Scene VII Diego Enters From the Right Side, and Seeing Alonzo, Whistles With All His Strength
Alonzo. (Turning round wildly, and grasping his sword) What is the matter?
Juan. (Springing forwards from the left side) What is the matter?
Diego. Is it you, Don Alonzo?—Why did you not say immediately that it was you?
Juan. (Clapping Diego upon the shoulder) My friend, you must take a frightened hare for your device.
Diego. Better than a blind lion. Signor Velasquez, you knights consider it as one of the duties of your order to revile prudence as cowardice, in the same manner as we who cannot write, call all learned men, in derision, feather heroes. Did not you yourself order me to whistle whenever I should encounter any thing suspicious?
Juan. Fool! how long has thy master been an object of suspicion to thee?
Diego. To tell you the truth, Signor Don Juan, some time. Look at him now, how he stands there. (Pointing to Alonzo, who has resumed his former attitude.)
Juan. (Shaking Alonzo) My dear friend, was the adieu then so very heart-breaking?
Alonzo. (Falling on his neck) Ah, Velasquez, thy admonitions came too late!
Juan. Oh God!—What!—is she?——
Alonzo. She is indeed!
Juan. Then may we consider our prospect of seeing the kingdom of heaven as no very distant one.
Alonzo. (Taking Juan’s hand) Oh do not forsake me, my friend, my companion, my brother in arms!
Juan. (Shaking his hand ardently) Alonzo, it is not my practice to call to the boy who is struggling in the water, “You should not have fallen in:”—I would rather, if it were possible, draw him out. But, by the powers above, I do not know what is to be done here!—Had we a vessel at our command, or could we procure an enchanter’s cloak, which would convey us through the air, then would not I be among the last to recommend flight. But since no such means lie at present within our reach, the course to be pursued is not very obvious. Well, well, Velasquez! arm thyself with courage to meet the worst—wrap thyself up in thy cloak, even to the very teeth, and leave the thunder to rattle, and the lightning to flash quietly around thee.
Alonzo. (Wringing his hands) All is lost! No resource, no way of escape left!
Juan. Be not so desponding. All is not lost as long as a man retains his senses. Let us depart, eat, drink, and take our rest;—then, by to-morrow, both mind and body will have acquired new strength, and we shall be better able to consider what is to be done.
Diego. Oh, flower of knighthood!
Alonzo. Stop! she will return soon; she promised me at the dawn of morning——
Juan. So, so!—Well, of all employments under the sun, commend me to that of being confident to a lover! They have no idea that a man can have any human feelings—that he must sleep——
Diego. That he must eat—that he must drink—
Alonzo. Forgive me!
Juan. Yes, yes, I forgive you freely; but you must inscribe this sacrifice deeply in your heart; for, by Heaven! the loss of my night’s rest—yet, no, rather than lose it, I will repose under the trees. (He spreads out his cloak, and lies down upon it) It is always good to make a virtue of necessity; so, with the sage remark, that weariness is the best of all opiates, I wish you a good night, Alonzo. He who has an unsullied conscience can sleep, even with the trunk of a tree only for his pillow, as soundly as the seven sleepers themselves. (He closes his eyes.)
Diego. (Also spreading himself a bed) If there should happen to be a rattle-snake or two hereabouts—or, perchance, a tyger as hungry as myself!—Hold! an idea occurs to me. (He takes out a rosary, which he hangs upon the nearest tree) Now I think we are safe. (He lies down) If I can sleep now, who will say that I am not a master in the trade; for my head is full of thought, my heart full of fear, and my poor stomach quite empty. (He falls asleep.)
Alonzo. (Contemplates both for a while, then exclaims) Happy men! (He leans in musing melancholy against a tree.)
(The Curtain falls.)
END OF THE FIRST ACT.