Kitabı oku: «The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 06», sayfa 24

ACT III

Garden in the royal villa. In the background flows the Tagus. A roomy arbor toward the front at the right. At the left, several suppliants in a row, with petitions in their hands. ISAAC stands near them.

 
ISAAC. You were already told to linger not.
             My daughter soon will come to take the air.
             And he is with her—he; I say not who.
             So tremble and depart, and your requests
             Take to the King's advisers in Toledo.
 

[He takes the petition from one of them.]

 
Let's see! 'Twon't do.
 

PETITIONER. You hold it upside down.

ISAAC. Because the whole request is topsy-turvy turvy—And you are, too. Disturb no more—depart.

2D PETIT. Sir Isaac, in Toledo me you knew.

 
ISAAC. I know you not. In these last days my eyes
             Have suddenly grown very, very weak.
 
 
2D PETIT. But I know you! Here is the purse of gold
             You lost, which I herewith restore to you.
 
 
ISAAC. The purse I lost? I recognize it! Yea,
             'Twas greenish silk—with ten piasters in't!
 

2D PETIT. Nay, twenty.

 
ISAAC. Twenty? Well, my eye is good;
             My mem'ry fails me, though, from time to time!
             This sheet, no doubt, explains the circumstance—Just
             where you found the purse, perhaps, and how.
             There is no further need that this report
             Should go on file. And yet, just let me have't!
             We will convey it to the proper place,
             That every one may know your honesty!
 

[The petitioners present their petitions; he takes one in each hand and throws them to the ground.]

 
No matter what it be, your answer's there.
 

(To a third.)

 
             I see you have a ring upon your hand.
             The stone is good, let's see!
 

[The suppliant hands over the ring.]

 
                                           That flaw, of course,
             Destroys its perfect water! Take it back.
 

[He puts the ring on his own finger.]

3D PETIT. You've put it on your own hand!

 
ISAAC. What, on mine?
             Why so I have! I thought I'd given it back.
             It is so tight I cannot get it off.
 

3D PETIT. Keep it, but, pray, take my petition too.

 
ISAAC (busy with the ring).
             I'll take them both in memory of you.
             The King shall weigh the ring—I mean, of course,
             Your words—although the flaw is evident—The
             flaw that's in the stone—you understand.
             Begone now, all of you! Have I no club?
             Must I be bothered with this Christian pack?
 

[GARCERAN has meanwhile entered.]

 
GARCERAN. Good luck! I see you sitting in the reeds,
             But find you're pitching high the pipes you cut.
 
 
ISAAC. The royal privacy's entrusted me;
             The King's not here, he does not wish to be.
             And who disturbs him—even you, my lord,
             I must bid you begone! Those his commands.
 
 
GARCERAN. You sought a while ago to find a club;
             And when you find it, bring it me. I think
             Your back could use it better than your hand.
 
 
ISAAC. How you flare up! That is the way with Christians?
             They're so direct of speech—but patient waiting,
             And foresight, humble cleverness, they lack.
             The King is pleased much to converse with me.
 
 
GARCERAN. When he is bored and flees his inner self,
             E'en such a bore as you were less a bore.
 

ISAAC. He speaks to me of State and of finance.

 
GARCERAN. Are you, perhaps, the father of the new
             Decree that makes a threepence worth but two?
 
 
ISAAC. Money, my friend, 's the root of everything.
             The enemy is threat'ning—buy you arms!
             The soldier, sure, is sold, and that for cash.
             You eat and drink your money; what you eat
             Is bought, and buying's money—nothing else.
             The time will come when every human soul
             Will be a sight-draft and a short one, too;
             I'm councilor to the King, and if yourself
             Would keep in harmony with Isaac's luck—
 
 
GARCERAN. In harmony with you? It is my curse
             That chance and the accursed seeming so
             Have mixed me in this wretched piece of folly,
             Which to the utmost strains my loyalty.
 

ISAAC. My little Rachel daily mounts in grace!

 
GARCERAN. Would that the King, like many another one,
             In jest and play had worn youth's wildness off!
             But he, from childhood, knowing only men,
             Brought up by men and tended but by men,
             Nourished with wisdom's fruits before his time,
             Taking his marriage as a thing of course,
             The King now meets, the first time in his life,
             A woman, female, nothing but her sex,
             And she avenges on this prodigy
             The folly of too staid, ascetic youth.
             A noble woman's half, yes all, a man—
             It is their faults that make them woman-kind.
             And that resistance, which the oft deceived
             Gains through experience, the King has not;
             A light disport he takes for bitter earn'st.
             But this shall not endure, I warrant thee!
             The foe is at the borders, and the King
             Shall hie him where long since he ought to be;
             Myself shall lead him hence. And so an end.
 
 
ISAAC. Try what you can! And if not with us, then
             You are against us, and will break your neck
             In vain attempt to clear the wide abyss.
 

(The sound of flutes.)

 
             But hark! With cymbals and with horns they come,
             As Esther with King Ahasuerus came,
             Who raised the Jews to fame and high estate.
 
 
GARCERAN. Must I, then, see in this my King's debauch
             A picture of myself from early days,
             And be ashamed for both of us at once?
 

[A boat upon which are the KING, RACHEL and suite, appears on the river.]

KING. Lay to! Here is the place—the arbor here.

RACHEL. The skiff is rocking—hold me, lest I fall.

[The KING has jumped to the shore.]

 
RACHEL. And must I walk to shore upon this board
             So thin and weak?
 

KING. Here, take my hand, I pray!

RACHEL. No, no, I'm dizzy.

GARCERAN (to himself).

Dizzy are you? Humph!

KING (who has conducted her to the shore).

It is accomplished now—this mighty task!

 
RACHEL. No, never will I enter more a ship.
 

(Taking the KING's arm.)

 
             Permit me, noble Sire, I am so weak!
             Pray feel my heart, how fev'rishly it beats!
 

KING. To fear, is woman's right; but you abuse it.

 
RACHEL. You now, hard-hearted, take away your aid!
             And, oh, these garden walks, how hard they are!
             With stones, and not with sand, they're roughly strewn
             For men to walk on, not for women's feet.
 

KING. Put down a carpet, ye, that we have peace.

 
RACHEL. I feel it well—I merely burden you!
             Oh, were my sister only here with me,
             For I am sick and tired unto death!
             Naught but these pillows here?
 

(Throwing the pillows in the arbor violently about.)

 
No, no, no, no!
 
 
KING (laughing).
I see your weakness happily abates.
 

(_Catching sight of _GARCERAN.)

 
Ah, Garceran! Behold, she's but a child!
 

GARCERAN. A spoiled child, surely!

 
KING. Yes, they all are that.
             It suits her well!
 

GARCERAN. According to one's tastes!

 
KING. See, Garceran! I feel how wrong I am;
             And yet I know there needeth but a nod,
             A simple word, to make it all dissolve—This
             dream—into the nothing that it is.
             And so I suffer it because I've need,
             In this confusion which myself have caused.
             How is the army?
 
 
GARCERAN. As you long have known,
             The enemy is arming.
 
 
KING. So shall we.
             A few days more, and I shall put away
             This toying from me, and forevermore;
             Then time and counsel shall be found again.
 

GARCERAN. Mayhap the counsel, but the time slips by!

KING. With deeds we shall regain the ground that's lost.

 
RACHEL. I hear them speaking; and I know of what—Of
             And not be lonesome in this concourse loud.
             I see you come not. No, they hold you back.
 

[Weeping.]

 
             Not any comfort give they me, nor joy.
             They hold me here, apart, in slavery.
             Would I were home again in father's house,
             Where every one is at my beck and call,
             Instead of here,—the outcast of contempt.
 

KING. Go thou to her!

GARCERAN. What? Shall I?

KING. Go, I say!

 
RACHEL. Sit down by me, but nearer, nearer—so!
             Once more I say, I love you, Garceran.
             You are, indeed, a knight without a flaw,
             Not merely knight in name, as they it learn—
             Those iron, proud Castilians—from their foes,
             The Moors.—But these Castilians imitate
             In manner borrowed, therefore rough and crude,
             What those, with delicate and clever art,
             Are wont to practise as a native gift.
             Give me your hand. Just see, how soft it is!
             And yet you wield a sword as well as they.
             But you're at home in boudoirs, too, and know
             The pleasing manners of a gentler life.
             From Dona Clara cometh not this ring?
             She's far too pale for rosy-cheekèd love,
             Were not the color which her face doth lack
             Replaced by e'er renewing blush of shame.
             But many other rings I see you have—
             How many sweethearts have you? Come, confess!
 

GARCERAN. Suppose I ask the question now of you?

 
RACHEL. I've never loved. But I could love, if e'er
             In any breast that madness I should find
             Which could enthrall me, were my own heart touched.
             Till then I follow custom's empty show,
             Traditional in love's idolatry,
             As in the fanes of stranger-creeds one kneels.
 
 
KING (who meanwhile has been pacing up and down, now stands in the foreground at the left and speaks in an aside to a servant).
             Bring me my arms, and full accoutrements,
             And wait for me beside the garden-house.
             I will to camp where they have need of me.
 

[Exit servant.]

 
RACHEL. I beg you, see your King! He thinks he loves;
             Yet when I speak to you and press your hand,
             He worries not. With good economy,
             He fills his garish day with business,
             And posts his ledger, satisfied, at ev'n.
             Out on you! You are all alike—you, too.
             O were my sister here! She's wise—than I
             Far cleverer! Yet, too, when in her breast
             The spark of will and resolution falls,
             She flashes out in flames, like unto mine.
             Were she a man, she'd be a hero. Ye
             Before her courage and her gaze should flinch.
             Now let me sleep until she comes, for I
             Myself am but the dreaming of a night.
 

[She lays her head on her arm and her arm on her pillows.]

GARCERAN (steps to the KING who stands watching the reclining

RACHEL).

Most noble Sire—

KING (still gazing). Well?

 
GARCERAN. May I now go back
             Once more unto the army and the camp?
 

KING (as above).

The army left the camp? Pray tell me why.

GARCERAN. You hear me not—myself, I wish to go.

KING. And there you'll talk, with innuendo, prate—

GARCERAN. Of what?

KING. Of me, of that which here took place.

GARCERAN. For that I'd need to understand it more.

KING. I see! Believest thou in sorcery?

GARCERAN. Since recently I almost do, my lord!

KING. And why is it but recently, I pray?

 
GARCERAN. Respect, I thought the wonted mate of love;
             But love together with contempt, my lord—
 
 
KING. "Contempt" were far too hard a word; perhaps
             An "unregard"—yet, nathless—marvelous!
 
 
GARCERAN. In sooth, the marvel is a little old,
             For it began that day in Paradise
             When God from Adam's rib created Eve.
 
 
KING. And yet he closed the breast when it was done,
             And placed the will to guard the entering in.
             Thou may'st to camp, but not alone:—with me.
 
 
RACHEL (sitting up).
             The sun is creeping into my retreat.
             Who props for me the curtain on yon side?
 

(Looking off stage at the right.)

 
             There go two men, both bearing heavy arms;
             The lance would serve my purpose very well.
 

(Calling off stage.)

 
             Come here! This way! What, are ye deaf?
             Come quick!
 

[The servant, returning with the lance and helmet, accompanied by a second servant bearing the King's shield and cuirass, enters.]

 
  RACHEL. Give me your lance, good man, and stick the point
             Here in the ground, and then the roof will be
             Held up in that direction. Thus it throws
             A broader shadow. Quickly, now! That's right!
             You other fellow, like a snail, you bear
             Your house upon your back, unless, perhaps,
             A house for some one else. Show me the shield!
             A mirror 'tis, in sooth! 'Tis crude, of course,
             As all is, here, but in a pinch 'twill do.
 

(They hold the shield before her.)

 
             One brings one's hair in order, pushes back
             Whatever may have ventured all too far,
             And praises God who made one passing fair.
             This mirror's curve distorts me! Heaven help!
             What puffy cheeks are these? No, no, my friend,
             What roundness nature gives us, satisfies.—
             And now the helmet—useless in a fight,
             For it conceals what oft'nest wins—the eyes;
             But quite adapted to the strife of love.
             Put me the helm upon my head.—You hurt!—
             And if one's love rebels and shows his pride,
             Down with the visor!
 

(Letting it down.)

 
                              He in darkness stands!
             But should he dare, mayhap, to go from us,
             And send for arms, to leave us here alone,
             Then up the visor goes.
 

(She does it.)

 
                              Let there be light!
             The sun, victorious, drives away the fog.
 

KING (going to her).

Thou silly, playing, wisely-foolish child!

 
RACHEL. Back, back! Give me the shield, give me the lance!
             I am attacked, but can defend myself.
 

KING. Lay down thy arms! No ill approacheth thee!

(Taking both of her hands.)

Enter ESTHER from the left rear.

 
RACHEL. Ah thou, my little sister! Welcome, here!
             Away with all this mummery, but quick!
             Don't take my head off, too! How clumsy, ye!
 

(Running to her.)

 
             Once more be welcome, O thou sister mine!
             How I have long'd to have thee here with me!
             And hast thou brought my bracelets and my jewels,
             My ointments and my perfumes, with thee now,
             As from Toledo's shops I ordered them?
 
 
ESTHER. I bring them and more weighty things besides—
             Unwelcome news, a bitter ornament.
             Most mighty Sire and Prince! The Queen has from
             Toledo's walls withdrawn, and now remains
             In yonder castle where ill-fortune first
             Decreed that you and we should meet.
 

(To GARCERAN.)

 
                                          With her,
             Your noble father, Don Manrique Lara,
             Who summons all the kingdom's high grandees
             From everywhere, in open letters, to
             Discuss the common good, as if the land
             Were masterless and you had died, O King.
 

KING. I think you dream!

 
ESTHER. I am awake, indeed,
             And must keep watch to save my sister's life.
             They threaten her. She'll be the sacrifice!
 
 
RACHEL. O woe is me! Did I not long ago
             Adjure you to return unto the court
             And bring to naught the plotting of my foes!—
             But you remain'd. Behold here are your arms,
             The helm, the shield, and there the mighty spear
             I'll gather them—but Oh, I cannot do 't.
 
 
KING (_to _ESTHER).
             Now tend the little girl. With every breath
             She ten times contradicts what she has said.
             I will to court; but there I need no arms;
             With open breast, my hand without a sword,
             I in my subjects' midst will boldly step
             And ask: "Who is there here that dares rebel?"
             They soon shall know their King is still alive
             And that the sun dies not when evening comes,
             But that the morning brings its rays anew.
             Thou follow'st, Garceran!
 

GARCERAN. I'm ready.

 
ESTHER. What
             Becomes of us?
 

RACHEL. O stay, I beg you, stay!

 
KING. The castle's safe, the keeper faithful, too;
             And he will guard you with his very life.
             For though I feel that I have sinned full sore,
             Let no one suffer who has trusted me
             And who with me has shared my guilt and sin.
             Come, Garceran! Or, rather, take the lead;
             For if the estates were in assembly still,
             Not called by me, nor rightfully convened,
             I then must punish—much against my will.
             Command them to disperse—and quickly, too!
             Thy father tell: Although protector he
             And regent for me in my boyhood days,
             I now know how to guard my right myself—
             Against him, too, against no matter whom.
             Come on! And ye, farewell!
 

RACHEL (approaching). O mighty Prince!

 
KING. No more! I need my strength and steadfast will,
             No parting words shall cripple my resolve.
             Ye'll hear from me when I have done my work;
             But how, and what the future brings, is still
             Enwrapt in night and gloom. But come what may,
             I give my princely word ye shall be safe.
             Come, Garceran! With God! He be with you!
 

[Exeunt KING and GARCERAN at the left.]

RACHEL. He loves me not—O, I have known it long!

 
ESTHER. O sister, useless is too tardy knowledge,
             When injury has made us sadly wise.
             I warned thee, but thou wouldst not ever heed.
 

RACHEL. He was so hot and ardent at the first!

ESTHER. And now makes up in coolness for his haste.

 
RACHEL. But I who trusted, what shall be my fate?
             Come, let us flee!
 
 
ESTHER. The streets are occupied;
             Against us all the land is in revolt.
 
 
RACHEL. And so I then must die and am so young?
             And I should like to live! Not live, indeed—
             But die, unwarned, an unexpected death!
             'Tis but the moment of our death that shocks!
 

(At ESTHER's neck.)

 
Unhappy am I, sister, hopeless, lost!
 

(After a pause, with a voice broken by sobs.)

 
             And is the necklace set with amethysts,
             Thou broughtst?
 
 
ESTHER. It is. And pearls it has as bright
             And many, too, as are thy tears.
 
 
RACHEL. I would
             Not look at it at all—at least not now.
             But only if our prison lasts too long,
             I'll try divert eternal wretchedness,
             And shall adorn myself unto my death.
             But see, who nears? Ha, ha, ha, ha, it is,
             In sooth, our father, armèd cap-a-pie!
 

[ISAAC, a helmet on his head, under his long coat a cuirass, enters from the left.]

 
ISAAC. 'Tis I, the father of a wayward brood,
            Who ere my time are shortening my days.
            In harness, yes! When murder stalks abroad,
            Will one's bare body save one from the steel?
            A blow by chance, and then the skull is split!
            This harness hides, what's more, my notes of 'change,
            And in my pockets carry I my gold;
            I'll bury that and curse and soul will save
            From poverty and death. And if ye mock,
            I'll curse you with a patriarchal curse—
            With Isaac's curse! O ye, with voices like
            The voice of Jacob, but with Esau's hands,
            Invert the law of primogeniture!
            Myself, my care! What care I more for you!
            Hark!
 

RACHEL. What noise?

 
ESTHER. The drawbridge has been raised—
             And now our refuge is a prison too.—
 
 
RACHEL. A token that the King has left these walls.
             So hastes he forth.—Will he return again?
             I fear me no—I fear the very worst!
 

(Sinking on ESTHER's breast.)

 
And yet I loved him truly, loved him well!