SCENE II.—_A Room in DON FELIX’S House.

_DON FELIX, and HERNANDO dressing him._

_Hern._ Such fine ladies, sir, come to be our neighbours.

_Fel._ So they ought to be, such a noise as they made in coming.

_Hern._ One of them already betrothed, however.

_Fel._ So let her, and married too, if she would only let me sleep quiet. But what kind of folks are they?

_Hern._ Oh, tip-top. Daughters of the rich old Indian has bought the house and gardens opposite, and who will give them all his wealth when they marry, which they say he has brought them to Madrid expressly to do.

_Fel._ But are they handsome?

_Hern._ I thought so, sir, as I saw them alighting.

_Fel._ Rich and handsome then?

_Hern._ Yes, sir.

_Fel._ Two good points in a woman, at all events, of which I might profit, such opportunities as I have.

_Hern._ Have a care, sir, for the old servant who told me this, told me also that the papa is a stout fiery old fellow, who’d stick the Great Turk himself if he caught him trifling with his daughters.

_Fel._ That again is not so well; for though I’m not the Great Turk, I’ve no mind to share that part of his fortune. But of the two girls, what said your old servant? who, as such, I suppose told you all that was amiss in them at least.

_Hern._ Well, you shall judge. One, the oldest, is very discreet.

_Fel._ Ah, I told you so.

_Hern._ The other lively.

_Fel._ Come, that sounds better. One can tackle her hand to hand, but the grave one one can only take a long shot at with the eyes.

_Hern._ Whichever it be, I should like to see you yourself hit one of these days, sir.

_Fel._ Me? The woman is not yet cast who will do that. If I meddle with these it is only because they lie so handy.

_Hern._ And handsome as well as handy!

_Fel._ Pooh! I wouldn’t climb a wall to pluck the finest fruit in the world. But hark! some one’s at the door. See who ’tis.

_Enter DON JUAN in travelling dress._

_Juan._ I, Felix, who seeing your door open, could not but walk in without further ado.

_Fel._ You know that it and my heart are ever open to you. Welcome, welcome, Don Juan! all the more welcome for being unexpected: for though I had heard we might one day have you back, I did not think to see you yet.

_Juan._ Why, the truth is I got my pardon sooner than I expected.

_Fel._ Though not than I prayed for. But tell me all about it.

_Juan._ You know I was obliged to fly to Italy after that unlucky duel. Well, there the great duke of Terranova, who (as good luck would have it) was then going ambassador to Hungary, took a fancy to me, and carried me with him; and, pleased with what service I did him, interested himself in my fortunes, and one good day, when I was least expecting it, with his own hand put my pardon into mine.

_Fel._ A pardon that never should have needed asking, all of an unlucky quarrel at cards.

_Juan._ So you and the world suppose, Felix: but in truth there was something more behind.

_Fel._ Ah?

_Juan._ Why the truth is, I was courting a fair lady, and with fair hope of success, though she would not confess it, urging that her father being away at the time, her mother would not consent in his absence. Suddenly I found I had a rival, and took occasion of a casual dispute at cards to wipe out the score of jealousy; which I did with a vengeance to both of us, he being killed on the spot, and I, forced to fly the country, must, I doubt, ere this, have died out of my lady’s memory, where only I cared to live.

_Fel._ Ay, you know well enough that in Madrid Oblivion lies in the very lap of Remembrance, whether of love or loathing. I thank my stars I never pinned my faith on woman yet.

_Juan._ Still the same sceptic?

_Fel._ Ay, they are fine things, but my own heart’s ease is finer still; and if one party must be deceived, I hold it right in self-defence it should not be I. But come; that you may not infect me with your faith, nor I you with my heresy, tell me about your journey.

_Juan._ How could it be otherwise than a pleasant one, such pageants as I had to entertain me by the way?

_Fel._ Oh, you mean our royal master’s nuptials?

_Juan._ Ay!

_Fel._ I must hear all about them, Juan; even now, upon the spot.

_Juan._ Well then, you know at least, without my telling you, how great a debt Germany has owed us—

_Enter DON PEDRO hastily._

_Ped._ My dear Don Felix!

_Fel._ Don Pedro! By my faith, my door must be the door of heaven, I think; for all the good keep coming in by ’t. But how comes your University term so soon over?

_Ped._ Alas, it’s _not_ over, but—

_Fel._ Well?

_Ped._ I’ll tell you.

_Juan._ If I be in your way—

_Ped._ No, no, sir, if you are Felix’s friend you command my confidence. My story is easily told. A lady I am courting in Alcalá is suddenly come up to Madrid, and I am come after her. And to escape my father’s wrath at playing truant, I must beg sanctuary in your house awhile.

_Fel._ And this once will owe me thanks for your entertainment, since I have Don Juan’s company to offer you.

_Juan._ Nay, ’tis I have to thank you for Don Pedro’s.

_Fel._ Only remember, both of you, that however you may amuse one another, you are not to entertain me with your several hearts and darts. Hernando, get us something to eat; and till it comes you shall set off rationally at least, Juan, with the account of the royal nuptials you were beginning just as Don Pedro came in.

_Juan._ On condition you afterwards recount to me your rejoicings in Madrid meanwhile.

_Fel._ Agreed.

_Ped._ I come in happy time to hear you both.

_Juan._ You know, as I was saying, what a debt Germany has owed us since our fair Maria Her title of the Royal Child of Spain Set in the crown of Hungary—a debt They only could repay us as they do, Returning us one of the self-same stock, So like herself in beauty and desert, We seem but taking what we gave away. If into Austria’s royal hand we gave Our royal rose, she now returns us one Sprung of the self-same stem, as fair, as sweet— In maiden graces; and if double-dyed In the imperial purple, yet so fresh, She scarce has drunk the dawns of fourteen Aprils. The marriage contract signed, the marriage self Delayed, too long for loyal Spain’s desire, That like the bridegroom for her coming burned, (But happiness were hardly happiness Limped it not late,) till her defective years Reached their due blossom—Ah, happy defect, That every unconditioned hour amends! At last arose the day—the day of days— When from her royal eyrie in the North The imperial eaglet flew. Young Ferdinand, King of Bohemia and Hungary Elect, who not in vain Rome’s holy hand Awaits to bind the laurel round his brow, As proxy for our king espoused her first, And then, all lover-like, as far as Trent Escorted her, with such an equipage As when the lords and princes of three realms Out-do each other in magnificence Of gold and jewel, ransackt from the depths Of earth and sea, to glitter in the eye Of Him who sees and lights up all from heaven. So, like a splendid star that trails her light Far after her, she crossed fair Italy, When Doria, Genoa’s great Admiral, Always so well-affected to our crown, Took charge of her sea-conduct; which awhile, Till winds and seas were fair, she waited for In Milan; till, resolved on embarkation, The sea, that could not daunt her with his rage, Soon as her foot was on his yellow shore, Call’d up his Tritons and his Nereids Who love and make a calm, to smooth his face And still his heaving breast; on whose blue flood The golden galley in defiance burn’d, Her crew in wedding pearl and silver drest; Her silken sail and cordage, fluttering With myriad flags and streamers of all dye, Sway’d like a hanging garden over-head, Amid whose blossoms stood the royal bride, A fairer Venus than did ever float Over the seas to her dominions Arm’d with the arrows of diviner love. Then to the sound of trump and clarion The royal galley, and with her forty more That follow’d in her wake as on their queen, Weigh’d, shook out sail, and dipp’d all oars at once, Making the flood clap hands in acclamation; And so with all their streamers, as ’twere spring Floating away to other hemispheres, Put out to sea; and touching not the isles That gem the midway deep—not from distrust Of friendly France in whose crown they are set, And who (as mighty states contend in peace With courtesies as with hard blows in war) Swell’d the triumphal tide with pageantries I may not stop to tell—but borne upon, And (as I think) bearing, fair wind and wave, The moving city on its moving base With sail and oar enter’d the Spanish Main, Which, flashing emerald and diamond, Leap’d round the golden prow that clove between, And kiss’d the happy shore that first declined To meet its mistress. Happy Denia, That in her golden sand holds pearly-like The first impression of that royal foot! I will not tell—let Felix, who was here, And has new breath—how, landed happily, Our loyal Spain—yea, with what double welcome— Received the niece and consort of our king, Whom, one and both, and both in one, may Heaven Bless with fair issue, and all happiness, For years and years to come!

_Enter HERNANDO._

_Hern._ Sir, sir!

_Fel._ Well?

_Hern._ Your two new neighbours—just come to the window.

_Fel._ Gentlemen, we must waive my story then, for as the proverb goes, ‘_My Lady first._’ (_He looks out._) By Heaven, they are divine!

_Juan._ Let me see. (_Aside._) By Heaven, ’tis she!

_Ped._ Come, it is my turn now. (_Aside._) Eugenia! I must keep it to myself.

_Fel._ I scarce know which is handsomest.

_Juan._ Humph! both pretty girls enough.

_Ped._ Yes, very well.

_Fel._ Listen, gentlemen; whether handsome, or pretty, or very well, or all three, you must not stare at them from my window so vehemently; being the daughters of a friend of mine, and only just come to Madrid.

_Juan_ (_aside_). That the first thing I should see on returning to Madrid, is she for whose love I left it!

_Ped._ (_aside_). That the first thing I see here is what I came for the very purpose of seeing!

_Hernando_ (_entering_). Table is served, sir.

_Fel._ To table, then. I know not how it is with you, gentlemen, but for myself, my appetite is stronger than my love.

_Juan_ (_aside to FELIX_). You jest as usual; but I assure you it is one of those very ladies on whom my fortune turns!

[_Exit._

_Fel._ Adieu to one then.

_Ped._ All this is fun to you, Felix; but believe me, one of those ladies is she I have followed from Alcalá.

[_Exit._

_Fel._ Adieu to both then—unless indeed you are both of you in love with the same. But, thank God,

I that am in love with neither, Need not plague myself for either. The least expense of rhyme or care That man can upon woman spare.

But they are very handsome nevertheless.

[_Exit._