Calisto Is Smitten With Melibea’s Charms
Argument.—Calisto, entering into a garden after his usual manner, met there with Melibea, with whose love being caught, he began to court her; by whom being sharply checkt and dismist, he gets him home.
Calisto. Sempronio, Sempronio, why Sempronio, I say, Where is this accursed Varlet?
Sempronio. I am heere, Sir, about your horses.
Calisto. My horses (you knave), how haps it then that thou comst out of the hall?
Sempronio. The Gyrfalcon bated, and I came in to set him on the Pearch.
Calisto. Is’t e’en so? Now the divell take thee; misfortune waite on thy heeles to thy destruction; mischiefe light upon thee; let some perpetuall intolerable torment seyze upon thee in so high a degree that it may be beyond all comparison, till it bring thee (which shortly I hope to see) to a most painfull, miserable, and disastrous death. Goe, thou unlucky rogue, goe I say, and open the chamber doore, and make ready my bed.
Sempronio. Presently, Sir, the bed is ready for you.
Calisto. Shut the windowes, and leave darknesse to accompany him, whose sad thoughts deserve no light. Oh death! how welcome art thou, to those who out-live their happinesse! how welcome, wouldst thou but come when thou art cal! O that Hypocrates and Galen, those learned Physicians, were now living, and both heere, and felt my paine! O heavens! if yee have any pitty in you, inspire that Pleberian heart therewith, lest that my soule, helplesse of hope, should fall into the like misfortune with Pyrramus and Thisbe.
Sempronio. What a thing is this? Wha the matter with you?
Calisto. Away, get thee gone, doe not speake to me, unlesse thou wilt, that these my hands, before thy time be come, cut off thy daies by speedy death.
Sempronio. Since you will lament all alone, and have none to share with you in your sorrowes, I will be gone, Sir.
Calisto. Now the divell goe with thee.
Sempronio. With me Sir? There is no reason that he should goe with me, who stayes with you. O unfortunate, O sudden and unexpected ill; what contrarious accident, what squint-ey’d starre is it that hath robbed this Gentleman of his wonted mirth? and not of that alone, but of it (which is worse) his wits. Shall I leave him all alone? or shall I goe in to him? If I leave him alone, he will kill himselfe. If I goe in, he will kill me. Let him bide alone, and bite upon the bit, come what will come, I care not. Better it is that hee dye, whose life is hatefull unto him, than that I dye, when life is pleasing unto mee, and say that I should not desire to live, save only to see my Elicia, that alone is motive inoughe to make mee louke to my selfe, and guard my person from dangers.... Well, I will let him alone awhile, and give his humour leave to work out it selfe;... againe, if he see me in sight, I shall see him more incensed against me: For there the sun scorcheth most where he reflecteth most.... And therefore I think it my best play, to play least in sight, and to stay a little longer; but if in the meanewhile he should kill him selfe, then farewell he. Perhaps I may get more by it than every man is aware of, and cast my skinne, changing rags for robes, and penury for plenty. But it is an old saying, He that lookes after dead-men’s shoes, may chance to goe barefoote: Perhaps also the divell hath deceived me. And so his death may be my death, and then all the fat is in the fire: The rope will go after the Bucket: and one losse follows another;—on the other side, your wise men say, That it is a great ease to a grieved soule to have a companion, to whom he may communicate his sorrow. Besides, it is generally received, that the wound which bleedes inward, is ever the more dangerous. Why then in these two extremes hang I in suspense. What I were best to doe? Sure the safest is to enter....
Calisto. Sempronio!
Sempronio. Sir.
Calisto. Reach me that Lute.
Sempronio. Sir, heere it is.
Calisto. “Tell me what griefe so great can be
As to equall my misery.”
Sempronio. This Lute, Sir, is out of tune.
Calisto. How shall he tune it, who himselfe is out of tune?... Or how can he do anything well, whose will is not obedient to reason? who harbors in his brest needles, peace, warre, truce, love, hate, injuries and suspicions; and all these at once, and from one and the same cause. Doe thou therefore take this Lute unto thee, and sing me the most doleful ditty thou canst devise.
Sempronio.
“Nero from Tarpey, doth behold
How Rome doth burne all on a flame;
He heares the cries of young and old,
Yet is not grievéd at the same.”
Calisto. My fire is farre greater, and lesse her pity whom now I speake of——
Sempronio. I was not deceived when I sayd, my Master had lost his wits.
Calisto. Whats that (Sempronio) thou muttrest to thy selfe?
Sempronio. Nothing Sir, not I.
Calisto. Tell me what thou saidst: Be not afraid.
Sempronio. Marry I said, How can that fire be greater which but tormenteth one living man, than that which burnt such a Citty as that was, and such a multitude of men?
Calisto. How? I shall tell thee. Greater is that flame which lasteth fourscore yeeres than that which endureth but one day. And greater that fire which burneth one soule, than that which burneth an hundred thousand bodies: See what difference there is betwixt apparencies and existencies; betwixt painted shadowes, and lively substances.... So great a difference is there betwixt that fire which thou speakest of and that which burneth mee.
Sempronio. I see, I did not mistake my byas; which runnes worse and worse. Is it not enough to shew thy selfe a fool, but thou must also speake prophanely?
Calisto. Did I not tell thee, when thou speakest, that thou shouldest speake aloud? Tell me what’s that thou mumblest to thy selfe.
Sempronio. Onely I doubted of what religion your Worship was.
Calisto. I am a Melibean, I adore Melibea, I believe in Melibea, and I love Melibea.
Sempronio. My Master is all Melibea: whose heart not able to containe her, like a boyling vessell, goes bubbling her name in his mouth. Well, I have now as much as I desire: I know on which foot you halt. I shall heale you.
Calisto. Thou speakest of matters beyond the Moone. It is impossible.
Sempronio. O Sir, exceeding easie; for the first recovery of sicknesse, is the discovery of the disease.... Ha, ha, ha, Calisto’s fire; these, his intolerable paines: as if love shot all his arrowes only against him. O Cupid, how high and unsearchable are thy mysteries! What reward has thou ordained for love, since that so necessary a tribulation attends on lovers? That hast set his bounds, as markes for men to wonder at: Lovers ever deeming that they only are cast behinde; that all men breake thorow but themselves, like your light-footed bulls, which being let loose in the Place, and galled with darts, take over the bars as soone as they feele themselves prickt.
Calisto. Sempronio.
Sempronio. Sir.
Calisto. Doe not you goe away.
Sempronio. This pipe sounds in another tune.
Calisto. What dost thou think of my malady?
Sempronio. Why, that you love Melibea.
“Celestina, or the Tragicomedy of Calisto and Melibea.”
The first Act is attributed to Rodrigo Cota, 1480.
Trans. Puede-Ser, or Mabbe.