Castelvines y Monteses (Cosens)/Act 3/Scene 2
Scene II.—Street in Ferrara.
Fernando, Rutilio, and Musicians.
Fernando. Here we may sing.
Rutilio. Behind yon envious grate there shines
A wondrous golden sun, which gleaming gilds
And dazzles as the burnish'd ray
That from the eastward springs at early day.
Musician. The story runs, a stranger here hath fallen,
Enamour'd of this sun, and she so bright
With tender glances feeds his ravish'd sight.
Fernando. Comes he from Verona.
Musician. So goes the rumour here.
Fernando. Know'st thou his name?
Rutilio. Roselo!
Fernando. Hath Heaven endowed him with such gifts
Of grace and speech, that every woman's heart
Drops as ripe fruit when touch'd, into his lap,
While common chatter is so busy with his name?
Rutilio. Yes; but wise men would hardly care
To follow thus and such great peril share.
Fernando. Enough. I understand.
Rutilio. I know the Castelvines' kin in secret do
Pursue with cunning unto death this Montes youth.
Fernando. A vain enterprise 'twould seem.
Rutilio. In open fight Otavio Castelvin he slew,
Since then he goes so sad of face, I hardly dare
Be jealous of his love, or care.
Fernando. Let the musicians sing.
Rutilio. Hold! Some persons here approach
By yonder street.
Fernando. Strangers in Ferrara, too, methinks.
Enter Roselo and Marin, without observing Fernando, Rutilio, and the Musicians.
Marin. What news of love, my master dear?
Roselo. I but an unletter'd student am,
My earliest lesson has been conn'd in blood.
My soul is not of adamant. The sting
Hath enter'd deeply; the wound is fresh,
And bleeds.
Marin. So, if the fair Julia a second time shall wed,
This moonish madness should no longer fill your head.
Roselo. If high Heaven's angels smile on love,
Then dare I ask fair justice from above.
Marin. No doubt the angels straightway now will grant
Each tittle of the justice that you want.
Rutilio (aside to Fernando). That is Roselo Montes!
Fernando. Were we of Castelvin's kin, we might
Now find occasion free and opportune to-night.
Rutilio. Approach Fernando,
And close question seek.
Marin (aside to Roselo). Some fellows now approach, and see,
They watch us closely, too.
Roselo. Sirs! We are strangers, wand'ring through
Ferrara's streets, and seek the public square.
Marin (aside to Roselo). Thou hast done well, or all the town
Will in a twinkling follow on our track.
Fernando. The public square, Sir Stranger, is
Hard by the street now facing this.
Roselo. For your most courteous speech, good sirs,
We thank you much, and by your leaves,
Now pass on.
Rutilio. If this Roselo Montes be, the valour
Which high lineage gives is greater
Than thou dreamest.
Fernando. So many seek his luckless life,
No wonder if he's armed for the strife.
Musicians. Shall we now sing, most noble sir?
Rutilio. Nay, Silvio; for methinks I hear
The clash of naked steel, and near.
Fernando. The feet upon the silent stones resound,
As dying thunder echoes o'er the ground.
Rutilio. Unscabbard, then, your sword.
Musicians. Let us, then, draw and seek the fray;
Guitars in such a case be out of tune. Away!
Rutilio. And a poor target too; 'tis nought
'Gainst a Toledo blade, as sharp as thought.
Enter Roselo and Marin, with drawn swords.
Roselo. Well, didst thou feign a quarrel, good Marin?
Marin. And there they run for freshest news;
Sylvia. Good gentlemen, what means this fray?
Roselo. Go, good Marin, and tell their names.
Sylvia. Hist! hist! gentlemen, I pray.
Marin. Senor, 'tis you the lady from the balcon calls;
I am a man, no gentleman within Ferrara's walls.
Roselo. What would you, lady?
Sylvia. Who are the fellows to this noisy brawl?
Roselo. If thou wilt listen, I will tell thee all.
Sylvia. I thank thee, stranger.
Roselo. Know, then, fair lady, we are twain
Who with our rapiers did prevent
A most unseemly brawl 'tween six
Who, coming here to sing beneath
Thy lattice high, we've chased them hence,
And now return to hold us at command.
Sylvia. Who, then, art thou?
Roselo. Roselo Montes, at your feet.
Sylvia. Most welcome, sir; but 'gainst six,
Thou didst then hold audacious odds.
Roselo. Then thou dost owe us thanks, fair Sylvia,
For being thus audacious in thy cause.
Sylvia. What news dost from Verona bring?
Roselo. Ah me! 'tis this. Julia Castelvin weds.
Sylvia. And thou dost sigh so deeply—why?
Roselo. I sigh'd because mine enemies are strong,
And having little faith in Julia's love for long.
Sylvia. It grieves me sore to see thee heavy-hearted go.
Roselo. My grief is deep, and yet I glory
In such depth of woe for love.
Enter Anselmo.
Anselmo (aside). They tell me that Roselo Montes here
Doth rest within some inn.
Marin. Their fool's errand o'er, they now return
To sing beneath her lattice here.
Come, let us say farewell and go.
Roselo. Dear Sylvia, now these brawlers do return;
Hold thou no converse, but such fellows spurn.
Marin. So master mine, and what the whispers
'Neath the lady's lattice sigh'd?
Roselo. Nought know I, and nothing care to know.
I cannot step but death doth gape,
With open jaws and hideous shape.
Marin. If here no rapture thou dost know,
Pray, let us to the snug posada go.
Roselo. In hoping thus to play with pain,
I know I mortal am; the griefs of life
Do smart and sting, I wince at every step.
Oh, Julia, with blind love I fight,
Whose only aim's to blind me with thy light.
Marin. Some one approaches!
Roselo. I would he carried bare the sword of death,
And so would ease me of my pain and breath.
Marin. Who goes there?
Anselmo. His name who asks?
Marin. Having no errand here, I pray
Your grace will walk another way.
Anselmo. Your graces, here remain secure.
I seek a stranger.
Roselo. Methinks that voice holds a most familiar sound.
Whence come you, sir?
Anselmo. Verona is my home, but in Ferrara now
I seek a friend.
Roselo. 'Tis he! Anselmo, mine own fast friend.
Anselmo, At thou Roselo? nay.
Roselo. Alas! in truth I'm he.
Anselmo. Good fortune smiles on me to find
Roselo opportunely here.
Roselo. What news dost bring? What stirs
Within Verona's walls?
Anselmo. News of complexion startling and most strange
This moving world ere knew!
Roselo. How—the Lady Julia weds? is dead?
Anselmo. No.
Roselo. What strange events can happen then for me,
If Lady Julia still unwedded be?
Anselmo. From first to last the history thou shalt hear.
And, in the telling, neither pain nor woe;
But step by step shall know the cause
That brings me here.
Roselo. Give thy news voice, and as we go
I'll listen. Come, let us to the inn.
Anselmo. Listen!
Roselo. Breathless, agape, I wait thy wondrous words.
Anselmo. Antonio to his daughter did propose
This marriage with the Count; but neither
His commands, the gentler sway of friends,
Nor word of kinsmen could persuade her aught
To sigh the magic “Yes."
Her father, using high authority and sway,
Perforce she yields, and, the betrothal fix'd,
The night did see the vestures of brocade
And gold in hottest haste prepared.
The torches lighted, Paris by her side attends,
When Julia swoons as one with mortal sickness struck,
And falls as dead.
Roselo. What! my own sweet Julia dead?
Anselmo. Hush! I did due caution hold, and said
That thou shouldst listen. She fell as dead.
Roselo. How can I listen if my love lies dead?
Anselmo. Thy Julia lives.
Roselo. Doth she but live, Anselmo, then
I live, and love, and hope.
Anselmo. Throughout the night her kin and friends
Did mourn and weep her sudden death;
The city, on the morrow, blank with grief did see,
Both young and old move sadly through the streets.
Roselo. Go on. I long for daybreak and the light.
The morning sun to slay that bitter night.
Anselmo. Slowly the day did break while Julia
As cold marble lieth on her couch.
Roselo, What words are these? The daybreak comes not.
If my Julia still be dead
'Tis blackest night for ever.
Anselmo, The next day pass'd, and, believing in her death.—
Roselo. Oh! Anselmo, if this day pass not quickly
I, too, shall woo the icy chill of death.—
Anselmo. At even-tide, 'mid bitter tears,
They bore her to the tomb.
Roselo. What hope for me, Anselmo, if
My Julia lies entomb'd among the dead?
Anselmo. Such weeping crowds were never seen before
Within Verona's walls. Each one did go
With downcast eye and silently all grief and woe.
The youths and maidens follow close the bier;
The old men, too, in vain repress the tear.
Roselo. Why poison thus my anxious soul?
Anselmo. Listen!
Roselo. Listen, say'st thou? Either thou art mad,
Or I some comprehension lack. Why juggle thus?
Julia dead, and then entomb'd,
And thou say'st listen?
Anselmo. Such wondrous history as I shall relate
Was never heard till now.
Roselo. I did rejoice when thou didst say she wedded not.
Think'st thou I do so now, my angel dead?
Anselmo. Listen!
Roselo. What need, if Julia be entomb'd?
Anselmo. Much.
Roselo. Like some grave leeches, thou, Anselmo, doth
By letting blood, drain ebbing life by drops,
Thus killing hope and slaying step by step.
My grief will gulph my reason soon.
Go on—what more of Julia?
Anselmo. Much; and that of great import, too.
Roselo. If there be one drop of comfort in the rest,
I will be calm, and listen patiently.
Anselmo. The good Aurelio at this time did seek me out
To speak upon this matter; these his words:—
How Julia, writing in perplexity, recounts
Her sad adventure and her bitter woe;
And at the end these words were writ:—
Ere thou this letter will have read,
My dagger shall my heart's blood wed.
The good Aurelio did prepare a certain drink,—
And gave it with injunctions to her maid,
Saying it contained most potent means
Of poisonous and sweet subtle herbs,
The drinking which would bring two days and nights
Of deathly slumber to the heart.
Julia did drink it; and Aurelio bade
Me come to seek thee here, and say
She lies entomb'd, in sleep's stern semblance
Silent death, within the vaulted tomb
Where rest the ashes of Castelvin's kin
(The body of Otavio resteth there).
Thy Julia sleeps; go, and when she wakes again
Together fly, and dwell in France or Spain.
Roselo. I tremble at thy words, Anselmo. Should
She awake amid the silent trappings of the dead,
While we can scarcely, winging way through air
Be at the church ere she awakes,
Will she not die of fear?
Anselmo. Fear not; Aurelio will be well prepared.
Come.
Roselo. Marin, what thinkest thou?
Marin. Think? that my fears do make me dumb,
And scarce allow my shorten'd breath to come.
Roselo. Was I, then, born to show the gaping world
How much misfortuned love doth grow on hope?
O Heaven! why a moment stay
While Julia waits the dawning day?
Marin. A moment, sir, I pray.
Anselmo. What seek you?
Marin. That vault you named, pray doth it hold
The bones of many dead? and it cold?
Anselmo. Truly, of many, and 'tis somewhat cold.
Marin. Then, sirs, I care to hear no more,