Art not my wife?

Is not this Burgos? And this pile, the palace Of my great fathers? They did raise these halls To be the symbols of their high estate, The fit and haught metropolis of all Their force and faction. Fill them, fill them, wife, With those who'll serve me well. Make this the centre Of all that's great in Burgos. Let it be The eye of the town, whereby we may perceive What pa.s.ses in his heart: the cl.u.s.tering point Of all convergence. Here be troops of friends And ready instruments. Wear that sweet smile, That wins a partisan quicker than power; Speak in that tone gives each a special share In thy regard, and what is general Let all deem private. O! thou'lt play it rarely.

II:2:20 COUN.

I would do all that may become thy wife.

II:2:21 ALAR.

I know it, I know it. Thou art a treasure, Florimonde, And this same singer--thou hast not asked his name.

Didst guess it? Ah! upon thy gentle cheek I see a smile.

II:2:22 COUN.

My lord--indeed--

II:2:23 ALAR.

Thou playest Thy game less like a novice than I deemed.

Thou canst not say thou didst not catch the voice Of the Sidonia?

II:2:24 COUN.

My good lord, indeed His voice to me is as unknown as mine Must be to him.

II:2:25 ALAR.

Whose should the voice but his, Whose stricken sight left not thy face an instant, But gazed as if some new-born star had risen To light his way to paradise? I tell thee, Among my strict confederates I would count This same young n.o.ble. He is a paramount chief; Perchance his va.s.sals might outnumber mine, Conjoined we're adamant. No monarch's breath Makes me again an exile. Florimonde, Smile on him; smiles cost nothing; should he judge They mean more than they say, why smile again; And what he deems affection, registered, Is but chaste Mockery. I must to the citadel.

Sweet wife, good-night.

[Exit ALARCOS.]

II:2:26 COUN.

O! misery, misery, misery!

Must we do this? I fear there's need we must, For he is wise in all things, and well learned In this same world that to my simple sense Seems very fearful. Why should men rejoice, They can escape from the pure breath of heaven And the sweet franchise of their natural will, To such a prison-house? To be confined In body and in soul; to breathe the air Of dark close streets, and never use one's tongue But for some measured phrase that hath its bent Well gauged and chartered; to find ready smiles When one is sorrowful, or looks demure When one would laugh outright. Never to be Exact but when dissembling. Is this life?

I dread this city. As I pa.s.sed its gates My litter stumbled, and the children shrieked And clung unto my bosom. Pretty babes!

I'll go to them. O! there is innocence Even in Burgos.

[Exit COUNTESS.]

SCENE 3

A Chamber in the Royal Palace. The INFANTA SOLISA alone.

II:3:1 SOL.

I can but think my father will be just And see us righted. O 'tis only honest, The hand that did this wrong should now supply The sovereign remedy, and balm the wound Itself inflicted. He is with him now; Would I were there, unseen, yet seeing all!

But ah! no cunning arras could conceal This throbbing heart. I've sent my little Page, To mingle with the minions of the Court, And get me news. How he doth look, bow eat, What says he and what does, and all the haps Of this same night, that yet to me may bring A cloudless morrow. See, even now he comes.

[Enter the PAGE.]

Prithee what news? Now tell me all, my child, When thou'rt a knight, will I not work the scarf For thy first tourney! Prithee tell me all.

II:3:2 PAGE.

O lady mine, the royal Seneschal He was so crabbed, I did scarcely deem I could have entered.

II:3:3 SOL.

Cross-grained Seneschal!

He shall repent of this, my pretty Page; But thou didst enters?

II:3:4 PAGE.

I did so contrive.

II:3:5 SOL.

Rare imp! And then?

II:3:6 PAGE.

Well, as you told me, then I mingled with the Pages of the King.

They're not so very tall; I might have pa.s.sed I think for one upon a holiday.

II:3:7 SOL.

O thou shalt pa.s.s for better than a page But tell me, child, didst see my gallant Count?

II:3:8 PAGE.

On the right hand--

II:3:9 SOL.

Upon the King's right hand?

II:3:10 PAGE.

Upon the King's right hand, and there were also--

II:3:11 SOL.

Mind not the rest; thou'rt sure on the right hand?

II:3:12 PAGE.

Most sure; and on the left--

II:3:13 SOL.

Ne'er mind the left, Speak only of the right. How did he seem?

Did there pa.s.s words between him and the King?

Often or scant? Did he seem gay or grave?

Or was his aspect of a middle tint, As if he deemed that there were other joys Not found within that chamber?

II:3:14 PAGE.

Sooth to say, He did seem what he is, a gallant knight.

Would I were such! For talking with the King, He spoke, yet not so much but he could spare Words to the other lords. He often smiled, Yet not so often, that a limner might Describe his mien as jovial.

II:3:15 SOL.

'Tis himself!

What next? Will they sit long?