Olla Podrida Part 17

_Bep._ Tell me, Antonio. Should Don Felix not prevail, a woman's vengeance yet may reach Don Gaspar. Antonio, do tell me where they meet.

_Ant._ It is a secret.

_Bep._ But I must know. There is nothing I would not give to win this secret from you. Antonio, you must tell me.

_Ant._ That I cannot, I made a promise. (_Puts his hand to his heart._)

_Bep._ (_scornfully._) You made a promise. I know your promises too well. What will you sell this secret for?

_Ant._ My purse of ten moidores!

_Bep._ Then you shall have it. But will you tell it truly?

_Ant._ Honour! when I have the money.

_Bep._ (_Takes out purse and throws it at him._) Then, there it is. I believe that you will keep a roguish contract, although no other.

_Ant._ You're right. They meet at sunset under the copse of trees where Perez fell.

_Bep._ The copse of trees where Perez fell! Does he not fear his ghost?

No, he fears nothing. Breaking the hearts of women, and piercing those of men, is all the same to this fell Gaspar. Well, I have bought your secret, and will make good use of it.

_Ant._ Had you not known that it was a marketable commodity, you never had purchased it. You'll turn a penny, never fear. I must unto my master's lodgings. [_Exit._

_Bep._ Yes, to follow thy old trade of pilfering. I must unto my lady, and bear her this intelligence. Thus will I rouse the woman in her, and urge her to revenge. [_Exit._

_Scene IV._

_A Room in the Guzman Palace._

_Enter Nina, ushering in Don Gaspar._

Stay here, senor. You'll not be long alone. [_Exit Nina._

_Gasp._ Thus am I hurried, by resistless love, To follow that I never can obtain.

I love thee, Isidora, dote upon thee, There's not a boiling drop within these veins I'd not pour out, could it but make thee happy.

And yet I 'gainst my better reason plunge, Dragging thee with me deep into perdition.

A monk, and marry! 'Tis impossible!

Each time I quit her, then do I resolve Never to see her more; yet one hour's absence Kills my resolution, and each moment Seems an eternity, till in her presence Vows I repeat, that vows alone make false.

'Tis not in human nature to withstand Against such strong temptation,-- To fold her in my arms--inhale her breath, Kiss tears away, neither of grief nor joy, But from both fountains equally o'erflowing-- Oh! 'tis a bliss indeed, to gain which Angels might leave their bright cerulean home, And barter their eternal heaven of joy.

_Enter Donna Inez. Gaspar advances quickly to her, thinking it is Isidora, but finding his mistake stops abruptly, and bows to Donna Inez._

_Inez._ Don Gaspar--for 'tis so I hear you're styled-- Hither you came in ardent expectation Of meeting one more suited to your age, My beauteous niece, the Donna Isidora.

Now would I have some conference with one Who by insidious means hath gain'd her heart, Yet shrouds himself in mystery: she has placed Her fortunes in my hands--she resigns her all, To me confiding to unlock your secret.

When once you're manifest and fully known, A task which must precede, senor, it will decide Whether I join your hands and bless your union, Or curse the fatal day she first beheld you!

_Gasp._ Madam, I thank you much, I'll speak directly.

But I'm so overcome with wretchedness, Your kindness must bear with me.

You ask me who I am--a question fair, As fairly answer'd now--I cannot tell.

_Inez._ Is it you know not, or you will not tell?

_Gasp._ I do not know--and therefore cannot tell-- Though from this hour I date my misery, I am resign'd. You may dismiss me With stern remonstrance at my daring love-- Yet it is better. I am of those forsaken-- Who have no parents--owing to the state A nurture most unkind--a foundling child.

_Inez._ A foundling child? (_Aside._) His voice--his presence-- And those words make my heart leap in agony.

_Gasp._ Yes, and must live to curse the hearts of those Unnatural parents, who could thus renounce me.

Love conquer'd shame, and brought me into being, But in her turn shame triumph'd over love, And I was left to destiny.-- The b.l.o.o.d.y tigress parts not with her young:-- Her cruel nature, never known to pity, Is by maternal feeling changed to tenderness.

The eyes which fiercely gleam on all creation, Beam softly, as she views her snarling cubs.

But cruel man, unruly pa.s.sion sated, Leaves to neglect the offspring of his guilt.

I have no more to say. Dismiss me now, And when, henceforth, you rail at my presumption, Consider the perfection that has caused it.

I oft have made the healthy resolution To quit for ever her whom I adore.

Take my farewell to her--your lovely niece, Although I'm friendless, she will pity me.

_Inez._ (_aside_). How strange it is I feel not anger'd! Strange indeed, there is a pulse Which makes me lean to his presumptuous love.

[_Gaspar is going._ (_Aloud._) Yet stay awhile, for I would know your age?

_Gasp._ 'Twas at nine years I left the hospital, And now have been for ten a wanderer.

_Inez._ (_aside_). The age exact. O Heav'n! let not these hopes For ever springing, be for ever wither'd!

(_Aloud._) Youth, have you any mark, should you be sought, Might lend a clue to your discovery?

_Gasp._ I have; they who deserted me, if ever Their intention to reclaim my person, May safely challenge me among ten thousand.

(_Baring his wrist._) 'Tis here--a ruby band upon my wrist.

[_Inez goes towards him, catches his hand, and gazes on the wrist intently without speaking._

What can this mean? oh, speak, dear lady, speak!

_Inez._ (_throwing herself into his arms_). My child, my child!

_Gasp._ I, I your child! almighty Heaven, I thank thee!

My heart is bursting in its wild emotion, Till all be understood. Oh, speak again!

_Inez._ Thou art my son--he whom I've mourn'd so long, So long have sought. Features thou hast, my boy, Which in the memory of all save her, Who fondly loved, long, long have pa.s.s'd away.

_Gasp._ Who was my father?

_Inez._ One of most ancient name, Don Felipo.

_Gasp._ Then I am n.o.ble?

_Inez._ And by each descent.

_Gasp._ Pardon me, lady, if I seem more eager To know this fact, than render unto you My love and duty.--From the world's scorn I've suffer'd much; and my unbending pride Would rather that my birth remain'd in doubt, Than find a parentage which was obscure.

Now all is perfect, and to you I tender (_Kneeling_) My truth and love, still in their infancy, And therefore may they seem to you but feeble.

(_Rises._) Yet blame me not: this sudden change of state Hath left me so bewilder'd I scarce know Myself, or what I feel; like to the eyes Of one long plunged in gloom, on whom the sun, At length admitted, pours at once a flood Of glorious light--so are my senses dazzled.