Chapter 29

JUAN PAUL, dressed ridiculously as a soldier, and LUIS ENIUS, very pensive.

PAUL. Yes, the day would come I knew, After long procrastination, When a word of explanation I should ask to have with you. "Come with me," you said. Though dark, Off I trudged with heavy heart To point out to you the part Where at morn you could embark; Then again, with thundering voice, Thus you spoke, "Where I must fly Choose to come with me, or die." And, since you allowed a choice, Of two ills I chose the worst, Which, sir, was to go with you. As your shadow then I flew 'Cross the sea to England first, Then to Scotland, then to France then to Italy and Spain, Round the world and back again, As in some fantastic dance. Not a country great or small Could escape you, 'till, good lack! Here we are in Ireland back:-- Now, sir, I, plain Juan Paul, Being perplexed to know what draws You here now, with beard and hair Grown so long, your speech, your air, Changed so much, would ask the cause Why you these disguises wear? You by day ne'er leave the inn, But when cold night doth begin You a thousand follies dare, Without bearing this in mind, That we now are in a land Wholly changed from strand to strand, Where, in fact, we nothing find As we left it. The old king Died despairing, and his heir, Lesbia, now the crown doth wear, For her sister, hapless thing! Poor Polonia . . . .

LUIS. Oh, that name Do not mention! do not kill me By repeating what doth thrill me To the centre of my frame As with lightning. Yes, I know That at length Polonia died.

PAUL. Yes; our host was at her side (He himself has told me so) When they found her dead, and . . . .

LUIS. Cease! Of her death, oh! speak no more, 'Tis sufficient to deplore, And to pray that she's at peace.

PAUL. Leaving heathen sin and crime, All the people far and near Are become good Christians here. For one Patrick, who some time Now is dead . . . .

LUIS. Is Patrick dead?

PAUL. So I from our host have heard.

LUIS [aside]. Badly have I kept my word!-- But proceed.

PAUL. The teaching spread Of the faith of Christ, and gave, As a proof complete and whole Of the eternity of the soul, The discovery of a cave.-- Oh! it's the very name doth send Terror through me.

LUIS. Yes, I have heard Of that cave, and every word Made my hair to stand on end. Those who in the neighbourhood Dwell, see wonders every day.

PAUL. Since, 'mid terror and dismay, In your melancholy mood You will no one hear or see, Ever locked within your room, It is plain you have not come Aught to learn, how strange they be, Of these things. It doth appear Other work you are about. Satisfy my foolish doubt, And say why we have come here.

LUIS. to your questions thus I yield: Yes, I forced you, as you mention, From your house, and my intention Was to kill you in the field; But I thought it best instead You to make my steps attend As my comrade and my friend, Shaking off the mortal dread Which forbad me to endure Any stranger, and in fine, That your arms being joined with mine, I might feel the more secure. Many a land, both far and near, Passing through you fared right well; And now answering I will tell Why it is that we come here. And 'tis this: I come to slay Here a man who did me wrong, 'Tis for this I pass along, Muffled in this curious way, Hiding country, dress, and name; And the night suits best for me, For my powerful enemy Can the first position claim In the land. Since I avow Why I hither have been led, Listen now how I have sped In my project until now. I three days ago was brought To this city in disguise, For two nights, beneath the skies, I my enemy have sought In his street and at his door; Twice a muffled figure came And disturbed me in my aim, Twice he called and stalked before Him I followed in the street; But when I the figure neared, Suddenly he disappeared As if wings were on his feet. I this third night have brought you, That should this mysterious shape Come again, he sha'nt escape, Being caught between us two; Who he is we then can see.

PAUL. Two? who are they?

LUIS. You and I.

PAUL. I'm not one.

LUIS. Not one? How? Why?

PAUL. No, sir, no. I cannot be One, nor half a one. These stories Faith! would frighten fifty Hectors; What know I of Lady Spectres, Or of Lord Don Purgatories? All through life I've kept aloof From the other world's affairs, Shunning much superfluous cares; But, my courage put to proof, Bid me face a thousand men, And if I don't cut and run From the thousand, nay, from one, Never trust to me again. For I think it quite a case Fit for Bedlam, if so high, That a man would rather die, Than just take a little race. Such a trifle! Sir, to me Life is precious; leave me here, Where you'd find me, never fear.

LUIS. Here's the house; to-night I'll be, Philip, your predestined fate. Now we'll see if heaven pretends To defend him, and defends.-- Watch here, you, beside the gate.

* * * * *