SCENE II.—_A room in DON LUIS’ castle in the hills.

_Enter ALVARO and FABIO._

_Alv._ How is ’t with Serafina?

_Fab._ Nay, you know. Ever the same.

_Alv._ You mean still weeping?

_Fab._ Ay.

_Alv._ Yes, from the hour when, fainting in my arms, She pass’d from raging flame to the wild seas, And opening those heavenly eyes again, Still with the hue of death upon her cheek, She saw herself in my ship—in my power,— She has not ceased to weep; all my caresses Unable to console her. I fondly hoped that she—

_Enter SERAFINA._

_Ser._ Good Fabio,

[_Exit FABIO._

Leave us awhile. ‘You fondly hoped,’ Alvaro— So much I heard, connected with my name; And I perhaps have something on that text Would clear the matter up to both of us. ‘You fondly hoped’—was ’t not that I might be So frail, so lost to shame, and so inconstant, That for the loss of husband, home, and honour, Lost in one day, I might console myself With being in his arms, who robb’d me of all! Was ’t this you hoped?

_Alv._ No, Serafina, but—

_Ser._ But what?

_Alv._ And yet perhaps ’twas that I hoped— The very desperation of my act Bringing its pardon with it, soon or late, Seeing the very element of love Is rashness, that he finds his best excuse In having none at all. Ah, Serafina, How greatly must he love, who all for love Perils the hope of being loved at all!

_Ser._ Poor argument! I rather draw that he Who ventures on such desperate acts can have No true respect for her he outrages, And therefore no true love. No, daring traitor— But I’ll not strive to break the heart of flint, But wear it with my tears. Hear me, Alvaro, In pity—in mercy—hear me. This thing is done, there is no remedy, Let us not waste the time in arguing What better had been done; the stars so ruled it— Yea, providence that rules the stars. Well then, What next? Alvaro, I would speak of this; And if ’t be right I owe you any thing, Be it for this one boon, a patient hearing. Listen to me— I never draw a breath but ’tis on fire With Juan’s vengeance; never move a step But think I see his fierce eyes glaring at me From some dark corner of this desolate house In which my youth is buried. And what gain you By all this crime and misery? My body, But not my soul; without possessing which, Beauty itself is but a breathing corpse, But a cold marble statue, unsuffused With the responsive hue of sympathy, Possess’d but not enjoy’d. Oh, ill betide that villain love, not love, That all its object and affection finds In the mere contact of encircling arms! But if this move you not—consider, Alvaro— Don Juan is a nobleman—as such Bound to avenge his honour; he must know ’Twas you who did this monstrous act, for Flora Would tell him all. There is one remedy: ’Tis this, that you, despairing of my love, Which you can never gain—forgo me quite, And give me up to some cold convent’s cloister, Where buried I may wear away—

_Alv._ No more, Rather than give you up again, Serafina, Pray heaven’s thunder—

(_Shot within._)

_Ser._ Again, this dreadful omen! ’Tis for my death!

_Alv._ Fear not—Belardo! ho! What shot was that?

_Enter BELARDO._

_Bel._ Your sister Porcia Is coming up the mountain; nay, is now At the very gate.

_Ser._ Oh, whither must I go!

_Alv._ Belardo, lead her hence.

_Bel._ Not that way, sir, By which your sister enters.

_Alv._ In here then. I’ll go and meet Porcia.

_Ser._ Mercy, heaven!

[_She goes in at one door, as PORCIA enters by another._

_Alv._ How now, Porcia, you look pleased to-day!

_Por._ And well I may—for two reasons, Alvaro.

_Alv._ Well, what are they?

_Por._ First, I have got my father to relax in his humour against you.

_Alv._ My good sister!

_Por._ So as he will see you at Bellaflor this very evening.

_Alv._ Good! and your second reason?

_Por._ That coming up the pass, I made the crowning shot of my life with this arquebuss—a hare at full speed—flying, I might say.

_Alv._ Give you joy of both your hits, Porcia.

_Por._ I am so proud of the last (though glad of the first, Alvaro) that I shall try my luck and skill a little longer about the castle this evening.

_Alv._ So—

_Por._ You will not wait for me, but go down at once to Bellaflor, and show my father you value his forgiveness by your haste to acknowledge it.

_Alv._ You say well; but you will go with me?

_Por._ Fear not, I shall soon be after you.

_Alv._ Well, if so, then——(_apart to BELARDO_) Belardo, remember you get the lady to her room directly my sister is gone out.

_Por._ Our roads lie together as far as the gate at least. (_Aside to BELARDO._) If the Prince happen to come hither, tell him to wait for me, Belardo; I shall be back directly. Come, brother.

[_Exeunt ALVARO and PORCIA._

_Bel._ They say a Pander is a good business; and yet here am I ministering both to brother and sister with very little profit at the year’s end.

_Ser._ (_entering cautiously_). Porcia’s gone?

_Bel._ Yes, she is gone.

_Ser._ Had she resolved on going into the room where I was she could have done it; there was neither key nor bolt within. But she is gone and I can get to my own.

_Bel._ No.

_Ser._ Belardo! why?

_Bel._ Some one coming.

_Ser._ Again!

[_She hides, as before._

_Enter PRINCE._

_Prince._ How now, Belardo, where is your mistress? she advised me her brother would be away, and she here this evening.

_Bel._ Your Highness comes in good time. She went with him, but will be back directly. She is here.

_Enter PORCIA._

_Por._ Not far behind, you see. Scarce had he taken the turn to Bellaflor, when I turn’d back.

_Prince._ How shall I thank you for this favour?

_Por._ My brother’s living here has been the reason of our not meeting before: but that is remedied for the future.

_Prince._ And how?

_Por._ He is at last reconciled to my father, and is even now gone home, to Bellaflor.

_Prince._ (_aside_). My heart thanks you but little, being away with another; but if I cannot avenge memory, I will thus try and deceive or amuse it. My lovely Porcia!

_Bel._ (_aside_). She hears every word they say!

_Por._ Ah, you flatter still.

_Prince._ Flatter!

_Por._ Do I not know there is a Siren at Naples—

_Prince._ Porcia, to prove to you how unfounded that suspicion is, I have these many days wholly quitted Naples, and, out of a melancholy that has taken hold of me, now live retired in a little Villa hard by this: you may imagine at least one reason for my doing so. And so enchanted am I with my solitude, that till this evening (when you broke it as I could wish) I have not once stirred abroad; my only occupation being to watch some pictures that I am having done, by the best masters of Italy and of Spain too; one of which country I have happened on, who might compete with Apelles. As I told you, I have spent whole days in watching them at work.

_Por._ My jealousy whispered—

_Enter BELARDO._

_Bel._ Unlucky to be sure.

_Por._ What now?

_Bel._ What can make your brother return so suddenly?

_Por._ My brother!

_Bel._ He is now at the gate.

_Por._ He must suspect the Prince! O, my lord, hide yourself.

_Prince._ Where?

_Por._ Any where!—quick! here.

[_She puts him where SERAFINA is._

_Prince._ For your sake, Porcia.

_Enter ALVARO._

_Alv._ I cannot be easy till I am assured that Serafina——Porcia here?

_Por._ Alvaro!

_Alv._ You left me on a sudden?

_Por._ I was tired, and came back for rest.

_Alv._ So—

_Por._ But you?

_Alv._ I bethought me that, considering my father’s late indisposition toward me, it were better you were at my side when I went to him.

_Por._ So—

_Alv._ So that if he should relapse into ill-humour, you know how to direct him.

_Por._ Well, shall we start again together?

_Alv._ Is not that best?

_Por._ As you please.

_Alv._ (_aside_). She will not then stumble on Serafina.

_Por._ (_aside_). I shall so get him out of the Prince’s way.

[_Exeunt PORCIA and ALVARO._

_Bel._ Now then the two imprisoned ones get out.

_Enter the PRINCE, and SERAFINA, her hand before her face._

_Ser._ In vain—you shall not know me.

_Prince._ Nay, in vain You try to be unknown.

_Ser._ Consider—

_Prince._ Nay, Down with that little hand, too small a cloud To hide the heaven of your beauty from me. Lady, I know you—but one such. And know That love himself has wrought a miracle, To this unlikeliest place, by means unlikeliest, Bringing us here together.

_Bel._ Only this was wanting to the plot! The sister’s gallant in love with the brother’s mistress!

_Ser._ Generous Orsino! if I try in vain To hide me from you—wretched that I am To have to hide at all—but the less wretched Being unmaskt by your nobility— I ask this mercy at your feet; betray not The secret chance has now betray’d to you. I am a wretched woman, you a Prince. Grant me this boon; and yet one more, to leave me To weep my miseries in solitude.

_Prince._ Madam, your prayer is not in vain. Your name, Upon the word and honour of a Prince, Shall never pass my lips. And for that second wish, hardest of all, I yet will pay for one delicious glance The greatest price I can, by leaving you. Farewell—you owe me more anxiety Than you believe.

_Ser._ I shall not be ashamed To own the debt, though hopeless to repay it. But heav’n shall do that for me. Farewell, my lord.

_Prince._ Farewell.

[_Exeunt PRINCE and SERAFINA._

_Bel._ I wonder if they know the ancient line, ‘I’ll keep your secret, only you keep mine.’

[_Exit._