The Purgatory of St. Patrick, Pedro Calderón de la Barca [i read a book TXT] 📗

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KING. Why these outcries? this commotion? What is this?

CAPTAIN. That Luis Enius Has escaped, and from the fortress All the guards have fled.

LEOGAIRE. My lord, I saw entering here Polonia.

PHILIP. Heavens! beyond all doubt 'twas she Who released him. That her lover He dared call him, you well know. Jealousy and rage provoke me To pursue them. A new Troy Will to-day be Ireland's story. [Exit.

KING. Give me, too, a horse; in person I these fugitives will follow. Ah, what Christians are these two Who with actions so discordant, One deprives me of my rest, And the other robs my honour? But the twain shall feel the weight Of my vengeful hands fall on them; For not safe from me would be Even their sovereign Roman Pontiff. [Exeunt.


* * * * *


SCENE X.

A WOOD, AT WHOSE EXTREMITY IS PAUL'S CABIN.

POLONIA flying wounded, and LUIS with a naked dagger in his hand.

POLONIA. Oh, hold thy bloody hand! Though love be dead, let Christian faith command. My honour take; but, oh, my poor life spare, That suppliant at thy feet pours out its humble prayer.

LUIS. Hapless Polonia, since creation's hour Beauty has ever one unvarying dower, It brings misfortune with it, it is this Makes beauty rarely live long time with bliss. I, who less pity feel Than any headsman who e'er held death's steel, May by thy death procure My life, since with it I will go secure. If thee I bring where fortune's hand may guide me I bring the witness of my woes beside me, By whom they may pursue me, Track me, discover me, in fact, undo me If here I leave thee living, I leave thee angry, vengeful, unforgiving; Leave thee, in fact, to be One enemy more (and what an enemy!); Thus equally I grieve thee, Thus evil do whether I take or leave thee; And so 'tis better thus, That I a wretch, cruel and infamous, False, impious, fierce, abandoned, wicked, banned By God and man, should slay thee by my hand, Since buried here, Within the rustic entrails dark and drear Of this rude realm of stone, My worst misfortune shall remain unknown. My fury, too, shall gain A novel kind of vengeance when thou'rt slain, Remaining satisfied That Philip, too, by the same stroke has died, If in thy heart he lived; and then mine ire Will need no victim more except thy sire. Through thee first came My first disgrace, the cause of all my shame, And so the first of all On thee my vengeful strokes shall furious fall.

POLONIA. Ah me! my fate pursuing, I have but only worked my own undoing, Like to the worm that by its subtle art Spins its own grave. Hast thou a human heart?

LUIS. I am a demon. So to prove it, die. Thus -

POLONIA. God of Patrick, listen to my cry!

[He stabs her several times, and she falls within.

LUIS. She fell on flowers, there sowing Both lives and horrors in her blood outflowing. Thus now with greater ease I can escape, and carry o'er the seas, In many a gem and chain, Treasure enough to make me rich in Spain, Until so changed by time, Disguised by wandering in a foreign clime, I may return to reap My vengeance; for a wrong doth never sleep. But whither do I stray, Treading the shades of death in this dark way? My path is lost: I go Whither I do not know; Perchance escaping from my prison bands To fall again into my tyrant's hands. If the dark night doth not my sight deceive, Yonder a rustic cabin I perceive. Yes, I am right. I'll knock; I can't much err, They'll know the way. [He knocks.


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SCENE XI.

PAUL and LUCY. - LUIS.

LUCY [within]. Who's there?

LUIS. A traveller, Benighted, his way lost, confused, distressed, Good worthy husbandman, disturbs thy rest.

LUCY [within]. Ho, Juan! how you snore! Awake! there's some one knocking at the door.

PAUL [within]. Why, I am well enough here in my bed. He knocks for you, so answer him instead.

LUCY [within]. Who's there?

LUIS. A traveller, I say.

PAUL [within]. A traveller?

LUIS. Yes.

PAUL [within]. Then travel on, I pray. This cabin is no inn, sir, not a bit.

LUIS. I'm getting weary of this fellow's wit. I'll try what kicking in the door will do. [Drives in the door. Ay, there it goes.

LUCY [within]. Why, Juan Paul, halloo! Awake, I say, for if I don't mistake, The door's knocked in.

PAUL [within]. Well, one eye is awake, But underneath its lid the other's laid.- Come with me, Lucy, for I'm sore afraid.

[Enter PAUL and LUCY. Who's there?

LUIS. Be silent, peasants, and attend If you would not that now your lives should end. Lost in this woodland waste I sought your door; and so, my friend, make haste To tell me the best way From this to the port, where I by break of day May from the coast get clear.

PAUL. Go right ahead: first take the pathway here, They left, then right again, Rise where there's hill, descend where there's a plain, And going thus, in short, The port you'll reach when you have reached the port.

LUIS. 'Tis better that you come Along with me, or by the heavens o'erhead, Your blood shall stain the ground on which you tread.

LUCY. Were it not better, cavalier, To pass the night here till the dawn appear?

PAUL. How very kind you are when least expected! Are you already to this knight infected?

LUIS. Choose now, at once, I say, To die or guide me.

PAUL. Don't be vexed, I pray; If I without more haggling or vain clack Select to go, and carry you on my back, If so you chose, 'tis not that death I fear, But just to disappoint my Lucy here.

LUIS [aside]. That he may not betray Whither I go, to those who track my way, Him from some cliff I'll throw Headlong amid the icy waves below.- [To LUCY. You with this consolation here remain Your husband will be with you soon again. [Exeunt the two at one side, and she at the other.


* * * * *


SCENE XII.

The King EGERIUS, LESBIA, LEOGAIRE, The Captain; afterwards PHILIP.

LESBIA. Not a trace of them is found; All the mountain, hill and valley, Leaf by leaf has been explored, Bough by bough has been examined, Rock by rock has been searched through, Still no clue wherewith to track them Can we light on.

KING. Without doubt, To preserve them from my anger, Has the earth engulphed the two; For not heaven itself could guard them From my wrath if still they lived.

LESBIA. See the sun his disentangled Golden tresses far extends Over mountains, groves and gardens, Showing that the day hath come.

[Enter PHILIP. PHILIP. Deign, your majesty, to hearken To a tragedy more dreadful, To a crime more unexampled Than has time or fortune ever Yet recorded in earth's annals. Seeking traces of Polonia Through these savage woods distracted Roamed I restless all the night-time, Till at length and amid the darkness Half awakened rose the dawn; Not in veils of gold and amber Was she dressed, a robe of mourning Formed of clouds composed her mantle, And with discontented light Hidden were the stars and planets, Though for this one time alone They were happy in their absence. Searching there in every part, We approached where blood was spattered On the tender dewy flower, And upon the ground some fragments of a woman's dress were strewn. By these signs at once attracted, We went on, 'till at the foot Of a great rock overhanging, In a fragrant tomb of roses Lay Polonia, dead and stabbed there.


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SCENE XIII.

POLONIA dead; and afterwards PATRICK. - THE SAME.

PHILIP. Turn your eyes, and here you see The young tree of beauty blasted, Pale and sad the opening flower, The bright flame abruptly darkened; See here loveliness laid prostrate, See warm life here turned to marble, See, alas! Polonia dead.

KING. Philip, cease! proceed no farther! For I have not resignation To bear up with any calmness 'Gainst so many forms of wrong, 'Gainst so many shapes of sadness, 'Gainst such manifold misfortunes. Ah, my daughter! Ah, thou hapless Treasure fatally found for me!

LESBIA. Grief my feeling so o'ermasters That I have not breath to mourn. Ah! of all thy woes the partner Let thy wretched sister be!

KING. What rude hand in ruffian anger Raised its bloody steel against Beauty so divinely fashioned? Sorrow, sorrow ends my life.

PATRICK [within]. Woe to thee, sin-stained Irlanda! Woe to thee, unhappy people! If with tears thou dost not water The hard earth, and night and day Weeping in thy bitter anguish, Ope the golden gates of heaven Which thy disobedience fastened. Woe to thee, unhappy people! Woe to thee, sin-stained Irlanda!

KING. Heavens! what mournful tones are these? What are these sad solemn accents That transpierce my very heart, That cut through me like a dagger? Learn who thus disturbs the flowing Of my grief's most tender channels. Who but I should so lament? Who but I should wail thus sadly?

LEOGAIRE. This, my lord, is Patrick, who Having as you know, departed From this country went to Rome, Where the Pontiff, the great father, Made him bishop, and a post Of pre-eminence imparted To him here; through all the islands He proceedeth in this manner.

[PATRICK enters.

PATRICK. Woe to thee, unhappy people! Woe to thee, sin-stained Irlanda!

KING. Patrick, thou who thus my grief Interrupted, and my sadness Doubled with thy golden words, Hiding false and poisonous matter, Why thus persecute me? Wherefore Thus disturb the hills and valleys Of my kingdom with deceptions And new-fangled laws and maxims? Here we know but this alone, We are born and die. Our fathers Left us this, the simple doctrine Taught by nature, and no farther Have we sought to learn. What God Can be this, of whom such marvels You relate, who life eternal Gives when temporal life departeth? Can the soul, when it is severed From the body, be so active As to have another life, Or of bale or bliss, hereafter?