[PRICE ONE SHILLING.]
AS ALTERED BY J. P. KEMBLE.
FROM BICKERSTAFF'S, Tranſlation OF CALDERON's EL ESCONDIDO Y LA TRAPADA;
AND FIRST ACTED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL IN DRURY LANE, NOVEMBER 28th, 1788.
LONDON; PRINTED FOR T. AND J. EGERTON, WHITEHALL.
- DON GUZMAN MR. BADDELEY.
- DON FERDINAND MR. BARRYMORE.
- DON CARLOS MR. WHITFIELD.
- DON PEDRO MR. WILLIAMES.
- OCTAVIO MR. PHILLIMORE.
- MUSKATO MR. BANNISTER, JUN.
- LAZARILLO MR. R. PALMER.
- LAWYER MR. CHAPLIN.
- NOTARY MR. FAWCETT.
- ALGUAZILES MR. JONES.
- ALGUAZILES MR. WILSON.
- ALGUAZILES MR. ALFRED.
- ALGUAZILES MR. COX.
- SERVANT MR. LYONS.
- MARCELLA MRS. GOODALL.
- AURORA MRS. KEMBLE.
- BEATRICE MRS. JORDAN.
- LEONARDA MRS. LOVE.
UNDONE! ruined! and undone, paſt redemption.
I wiſh you had not writ that letter to Don Carlos, to deſire him to come back to Madrid.
Who could divine that my brother would return from Naples, without giving me any notice of his intention; and that he ſhould come at ſo cri⯑tical a juncture?
Well, Ma'am, I always thought your writ⯑ing to Don Carlos would come to no good.
Let me hear no more of your prate, I beſeech you.
Do you think, Ma'am, Don Carlos will be here to-night?
I expected him laſt night, you know, and ſhall expect every moment, 'till I hear farther from him.
And, bleſs us all, what do you intend to do?
Softly, here is my brother.
You ſeem uneaſy: has any thing happened to vex you while you were abroad?
Leonarda, leave the room.
With all my heart; I am very glad to be out of the way.
You know, ſiſter, when our father died, a very conſiderable ſucceſſion devolved to me: however, being then with my regiment at Naples, I did not come to take poſſeſſion, but left every thing to your care and management.
I hope, you have had no reaſon to re⯑pent—
Pray hear me out. A particular friend writ me word, that in the month of April laſt, you left your lodgings, with Don Alonzo, ne⯑phew to Don Guzman; and that while you were walking together on the Prado, Don Carlos came up, charged him ſword in hand, and killed him on the ſpot. In a word, it is this intelligence that has brought me to Madrid.
Don Ferdinand, Sir, the relation of Don Guzman, is below, and he deſires to be admitted to you.
Don Ferdinand! ſhew him up.
Shew the gentleman up, Lopez.
Siſter, retire into the next room for a few minutes; and I deſire that what has juſt now paſſed between us, may go no farther to any one.
Well, Ma'am, what was it he had to tell you?
Oh, Leonarda, he knows all.
What Ma'am, does he know the hiſtory of the wainſcot?
Huſh! not that thank Heaven; but every thing elſe.
Don Pedro, I rejoice to find you.
Your air ſpeaks a mind in agitation; what's the matter?
Don Carlos is at this very moment in Madrid.
How do you know?
I juſt now ſaw him muffled up in the ſtreet: I immediately gave a ſervant the word, and he has dogged him, and his man, to a little inn.
You are poſitive you ſaw Don Carlos?
Poſitive. Now, as I am ſhortly to be married to my couſin, it is highly incumbent upon me to render myſelf acceptable to my uncle; and, I am certain, I can do nothing more likely to pleaſe him, than taking vengance on Don Carlos. I therefore expect that you will accompany me to the place where the ſervant is ready to lead us.
Moſt willingly. Lopez, my ſword. Is your man below?
He waits at the door to conduct us.
I ſhall be in again preſently.
What have we heard, Leonarda, what have we heard?
Very terrible things, to be ſure Ma'am.
Don Carlos is arrived at Madrid, and my brother is gone to kill, or deliver him up to juſtice. I ſhould have called them back, fallen at their feet —Oh cruel, cruel ſtroke, of his and my adverſe for⯑tune.
Hiſt, Ma'am, hiſt!
What ails you!
As I hope to be ſaved, I heard the little bell ring below; he's come here, and is now at the garden-door.
Fly quick, good Leonarda, fly. If this be ſo, I am happy; and may ſtill preſerve him from the malice of his enemies.
Beautiful Aurora, I find myſelf alive, but in the pleaſure of ſeeing you once again.
Oh, Carlos! Carlos! my brother arrived here, from Italy, yeſterday.
I had no notice of his coming; otherwiſe I ſhould have appriſed you, that you might have deferred your journey, at leaſt for ſome time.
It will be impoſſible for me to ſtay in your houſe then.
Not ſo.—I have prepared a retreat for you, where his utmoſt cunning will never be able to find you.
Ay, Ma'am, but the conſtables—
Nor they, neither—hear my lady out.
This houſe conſiſts, like many others in Madrid, but of two ſtories: the upper, I occupy myſelf; the lower, which, on my father's death, I found I had no occaſion for, I let to one Octa⯑vio, a wine-merchant; on this diviſion of the building, a back ſtaircaſe, which made the com⯑munication between the two ſtories, with a ſmall cloſet adjoining, became uſeleſs; and, by mutual conſent, was ſtopped up, by a partition on the ſide of the apartment below, as well as on this. When I had thoughts of bringing you back to Madrid, it occurred to me, that the partition on my ſide might again be ſecretly opened, and pre⯑pared in ſuch a manner, as would effectually ſcreen you from any ſearch, ſhould it ever be ſuſpected that you were in the houſe: accordingly, the thing is done, (puſhes back a pannel, and this moveable pannel will, when you pleaſe, admit you into a place of ſecurity; and, when faſtened on the in⯑—
Aurora, I have too grateful a ſenſe of your kindneſs, to avail myſelf of a retreat, which muſt expoſe you. In this emergency, the beſt way is to return to the place from whence I came.
That's my advice, Sir; let us go to the inn directly, take our mules, and ſet off.—Ladies, my maſter, and I, have the honour of wiſhing you all health and happineſs.
Oh! hold, Don Carlos, you muſt not go.—You have, by ſome accident or other, been ſeen, ſince you came to Madrid, by young Ferdinand. His ſervant dogg'd you to your inn; and he, and my brother, are juſt gone in ſearch of you.
Oh, heavens, Ma'am!
Don't be alarm'd; we have arms to de⯑ſend ourſelves.
No, no, ladies, don't be alarmed. We have arms to defend ourſelves.
Talk not of defence, I beſeech you; but in pity to me, go into the place I have ſhewn you: and we will conſult together for your better and ſafer accommodation.
What the lady ſays, Sir, is juſt and rea⯑ſonable—I have conſidered the matter; and, if you don't do it, I'll give myſelf up to juſtice immediately, and try to be admitted king's evi⯑dence.
I'll do any thing for your ſafety.
Here, here, get you in. The cloſet's on the left hand, where you'll find a bed and a pallet; and, for your lives, don't come out upon any account whatſoever.
No, upon no account—Come, let us go into the next room.
Hip, Signora Leonarda, I have not eat a mouthful to-day—won't you leave us a bottle and a cruſt?
In, in, in,
So, at length we are got into, at leaſt, a temporary ſhelter. Who is the perſon I have wounded?
I think ſome one ſaid, the ſecretary of the Duke of Medina.
Sir, Signor Octavio, the wine-merchant be⯑low, deſires to ſpeak to you.
I underſtand, Don Pedro, you have had a ſcuffle in the ſtreet; you are known; and the per⯑ſon you have wounded, is the Duke of Medina him⯑ſelf; who was going, incog, to the lodgings of a courtezan in the quarter where you affaulted him.
Fatal accident!—the Duke himſelf!
Why do you ſtand like one confounded? Do you not hear what Signor Octavio ſays? You and your family muſt be gone from hence; I will ſtay behind, and ſee your lodgings let with all poſſi⯑ble diligence, to prevent ſuſpicion of your being in town.
If you will commit the key of your apart⯑ments to my charge, I will do my utmoſt to quaſh whatever enquiries may be made after you.
Get a coach to the garden door. Leonarda! ſiſter! I muſt diſpoſe of them in ſafety, the firſt thing I do.
What are your commands?
To tell you that Don Ferdinand came hither juſt now, to deſire I would accompany him on an affair of honour; that we have miſſed the perſon we went in ſearch of, and by miſtake affulted the Duke of Medina.
Well, Sir, and what—
I muſt withdraw immediately to a place of ſafety: a coach is at the door, and I will ſee you and your maid ſafely lodged in the Urſuline nun⯑nery.
I have told you that my ſafety requires I ſhould abſent myſelf, and I will not leave you behind.
I'm ſure I'll not go into a nunnery.
Then I'm ſure you ſhall go into the ſtreet.
What will become of Don Carlos?
Hark! the officers—look to the door, Octavio.
 Come, give me both your hands—Nay, no ſtrug⯑gling!
Well but, Sir, brother, let me ſpeak to you. Was there ever ſo unfortunate a creature!
Come in, gentlemen, come in, and wel⯑come; but why force the door?
I want a gentleman, called Don Pedro; my people underſtand theſe are his lodgings: he has wounded a gentleman in the ſtreet.
Ay, ay: you know him well enough.
I knew a ſiſter of his, who had theſe lodg⯑ings; but, ſhe has been gone from them ſome time.
Well, have you found any one?
No, they have been too cunning for us.
Upon my credit, that Don Pedro you look for, is not here; he has been in Italy theſe three quarters of a year. Pleaſe to accept a couple of doubloons. You muſt certainly have been impoſed upon.
To be ſure, as you ſay the gentleman is not here, we'll take your word. I ſee he is not here. Come along, comrades.
Let me lock this door before I go out.
Octavio, your ſervant, alas!
I find then, Sir, your nephew has told me all.
I am come to talk to you about theſe lodgings. I ſuppoſe you would let this tenement a bargain, to any one, that would take it off your hands?
To be ſure, Sir, on an occaſion like this—
Well, if twenty dollars a month will be ſufficient, I will e'en hire the premiſes for my own uſe, and take poſſeſſion directly.
Surely, Sir, twenty dollars are too little.
Well, but conſider, it's doing the young man a favor; for ſeeing my family in the houſe, would prevent further enquiries, and ſatisfy the police, that Don Pedro—
I really think, Sir, that, as your chief mo⯑tive for taking the apartment is to ſerve Don Pedro, the ſooner you and your family come into it, the better.
I am of that opinion too; and as very luckily my time is juſt up where I now lodge, and I want ſome larger rooms, in conſequence of my daughter's marriage, which I ſhall ſhortly celebrate, I ſhall ſend to you for the key, within this half hour.
You will oblige me, Don Guzman, by charg⯑ing yourſelf with the key now; for having a ſmall vineyard near town, I have ſhut up my apartments below, and ſent all my ſervants, men and women, to work there.
And you want to go yourſelf, is it not ſo? Well, well, go your ways, and mind your buſineſs; I'll take the key from you.
They are gone out again, and have locked the door upon us.
Did you hear all that has paſſed, Muſ⯑kato?
Yes, Sir, every word of it; but don't grow deſperate; things are not ſo bad as we expected; this is a reſpite at leaſt, if not a reprieve.
A reſpite! Has not Don Guzman taken this houſe over my head, and am I not by that means in the hands of my moſt cruel and avowed enemy?
Yes, Sir, but he does not know you are in his hands.
The worſt on't is, that the merchant below is gone out, with his family, and has lock'd up the doors: ſo that our retreat is ſtopped. By forcing the lock of the door, we may get out before our enemy returns: I know the danger of ſhewing myſelf at this hour, but—
Oh, Sir, nothing is ſo dangerous as ſtay⯑ing here, if we can get out; ſo, pray let us force the door; I have broke a lock before now, upon a leſs juſtifiable occaſion; and I'll do my endeavour to maſter this—
Quick, Sir, quick; back to our hiding place.
What's the matter?
Don Guzman's people are in the houſe; come here, and hide yourſelf, and aſk no queſtions.
And ſo, theſe are the lodgings we are in ſuch a hurry to leave our old ones for?
Ay; how do you like them?
Like them, not at all. In the firſt place, that door has not common ſenſe in it; then the ſtairs are the wrong way; and the windows! mercy on us, what pigeon-holes! and a mile and a half from the ground.
Ay, there's the fault; you want to be gap⯑ing and ſtaring into the ſtreet.
Lazarillo, run to the old gentleman, and tell him, if he has not already ſigned the agreement, he muſt by no means take this houſe.—I hear a each; ſure it is not my lady already?
But it is though; you had better tell her you don't like the houſe,
So I ſhall, I promiſe you.
La, Ma'am, you are in great haſte; I did not ex⯑pect to ſee you theſe three hours.
I ſet out to oblige my father; nothing would ſatisfy him, but I muſt come directly, to ſee the apartments.
If the kennel was mine, I ſhould think of nothing but pulling it down, and ſelling the rub⯑biſh to the beſt bidder. Take a ready furniſh'd houſe, indeed!—
Mrs. Beatrice is difficult to pleaſe, Ma'am.
So ſhe is indeed—my father tells me, Laza⯑rillo, that it is to pleaſe your maſter, he takes theſe lodgings; and I ſuppoſe it is by his deſire that we come to them ſo ſuddenly. Do you know the rea⯑ſon of Don Ferdinand's extraordinary attachment?
Why, Ma'am, I am generally pretty well acquainted with my maſter's ſecrets.
I beg your pardon; I did not know it was any ſecret, or I ſhould not have aſked.
Oh, Ma'am, there's no ſecret; that is to ſay, no abſolute ſecret: but, as far as this here, Ma'am, the air and ſituation, I believe—
In ſhort, Ma'am, Signor Lazarillo is a per⯑ſon who ſeldom chuſes to ſeem ignorant of any thing. Did your maſter ever tell you why he liked theſe longings.
I can't ſay he ever did.
Look you there, Ma'am.
Well, Mrs. Beatrice, I did not ſpeak to you.
Never mind her, Lazarillo, but go and take care of theſe things I brought in the coach
Ay, Ma'am, here I am.
I feel myſelf very unhappy.
O fye, Ma'am, to tell me ſo, on the eve of your marriage, as it were.
'Tis the thought of that makes me me⯑lancholy.
Is it indeed? I'm ſure then, Ma'am, you and I are of very different diſpoſitions—I wiſh I was going to be married; the deuce a thing ſhould I think of, but that would make me very glad.
How, Beatrice! ſuppoſe you were going to ſet out upon a journey, which preſented you with the moſt beautiful proſpect; but on the firſt ad⯑vances you made, you found yourſelf on the brink of a precipice, what would you do?
A very great precipice, do you mean; or, only a little ſort of a declivity?
Pſhaw! I'm not in a jeſting humour.
Well, but, Ma'am, let me underſtand you.—You aſk me, if I was going to ſet out on a jour⯑ney, which preſented me with the moſt beautiful proſpect; and, on the firſt advances I made, I found myſelf on the brink of a precipice—what I would do?
Why then, Ma'am, I'll tell you—In caſe it was not a very ugly precipice indeed, I would muſter up all my ſtrength—ſhut my eyes, ſo—and give a great jump.
In ſhort, Beatrice, my couſin, Don Fer⯑dinand—
He's here, Ma'am.
How happy am I, to arrive at a moment when you pronounce my name!
I had juſt begun to talk to Beatrice, when your coming into the room, interrupted me—I will take up the diſcourſe again, if you pleaſe; and finiſh what I was going to ſay to her.
I am content.
Stand there then, Sir; and we'll proceed in our diſcourſe, as if you were fifty miles off—Come, Ma'am, begin.
I ſay then, Beatrice, my couſin, Don Fer⯑dinand, no doubt imagines that marriage is a diſ⯑penſation from the trifling duties, exacted by com⯑plaiſance, ſince he already begins to fail in thoſe marks of tenderneſs and regard, I expected to find from him—he forgets that love is nouriſhed by attention; and that the ſlighteſt negligence kills it.
Ah, dear Marcella, did you know how uneaſy you make me by this kind of diſcourſe—
And why uneaſy?—what I ſpoke, was ſaid to Beatrice—and you need take no notice of it, as you need not be ſuppoſed to overhear.
That's right Ma'am—and to let you know another thing, Sir, you are not to take the words out of my mouth—my lady ſpoke to me; and it's my part to anſwer—and here's the way I do it—I ſup⯑poſe, Ma'am Don Ferdinand is like the reſt of his ſex; who for the moſt part, follow women as they hunt hares and foxes; when the animal's catched, the ſport is over.—I once had a ſweetheart myſelf, Ma'am, that uſed to call me his queen, and his Venus and his Adonis—To be ſure I uſed him very ill, then he uſed to be ſo melancholy, ſo pathetical, ſo poeti⯑cal. I remember his once repeating to me theſe very moving lines—
Were they not, Ma'am, very moving? oh dear—Come, Ma'am, he, looks penitent; give him your hand to kiſs, and tell him you are friends with him.—Look you there, Sir, I knew it—There's nothing does with us, like a little coaxing.
Your father, my dear Marcella, is determi⯑ned to have our wedding a publick one; and Satur⯑day next he aſſures me, ſhall be the happy day. Juſt as I left home, a good many of your things were brought, which I have ordered to be ſent here, with ſome boxes of rich wine, and foreign ſweetmeats, for the ball I intended to give a ſelect number of our friends, to-morrow night. In the mean time, I'll ſtep back to the old lodging, to ſee things properly taken care of.—Lazarillo, bring up thoſe parcels.— And you, Mrs. Beatrice, will not find yourſelf forgot⯑ten.
O then there's ſomething for me! Lazaril⯑lo, make haſte up with the things—I—ſuppoſe it's the new gown he promiſed to give me; and that your mantua-maker took meaſure of me for. I long to ſee it.—Lazarillo, I ſay, will you be all day?
Coming, Mrs. Beatrice, coming.
Why don't you make haſte then?
It's impoſſible to make haſte enough for impatient people.—
Have not you ſomething that your maſter gave you for me, pray?
I have ſomething for every body—but that's your bundle, I believe—
—Here, comrades, ſet the table yonder, that I may put theſe things on it; quick, quick.
Dear Madam, look here; upon my life, it's very pretty: and every thing complete; a veil, and a petticoat, and lined all thro' with ſilk. I have a good mind to try it on now—Do you think it will become me, Ma'am?
Your head runs upon nothing but your dreſs —give me the key that I may ſee the condition of the other rooms.
We are going back for more things, Mrs. Beatrice; you'll pleaſe to take care of what we leave behind.
Ay, ay, I'll lock the door. Well, I ſwear and vow, it's one of the genteeleſt things I ever ſaw in my life—I wiſh, however, there had been a little more puffing upon the ſleeves.
I will go out.
Zounds, Sir, don't tell me; as good be hang'd, as famiſhed
—Hey-day! what have we here?—They have raiſed a buttreſs againſt our wooden wall—
What are you doing?
Making a noiſe.—How ſhall I remove theſe impediments?—
—Oh Lord! oh Lord!
Death and hell! are you bent on our ruin?
For Heaven's ſake, Sir, don't ſwear.—
—Damn the table, I did but juſt touch it.—However, no body has heard.—What have we here! Sweetmeats!—excellent, i'faith— and here are cakes.
What have you got yonder.
I'll tell you by and by—Wine, wine, wine! Sir, my ſervice to you.—Will you pledge me?—take a gulp! it will do you good.
They'll certainly come upon us.
Lord, what an admirable bleſſing did Nature beſtow upon man, when ſhe gave him a good ſtomach.
Muſkato, let us think of our ſituation; what ſhall we do, ſhall we force our way out of the houſe, at all events whatever?
Why, Sir, if your friends and family could be appriſed of your ſituation, and deſign; but as the matter ſtands, Sir, I don't think we ſhall be able to make our eſcape by violence.
We can't pick our way through the walls then?
No, Sir, I think it much better picking here.—Suppoſe I take upon me a diſguiſe, make my eſcape, inform your friends where you are, and have 'em ready—
You ſee that gown there, and the veil and things along with it; I'll dreſs myſelf a-la-demoiſelle, watch my opportunity when it is dark, and I war⯑rant, get clear without any ſuſpicion.
'Sdeath, here is ſomebody coming.
then follow me to my toilette.—quick, quick.
Fal, lal, lal, lal, lal, lal,—Oh—h—h—h, Ma'am, Ma'am, come here, and ſee what has happened.
What's the matter?
The devil's the matter, for I'm ſure he has been here; did you ever ſee the like of this?
Who has been in the room?
I dont know, Ma'am.
This ſeems to have been done on purpoſe.
My new gown, Ma'am, where's my new gown? that I left here when we went out, did not you ſee me ſpread it on the chair with the other things?
I thought ſo.
Lazarillo! Lopez! Sancho!
Lazarillo—I will have my gown.
There's always a rout, and a racket, wherever this girl is—What are you after now, Mrs. Fidget?
Lazarillo, did not you give me my things in this room, and did you not ſee me leave them here when you went out agin?
Ay; well, what then, ſuppoſe I did?
Well, you muſt anſwer for them.
And who is to anſwer for all this pretty work, I would be glad to know? did you think your frippery was ſtuff'd into the boxes, and wine-caſes, that you have broke them to pieces?
It was not I.
Old Nick, I believe.
Upon my word, Sir, it is ſomething very extraordinary—We left the things here in good order, a little while ago, and this moment that we came into the room again, we found them in the condition you ſee.
Some dog got in I ſuppoſe, Sir.
Ay, ſome dog upon two legs: Dogs in Spain don't drink wine, and eat ſweetmeats, nor ſteal gowns: indeed, Sir, you ought to pay me for my gown.
I pay for it! huffy! do you think I ſtole your dab of a gown?
Some of your ſervants did.
Do you ſuſpect me, Mrs. Beatrice
Hey dey! do you know where you are?
Beatrice, have done.—
I will have my gown.
Come, child, go in.
And do you hear, let thoſe things be taken away, and this room ſet to rights immediately; and if you find this ſlattern's trumpery in any hole, or corner, lay them by for her.
Lazarillo, you certainly ſtole my gown.
I ſtole your gown! damme, if you ſay ſo again—
Take that, you impudent jackanapes,
Ay, Ay, before my face, and behind my back too; no reſpect to me on either ſide.
PRAY, Mrs. Beatrice, how ſoon is my maſter and your lady to be married?
What did you ſay?
I aſked you, how ſoon our young folks were to be married.
If you want to know, it's a queſtion you ought to aſk them.
I muſt, ſaith; for it will be neceſſary for me to get my things and look a little about me.
What! and ſo you don't intend to ſtay with Don Ferdinand?
O! damn it, no; it would not do for me at all. Service with a ſingle gentleman, well and good; but married families are hell and the devil.
Do you intend to liſt for a ſoldier then; or what? 'Tis dangerous being out of place; I have known ſeveral of your fraternity come to an un⯑timely end by it.
To tell you the truth, I am afraid to ſtay with Don Ferdinand, left, as valets are apt to ape their maſters, I ſhould be tempted to imitate him; and, as he had married your miſtreſs, the devil might put it into my head to marry you.
What is the matter with this glaſs! It always makes me look browner than any other in the houſe.
We ſhall have a ball here to⯑morrow evening: I ſuppoſe the company will de⯑ſire to ſee me dance an allemande, or a ſandango, or ſomething.
Come, you have enjoyed it long enough; now let me look at myſelf a little.
Lazarillo, give me the glaſs.
Dam'me, if I don't think people look very well in it.
Did ever one ſee ſuch an impertinent— Give me the glaſs, I ſay.
Come and kiſs me for it.
I'll ſee you hanged firſt.
Then you ſhan't have it. Tol de rol, lol, lol.
Come, let us dance then. Lord! here's Don Guzman, and your maſter!
I have been at the Duke of Medina's; and I find his wounds are not ſo bad as I at firſt ap⯑prehended. The report, however, of Don Pedro being the perſon who aſſaulted him, rather gains ground.
Nay, ſome officers have, as I underſtand, been ſeen, within theſe two hours, walking back⯑wards and forwards, before this houſe, and looking at it very inquiſitively.
Then, belike, they ſtill ſuſpect that Don Pedro is in it.
So it ſhould ſeem.
And we may have a viſit from them in the night, perhaps, when we leaſt deſire their com⯑pany. I'll ſtrive to prevent them. Come hither, you Sir. Go to the Conde de Lemos, governor of Madrid; his palace is hard by; give my reſpects, and tell his excellency, I ſhall be much obliged to him, if he will order me directly a couple of cen⯑tinels to ſtand at my door: Tell him I ſhall want them for two or three days, till I have married my daughter.
I have not ſeen Don Pedro ſince yeſter⯑day, Sir; and, as he has given me an intimation where he is concealed, I will now, with your per⯑miſſion, ſtep to him for a few minutes.
You'll be back to ſupper?
I ſhall make no delay but juſt to ſee how he is diſpoſed of—
Saturday—ay, Saturday!—that's the day after to-morrow;—Thurſday, Friday, Saturday— Then I have ſomething elſe to do:—let me con⯑ſider! To go to my lawyer; to go to the pariſh prieſt;—to go—
How now! have you a mind to break the drums of my ears? What do you want, tur⯑bulence?
Lord, Sir, I'm ſurprized at you. How can you have the idea of making the beſt room in your houſe a bed-chamber.
Becauſe I like it.
Why, Sir, it will be ſhocking.
What's that to you?
Beſides, I ſuppoſe Don Ferdinand will re⯑move to my lady's chamber in a night or two.
Ha, now you have got that in your head; and who bid you ſuppoſe about it?
Nay, Sir, it's no buſineſs of mine, to be ſure, if you have a mind to turn the houſe upſide down; only I love to ſet people right, and ſee things done properly.
Well, but my nephew choſe that room particularly.
Why, ſo I told Mrs. Beatrice, Sir. I ſaid, my maſter had made particular choice of that room.
Very well then, let his bed be put in it; but remember, Sir, it's done by no order of mine.
I believe there never was your fellow for impertinence, ſince the world begun. But why ſhould I be ſurprized at this, when I am told, you give out all over the neighbourhood, that I am going to marry you?
Ha! ha! ha!
Ay, you may well laugh.
I never gave out any ſuch thing.
Don't lie, for I can prove it upon you.
I ſay then, Sir, I never did; for the thing was firſt mentioned to me: and, isn't it common enough, when a genteel likely girl lives in the houſe with a gentleman, for people to talk?
Well, I ſhan't diſpute the matter with you, now. Go, take the coach, and fetch your young lady home, ſhe's at her aunt's. Why don't you go where I bid you?
I'm ſettling myſelf, Sir.
Ha! ha! ha! marry!
What's the matter with you? I promiſe you I don't know whether I would take the old fellow, if he would have me; ſo he need not make himſelf uneaſy.
A paltry, dirty baggage; to give out that I was going to marry her; there never was ſuch a thought entered into my head.
Hey-day! who have we here? who is it that comes into the houſe this way without knocking! Is there nobody in the way to ſhew people?
Don't be offended, Signor, at the liberty an unfortunate woman has taken, upon ſeeing your door open; I implore a moment's refuge.
I have the misfortune to be the wife of the moſt jealous, and ſuſpicious of mankind, who is at the ſame time the moſt cruel. Upon a per⯑ſon's looking after me in the ſtreet, juſt now, he took ſomething into his head, drew his poinard, and was going to ſtrike me—
O for ſhame! What can I do for you?
I intreat you to go down into the ſtreet, and ſpeak to him not to miſuſe me; you will eaſily know him, he is in a red cloak, and wears a gold laced hat, with a black feather.
I'll go down madam. Step into that chamber; no body ſhall moleſt you. I warrant I'll give a good account of your jealous pate, and if words won't do, rougher means ſhall.
Don Guzman puts Aurora into a room, then goes out on the oppoſite ſide. Don Carlos puſhes back the pannel, and comes out with Muſkato, who is diſ⯑guiſed in woman's cloaths.
Muſkato, it is now quite dark; and you may, if ever, eſcape with out being ſeen; as for myſelf, I'll wait with patience, determined to brave every thing till your return.
I don't know what's the matter with me, Sir; I am damnably frightened.
As ſoon as you have brought my friends together in the ſtreet, the ſignal is to be a piſtol; when I hear it, I will inſtantly ruſh out, and force my paſſage to you.
Ay, Sir; but the grand matter is my get⯑ting out.
Farewell; at any rate don't let your apprehenſions confound you.
Don Guzman's gone; and all is dark: this is the moment to find Don Carlos: Aſſiſt me love; and, if he be yet here—
Hah! What figure's that? Was ever any thing ſó unlucky? I muſt retire a while.
I have neither courage nor ſtrength to move backwards or forwards.—This is a curſed ſcheme of mine; it will bring me to the gallows, I'm ſure; then they'll hang me in woman's cloaths; which will be a double ſhame and mortification. Come, courage; it is but making the effort; if I can but get down ſtairs, I am ſafe enough;
the old man! there's an end of me—I am hang'd, drawn and quarter'd!
Come, Madam, you may go out with⯑out the leaſt apprehenſion; I have looked all about the door, and no ſuch perſon you deſcribe was to be found.
What his he talking of?
Give me your hand, Ma'am, I am go⯑ing abroad myſelf, and will lead you to whatſoever place of ſafety you think proper.
What's all this!
Poor ſoul, how ſhe trembles. Will you have any cordial to refreſh you?
No, I thank you, Sir:
Come along, and don't be frightened, Madam.
Sure, if ever there was an angel with a beard and wrinkles, this is he.
Now is my time. Good Heaven! how I tremble! I am almoſt afraid to approach the place.
Sir; Don Carlos.
Donna Aurora! my love!
I was obliged to leave you here laſt night. It is too long a ſtory to tell you now. Doubtful of what was become of you, and fearing the danger you might be in, I have prevailed upon the por⯑treſs of the convent, where my brother had confined me, to let me out. Determined to make my way to you thro' all impediments. Here is a maſter-key to the houſe, which I happened to have provi⯑dentially about me; take it, and let yourſelf out in the dead of night—for your own ſake, for my reputa⯑tion, I muſt leave you.—Farewell.
Stay, my life.
Oh, unfortunate! here comes Marcella, the daughter of Don Guzman: I would not for the world be known by her. Get in; get in; What ſhall I do? Any thing's better than meeting them.
What was it you aſked Lazarillo, Beatrice?
Why Ma'am, whether his maſter was at home.
And what did he ſay?
What you heard, Ma'am, that he was not.
Well, take my fan, and my veil, and ſee that my things are got ready in the dreſſing-room.
A ſtrange unſeaſonable hour for Don Ferdinand to leave the houſe, methinks; and juſt at a time when he knew I was coming home too.
Well, what now?
Don't make a noiſe. I have ſeen ſuch a thing in Don Ferdinand's chamber; and, I believe, I have found out the thief too; for I dare ſwear ſhe ſtole my gown.
She! what ſhe?
A woman, Ma'am.
In Don Ferdinand's chamber?
Yes; as I was going along the paſſage, I obſerved the door puſhed to; ſo I popped my head in; and there I ſaw a woman in a veil. I did not ſay a word, but came back directly.
We'll ſee who ſhe is; take the candles.
Yes, Ma'am; ſhe can't eſcape us, for the garden door's lock'd.
We will know who you are. What brings you here?
I came here to a gentleman.
Pull off her veil, Ma'am.
Stop there, a thief!
Follow her, Beatrice.
Sure it was Aurora's voice.
Ha! Whom have we here? a man!—
Save me, they purſue me—I ſhall be diſ⯑covered.
Lights here! lights!—
Nobody ſhall go out.
No, I'll take care of that.—Where is this aſſaſſin, this houſebreaker?
Where is this ſhame to her ſex?
Sir, Madam, what's the matter?
There has been a man here. Oh, Mar⯑cella!
There has been a woman here. Oh, Fer⯑dinand!
Lord Ma'am, here's your father and the lawyers.
Come, gentlemen, give me leave to bring you into this chamber: I have ordered things to be got ready for our buſineſs—Ferdinand come here—What's the matter, child? You are me⯑lancholy.
No, not at all, Sir!—
Come, let us take our places. You, gen⯑tlemen, at that table, with your parchments; and you, children, ſeat yourſelves here on each ſide of me.
So ſo! what ails you? Have you got the melancholics too? Catch'd the dumps of your couſin?
Dumps, Sir? I don't know what you mean; I never was merrier in my life.
Come, gentlemen, have you got every thing ready?
Yes, Don Guzman, every thing is ready?
Daughter, why don't you ſit down here when I deſire it?
Sir, I chuſe—
Dear Ma'am, pray ſit down.
Why it will be the ſame thing.
I never ſaw two creatures look as you do in my life: What in the name of folly is the matter with you?
Theſe you ſay, Don Guzman, are the par⯑ties?
Ay; you'll take notice, I give ten thou⯑ſand piſtoles to my daughter, for the preſent; and the reſt of my fortune at my death.
Ten thouſand piſtoles; the reſidue of your fortune at your death; 'tis ſo ſet down, Don Guz⯑man.
Let me ſee—
Shall we ſuffer them to go on with this abſurd farce, Ma'am?
Don't talk to me, Sir; I deſire to have no manner of converſation with you.
O, very well, Ma'am; I am as willing to avoid any thing of that kind as you can be.
What, what, what are you ſaying to one another?
I was not ſpeaking at all, Sir.
Were you not ſpeaking neither?
No, Sir, I did not ſay a word.
I'm ſure you did though.
No, Sir, my lady did not ſpeak, indeed.
I'm not ſpeaking to you, take notice.
Put in your word again.
Have you any objection to this, Don Ferdinand?
Why, Sir, if I muſt give my opinion, I think we had better defer it.
Defer it! How long?
For ever, Sir.
And that's my opinion too, Sir.
Is it ſo indeed! And why is it your opinion, pray?
Don Ferdinand will tell you, Sir.
Enquire of your daughter, Sir, ſhe can beſt inform you.
Gone! ſhe one way, and he t'other, and I am left in the clouds: pray, Ma'am, can you ſolve this riddle? What's the matter with 'em? What has happened between your miſtreſs and her couſin, to occaſion this ſudden—I know not what to call it—Satan has poſſeſſed them both I believe.
Don't aſk me any thing about it, Sir.
Not aſk you?
No, Sir, I had rather you would not.
What are you wimpering for?
I don't know, Sir, I can't help it.
I deſire you will tell me whatever has come to your knowledge.
Well, Sir, all I know about it, is this, Don Ferdinand brought a creature into the houſe here—
A creature! When?
Juſt now, Sir.
Well, don't cry—And what creature was it?
Sir, I'm aſhamed to tell you what it was.
Beſides, I don't know how you name them.
No! It muſt be ſome ſtrange monſter ſure, or you are grown deviliſh mealy mouth'd of a ſudden. What creature was it? was it a lion, a tyger, a bear, a rhinoceros, a porcupine?
No, Sir; it was a concubine; I think they are call'd ſo:—one of your creatures that run after the men.
Oh, ho! In ſhort, Don Ferdinand brought a ſtrumpet into my houſe?
Yes, Sir, I believe that's one of the names gentlemen give them.
And how do you know he did this?
Becauſe I ſaw her, Sir—I catch'd her in his bed chamber, and my lady ſaw her too.—
Very well, that's all I want with you.
Sir, I have the honour to wiſh you a very good night.
Gentlemen, follow me; you ſee there is ſomething wrong in my family; I really don't know what it is at preſent; but as it muſt be ſettled before we conclude matters, I will endeavour to get at the bottom of it.
Only get me a little into the air, and I ſhall be well again preſently.
How do you find yourſelf?
How unfortunate was it that you came here.—Sit down here a little.
Aurora! ſhe faints again—the heat of that place, has overcome her ſo, that I ſhall never be able to fetch her to herſelf.
'Tis nothing but the ſudden effects of the air. I aſſure you I am greatly recovered, and ſhall be able to go in again immediately.
If I can ſee Beatrice, I think I may venture to tell her my ſtory, and commit you to her care; 'tis the only thing I have for it; and the worſt come to the worſt, my maſk and my ſword ſhall defend me from every body elſe.
What woman can ſay ſhe will make but one falſe ſtep? Alas, we tread upon ice, and in mak⯑ing one, through want of caution, we make a thou⯑ſand.
Beatrice! Beatrice! where are you?
Here Ma'am, I am coming.—
Heavens and earth, what do I hear! is not that Marcella's voice?—I am entangled ſo on every ſide, that it is impoſſible for me to extricate myſelf: muſt then the retreat I contrived for another, be my own deſtruction!
Where's my father?
I don't know, Ma'am, but I've told him all.
Told him! what have you told him?
Why, about the woman, Ma'am.
I'm ſorry for it.
Are you? I'm ſorry too then, but you would not have had me tell him a lie, and he aſk'd me.
In ſhort, Beatrice, Don Ferdinand's be⯑haviour has ſhaken my reſolution—It betrays no marks of guilt; and, after all, if we ſhould be miſtaken—
Nay, Ma'am, if there is any raiſtake, you led me into it I'm ſure; for I ſaid at firſt, the woman was only a thief.
Go and deſire my father to come to me here. I believe he is in Don Ferdinand's room.
Yes, Ma'am; but pray don't lay all the blame upon me. I never was uſed thus in any houſe in my life.
I have ventured as far as my apprehen⯑ſions would give me leave, but without being able to meet Beatrice; however, it is ſo far well, that I have met nobody elſe—Perhaps her weakneſs may now have left her
Deareſt, tendereſt creature, how is it with you?
Confuſion, what's this!
Whence come you, Sir? How got you here? Help,—
Hold, Ma'am—where is the lady I left here juſt now?
What lady, what are you talking of? I ſaw no lady.
Aurora then, has recovered, and gone back to our retreat.
On reflection, I find myſelf in the moſt critical ſituation—My honour is at ſtake as well as your life. Only let me know in one word, why did you come here.
Your father and Don Ferdinand, are both gone—(Seeing Don Carlos.)—Ah, Madam! here is a man then, after all.
The man is Don Carlos—
We ſhall be every one hang'd.
How he got in, or his reaſon for coming, I cannot prevail on him to diſcover. For my part, I believe he is mad.
His eyes look very ugly, I aſſure you; ſtand farther from him, Ma'am, he may have broken from his keepers—What do you want here, Sir? and which of our people let you in?
None of your people let me in.
I ſuppoſe then you were the man Don Ferdinand ſaw?
We muſt get him out, Ma'am, while your father and Don Ferdinand are abroad; it will be better than calling the ſervants to take him, for reaſons—
But how ſhall we get him out?—He is ſubject to be ſeen by all the ſervants in the houſe, every one of whom know him—and at laſt, per⯑haps, he may be ſtopped by the centinels at the door.
The centinels!—I never thought of them, —Lord! Lord! How ſhall we contrive!—One can't think of hanging the wretch.—Stay, there's a thought come into my head.—There is in my room, a military hat and cloak of your late brother's; let him put on them; the centinels will take him for an officer—
Ay, Ay, Beatrice, let us carry him up into your chamber immediately.—
Follow that lady, Sir.
There's ſomething that puzzles me in this buſineſs notwithſtanding: for, I can hardly believe the man would come into this houſe, merely for the pleaſure of being hang'd, let my lady ſay what ſhe pleaſes.
THE Duke of Medina, then, is en⯑tirely out of danger?
His phyſicians have pronounced him ſo. I writ the Duke a candid account of our Rencoun⯑ter. His Grace takes the blame of the whole affair upon himſelf, and aſſures me, upon his honour, he will not ſuffer me in any way to be troubled or moleſted about it.
It ſpeaks the generoſity which always ought to diſtinguiſh the nobleman. Hold, Don Pedro, ſtand back a little; do you ſee that fellow that creeps yonder under the wall, looking behind him every moment?
Ay, what of him?
He comes this way. Let us ſtand a little under that piazza, and obſerve him; I have my rea⯑ſons for it.
What an infernal thing is a life of apprehenſion! I am out of the houſe, that's one comfort; and in ſome meaſure the way is paved for my maſter; for I have been among his friends, and fix of them, brave, young fellows like myſelf, will be ready to favour his eſcape; when our Dons are taking their digeſtive naps after dinner. I only wait their arri⯑val, to give Don Carlos the ſignal from this little popper;
but I muſt firſt take a view of the houſe, in order to determine on which ſide I had beſt ſtand, when I give the alarm, that it may be ſure to come to my maſter's ears.
Who do you want? It is not I! Lord have mercy on me, I thought ſome one had touched my ſhoulder. I'll ſhoot the firſt man that looks at me.
'Tis he, I'm poſitive.
I think ſo too.
Hold a little.
Come this way, you Sir; do you ſee the man that goes along yonder, with his cap ſlapped over his face? Paſs by him, and try if you know who he is.
The fellow's not at home, whom I ſent to dog Don Carlos laſt night, or he could tell directly whether this is the ſame perſon that was with him.
Your man has taken a thorough ſurvey of his whole perſon.
Well, Sir, do you know him?
Why, Sir, I think I have ſeen his face before.
Is he the ſervant of Don Carlos?
The very man.
Then let us go and ſeize him directly.
Hold, Don Ferdinand, you and your ſer⯑vant will be ſufficient to deal with him, and it is abſolutely neceſſary for me, to pay the compliment of calling at the Duke of Medina's immediately; however, I'll be with you at your houſe in leſs than half an hour.
Do ſo. Lazarillo, follow me.
Come, Ma'am, he may venture.
Is the coaſt quite clear, Beatrice?
Yes, Ma'am; I have ſent all the other men out of the way, and Lazarillo has juſt this moment gone down the ſtreet; but let him make haſte.
I'll fetch him.
The dickens take him, he has put me in ſuch a tremble, as I have not been in this twelve⯑month; and fright ruins one's complexion too: I dare ſwear I ſhall look pale for a week.
I beg your pardon.—Will you permit me to ſay a few words to Mrs. Beatrice in private?
In private to me! Mercy on us, what?
Don't be alarmed,—
No, Sir! I'm not at all alarmed.
It is only a little commiſſion I have to charge you with. In the firſt place, my dear girl, there is my purſe, and ten thouſand—
No—thanks for the kind intereſt you have taken in my misfortunes.
I am always ready and willing to aſſiſt any one in diſtreſs.
Well, but this is not all I have to ſay to you.
No. There is another—
No—perſon ſtill in this houſe, for whom I muſt intreat your good offices; and ſhould there be occaſion and opportunity, I beg you will convey that perſon out unſeen by your miſtreſs.
Well, but I don't underſtand you; explain this matter to me a little more.
I can't explain it farther, at preſent.
Another perſon ſtill in the houſe, that I muſt endeavour—Who is it?
What ſignifies? you'll ſee.
Upon my word, Beatrice, we ſhall delay ſo long—
We are ready, Ma'am. Come, Sir, you muſt be cautious not to ſhew any confuſion.—Come along the hall with a ſtrut, and in paſſing by, look impudent, more impudent ſtill; Oh, I ſhall never get you to look half impudent enough.
Never fear me.
I wiſh you would tell me what you meant, by the thing you ſaid to me juſt now.
Once more, Ma'am, I take my leave of you.
Pray, Sir, is the perſon a man, or a wo⯑man?
Have a moment's patience; I am a little uneaſy; I think I ſee a crowd of people coming towards our door, and, if I am not miſtaken, Don Ferdinand is among them.
Stay, Ma'am, let me look out; Oh, mon⯑ſtrous!—
What is the matter!
I don't know—Don Ferdinand, and Laza⯑rillo, and two or three more, have laid hold of a man, and are dragging him along; and I wiſh I may die, Don Carlos, if the perſon they have got, is not very like your ſervant Muſkato.
Then my deſtruction is complete.
They are bringing him into the houſe.— Quick, quick, let us get back to my chamber, as faſt as we can.
Pull the raſcal in here; pull him in; and if he attempts to ſtruggle, knock him down.
Well, but, gentlemen, good, dear gentle⯑men, as you are men of honour, and Catholic Chriſtians, don't do me any hurt.—I am a poor miſerable young fellow, but juſt turned of four-and-twenty, that have an old mother, and two lame ſiſters—
Are not you a villain ſirrah?
You are pleaſed to ſay ſo, Sir; and I ſhan't be ſo unmannerly as to contradict any gentleman, with a ſword at my throat.
Aren't you the ſervant of that aſſaſſin, Don Carlos?
Upon my word, Sir, I can't ſay—perhaps I may, and perhaps I mayn't—you have frighten'd every thing quite out of my head.
He is his ſervant, Sir.
Well, Sir; yes, I am his ſervant, if that will content you.
Where's your maſter?
Ha! ha! ha!
Do you make a jeſt of us?
No, Sir, no; but I am tickliſh, and your man has got his fingers in my collar: bid him take them away, and I'll ſpeak.
Let him go—Well, now, Sir, where is Don Carlos?
He's in a place.—
In a place! what place? Anſwer my queſtion directly, or torture ſhall make you.
Propoſe it again, good Sir.
Where is Don Carlos?
Not a great way off.
So we ſuppoſe, by your being here.
He is, at preſent, I believe—Pray, Sir, will you do me the favour to tell me what o'clock it is?
What a clock!
Yes, Sir; becauſe I would be as preciſe in anſwering your queſtion, as poſſible: and, if it is now about half an hour after one, as I partly con⯑jecture, Don Carlos is at this moment, picking his teeth, after dinner, in the city of Liſbon.
'Tis falſe, ſirrah; I know he is at this moment hid ſomewhere in Madrid.—Lay hold of him again.
What is the matter here?
Only a couple of terrible fellows, Madam, that have got a poor criminal in their clutches, and are going to play the devil with him.
This is the ſervant of Don Carlos; I catched him juſt now in the ſtreet, meaſuring the outſide of our houſe, with his eyes, from top to bottom.—I know his maſter is at preſent in Ma⯑drid; and I ſuſpect, this emiſſary of his was not lurking about this neighbourhood for any good purpoſe:—rather, perhaps in meditation of ſome farther deſtruction of our family;—for, ſearching his pockets, we found a piſtol.
You found a piſtol!—Do you ſay you found a piſtol in my pocket?
There it is.
Oh, do you call that a piſtol?—
Ay, what do you call it?
I keep it to light my pipe.
Well, but Sir, let me look at this perſon; becauſe I was very well acquainted with Don Carlos, and his ſervant too, if this be the ſame he had be⯑fore he left Madrid.
Do look at me, Ma'am, did you ever ſee my face before!
Never, upon my honour,
See there gentlemen.
Why you yourſelf ſaid but now, that you belonged to Don Carlos.
Yes, this moment.
I don't think I ſaid any ſuch thing: and I am almoſt ſure I did not.
Indeed, Sir, you are miſtaken here; he that lived with Don Carlos, uſed to make love to me;—a good, genteel, perſonable fellow:— whereas this is one of the worſt looking ill-made, aukward, ugly hounds, I ever ſaw in my life.—
Sir, believe what I ſay to you; this is the ſervant that lived with Don Carlos, when he was laſt in Madrid; and he was always juſt as ugly as he is now. I even recollect his name; it began with juſs—or fuſs—or—
There is neither juſs nor fuſs in my name; ſo you may give me my liberty, and make no more fuſs about the matter.
Indeed, Sir; I think you had better turn him about his buſineſs.
I think the contrary.—Pray, Ma'am, re⯑turn to your chamber.
Lazaril⯑lo, lock that door, keep the key.—'Tis in vain to ſtrive to eſcape, Sir; I ſhall lock you up here, till I come back with proper officers.—
Young man, I find myſelf a little indiſpoſed; if you have any ſuch thing as a drop of ſpirits in the houſe, I would be obliged to you for—
Oh! you'll be in greater want of ſpirits preſently;—you had better keep them for a more preſſing occaſion.
Don Carlos, Don Carlos, Open:—open;—'tis I.
Hey-day, have you got into petticoats too? joaking apart, I ſuppoſe you have heard what has happened.
I endeavoured to liſten; but the noiſe was ſo great, I could hear nothing diſtinctly.
You could hear nothing diſtinctly!— What the devil, have you put your voice into petti⯑coats too?—I leſt you a double baſs; and, I find you a treble.
Come, a truce with theſe impertinences.
Donna Aurora!—For Heaven's ſake, young gentlewoman, how came you here?
'Tis a long ſtory to tell:—however, make yourſelf eaſy; your maſter has eſcaped. He offered to ſtay with me, or make me the companion of his flight: the former, you may be ſure, I would not hear of; and in the latter caſe, I know I ſhould only be an impediment to him.
'Tis I, Beatrice—have they locked you up?
Ay, double lock'd me up—I am lock'd up on both ſides.
I wiſh I could let you out.
I wiſh you could—How did you get out my maſter?
We have him here within; and he ſays he won't go without you.
I am very much obliged to him; but what good will that do me? However, at any rate, I ſhould be glad to take my leave of him, before we part. Can't you put back the lock of the door.
It's impoſſible; but comfort yourſelf; my lady, and I, have been both crying for you; and I dare ſwear we ſhall cry a great deal more.
You think we ſhall ſuffer then?
Certainly, I wiſh you well through it; take care of yourſelf.
Thank you, but I am taken pretty good care of already.
Don Ferdinand is coming up the other way, with the Alguazils.
Is he? by gad, then I will take all the care I can.
Oh, gracious Heaven! I have hurt myſelf, and they are opening the door.
Nay, if you won't come: charity begins at home.
Yes, yes; Lazarillo and I ſeized him; and we have him here, under lock and key.
On no account quit him till he diſcovers where don Carlos is.
Shame, and deſtruction!—My brother's voice!
Here, gentlemen is the Corrigidor's warrant and there's your priſoner—Hey!—a woman veil'd!—Lazarillo!
Where's the ſervant of Don Carlos?
Is he not here, Sir?
By Heavens, I left him locked up here, and have had the key in my pocket ever ſince.
See who the woman is?
She beckons to ſpeak with you.
To ſpeak to me in private, Ma'am? very well, Ma'am, it ſhall be ſo. Lazarillo, take the officers with you.
—Well, now, Ma'am; who, and what are you?
Anſwer theſe queſtions yourſelf, Sir
for the reſt, my ſex, and my miſ⯑fortunes, give me claim to your protection.
Aurora, the ſiſter of Don Pedro! Where is the man I left here; and by what unaccountable accident—
A time will come for ſatisfying you in every thing: conſider, at preſent, but the peril of my ſituation; my brother is here; you are a man of honor; and I am in diſtreſs.
I pledge my word for your ſafety.—
Alguazils in my houſe again! If you ſeek Don Pedro, Gentlemen—
Was ever man ſo embarraſſed as I am! Here's my uncle now; if he finds a woman with me, and I refuſe to give an account how ſhe came, he will believe the ſtory Marcella told him con⯑cerning laſt night; if I diſcover her, I ſhall involve myſelf in a quarrel with her brother, beſides break⯑ing my word given to her.
You are greatly concerned about ſome⯑thing.
I am, I confeſs, my dear Don Pedro, don't be ſurprized at what I am going to ſay to you: it ſtands me upon to keep this lady from my uncle's ſight; I beg, therefore, you will not mention any thing about her: and pray, Ma'am, do you ſtep into this cabinet.
Shall I ſhut myſelf up with her?
No; ſtay where you are.
Go you, Sir, and deſire my daughter to come to me immediately.
Nephew, I am very angry with you.
I am ſorry for that, Sir.
A fig for your ſorrow.
Don Guzman, I kiſs your hand.
I am glad to ſee you out of your trou⯑ble, Don Pedro.
Here I am, Sir, what's your pleaſure?
What you won't let me enjoy eaſe, and quietneſs. They tell me, nephew, you have ſeized the ſervant of Don Carlos.
Yes, Sir, but he has eſcaped.
How has he eſcaped?
That's more than I am able to ſay. I left him locked up here; and, when I came back again, I could not find him.
Oh, very well; I warrant you I'll find him: I hear tales of a very ugly nature from one ſide and the other, of men, and women being con⯑cealed in the houſe.
'Tis moſt certain, Sir, that I met a ſtrange man in the houſe laſt night; but I don't pretend to determine how he got in.
My daughter ſays there was a ſtrange woman; and, for any thing that appears to the contrary, both the lurking toads may be in the houſe ſtill; and, if ſomebody does not ferret them out, we may have our throats cut one of theſe nights, when we are aſleep in our beds, and dreaming of no ſuch matter.
Oh, Sir, I can't think they are in the houſe ſtill.
Oh! but I'll be ſure; and, therefore, I am determined to hunt every hole and corner. And firſt, I'll begin to examine this room, perhaps they may have hid themſelves—
Hold, Sir, you muſt not go in here.
No! And why not, pray?
Do go in, Sir—
Nephew, I will go into that place.
Pardon me, Sir, I have the greateſt re⯑ſpect for you, but here my honour is engaged; and by Heaven, I will defend this door with my life.
This is very pretty behaviour, I pro⯑teſt; however, Sir, ſince you are ſo violent, I will not contend with you at preſent; I'll take this room in my way back: and will you, Don Pedro, be ſo obliging as to accompany me; while I ſearch the reſt of the apartments.
You muſt not go this way, Sir.
Muſt not!—By my faith, but I will though.
For ſhame, Sir, it looks as if you doubted my lady's honour.
I ſay, Sir, do go in.
Pray, Sir, don't think of it.
Then I'll go in there.
No, Sir, that muſt not be.
Why now, did ever any one ſee the like of this? I ſay, nephew, daughter—
Ruin I ſee muſt overtake me, and there⯑fore I'll meet it.
So! So! So!
Well, was I right or wrong?
Fury and death, my ſiſter! Villain, draw.
Nay now, Don Pedro, you're out of your wits.
Hear me, will you?
I'll hear nothing.
I'll leave it to all the world now, if ever there was a poor old fellow ſo hamper'd, and pla⯑gued, by a ſet of young raſcals, and huſſies, as I am.
Where's Don Guzman, where's my maſter. Oh gentlemen, gentlemen, gentlemen!
What ails this fellow?
Lazarillo, have you ſeen a ghoſt?
You have hit it, the houſe is haunted.
Yes, with a pack of mad people.
Spirits, Sir, ſpirits—As I am a living man, your nephew, Don Alonzo, appeared to me this inſtant upon the ſtairs, in his regimental cloaths; I ſaw him as plain as I ſee you. His face was as long as my arm, and as pale as a piece of chalk; his eyes glared like two coals of fire, and he had a flambeau in his hand.
I won't believe a word of this, it's all a monſtrous lie—A ghoſt, and a piece of chalk, and a flambeau, and ſtuff; draw all your ſwords and fol⯑low me.
Oh! hold! hold!
What's the matter?—Here, you, man, ghoſt, devil, or whatever you are, make your ap⯑pearance; I'll do you no harm, but let you go quietly about your buſineſs.
Don Guzman, I take you at your word.
Call in the Alguazils.
No, come back. How have you the au⯑daciouſneſs, Don Carlos, to appear in this place? And what do you think muſt be the conſequence of my ſeeing you?
I have delivered myſelf into your hands, Don Guzman, on the faith of your promiſe, that the memory of all paſt acts ſhould be cancelled between us; but conſcious of my innocence, I diſdain to owe my ſafety to an underſigned clemency; recall what you have ſaid, I releaſe you from your word, if you can have more pleaſure in ſatisfying an unjuſt re⯑venge, than in ſacrificing it to a point of honour.
Go away, and never let me ſee you more.
This may do for you, Don Guzman, but I am to be anſwered in another manner. The loſs of a nephew may be forgiven, but not the ruin of a ſiſter.
Don Pedro, I never wronged you, I eſteem, I admire, I love your ſiſter; and as a debt due to her reputation, brought into danger, by her inviting me to this houſe (where by a train of acci⯑dents I have been ſhut up againſt my will) before you all, I take her for my wife.
There is one circumſtance, in this dark affair, which ſurpriſes me more than any thing elſe. Where is your ſervant, Don Carlos, whom I ſeized juſt now in the ſtreet? I left him locked up here, and in leſs than a quarter of an hour—
Who have we bricked up in the wall, yonder?
Are we all friends; is it peace, and good fellowſhip, without reſpect of perſons?
Sirrah, I deſire to know—
I am included in the treaty, Sir.
This brings things into my head. Hark, you rogue's face, was it not you that ſtole my gown?
Well, and where is it?
Why, you muſt know I put it on.
Put on my gown!
Oh Lord, yes; I make one of the gen⯑teeleſt ladies you ever laid your eyes on; aſk Don Guzman elſe. Being ſomewhat more corpulent than you, indeed, your gown has ſuffered a little in the ſeams; but don't make yourſelf uneaſy; to recom⯑pence the damage, I throw myſelf and fortune at your feet.
This is the fact, as well as it can be related, in a few words.
I do not doubt the truth of it. Don Carlos, you ſay you are willing to marry my ſiſter; take her, and may you be happy together.
Don Pedro, out of the great regard I have for you and yours, and for my own promiſe, I do forgive Don Carlos, and wiſh him happy with your ſiſter.
My dear maſter, I wiſh you joy, from the bottom of my heart, of being releaſed from all your troubles, by the generoſity of this good old gentle⯑man: his behaviour has been that of a noble Spa⯑niard; and I hope our friends will teſtify their ſa⯑tisfaction, by joining to applaud it.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 3411 The pannel As altered by J P Kemble From Bickerstaff s translation of Calderon s El escondido y la trapada and first acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane November 28th 1788. University of Oxford Text Archive. University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]. https://hdl.handle.net/11378/0000-0005-D17C-4