SCENE III.—_The PRINCE’S Villa.

_Enter DON JUAN in poor apparel; and CELIO._

_Cel._ Your business with the Prince, sir?

_Juan._ Only to speak About a picture I have finish’d for him.

_Cel._ He is not here at present; not, I think, Return’d from hunting.

_Juan._ Will he soon be home?

_Cel._ I cannot speak to that, sir.

[_Exit CELIO._

_Juan._ Why, what a fate is mine! All of a sudden—but I dare not say it; Scarce could I of myself believe it, if I told it to myself; so with some things ’Tis easier to bear, than hear of them; And how much happens daily in this strange world, Far easier to be done than be believed. Who could have thought that I, being what I was A few days back, am what I am; to this Reduced by that name _Honour_; whose nice laws, Accurst be he who framed! Little he knew the essence of the thing He legislated for, who put my honour Into another’s hand; made my free right Another’s slave, for others to abuse, And then myself before the world arraign’d, To answer for a crime against myself! And one being vain enough to make the law, How came the silly world to follow it, Like sheep to their own slaughter! And in all This silly world is there a greater victim To its accursed custom than myself!

_Enter LEONELO, poorly drest._

_Leon._ Yes, one, Who follows your misfortunes, and picks up The crumbs of misery that fall from you; My chief subsistence now.

_Juan._ And I have left Country and home to chase this enemy, Of whom as yet no vestige—

_Leon._ And no wonder, Seeing he travels with you.

_Juan._ In these rags—

_Leon._ And very hungry; and so we come at last To Naples; for what purpose?

_Juan._ Why, if ’t be Some former lover; would he not return To his own country, and hers?

_Leon._ In which meanwhile We starve, without a stiver in our pockets, While friends swarm round us, if you would, my lord, Reveal yourself.

_Juan._ Shorn of my honour? No!

_Leon._ And I, not being shorn of appetite, Would publish my disgraceful want of food To all the world. There is Don Luis now, Your ancient friend.

_Juan._ What friend but, if he be True to himself and me, must be my enemy, And either wholly turn his face away, Or look at me with pity and contempt? I will reveal myself to no one, nay, Reveal _myself_ I cannot,—not myself Until I be avenged.

_Leon._ And so you make The painter’s trade your stalking-horse To track your enemy, and in these rags Come to the Prince.

_Juan._ Oh let me die in rags, Rather than he should recognise me! Once He saw me—

_Leon._ O my lord, fear not for that; Hunger, and rags, and sleeplessness, and anguish, Have changed you so your oldest friend would pass you.

_Juan._ They have that merit then. But see—the Prince.

_Enter PRINCE._

I kiss your Highness’ hand.

_Prince._ Well, Spaniard, What would you with me?

_Juan._ I waited on your Highness, To tell you of a picture I had finisht. Thinking your Grace might like—

_Prince._ I thank you, sir. What is the subject?

_Juan._ Hercules, my lord; Wherein (unless I do deceive myself) I think the fair and terrible are join’d With some success.

_Prince._ As how?

_Juan._ As thus, my lord. The point I have chosen in that history Is where the faithless Centaur carries off Deianira, while beyond the river Stands Hercules with such a face and gesture As not a man, I think, who looks on it, But would exclaim, ‘Jealousy and Revenge!’

_Prince._ I long to see it.

_Juan._ That is the main group; But far away, among the tangled thicks Of a dark mountain gap, this Hercules Fires his own funeral pile to the smoky clouds. And I would have this motto for the whole, ‘So Jealousy in its own flames expires.’

_Prince._ Not only do I like the subject well, But now especially, being deeply scorcht, Not with the flame that burn’d up Hercules, But that for which the unlucky Centaur died.

_Juan._ Indeed, my lord.

_Prince._ Indeed—and, having done This picture for me, you shall set about One other.

_Juan._ At your pleasure.

_Prince._ You shall know then, That of a certain lady whom but once I saw, and for a moment, I became Infatuated so, her memory Every where and for ever, day and night, Pursues me. Hopeless of obtaining her, And ev’n of ever seeing her again, Chance has discover’d to me where she lives Conceal’d—I know not why, but so it is— And ’twould at least console my hopeless love, To have her picture. You are a foreigner Who know not nor are known by any here, So I can better trust you with a secret I dare not even to herself reveal.

_Juan._ I’ll do my best to serve you; but I fear, If she be such a creature as you say, That I shall fail to satisfy myself Or you.

_Prince._ Why so?

_Juan._ I tried at such a face Once.

_Prince._ Nay, I know that beauty’s subtlest essence Is most impossible to seize. But yet I shall commit this business to your hands Most confidently.

_Juan._ I’ll do my best.

_Prince._ Come then, Remembering this business must be done With all despatch and secrecy. Yourself Must not be seen by her, nor I, who know not (I told you) how or why she should be there; But my authority, and a little gold, (At least, I hope,) shall set the door ajar, That you may catch a sight of her. Myself Will be at hand, and ready to protect you Against all danger.

_Juan._ I will trust your Highness, And also (let me say so) trust myself, Although but a poor painter.

_Prince._ I believe it; And each of us shall play his part, I think, That neither shall depart unsatisfied.

[_Exit PRINCE._

_Juan._ Perhaps, but not as you suppose. Leonelo, Put up my brushes and my colours, and— My pistols with them.

_Leon._ Pistols! Is ’t to paint In body colour?

_Juan._ Put them up.

_Leon._ And whither Are we to carry them?

_Juan._ I do not know. Whither the Prince shall carry me, I go.

[_Exeunt._