancient in Spain. — Well ! it would be 
 
Scene I.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 
 
 195 
 
 quite equal to me to be called Juan Mendo, as Don 
 Luis de Mendoza. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 What ! Juan Mendo ? 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 In truth, Mendo sounds ill in comparison to 
 Mendoza. Mendo — Mendoza — Ah ! the za has 
 some merit. But a truce with names ; let us come 
 to business. You know my son — a charming youth, 
 is he not ? full of spirit and talent, an officer of the 
 Guards, and in the high road of promotion. He 
 might have married a daughter of the Duke of 
 Bevar : — not a family of yesterday, that of Bevar ! — 
 You understand ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 One must be blind not to admire the qualities of 
 the Baron de Mendoza. 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 For myself, I am a philosopher. — What is birth, 
 I often say ? What merit have I, that Providence 
 should have made me Count de Mendoza, grandee 
 of the first class, commander of Alcantara? I don't 
 esteem myself the more for it. These sentiments I 
 have drawn from the ancients. — Ah ! Seneca ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 I don't see 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 In a word, I must tell you that — • — Nay, but 
 o 2 
 
1<J(> 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Part I. 
 
 guess ; — my son loves, and wishes to marry — your 
 daughter. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 My daughter ! 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 I was at first opposed to it, but he was so much 
 in love; and as an inferior match on the side of 
 the man is not of much importance, and that the 
 Mendozas have, thank God, birth enough to ennoble 
 two families — why I have consented, and am come 
 to appoint a day with you for the marriage. Ha ! 
 what do you think of that ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Good God, my lord, what a stain on your 
 family ! 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 Pooh ! don't the male ennoble? Besides, observe, 
 I have a regard for you. Then, there are many 
 other reasons. — First, I am a philosopher ; secondly, 
 the Duke de Medina Sidonia has defied me to give my 
 son to a citizen's daughter, and I wish to shew him 
 that I am a philosopher in practice ; then, again, 
 the king has lately given a government to Don 
 Rodrigo Bacheco, who is circumstanced similarly 
 with my son. Besides 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 My lord, it cannot be ; are you aware who I am ? 
 
Scene I.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 
 
 197 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 By Heavens, the most obstinate man on earth. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 A Mendoza ally himself to a ! 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 A peasant : that is our affair, is it not ? Answer. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Don Luis, I respect — permit me even to say, love 
 you — but we must see each other no more. 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 He is mad ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 I cannot explain my motives ; but believe me they 
 are just. 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 By all the devils ! What ! my son loves your 
 daughter ; his passion is returned ; he wishes to 
 marry her ; I give my consent ; and you, instead of 
 thanking us for the honour we confer upon you — 
 refuse ! Perhaps we are too poor — not of sufficient 
 rank ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Ines knows well herself, that 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 To her then I shall refer : if she says yes, you 
 consent, won't you ? 
 
 mendo ( in thought J. 
 Yes, she must be told — she is my daughter, and 
 o 3 
 
198 
 
 INES MENDO ; or, 
 
 [Part I. 
 
 has a greater claim than a stranger to know my 
 secrets. 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 Ah ! your secrets ! you have secrets have you ? — 
 Something horrible, no doubt. How many men 
 have you murdered ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 My lord ! 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 Pardon me, my dear friend ! I know you are a 
 brave, worthy fellow, and an excellent father. I 
 love your profession : the agriculturists are the 
 life of us gentlemen — besides, are we not all children 
 of Adam, as Seneca says ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 My lord, I regret extremely, but it is impossible — 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 Ah ! you have stept in. I quit you for the pre- 
 sent—but remember, you have promised to leave 
 your daughter entirely free. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 She shall decide for herself. 
 
 don luis (aside). 
 
 You are caught ! Adieu ! — By the way, no threats ! 
 don't frighten the girl — tell her — but I'll do it my- 
 self. You deserve to be laughed at for your ridiculous 
 fancies. 
 
Scene II.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 199 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 She won't hesitate a moment. 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 We shall see. Adieu, Juan Mendo ! I never saw 
 your equal. [Exit. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 My lord, your lordship's most humble servant. — 
 Who would have thought it ! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 A Valley. 
 
 Don Esteban — Don Carlos, meeting. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Don Carlos ! you here, my dear Captain ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Do I deceive myself? the Baron de Mendoza in 
 this desert ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 What the devil brings you here ? I thought you 
 would never quit the pleasures of Madrid. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 I love the chace, and am on leave of absence with 
 my father, who is Alcade of this rascally hole, called 
 Monclar; — and you— what are you doing here? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 My story is the same. My father has just bought 
 o 4 
 
200 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Part I. 
 
 an estate in this neighbourhood. — Have you killed 
 any thing ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 No, I have not fired a shot ! I have just dismissed 
 my equipage. To tell you the truth, I was well 
 enough pleased to stroll a little in this quarter. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Ah ! why ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 I pursue game which you love much, my dear 
 Baron. Come, a wager that some intrigue has 
 brought you to this newly-purchased estate ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 In truth, no — what a strange supposition ! 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Listen then. Three days ago, on coming to this 
 execrable hole, I remarked a charming peasant girl 
 who lives in the neighbourhood. Hold ! do you see 
 that house at a distance ? it is there she lives. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Mendo's cottage ! 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 A delicious girl, my dear Baron, though daughter 
 of a husbandman, as it would appear ; — a beautiful 
 shape, her eyes and hair jet-black, hands passable — 
 there, however, is her weak side. All things considered, 
 I am determined to have her. 
 
Scene II.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 
 
 201 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Captain, the person of whom you speak is not one 
 of those who are so easy to be had. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 A peasant girl ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Peasant or not, I beg you will sport in another 
 direction. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Ah ! ah ! to all appearance then you have the 
 priority. Be it so — but two persons may very well 
 course the same hare. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 A truce to pleasantry ! Learn> sir, that this peasant 
 girl, at whose expense you are so jocular, will to- 
 morrow be my wife. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Your wife ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Yes, sir — my wife. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 Hah ! hah ! hah ! the joke is excellent ! How I 
 admire the gravity of your air ! Well, now, you 
 know that, between friends, one makes over these 
 conquests after a fortnight's enjoyment ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Once more, sir (I speak very seriously), pray, 
 
202 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Part I. 
 
 from this moment, regard Ines Mendo as the Ba- 
 roness de Mendoza. 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 A peasant girl the Baroness de Mendoza ! Excel- 
 lent ! — well played ! Support your character ! — 
 Observe that hypocritical air ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Will you be quiet ? 
 
 DON CARLOS. 
 
 After the honeymoon you will be more tractable. 
 I may have her then ! — hah ! hah ! hah ! 
 
 don esteban ( striking him J, 
 There is a proof I speak seriously. 
 
 don carlos {drawing his sword). 
 I shall chastise your insolence. — ( They fight — Don 
 Carlos is killed. J 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 There, you will banter no more. Now, let me look 
 to myself. — In Provence they are so strangely severe 
 in these sort of affairs. I shall take refuge at Ma- 
 drid ; but I must first bid adieu to- Ines. My father 
 will bring her to the capital, and my marriage will be 
 delayed but a day or two. 
 
 [He goes out — two Peasants enter. 
 
 FIRST PEASANT. 
 
 They are as thick as vermin at present; all the 
 disbanded soldiers become thieves — for my part, I 
 don't fear them. — The other day I made two take to 
 
Scene III.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 
 
 203 
 
 their heels, whom I met near Navaga towards the fall 
 of the evening. — I was cutting wood, when, behold 
 ye, one of these rascals lying flat upon the ground — 
 (He stumbles over the body.) — Take my money, 
 gentlemen, but spare my life ! 
 
 SECOND PEASANT. 
 
 Fool ! here is a man who will harm no one. My 
 God, it's the captain, the son of our Alcade. 
 
 FIRST PEASANT. 
 
 What a hole he has in the middle of his belly ! 
 
 SECOND PEASANT. 
 
 Hold, hold ! do you see that man there endea- 
 vouring to escape ? He is the assassin, no doubt of 
 it. If we arrest him, we shall have a large reward 
 from the Alcade. 
 
 FIRST PEASANT. 
 
 I'll raise the hue and cry in the village. 
 
 SECOND PEASANT. 
 
 No ; remain with the body — I'll pursue the mur- 
 derer. 
 
 FIRST PEASANT. 
 
 Make haste, then ; I don't like being long near a 
 dead man. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Mendo's Cottage. 
 
 mendo f alone J. 
 This walk was necessary to refresh my spirits, and 
 
204 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Part I. 
 
 prepare me for the last sacrifice. I must speak — 
 fool that I was ! I thought to hide my position from 
 her. Her head is filled with ridiculous fancies, 
 which will render her for ever unhappy. I am to 
 blame ; her education has nourished these illusions. 
 She ought to have been placed in a convent from 
 her earliest infancy. — True, she would never have 
 known her father — what of that ? She would have 
 embraced a religious life, knowing of none more 
 pleasing or more happy. — But now look at her — 
 given up to a foolish passion, which it would break 
 her heart to forbid. — Ah ! I have acted very wrong 
 — my daughter was the only friend I could have in 
 the world ; I wanted courage to separate myself from 
 her. — Poor child ! it is absolutely necessary she 
 should know the truth : to delay longer would be too 
 dangerous. She will feel that there is no resource 
 but in a convent. Here she comes. — Courage, 
 Mendo ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 Papa, I have been very naughty. — Don Esteban 
 has just left me; we have been walking together. — 
 Don Luis joined us, and was so amiable ! and plea- 
 sed me so much ! Esteban said he wished we were 
 married. — Don Luis replied, that you had promised 
 I should act as I pleased. — Is that true, papa ? or 
 was it only a joke ? My dear papa, I love you 
 so much ! do you know he forced me to accept 
 
Scene III.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 
 
 205 
 
 a bride's ring ! — At first I did not like to take it — it 
 was so fine — but Don Luis insisted upon it. — There 
 it is — how it shines ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Listen to me, Ines ; I am about to speak to you, 
 perhaps, for the last time. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Bah ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Ines — a man who kills his fellow-creature is a 
 detestable being ; every one ought to hate him. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Certainly, papa ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 But if he is forced to it by others ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 How forced ? — it would be better to be killed 
 one's-self than kill another. 
 
 mendo ( after a short silence ). 
 
 So you have consented to marry Don Esteban ! 
 His family is one of the most illustrious in Spain ; 
 his origin goes up to the times of King Pelagus. — 
 All the noblesse of Castile are connected with him, 
 and he has numerous friends among the high nobi- 
 lity. Think you he will not suffer when his relations 
 and friends rally him on his ill-assorted marriage ? 
 You say you love him — can you endure that he should 
 undergo continual slights in society on account of 
 his wife? 
 
206 INES MENDO; or, [Part I. 
 
 INES. 
 
 That was for him to think of. I am descended 
 from honest peasants and old Christians. There 
 are many duchesses, Esteban tells me, whose family 
 hundred years ago were wretched Moors. Besides, 
 when he began to court me, I told him to go to the 
 great ladies and leave us poor peasants alone. — But 
 he has shewn such an affection for me ! such love ! 
 I am certain he would be happier with me than 
 with one of the infantas of Arragon. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 This marriage will destroy his prospects — have 
 you thought of that, Ines ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 He is wealthy ; and were it otherwise, he thinks, 
 like me, that love is before riches. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Ines Mendo espouse a Mendoza ! — the daughter 
 of a labourer and a grandee of Spain ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 The infant Don Pedro married the daughter of a 
 labourer — her name, too, was Ines. (1) 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 A happy marriage, was it not? Ines was the 
 daughter — Don Pedro — are you quite sure that I 
 am a husbandman ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 Certainly you are ! 
 
Scene III.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 
 
 207 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 No, IneSj you 
 
 INES. 
 
 What is the matter, father ? you are ill ! I afflict 
 you ! is there any blot in our family ? perhaps my 
 grandpapa did something naughty — 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Why not your father ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 Impossible ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 'Tis true, Ines. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Jesu Maria ! but I won't believe it ; you only say 
 so to frighten me — to make me give up this marriage. 
 — Supposing it true, what crime could you have 
 committed, that the Christian life you lead would 
 not expiate ? You are stricter on yourself than a 
 monk. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Poor Ines ! the stain which is attached to me 
 will quit you but with your life. I am guilty of no 
 crime, yet every man would shudder to become my 
 friend. Ines ! they have forced me to follow the 
 profession of my father — I am the executioner of 
 Monclar ! [Rushes out. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Esteban is lost to me.— My poor papa! how I 
 
208 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Part I. 
 
 pity you. — Where is he ? he was here just now — 
 am I in a dream ? I thought he spoke to me but a 
 a little while since. — The door shut ! — Ah ! I remem- 
 ber ! Father ! father ! return and embrace your 
 child. My life shall be passed in consoling you — 
 he don't hear me. — Papa ! papa ! — oh, God ! I shall 
 go mad — will he too abandon me? Ah ! Esteban, 
 Esteban ! have I lost you for ever ? But an hour 
 ago I was so happy ! and in a moment I am become 
 the most wretched of women ! — Married ! alas ! I 
 must hide my head in some convent. — He shall 
 know all ! I'll conceal nothing from him. — Yet how 
 
 confess to him ! — Esteban, I am the daughter of 
 
 Oh, never ! I dare not. But it must be done — 
 otherwise he will return, and that would grieve me 
 still more. Ill write to him. — A convent — yes ! I'll 
 take the veil, and offer up my prayers to God to 
 bless him. Must I lose him for ever ? I must. — 
 Courage, Ines ! — My tears have relieved me. — Yes, 
 now I can write to him. — {Enter Mendo, with a bag 
 of money.) Papa! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Ines, this money belongs to you ; it was your 
 mother's — it will be sufficient to establish you in the 
 retreat you may choose. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Oh, papa ! don't command me to leave you. I 
 
Scene III.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 209 
 
 have lost Esteban : would you deprive me of my 
 father ? Let me be your friend, your consoler. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 That such a wretch should be her father ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 God preserve you to me many years ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 You see how necessary it is to renounce your 
 lover. — Have you the courage to write to him, giving 
 him back his promise ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 Yes, papa, I feel I ought to do so. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Sooner or later they will know the truth from 
 the Alcade, or some other person. Don Esteban is 
 a noble youth ; speak frankly, and tell him who you 
 are. 
 
 INES. 
 
 What must I say ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Tell him that you were bred up in ignorance of 
 your birth— that I alone am culpable. It is better 
 he should learn it from us than from another. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Well ! since it must be so 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Write immediately : I leave you to yourself. 
 
 I He goes out. 
 
 p 
 
210 INES MENDO; or, [Part I. 
 
 ines ( alone ). 
 How to begin!— Yes, I must declare the entire 
 truth — it was he gave me this ink-stand ! — (She 
 writes) Perhaps he will pity me. — ( Regarding her 
 ring J Ah ! my beloved ring, I hoped to preserve 
 you whilst I lived — and must we so soon separate ? — 
 I am no longer worthy to wear you.— (She kisses it.) 
 
 Don Esteban enters. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Dear Ines, let me return you your kisses. 
 ines (retiring hastily). 
 
 Ah ! 
 
 DON esteban. 
 My charming Ines, have I frightened you ? take 
 courage — 'tis only I. 
 
 INES. 
 
 What ! you ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Your lover, who comes 
 
 INES. 
 
 I have no lover now ! you see a wretch you must 
 abandon. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Abandon thee, Ines ! — Don't you know me ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 My lord ! in the name of Heaven leave me f leave 
 me ! We are 
 
Scene HI.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 211 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 What's the matter ? you will drive me to despair! 
 why this fear? (He advances towards her.) 
 
 INES. 
 
 Touch me not ; you will be contaminated ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 This infernal Mendo has worked upon her mind — 
 that alone was wanting to complete my misery ! 
 Ines ! no trifling — you love me then no longer ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 Oh ! if —it is too strong for me — but — hold ! read 
 this paper : and — leave me for ever ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Why this dread of me ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 I can no longer love you. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Still these scruples ? — You take pleasure in teasing 
 me. There's to punish you.— (Kisses her.) 
 
 INES. 
 
 The fault is not mine ; I could not inform you 
 sooner. Read the letter. — ( He reads, tears the letter 
 — Ines falls.) 
 
 don esteban (raising her). 
 
 Ines ! are you hurt ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 Ah ! you call me still Ines — let me kiss your feet, 
 p 2 
 
212 INES MENDO; or, [Part I. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Unfortunate child ! why should you throw your- 
 self at my feet ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 I learned it but a little while ago — had I known it 
 before, you should never have loved me. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Dear Ines ! shall I cease to love you ? Are you 
 not the same Ines who charmed me so deeply ? 
 Foolish prejudice, must I sacrifice my happiness to 
 you ? Shades of my ancestors ! rather than renounce 
 my love, I would fling your honours to the winds ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 You don't despise me then ! — I shall die of joy ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I love, I esteem you as much as ever. 
 
 INES. 
 
 No ! impossible ! you cannot love me — you are a 
 Mendoza. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I am your lover; a title I prefer to that of a 
 gentleman. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Ah ! it is now I would wish to die. Never will I 
 dishonour the person I love. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Of what importance is the opinion of the world ? 
 Is it worth thy affection ? — ( Perceiving that she bleeds) 
 
Scene III.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 213 
 
 You bleed, my darling, and my violence is the cause. 
 — Let me cure you, Ines, with kisses. 
 
 i\ES ( embracing him ). 
 Ah ! I am too happy ! 
 
 Enter a Peace Officer, with Peasants. 
 officer ( touching Don Esteban with his staff). 
 In the King's name, my lord, you are my prisoner ; 
 — deliver up your sword ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Canaille ! away ! — 
 
 officer ( to his Men ). 
 Disarm him ! — 
 
 INES. 
 
 Help ! papa, help ! 
 
 don esteban (disarmed). 
 Adieu, dear Ines ! don't be afraid ! it will be 
 nothing. [ He is led out. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Help ! help ! ( Swoons.) 
 
 Mendo enters, with a sword in his hand. 
 What's the matter ? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Nothing more than the arrest of a murderer. 
 
 mendo ( seeing Ines ). 
 My daughter ! — 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 The young lady was on the gentleman's knee when 
 I came in — all very natural ! — 
 
 p 3 
 
214 INES MENDO; or, [Part I. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Rascal ! 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 If you strike me, I shall report you to the Alcade. 
 By the way, Mendo, you concealed from us that 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Leave the house ! 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 You will have work enough soon, Juan Mendo. 
 Sharpen your axe — remember it's a point of honour 
 that it don't miss — he is a gentleman ! 
 
 [Goes out laughing. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Ho there ! James. [They carry out Ines. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 Don Esteban alone, reading his death-warrant. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 On reflection, I am well pleased not to have seen 
 Ines — her tears would unman me, and I have need 
 of courage to-day. Often have I heard the enemy's 
 balls whistle about my ears without fear ; but there 
 is something so revolting in the block and the axe ! 
 — Oh ! that, at the last fatal moment, I may shew 
 the firmness of a soldier I once saw walk to the 
 gallows, singing! — ( He sings.) — No — no swaggering; 
 — firmness — resignation — besides, it would not be 
 reputable to sing a false note at such a moment. 
 
Scene IV.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 215 
 
 God grant I may die like a gentleman and a sol- 
 dier ! 
 
 Enter a Notary and Witnesses. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 My lord, I am the Notary you sent for, and here 
 are two competent witnesses. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Thank you : is there any news of my father ? 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 No, my lord ; however, I hope he may be able to 
 reach the King in time — his majesty can't be far 
 from Monclar. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Happen what may, I am prepared for the worst. 
 Are you ready to draw up my will ? it will not be long. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 I attend your leisure, my lord. — Your lordship's 
 name ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Esteban Sandoval, Baron de Mendoza, Captain 
 in the Guards. 
 
 notary ( writes ). 
 In the Guards — gives and bequeaths his soul 
 to God 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Is that the form ? 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 Yes ; the protocol required by law. — 
 p 4 
 
216 INES MENDO; ok, [Part!. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Observe the forms of law as exactly as possible — 
 I would not have the will set aside hereafter. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 Oh ! you have nothing to fear in my hands : a 
 notary of thirty years' standing don't leave flaws in 
 an authentic document. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 So much the better — proceed. — I bequeath all my 
 property 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 Moveable and immoveable ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Yes ! — to Ines Mendoza. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 Not so fast — -let me describe a little the kind of 
 property. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Have you put ? 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 Patience ! let us forget nothing. — To whom do you 
 bequeath your property ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 To Ines Mendoza, formerly Ines Mendo. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 Her titles ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Wife of the Baron de Mendoza, and daughter of 
 Juan Mendo, executioner of Monclar. 
 
Scene IV.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 217 
 NOTARY. 
 
 Good God ! must I write that ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I insist upon it. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 Legitimate wife ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Yes — although our marriage was secret, f Aside ) 
 I shall not be damned for that lie. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 If, as you say, the marriage was secret — in your 
 place, to avoid all difficulties, I would sign a recog- 
 nitory act. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Do what I tell you. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 It will be sufficient to insert it in the will. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I desire, besides, that there be engraved on my 
 tomb-stone, in the cemetery of the village - how a 
 Mendoza, in despite of prejudice, espoused the 
 daughter of an executioner. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 The devil ! Now, in your place, I would not give 
 myself the trouble to have that engraved. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Do as I order you ! 
 
218 INES MENDO; or, [Part I. 
 NOTARY. 
 
 As you please ! It's a disposition the Romans 
 called pcence nomine legatum. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I appoint my father executor. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 He is called 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Don Luis, Count de Mendoza. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 If you have nothing more to add, let us proceed 
 to signature. — ( Don Esteban, Notary, and Witnesses 
 sign.) 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I thank you, sir : my father will arrange with you. 
 You will distribute the contents of this purse among 
 the poor — recommend me to their prayers; and 
 pray accept this ring in remembrance of the unfor- 
 tunate Don Esteban. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 Ah ! my lord how I wish 
 
 Enter Gaoler and Assistants. 
 gaoler. 
 
 My lord, it is with great regret 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I understand you. — Adieu, gentlemen — give me 
 your prayers. 
 
Scene V.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 
 
 219 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 Softly, master gaoler; it is contrary to usage to 
 proceed to execution so soon after sentence : — there 
 is no haste, and the gentleman's father has appealed 
 to his majesty. — The King will be here in a few 
 hours : — attend his decision. 
 
 GAOLER. 
 
 The Alcade's orders are to, proceed instantly to 
 execution. 
 
 NOTARY. 
 
 It is illegal — I protest against it. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 It seems, Signior Melchior, the Alcade is some- 
 what less attached to forms than you are. 
 
 GAOLER. 
 
 My lord ! [ They go out. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 
 Market-place of Monclar. 
 
 Enter Don Esteban, Mendo, Assistants, Curate, 
 People, 8fc. 
 
 curate (to Don Esteban, who is on the scaffold). 
 
 Adieu, my son ! God will have pity on you ! A 
 few moments will set you free from the numerous 
 calamities of this wretched world. 
 
 GOALER. 
 
 My lord, permit me to bind your eyes. 
 
220 INES MENDO; or, [Part I. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I can look upon death without fear. Mendo, do 
 your duty — well, if possible. — (He kneels) — Am I 
 rightly placed ? 
 
 GAOLER. 
 
 All right, my lord ; God have mercy upon you ! 
 
 THE PEOPLE. 
 
 Amen ! 
 
 gaoler (to Mendo). 
 You hold the axe with your left hand. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 I am no longer executioner. ( Cuts off his right 
 hand.) 
 
 Ines enters. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Stop ! ( rushing on the scaffold.) We shall die 
 together ! You must kill your daughter with him ! 
 mendo ( shewing his arm ). 
 Can I injure him now? 
 
 INES. 
 
 My father ! — Esteban ! — 
 
 GAOLER. 
 
 What is the meaning of all this ? — ( Uproar — the 
 People drive away the Gaoler and his Assistants ; 
 some press round Mendo.) 
 
 Enter Don Luis, 
 don LUIS. 
 
 Pardon ! pardon ! Stop ! thank God there is yet 
 time ( embraces his son ). 
 
Scene V.] PREJUDICE VANQUISHED. 221 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Embrace my preserver — he cut off his hand rather 
 than strike me. 
 
 DON LUIS. 
 
 Ah ! Mendo ! what is my nobility in comparison 
 of an action such as your's ? You are worthy to be 
 a Roman. 
 
 (s) Enter the King, with Guards. 
 
 THE PEOPLE. 
 
 Long live the King ! 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 What means this tumult ? Where is the Alcade ? 
 Don Luis, can you explain this ? Every one speaks 
 at once, so that I understand nothing of what is 
 said. (Don Luis addresses the King.) 
 
 THE PEOPLE. 
 
 Pardon ! pardon ! 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 It is impossible not to admire such generosity — 
 Juan Mendo, on your knee I Rise, Don Juan 
 Mendo. Don Esteban, we pardon you, but on con- 
 dition that you marry Mendo's daughter. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 It is my ardent desire ! 
 
 ines (to Esteban.) 
 At length I may love you ! 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 We shall sign the contract. — Thus, may prejudice 
 
r 
 
 222 INES MENDO; &c. IPart I. 
 
 be destroyed throughout the whole extent of my 
 empire ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 So finishes the Comedy of Ines Mendo. — Excuse 
 the faults of the author. Should this first part have 
 pleased you, the author hopes you will give a favour- 
 able reception to the second, under the title of 
 Triumph of Prejudice. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 <*) Clara has given Ines a Galician patois. One feels how im- 
 possible it is to retain, in a translation, the slight difference of dialect 
 which distinguishes many provinces of Spain. We shall only observe 
 that, in the second part of Ines Mendo, the heroine's language is 
 much purer ; and that one only finds, now and then, vulgar ex- 
 pressions, or words not generally received. 
 
 (2) Some months previous to the Portuguese revolution. 
 
 (3) Ezekiel, xviii.,20. 
 
 W The famous Ines de Castro. 
 
 ( 5 ) The intervention of the King, which terminates this comedy, 
 is by no means rare in the old Spanish dramas — See the Alcade of 
 Zelamea, and a thousand other pieces. 
 
 There exists an old history, and a kind of poem, on the subject of 
 an executioner who cut off his hand rather than strike his father. 
 Selpuveda records a similar trait of an Indian. 
 
 END. 
 
INES MENDO; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 
 
 A COMEDY. 
 
 " Que si de los zuecos la sacais a chapines, no se ha de hallar 
 la mochaeha, y a cada paso ha de caer en mil faltas." 
 
 Don Quixote, Part ii. chap. v. 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN DE MENDOZA. 
 JUAN MENDO. 
 
 DON CiESAR BELMONTE (Portuguese Officer), 
 CORREGIDOR OF BADAJOS. 
 PEDRO (Servant to Esteban). 
 HOST. 
 
 DONNA INES DE MENDOZA. 
 
 DONNA SERAFINE (Duchess of Montalvan). 
 
 ABBESS OF THE URSULINES at Badajos. 
 
 The Scene is at the Chateau de Mendoza in Estremadura, at 
 Elvas, and at Badajos. 
 
INES MENDO; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 
 
 SECOND PART. 
 
 DAY I.— SCENE I. 
 An Apartment in the Chateau de Mendoza. 
 
 Don Esteban — Ines. 
 
 don esteban. 
 Well ! will you never correct yourself? must you 
 always be repeating your village phrases ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 How can I help it ? what is bred in the marrow 
 will never come out of the bone. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 A pretty proverb in the mouth of the Baroness de 
 Mendoza ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 You do nothing but tease me about trifles. One 
 has not a moment's peace with you. 
 
 a 2 
 
228 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 IDay I. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Ah ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 Is it my fault that you are out of temper? Because 
 our neighbours annoy us, must I suffer for it ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Impertinents ! but I shall be revenged on them ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 Why seek them out in their little country-houses 
 to invite them here ? They are as poor as church 
 mice, and vain as peacocks — would think them- 
 selves, indeed, dishonoured, to shew us the least re- 
 spect ! And all on account of my poor father ! 
 Dearly has he purchased his nobility ! You ought to 
 remember it, Esteban. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Dear Ines, I shall never forget it ! But tell me, 
 would not the calmest man in the world be ruffled 
 to see these lordlings arrive one after the other with 
 the same story ? " My wife, the countess such-a-one, 
 is indisposed." — "Donna Isabella has a cold!" And 
 then their studied impertinence towards your father ! 
 The affectation of never calling you Donna Ines — 
 of never addressing their conversation to you ! — Oh ! 
 I was so enraged. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Nonsense ! laugh at it. 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 229 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Laugh ! I see nothing to laugh at. And, by the 
 way, your silly speeches and Galician gibberish give 
 ample cause for ridicule. Why say, you had your- 
 self prepared those grey peas ? Is it becoming in a 
 person of your station to turn cook ? 
 
 JNES. 
 
 You used to think I dressed them so well ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 What a subject of ridicule for a month at least ! 
 Madame the Baroness shelling her peas ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 Peas or not, they eat of them like persons who 
 fast often at home. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Then, in spite of a thousand warnings, you never 
 fail to call me, my heart ! — can there be any thing 
 more ridiculous ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 Unkind ! who would believe, that formerly you 
 scolded me for calling you my Lord Baron ? During 
 the honey-moon, you embraced me whenever I 
 called you my heart. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 You can give me no name which recalls more 
 pleasing recollections; but observe, love, for the 
 world — before these contemptible, impertinent lord- 
 lings, we must assume an air of dignity. 
 
 8 3 
 
2Si) 
 
 INES MENDO; oh, 
 
 [Day I. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Well, 1 11 do all I can. You must not frown 
 though ! Come, let us embrace in sign of peace ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 My charming Ines! could I ever have an ill thought 
 towards you? it was for you alone I suffered yester- 
 day. — Gods ! when I think of it, my anger breaks 
 out afresh. Fools ! refusing to dine with you ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 Their society is not sufficiently agreeable to regret 
 its loss. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 Letters, my lord. [Retires. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Whose writing is this ? I don't know it. — ( Reads ) 
 u Don Gil Lampuedo y Mello de la Porra, pre- 
 sents his compliments to Don Esteban Sandoval, 
 Baron de Mendoza, and requests the honour of his 
 presence at the Chateau de la Porra, on Tuesday 
 next, to meet the ladies and gentlemen of the neigh- 
 bourhood." — And you not invited ! he shall pay 
 dear for his insolence ! — ( Tears the letter.) I'll make 
 such an example of him as shall teach politeness, for 
 the future, to the whole family of the Porras. (!) 
 
 INES. 
 
 My dear Esteban ! you frighten me so much when 
 you are angry ! If you love me, be calm. 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 231 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 You know not what a gentleman suffers, whose 
 honour is outraged. 
 
 INES. 
 
 My love ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Don Gil, or Don devil ! I ll soon make you 
 
 INES. 
 
 He is below your notice. — But hold ! read the 
 other letter ; it is so amusing to 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I see the wretch ! — {Reading the address of the 
 letter) Ha ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 What's the matter ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 A letter from the Duchess de Montalvan. 
 
 INES. 
 
 And you know her writing so well, that you 
 guess from whence it comes, merely on reading the 
 direction ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Oh ! it is nothing but — Yes, I knew her very well 
 formerly. 
 
 INES, 
 
 An old flame ? 
 
 £ 4 
 
232 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day I. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Why, sometliing like it — that is before There ! 
 
 read it yourself. 
 
 INES. 
 
 How generous ! — (Giving him back the letter. J I 
 must not be less so. 
 
 don esteban (reading aloud). 
 
 " Dear Baron " 
 
 ines (laughing). 
 " Dear Baron — " Oh ! read it to yourself. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 " Dear Baron, I am about to quit Madrid, or 
 rather fly from it. — I shall pass into Portugal, for 
 reasons you shall know hereafter. Would you fear 
 to receive a proscribed person in your chateau, for a 
 few hours only ? So you have been foolish enough 
 to marry; and, if report be true — "(Reads to himself.) 
 
 INES. 
 
 Read aloud, Baron, I beg of you. 
 
 don esteban (pretending to read). 
 " And if report be true — you — marry — Adieu ! 
 Serafine/' 
 
 INES. 
 
 Oh ! you are not yet cunning enough, Esteban. 
 " And if report be true — you — marry— Adieu ! Sera- 
 fine." Is that the style of a duchess? I think I 
 could write better myself. 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 233 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Madcap ! she will arrive to-day I suppose — per- 
 haps immediately. Go, Ines ! arrange your dress a 
 little; you must appear in all your beauty before 
 her. She's an antiquated belle, and I should like to 
 pique her. You are rather pale to-day; a little 
 rouge would do you no harm. 
 
 INES. 
 
 If you love me, pale as I am, why should I seek to 
 please others ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Charming Ines ! I should like her however to 
 admire my choice. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Well ! I'll rouge to please you — but must I dress? 
 — I am so awkward in fine clothes. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Don't say so before the Duchess ! Go, my angel, 
 get ready — with your figure, one can't be ungraceful. 
 
 INES. 
 
 There is no resisting you ! Adieu. [Exit, 
 
 DON ESTEBAN ( alone J. 
 
 The Duchess de Montalvan here ! — I loved her 
 once, like many others ; no further. After all, what 
 the devil is it to me what she says about my marriage ? 
 I love Ines — her criticisms can't change me in that 
 respect ; they'll have no effect upon me, I am 
 certain. What a moment has she chosen to arrive ! 
 
234 
 
 IXES MENDO; on, [Day I. 
 
 Ines is not well to-day — she is pale — her eyes sunk. 
 That malicious Duchess ! let her jeer at my marriage 
 — she shall see how I'll receive her pleasantries. She 
 was beautiful formerly ; that is to say, five years ago. 
 I came into reputation among the women by her 
 means, and my first duel was fought in her quarrel. 
 I was wounded in the arm, and went to her house 
 bleeding, and proud as a peacock. Well I remem- 
 ber it ! She bandaged the wound herself, and would 
 permit no one else to take care of me. In putting on 
 the dressing she kissed my arm several times. I was 
 then young ; and those kisses so inflamed my blood ! 
 — Never shall I forget that moment. Ah ! Don Juan 
 Ramirez, what obligations do I not owe you for the 
 wound you gave me. 
 
 Enter Mendo. 
 mendo. 
 
 Good morrow, Don Esteban ; I am happy to find 
 you so gay to-day. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Call me son, if you don't wish to give me pain. 
 
 mendo {embarrassed). 
 I am come to bid you adieu — I am going 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 What ! are you about to leave us ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Yes, for Ferrol — a relation — a brother, whom I 
 have not seen these many years. 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 
 
 235 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Ah ! a brother newly arrived to you. How hap- 
 pens it you never mentioned his name before ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Because — I 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Something displeases you here, and therefore you 
 have determined to quit us. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 You are wrong, my dear Baron : but I must go — 
 it is absolutely necessary. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 But why ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 I have business in Galicia. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 You are a perfect mystery ! Ah ! I divine your 
 secrets. The impertinence of these half-gentlemen 
 has offended you, and you would rather leave the 
 country than expose yourself to similar insults. But 
 wait — stay a little longer — you will be satisfied with 
 the punishment I mean to inflict upon them. They 
 shall be harassed in every possible way. Nearly all 
 the country hereabouts is my property, so that they 
 shall neither fish or hunt. Should they attempt it — 
 a process instantly. In quality of governor of the 
 province, I will billet soldiers upon them when our 
 troops march towards Portugal. In fine { ) 
 
236 
 
 IXES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day I. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Why make yourself unhappy about a mere no- 
 thing? Leave them to themselves with their preju- 
 dices. — For myself, I abandon the field : numbers 
 must carry the day. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Oh lord — no ! Here you remain, now that I know 
 your real motives. Never shall it be said that a 
 Mendoza submitted himself to the caprice of any 
 man living ! Here you stay, did all Estremadura 
 march against the chateau to drive you from it. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Listen, Don Esteban ! You know how much I was 
 opposed to this marriage ; even had I not been 
 marked with the horrible stain from which the good- 
 ness of the king relieved me, I should still have 
 thought equality of condition necessary in the wedded 
 state. Not that I am tainted with those prejudices, 
 or rather every-day opinions, with respect to the 
 citizen and the noble. No : but since, by the will 
 of fate, we are born in a certain class, it is in that 
 class are formed our friendships and connexions in 
 life — they are founded on a similarity of tastes, 
 ideas, habits. Where God has placed us, there 
 we should remain. In our family, Heaven has 
 ordered it otherwise ; you have connected yourself 
 with a poor man, whose name (notwithstanding his 
 majesty's favour) must sound ill in the ears of a 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 
 
 237 
 
 gentleman : to make it respected you will have 
 much to endure. An old man — of himself neither 
 useful nor amusing — who has in truth no business 
 here, ought not to condemn to perpetual slights a 
 noble gentleman to whom he already owes so much. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 And I 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 No, Esteban; allow me to depart. — As to my 
 daughter, in marrying you she has lost my name ; 
 she has become a Mendoza — a name that can efface 
 all hereditary stains. Besides, should you be insulted 
 on her account, you are her husband, and have 
 sworn to defend her from the moment she accom- 
 panied you to the altar. But I, whilst I remain 
 here, will, like a leper, make your house a desert, 
 and deprive you of all the pleasures and prerogatives 
 to which your rank in the world entitles you. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 All this fine speech is useless, Mendo ; you must 
 remain. Think you, your society is not more agree- 
 able than that of these half-gentlemen of Estrema- 
 dura? And shall I, to satisfy their mean pride, 
 separate myself from a friend and a father ? No, may 
 they all go to the devil first ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 My lord, your kindness overwhelms me : I am so 
 much in the habit of receiving favours from the 
 
238 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day L 
 
 Mendozas, that I know not how to refuse them. I 
 fear, however, lest you may have cause to repent 
 having retained in your family a peasant, infirm and 
 ignorant. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Ah ! my father, that infirmity recalls to my mind 
 all you have done for me ! Can I ever repay the 
 obligation ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 What I did 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 We shall be revenged, be sure of it. Apropos, a 
 beautiful lady, the Duchess Serafine de Montalvan, 
 arrives to-day from Madrid : let us dress ourselves 
 in our Sunday clothes to receive her ; it's a folly of 
 mine : but for God's sake quit that brown coat, and 
 put on one more a la mode. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 You are wrong not to let me depart. [Goes out 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Poh ! nonsense ! I have done a good action, and 
 will be stronger to resist the seductions of Serafine. — 
 Seductions ! bless my modesty ! how easily (after 
 having made an insignificant conquest) one persuades 
 one's-self that all the women burn with desire to 
 enslave you. Would it not be right, however, to meet 
 the Duchess on the road ? — No l it might offend Ines 
 — yet, after all, it is nothing more than a polite 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 239 
 
 attention due to every woman. Why should one be 
 less gallant towards a Duchess than a bourgeoise r 
 I fly to meet her ! Who comes here ? 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 My lord, a lady in a chariot and four has this 
 moment entered the gates. {Exit. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I will go down immediately. How agitated I 
 am ! as if five years had not passed since we met ; 
 and five years change woefully a pretty woman. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Enter Ines, rouged and covered with diamonds. 
 
 With what joy has he gone to meet her ! When 
 he received her letter, he appeared so enchanted ! 
 he did not read it all to me neither — I don't like 
 shewing him how much that hurts me, for, no doubt, 
 he don't do it intentionally. He loves me, and to 
 be jealous would be so ungrateful. Ah ! I am only 
 a plain awkward village girl ! Perhaps the compa- 
 rison between me and a lady from Madrid, full of 
 wit and grace, will disgust him ! But, no ! Esteban 
 is so amiable; he'll always love me — I am sure of it. 
 ( Seeing the Duchess enter ) How beautiful she is ! 
 
 Enter Don Esteban, leading the Duchess, 
 don esteban. 
 My dear Ines, the Duchess de Montalvan. — 
 
240 I NE S MENDO; or, [Day L 
 
 Madam, permit me to present to you Donna Ines 
 de Mendoza. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Most happy to be acquainted with her. 
 
 ines {confused). 
 
 And I too 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 What shocking roads ! I am so fatigued — Ah f 
 
 INES. 
 
 Yet you rode in a carriage. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Oh ! that's nothing 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Madam, won't you do me the honour to be 
 seated? — ( Aside to Ines) Ines, what are you about? 
 Sit down. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 The baroness appears to be in pain. Are you 
 not well, madam ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 I — Madam 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 She is fatigued since yesterday — which is the 
 reason you find her so pale ; in general she has 
 more colour. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 With so beautiful a skin as that of the baroness, 
 paleness is not a fault. 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 241 
 
 DON ESTEBAN (bowing) 
 
 Oh! 
 
 ines (bowing J. 
 
 Oh! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 It is more distinguished. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Madam is very good : but — r- 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Madam the baroness is extremely young ! not more 
 than twenty-four or five, I suppose ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 I shall be five — what am I saying? — twenty, I 
 mean, come Michaelmas. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 You have not been long in this chateau ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 A very short time ; I chose it for my residence as 
 being so near Avis, of which I am titular governor. 
 We little expected the honour of receiving your 
 grace here. But tell me, madam, what proscription 
 is this of which you speak ? what has brought you so 
 far from the capital ? Nothing very serious, I hope ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Not serious ! Learn, Don Esteban, that I am a 
 a fugitive in every sense of the word, — Here's my 
 
 R 
 
242 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day I. 
 
 history : — I had, you know, some influence at court ; 
 the Duke de Lerma consulted me sometimes — even 
 his late majesty honoured me with his confidence. 
 All at once comes Olivares, like a shell, I hardly 
 know from whence ; supplants Lerma in the affections 
 of young Philip, and destroys all my credit at a blow. 
 There is nothing I detest so much as the intrigues 
 of a court : so I generously offered my friendship to 
 the Count Duke: he refused it with contempt; 
 war declared of course. — I tried to turn out the 
 minister by giving the king a confessor of my 
 choosing. Olivares provided him with a mistress ; — 
 the mistress succeeded — and the king bestowed all 
 his confidence on this minister, Mercury. 
 
 INES. 
 
 The Duke of Olivares called Mercury ? — what an 
 odd name ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Be that as it may. — Olivares wished to be revenged. 
 — He accused me of being concerned in some Portu- 
 guese conspiracy ; that unfortunate* affair of John 
 de Braganza ! — " It is you," said he, " who has torn 
 Portugal from his Catholic Majesty !" How foolish ! 
 He meant to shut me up in a convent : perhaps even 
 in the tower of Segovia. I had notice of it, and 
 without attending to his decisions, made my escape. 
 With such haste have I travelled, that at this mo- 
 
Scene L] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 243 
 
 ment my departure from Madrid is hardly known. 
 I shall pass into Portugal, and turn conspirator in 
 good earnest — since it must be so. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 How cowardly ! — send a lady to the tower of 
 Segovia ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 But — the confessor 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Ines, Donna Serafine would like some refresh- 
 ment, lines goes out, 
 
 don esteban (to the Duchess). 
 I have not asked you whether you made a good 
 journey. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Oh, admirable ! Apropos — the Governor of Avis 
 is your major ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Yes, madam, he persists in what he wrote me; 
 but there are so few soldiers in the province, that I 
 can send him no assistance. — Why do you ask ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 No reason in the world. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 The time has been 
 
 r 2 
 
244 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day r. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Why so embarrassed ? have you any thing to say 
 to me ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 What do you think of my wife ? — is she handsome? 
 duchess. 
 
 Very pretty. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 She is, unfortunately, extremely timid ; it is that 
 makes her appear awkward ; you put her out of coun- 
 tenance just now. Was it at Madrid you heard of 
 my marriage? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Tell me frankly now, what is thought of it ? 
 [duchess. 
 
 Frankly ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Well then, it is much criticised (since you are 
 determined to know the truth), though the philoso- 
 phers of the court applaud it as an excellent ex- 
 ample [ Songs, sonnets, and jests have been made 
 upon it : in fine, people think you have done a 
 foolish thing. But at Madrid, every thing is so 
 
Scene I.J THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 
 
 215 
 
 quickly forgotten ! No one has spoken of it these 
 months past. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 And you, madam — dare I demand your opinion ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 It is rather singular, Don Esteban, that you should 
 address yourself to me, particularly as my advice 
 would be both late and useless. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Madam, pardon me, I did but jest : what is done 
 is done— 1 am far from repenting of it. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Don Esteban, I have lost nothing of the friendship 
 I had for you ; it is a long time since we have met, 
 and if either of us has been wrong, I certainly can't 
 charge myself with the fault. Not a word have I 
 heard from you since your departure for the army. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Ah ! madam, your just reproaches cover me 
 with shame. 
 
 duchess. 
 
 For my part, Don Esteban, I have preserved the 
 memory of our old friendship ; and in my disgrace, 
 it is from you I have demanded an asylum. Per- 
 haps 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I appreciate as it deserves the nattering mark of 
 confidence. 
 
 r 3 
 
246 
 
 INES M;ENDO; or, 
 
 [Day L 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 As your friend, your marriage distressed me. As 
 
 your But I dare not now pronounce a name, 
 
 yet more tender, you formerly bestowed upon me. 
 I suffered much — much, Esteban, to see you blinded 
 by a romantic generosity. Pardon the expression in 
 a friend — you will surely repent of it one of these 
 days. I think nothing of the want of birth in your 
 wife — a soul like your's is above vulgar prejudices ; 
 nothing even of the repulsive circumstances attached 
 to the father — there, on the contrary, is the romance 
 of the affair. But, alas ! I see you joined for life to 
 a peasant girl, without education, without manners ! 
 After her first confinement, her beauty disappears ; 
 and it is then one feels all the price of education in 
 a wife. I may be deceived, however — I have had 
 but a glimpse of Donna Ines. Prejudice — perhaps 
 jealousy — yes, Esteban, jealousy — I loved, I adored 
 you ! Had you married a woman of beauty, and a 
 cultivated mind, one in fine made for you, then 
 (though I should have suffered without doubt to 
 lose a heart I had once possessed, yet the conviction 
 that you were happy in your family, and stood well 
 in public opinion, would have been some consolation), 
 I would have said, he can never be mine, but he has 
 at least found a companion worthy of him. ( Weeps.) 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Madam ! I feel most sensibly the flattering 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 247 
 Enter Ines, with the Maitre d' Hotel. 
 
 MAITRE D'HOTEL. 
 
 My lord, dinner is served. 
 
 INES. 
 
 There is a punchero (4) which you love so much. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Ah ! [Exeunt. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST DAY. 
 
248 INES MENDO; ok, [Day II. 
 
 DAY II. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Apartment in the Chateau. 
 
 Don Esteban — Ines. 
 ines. 
 
 Love \ 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Hum! 
 
 INES. 
 
 You are angry with me ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Angry ! why ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 I said so many foolish things before that beautiful 
 lady : the more I tried the worse it was. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Hush ! is she in her room ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 Yes ! How odd it is that before certain persons, 
 
Scene t] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 249 
 
 one should feel so ill at one's ease. I never saw so 
 imposing a person. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 She takes a long siesta. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Have you remarked her beautiful hands ? I have 
 a great mind to ask her what she does to keep them 
 so white. 
 
 don esteban (smiling). 
 They are not given, Ines, to all the world ; one 
 must be born a duchess to have white hands. ( ,) 
 
 INES. 
 
 And still 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 It is a long time since she retired to her chamber. 
 
 INES. 
 
 My father is in such a taking to-day. Did you 
 observe how he rolled his eyes on looking at the 
 duchess ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 With what grace, with what affability, Donna 
 Serafine addressed your father ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 Yes ; and yet he had a gloomy air 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Oh ! that's customary with him.— She has risen 
 I perceive : go to her, Ines ; we can't be too attentive 
 to our guests. 
 
250 
 
 INES MEND O ; on, 
 
 LDay II. 
 
 INES {low). 
 
 Above all, to beautiful ladies. {Exit. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Childish ideas ! foolish prejudices ! — One drives 
 them away, thinks himself delivered from them ; and 
 behold they return as powerful and dangerous as 
 ever ! — For myself, I have shaken off their yoke — 
 trampled them under my feet. Dearly has my victory 
 cost. — I almost repent. — No! not repent; but I 
 suffer in having conquered the enemies that I des- 
 pise : they attack me yet. Since the arrival of the 
 duchess, my wife, the excellent Ines, has lost her 
 beauty in my eyes ; her frankness displeases me. — 
 Formerly — I am quite ashamed not to be at the 
 very height of the mode in this distant retreat — the 
 god of fashion would chain me to Serafine's car — 
 but no ! I will resist this feeble attempt, since I 
 already perceive the snares of the enemy. Besides, 
 have I not conquered in ruder combats ? Spain will 
 not easily forget the example I gave.— I have then a 
 right to reckon on my fortitude and courage. The 
 duchess has assumed her grand airs ; — well, I'll 
 torment her in my turn. After what has passed 
 between us, I did not expect to be treated like an 
 unfledged youth, just emancipated from college. — 
 She pities me, indeed ! the coquette ! — She is hand- 
 some as an angel ! Ah, conjugal fidelity ! happily 
 you are obligatory only on the ladies 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 251 
 Servant {enters in a fright). 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 My lord ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 What's the matter ? why are you frightened ? 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 My lord, the Corregidor of Badajos ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 The Corregidor? 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 His assistants are with him : he wishes to speak 
 with your lordship. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Very well ! let him come up. 
 
 Corregidor [coming in). 
 I have the honour to salute your lordship. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 What has procured me the pleasure of this visit? 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 My lord, it is with the most lively regret that I 
 execute an order transmitted to me from court. 
 The Duchess de Montalvan is in this chateau, pre- 
 paring to pass into Portugal. 
 
 don esteban (much agitated). 
 How do you know her grace is here ? 
 
252 INES MENDO; or, [Day II. 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 Softly, if you please ; don't let us be angry. — I 
 recognized her carriage in your coach-house. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Admirable judge of heraldry ! 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 As good as another, my lord — the duchess's car- 
 riage has no coat of arms — so please your Excel- 
 lency ! But the domestics have all confessed 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Your age would promise more good sense than to 
 listen seriously to the prating of a servant. 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 I know how painful it must be to deliver up your 
 guest; but you would be far from wishing to har- 
 bour an enemy to his majesty. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Sir, I harbour neither a duchess nor an enemy 
 to his majesty. Be off, and leave me in peace, or I 
 will have you punished for your insolence. 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 No reflections, my lord, if you please : you cannot 
 have me punished, for you are no longer governor 
 of the province ; and yet 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 What says the insolent ? 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 
 
 253 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 I should be in despair to offend your excellency 
 by a judicial visit to your chateau. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 By Heaven ! were you insolent enough to attempt 
 it, you should soon see what a fellow, ennobled but 
 yesterday, would gain by insulting a grandee of 
 Spain. 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 And you, my lord, ought to learn to treat the 
 ministers of justice with more respect. For the last 
 time, allow me to ask, is the duchess here ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Leave my house ! go instantly ! or you shall be 
 put out by force ? 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 You compel me to it. Holla ! come in. (Enter 
 armed men.) 
 
 don esteban ( ringing ). 
 Ah ! rascals, is it thus you treat a Mendoza ? You, 
 sir, shall pay dearly for your audacity. (Enter Ser- 
 vants.) 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 Don Esteban de Mendoza, I arrest you in the 
 king's name ( touches him with his staff). 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Turn these fellows out ! What ! has this booby's 
 staff petrified you ? I must teach you your duty. 
 
256 INES MENDO or, [Day II. 
 
 (Dratvs his sword). Rascals ! this is the way to 
 address you ! Out, miscreants, out ! [Drives them out. 
 Enter Ines and Duchess, 
 ines. 
 
 Ah ! they are going to kill him ! Help ! help ! 
 Enter Don Esteban, putting up his sword. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Admirable, my lord Baron ! it's impossible to strike 
 harder with the flat of the sword ! (6) 
 ines. 
 
 My dear heart, I am afraid you are wounded ! 
 don esteban. 
 
 No. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Might one demand of his Lordship what important 
 reasons have obliged him to exercise his arm on the 
 backs of these poor devils in black ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Madam, I must speak to you in private ! Ines, 
 leave us a moment. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Me, my dear heart ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 INES. 
 
 For a long time ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 No, no ! do leave us. lines goes out. 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 
 
 255 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 What mystery ! if you were not married, I should 
 be very much frightened. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 How painful, madam, to change the charming 
 mood in which I find you ! But know, that the 
 Corregidor of Badajos arrived a moment since to 
 arrest you. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Really ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Yes, Donna Seraflne ! justice has no terrors for 
 me, when the question was to defend those charms 
 which the tower of Segovia threatened to conceal 
 from the world. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Oh ! thou model of knight-errants ! Tristan, 
 Lancelot, Amadis ! — Receive the thanks of an unfor- 
 tunate and persecuted lady. — Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 You are always the same. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Alas ! I must quit this air of gaiety ; it no longer 
 suits me. — Dear Esteban, finish your good work : 
 let me have four strong horses ; I must be in Portugal 
 to night. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Every thing here is at your orders. 
 
256 * INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day II. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Must I leave you then when I am hardly arrived ? 
 perhaps never to see you more ! Alas ! it must 
 be so ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Madam, I 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 We must lose no time. — Have you a trusty, deter- 
 mined person to accompany me, for my companion 
 broke his arm at Caceres. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Donna Serafine, do you know no one here who 
 would glory in assisting you ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 DON ESTABAN. 
 
 Serafine, the time was you would have desired me 
 to accompany you, to protect you in your flight ! 
 then why not now? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Ah ! my dear Esteban. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Speak, Serafine ! say you choose me for your 
 chevalier. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Impossible, Estaban ! already you have exposed 
 yourself on my account to the resentment of a 
 vindictive minister ; to accompany me to Portugal 
 in rebellion, would be to declare yourself my accom- 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 
 
 257 
 
 plice, and shut against you for ever the road to 
 Spain. No, my dear Esteban, I can't ruin you 
 th rough mere wantonness ! — Reflect, besides, that, as 
 governor of the district, your actions, even the most 
 indifferent 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Of what importance to me is the anger of Olivares ? 
 Oh ! that I had greater dangers to brave for your 
 sake ! — Besides, in accompanying you, I withdraw 
 myself from the pursuit of justice, which I have out- 
 raged. Donna Serafine, don't refuse me, I conjure 
 you ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Impossible ! — you can't abandon your family, 
 your dear Ines — Ah ! that name must make you 
 forget the wretched Serafine, and the dangers she 
 encounters. Adieu ! Esteban — think sometimes of 
 your old friend. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 No, madam, I can't quit you ; your position is too 
 dangerous. — I could not exist, knowing you ex- 
 posed to a thousand perils ; whilst I, a soldier, 
 seated quietly in my house, confined myself to 
 fruitless wishes for the safety of my guest. — My dear 
 Serafine ! (kneels.) 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Heavens ! am I not sufficiently unhappy ? Must I 
 involve my only friend in my ruin ? 
 
 s 
 
258 INES MENDO; or, [Day II. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Consent, Serafine ! I conjure you, by this wound 
 received in your defence. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Cruel ! what a period you recall to my mind ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 You consent ! — thank God ! I will follow you 
 even to the prisons of Segovia. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Ines 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I think but of you — of the dangers which environ 
 you. Ines will remain to calm the storm. — And 
 if 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Ah ! if she knew your design ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I'll find some pretext. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Well, I consent. — Conduct me as far as 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Name not the place that must separate us. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Cruel Olivares ! have you victims enough ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Fear nothing on my account ; I have powerful 
 friends at court. — Your generosity exaggerates the 
 poor service I render you. 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 
 
 259 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 God grant I may be the only victim ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I am acquainted with the cross-roads: they'll be 
 sharp fellows if they catch us ; you could not choose 
 a better guide. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Alas ! why did I come here ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Thank God for it ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 Letters, my lord. [Retires. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 The minister's seal ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 What can he want with me ? — ( Gives the letter to 
 the Duchess after having read it.) You see I am ill 
 looked upon also at court ; I am recalled - they order 
 me to return instantly to Madrid. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Obey, Esteban, or you are ruined. You see you 
 are compromised already. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 A strong reason against running myself into the 
 jaws of the tiger. — (Reading the other letter.) This 
 letter is from our common friend, Don Rodrigo de 
 Yriarde. — He tells me I am -considered as no stran- 
 
 s 2 
 
260 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day II. 
 
 ger to the troubles in Portugal ; that it is said, it 
 was not without design I placed myself so near the 
 focus of revolt. Ah, ah ! very good, indeed ! — yet 
 they are the very persons who sent me here ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 How miserable I am ! I don't know what to 
 advise. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 We will think of it on the road. But silence ! 
 here comes Ines. 
 
 ines (half-opening the door). 
 May I come in ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Madam, I am displeased with Don Esteban. 
 The news from Madrid which he has communicated 
 to me with such secresy wasn't worth concealing — 
 above all from you, madam. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 My dear Ines, the duchess must leave us this 
 evening ; let the horses be put to immediately. I 
 shall accompany her as far as the orange-grove. 
 
 INES. 
 
 May I go with you ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 No ! the dew is falling — you would catch cold. 
 
 INES. 
 
 What, madam ! you travel by night ? — are you not 
 
 afraid ? 
 
Scene II.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 261 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 I am disciplined by misfortune, which has pursued 
 me without ceasing ! 
 
 ines {to Don Esteban). 
 Tell me, why did you beat the officers ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Rascals ! who dared a foolish affair — poachers, 
 
 my love — but you would not understand it. 
 
 INES. 
 
 The servants say 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Babblers — who don't know what they say ! And 
 you are a foolish child to listen to them — but I have 
 some orders to give — shew Donna Serafine the flowers 
 of your own cultivation. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Ah ! madam, come and see my Arabian jessa- 
 mines. 
 
 duchess {to Esteban). 
 As soon as possible ! [Retires. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Chamber in the Chateau. 
 
 mendo {alone). 
 There is always something impertinent even in 
 the politeness of the rich. This duchess mocked 
 us, and Don Esteban looked at her oftener than at 
 s 3 
 
262 INES MENDO; or, [Day II. 
 
 his wife. Ah ! I fear Ines will repent having mar- 
 ried a lord. 
 
 Enter Ines. 
 ines. 
 
 She is gone at last, and to tell you the truth, I 
 don't regret her. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Your husband accompanies her ? 
 
 INES. 
 
 Yes ! to the orange-grove — he would not let me 
 go with him on my little white mule. Do you know, 
 I am very uneasy ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Why? 
 
 INES. 
 
 He has taken his pistols — yet, there are no rob- 
 bers in these parts. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 It is, perhaps, to encourage the duchess. 
 
 INES. 
 
 What dangers are there on the road ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 None, I hope. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Should the officers seize Donna Serafine 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 From Badajos to here is a good distance. 
 
t Scene II.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 263 
 
 INES. 
 
 She will bring some misfortune upon him — this 
 lady, who wished to force her confessor upon the 
 king ! — It is true, papa ; she told me so herself, in a 
 story of which I understood very little. My God ! 
 why did my husband receive her ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 He could not do otherwise ; wasn't she his friend ? 
 {Knocking at the gate,) 
 
 INES. 
 
 I hear a noise at the great gate; can he be returned 
 already ? 
 
 Enter Corregidor, with Officers armed. 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 Health to all present ! — Here we are, but stronger 
 this time. Justice will be mocked no longer, and 
 they'll be best off who laugh last; ay, aye, we shall 
 soon see who will pay for the broken heads. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Who do you want, sir ? What is your business 
 here ? 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 Nothing but to apprehend, and take into bodily 
 custody, a certain Don Esteban de Mendoza, and 
 Donna Serafine, Duchess de Montalvan — that's all ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 What do you mean, sir? that's impossible ! 
 
 s 4 
 
264 
 
 INES MENDO; au, 
 
 [Day II. 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 Permit me to execute my writ. I know my duty : 
 — above all, no resistance, or I shall put you all to 
 the sword. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Sir, the duchess is gone, and my husband too. 
 
 CORREGIDOR. 
 
 Pshaw, nonsense ! nobody has passed the great 
 gate, so the bird is still in the nest. ( To two officers) 
 You will let no one pass-^the rest follow me. 
 
 [Goes out. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Alas ! I knew it — this duchess has ruined him. 
 The holy virgin take pity on him ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Make your mind easy ; the rich man always gets 
 out of a scrape. 
 
 INES. 
 
 But where is he ? when will they restore him to 
 me ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Heaven grant he may soon return ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 You speak as if you feared the contrary ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Me ! — I hope— he'll return shortly. 
 
 INES. 
 
 There is something in your mind you dare not 
 
Scene II.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 265 
 
 express ; — yes — you know or suspect some great 
 misfortune. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 You are deceived, my child. Come, let us go in ; 
 we can only pray to God to preserve your husband. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Oh ! you frighten me so ! my mind misgives me — 
 I fear the worst. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Let us retire — we are of no use here. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND DAY. 
 
266 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 DAY III. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 
 Elvas — An Inn. 
 
 Host, Soldiers, Portuguese, seated drinking 
 at a table. 
 
 host [rising with his glass in his hand). 
 To John de Braganza, King of Portugal ! 
 
 ALL. 
 
 To John de Braganza ! 
 
 HOST. 
 
 God be thanked ! he is a true Portuguese ; a good 
 king— and of the right sort — just what we want: — 
 none of your lank-jawed Spaniards pumping our 
 dollars out of us. 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 If they return, here we are to receive them. 
 
 HOST. 
 
 You don't know the news, gentlemen ; — when Don 
 Rodrigo de Saa, and Ferdinand Menezes threw 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 
 
 267 
 
 Vasconcelhos out of the palace-window — what hap- 
 pened, think you ? 
 
 CITIZEN. 
 
 He broke his neck on the pavement, I suppose. 
 
 HOST. 
 
 A huge phantom appeared to the people, and 
 cried, with a voice of thunder, " Portuguese ! to 
 arms ! the yoke of Spain is broken !" Who was it, 
 think you ? 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 Pretty question ! who could it be — if not the king, 
 Don Sebastian ? (0) 
 
 HOST. 
 
 Exactly so. — Having said these words, the phan- 
 tom melted into air with a loud clap — as if ten 
 thousand pieces of cannon had been discharged at 
 once. It is true; for I have it from my sister, who 
 was at mass when Vasconcelhos went flying out of 
 the window. 
 
 SOLDIER. 
 
 What is there so extraordinary in that ? Every 
 one knows that king Sebastian is not dead. Listen — 
 One day that I was on guard (it was as black as the 
 devil, and rained a little), I was blowing the match 
 of my piece, when, behold you, a huge figure in 
 white, armed from head to foot, with a crown on his 
 head, passed quite close to me, heaving a deep sigh. 
 I, who fear no man of flesh and blood, when I see a 
 
268 INES MENDO; or, [Day III, 
 
 spirit lose all courage : on my knees I went, repeat* 
 ing my litany against spirits. 
 
 HOST. 
 
 I know one, too, which has been often of use to 
 me. 
 
 CITIZEN. 
 
 Hah ! who comes here ? 
 
 HOST. 
 
 A brave young gentleman — a gallant Portuguese 
 — Don Caesar de Belmont, who commands at the 
 siege of Avis. 
 
 Enter Don Caesar. — {Company rises). 
 
 DON C^SAR. 
 
 Good day, my friends. 
 
 HOST. 
 
 The honour my house 
 
 DON CiESAR. 
 
 It will soon receive a much greater. I am in ex- 
 pectation of the arrival here of a lady from Castile, 
 who is obliged to fly because she is a friend to 
 Portugal. 
 
 HOST. 
 
 My house is at her service. 
 
 DON CJESAR. 
 
 She will soon be here. 
 
 HOST. 
 
 My lord, I take the liberty to ask your excellency, 
 how speed our affairs ? 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 2(><) 
 
 DON CESAR. 
 
 Admirably, master Boniface ! — The Spanish gar- 
 risons are retiring in all haste. — John de Braganza 
 is recognized king by general acclamation. 
 
 HOST. 
 
 I am rejoiced at it. 
 
 DON CAESAR. 
 
 The Spanish standard floats on the walls of Avis 
 alone; but, before long, we shall plant in its 
 stead. (10) 
 
 HOST. 
 
 1 11 storm it (if necessary), spit in hand ! Oh, 
 that I could spit as many Spaniards as I have 
 turkeys ! 
 
 Enter the Duchess, [wearing a Braganza scarf,) 
 and Don Esteban. 
 duchess. 
 
 Hail, land of refuge ! hail, Portugal ! and, long 
 live John de Braganza. — Ah ! Don Caesar. 
 
 DON CESAR. 
 
 How happy I am, Donna Serafine, to see you in 
 safety in the kingdom of Portugal. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 At length I am secure. — (She speaks to him aside 
 — Don Esteban remains in the back ground with an 
 embarrassed air.) Don Caesar, I present you my de- 
 liverer, Don Esteban de Mendoza. — Don Esteban, 
 this is Don Caesar de Belmont. — ( They coldly salute 
 each other.) 
 
270 
 
 INES MEND O ; or, 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 You have need of repose, Donna Serafine. I 
 don't know whether this hotel 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 No ; just now I was overcome with fatigue, but 
 the pleasure of being surrounded by my friends, 
 and rescued from the grasp of Olivares, has refreshed 
 me all at once — really I could almost dance ! 
 don c^sar (in a low voice). 
 
 His majesty is prepared to give you the most 
 flattering reception at Lisbon. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 You think so ? Do you know, Don Caesar, I have 
 had a fine escape. But for the courage of Signor 
 de Mendoza. I was retaken and shut up in the 
 tower of Segovia. 
 
 DON C^SAR. 
 
 Good God ! why was I not there ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 The affair, sir, was not worthy of your presence : 
 (low to the Duchess) turn that person out. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Our carriage broke down on the road : whilst it 
 was mending, up comes the Corregidor and his band 
 — pif! pif! pistol-shots — dashing of swords — I was 
 half dead with fear, and didn't open my eyes till 
 Don Esteban announced that the enemy was entirely 
 defeated. 
 
Scene L] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 271 
 
 DON CAESAR (low). 
 
 Does he remain here ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Yes ; we must keep measures with him, till we 
 have effected what you know, about the affair of 
 Avis. . 
 
 DON CJESAR. 
 
 Donna Serafine, you must be in want of rest after 
 such a fatiguing journey : I retire. — Signor de Men- 
 doza, if I can be of use to you here, command me. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I thank you, my lord. 
 
 don CiESAR (low to the Duchess). 
 The major requires a letter. You understand 
 me. [Exit. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Well, Esteban, what's the matter ? — you are angry 
 with me. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 I ! yes, sir, you. What have I done to deserve 
 this ill-temper ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Madam, you jest with such grace — your gaiety 
 
 is so (She looks at him tenderly) Ah ! Serafine, 
 
 don't look so, or I shall never be able to scold you. 
 
272 
 
 INES MENDO; or, [Day III. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 My dear Esteban, why chide me so ? it is I should 
 be angry with you for having followed me into Por- 
 tugal — but how reproach you with a disobedience 
 which has saved me ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 You harass me, Serafine, with your numerous 
 acquaintance. God preserve us ! you have friends 
 every where, even in Portugal ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Well ! and what is there astonishing in that? 
 Don Caesar was engaged like me in the conspiracy. 
 Alas ! I have but one regret — to have involved you 
 so deeply. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Ah ! Serafine, you know the way to remove my 
 regrets ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Signor Mendoza ! but what do you mean to do ? 
 In your place, compromised as you are, and almost 
 proscribed, I would accept an office in Portugal. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 What could they do with me ? Besides, I am a 
 Castilian. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 And am not I a Spaniard? But they have pros- 
 cribed me, and I am of that country which affords 
 me an asylum. 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 273 
 
 DON ESTEBAX. 
 
 Let us change the subject. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 No, I have much to say on that head. The regret 
 I feel at having been the means of your quitting 
 Spain, and exposing you to the resentment of your 
 court, would be much augmented, did I not offer 
 you an indemnity in Portugal. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Is it then for Portugal I have fought ? The in- 
 demnity which would be 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 You would not like to serve in the Portuguese 
 ranks at the moment a war is about to commence ; 
 but there is some post 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Once more, let us change the subject. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 But what will become of you ? you can't return 
 to Spain without danger. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Would you so soon banish me from your pre- 
 sence ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 You afflict me ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Is it for John de Braganza to recompense the 
 poor services I have done you ? No, Donna Serafine, 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 I am sufficiently paid by the pleasure I feel in 
 seeing you out of danger. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 You are no longer a Spaniard — why not become 
 a Portuguese ? — Listen — I can promise you a post 
 which, without obliging you to bear arms against 
 Spain, will procure you the favour of John de Bra- 
 ganza. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Strange obstinacy ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 You may even render a service to your country- 
 men ; for example : the castle of Avis is closely 
 besieged — to-morrow Don Caesar attacks it by 
 storm ; but, out of consideration for me, he will per- 
 mit the garrison to retire : write to the commandant ; 
 you are governor of Avis, and his superior — you 
 ought to have some influence over him — tell him to 
 cease a useless defence, and that you authorize him 
 to capitulate. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Are you aware of what you wish me to do ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Nothing but what is very simple. You are per- 
 suaded, you tell me, that the castle is not tenable — 
 spare, then, the blood of your countrymen. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 But the honour of a Spaniard ! — 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 275 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Oh ! honour ! honour ! there's your theme ! That 
 word has caused rivers of blood to flow. But whe- 
 ther Don Caesar storm the castle or not, what is that 
 to me? I promise to bestow this scarf upon him 
 who shall first plant the standard of Portugal on the 
 walls of Avis — how happy I shall be if Don Caesar 
 be the victor ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Don Caesar ! always Don Caesar ! that's your 
 theme, Serafine. Ever since we have been in Por- 
 tugal, you speak only of Don Caesar ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 And why should I not speak of him ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I don't mean to vaunt the services I have done 
 you, but tell me, where will you find a heart that 
 loves you like mine ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 You forget 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Let me forget all at your feet ! Serafine, I 
 adore you ! why will you drive me to despair by your 
 levity ? 
 
 duchess (low). 
 Duty must prevail over love — you forget, my 
 lord, your faith is pledged. 
 
 t 2 
 
276 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 No, cruel ! I do not forget it — my conscience has 
 not enough reproached me ! Your taunts, your 
 sarcasms, were wanting to complete my misery ! 
 Yes, I have quitted all for you ; sacrificed country 
 — wife — honour : but you — you, Serafine, who have 
 made me the most contemptible of men — you repulse 
 me with disdain, and Don Caesar's affection, rather 
 than mine, appears to have gained your heart ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Unjust ! Can you accuse me ? — have I been 
 wanting to my plighted faith? Remember the 
 orange-grove at Aranjuez — have you not a thousand 
 times sworn eternal love to me ? You depart — a few 
 letters, cold and polite, are the only consolation I 
 receive from you ; after a while they cease entirely. 
 — At length the last blow is dealt — you are married, 
 Esteban — and to whom?— what a rival ! just hea- 
 ven ! — Behold your fidelity ! — look how you observed 
 your oaths ! Go, perjured man ! leave me to lament 
 over my past weakness ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Serafine, I have never ceased to love you — Yes, I 
 swear it ! I have quitted Ines to be no longer sepa- 
 rated from you — to live your slave. — Will you aban- 
 don me ? Ah ! no ; you will yet open your arms to 
 him who adores you ! 
 
Scene LJ THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 277 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Oh, Esteban ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I am your's for ever \ — (Embracing her.) 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 If you know how to despise public opinion, we 
 will exist but for each other. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 For ever ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Yes, for ever ! Oh, love, we shall live happy, far 
 from Spanish tyrants, near our august and beloved 
 monarch. — Long live John de Braganza ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Long live John de Braganza ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Now we are Portuguese. — ( She invests him with 
 the Braganza scarf. ) 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I must spread a report of my death — change my 
 name; then in retirement, far from the tumult of 
 courts, we shall live happy in each other's arms ! 
 
 But, should poor Ines 
 
 duchess ( embracing him ). 
 
 Idol of my heart ! — tell me, will you write to the 
 commandant of Avis ? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I conjure you, Serafine, not to exact it of me. 
 t 3 
 
278 
 
 INES MENDO; on, [Day III. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 No ; but I entreat — I 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 You require it ? — yes, I'll sacrifice all to you. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 A kiss for the trouble. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 But what to say? I can't write 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Tell him there are no hopes of assistance from 
 Spain — Is that true? Yes, or no? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Yes; — but there, write yourself— I will sign 
 
 it : are you satisfied ? 
 
 duchess ( writing ). 
 My only love ! — Yes, now I believe in your affec- 
 tion. — ( She rings ; tnter Pedro.,/ 
 duchess. 
 
 Let this letter be despatched instantly to the 
 commandant of Avis. A cornet of the volunteers of 
 Bera is below ; he will take charge of it. 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 My lord, are you for the new fashion of wearing a 
 Braganza scarf? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Well? 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 Because, in that case, I'll demand my discharge. 
 
Scene I.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 279 
 
 I have no desire to turn Portuguese — Spaniard I 
 am born, and Spaniard 1 11 die. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Ah ! dear Serafine, what a sacrifice I make you ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 So you are disconcerted because a valet desires 
 his discharge ! Good fellow, there's money to drink 
 my health — return home, and may Our Lady protect 
 you. — ( Aside to him ) Should any one ask what is 
 become of Signor de Mendoza, say he's dead — 
 killed in a duel — you understand ? 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 Must I tell it to every body ? even to Madam ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 To every body. Accept this ring — give it to your 
 wife, if you have one ; but first give the letter to the 
 officer below. — (Pedro goes out.) My Esteban, observe 
 the sun setting in that orange-grove — it reminds me 
 of that sweet evening at Aranjuez. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Ah ! why did I quit you ? {Exeunt 
 
 SCENE II. 
 Chateau de Mendoza. 
 Ines. — Mendo. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 He is forced to conceal himself, on account of this 
 T 4 
 
280 INES MENDO; or, LDay III. 
 
 unpleasant affair; in some time, when justice is ap- 
 peased, he'll return, 
 
 INES. 
 
 But why not write ? I might have heard from him 
 three times over. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Hum! 
 
 INES. 
 
 I see but too plainly, you don't tell me what you 
 think. Esteban is dead — or unfaithful — God grant 
 it may be the last ! 
 
 mendo {aside). 
 Yes, for I would revenge you. 
 
 INES. 
 
 What do you say, father ? 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 I hope he's alive, and loves you still — but more 
 than one reason 
 
 INES. 
 
 Holy Virgin ! isn't that Pedro I see ? 
 
 Enter Pedro. 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 Madam, your most humble servant. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Pedro, what have you done with my husband? 
 Speak ! 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 Alas ! madam — 
 
Scene II.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 
 
 281 
 
 INES. 
 
 He is dead ? 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 The Lord have mercy upon him, and forgive him 
 his sins ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 She has killed him ! — ( Taints,) 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Rascal ! you have murdered my daughter ! 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 Madam ! madam ! take courage, don't believe a 
 word of it — Sign or de Mendoza is not dead. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Mendoza ! 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 He is alive and well. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Thank God ! — I shall see him then ? 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 I don't know that. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Pedro, tell me all — conceal nothing ! 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 You wish to know the truth ? Well, then, he is 
 at Elvas with the duchess he calls his dear Sera- 
 fine — I saw him with the Portuguese scarf. Besides, 
 there are bad reports about him. On seeing that I 
 demanded my discharge, the duchess gave me 
 
282 INES MENDO; or, [Day III. 
 
 money to say he was dead, and your husband ap- 
 peared to consent. Would the ducats had melted 
 in my hand, and burned me to the bone ! My lying 
 has almost killed my dear mistress. 
 
 INES. 
 
 I shall never recover it ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 What I foresaw has happened — Ines ! 
 
 INES. 
 
 Father ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Have you the clothes you wore at Monclar ? 
 
 INES, 
 
 Yes, father ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Resume them instantly — abandon all the perjured 
 wretch has given you — keep nothing ! — We must 
 remain no longer under his roof — I shall take you 
 to Badajos ; the abbess of the Ursulines will give 
 you an asylum. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Give me your hand — I am very weak. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Come — support yourself on my arm — I am firm — 
 come ! [Exeunt, 
 
Scene III.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 283 
 
 SCENE III. 
 Inn at Elvas. 
 Don Esteban. — Duchess, 
 duchess. 
 
 Why so sad, my love? your Serafine — can she 
 not divert you from your melancholy? 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 With a conscience like mine, one can never be 
 
 g a y- 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Take your gun, and amuse yourself a little. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Has the commandant of Avis entered Spain ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 I imagine so. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Has the capitulation been religiously observed? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Without doubt. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I am glad of it — Serafine, let us quit Elvas. The 
 recollections attached to this hotel kill me — would 
 to Heaven we were together in the deserts of Ame- 
 rica ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 To me, Elvas recals but scenes of love. With 
 
284 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 your permission, however, in place of the deserts of 
 America, we would do well to go to Lisbon. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 We shall think of it. I am going to ride — will 
 you accompany me ? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 No, I am fatigued — I'll lie down a little. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Where is — Don Caesar? 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Incorrigible jealousy ! — he is at Avis, no doubt ! 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Suspect you, Serafine ? you, who have given me 
 so many proofs of affection? — I'll take a gallop; 
 when the wind whistles about my ears, and stuns 
 me with its roar, it is then I am most at ease — adieu ! 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Adieu, my love — Poor fool ! — a contemptible fellow ! 
 — without a character ! At first, I thought to make 
 something of him ; but he is too narrow-minded 
 ever to become the companion of Serafine. Some- 
 times he excites my pity; but, to interest myself 
 about so weak a creature would destroy my noble 
 project. Olivares ! you drove me from Madrid, 
 but I shall enter Lisbon in triumph ! Now may I 
 give the reins to my ambition ! I see no bounds to 
 my rising power. — ( Clock strikes J — So late ! he 
 
Scene III.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 285 
 
 ought to be here ! Ah ! he comes. — (Don Ccesar 
 enters.) 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Enter, Caesar — Pompey is away ! 
 
 DON CJESAR. 
 
 My queen, admire my punctuality ! I arrive from 
 Avis at a gallop, and, without taking time to breathe, 
 hasten to bear you off. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Our man is greatly alarmed for the garrison of 
 Avis. 
 
 DON C^SAR. 
 
 By Heaven ! he has reason. I am no gentleman 
 if the peasants of Alentego and Bera let a man of 
 them enter Spain ! 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Oh ! shocking, Don Caesar ! — Hold this veil — are 
 the horses harnessed ? 
 
 DON CESAR. 
 
 Yes, my charming Serafine. 
 
 DUCHESS. 
 
 Come to my room, and assist in disguising me. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 
 Serafine 's Chamber at Elvas. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN ( alotie J. 
 
 Fatigue of body gives no repose to the mind. She 
 
286 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 is for ever before my eyes — Ah ! what she must suffer 
 at this moment ! — Wretched creature ! how had she 
 offended me ? — (Calls) Serafine ! Donna Serafine ! — 
 What can this mean? where can she be? — (Seesaletter) 
 Ha! — (Reads) " For the Baron de Mendoza" — It 
 is her writing. — " Dear Esteban, I am in despair to 
 " quit you; but it is absolutely necessary that I 
 " should go to Lisbon. As it appears to me that 
 " you don't much like Portugal, I advise you to 
 " return to your excellent wife, who must be in 
 " great distress about you — Be happy with her. — 
 " Adieu; don't be in pain on my account — Don 
 
 " Caesar " Ha ! I deserve it — yes, I deserve it ! 
 
 I quitted an angel, to throw myself into the arms of 
 a demon. Revenge ! — No, my courage is gone. — 
 What will become of me ? — how shall I dare present 
 myself before old Mendo? Ines' arms would be 
 open to me ; — but Mendo — if Pedro — he must have 
 told him. — Oh, monster that I am ! I have killed her, 
 perhaps ! — Ines ! Ines ! is it you or your corpse 
 awaits me at Mendoza ? I can no longer endure 
 this uncertainty : it must end ! I'll return to Men- 
 doza, were I to sacrifice my life ! — ( Enter Pedro.^ 
 Ah ! Pedro, what news ? 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 My lord, I am come back to you ; — madam's 
 grief was so great, that — I couldn't lie — I confessed 
 all. 
 
Scene IV.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 287 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Well? 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 They have quitted Mendoza ; her father has taken 
 her to the convent of the Ursulines at Badajos. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 I fly thither. Pedro, did they send you to me ? 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 My lord, madam gave me this note for you, un- 
 known to her father. 
 
 don esteban {reading it). 
 
 Not a reproach ! — Oh, angel of heaven ! how 
 could I deceive you ? Quick, Pedro ! — Horses ! — 
 We must be to-night at Badajos. 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 I doubt if we can, my lord ; we must take the 
 cross-roads. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Why? 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 All the country is up in arms : the garrison of 
 Avis has been massacred by the insurgent peasantry ; 
 and every Spaniard who falls into their hands is put 
 to death instantly. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 What, another blow ! — No matter, Pedro — we 
 must If I fall, tell her I died repentant. 
 
288 
 
 INES MENDO; or, 
 
 [Day III. 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 Ah ! my lord, she's an angel ! She never ceased 
 excusing you to her father. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Let us hasten, Pedro. The major, Don Gregorio, 
 — is he not saved ? 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 No, my lord, they have hanged him. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Another murder on my conscience ! [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. 
 A Parlour in the Convent of the Ursulines. 
 Mendo, Ines, the Superior, 
 mendo. 
 
 Adieu, Ines ! we shall meet again. 
 
 ines. 
 
 Adieu, father ! I have not long to live; the blow- 
 was too severe. — Should he forget her — and return to 
 his Ines ! Alas ! time is short with me— it will not 
 await his return. Tell him I forgive him, and died 
 imploring Heaven for his pardon. Adieu, father ! 
 mendo. 
 
 Adieu, my dear daughter ! — lines enters the in- 
 terior of the Convent.'] — Now do I devote myself, body 
 and soul, to vengeance. Thank Heaven, my left 
 hand yet remains. 
 
Scene V.] THE TRIUMPH OF PREJUDICE. 289 
 Enter Don Esteban, pale and in disorder. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Ines ! Ines ! my best beloved ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Respect this holy place. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Ines ! Ines ! 
 
 ines {behind the scenes). 
 'Tis he! 'tis he! — he has returned to me! — 
 [Enters, rushing towards Don Esteban.~] You love 
 me then still ! Oh ! I am happy ! — ( Swoons.) 
 
 SUPERIOR. 
 
 The chair ! put her in the chair ! let her smell 
 these salts — I'll go for water. [Exit. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 My dearest Ines ! if my tenderest affection could 
 
 repair my crime Speak to me, for God's sake ! 
 
 Enter Superior, with water. 
 
 SUPERIOR. 
 
 Take a draught of water, madam. 
 
 INES. 
 
 Esteban ! — father ! — give me each of you your 
 hand. (She endeavours to join them ; Mendo with- 
 drawing his.) Esteban, embrace me ! — adieu ! [Dies. 
 
 SUPERIOR. 
 
 She is dead ! 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 Signor de Mendoza, what say you to this spec- 
 
 u 
 
290 
 
 INES MENDO, &c. [Day III. 
 
 tacle ? — look upon your work. This mutilated arm — 
 does it suggest nothing to your mind ? — no feeling of 
 gratitude ? Gratitude ! oh yes ! I invoke the corpse 
 of my daughter to witness it ! As yet, I am guiltless 
 of blood; but this day do I constitute myself your 
 judge and your executioner. The lord have mercy 
 upon your soul ! {Fires upon Don Esteban.) 
 
 SUPERIOR. 
 
 Help ! help ! murder ! shut the gates. 
 
 DON ESTEBAN. 
 
 Let him escape ! [Dies on Ines bosom. 
 
 MENDO. 
 
 I'll not stir; inasmuch as the comedy is finished. 
 Yes, ladies and gentlemen, thus ends the second 
 part of Ines Mendo; or, The Triumph of Preju- 
 dice. 
 
 INES. 
 
 The author desires me to return to life to solicit 
 your indulgence. — You may depart, with the satis- 
 faction of knowing, there will be no third part. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 (!) A jeu de mote, impossible to translate— Pdrra signifies in Spa- 
 nish, ridiculous pride. 
 
 It is necessary to remember, that the action passes a short 
 time after the revolution which placed John de Braganza on the 
 throne of Portugal. This will explain the passage in p. 242, and the 
 allusion to the tower of Segovia is explained, by its being a State 
 prison. — See also Gil Bias. 
 
 < 4 ) A ragout of mutton and grey peas — a dish considered vulgar. 
 
 ( 5 ) An idea (as it appears to me) borrowed from Lord Byron — see 
 his " Don Juan." 
 
 (6) In Spanish Cuchilladas : for the signification of tliis word, 6ee 
 the novel of " Rinconeta and Corradilla," by Michael Cervantes. 
 
 ( 9 ) Allusion to a popular superstition, general in Portugal. Many 
 persons believe that King Sebastian (who was killed in Africa) is not 
 dead, and that he shews himself to his subjects when any remarkable 
 event is about to take place : — his last appearance was at the period of 
 the occupation of Lisbon by the French, in the years 1808-9. 
 
 < 10 > Arms of Portugal. 
 
 END. 
 
 U 2 
 
HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 A COMEDY. 
 
 Sin zelos amor, 
 Es estar sin alma un cuerpo. 
 
 Calderon. 
 
 Almas atravesadas ! 
 
 u 3 
 
CHARACTERS REPRESENTED. 
 
 DON PABLO ROMERO, 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO (Inquisitor). 
 
 DONNA URRACA DE PIMENTEL. 
 
 Scene at Valencia. 
 
HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 SCENE I. 
 Oratory. 
 
 Donna Urraca. — Don Pablo. 
 
 donna urraca. 
 Once more, no ! you beg to no purpose — to-day is 
 Ash- Wednesday. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Remember, on Shrove-Tuesday, we could not 
 take advantage of the carnival. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I am a great offender, God forgive me ! but there 
 is a sin I will never commit. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Only one little kiss ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I must not. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 The sin, if it is one, is not very great, and I take 
 it all upon myself. 
 
 u 4 
 
296 
 
 HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 [Scene 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 On Ash- Wednesday ! 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Pshaw ! never mind Lent ! Come, one kiss only ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Well now, you are insupportable ! — shut the 
 window. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Another — you won't sin the more for it. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 No ! pray now be quiet. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 What's that about your neck ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 A chaplet, with an Agnus Dei, blessed by our 
 holy father the Pope. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 But my portrait — my chain — what have you done 
 with them ? Ah ! Urraca, T am certain you have 
 given them to that sly Father Bartolomeo, to orna- 
 ment the neck of some Madona. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 No, they are all in my casket ; but I thought that 
 on such a day as this 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Such a day as this ought to be struck out of the 
 calendar ! 
 
I.] HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 DONNA URRACA 
 
 You forget, Don Pablo — is not to-day 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Enough, let us speak of something else — you must 
 change your confessor, he is too young : people talk 
 of it, and I am becoming uneasy. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 At least, spare a holy person, if you have no 
 regard for me. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 I treat him as he deserves ; for no doubt he slan- 
 ders me prettily to you. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 On the contrary, Pablo — the poor man ! — he 
 
 hopes you will be converted one of these days by 
 
 Ungrateful ! I have sinned long to save your soul. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 You know how grateful I am for all your favours ; 
 but make me a last sacrifice — dismiss Father Barto- 
 lomeo quietly. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 No : he was my husband's confessor, before he set 
 off for the New World, and Don Jose always profited 
 by his advice. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 That's precisely the reason why you must shut 
 the door against him. — What ! you have quitted your 
 
298 HEAVEN AND HELL. [Scene 
 
 husband for me, and you won't discard this devil of 
 a confessor ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Don't swear, I beg of you, Don Pablo,— remem- 
 ber it's Ash- Wednesday. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Your folly would make a saint of stone swear ! — For 
 the last time, — let me give you a proof of my love. 
 
 DONNA URRACA, 
 
 Impossible ! — return to-morrow. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 To-morrow I shall be on guard. God 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 My dear Pablo, if you can't help swearing, swear 
 at least in another manner. Wouldn't it be equal 
 to you to say, " the devil !" for example? or d — n 
 at every thing, as the soldiers do when they are angry? 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Adieu ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Adieu, my soul ! 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Urraca ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 What's the matter ? Why do you laugh ? 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Didn't you call me your soul, this instant? 
 
L] HEAVEN AND HELL. 299 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Yes ; — why, love ? 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 To-day is Ash- Wednesday ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Cruel ! can you jest on such a subject ? I did not 
 address you in a worldly sense. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Well then, to take leave, give me a heavenly kiss, 
 such as the cherubims 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Don't blaspheme ! — {Embracing Mm.) 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Adieu, my charmer. — Friday morning ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Friday ! — it is 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Pooh ! it's St. Venus's day. — Friday — Adieu. 
 
 {Exit 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 What a pity, so handsome a man, and with such 
 an excellent heart, should be no better than a 
 pagan ! But one day or another he'll choose the 
 right path ; it would be a thousand pities a soul like 
 his should be damned. — {Clock strikes) Four o'clock ! 
 It's the hour Father Bartolomeo comes to confess 
 me, and give me his advice. I must prepare the 
 conserve of roses and the marasquino — {Opens a 
 
300 HEAVEN AND HELL. [Scene 
 
 press) Afterwards I'll read a chapter of the Kempis 
 he gave me — where is it ? Ha ! by what chance 
 has the guitar been left in my room to-day ? I must 
 put it somewhere else, it can't remain here — {touches 
 the chords). In excellent tune ! la, la, la, la ! I never 
 saw a better. Pablo has a taste for these sort of pre- 
 sents. — (Sings) La, la, la ! " my confessor !' ; — I have 
 nothing in my head but that profane air he forced 
 me to learn — there's no sin in it — the sin is down. — 
 ( Sings ) " Says my confessor to me, brother, to 
 mortify your carnal appetites, three days must you 
 fast on bread and on water. But Mariquita says, 
 come to supper with me — and let the devil take the 
 confessor." 
 
 Enter Father Bartolomeo. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Ah ! 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Jesu Maria ! what is it I hear ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Is it you ? — I 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Can I believe my ears ? What, daughter, is it 
 really you ? I expected to find you at prayer, or 
 meditating on some pious book— and there you are, 
 with your guitar in hand, singing blasphemy ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Ah, father ! if you knew 
 
HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 301 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Tell me what evil spirit 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Yes, father, the evil spirit is the cause of it. I 
 wanted to remove the guitar from the room — I 
 touched two or three of the chords without thinking 
 of it; the evil spirit chose his time, and, unknow- 
 ingly, I played an air I hold in horror, and which I 
 have retained in spite of myself — and then 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 And then 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Then — I don't know how it was, but I sung out 
 loud. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Yes, my child — no doubt the evil spirit suggested 
 that abominable air. — Thank your good angel, who 
 has brought me here just in time to prevent your 
 committing another sin. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Thank Heaven for it ! But sit down, father; at your 
 age, it's fatiguing to come on foot from l'Espiritu 
 Sancto, to this distant quarter. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Thanks to our Divine Saviour, my child, I am not 
 yet so feeble, but I can contrive to hold on my legs: — 
 at forty-nine one is good for something. 
 
302 
 
 HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 [Scene 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Just what I said. — I thought you looked ill to-day. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 111! I don't think so (looking at himself in the 
 glass ) : your glass throws a green shade. No, I am 
 very well, and have put on my new cassock to see 
 you, my child. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Well, sit down, if it is only to taste of these pre- 
 serves I prepared for you. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Alas ! willingly, my daughter ; I have taken little 
 corporeal nourishment to-day. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Fasting too much will make you ill. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 What can I do ? — another glass of your maras- 
 quino — it is better than what Donna Maria de Jesu 
 gave me. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I believe it ! She's so avaricious, she wouldn't 
 spend forty reals in a present to her friend. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Softly, daughter ; we must not slander our neigh- 
 bours. True it is, that for this last year she has given 
 me nothing but a little ivory crucifix, yellow with age, 
 and bad marasquino ; but then she knows very well, 
 
I.] HEAVEN AND HELL. 303 
 
 that it's better not to make a present, than to do 
 it ill. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 That's very true — d-propos — have you received 
 the hamper of Bordeaux ? 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Yes, my child ; I thank you for it — but another 
 time, when you send me wine to the convent, don't 
 pack it in a hamper; put it in a book-case, for 
 example ; or — in fact, dispose of it in any other way 
 you please. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 What ! 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Yes ! — the prior saw the hamper, and I was 
 obliged to offer him a part of this wine, which I 
 meant to have reserved, to sustain me during my 
 nightly orisons. The reverend fathers would also 
 taste of it ; so that not a drop remains. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Don't be uneasy, I'll send you more — I am happy 
 the reverend fathers found it good. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Alas ! don't deprive yourself of it for me — though, 
 of all wines, it is that which agrees the best with my 
 feeble health. — Shall I confess you to-day ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 If you please ; I should like to have absolution 
 before Friday. 
 
304 HEAVEN AND HELL. LScene 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Collect your thoughts a little, whilst I finish my 
 collation, and then you will confess your sins of the 
 week. — Well, daughter, are you ready ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Yes, father. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 In that case, let us begin. — Kneel on the cushion — 
 that's it — a little nearer — nearer yet — Good ! Is the 
 cushion soft enough for your tender knees, my dear 
 child ? Are you quite at your ease ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Yes, father ! We'll begin when you like. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Put your little hand in mine — how long is it since 
 I confessed you ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Last Saturday, father. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Good ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I got into a passion with my maid for not lacing 
 me tight enough. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Good! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 At church, my attention was so distracted, by a sol- 
 
I.] HEAVEN AND HELL. 305 
 
 dier in a red and blue uniform, that I did not attend 
 to the divine mystery with the requisite devotion. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO, 
 
 Good ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I have spoken very ill of several ladies of my ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Good ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I love my little dog Flora more, perhaps, than 
 becomes a Christian. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Ah ! there you are wrong, my child. Your dog is 
 so ill brought up, that no later than the day before 
 yesterday he bit me in the leg ; I feel the pain yet : 
 give him one hundred stripes yourself as a penance. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Alas ! father, the poor creature 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Well! fifty. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 The little darling ! He couldn't have known you. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 He always tears my cassocks though ; however, as 
 he is deprived of the faculty of reason, you will give 
 him no sugar for three days. 
 
 x 
 
30G HEAVEN AND HELL. [Scene 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Poor dog ! 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 What next ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 What next? — Oh ! father — afly — feit sinful to 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Afly? How a fly? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Yes ! I swallowed one inadvertently this morning 
 in my chocolate — I perceived it, but too late. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Was it a large or a small fly ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 A very small one. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Oh ! then it is not contrary to the canon law. The 
 small flies which engender in water are not flesh meat ; 
 but the large ones, engendering in the air, are. With 
 all this, my child, I fear you conceal a transgression, 
 worse than all the rest. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Reverend father — I 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 You say nothing of —him 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Of who? 
 
I.) HEAVEN AND HELL. 307 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Of Don Pablo ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Don Pablo ? 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Yes, Don Pablo ; have you repeated the sin of 
 which 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Well !— but 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Ah ! I see clearly how it is. 
 
 t DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I could not hinder him ; but the whole time I 
 thought on the sufferings of Saint Agnes the virgin 
 and martyr; yet I could not, like Saint Agnes . 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Poor compensation ! at least, you have some hopes 
 of converting him ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I don't despair yet. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Mortify the flesh, my daughter ! mortify the flesh ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Alas ! I am ready to submit to any penance you 
 think fit to impose upon me. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Well then, above all, you must close your doors 
 against Don Pablo. 
 
 x 2 
 
308 
 
 HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 [Scene 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Ah ! father, are there no other means ? I intended, 
 this long time past, to bestow upon your convent 
 the silver chandelier you admired so much the other 
 day. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 The holy Mother of God reward you ! Centuplum 
 accipies ! — True, alms-giving is a powerful means of 
 expiation ; — but — yet — 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 It shall be sent to the convent to-morrow 
 morning. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Come, we'll yet have patience — say every day ten 
 Paters and ten Aves on rising — no ! ten going to 
 bed, and seven rising. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Yes, father, I shall say them regularly every day. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Good, my child ; I have something to ask you 
 which interests strongly both the church and the 
 state — you can save them, I think, from great danger. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I ! Jesu Maria ! I am always ready. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 There's a pamphlet circulating clandestinely 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 May I rise ? — you have finished confessing me ? 
 
I.] HEAVEN AND HELL. 309 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Yes, rise, my child! -This pamphlet is entitled, 
 " Open your Eyes." — Why do you blush? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I blush ? It's the reflection of the curtain. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 It's essential to discover the author, and we have 
 our suspicions — you are confused ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Not at all ! 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 We suspect Don Pablo. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Don Pablo ! he write pamphlets ! You know little 
 of him ! — A pamphlet by Don Pablo ! I swear to you 
 that it will be long enough before Don Pablo writes a 
 pamphlet — besides, he is too faithful a servant to his 
 majesty, to publish any thing against his government. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 How do you know it attacks the government of 
 our lord the King ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 You have just told me so. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Not a word of it. 
 
 DONNA URRACA, 
 
 I am deceived then. 
 
 x 3 
 
310 
 
 HEAVEN 
 
 AND HELL. 
 
 [Scene 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 If he were the author, you would certainly know it ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Without doubt. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 And you are too sincere not to discover 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Had there been a word of truth in it, you would 
 have known it before this. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 The power of his family at court prevents our 
 arresting him (as we would do in any other case), 
 previous to obtaining more ample information. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 What reasons have you for attributing this pamph- 
 let to him ? 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 I hardly know : — some little affinity between what 
 you told me of his religious opinions, and certain 
 phrases I found in the pamphlet. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Really ! and you have no other proof? 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 None whatever. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Don Pablo loves the King too sincerely to write 
 any thing seditious. I know he is not over and above 
 devout, but he performs publicly the duties of reli- 
 
L] HEAVEN AND HELL. 311 
 
 gion — he takes the sacrament, along with the officers 
 of his regiment, regularly once a year — and he 
 never boasts of his free opinions. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 I am wrong, then. What yon say of him gives me 
 great pleasure ; — if, however, you hear any thing on 
 the subject, don't forget to inform me of it— in the 
 mean time continue to exhort him to repentance. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I will strain every nerve, I promise you. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Let us talk of something else. If you have any 
 more of those perfumed cigars of which you formerly 
 gave me some, I would smoke one with pleasure. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Have you none remaining ? 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Alas ! my child, they are all ended in smoke. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Why didn't you tell me so before? I would have 
 sent you a box. There, take what's in my case. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 You are too good, my daughter; I accept them 
 only, because I know you can procure them with 
 more ease than a poor monk. What are you read- 
 ing at present?— {He smokes.) 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 First, I am reading "The Offices;" then, " Thomas 
 x 4 
 
312 HEAVEN AND HELL. [Scene 
 
 a Kempis;' , then, " The Flower of the Saints;" some- 
 times " The Araucana." 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 " The Flower of the Saints !" — What a pity, that, 
 in this age of abomination, more saints are not 
 added to that book ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I know well who ought to find a place on the 
 list. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Oh ! pray now, say no more ! My good actions 
 on earth will be repaid me a hundred-fold in 
 heaven. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Amen ! 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 I must leave you, my daughter. — God be with 
 you! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 And with you too, father ! 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Oh ! I forgot — I have a chaplet, blessed by our 
 holy father the Pope — you must accept it. — Let me 
 see — this is my cigar case — this my bottle of holy- 
 water — this 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 What's that ? 
 
HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 313 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 It's Donna Bel I was going to mention her 
 
 name ; — a lady has given me this portrait to throw 
 into the sea. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Into the sea ? 
 
 FATHER BA ilTOLOMEO. 
 
 Yes ; remorse has seized her, and she renounces 
 the person who presented her this portrait, only a 
 few days since. Give it to me. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I should like to open the box. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 I'll take care you don't. — (He lets the box tumble 
 as if by chance, and it breaks.) Ha ! broken ! 
 donna urraca (picking up the portrait). 
 Ah ! Jesu Maria ! 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 What's the matter, my child ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Perfidious ! He has given her his portrait. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Return it to me, I beg ! 
 
 donna urraca (keeping the portrait). 
 
 No ; permit me Double villain ! is it thus you 
 
 deceive me ? 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 What's all this? 
 
314 
 
 HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 [SCEN£ 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Yet I confided in this traitor ! 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Can he be faithful to a woman who is recreant to 
 his God? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 To Donna Belisa ! 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 I didn't say that. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Sacrifice me to Donna Belisa ! 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 And is it for this perfidious man you compromise 
 your eternal happiness ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Ah ! that I had you this instant, Pablo ! you 
 should pay dear 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 His only pleasure is in misleading virtuous wo- 
 men. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Pablo, traitor ! when shall I be revenged ? 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 There, you see how it is ! and yet just now you 
 defended him, with such warmth. 
 
I.J HEAVEN AND HELL. 315 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Ungrateful wretch ! he is capable of any crime. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 That's what made me suspect his being the author 
 of the pamphlet. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Ah! 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 But since he is not the person 
 
 DONNA URKACA (aside). 
 
 I can be revenged ! 
 
 FATHE it BA UTOLOMEO. 
 
 Were it he 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I shall expire ! — Yes, father, it was he. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Don Pablo? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 The perfidious Pablo ! 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Anger, my child, blinds your reason. — You told 
 me just now 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I am ready to swear on the Evangelists, that 
 Don Pablo is the author of that abominable book. 
 
316 
 
 HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 [Scene 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 You know it ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I swear it. — He wishes to revolutionize Spain, 
 assassinate the king, and force all the Spaniards to 
 become Huguenots. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 It's what they all desire But, do you speak 
 
 the truth ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I renounce my hopes in heaven, if it is not true, 
 that Don Pablo, the traitor Don Pablo, is the author 
 of that horrible production. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 I believe you. — Adieu, my child ; thank God for 
 having shewn you the heinousness of crime — you 
 are saved. — No longer confide in those military men, 
 who quit you for the first comer — who 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Adieu, father. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 The Lord, and the blessed Virgin protect you ! 
 
 [Exit 
 
 DONNA URRACA ( alone ). 
 
 Monster ! desert me for Donna Belisa ! Donna 
 Belisa ! The old fool ! — eyes blood shot — skin black 
 — prefer that lump of deformity to me ! that tanned 
 
I.] HEAVEN AND HELL. 317 
 
 gipsy ! — Oh ! Don Pablo, you'll repent having be- 
 trayed me ! — What pleasure I shall have to see you 
 pass to the auto-da-fe, a san-benito on your head ! — 
 Senseless ! the thought makes me weep. No ; I don't 
 desire your death — only to see you in a dungeon — 
 deep — damp. — Yet no, not that— Oh ! that Donna 
 Belisa was in my grasp ! I would pierce her with a 
 thousand stabs in his very presence ! — Oh ! the de- 
 lights of contemplating your grief! — What rage, to 
 see the beauteous object of your passion torn to pieces 
 by these hands! — Ah ! that would be revenge, sweeter 
 than the flames of an auto-da- fe. What have I 
 done ? Perhaps, I am revenged too well. — I have 
 betrayed his secret — and has not he betrayed love 
 the most tender ? Father Bartolomeo is connected 
 with the Holy Office ; his zeal is ardent — no doubt 
 he'll denounce him. — He'll be put to the torture — 
 burned ! and I shall be the cause ! — It will be said I 
 planned his death, because I was no longer sufficiently 
 beautiful to retain him in my chains.— Ah ! Belisa, 
 you alone are my enemy — you must suffer for him ! 
 Pablo, I do not wish your death. — No ! I'll save 
 you — you must escape from the country — quit Belisa, 
 your love ! — Ah ! how wretched will he be — he'll see 
 the difference between But Belisa ! I'll be re- 
 venged. — Lauretta, paper, ink: and let Pedro hold 
 himself in readiness. [Exit. 
 
318 HEAVEN AND HELL. [Scene 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Prison of the Inquisition. 
 
 don pablo alone, seated before a table. 
 Shabby dogs ! because we are in Lent they wish 
 me to fast at my last dinner ; and their stockfish is as 
 hard as a thousand devils ! {Enter Donna Urraca.] 
 Oh ! heavens, Urraca in person — women and gold 
 find an entrance every where. How goes it, my 
 amiable, friend ? What god or devil restores you to 
 my arms ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Don Pablo, it is said you are condemned to death. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 In spite of Lent ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 But you may yet save yourself. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 By denouncing the friend who assisted me ? Never ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 No ! if you will abandon the iniquity of your 
 ways — do public penance, and enter a convent — On 
 those conditions I can obtain your pardon. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Do public penance — enter a convent — what ! only 
 that! — My charming Infanta, I thank you; but I 
 would rather be hanged than turn monk. 
 
HEAVEN AND HELL 
 
 310 
 
 DONNA URItACA. 
 
 Impious to the last ! You don't reflect on that hell 
 which awaits you ? 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 A truce with sermons — listen, my darling. — I shall 
 be burned to-morrow ; to-day is our own — let us 
 take advantage of the occasion, and be happy once 
 more. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Rather, pagan, would I put the torch to your pile ! 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Oh ! oh ! what a very pretty speech ! Are you 
 not mad, Urraca ? or rather can't one enter these 
 walls, without becoming as hard and malicious as an 
 inquisitor ? 
 
 DONNA LRRACA. 
 
 Choose, Sir ! — I repeat it, death or life on the con- 
 ditions I have told you. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Sir ! — better and better ! — Heavens ! what is come 
 over you ? 
 
 DONNA UiliiACA. 
 
 I know you have but a single day to live. — As your 
 old friend — as one who was once your friend — I 
 should rejoice at your repentance. 
 
320 
 
 HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 [Scene 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Surely, I must have become very ugly in prison, 
 since you treat me in this way. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Dismiss, I conjure you, sir, these fancies of former 
 times. Repent, I intreat you. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Why, what the devil, will you never finish ? This 
 talk wearies me. Urraca, if you are in a fit of devo- 
 tion, I am in a rage of love ; so have done with 
 your penance, and your convent. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Don Pablo, I detest you ! But repent, I conjure 
 you. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 You detest me ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Yes, traitor ! but your perfidies, atrocious as they 
 are, do not make me desire your death. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Traitor ! perfidies ! — Impious, if you like — but 
 never in my life have I betrayed a human being. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 No, never ? 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Never. - I suspect Don Augustin has sold me, 
 
HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 321 
 
 for he knew I was the author of the pamphlet. He 
 became afraid, and hastened to denounce his accom- 
 plice, that the suspicion might not fall on himself. 
 But for all that I will never betray his secret. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Oh yes ! towards men you are honourable ; but 
 with women 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Since the time you first knew me, have I com- 
 mitted an infidelity ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 No ; not one ! 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Not one, on my honour ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Courage ! 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Why do you smile ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 I smile, on thinking of the torments you are 
 about to suffer in hell for your perjuries. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Strange jealousy ! — I protest to you, on my 
 honour 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Be silent, wretch ! Regard this portrait — to whom 
 did you give it ? 
 
 Y 
 
322 HEAVEN AND HELL. [Scen£ 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Urraca, how long have we been acquainted ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Ah ! the man of honour confounded ! 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Exactly two years. The first time I saw you, I 
 had just passed from the university of Segovia, into 
 the regiment of Carabiniers. — Do you remember my 
 new regimentals, upon which you complimented me 
 so much ? Well, look at the portrait — what is the 
 uniform ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Good God ! that of Segovia ! — Don Pablo ! — 
 ( Throws herself into his arms.) 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Ah \ ah ! the old witch Belisa, whom I quitted 
 for you, must have played you a trick ; she is spiteful, 
 like all old women. It is more than three years since 
 this portrait was painted. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Pardon me, love ! — I am miserable. I deserve to 
 die — kill me ! 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Nonsense ! we are better friends than ever ; we'll 
 enjoy ourselves, as on the first moment of our 
 love. 
 
II.] 
 
 HEAVEN AND HELL. 
 
 323 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Unfortunate ! If you knew who denounced you ! — 
 'Twas I ! 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 You? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Yes, I ! — Jealousy and rage have blinded me. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Your love for me I knew was very powerful, yet 
 I couldn't believe it would have gone so far. — But 
 rise and embrace me. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Can you pardon me ? 
 
 p A BLO. 
 
 I only think of your love. — By Heavens it was 
 violent! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Pablo, I am tall; put on my clothes, and save 
 yourself. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Softly ! they would burn you in my stead. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Good God ! what shall we do ? 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 We must submit, my queen ; and make the most of 
 our time, by playing every possible folly. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Listen : — Father Bartolomeo, who introduced me 
 y 2 
 
324 HEAVEN AND HELL. [Scene 
 
 here, will arrive in an instant: — 'tis he who tore your 
 secret from me. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 The devil he did ! and by what means ? 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 By shewing me that unfortunate portrait. — He'll 
 be here soon; I have a poniard concealed in my 
 garter — kill him, and take his robe. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 What! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Next to me, that traitor is the cause of your 
 death. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 He exercises his profession of Inquisitor. 
 
 donna urraca ( untying her garter ). 
 Hold ! take the poniard. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Oh what a pretty leg ! let me kiss it. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Pshaw ! mind the poniard ! 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 No ! no ! Though Bartolomeo is a fool, yet 111 
 kill no man to save my own life. 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Give me back the dagger. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Let me return it to its place ! 
 
II.] HEAVEN AND HELL. 325 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Give it me. — Here comes Bartolomeo ! 
 Enter Bartolomeo. 
 
 don PABLO. 
 
 Well, reverend father, they say you are absolutely 
 determined on giving me suffocation ? 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO, 
 
 I regret it much — but 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Oh ! you are really too polite ! But are there no 
 means of arranging the affair amicably ? 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Donna Urraca must have told you. 
 
 t DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Father, exhort him yourself, with your accustomed 
 eloquence — sit down. — ( To the Gaoler who is at the 
 door ) — Leave your lantern at the door ; the reverend 
 father will be going immediately. 
 
 FATHER BARTOLOMEO. 
 
 Dearly beloved brother, did you reflect on the 
 torments awaiting you in the other world, you 
 would not hesitate to thank the. holy tribunal for the 
 indulgence it is inclined to shew you. It offers you 
 a retreat in a convent; you will there work out 
 your salvation. On the other hand, if you per- 
 sist 
 
 donna urraca ( striking him with the poniard J. 
 'Tis there they strike the bull. (,) [He dies. 
 
326 HEAVEN AND HELL. LScene II. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Good God ! 
 
 DONNA URRACA. 
 
 Tear off his robe before the blood stains it ! — Take 
 his hat — the lantern — follow me ! — Tell me, am I 
 marked with blood? — you don't answer! — Come, 
 Pablo ! we'll quit the country, and find happiness 
 elsewhere. 
 
 DON PABLO. 
 
 Thus finishes the comedy. — Excuse the faults of 
 the author. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 C 1 ) Alluding to the spectacle of the Bull- Fight. The address con- 
 sists in piercing the bull in the right shoulder, so that the point of 
 the sword shall penetrate the spinal marrow. In that case, the 
 bull is killed instantly, and there is hardly any mark of blood on the 
 sword-blade. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED BY COX AND BAYXIS, GREAT QUEEN STREET,