Page images
PDF
EPUB

captain there and then. Hardly had he gone when the old mother came in from her work on the beach, and Rachel's hopes being high, she could not but share them with her, and so she told her all, little as was the commerce between them. The mother only grunted as she listened, and went on with her food.

Rachel longed for Stephen to return with the good news that all was settled and done, but the minutes passed and he did not come. The old woman sat by the hearth and smoked. Rachel waited with fear at her heart, but the hours went by and still Stephen did not appear. The old woman dozed before the fire and snored. At length, when the night had worn on towards midnight, an unsteady step came to the door, and Stephen reeled into the house drunk. The old woman awoke and laughed. Rachel grew faint and sank to a seat. Stephen dropped to his knees on the ground before her, and in a maudlin cry went on to tell of how he had thought to make one hundred crowns of her sixty by a wager, how he had lost fifty, and then in a fit of despair had spent the other ten.

"Then all is gone - all," cried Rachel. And thereupon the old woman shuffled to her feet and said bitterly, "And a good thing too. I know you trust me for seeing through your sly ways, my lady. You expected to take my son from me with the price of your ginger hair, you ugly bald-pate.”

[ocr errors]

Rachel's head grew light, and with the cry of a baited creature she turned upon the old mother in a torrent of hot words. "You low, mean, selfish soul," she cried, "I despise you more than the dirt under my feet."

Worse than this she said, and the old woman called on Stephen to hearken to her, for that was the wife he had brought home to revile his mother.

The old witch shed some crocodile tears, and Stephen lunged in between the women and with the back of his hand struck his wife across the face.

At that blow Rachel was silent for a moment, and then she turned her husband. "And so you have struck me-meupon me," she cried. "Have you forgotten the death of Patriksen?" The blow of her words was harder than the blow of her husband's hand. The man reeled before it, turned white, gasped for breath, then caught up his cap and fled out into the night.

PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA

PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA. Born in Madrid, January 17, 1600; died May 25, 1681. Author of more than one hundred plays, among them: "The Fairy Lady," "Comedies of the Cloak and the Sword," ""Tis Better than it Was," "Tis Worse than it Was," "The Mock Astrologer," "The Wonder-working Magician," "Life is a Dream," "No Magic like Love," "The Weapons of Beauty," and "Three Judgments at a Blow."

(From "THREE JUDGMENTS AT A BLOW")

SCENE I. A Wild Place. - Enter MENDO and Officers of Justice armed.

1st Officer. Here, my lord, where the Ebro, swollen with her mountain streams, runs swiftest, he will try to escape.

Men. Hunt for him then, leaving neither rock nor thicket unexplored. (They disperse.)

Oh, what a fate is mine,

Having to seek what most I dread to find,

Once thought the curse of jealousy alone!

The iron king will see my face no more

Unless I bring Don Lope to his feet:
Whom, on the other hand, the gratitude

And love I bear him fain would save from justice.
Oh, how -

Lope.

Enter some, fighting with DON LOPE.

I know I cannot save my life,

But I will sell it dear.

Men.

Hold off! The king

Will have him taken, but not slain. And I,
If I can save him now, shall find a mean

To do it afterwards

Don Lope!
Lope.

I should know that voice, the face

I cannot, blind with fury, dust, and blood.

III-I

Or was't the echo of some inner voice,

Some far-off thunder of the memory,

That moves me more than all these fellows' swords!

Is it Don Mendo?

Men.

Who demands of you

Your sword, and that you yield in the king's name.

Lope. I yield?

Men.

Aye, sir, what can you do beside?

Lope. Slaying be slain. And yet my heart relents
Before your voice; and now I see your face

My eyes dissolve in tears. Why, how is this?
What charm is on my sword?

Men.

'Tis but the effect

And countenance of justice that inspires
Involuntary awe in the offender.

Lope. Not that. Delinquent as I am, I could,
With no more awe of justice than a mad dog,
Bite right and left among her officers;
But 'tis yourself alone: to you alone
Do I submit myself; yield up my sword
Already running with your people's blood,
And at your feet

Men.

[ocr errors]

Rise, Lope. Heaven knows

How gladly would your judge change place with you

The criminal; far happier to endure

Your peril than my own anxiety.

But do not you despair, however stern

Tow'rds you I carry me before the world.

The king is so enrag'd

Lope.

What, he has heard!

Men. Your father cried for vengeance at his feet.
Lope. Where is my sword?

Men.

In vain.

'Tis in my hand.

as before

Lope. Where somehow it affrights me When giving you my dagger, it turn'd on me

[blocks in formation]

Cover Don Lope's face, and carry him

To prison after me. (Aside.) Hark, in your ear,

Conduct him swiftly, and with all secrecy,

To my own house

in by the private door,

Without his knowing whither,

And bid my people watch and wait on him.

I'll to the king - Alas, what agony,

I know not what, grows on me more and more!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Room in the Palace. - Enter KING.

King. Don Mendo comes not back, and must not come, Till he have done his errand. I myself

Can have no rest till justice have her due.

A son to strike his father in my realm

Unaw'd, and then unpunisht!

But by great Heav'n the law shall be aveng'd
So long as I shall reign in Aragon.

Don Mendo!

Men.

Enter MENDO.

Let me kiss your Highness' hand —

King. Welcome, thou other Atlas of my realm, Who shar'st the weight with me. For I doubt not, Coming thus readily into my presence,

You bring Don Lope with you.

Men.

Yes, my liege

--

Fast prisoner in my house, that none may see
Or talk with him.

[blocks in formation]

You have not done a better.

The crime is strange, 'tis fit the sentence on it

Be memorably just.

Men.

Most true, my liege,

Who I am sure will not be warp'd away
By the side current of a first report,
But on the whole broad stream of evidence

Move to conclusion. I do know this charge

Is not so grave as was at first reported.

King. But is not thus much clear - that a son smote His father?

[blocks in formation]

Men.

And can a charge

I confess the naked fact,

But 'tis the special cause and circumstance

That give the special color to the crime.

King. I shall be glad to have my kingdom freed From the dishonor of so foul a deed

[blocks in formation]

Your Majesty shall find it here. 'Tis thus:

Don Lope, on what ground I do not know,

Fights with Don Guillen - in the midst o' the fray,

Comes old Urrea, at the very point

When Guillen was about to give the lie

To his opponent — which the old man, enrag'd

At such unseemly riot in his house,

Gives for him; calls his son a fouler name
Than gentleman can bear, and in the scuffle
Receives a blow that in his son's blind rage

Was aim'd abroad in the first heat of passion
Throws himself at your feet, and calls for vengeance,
Which, as I hear, he now repents him of.

He's old and testy ·

age's common fault

And, were not this enough to lame swift justice,
There's an old law in Arragon, my liege,

That in our courts father and son shall not
Be heard in evidence against each other;
In which provision I would fain persuade you
Bury this quarrel.

King.

And this seems just to you? Men. It does, my liege.

King.

Then not to me, Don Mendo,

Who will examine, sentence, and record,

Whether in such a scandal to the realm

The son be guilty of impiety,

Or the sire idle to accuse him of't.

Therefore I charge you have Urrea too

From home to-night, and guarded close alone;

« PreviousContinue »