Chapters 5
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1 01 - ACT I - The King 40:28
Personages of the drama. Don Rui Gometh de Silva, read by Alan Mapstone. Danya Sol, read by Jen Broda. King of Bahamia, read by Algie Pag. The Duke of Bavaria, read by Jim Hedrick. The Duke of Gotar, read by Michael Broomhill. The Duke of Lutzelberg, read by Red Run. Don Sancho, read by Adrian Stevens. Don Matias, read by John Payton. Don Ricardo, read by Larry Wilson. Don Garci Suarez, read by Jim Hedrick. Don Francisco, read by Andrew Gantz. Don Juan de Haro, read by Kristen Hand. Don Gilles Tellez Girón. Read by Sandra Schmidt. Dona Josefa Duarte. Read by Lynette Calkins. Mountaineer. Read by Todd. The Lady. Read by Michelle Eaton. First Conspirator. Read by Adrian Stevens. Second Conspirator.
Read by John Payton. Third Conspirator. Read by Andrew Gantz. A conspirator, read by Todd. The page, read by Jim Hedrick. Stage directions, read by Sonia. Spain, AD 1519. Act first, The King. Scene one, Saragossa, a chamber. Night, a lamp on the table. Doña Josefa Duarte, an old woman dressed in black. With body of her dress worked in jet in the fashion of Isabella the Catholic. Don Carlos. Doña Josefa alone. She draws the crimson curtains off the window and puts some armchairs in order. A knock at a little secret door on the right. She listens. A second knock. Can it be he already? Another knock. Tis indeed. At the hidden stairway. A fourth knock. I must open quick. She opens the concealed door.
Don Carlos enters, his face muffled in his cloak, and his head drawn over his brows. Good evening to you, sir. She ushers him in. He drops his cloak and reveals a rich dress of silk and velvet in the Castilian style of 1519. She looks at him closely and recoils astonished. What now? Not you, Signor Hernani. Fire! Fire! Help! Oh, help! Don Carlos seizing her by the arm. But two words more, Duenna, and you die. He looks at her intently. She is frightened into silence. Is this the room of Doña Sol, betrothed to her old uncle, Duke de Pastrana? A very worthy lord he is, senile, white-haired and jealous. Tell me, is it true the beauteous Doña loves a smooth-faced youth, all whiskerless as yet, And sees him here each night in spite of envious care.
Tell me, am I informed aright? She is silent. He shakes her by the arm. Will you not speak? You did forbid me, sir, to speak two words. One will suffice. I want a yes or no. Say, is thy mistress Doña Sol de Silva? Yes. Why? No matter why. Just at this hour the venerable lover is away. He is. And she expects the young one now? Yes. Oh, that I could die. Yes. Say, Duenna, is this the place where they will surely meet? Yes. Hide me somewhere here. You? Yes, me. Why? No matter why. I hide you here. Yes, here. No, never. Don Carlos drawing from his skirdle a purse and a dagger. Madame, condescend to choose between a purse and dagger. Doña Josefa taking the purse. Are you, then, the devil? Yes, Duena.
Doña Josefa opening a narrow cupboard in the wall. Go. Go in. Don Carlos examining the cupboard. This box? Doña Josefa shutting up the cupboard. If you don't like it, go away. Don Carlos reopening the cupboard. And yet? Again examining it. Is this the stable where you keep the broomstick that you ride on? He crouches down in the cupboard with difficulty. Oh! Oh! Oh! Doña Josefa, joining her hands and looking ashamed. A man here. Don Carlos from the cupboard still open. And was it a woman, then, your mistress here expected? Heavens, I hear the step of Doña Sol. Sir, shut the door. Quick, quick! She pushes the cupboard door, which closes. Don Carlos from the closed cupboard. Remember, if you breathe a word, you die.
Doña Josefa alone. Who is this man? If I cry out... Gracious, there's none to hear. All are asleep within the palace walls, madam and I accepted. Pshaw! The other'll come. He wears a sword. Tis his affair, and heaven keep us from powers of hell. Weighing the purse in her hand. At least no thief he is. Enter Doña Sol in white. Doña Josefa hides the purse. Scene Two. Dona Josefa, Don Carlos hidden, Dona Sol. Afterwards, Ernani. Josefa! Madam? I some mischief dread, for tis full time Ernani should be here. Noisov steps at the secret door. He's coming up. Go, quick, at once, undue, ere he has time to knock. Josefa opens the little door. Enter Ernani in large cloak and large hat. Underneath, costume of Mountaineer of Aragorn, grey with a cuirass of leather, a sword, a dagger, and a horn at his girdle.
Dornia Sol going to him. Ernani! Oh! Ah, Dornia Sol, it is yourself at last. I see. Your voice it is, I hear. Oh, why does cruel fate keep you so far from me? I have such need of you to help my heart. Forget all else. Donya Sol touching his clothes. Oh, heavens! Your cloak is drenched. The rain must pour. I know not. And the cold. You must be cold. I feel it not. Take off this cloak, then, pray. Donya, beloved, tell me, when night brings happy sleep to you, so pure and innocent, sleep That hef opes your mouth, closing your eyes with its light finger touch. Does not some angel show how dear you are to an unhappy man by all the world abandoned and repulsed? Sir, you are late, but tell me, are you cold?
Not near to you. Ah, when the raging fire of jealous love It burns in the veins, and the true heart is riven. By its own tempest we feel not the clouds o'erhead, though storm and lightning they fling forth. Come, give me now the cloak, and your sword too. Anani, his hand on his sword. No, it is my other love, faithful and pure, the old Duke Dornia saw. Your promised spouse, your uncle, is he absent now? Oh yes, this hour to us belongs. And that is all? Only this hour? And then comes afterwards. What matter? For I must forget or die. Angel, one hour with thee, with whom I would spend life in afterwards eternity. Ernani. It is happiness to know the Duke is absent. I am like a thief who forces doors.
I enter, see you, rob an old man of an hour of your sweet voice and looks. And I am happy, though no doubt he would deny me even one hour, although he steals my very life. Be calm. Giving the cloak to the duenna. Josefa, this wet cloak take and dry it. Exit Josefa. Doña Sol seats herself and makes a sign for Ernani to draw near. Now, come here. Ernani, without appearing to hear her. The Duke, then, is not in the mansion now? How grand you look! He is away. Dear one, let us not think about the Duke. Madam, but let us think of him, the grave old man who loves you, who will marry you. How now? He took a kiss from you the other day. Not think of him? Is that which grieves you thus? A kiss upon my brow, an uncle's kiss, almost a father's?
No, not so. It was a lover's, husband's, jealous kiss. To him, to him it is that you will soon belong. Thinkest thou not of it? Oh, the foolish tard with head drooped down to finish out his days. Wanting a wife, he takes a girl, himself, most like a frozen spectre. Sees he not the senseless one, that while with one hand he espouses you, The other mates with death, yet without shudder comes he twixt our hearts. Seek out the grave digger, old man, and give thy measure. Who is it that makes for you this marriage? You are forced to it, I hope. They say the king desires it. King? This king? My father on the scaffold died condemned by his. And though one may have aged since then, for even the shadow of that king, his son, his widow, and for all to him allied, my hate continues fresh.
Him dead, no more, we count with. But while still a child I swore that I'd avenge my father on his son, I sought him in all places. Charles, the King of the Castiles. For hate is rife between our families. The fathers wrestled long, and without pity, and without remorse, for thirty years. Oh, tis in vain that they are dead, their hatred lives. For them no peace has come. Their sons keep up the duel still. Ah, then I find tis thou who hast made up this exorable marriage. Thee I sought. Thou comest in my way. You frightened me. Charged with the mandate of anathema, I frightened e'en myself. But listen now. This old, old man for whom they destined you, this Ruy de Silva, Duc de Pastrana, Count and Grandi, rich man of Aragon.
In place of youth can give thee, O young girl, such store of gold and jewels that your brow will shine among royalty's own diadems. And for your rank and wealth, and pride and state, queens many will perhaps envy you. See then just what he is, and now consider me. My poverty is absolute, I say. Only the forest where I ran barefoot in childhood did I know, although perchance I too can claim illustrious blazonry that's dimmed just now by a rusting stain of blood. Perchance I've rights, though they are shrouded still and hid neath even folds of scaffold cloth. Yet which, if my attempt one day succeeds, may, with my sword from out their sheath leap forth. Meanwhile, from jealous heaven I've received, but air and light and water, gifts bestowed on all.
Now wish you from the Duke or me to be delivered. You must choose twixt us, whether you marry him, Or follow me. You I will follow. Among companions rude, men all proscribed, of whom the headsman knows the names already, men whom neither steel nor touch of pity softens, each one urged by some blood-feud that's personal. Wilt thou then come, they'd call thee mistress of my band? For know you not. that I a bandit am. When I was hunted throughout Spain, alone in thickest forests, and on mountains steep, among rocks which but the soaring eagle spied, old Catalonia, like a mother proved, among her hills, free, poor, and stern, I grew. And now, to-morrow, if this horn should sound, Three thousand men would rally at the call.
You shudder, and should pause to ponder well. Think what to prove to follow me through woods, and over mountain paths, with comrades like the fiends that come in dreams. To live in fear, suspicious of a sound, of voices, eyes. To sleep upon the earth, drink at the stream. And here at night, while nourishing perchance some wakeful babe, the whistling musket balls, to be a wanderer with me proscribed, and when my father I shall follow then, even to the scaffold, you to follow me. I'll follow you. The Duke is wealthy, great, and prosperous. Without a stain upon his ancient name, he offers you his hand and can give all things, treasures, dignities, and pleasure. We'll set out tomorrow. Oh, Ernani, since you're not the audacity of this decision, are you angel mine or demon?
Only one thing do I know, that I'm your slave. Now listen. Wheresoever you go, I go. Pause you, or move. I'm yours. Why act I thus? Ah, that I cannot tell. Only I want to see you evermore. When sound of your receding footsteps dies, I feel my heart stops beating. Without you, my self seems absent. But when I detect again the step I love, my soul comes back. I breathe. I live once more. Anna-Ni embracing her. Oh, angel mine! At midnight then, tomorrow, clap your hands three times beneath my window. Bring there your escort. Go. I shall be strong and brave. Now know you who I am? Only my lord. Enough. What matters else? I follow you. Not so. Since you, a woman weak, decide to come with me, tis right that you should know what name, what rank, what soul, perchance what fate, there hides beneath the low Hernani here.
Yes, you have willed to link yourself for aye with brigand. Would you still with outlaw mate? Don Carlos opening the cupboard. When will you finish all this history? Think you just pleasant in this cupboard hole? Ernani recoils, astonished. Doña Sol screams and takes refuge in Ernani's arms, looking at Don Carlos with frightened gaze. Ernani, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Who is this man? Oh heavens, help! Be still, my Doña Sol. You'll wake up dangerous eyes. Never, whatever be, while I am near, seek other help than mine. To Don Carlos. What do you hear? I? Well, I am not riding through the wood that you should ask. He who affronts, then jeers, may cause his air to laugh. Each, sir, in turn, let us speak frankly.
You, the lady love. and come each night to mirror in her eyes your own. I love her too, and want to know who tis I have so often seen come in the window-way while I stand at the door. Mr. Brown. Upon my word, I'll send you out the way I enter. As to that, we'll see. My love I offer unto Madame. Shall we then agree to share it? In her beauteous soul I've seen so much of tenderness, and love, and sentiment. That she, I am very sure, has quite enough for ardent lovers twain. Therefore, to-night, wishing to end suspense on your account, I forced an entrance, hid, and, to confess it all, I listened, too. But I heard badly, and was nearly choked, and then I crumpled my French vest, and so by Jove come out I must.
Likewise my blade is not at ease, and hurries. To leap out. Don Carlos bowing. Sir, as you please. Ernaní drawing his sword. Defend yourself. Don Carlos draws his sword. Oh, heaven! Be- Be calm, senora. And I need to Don Carlos. Tell me, sir, your name. Tell me yours. It is a fatal secret kept for my breathing in another's ear. Some day when I am conqueror, with my knee upon his breast and dagger in his heart. Then tell to me this other's name. To thee what matters it. On guard, defend thyself. They cross swords. Doña Sol falls trembling into a chair. They hear knocks at the door. Doña Sol rising in alarm. Oh heavens, there's someone knocking at the door. The champions pause, and the Josefa at the little door in a frightened state.
Ernani to Josefa. Who knocks in this way? Doña Josefa to Doña Sol. Madam, a surprise, an unexpected blow. It is the Duke come home. Doña Sol clasping her hands. The Duke! Then every hope is lost! Doña Josefa, looking round. Gracious, the stranger, out! And swords and fighting. Here's a fine business. The two combatants sheath their swords. Don Carlos draws his cloak round him and pulls his head down on his forehead. More knocking. What is to be done? More knocking. A voice without. Doña Sol, open to me! Doña Josefa is going to the door when Erna Nys stops her. Do not open. Doña Josefa. Pulling out her rosary. Holy St. James, now draw us through this broil. More knocking. Ernani pointing to the cupboard.
Let's hide. What? The cupboard? Yes, go in. I will take care that it shall hold us both. Thanks. No, it is too good a joke. Ernani pointing to secret door. Let's fly. That way. Good night. But as for me, I stay here. Fire and fury, sir. We will be quits. For this. To Doña Sol. What if I firmly barred the door? Don Carlos to Josefa. Open the door. What is it that he says? Don Carlos to Josefa, who hesitates, bewildered. Open the door, I say. More knocking. Josefa opens the door, trembling. Oh, I shall die. The same, with Don Rui Gomez de Silva in black, white hair and beard, servants with lights. My niece with two men at this hour of night. Come all! The thing is worth exposing here. To Doña Sol.
Now, by St. John of Avila, I vow that we three, with you, madam, are by two— Too many.
My young sirs, what do you hear? When with the Seed and Bernard, giants both of Spain and of the world, they traveled through Castile protecting women, honoring old men. For them steel armor had less weight than your fine velvets have for you. These men respected whitened beards, and when they loved their love was consecrated by the church. Never did such men cousin or betray for reason that they had to keep unflawed the honor of their house. Wished they to wed, they took a stainless wife in open day before the world. With sword or axe or lance in hand. But as for villains such as you, who come at eve, Peeping behind them oft to steal away the honor of men's wives in absence of their husbands, I declare, the seed our ancestor, had he but known such men, he would have plucked away from them nobility usurped, have made them kneel, while he, with flat of sword, their blazon dashed.
Behold, what were the men of former times, whom I, with anguish, now compare with these I see to-day? What do you hear? Is it to say, a white-haired man's but fit for youth to point at when he passes in the street, and jeer at there? Shall they so laugh at me? The tried soldier of Zamora, at the least not yours will be that laugh. But, Duke! Be still. What? You have sword and lance, falcons, the chase, and songs to sing neath balconies at night, festivals, pleasures, feathers in your hats, raiment of silk, balls, youth, and joy of life? But, wearied of them all, at any price you want a toy, and take an old man for it. Ah, though you've broke the toy, God wills that hit him bursting should be flung back in your face.
Now follow me. Mr. Brown. Most noble Duke. Follow. Follow me, sirs. Is this alone a jest? What? I've a treasure, mine to guard with care, a young girl's character, a family's fame. This girl I love, by kinship to me bound, pledged soon to change her ring for one from me. I know her spotless, chaste, and pure. Yet when I leave my home one hour, I, Ruy Gometh da Silva, find a thief who steals from me my honor, glides unto my house. Back, back. Make clean your hands, O base and soulless men! Whose presence, brushing by, must serve to taint our women's fame. But now, tis well. Proceed. Have I not something more? Snatches off his collar. Take, tread it now beneath your feet. Degrade my golden fleece.
Pluck at my hair. Insult me every way, and then tomorrow through the town make boast that lowest scoundrels in their vilest sport have never shamed a nobler brow, nor soiled more whitened hair. My Lord, Don Ruy Gomez to his servants. A rescue! Grooms! Bring me my dagger up to Ledo, axe and dirk.
Now follow. Follow me, ye two. Duke, this is not the pressing thing just now. First, we've to think of Maximilian dead, the Emperor of Germany. Just you? Heavens! The King! The King? The King of Spain? Yes, Charles. My noble Duke, are thy wit gone? The Emperor, my grandsire, is no more. I knew it not until this eve, and came at once to tell it you in council ask, incognito, at night, knowing you well a loyal subject that I much regard. The thing is very simple that has caused this hubbub. Don Ruy Gomez sends away servants by a sign and approaches Don Carlos. Doña Sol looks at the king with fear and surprise. Hernani from a corner regards him with flashing eyes. But, oh, why was it the door was not more quickly opened?
Reason good. Remember, or your escort? When it is a weighty secret of the State I bear that brings me to your palace, it is not to tell it to thy servants. Highness, oh, forgive me, some appearances— Good father, thee, governor of the castle of Figuerre, I've made. But whom thy governor shall I make? Oh, pardon? Tis enough. We'll say no more of this. The Emperor is dead. Your Highness's grandfather dead? Aye, Duke, you see me here in deep affliction. Who will succeed him? A Duke of Saxony is named. The throne Francis I of France aspires to mount. Where do the electors of the empire meet? They say at Aix-la-Chapelle, or at Speer, or Frankfurt. But... Our king, whom God preserve, has he not thought of empire?
Constantly. To you it should revert. I know it, Duke. Your father was Archduke of Austria. I hope to be remembered that you are grandson to him who but just now has changed the imperial purple for a winding-sheet. I am, besides, a citizen of Ghent. In my own youth your grandfather I saw. Alas! I am the sole survivor now of all that generation past. All dead. He was an emperor magnificent and mighty. Rome is for me. Valiant, firm, and not tyrannical. His head might well become the old German body. He bends over the king's hands and kisses them. Yet so young. I pity you indeed. Thus plunged in such a sorrow? Ah! the Pope is anxious now to get back Sicily, the isle that's mine. Tis ruled that Sicily cannot belong unto an emperor.
Therefore it is that he desires me, emperor, to be made. And then, to follow that, as docile son, I give up Naples too. Let us but have the eagle, and we'll see if I allow its wings to be thus clipped. What joy twould be for this great veteran of the throne to see your brow so fit encircled by his crown? Ah, Highness, we together weep for him, the Christian Emperor, so good, so great. The Holy Father's clever. He will say, This isle unto my state should come. "'Tis but a tattered rag that scarce belongs to Spain. What will you do with this ill-shapen isle that's sewn upon the empire by a thread? Your empire is ill-made. But quick, come here. The scissors bring, and let us cut away. Thanks, holy father, but I have luck, I think, that many pieces such as this upon the holy empire will be sewn.
And if some rags from me are taken, I mean with isles and duchies to replace them all. Console yourself, for we shall see again the dead more holy and more great. There is an empire of the just. Francis I is all ambition. The old emperor dead, quick, he'll turn wooing. Has he not fair France, most Christian? "'Tis a place worth holding fast. Once to King Louis did my grandsire say, "'If I were God and had two sons, I'd make the elder God the second King of France." To Don Rui, Gomez. Think you that Francis has a chance to win? He is a victor. There'd be all to change. The golden bull doth foreigners exclude. In a like manner, Highness, you would be accounted King of Spain? But I was born a citizen of Ghent.
His last campaign exalted Francis mightily. The eagle that soon perchance upon my helm will gleam knows also how to open its wings. And knows your Highness Latin? Not much. A pity that... The German nobles like the best, those who in Latin speak to them. With haughty Spanish they will be content. For trust, King Charles, twill be of small account, when masterful the voice, what tongue it speaks. To Flanders I must go. Your King, dear Duke, must Emperor return. The King of France will stir all means. I must be quick to win. I shall set out at once. Do you then go, O Highness, without clearing Aragon, of those fresh bandits who, among the hills, their daring insolence show everywhere? To the Duke de Arcos, I have orders given that he should quite exterminate the band.
But is order given to its chief to let the thing be done? Who is this chief? His name? I know not, but the people say that he's an awkward customer. Pshaw! I know that now he somewhere in Galicia hides, with a few soldiers, soon will capture him. Then it was false, the rumor which declared that he is hereabouts. Quite false. Thou canst accommodate me here tonight. Don Rui Gomez bowing to the ground. "'Thanks, thanks, highness,' he calls his servants. "'You will do all honour to the king, my guest.' The servants re-enter with lights. The Duke arranges them in two rows to the door at the back. Meanwhile, doa sol approaches el nani softly. The king observes them. Doa sol to el nani. "'Tomorrow, midnight, without fail.' Beneath my window, clap your hands three times.
Mr. Brown. Tomorrow night. Don Carlos aside. Mr. Brown. Allow to Doña Sol, whom he approaches with politeness. Mr. Brown. Let me now escort you hence, I pray. He leads her to the door. She goes out. Ernani, his hand in his breast on dagger hilt. Mr. Brown. My dagger true. Don Carlos coming back aside. Our man here has the look of being trapped. He takes Ernani aside. I've crossed my sword with yours. That honour, sir, I've granted you. For many reasons I suspect you such, but to betray you now would shame the king. Go therefore freely. Ien I deign to aid your flight. Don Rui Gomez coming back and pointing to Ernani. This lord! Who's he? One of my followers, who will soon depart. They go out with servants and lights, the duke proceeding with Wexlight in his hand.
Scene Four. Ernani alone. One of thy followers I am, O king. Well said. For night and day, and step by step, I follow thee with eye upon thy path. And dagger in my hand. Thy race in me pursues thy race in thee, and now, behold, thou art my rival. For an instant I twixt love and hate was balanced in the scale, not large enough my heart for her and thee. And loving her oblivious I became of all my hate of thee. But since tis thou that comes to will, I should remember it. I recollect. My love it is that tilts, uncertain balance, while it falls entire upon the side of hate. Thy follower, tis thou hast said it, never courtier yet of thy accursed court or noble fane, to kiss thy shadow. Not a sense a child with human heart abjured in serving thee.
No dog within the palace trained the king to follow, will thy steps more closely haunt and certainly than I. What they would have, these famed grandees, is hollow title, or some toy that shines, some golden sheep to hang about the neck. Not such a fool am I. What I would have is not some favor vain, but tis thy blood, won by my conquering steel, thy soul from out thy body forced, with all that at the bottom of thy heart was reached after deep delving. Go! you are in front. I follow thee. My watchful vengeance walks with me, and whispers in mine ear. Go, where thou wilt. I'm there to listen and to spy, and noiselessly my step will press on thine. No day shouldst thou but turn thy head, O king, but thou wilt find me motionless and grave.
At festivals, at night, shouldst thou look back, still wilt thou see my flaming eyes behind. Exit by the little door. End of Act One.
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2 02 - ACT II - The Bandit 27:48
Translated by Mrs. Newton-Crosland. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Second Act, the Bandit, Saragossa. Scene I. A square before the Palace of Silva. On the left, the high walls of the palace with a window and a balcony. Below the window, a little door. To the right, at the back, houses of the street. Night. Here and there are a few windows still lit up shining in the front of the houses. Don Carlos, Don Sancho Sanchez de Zuniga, Comte de Monterrey, Don Mattias Centurion, Marquis d'Almugnan, Don Ricardo de Rojas, Lord of Casapalma. All four arrive, Don Carlos at the head, hats pulled down and wrapped in long cloaks, which their swords inside raise up.
Don Carlos, looking up at the balcony. Behold! We're at the balcony. The door. My heart is bounding. Pointing to the window, which is dark. Ah! No light as yet. He looks at the windows where light shines. Although it shines just where I'd have it not, while where I wish for light is dark. Your Highness, now let us of this traitor speak again, and you permitted him to go. Tis true. And he, perchance, was major of the band. Were he the major or the captain, even? No crowned king ever had a haughtier heir. Highness, his name? Don Carlos, his eyes fixed on the window. Munoz. Fernan. With gesture of a man suddenly recollecting. A name in E. Perchance, Hernani? Yes. T'was he. The chief, Hernane. Cannot you recall his speech?
Oh, I heard nothing in the vile and wretched cupboard. Wherefore let him slip, when there you had him? Don Carlos, turning round gravely and looking him in the face. Count de Monterey, you question me. The two nobles step back and are silent. Besides, it was not he was in my mind, it was my mistress, not his head I wanted. Madly I'm in love with two dark eyes, the loveliest in the world, my friends. Two mirrors and two rays, two flames, I heard but of their history these words. Tomorrow come at midnight. Twas enough. The joke is excellent, for while that he, the bandit lover, by some murderous deed, some grave to dig, is hindered and delayed, I softly take his dove from out its nest. Highness, it would make the thing far more complete if we, the dove in Gainin, killed the kite.
Count, tis most capital advice. Your hand is prompt. Don Ricardo, bowing low. And by what title will it please the king that I be, Count? Twas a mistake. Don Ricardo, to Don Sancho. The king has called me Count. Enough, enough. To Don Ricardo. I let the title fall, but pick it up. Don Ricardo bowing again. Thanks, Highness. A fine count. Count by mistake. The King walks to the back of the stage, watching eagerly the lighted windows. The two lords talk together at the front. Don Matias to Don Sancho. What think you that the King will do when once the beauty is taken? Don Sancho looking sideways at Don Ricardo. Countess she'll be made. Lady of Honor afterwards, and then, if there's a son, he will be king.
How so? My lord, a bastard! Let him be a count. Were one his highness, would one choose as king a countess son? He'd make her marchioness ere then, dear Marquis. Bastards? They are kept for conquered countries. They for Viceroy's serve. Don Carlos comes forward. Don Carlos, looking with vexation at the lighted windows, Might one not say their jealous eyes that watch? Ah, there are two which darken. We shall do. Weary the time of expectation seems. Sirs, who can make it go more quickly? That is what we often ask ourselves within the palace. "'Tis the thing my people say again with you." The last window light is extinguished. The last light now is gone. Turning towards the balcony of Doña Sol, still dark.
O hateful window! When wilt thou light up? The night is dark. Come, Doña Sol, and shine like to a star. To Don Ricardo. Is it midnight yet? Almost. We must finish, for the other one at any moment may appear. A light appears in Doña Sol's chamber. Her shadow is seen through the glass. My friends, a lamp, and she herself seen through the pane. Never did Daybreak charm me as this sight. Let's hasten with the signal she expects. We must clap hands three times. An instant more and you will see her. But our number, perhaps, will frighten her. Go all three out of sight beyond there, watching for the man we want. Twixt us, my friends, will share the loving pair. For me the girl, the brigand is for you.
Best thanks. If he appear from ambuscade, rush quickly, knock him down, and while the dupe recovers from the blow, it is for me to carry safely off the darling prize. We'll laugh anon, but kill him not outright. He's brave, I own. Killing's a grave affair. The lords bow and go. Don Carlos waits till they are quite gone, then claps his hands twice. At the second time, the window opens, and Doña Sol appears on the balcony. Scene Two. Don Carlos, Doña Sol. Doña Sol from the balcony. Ernani, is that you? Don Carlos aside. The devil! We must not parley. He claps his hands again. "'I am coming down.' She closes the window, and the light disappears. The next minute the little door opens, and she comes out, the lamp in her hand and the mantle over her shoulders.
"'Ernani.' Don Carlos pulls his head down on his face and hurries towards her. Doa Sol, letting her lamp fall, "'Heavens! Tis not his footstep.' She attempts to go back. But Don Carlos runs to her and seizes her by the arm. Dona Sol. Tis not his voice. Oh, misery. What voice is there that thou couldst hear that would be more a lover's? It is still a lover here, and king for one. The king. Ah, wish, command, a kingdom waits thy will. For he whom thou hast vanquished is the king, thy lord. "'Tis Charles, thy slave." Doña Sol trying to escape from him. To the rescue! Help, Ernani! Help! Thy fear is maidenly, and worthy thee. "'Tis not thy bandit, "'tis thy king that holds thee now." Ah, no! The bandit's you!
Are you not ashamed? The blush unto my own cheeks mounts for you. Are these the exploits to be noised abroad? A woman thus at night to seize? My bandit's worth a hundred of such kings. I do declare, if a man were born at level of his soul, and God made rank proportional to his heart, he would be king and prince, and you, the robber, be. Don Carlos trying to entice her. Madam. Do you forget? My father was a count. And you I'll make a duchess. Doña Azul repulsing him. Cease. All this is shameful. Go. She retreats a few steps. Nothing, Don Carlos, can there twixt us be. My father for you freely shed his blood. I am of noble birth, and heedful ever of my name's purity. I am too high to be your concubine, too low to be your wife.
Princess. Carry to worthless girls King Charles your vile addresses. Or if me you treat insultingly, I'll show you well that I am a woman and a noble dame. Well, then, but come, and you shall share my throne, my name. You shall be queen and empress. No, it is a snare. Besides, I frankly speak, since, Highness, it concerns you. I avow I'd rather with my King Ernani roam, in outcasts from the world and from the law. No thirst and hunger, wandering all the year, sharing the hardships of his destiny, exile and warfare, mourning hours of terror. Then be an empress with an emperor. A happy man is he. What? Poor proscribed. Tis well with him, though poor proscribed he be, for he's beloved. An angel watches him.
I'm desolate. You hate me, then? I love you not. Don Carlos seizing her violently. Well, then, it matters not to me whether you love me or you love me not. You shall come with me. Yes, for that my hand's the stronger, and I will it, and we'll see if I for nothing am the king of Spain and of the Indies. Doña Sol struggling. Highness, pity me. You're king, and only have to choose among the countesses, the duchesses, the great court ladies. All have love prepared to meet and answer yours, but what has my proscribed received from niggard fortune? You possess Castile and Aragon, Murcia and Leon, Navarre, and still ten kingdoms more, Flanders and India with the mines of gold you own, an empire without peer, and all so vast that ne'er the sun sets on it.
And when you, the king, have all, would you take me? Poor girl, from him who has but me alone. She throws herself on her knees. He tries to draw her up. Come, come! I cannot listen. Come with me. I'll give of Spain a fourth part unto thee. Say now, what wilt thou? Choose. Toñazol struggling in his arms. For mine own honour's sake, I'll only from your highness take this dirk. She snatches the poignard from his girdle. Approach me now, but by a step. The beauty. I wonder not she loves a rebel now. He makes a step towards her. She raises the dirk. Another step. I kill you, and myself. He retreats again. She turns and cries aloud. Ernani! Oh, Ernani! Peace. One step, and all is finished. Madam? To extremes I'm driven.
Yonder there I have three men to force you, followers of mine." Ernani coming suddenly behind him. But one you have forgotten. The king turns and sees Ernani motionless behind him in the shade, his arms crossed under the long cloak which is wrapped round him and the brim of his hat raised up. Doña Sol makes an exclamation and runs to him. Scene 3 Don Carlos, Doña Sol, Hernani. Hernani motionless, his arms still crossed and his fiery eyes fixed on the king. Heaven, my witnesses, that far from here it was I wished to seek him. Hernani, save me from him. My dear love, fear not. Now what could all my friends in town be doing thus to let pass by the chief of the Bohemians? Monterrey. Your friends are in the hands of mine just now.
So call not on their powerless swords. For three that you might claim, sixty to me would come, each one worth four of yours. So let us now our quarrel terminate. What? You have dared to lay a hand upon this girl? It was an act of folly. Great Castilian King, and one of cowardice. Sir Bandit, hold! There must be no reproach from you to me. He jeers. Oh, I am not a king, but when a king insults me, and above all jeers, my anger swells and surges up and lifts me to his height. Take care. When I'm offended, men fear far more the reddening of my brow than helm of king. Fool-hardy, therefore, you, if still your lord, by hope. Seizes his arm. Know you what hand now grasps you? Listen, was your father who was death of mine.
I hate you for it. You my title. And my wealth have taken. You I hate, and the same woman now we love. I hate, hate, for my soul's depths. You I hate. That's well. And yet this night my hate was lulled. Only one thought, one wish, one want I had. T'was Donya's soul, and I... Absorbed in love, came here to find you daring against her, to strive with infamous design. You, you, the man forgot, thus in my pathway placed. I tell you, King, you are demented. Ah, King Charles, now see you're taken in the snare laid by yourself. And neither flight nor help for thee is possible. I hold thee fast, besieged, alone, surrounded by thy foes, bloodthirsty ones. What wilt thou do? Dare you to question me? Pish, pish!
I would not wish an arm obscure should strike thee. Tis not so my vengeance. He draws his sword. I am your lord, the king. Strike, but no jewel. Highness, thou mayest remember yesterday, thy sword encountered mine. I yesterday could do it. I your name knew not, and you were ignorant of my rank. Not so today. You know who I am, I who you are now. Perchance. No duel. You can murder. Do. Think you that kings to me are sacred? Come, defend thyself. You will assassinate me, then? Ernani falls back. The king looks at him with eagle eyes. Ugh, bandits. Say you d- Dare to think that your most vile brigades may safely spread through towns, ye bloodstained, murderous, miscreant crew, but that you'll play at magnanimity.
As if we'd deign the ennobling of your dirks by touch of our own swords, we victims duped. No, crime enthralls you. After you it trails. Jewels with you. Away. And murder me. Ernani, morose and thoughtful, plays for some instance with the hilt of his sword, then turns sharply towards the king and snaps the blade on the pavement. Go, then. The king half turns towards him and looks at him haughtily. We shall have fitter meetings. Go, get thee away. Tis well. I go, sir, soon unto the ducal palace. I, your king, will then employ the magistrate. Is there yet to put a price upon your head? Oh, yes. My master, from this day I reckon you a rebel, traitorous subject. You, I warn. I will pursue you everywhere and make you outlaw from my kingdom.
That I am already. That is well. But France is near to Spain. There's refuge there. But I shall be the Emperor of Germany, and you under the Empire's ban shall be. Ah, well, I still shall have the remnants of the world, from which to brave you, and with havens safe, or which you will have no power. But when I've gained the world... Then I shall have the grave. Your plot's so insolent I shall know how to thwart. Vengeance is lame and comes with lagging steps, but still it comes. Don Carlos, with a half-laugh of disdain. For touch of lady, whom the bandit loves. Ernani, with flashing eyes. Dost thou remember, king? I hold thee still. Make me not recollect, oh. Future Roman Caesar, that despised I have thee in my all too loyal hand, and I only need to close it now, to crush the egg of thy imperial eagle.
Then do it. Get away. He takes off his cloak and throws it on the shoulders of the king. Go, fly, and take this cloak to shield thee from some knife I fear.
The king wraps himself in the cloak. At present safely go. My thwarted vengeance for myself I keep. It makes against every other hand thy life secure. And you who've spoken thus to me, ask not for mercy on some future day. Doña Sol seizing Anna on his hand. Now let us fly. Be quick. It well becomes you, loved one, in the trial hour to prove thus strong, unchangeable, and willing even to the end and depth of all to cling to me. A noble wish, worthy a faithful soul. But thou, O God, dost see that to accept the joy that to my cavern she would bring, the treasure of a beauty that a king now covets, and that Doña Sol to me should all belong, that she with me should bide and all our lives be joined, that this should be without regret, remorse.
It is too late. The scaffold is too near. What is it you say? The king, whom to his face just now I braved, will punish me for having dared to show him mercy. He already, perhaps, has reached his palace, and is calling round him guards and servants, his great lords, his headsmen. Heavens! Ernani! Oh, I shudder! Never mind. Let us be quick and fly together. Together? No, the hour has passed for that. Alas, when to my eyes thou didst reveal thyself, so good and generous, deigning even to love me with a helpful love, I could offer you, I, wretched one, the hills, the woods, the torrents, bread of the proscribed, the bed of turf, all that the forest gives. Thy pity then embolden me. But now, to ask of thee to share the scaffold?
No, no, doa'a soul, that is for me alone. And yet you promised even that. Anani falling on his knees. Angel, at this moment when perchance from out of the shadow death approaches to wind up all mournfully a life of mournfulness, I do declare that here a man proscribed, enduring trouble great, profound, and rocked in blood-stained cradle, black as is the gloom which spreads o'er all my life. I still declare I am a happy-to-be-envied man, for you have loved me, and your love have owned, for you have whispered blessings on my brow. Cursed! Donya saw leaning over his head. Ernani! Praised be the fate, sweet and propitious, that for me now sets this flower upon the precipice's brink. Raising himself.
It is not to you that I am speaking thus. It is to heaven that hears, and unto God. Let me go with you. Ah, it would be a crime. To pluck the flower while falling in the abyss. Go! I have breathed the perfume. Tis enough. Remold your life by me so sadly marred. This old man wed. Tis I release you now. To darkness I return. Be happy, thou. Be happy, and forget. No! I will have my portion of thy shroud. I follow thee. I hang upon thy steps. Ernani, pressing her in his arms. Oh, let me go, alone, exiled, proscribed, a fearful man am I. He quits her with a convulsive movement, and is going. Doña Sol mournfully and clasping her hands. Ernani, do you fly from me? Ernani returning. Well, then. No, no, you will it, and I stay.
Behold me! Come into my arms. I'll wait as long as thou wilt have me. Let us rest forgetting, then. He seats her on a bench. Be seated on this stone. He places himself at her feet. The liquid light of your eyes inundates mine own. Sing me some song, such as sometimes you used at eve to warble, with the tears in those dark orbs. Let us be happy now, and drink. The cup is full. This hour is ours. The rest is only folly. Speak and say, enrapture me. Is it not sweet to love, and know that he who kneels before you loves? To be but two alone. Is it not sweet to speak of love and stillness of the night, when nature rests? Oh, let me slumber now, and on thy bosom dream. Oh, Doña Sol, my love, my darling.
Noise of bells in the distance. Doña Sol starting up frightened. Tachshin! Dost thou hear? The tocsin! Erna-ni still kneeling at her feet. Eh? No, tis our bridal bell they're ringing. The noise increases. Confused cries, lights at all the windows, on the roofs and in the streets. Rise! O fly! Great God! The town lights up! Erna-ni half rising. A torchlight wedding for us tis. The nuptials, these of death and of the tombs. Noise of sorts and cries. Ernani lying down on the stone bench. Let us sleep again. A mountaineer rushing in, sword in hand. The runners, sir. The Alcadets rush out in cavalcades with mighty force. Be quick, my captain, quick. Anani rises. Doña Sol, pale. Ah, thou wert right.
Oh, help us! Anani to Mountaineer. It is well. I'm ready. Confused cries outside. Death to the bandit. Anani to Mountaineer. Quick, thy sword! To Doña Sol. Farewell. "'Tis I have been thy ruin. O, where canst thou go?" Pointing to the little door. The door is free. Let us escape that way. Heavens! Desert my friends! What dost thou say? These clamours terrify. Remember, if thou diest, I must die. Ernani holding her in his arms. A kiss. Ernani, husband, master mine! Erna-ni kissing her forehead. Alas, it is the first. Perchance the last. Erna-ni exit. Doña Sol falls on the bench.
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3 03 - ACT III - The Old Man 1:01:14
Third Act. The Old Man.
The Castle of Silva. In the midst of the mountains of Aragon. Scene one. The gallery of family portraits of Silva. A great hall of which these portraits Surrounded with rich frames and surmounted by ducal coronets and gilt escutcheons, formed a decoration. At the back, a lofty Gothic door. Between the portraits, complete panoplies of armor of different centuries. Doña Sol, pale and standing near a table. Don Rui Gómez de Silva, seated in his great carved oak chair. At last the day has come. And in an hour thou'lt be my Duchess, and embrace me. Not thine uncle then, but hast thou pardoned me? That I was wrong I own. I raised thy blush, I made thy cheek turn pale. I was too quick with my suspicions.
Should have stayed to hear before condemning, but appearances should take the blame. Unjust we were. Certes the two young handsome men were there. But then... No matter. Well I know that I should not have credited my eyes. But my poor child... What wouldst thou with the old? Doña Sol, seriously and without moving. You ever talk of this? Who is there blames you? I myself should have known that such a soul as yours never has gallants. When tis Doña Sol, and when good Spanish blood is in her veins. Truly, my lord. "'Tis good and pure. Perchance twill soon be seen." Don Ruy Gómez, rising and going towards her. Now, Liszt, one cannot be the master of himself so much in love as I am now with thee. And I am old and jealous and am cross.
And why? Because I'm old. Because the beauty, grace, or youth of others frightens, threatens me. Because, while jealous thus of others, of myself I am ashamed. What mockery that this love, which to the heart brings back such joy and warmth, should halt, and but rejuvenate the soul, forgetful of the body! When I see a youthful peasant singing blithe and gay in the green meadows, often then I muse, I, in my dismal paths, am murmur low. Oh, I would give my battlemented towers and ancient ducal donjon And my fields of corn, and all my forest lands and flocks so vast, which feed upon my hills, my name and all my ancient titles, ruins mine and ancestors who must expect me soon, all, all I'd give for his new cot and a brow unwrinkled.
For his hair is raven black, And his eyes shine like yours. Beholding him, you might exclaim, A young man this, and then would think of me so old. I know it well. I am named Silver. Ah, but that is not enough. I say it, see it. Now behold to what excess I love thee. All I'd give could I be like thee, young and handsome now. Vain dream, that I were young again, who must by long, long years proceed thee to the tomb. Mr. Brown. Who knows? And yet, I pray you, me believe. The frivolous swains have not so much of love within their hearts as on their tongues. A girl may love and trust one. If she dies for him, he laughs. The strong-winged and gay-painted birds that warble sweet and in the thicket trill will change their loves as they their plumage vault.
They are the old. With voice and color gone, and beauty fled, who have the resting wings we love the best. Our steps are slow, and dim our eyes. Our brows are furrowed. But the heart is never wrinkled. When an old man loves, he should be spared. The heart is ever young, and always it can bleed. This love of mine is not a plaything made of glass to shake and break. It is a love severe and sure, solid, profound, paternal, strong as is the oak which forms my ducal chair. See, then, how well I love thee, and in other ways I love thee, hundred other ways, e'en as we love the dawn, the flowers, The heavens blew. To see thee, mark thy graceful step each day, thy forehead pure, thy brightly beaming eye, I'm joyous, feeling that my soul will have perpetual festival.
Alas! And then... Know you how much the world admires, applauds, a woman, angel pure, and like a dove, when she an old man comforts and consoles, as he is tottering to the marble tomb? Parting away by slow degrees as she watches and shelters him, and condescends to bear with him the useless one that seems but fit to die. It is a sacred work, and worthy of all praise. Effort supreme of a devoted heart to comfort him unto the end, and without loving, perhaps, to act as if she loved. Ah, thou to me wilt be this angel with a woman's heart, who will rejoice the old man's soul again, and share his latter years, and by respect a daughter be, and by your pity like a sister prove. Lady Far from preceding me.
Tis likely me you'll follow to the grave. My lord— Because that we are young is not a reason we should live. Alas, I know and tell you, often old men tarry long, and see the young go first, their eyes shut fast by sudden stroke, as on a sepulchre that was still open falls the closing stone. Oh, cease, my child, such saddening discourse, or I shall scold you. Such a day as this sacred and joyous is, and, by the by, time summons us. Are you not ready yet for the chapel when we are called? Be quick to don the bride's dress. Each moment do I count. There is abundant time. Oh, no, there's not. Enter a page. What want you? At the door, my lord, a man, a pilgrim, beggar, or I know not what, is craving here a shelter.
Let him in, whoever he may be. Good enters with the stranger that we welcome. What's the news from the outside world? What of the bandit chief that filled our forests with his rebel band? Ernani, Lion of the Mountains, now! Dona Sol sighed. God! Don Rui Gomez to the page. How so? The troops destroyed. The king himself has led the soldiers on. Ernani's head a thousand crowns is worth upon the spot, but now he's dead, they say. Dona Sol sighed. What? Without me, Ernani? And thank heaven. So he is dead, the rebel. Now, dear love, we can rejoice. Go then and debt thyself, my pride, my darling, day of double joy. Oh, morning robes! Exit Doña Sol. Don Rui Gomez, to the page. The casket quickly send that I'm to give her.
He seats himself in his chair. "'Tis my longing now to see her all-adorned Madonna-like. With her bright eyes, and aid of my rich gems, she will be beautiful enough to make a pilgrim kneel before her. As for him who asks asylum, bid him enter here. Excuses from us offer. Run, be quick." The page bows and exit. Tis ill to keep a guest long waiting thus. The door at the back opens. Ernani appears disguised as a pilgrim. The Duke rises. Scene Two. Don Rui Gómez, Ernani. Ernani pauses at the threshold of the door. My lord, peace and all happiness be yours. Don Rui Gómez. Saluting him with his hand. To thee be peace and happiness, my guest. Ernanis enters. The duke recedes himself. Aren't thou a pilgrim?
Ernanis bowing. Yes. No doubt you come from Amelas? Not so. I hither came by other road. There was some fighting there. Among the troop of bandits, was it not? I know not. What's become of him, the chief they call Ernani? Dost thou know? My lord, who is this man? Dost thou not know him, then? For thee so much the worst, thou wilt not gain the good round sum. See you a rebel, he that hath been long unpunished. To Madrid should you be going, perhaps you'll see him hanged. Mr. I go not there. A price on his head, for any man who takes him. Erna Ni aside. Mr. Let one come. Mr. Whither, good pilgrim, goest thou? Mr. My lord. I am bound for Saragossa. A vow made in honour of a saint, or of Our Lady?
Yes, of Our Lady, Duke. Of the Pillar? Of the Pillar. We must be soulless quite not to acquit us of the vows we make unto the saints. But thine accomplished Then hast thou not other purposes in view? Or is to see the pillar all you wish? Yes, I would see the lights and candles burn, and at the end of the dim corridor, Our Lady in her glowing shrine, with cope, all golden, then would satisfy return. Indeed, that's well. Brother, what is thy name? Mine Ruy de Silva is. My name? You can conceal it if you will. None here has right to know it. Came'st thou to asylum, ask? Yes, Duke. Remain, and know thou art welcome here. For nothing want, and as for what thou art named, but call thyself my guest.
"'It is enough, whoever thou mayst be. Without demure, I'd take in Satan, if God sent him to me.'" The folding-doors at the back open. Enter Doña Sol in nuptial attire. Behind her pages and lackeys, and two women, carrying on a velvet cushion a casket of engraved silver, which they place upon the table, and which contains a jewel-case, with Duchess's coronet, necklaces, Bracelets, pearls, and diamonds in profusion. Hernani, breathless and scared, looks at Doña Sol with flaming eyes, without listening to the Duke. Scene Three. The same. Doña Sol. Pages. Lackeys. Women. Don Rui Gomez. Behold my blessed lady. To have prayed to her will bring thee happiness. He offers his hand to Doña Sol, Still pale and grave.
Come then, my bride. What? Not thy coronet, nor ring? Who wishes now a thousand golden crowns to win? All turned to him astonished. He tears off his pilgrim's robe and crushes it under his feet, revealing himself in the dress of a mountaineer. I am Ernani. Heavens! Oh, he lives! Ernani to the lecce. See, I'm the man they seek. To the Duke. You wish to know my name, Diego or Perez? No, no, I have a grander name, Ernani. Name of the banished, the proscribed. See you this head? "'Tis worth enough of gold to pay for festival." To the Leckes. I give it to you all. Take, tie my hands, my feet. But there's no need. The chain that binds me's one I shall not break. Doña Sol sighed. Oh, misery. Folly. This, my guest, is mad.
A lunatic. Your guest a bandit is. Oh, do not heed him. What I say is truth. A thousand gold crowns. The sum is large. Answer I will not answer now for all my people. And so much the better, should a willing one be found. To the lackeys. Now seize and sell me. Be quiet, or they'll take you at your word. Friends, this your opportunity is good, I tell you. I'm the rebel, the proscribed Ernani. Silence! I am he. Doña Sol in a low voice to him. Be still. Ernani half turning to Doña Sol. There's marrying here. My spouse awaits me too. To the Duke. She is less beautiful, my lord, than yours, but not less faithful. She is death. To the Lekis. Not one of you has yet come forth. For pity's sake. Ernani to the Lekis.
A thousand golden crowns! Hernani here! This is the demon! Hernani to a young lackey. Come, thou'lt earn this sum, then rich, thou wilt from lackey change again to man. To the other lackeys who do not stir. And also you, you waver! Ah! Have I not misery enough? My friend, to touch thy life they'd peril each their own. Wert thou Ernani or a hundred times as bad, I must protect my guest. Were e'en an empire offered for his life against the king himself, for thee I hold from God. If hair of thine be injured, may I die. To Doña Sol. My niece, who in an hour will be my wife, go to your room. I am about to arm the castle. Shut the gates. Exit, followed by servants. Ernani, looking with despair at his empty girdle, not even a knife!
Doa Sol, after the departure of the Duke, takes a few steps as if to follow her women, then pauses, And when they are gone, comes back to Ernani with anxiety. Scene Four. Ernani Don'Yessol. Ernani looks at the nuptial jewel-case with a cold and apparently indifferent gaze. Then he tosses back his head, and his eyes light up. "'Except my gratulations. Words tell not how I am enchanted by these ornaments.' He approaches the casket. "'This ring is in fine taste.' The coronet I like, the necklace shows surpassing skill. The bracelet's rare, but oh, a hundred times less so than she, who neath a forehead pure conceals a faithless heart. Examining the casket again. What for all this have you now given?
Of your love some share, but that for nothing goes? Great God, to thus deceive, and still to live and have no shame. Looking at the jewels. But after all, perchance, this pearl is false, and copper stands for gold, and glass and lead make out sham diamonds, pretended gems. Are these false sapphires and false jewels all? If so, Thy heart is like them, Duchess False, thyself but only gilded. He returns to the casket. Yet no, no, they are all real, beautiful, and good. He dares not cheat who stands so near the tomb. Nothing is wanting. He takes up one thing after another. Necklaces are here, and brilliant earrings. In the Duchess' crown and golden ring? Oh, marvel! Many thanks for a love so certain, faithful, and profound.
The precious box. Doña Sol, she goes to the casket, feels in it, and draws forth a dagger. You have not reached its depths. This is the dagger, which, by kindly aid of patron saint, I snatched from Charles the King. When he made offer to me of a throne, which I refused for you, who now insult me. Ernani falling at her feet. Oh, let me on my knees arrest those tears, the tears that beautify thy sorrowing eyes. Then after thou canst freely take my life. I pardon you, Ernani. In my heart there is but love for you. And she forgives, and loves me still. But who can also teach me to forgive myself, that I have used such words? Angel, for heaven reserved, say where you trod, that I may kiss the ground.
My love! Oh, no, I should to thee be odious. But listen, say again, I love thee still. Say it, and reassure a heart that doubts. Say it, for often with such little words a woman's tongue hath cured a world of woes. Doa sol absorbed and without hearing him. To think my love had such short memory, that all these so ignoble men could shrink a heart where his name was enthroned, to love by them thought worthier. Alas! I have blasphemed. If I were in thy place, I should be weary of the furious madman, who can only pity after he has struck. I bid him go. Drive me away, I say, and I will bless thee, for thou hast been good and sweet. Too long thou hast myself endured, for I am evil. I should blacken still thy days with my dark nights.
At last it is too much. Thy soul is lofty, beautiful and pure. If I am evil, is it thy fault? Marry the old duke, then, for he is good and noble. By the mother's side he has Olmeido by his father's Alcala. With him be rich and happy by one act. Know you not what this generous hand of mine can offer thee of splendor? Ah, alone a dowry of misfortune, and the choice of blood or tears! Exile, captivity, and death, and terrors that environ me! These are thy necklaces and jeweled crown, never elated bridegroom to his bride. Offered a casket filled more lavishly, but tis with misery and mournfulness. Marry the old man. He deserves thee well. Ah, who could ever think my head proscribed fit mate for forehead pure?
What looker-on that saw thee calm and beautiful, me rash and violent, thee peaceful like a flower, Growing in shelter. Me by tempests dashed on rocks unnumbered, who could dare to say that the same law should guide our destinies? No God, who ruleth all things well, did not make thee for me. No right from heaven above have I to thee, and I am resigned to fate. I have thy heart. It is a theft. I know unto a worthier yield it. Never yet upon our love is heaven smiled. Tis false, if I have said thy destiny it was. To vengeance and to love I bid adieu. My life is ending. Useless I will go, and take away with me my double dream. Ashamed I could not punish, nor could charm. I have been made for hate, Who only wished to love.
Forgive and fly me. These are my prayers. Reject them not, since they will be my last. Thou livest, I am dead. I see not why thou shouldst immure thee in my tomb. In great. Mountains of old Aragon, Galicia, Estremadora, unto all who come around me. I bring misery. Your sons, the best without remorse, I've taken to flight, and now behold them dead. The bravest brave of all Spain's sons lie, soldier-like, upon the hills, their backs to earth, the living God before. And if their eyes could ope, they'd look on heaven's blue. See what I do to all who join me? Is it fortune any one should covet? Doña Sol, oh, take the Duke! Take Hel, or take the King! All would be well. All must be better than myself, I say.
No longer have I a friend to think of me, and it is fully time that thy turn comes, for I must be alone." Fly from me, then, for my contagion. Make not faithful love a duty of religion. Fly from me for pity's sake. Thou think'st me perhaps a man, like others, one with sense who knows the end, at which he aims and acts accordingly. O, undeceive thyself! I am a force that cannot be resisted. Agent blind, and deaf of mournful mysteries. A soul of misery made of gloom. Where shall I go? I cannot tell. But I am urged, compelled by an impetuous breath and wild decree. I fall and fall and cannot stop descent. If sometimes breathless I dare turn my head, a voice cries out, Go on! And the abyss is deep, and to the depths I see it red with flame or blood.
Around my fearful course all things break up, all die. Woe be to them who touch me. Fly, I say, turn thee away from my so fatal path. Alas, without intending, I shall do thee ill. Great God! My demon is a formidable one, but there's a thing impossible to it, my happiness. For thee is happiness. Therefore go seek another lord, for thou art not for me. If heaven, that my fate of yours, should smile on me, believe it not, it would be irony. Marry the Duke. "'Twas not enough to tear my heart, but you must break it now? Ah, me! No longer than you love me!" O my heart, its very life thou art! The glowing hearth whence all warmth comes art thou! Wilt thou then blame me, that I fly from thee, adored one?
No, I blame thee not. Only I know that I shall die of it. Die? And for what? For me? Can it then be that thou shouldst die for a cause so small? Donya Sol bursting into tears. Enough! She falls into a chair. Eannani seating himself near her. And thou art weeping, and tis still my fault. And who will punish me? For thou, I know, wilt pardon still. Who, who can tell thee half the anguish that I suffer when a tear of thine obscures and drowns those radiant eyes? Whose luster is my joy? My friends are dead. Oh, I am crazed. Forgive me. I would love. I know not how. Alas, I love with love profound. Weep not. The rather let us die. Oh, that I had a world to give to thee! Oh, wretched, miserable man I am!
Donya Sol throwing herself on his neck. You are my lion, generous and superb. I love you. Ah, this love would be a good supreme if we could die of too much love. "'Thou art my lord. I love thee and belong to thee.' Erna-ni, letting his head fall on her shoulder. "'How sweet would be a poignard stroke from thee!' "'Fear you not God will punish you for words like these?' Erna-ni, still leaning on her shoulder. "'Well then, let him unite us. I have resisted. Thou wouldst have it thus.' Whilst they are in each other's arms, absorbed and gazing with ecstasy at each other, Don Ruy Gomez enters by the door at the back of the stage. He sees them and stops on the threshold as if petrified. SCENE V. ERNANI.
DONA SOL. DON RUY GOMEZ. DON RUY GOMEZ. motionless on the threshold, with arms crossed. And this is the requital that I find of hospitality. O heavens, the duke! Both turn, as if awakening with a start. Don Ruy Gomez, still motionless. This, then, is the recompense from thee, my guest. Good Duke, go, see if all thy walls be high, and if the door is closed, an archer placed within his tower, and go the castle round thyself for us. Seek in thine arsenal for armor that will fit. At sixty years resume thy battle-harness, and then see the loyalty with which we will repay such service. Thou for us do thus, and we do this for thee. O blessed saints of heaven! Past sixty years I've lived, and met sometimes unbridled souls, and off my dirk have drawn from out its scabbard, raising on my path the hangman's game birds.
Murderers I have seen, and coiners, traitorous varlets poisoning their masters. And I've seen men die without a prayer or sight of crucifix. I've seen Sforza and Borgia. Luthor still, I see. But never have I known perversity so great that feared not Thunderbolt, its host betraying. "'Twas not of my age, such foul black treason, that at once could petrify an old man on the threshold of his door." And make the master waiting for his grave look like his statue ready for his tomb. Moors and Castilians, tell me, who's this man? He raises his eyes and looks round on the portraits on the wall. O you, the Silvas who can hear me now, forgive if, in your presence by my wrath thus stirred, I say that hospitality was ill-advised.
Ernany, rising. Duke? Silence. He makes three steps into the hall, looking at the portraits of the Silvas. Sacred Dead, my ancestors. Ye men of steel, who know what springs from heaven or hell, reveal, I say, who is this man? No, not Ernani he, but Judas is his name. Or try to speak and tell me who he is. Crossing his arms. In all your days saw you oughtn't like him. No. My lord. Don Ruy Gomez, still addressing the portrait, see you the shameless miscreant. He would speak to me, but better far than I you read his soul. Oh, heed him not. He is a knave. He'd say that he foresaw that in the tempest wild of my great wrath I brooded o'er some deed of gory vengeance shameful to my roof. A sister deed to that they call the feast of seven heads.
He'll tell you he's prescribed. He'll tell you that that of silver they will talk even as of Afterwards he'll say he is my guest in yours. My lords, my sires, is the fault mine? Judge you between us now. Ruy Gomes de Silva, if ever neath the heavens' clear a noble brow was raised, if ever heart was great and soul was high, yours are, my lord. And O my noble host, I, who now speak to you, alone have sinned. Guilty most damnably am I. Without extenuating word to say, I would have carried off thy bride, dishonored thee. Twas infamous I live, but now my life I offer unto thee. Take it, thy sword, then wipe. And think no more about the deed. My lord, t'was not his fault. Strike only me. Be silent, Dornia Sol.
This hour supreme belongs alone to me. Nothing I have but it. Let me explain things to the Duke. O Duke, believe the last words from my mouth. I swear that I alone am guilty. But be calm. And rest assured that she is pure. That's all. I guilty, and she pure. Have faith in her. A sword or dagger thrust for me, then throw my body out of doors, and have the flooring washed, if you shall will it so but matter. Ah! I only am the cause of all, because I love him. Don Rui turns round trembling at these words and fixes on Doña Sol a terrible look. She throws herself at his feet. Pardon. Yes, my lord. I love him. Love him? You love him?
Tremble. What is this noise? It is the king. My lord, in person, with a band complete, of archers and his herald, who now sounds. Oh, God, this last fatality! The King! The page to the Duke. He asks the reason why the door is closed, and order gives to open it. Admit the King! The page bows and exit. He's lost. Don Rui Gomez goes to one of the portraits. that of himself and the last on the left. He presses a spring, and a portrait opens out like a door and reveals a hiding place in the wall. He turns to Ernani. Come hither, sir. My life to thee is forfeit, and to gild it up I'm ready. I, thy prisoner, am. He enters the recess. Don Ruy again presses the spring, and the portrait springs back to its place, looking as before.
My lord, have pity on him. The page entering. His Highness, the King. Doña Sol hurriedly lowers her veil. The folding doors open. Enter Don Carlos in military attire, followed by a crowd of gentlemen equally armed with halberts, arquebuses, and crossbows. Scene VI. Don Rui Gomez, Doña Sol Veiled. Don Carlos and Followers. Don Carlos advances slowly, his left hand on the hilt of his sword, his right hand in his bosom, and looking at the duke with anger and defiance. The duke goes before the king and bows low. Silence. Expectation and terror on all. At last the king, coming opposite the duke, throws back his head haughtily. How comes it then, my cousin, that to-day thy door is strongly barred? By all the saints, I thought your dagger had more rusty grown, and know not why, when I am your visitor, it should so haste to brightly shine again, already to your hand.
Don Ruy Gomez attempts to speak, but the king continues with an imperious gesture. Late in the day it is for you to play the young man's part. Do we come turbaned? Tell me, are we named Boabdil or Mahomet? And not Charles? That the portcullis against us you should lower and raise the drawbridge? Don Rui Gomez bowing. Highness! Don Carlos to his gentlemen. Take the keys and guard the doors. Two officers, Exeunt. Several others arrange the soldiers in a triple line in the hall from the king to the principal door. Don Carlos turns again to the Duke. Ah, you would wake to life again, these crushed rebellions. By my faith— If you, ye dukes, assume such airs as these, the king himself will play his kingly part, traverse the mountains in a warlike mode, and in their battlemented nests will slay the lordlings.
Don Ruy Gomez, drawing himself up. Ever have the silvers been, your highness, loyal? Without subterfuge, reply, or to the ground I'll raise thy towers. Eleven. Of extinguished fire remains one spark. Of brigands dead the chief survives, and who conceals him? It is thou, I say. Ernani, rebel ringleader, is here, and in thy castle thou dost hide him now. Highness, it is quite true. Well, then, his head I want, or, if not, thine. Dost understand, my cousin? Well, then, be it so. You shall be satisfied. Doa Sol hides her face in her hands and sinks into the armchair. Ah, you repent. Go seek your prisoner. The duke crosses his arms, lowers his head, and remains some moments pondering. The king and Doa Sol, agitated by contrary emotions, observe him in silence.
At last the duke looks up, goes to the king, Takes his hand, and leads him with slow steps towards the oldest of the portraits, which is where the gallery commences to the right of the spectator. Don Rui Gomez, pointing out the old portrait to the king. This is the eldest one, the great forefather of the silver race. Don Silvius, our ancestor, three times was he made Roman consul. Passing to the next portrait. This is he, Don Galseran de Silva, other seed. They keep his body still at Toro, near Valladolid. A thousand candles burn before his gilded shrine. Twas he who freed Leon from tribute to the Hundred Virgins. Passing to another. Don Blas, who, in contrition for the fault of having ill-advised the king, exiled himself of his own will.
This Cristobal, at fight at Escalon, When, fled on foot, the king, Don Sancho, whose white plume was mark for general deadly aim, he cried aloud, O Cristobal! And Cristobal assumed the plume, and gave his horse. This is Don Jorge, who paid the ransom of Ramire, the king of Aragon. Don Carlos, crossing his arms and looking at him from head to foot, by heavens now, Don Rui, I marvel at you. But go on. Next comes Don Rui Gomes Silva. He was made Grand Master of St. James and Calatrava. His giant armor would not suit our heights. He took three hundred flags from foes and won in thirty battles. For the king Motril, he conquered Antiquera, Suez, Nijjar, and died in poverty. Highness, salute him. He bows, uncovers, and passes to another portrait.
The king listens impatiently and with increasing anger. Next him is his son, named Gill, dear to all noble souls, his promise worth the oath of royal hands. Don Gaspar this, the pride alike of Mendocay and Silver. Your Highness, every noble family has some alliance with the Silver race. Sandoval has both trembled at and wed with us. Manrique is envious of us. Lara is jealous. Alencastre hates us. We all dukes surpass and mount to kings. Tut-tut! You're jesting. Here behold Don Vazquez, called the wise. Don Hamie, surnamed the Strong. One day alone he stopped Zamet, and five score mores. I passed them by, and some the greatest. At an angry gesture of the king, he passes by a great number of the portraits, and speedily comes to the three lads at the left of the audience.
This my grandfather, who lived to sixty years, keeping his promised word even to Jews.
This venerable form my father is, a sacred head. Great was he, though he comes the last. The Moors had taken prisoner his friend, Count Alvar-Giron, But my sire set out to seek him with six hundred men to war inured. A figure of the Count, cut out of stone by his decree, was made, and dragged along behind the soldiers, he, by patron saint, declaring that, until the Count of Stone itself turned back and fled, he would not falter. On he went and saved his friend. Mr. Brown. I want my prisoner. This was a Gomez de Silva. Imagine, judge what in this dwelling one must say who sees these heroes. Instantly, my prisoner. Don Rui Gomez bows low before the king, takes his hand, and leads him to the last portrait, which serves for the door of Hernani's hiding-place.
Doa Sol watches him with anxious eyes. Silence and expectation in all. This portrait my own. Mercy, King Charles, for you require that those who see it here should say, This last, the worthy son of race heroic, was a traitor found that sold the life of one he sheltered as a guest. Joy of Doa Sol. Movement of bewilderment in the crowd. The king, disconcerted, moves away in anger, and remains some moments with lips trembling and eyes flashing. Your castle, Duke, annoys me. I shall lay it low. Thus, Highness, you'd retaliate. Is it not so? For such audacity, your towers are level with the ground and have upon the spot the hemp-seed sown. I'd see the hemp spring freely up where once my towers stood high, rather than stain should eat into the ancient name of silver.
To the portraits. It's not true. I ask it of you all. Now, Duke, this head, tis ours, and thou hast promised it to me. I promised one or other. To the portraits. Was't not so? I ask you all. This one I give. Take it.
Many thanks, but twould not do. The head I want is young. When dead the headsman must uplift it by the hair. But as for thine, in vain he'd seek, for thou hast not enough for him to clutch. "'Heinness, insult me not. My head is noble still, and worth far more than any rebel's poll. The head of silver you thus despise?' "'Give up, Ernani.' "'Have spoken, highness.' Don Carlos to his followers. Search you everywhere, from roof to cellar, that he takes not wing.' My keep is faithful as myself. Alone it shares the secret which we both shall guard right well. I am the king. Out of my house, demolished stone by stone, they'll only make my tomb, and nothing gain. Menace I find, and prayer alike are vain.
Deliver up the banded, jougal, head and castle. Both will I beat down. I've said my word. Well then, instead of one head, I'll have two. To the Duke d'Alcala. You, Jorge, arrest the Duke. Doña Sol. She plucks off her veil and throws herself between the King, the Duke, and the guards. King Charles, an evil king are you. Good heavens, is it Doña Sol I see? Thou hast no Spaniard's heart. Madam, you are severe upon the king. He approaches her and speaks low. Tis you have caused the wrath that's in my heart. A man approaching you perforce becomes an angel or a monster. Ah, when we are hated, swiftly we malignant grow. Perchance if you had willed it so, young girl, I'd noble been, the Lion of Castile.
A tiger I am made by your disdain. You hear it roaring now. Madame, be still. Doña Sol looks at him. He bows. However, I'll obey. Turning to the Duke. Cousin, maybe thy scruples are excusable, and I esteem thee. To thy guest be faithful still, and faithless to thy king. I pardon thee. "'Tis better that I only take thy niece away as hostage." Only? Highness, me? Yes, you. Alone? O wondrous clemency! O generous conqueror, that spares the head to torture thus the heart! What mercy this! Choose, twixt the traitor and the doña sol. I must have one of them. The master you. Don Carlos approaches Doña Sol to lead her away. She flies towards the duke. Save me, my lord. She pauses. Aside. Oh, misery, and yet it must be so.
My uncle's life, or else the others. Rather mine. To the king. I follow you. Don Carlos aside. By all the saints. The thought triumphant is. In the end you'll soften, princess mine. Doña Sol goes with a grave and steady step to the casket, opens it, and takes from it the dagger, which she hides in her bosom. Don Carlos comes to her and offers his hand. What is it you're taking thence? Oh, nothing. Is it some precious jewel? Yes. Don Carlos, smiling. Show it to me. Anon, you'll see it. She gives him her hand and prepares to follow him. Don Rui Gometh, who has remained motionless and absorbed in thought, advances a few steps, crying out. Heavens! Donya Sol? Oh, Donya Sol! Since he is merciless, help!
Walls and armor come down on us now! He runs to the king. "'Leave me, my child. I have but her, O King.' Don Carlos, dropping Doña Sol's hand. "'Then yield me up, my prisoner.' The Duke drops his head and seems to pray of horrible indecision. Then he looks up at the portraits with supplicating hands before them. "'Oh, now have pity on me, all of you.' He makes a step towards the hiding-place. Don Yasol watching him anxiously. He turns again to the portraits. Oh, hide your faces! They deter me! He advances with trembling steps towards his own portrait, then turns again to the king. Is't your will? Yes. The duke raises a trembling hand towards the spring. Oh, God! No! He throws himself on his knees before the king.
In pity take my life.
Don Ruy Gomez Take her, and leave me honor then. Don Carlos seizing the hand of the trembling Doña Sol. Adieu, Duke. Till we meet again. He watches the king, who retires slowly with Doña Sol. Afterwards he puts his hand on his stagger. May God shield you. He comes back to the front of the stage, panting, and stands motionless, with vacant stare, seeming neither to see nor hear anything, his arms crossed on his heaving chest. Meanwhile the king goes out with Don Yasol, the suite following two by two according to their rank. They speak in a low voice among themselves. Don Ruy Gomez aside. Whilst thou go joyous from my house, O king, my ancient loyalty goes forth from out my bleeding heart. He raises his head, looks all round, and sees that he is alone.
Then he takes two swords from a panoply by the wall, measures them, and places them on a table. This done he goes to the portrait, touches the spring, and the hidden door opens. Scene 7. Don Rui Gomez, Hernani. Come out. Hernani appears at the door of the hiding-place. Don Rui Gomez points to the two swords on the table. Now choose. Choose, for Don Carlos has departed now, and it remains to give me satisfaction. Choose and be quick. What, then? Trembles thy hand? A duel. Oh, it cannot be, old man, twixt us. Why not? Is it thou art afraid, or that thou art not noble? So or not, all men who injure me, by hell I count noble enough to cross their swords with mine. Old man. Come forth, young man, to slay me.
Else to be slain. To die? Ah, yes. Against my will thyself hast saved me, and my life is yours. I bid you take it. This you wish? To the portrait. You see, he wills it. To Erna-ni. This is well. Thy prayer now make. It is to thee, my lord. The last I make. Pray to the other, Lord. No, no, to thee. Strike me, old man, dagger or sword. Each one for me is good, but grant me first one joy supreme. Duke, let me see her ere I die. See her? Or at the least I beg that you will let me hear her voice once more. Only this one last time. Hear her. Ah, well, my lord, I understand thy jealousy, but death already seizes on my youth. Forgive me, grant me, tell me that without beholding her, if it must be, I yet may hear her speak, and I will die tonight, I'll grateful be to hear her, but in peace.
I'd calmly die, if thou wouldst deign that ere my soul is freed, it sees once more the soul that shines so clearly in her eyes. To her I will not speak. Thou shalt be there to see my father, and canst slay me afterwards. Don Ruy Gomez, pointing to the recess still open. Oh, saints of heaven! Can this recess, then, be so deep and strong that he has nothing heard? No, I have nothing heard. I was compelled to yield up Donya Sol or thee. To whom? The king. Madman, he loves her. Loves her? He? He takes her from us. He our rival is. Curses be on him. Vassals! All to horse, to horse! Let us pursue the ravisher. Listen! The vengeance that is sure of foot makes on its way less noise than this would do.
To thee I do belong. Thou hast the right to slay me. Wilt thou not employ me first as the avenger of thy niece's wrongs? Let me take part in this thy vengeance do. Grant me this boon, and I will kiss thy feet, if so must be. Let us together speed the king to follow. I will be thine arm, I will avenge thee, duke, and afterwards the life that's forfeit thou shalt take. And then, as now— Thou be ready to die? Yes, Duke. By what wilt thou swear this? My father's head. Of thine own self wilt thou remember it? Erna Nee, giving him the horn which he takes from his girdle. Listen, take you this horn, and whatsoever may happen, what the place or what the hour, whatever to thy mind. It seems the time has come for me to die.
Blow on this horn and take no other care. All will be done. Don Ruy Gomez, offering his hand. Your hand. They press hands. To the portraits. And all of you are witnesses?
End of Act Three
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4 04 - ACT IV - The Tomb. Aix-La-Chapelle 45:17
Translated by Mrs. Newton-Crosland. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Fourth Act. The Tomb. Aix-la-Chapelle. Scene 1. The vaults which enclosed the tomb of Charlemagne at Aix-la-Chapelle. Great arches of lumbered architecture with semi-circular columns. Having capitals of birds and flowers. At the right, a small bronze door, low and curved. A single lamp, suspended from the crown of the vault, shows the inscription Carolus Magnus. It is night. One cannot see the end of the vaults. The eye loses itself in the intricacy of arches, steps and columns, which mingle in the shade. Don Carlos, Don Ricardo de Rojas, Comte Casapalma.
Lanterns in hand, and wearing large cloaks and slouched hats. Don Riccardo, hat in hand. This is the place. Yes. Here it is the League will meet. They that together in my power so soon shall be. Oh, it was well, my lord of Treves the Elector. It was well of you to lend this place. Dark plots should prosper best in the dank air of catacombs. And good it is to sharpen daggers upon tombs. Yet the stake's heavy. Heads are on the game, ye bold assassins, and the end will see. By heaven, twas well a sepulchre to choose for such a business, since the road will be shorter for them to traverse. To Don Ricardo. Tell me now, how far the subterranean way extends? To the strong fortress. Farther than we need.
And on the other side it reaches quite the monastery of Altenheim. Ah, where Lothair was overcome by Rudolf. Once again, Count, tell me, oh, their names and wrongs. Gota. Ah, very well. I know why, tis the brave duke his conspirator. He wills for Germany, a German emperor. Hohenberg. Hohenberg would better like with Francis Hell than Heaven itself with me. Gilteles Girón. Castile and Our Lady! The scoundrel to be traitor to his king! One evening it is said that you were found with Madame Guiron. You had just before made him a baron. He revenges now the honour of his dear companion. This, then, the reason he revolts against Spain? What name comes next? The Reverend Vázquez Avila's Bishop. Pray, does he resent dishonour of his wife?
Then there is named Guzman de Lara, who is discontent, claiming the collar of your order. Ah, Guzman de Lara. If he only wants a collar, he shall have one. Next, the Duke of Lutzemberg. As for his plans, they say— Ah, Lutzelberg is by the head too tall. One de Arro, who Astorga wants. These Harroes. Always they the headsman's pay have doubled. That is all. Not by my count. These make but seven. Oh, I did not name some bandits, probably engaged by Treves or France. Men without prejudice, of course, whose ready daggers turn to heaviest pay, as truly as the needle to the pole. However, I observed two sturdy ones among them, both newcomers. One was young, the other old. Their names? Don Ricardo shrugs his shoulders in sign of ignorance.
Their age, then, say? The younger may be twenty. Pity, then. The elder must be sixty, quite. One seems too young, the other over-old. So much for them the worse twill be. I will take care. Myself will help the headsman, be there need. My sword is sharpened for a traitor's block. I'll lend it him if blunt his axe should grow, and join my own imperial purple on to piece the scaffold cloth, if it must be enlarged that way. But shall I, Emperor, prove? The college at this hour deliberates. Who knows? Francis I, perchance they'll name, or else there's Saxon Frederick the Wise. And, Luther, thou art right to blame the times and scorn such makers up of royalty that own no other rights than gilded ones.
A Saxon heretic, primate of treds, a libertine, count Palatine a fool, as for Bohemia's king, for me he is. Princes of Hesse, all smaller than their states. The younger idiots and the old debauched, Of crowns aplenty, but for heads we search in vain. Council of dwarfs ridiculous, that I in lion's skin could carry off like Hercules, and who of violet robes bereft would show but heads more shallow far than Tribulets. Seest thou? I won three votes, or all is lost, Riccardo. Oh, I'd give Toledo, Ghent, and Salamanca too. Three towns, my friend, I'd offer to their choice for their three voices, cities of Castile and Flanders. Safe, I know, to take them back a little later on. Don Ricardo bows low to the king and puts on his hat.
You cover, sir. Sire, you have called me thou. Bowing again. And thus I made Grande of Spain. Don Carlos aside. Ah, how to piteous scorn you rouse me, Interested brood devoured by mean ambition! Thus across my plans yours struggle. Base the court where without shame The king is plied for honours, and he yields, Bestowing grandeur on the hungry crew. Musing. God only, and the Emperor are great, Also the Holy Father. For the rest, The king and dukes, of what account are they? I trust that they, your highness, will elect. Highness? Still highness? Oh, unlucky chance! If only king I must remain. Don Ricardo aside. By Jove, Emperor, our King, Grandi of Spain, I am. When they've decided who shall be the one they choose for emperor of Germany, what sign is to announce his name?
The guns. A single firing will proclaim the Duke of Saxony is chosen emperor. Two, if tis Francis. For your highness, three. And doa Sol, I'm cross'd on every side. If, count, by turn of luck, I'm emperor made, go seek her. She, by Caesar, might be one. Don Riccardo, smiling. Your highness pleases. On that subject, peace. I have not yet inquired what's thought of me, but tell me when will it be truly known who is elected? In an hour or so at latest. Ah! Three votes, and only three! But first this traitorous rabble we must crush, and then we'll see to whom the Empire falls. He counts on his fingers and stamps his foot. Always by three too few. They hold power. Yet did Cornelius know all long ago.
In heaven's ocean, thirteen stars he saw coming full sail towards mine, all from the north. Empire for me. Let's on. But it is said, on other hand, that Jean Tritherme Francis predicted. Clearer should I see my fate, had I some armament the prophecy to help. The sorcerer's predictions come most true when a good army, with its guns and lances, horse and foot, and martial strains, ready to lead the way where fate alone might stumble, plays the midwife's part to bring fulfillment of prediction. That's worth more than our Cornelius Agrippa, or Trithem. He who by force of arms expounds his system, And with sharpened point of lance can edge his words, and uses soldiers' swords to level rugged fortune.
Shapes events at his own will to match the prophecy. Poor fools, who with proud eyes and haughty mien only look straight to empire and declare, It is my right. They need great guns in files whose burning breath melts towns. And soldiers, ships, and horsemen. These they need their ends to gain, O trampled peoples.
At the crossroads of human life, where one leads to a throne, another to perdition, they will pause in indecision. Scarce three steps will take uncertain of themselves, and in their doubt fly to the necromancer for advice which road to take. To Don Ricciardo. Go now. Tis near the time the traitorous crew will meet. Give me the key. Don Ricardo giving key of tomb. Sire, t'was the guardian of the tomb, the Count de Limburg, who to me confided it, and has done everything to pleasure you. Do all, quite all that I commanded you. Don Ricardo bowing. Highness, I go at once. The signal, then, that I await is cannon firing thrice? Don Ricardo bows and exits. Don Carlos falls into a deep reverie, his arms crossed, his head drooping.
Afterwards he raises it and turns to the tomb. SCENE II. DON CARLOS ALONE. Forgive me, Charlemagne. Oh, this lonely vault should echo only unto solemn words. Thou must be angry at the babble vein of our ambition at your monument. Here Charlemagne rests. How can the sombre tomb without a rifting spasm hold such dust? And art thou truly here, colossal power, creator of the world? And canst thou now crouch down from all thy majesty and might? Ah, tis a spectacle to stir the soul. What Europe was, and what by thee twas made. Mighty construction, with two men, supreme elected chiefs, to whom born kings submit. States, duchies, kingdoms, marquisites, and fiefs. By right, hereditary, most are ruled, but nations find a friend sometimes in Pope or Caesar.
And one chance, another chance corrects. Thus even balance is maintained and order opens out. The cloth of gold electors and the scarlet cardinals, the double sacred senate, unto which earth bends are but paraded outward show. God's fiat rules it all. One day he wills a thought, a want, should burst upon the world, then grow and spread and mix with every thing, Possess some man, win hearts, and delve a groove, though kings may trample on it, and may seek to gag. Only that they some morn may see at diet conclave, this the scorned idea that they had spurned, all suddenly expand and soar above their heads, bearing the globe in hand, or on the brow tiara. Pope and Emperor. They on earth are all in all.
A mystery supreme dwells in them both. And heaven's might, which they still represent, feasts them with kings and nations, holding them beneath its thunder-cloud. The while they sit at table with the world served out for food. Alone they regulate all things on earth, just as the mower manages his field. All rule and power are theirs. Kings at the door inhale the odor of their savory meats, look through the window, watchful on tiptoe, but weary of the scene. The common world below them groups itself on ladder rungs. They make, and all unmake. One can release, the other surely strike. The one is truth, the other might. Each to himself is law, and is, because he is. When, Equals they the one in purple and the other swathed in white like winding-sheet.
When they come out from sanctuary, the dazzled multitude look with wild terror on these halves of God, the Pope and Emperor. Emperor! Oh, to be thus great! Oh, anguish! Not to be this power when beats the heart with dauntless courage filled. O happy he who sleeps within this tomb! How great! And, O how fitted for his time! The Pope and Emperor were more than men. In them two romes in mystic hymen joined prolific were, giving new form and soul unto the human race, re-founding realms and nations, shaping thus a Europe new, And both remoulding with their hands the bronze remaining of the great old Roman world. What destiny! And yet, tis here he lies. Is all so little that we come to this? What then?
To have been prince and emperor and king? To have been sword and also law? Giant with Germany for pedestal, for title Caesar, Charlemagne for name. A greater to have been than Hannibal or Attila, as great as was the world. Yet all rests here. For emperors strive and strain, and see the dust that makes an emperor. Cover the earth with tumult and with noise. Know you that one day only will remain, O maddening thought, a stone. For sounding name triumphant, but some letters graved to serve for little children to learn spelling by. How high so'er ambition made thee soar! Behold the end of all! O Empire, power, what matters all to me? I near it now, and like it well. Some voice declares to me, Thine, Thine, it will be Thine.
Heavens, were it so, to mount at once the spiral height supreme and be alone, the keystone of the arch, with states beneath, one o'er the other ranged, and kings for mats to wipe one's sandaled feet. To see neath kings the feudal families, margraves and cardinals, and doges, dukes, then bishops, abbays, chiefs of ancient clans, great barons, Then the soldier class, and clerks, and no yet farther off, in the deep shade at the bottom of the abyss there is mankind. That is to say a crowd, a sea of men, a tumult, cries with tears and bitter laugh sometimes. The wail wakes up and scares the earth, and reaches us with leaping echoes and with trumpet tone. O citizens! O men! The swarm that from the high church towers seems now to sound the toxin.
Musing. Wondrous human base of nations, bearing on your shoulders broad the mighty pyramid that has two poles, the living waves that, ever straining hard, balance and shake it as they heave and roll, make all change place, and on the highest heights make stagger thrones, as if they were but stools. So sure is this that ceasing vain debates kings look to heaven. Kings look down below, look at the people. Restless ocean, there where nothing's cast that does not shake the whole, the sea that rends a throne and rocks a tomb, a glass in which kings rarely look but ill. Ah, if upon this gloomy sea they gazed sometimes, what empires in its depths they'd find? Great vessels wrecked that by its ebon flow are stirred, that wearied it, no, now, no more.
To govern this, to mount so high, if called, yet know myself to be but mortal man. To see the abyss, If not that moment struck with dizziness, bewildering every sense. Oh, moving pyramid of states and kings, with apex narrow! Woe to timid step! What shall restrain me? If I fail when there feeling my feet upon the trembling world, feeling alive the palpitating earth, then when I have between my hands the globe, have I the strength alone to hold it fast, To be an emperor? O God, it was hard and difficult to play the kingly part. Certes, no man is rarer than the one who can enlarge his soul to duly meet great fortune's smiles and still increasing gifts. But I, who is it that shall be my guide, my counsellor, and make me great?
Falls on his knees before the tomb. Tis thou, O Charlemagne! And since tis God, for whom all obstacles dissolve, who takes us now and puts us face to face, from this tomb's depths, endow me with sublimity and strength. Let me be great enough to see the truth on every side. Show me how small the world I dare not measure. Me this Babel, show where, from the hind to Caesar's mounting up, each one, complacent with himself, regards the next with scorn that is but half-restrained. Teach me the secret of thy conquests all, and how to rule, and show me certainly whether to punish or to pardon be the worthier thing to do. Is it not fact that in his solitary bed sometimes a mighty shade is wakened from his sleep, aroused by noise and turbulence on earth?
Thus suddenly his tomb expands itself and bursts its doors, and in the night flings forth a flood of light. If this be true indeed, say, Emperor, what can after Charlemagne another do? Speak, though thy sovereign breath should cleave this brazen door. Or rather, now let me thy sanctuary enter lone. Let me behold thy veritable face, and not repulse me with a freezing breath. Upon thy stony pillar elbows lean and let us talk. Yes, with prophetic voice tell me of things which make the forehead pale and clear eyes mournful. Speak, and do not blind thine awe-struck sun, for doubtlessly thy tomb is full of light. Or if thou wilt not speak, let me make study in the solemn peace of thee, as of a world thy measure take.
O giant, for there's nothing here below so great as thy poor ashes. Let them teach, failing thy spirit. He puts the key in the lock. Let us enter now. He recoils. O God, if he should really whisper me! If he be there and walks with noiseless tread, and I come back with hair in moments bleached, I'll do it still. Sound of footsteps. Who comes? Who dares disturb besides myself the dwelling of such dead? The sound comes nearer. My murderers! I forgot! Now enter we. He opens the door of the tomb, which shuts upon him. Enter several men walking softly, disguised by large cloaks and hats. Scene 3. The Conspirators. They take each other's hands, going from one to another and speaking in a low tone. First conspirator, who alone carries a lighted torch.
Ad Augusta. Per Augusta. The saints shield us. The dead assist us. Guard us, God. Noise in the shade. Who's there? Ad Augusta. Per Augusta. And the fresh conspirators. Noise of footsteps. First conspirator to third. See? There is someone still to come. Who's there? Ad Augusta. Per Angusta. And the more conspirators, who exchanged signs with their hands with the others. Tis well. All now are here. Gotter, to you it falls to state the case. Friends. Darkness waits for light. The conspirators sit in a half-circle on the tombs. The first conspirator passes before them, and from his torch each one lights a wax taper, which he holds in his hand. Then the first conspirator seats himself in silence on a tomb a little higher than the others in the centre of the circle.
Duke of Gotha, rising. My friends, this Charles of Spain, by mother's side a foreigner, Aspires to mount the throne of holy empire. But for him, the grave. Duke of Gotha, throwing down his light and crushing it with his foot. Let it be with his head, as with this flame. So be it. Death unto him. Let him die. Let him be sane. German his father was. His mother Spanish. Thus you see that he is no more one than the other. Let him die. Suppose the electors at this very hour declare him emperor. Him? Oh, never him. What signifies? Let us strike off the head, the crown will fall. But if to him belongs the only emperor, he becomes so great and so august that only God's own hand can reach him. All the better reason why he dies before such power august he gains.
He shall not be elected. Not to name the Empire. Now, how many hands wilt take to put him in his shroud? One is enough. How many strokes to reach his heart? But one. Who then will strike? All. All. The victim is a traitor proved. They would an emperor choose. We've a high priest to make. Let us draw lots. All the conspirators write their names on their tablets, tear out the leaf, roll it up, and one after another throw them into the urn on one of the tombs. Afterwards, the first conspirator says, Now, let us pray. All kneel. The first conspirator rises and says, O may the chosen one believe in God and like a Roman strike, die as a Hebrew would and brave a life. The wheel and burning pincers laugh at wreck and fire and wooden horse and be resigned.
To kill and die, he might have All to do. He draws a parchment from the urn. What name? Ernani. Ernani, coming out from the crowd of conspirators. I have one, yes one, I hold thee fast. Thee I've so long pursued with vengeance. Don Rui Gomez, piercing through the crowd and taking Ernani aside. Yield! O yield this right to me! Not for my life, O senor! Grudge me not this stroke of fortune! Tis the first I've known. You nothing have. I'll give you houses, lands, a hundred thousand vassals shall be yours in my three hundred villages if you but yield the right to strike to me. No, no!
Old man, thy arm would strike less sure a blow. Back! I have strength of soul, if not of arm. Judge not the sword by the mere scabbard's rust. To Ernani. You do belong to me. My life is yours, as his belongs to me. Don Rui Gomez, drawing the horn from his girdle, I yield her up and will return the horn. Anani trembles. What life? My life? And Dornia's soul? No, I my vengeance choose. I have my father to revenge, yet more. Perchance I am inspired by God in this. I yield thee her, and give thee back the horn. No. Boy, reflect. O Duke, leave me my prey. My curse is on you for depriving me of this my joy. First Conspirator to Ernani. O brother, ere they can elect him. "'T'would be well this very night to watch for Charles.
"'Fear not. I know the way to kill a man.' "'May every treason fall on traitor, and may God be with you now. We, counts and barons, let us take the oath that if he fall, yet slay not, we go on.' And strike by turn, unflinching, till Charles dies. All drawing their swords. Let us all swear! Duke of Gotha to First Conspirator. My brother, let's decide on what we swear. Don Rui Gomez taking his sword by the point and raising it above his head. By this same cross. All raising their swords. And this, that he must quickly die in penitence. They hear a cannon fired afar off. All pause and are silent. The door of the tomb half opens, and Don Carlos appears at the threshold. A second gun is fired. Then a third.
He opens wide the door and stands erect and motionless without advancing. Scene Four. The Conspirators and Don Carlos. Afterwards, Don Ricardo, Signors, Guards, the King of Bohemia, the Duke of Bavaria. Afterwards, Doña Sol. Fall back, ye gentlemen. The Emperor hears. All the lights are simultaneously extinguished. A profound silence. Don Carlos advances a step in the darkness so dense that the silent, motionless conspirators can scarcely be distinguished. Silence and night. From darkness sprung, the swarm into the darkness plunges back again. Think ye this scene is like a passing dream, and that I take you, now your lights are quenched, for men's stone figures seated on their tombs? Just now, my statues, you had voices loud.
Raise, then, your drooping heads, for Charles V is here. Strike. Move a pace or two, and show, you dare. But no, tis not in you to dare. Your flaming torches, blood-red neath these vaults, my breath extinguished. But now turn your eyes, irresolute, and see that if I thus put out the many, I can light still more. He strikes the iron key on the bronze door of the tomb. At the sound, all the depths of the cavern are filled with soldiers bearing torches and talbots. At their head, the Duke d'Alcala, the Marquis d'Almugnan. Etc. Come on, my falcons. I've the nest, the prey. To conspirators. I can make blaze of light. Tis my turn now. Behold! To the soldiers. Advance, for flagrant is the crime. Erna Nih, looking at the soldiers.
Ah, well. At first I thought it was Charlemagne. Alone he seemed so great. But after all, tis only Charles V. Don Carlos to the Duke d'Alcala. Come, Constable of Spain. To Marquis d'Almunyan. And you, Castilian Admiral, disarm them all. The conspirators are surrounded and disarmed. Don Ricardo, hurrying in and bowing almost to the ground. Your Majesty. Alcade, I make you of the palace. Don Ricardo. Two electors to represent the golden chamber come to offer to your sacred majesty congratulations now. Let them come forth. A sigh to Don Ricardo. The Doña Sol. Ricardo bows and exit. Enter with flambeau and flourish of trumpets, the king of Bohemia and the duke of Bavaria. Both wearing cloth of gold and with crowns on their heads.
Numerous followers. German nobles carrying the banner of the empire, the double-headed eagle with the escutcheon of Spain in the middle of it. The soldiers divide, forming lines Most sacred Majesty, Charles of the Romans, King and Emperor. The empire of the world is in your hands. Yours is the throne to which each king aspires. The Saxon Frederick was elected first, but he judged you more worthy and declined. Now then receive the crown and globe, O King. The holy empire doth invest you now. Arms with the sword, and you indeed are great. The college I will thank on my return. But go, my brother of Bohemia, and you, Bavarian cousin. Thanks. But now I do dismiss you. I shall go myself. O, Charles, our ancestors were friends.
My sire loved yours, and their two fathers were two friends. So young, exposed to various fortunes. Say, O, Charles! May I be ranked a very chief among thy brothers? I cannot forget I knew you as a little child. Ah, well, King of Bohemia, you presume too much. He gives him his hand to kiss, also the Duke of Bavaria. Both bow low. Depart. Exeunt the two electors with their followers. Long live the Emperor! Don Carlos aside. So tis mine. All things have helped, and I am emperor. By the refusal, though, of Frederick, surnamed the Wise. Enter Doña Sol, led by Ricardo. What? Soldiers! Emperor! Ernani! Heavens! What an unlooked-for chance! Ah! Doña Sol! Don Rui Gómez, a sigh to Ernani. She has not seen me.
Doña Sol runs to Erna Ni, who makes her recoil by a look of disdain. Madam! Doña Sol, drawing the dagger from her bosom. I still his poignard have. Erna Ni, taking her in his arms. My dearest one! Be silent, all! To the conspirators. Is it you remorseless, Arr? I need to give the world a lesson now. The Lara of Castile, and Gotha, you of Saxony, all, all. What were your plans just now? I bid you speak. Quite simple, sire. The thing, and we can briefly tell it you. We grave the sentence on Belshazzar's wall. He takes out a poignard and brandishes it. We render unto Caesar. Caesar's due. Silence! To Don Rui Gomez. And you. You two are traitor, Silva. Which of us two is traitor, sire? Ernani turning towards the conspirators.
Our heads an empire. All that he desires, he has. To the Emperor. The mantle blue of kings encumbered you. The purple. Better suits. It shows not blood. Don Carlos to Don Rui Gomez. Cousin of Silva, this is felony, attaining your baronial rank. Think well, Don Rui. High treason. Kings like Roderick, Count Julian's make. Don Carlos to the Duke d'Alcala. Seize only those who seem the nobles. For the rest. Don Rui Gomez, the Duke de Lützelburg, the Duke of Gotha, Don Juan de Haro, Don Guzman de Laha, Don Tedes Giron, the Baron of Hohenburg, separate themselves from the group of conspirators, among whom is Hernani. The Duke d'Alcala surrounds them with guards. Doa Sol sighed. Oh, he is saved. Hernani, coming from among the conspirators.
I claim to be included. To Don Carlos. Since to this it comes the question of the axe, then now, Ernani, humble churl, beneath thy feet, unpunished goes, because his brow is not at level with thy sword. Because one must be great to die, I rise. God who gives power, and gives to thee the scepter. Made me Duke of Segur Bay and Cardona, Marquis II of Munroi, Albuterra's Count of Gore V. Count, and Lord of many places, more than I can name, Juan of Aragon. Am I, Grand Master of Avi, the son in exile born of murdered father slain. By King's decree, King Charles. Which me proscribed, thus death twixt us is family affair. You have the scaffold, we the poignard hold, since heaven a duke has made me, and exile a mountaineer.
Since all in vain I've sharpened upon the hills my sword, and in the torrents have tempered it. He puts on his head. To the conspirators. Let us be covered now. Us. The Grandees of Spain. They cover. To Don Carlos. Our heads, O king, have right to fall before thee covered thus. To the prisoners. Silva and Haro, Lara, men of rank and race make room for Juan of Aragon. Give me my place, ye dukes and counts. My place. To the courtiers and guards. King, headsmen, varlets, one of Aragon, am I. If all your scaffolds are too small, make new ones. He joins the group of nobles. Heavens! I had quite forgotten this history. But they who bleed remember far better. The evil that wrongdoer thus so senselessly forgets.
Therefore enough for me to bear this title, that I am son of sires, whose power dealt death to ancestors of yours. Doña Sol falling on her knees before the Emperor. O pardon, pardon! Mercy, sire! Be pitiful, or strike us both, I pray. For he is my lover, my promised spouse. In him it is alone I live. I breathe. O sire, in mercy us together slay. Trembling, O majesty, I trail myself before your sacred knees. I love him, sire, and he is mine, as empire is your own. Have pity. Don Carlos looks at her without moving. O what thought absorbs you? Cease. Rise, Duchess of Sego Bay. Marchioness of Monroy, Countess Albatera, and— To Ernani. Thine other names, Don Juan? Who speaks thus, the king? No, tis the emperor.
Just heaven! Don Carlos pointing to her. Duke Juan, take your wife. Ernani, his eyes raised to heaven, Doña Sol in his arms. Just guard. Don Carlos to Don Rui Gomez. My cousin, I know the pride of your nobility, but Aragorn with silver well may mate. "'Tis not a question of nobility." Ernani looking with love on Doña Sol, and still holding her in his arms. My deadly hate is vanishing away. Throws away his dagger. Don Rui Gómez, aside and looking at them. Shall I betray myself? Oh, no! My grief, my foolish love, would make them pity cast upon my venerable head. Old man and spaniard, let the hidden fire consume and suffer still in secret. Let heart break, but cry not. They would laugh at thee. Dona Sol still in Ernani's arms.
My duke! Nothing my soul holds now but love. O joy! Don Carlos aside, his hand in his bosom. Stifle thyself, young heart so full of flame. Let rain again the better thoughts which thou so long hast troubled. Henceforth let thy loves, thy mistresses, alas, be Germany and Flanders, Spain. Looking at the banner. The Emperor is like the eagle his companion. In the place of heart there's but a scutcheon. Caesar, you? Don Juan of your ancient name and race, Your soul is worthy. Pointing to Doña Sol. Worthy even of her. Kneel, Duke. Ernani kneels. Don Carlos unfastens his own golden fleece and puts it on Ernani's neck. Receive this collar. Don Carlos draws his sword and strikes him three times on the shoulder.
Faithful be, for by St. Stephen now I make thee knight. He raises and embraces him. Thou hast a collar softer and more choice, that which is wanting to my rank supreme, the arms of loving woman, loved by thee. Thou wilt be happy. I am emperor. To conspirators. Sirs, I forget your names. Anger and hate I will forget. Go. Go, I pardon you. This is the lesson that the world much needs. Glory to Charles. Don Rui Gomez to Don Carlos. I only suffer then. And I. But I have not, like Majesty, forgiven. Who wist has worked this wondrous change? Honour to Charles V. And to Germany. Don Carlos turning to the tomb. Honor to Charlemagne. Leave us now together. Exxunt all. Scene 5. Don Carlos alone. He bends towards the tomb.
Art thou content with me, O Charlemagne? Have I the kingship's littleness stripped off? Become as emperor another man? Can I Rome's mitre add unto my helm? Have I the right, the fortunes of the world, to sway? Have I a steady foot, that safe can tread the path, by vandal ruins strewed, which thou hast beaten by thine armies vast? Have I my candle lighted at thy flame? Did I interpret right the voice that spake within this tomb? Ah, I was lost, alone before an empire, A wide, howling world that threatened and conspired. There were the Danes to punish, and the Holy Father's self to compensate, with Venice, Solomon, Francis, and Luther, and a thousand dirks gleaming already in the shade, snares, rocks, and countless foes.
A score of nations, each of which might serve to awe a score of kings, things ripe, all pressing to be done at once. I cried to thee, With what shall I begin? And thou didst answer, Son, by clemency.
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5 05 - ACT V - The Nuptials 36:40
by Victor Hugo. Translated by Mrs. Newton Crossland. This is a LibriVox. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox. Fifth Act. The Nuptials. Scene I. Saragossa. A terrace of the Palace of Aragon. At the back, a flight of steps leading to the garden. At the right and left, Doors on to a terrace, which shows at the back of the stage a balustrade surmounted by a double row of moorish arches, above and through which are seen the palace gardens, fountains in the shade, shrubberies and moving lights, and the Gothic and Arabic arches of the palace illuminated. It is night. Trumpets afar off are heard. Masks and dominoes, either singly or in groups, cross the terrace here and there.
At the front of the stage a group of young lords Their masks in their hands laugh and chat noisily. Don Sancho Sanchez de Zuniga, Conte Monterrey, Don Matias Centurion, Marquis d'Almunyan, Don Ricardo de Rojas, Conte Casapalma, Now to the bride, long life and joy, I say. Don Matias looking to the balcony. All Sargossa at its windows shows. And they do well. A torchlight wedding. Ne'er was seen more gay than this, nor lovelier knight, nor handsomer married pair. Kind Emperor. When we went with him in the dark that night, seeking adventure, Marquis, who would have thought how it would end? I, too, was there. To the others. Now list. Three gallants, one a bandit, his head due unto the scaffold, then a duke, a king, adoring the same woman, all laid siege at the same time.
The onset made. Who won? It was the bandit. Nothing strange in that, for love and fortune in all other lands, as well as Spain, are sport of the cogged dice. It is the rogue who wins. Our fortune grew in seeing the lovemaking. First a count, and then a grand day, and next an alcalde at court. My time was well spent, though without one knowing it. Your secret, sir, appears to be the keeping close upon the heels of the king. Ensuring that my conduct's worth reward. And by a chance you profited. What has become of the old duke? Has he his coffin ordered? Marky, jest not thus at him, for he a haughty spirit has, and this old man loved well the Doña Sol. His sixty years had turned his hair to grey, one day has bleached it.
Not again, they say, has he been seen in Saragossa. Well, wouldst thou that to the bridle he should bring his coffin? What's the Emperor doing now? The Emperor is out of sorts just now. Luther annoys him. Luther! Subject fine for care and fear. Soon would I finish him with but four men at arms. And Solomon makes him dejected? Luther! Solomon! Neptune! The Devil! Jupiter! What are they all to me? The women are most fair, the masquerade is splendid, and I've said a hundred foolish things. Behold you now, the chief thing. Garcy's not far wrong, I say. Not the same man am I on festal days. When I put on the mask in truth, I think another head it gives me. Don Sancho, a part to Don Matias. Pity tis that all days are not festivals.
Are those their rooms? Don García, with a nod of his head. Arrive they will, no doubt, full soon. Dost think so? Most undoubtedly. Tis well. The bride is lovely. What an emperor! The rebel chief Hernane will be pardoned, wearing the golden fleece, and married too. Ah, if the Emperor had been by me advised, the gallant should have had a bed of stone, the lady one of down. Don Sancho, a sigh to Don Matias. How well I'd like with my good sword this lord to smash, a lord made up of tinsel coarsely joined, poor point of count filled out with bailiff's soul. Don Ricardo drawing near. What are you saying? Don Matias aside to Don Sancho. Count, no quarrel here. To Don Ricardo. He was reciting one of Petrarch's sonnets unto his lady love.
Have you not seen among the flowers and women, and dresses gay, of many hues, a figure, specter-like, whose domino all black, upright against, a balustrade, seems like a spot upon the festival? Yes, by my faith. Who is't? By height and mean, I judge it must be the Admiral, the Don Parancasio. Oh, no. He has not taken off his mask. There is no need. It is the Duke de Soma who likes to be observed. Tis nothing more. No, the Duke spoke to me. Who then can be this mask? But see, he's here. Enter a black domino, who slowly crosses the back of the stage. All turn and watch him, without his appearing to notice them. If the dead walk... That is their step. Don García approaching the Black Domino. Most noble mask.
The Black Domino stops and turns. García recoils. I swear, good sirs, that I saw flame shine in his eyes. If he's the devil, he'll find one he can address. He goes to the Black Domino, who is still motionless. Ho, demon! Com'st thou from hell? I come not thence. Tis thither that I go. He continues his walk and disappears at the balustrade of the staircase. All watch him with a look of horrified dismay. Sepulchral is his voice, as can be heard. Pshaw! What would frighten elsewhere at a ball we laugh at? Silly jesting, tis. Indeed, if Lucifer is come to see us dance, waiting for lower regions, let us dance. Of course. It's some buffoonery. We'll know tomorrow. Don Sancho to Don Matias. Look now what becomes of him, I pray you.
Don Matias at the balustrade of the terrace. Down the steps he's gone. That's all. A pleasant jester he. Musing. "'Tis strange." Don Garcia to a lady passing. Marquise, let us pray dance this time. He bows and offers his hand. You know, dear sir, my husband will my dances with you all count up. All the more reason. Pleased is he to count, it seems, and it amuses him. He calculates, we dance. The lady gives her hand, and they axiunt. Don Sancho thoughtfully. In truth, tis strange. Behold the married pair! Now silence all! Enter Hernani and Doña Sol, hand in hand. Doña Sol in magnificent bridal dress, Hernani in black velvet and with the golden fleece hanging from his neck. Behind them a crowd of masques and of ladies and gentlemen who form their retinue.
Two halberdiers in which liveries follow them, and four pages precede them. Everyone makes way for them, and bows as they approach. Flourish of trumpets. Scene Two. The same. Ernani, Doña Sol, and Retinue. Ernani saluting. Dear friends. Don Ricardo advancing and bowing. Your Excellency's happiness makes ours. Don Francisco looking at Doña Sol. Now, by James, tis Venus' self that he is leading. Happiness is his. Don Sancho to Don Matias. Tis late now. Let us leave. All salute the married pair and retire, some by the door, others by the stairway at the back. Hernani escorting them. Adieu. Don Sancho, who has remained to the last, and pressing his hand. Be happy. Exit Don Sancho. Ernani and Doña Sol remain alone.
The sound of voices grows fainter and fainter till it ceases altogether. During the early part of the following scene, the sound of trumpets grows fainter, and the lights by degrees are extinguished till night and silence prevail. Scene III. Ernani, Doña Sol. At last, they are all gone. Ernani seeking to draw her to his arms. Dear love. Doña Sol. Drawing back a little. Is it late? At least to me it seems so. Angel dear, time ever drags till we together are. This noise has wearied me. Is it not true, dear lord, that all this mirth but stifling is to happiness? Thou sayest truly, love, for happiness is serious, and asks for hearts of bronze on which to grave itself. Pleasure alarms it, flinging it to flowers.
Its smile is nearer tears than mirth. Thy smile's like daylight in thine eyes. Ananise seeks to lead her to the door. Oh, presently. I am thy slave. Yes, linger if thou wilt, but ere thou dost as well, I'll laugh and sing if thou desirest that it should be so. Bid the volcano stifle flame and twill, close up its gulfs, and on its sides grow flowers and grasses green. How good you are to me, my heart's Ernani! Madame, what name's that? I pray in pity speak it not again. Thou cost to mind forgotten things. I know that he existed formerly in dreams. Ernani, he whose eyes flashed like a sword, a man of night and of the hills, a man proscribed, on whom was seen writ everywhere the one word, Vengeance, an unhappy man that drew down malediction.
I know not the man they called Ernani. As for me, I love the birds and flowers and woods and song of Nightingale. I'm Juan of Aragon, the spouse of Doña Sol, a happy man. Happy am I. What does it matter now? The rags I left behind me at the door. Behold, I to my palace desolate come back. Upon the threshold still there waits for me an angel. I come in, and lift upright the broken columns, kindle fire, and ope again the windows, and the grass upon the courtyard I have all plucked up. For me there is but joy, enchantment, love. Let them give back my towers, and Donjon keep my plume. And seat at the Castilian board of council comes my blushing Dormia soul. Let them leave us, for rest forgotten is.
Neither I've seen, nor said, nor have I done. Anew my life begins, the past effacing. Wisdom or madness, you I have in love, and you are all my joy. How well upon the velvet black the golden collar shows. You saw it on the king, ere now on me. I did not notice. Others, what are they to me? Besides, the velvet is it, or the satin? No, my duke, it is thy neck which suits the golden collar. Thou art proud and noble, my own lord. He seeks to lead her indoors. Oh, presently, a moment! See you not, I weep with joy? Come, look upon the lovely night. She goes to the balustrade. My Duke, only a moment, but the time to breathe and gaze. All now is over. The torch is out, the music done. Night only is with us.
Felicity most perfect. Think not that now, while all is still and slumbering, nature, half-waking, watches us with love. No cloud in the sky. All things like us are now at rest. Come, breathe with me the air perfumed by roses. Look, there is no light, nor hear we any noise. Silence prevails. The moon just now from the horizon rose, even when you spoke to me. Her trembling light and thy dear voice together reached my heart. Joyous and softly calm, I felt. O thou, my lover! And it seemed that I would then most willingly have died. Ah, who is there, would not all things forget when listening thus? Unto this voice celestial. Thy speech but seems a chaunt with nothing human mixed. And as with one who, gliding down a stream on summer eve, sees past before his eyes a thousand flowery plains, my thoughts are drawn into thy reveries.
The silence is too deep and too profound the calm. Say now, wouldst thou not like to see a star shine forth from out of the depths, or hear a voice of night? Tender and sweet, raised suddenly its song. Anani smiling. Capricious one, just now you fled away from all the songs and lights. Ah, yes, the ball, and yet a bird that in the meadow sings, a nightingale in moss or shadow lost or flute far off. For music sweet can pour into the soul a harmony divine. That like a heavenly choir wakes in the heart a thousand voices. Charming would it be. They hear the sound of a horn from the shade. My prayer is heard. Ananit aside, trembling. Oh, miserable man. An angel read my thought. T'was thy good angel, doubtless.
Yes, my good angel. Aside. There again. Don Juan, I recognize your horn. Is't so? The half this serenade to you belongs. The half? Thou hast declared it? Ah, the ball, detestable! Far better do I love the horn that sounds from out of the woods. And since it is your horn, tis like your voice to me. The horn sounds again. Ernani aside. It is the tiger howling for his prey. Don Juan, this music fills my heart with joy. Ernani drawing himself up and looking terrible. Call me Ernani, call me it again, for with that fatal name I have not done. Don Yassol trembling. What ails you? The old man. Oh, God, what looks? What is it ails you? That old man who in the darkness laughs, can you not see him there?
Oh, you are wondering, who is this old man? The old man. On my knees I do entreat thee. Say what is the secret that afflicts thee thus. I swore it. Swore? She watches his movements with anxiety. He stops suddenly and passes his hand across his brow. Ernani aside. What have I said? Oh, let me spare her. I not. What was it I said? You said... No, no, I was disturbed, and somewhat suffering I am. Do not be frightened. You need something. Order me. Thy servant! The horn sounds again. Anani aside. Ah, he claims. He claims the pledge. He has my oath. Feeling for his stagger. Not there. It must be done. Ah! Sufferest thou so much? Tis an old wound that I thought healed. It has reopened now. Aside. She must be got away.
Allowed. My best beloved, now listen, there's a little box that in less happy days I carried with me. Ah, I know what tis you mean. Tell me your wish. It holds a flask of an elixir which will end my sufferings. Go. I go, my lord. Exit by the door to their apartments. Scene Four. Ernani alone. This, then, is how my happiness must end. Behold the fatal finger that doth shine upon the wall. My bitter destiny still jests at me. He falls into a profound yet convulsive reverie. Afterwards he turns abruptly. Ah, well, I hear no sound. Am I myself deceiving? The mask in black domino appears at the balustrade of the steps. Ernani stops petrified. Scene 5. Ernani, the mask. What soe'er may happen, what the place, or what the hour, whenever to thy mind it seems the time has come for me to die?
Blow on this horn. And take no other care. All will be done. This compact has the dead for witnesses. Is all done? Tis he. Unto thy home I come. I tell thee that it is the time. It is my hour. I find thee hesitate. Well then, thy pleasure say, but wouldst thou of me? I give thee choice, Trix, poison, draught, and blade. I bear about me both. We shall depart together. Be it so. Shall we first pray? What matter? Which of them wilt thou? The poison. Then hold out your hand. He gives a vial to Ernani, who pales at receiving it. Now drink, that I may finish. Ernani lifts the vial to his lips, but recoils. Oh, for pity's sake, until tomorrow, wait, if thou hast heart or soul. If thou art not a spectre just, escaped from flame, if thou art not a soul accursed, forever lost, if on thy brow not yet has God inscribed his never, oh, if thou hast ever known the bliss supreme of loving, and at twenty years of age of wedding the beloved, if ever thou hast clasped the one thou lovest in thine arms.
Wait till tomorrow, then thou canst come back. Childish it is for you to jest this way. Tomorrow? Why, the bell this morning told thy funeral, and I should die this night, and who would come to take thee after me? I will not to the tomb descend alone, young man. Tis thou must go with me. Well then, I say thee nay, and demon, I from thee myself deliver. I will not obey. As I expected. Very well. On what then didst thou swear? Ah, on a trifling thing, the memory of thy father's head. With ease such oath may be forgotten. Youthful oaths are light affairs. My father, father, oh, my senses I shall lose. Oh, no. "'Tis but a perjury and treason." Duke! Since now the heirs of Spanish houses make a jest of breaking promises, I'll say adieu."
He moves as if to leave. Stay. Then— Oh, cruel man! He raises the vial. Thus to return upon my path at Heaven's door. Re-enter Doña Sol without seeing the mask, who is standing erect near the balustrade of the stairway at the back of the stage. Scene Six. The same. Doña Sol. I failed to find that little box. Erna Ni sighed. Oh God, is she? It's such a moment here. What is it that thus I frighten him? Even at my voice he shakes. What holdest thou in thy hand? What fearful thought? What holdest thou in thy hand? Reply to me. The Domino unmasks. She utters a cry in recognizing Don Rui. Tis poison! O great heaven! Doña Sol to Erna Ni. What is it that I have done to thee? What mystery of horror! I'm deceived by thee, Don Juan.
Ah, I had thought to hide it all from thee. My life I promised to the Duke that time he saved it. Aragon must pay this debt to Silva. Unto me you do belong, not him. What signify your other oaths? To Don Ruy Gomez. My love is it which gives me strength, and Duke, I will defend him against you and all the world. Don Ruy Gomez unmoved. Defend him, if you can, against an oath that's sworn. What oath? Yes, I have sworn. No, no, not bind thee. It would be a crime, a madness, an atrocity. No! No, it cannot be! Come, Duke. Ernanim makes a gesture to obey. Doña Sol tries to stop him. It must be done. Allow it, Doña Sol. My word was pledged to the Duke, and to my father, now in heaven. Doña Sol to Don Ruy Gomez.
Better that to a tigress you should go, and snatch away her young. Then take from me him whom I love. Know you at all what is this Danya soul? Long time I pitied you, and in compassion for your age I seemed the gentle girl, timid and innocent. But now, see eyes made moist by tears of rage. She draws a dagger from her bosom. See you this dagger, old man imbecile? Do you not fear the steel when eyes flash threat? Take care, Don Rui. I'm of thy family. Listen, mine uncle. Had I been your child, it had been ill for you if you had laid a hand upon my husband. She throws away the dagger and falls on her knees before him. At thy feet I fall. Mercy, have pity on us both. Alas, my lord, I am but a woman weak.
My strength dies out within my soul. I fail so easily. Tis at your knees I plead. I supplicate. Have mercy on us both. Don ya soul. Oh, pardon. With a Spaniard's grief bursts forth in stormy words. You know it. Alas, you used not to be harsh. My uncle, have pity. You are killing me indeed in touching him. Mercy, have pity now. So well I love him. You love him too much. Thou weepest. No, my love. No, no. It must not be. I will not have you die. To Don Rui. Today be merciful, and I will love you well. You also. After him, the dregs you'd give the remnants of your love and friendliness, still less and less. Oh, think you thus to quench the thirst that now devours me.
He alone is everything. For me, kind pityings, With such affection, what, pray, could I do? Fury! Tis he would have your heart, your love, and be enthroned, and grant a look from you as alms. And if thou saith a kindly word, tis he would tell you, Say so much is enough. Cursing in heart the greedy one, the beggar, unto whom he's forced to fling the drops remaining in the emptied glass. Oh, shame! Derision! No, we'll finish! Drink! He has my promise, and it must be kept. Proceed. Ernanee raises the vial to his lips. Doña Sol throws herself on his arm. Not yet. Deign both of you to hear me. The grave is open, and I cannot wait. A moment only, Duke, and my Don Juan. Ah, both are cruel. What is it, I ask?
An instant. That is all I beg from you. Let a poor woman speak what's in her heart. Oh! Let me speak. I cannot wait. My lord, you make me tremble. What then have I done? His crime is rending him. Doña Sol still holding his arm. You see full well I have a thousand things to say. Don Ruy Gómez to Hernani. Die! Die, you must! Doña Sol still hanging on his arm. Don Juan, when all's said, indeed thou shalt do what thou wilt. She snatches the vial. I have it now. She lifts the vial for Ernani and the old man to see. Since with two women I have here to deal, it needs, Don Juan, that I elsewhere go in search of souls. Grave oaths you took to me, and by the race from which you sprang. I go unto your father, and to speak among the dead.
Adieu. He moves as if to depart, and a knee holds him back. Stay, Duke. To Donny a soul. Alas. I do implore thee, wouldst thou wish to see in me a perjured felon only, and everywhere I go a traitor written on my brow? In pity, give the poison back to me. Tis by our love I ask it, and our souls immortal. And thou wilt? She drinks. Now take the rest. Don Ruy Gomez aside. Twas then for her. Dona Sol returning the half-emptied vial to Ernanit. I tell thee, take. Ernanit to Don Rui. Seest thou, O miserable man? Grieve not for me. I've left thy share. Ernanit taking the vial. O God! Not thus would thou have left me mine. But thou, not thine the heart of Christian wife. Thou knowest not to love as Silvas do.
But I've drunk first, made sure. Now drink it, if thou wilt. What hast thou done, unhappy one? Twas thou who willed it so. It is a frightful death. No, no, why so? This filter leads unto the grave. And ought we not this night to rest together? Does it matter in what bed? My father, thou thyself avenged against me, who did forget thee. He lifts the vial to his mouth, Dona Sol throwing herself on him. Heavens, what strange agony! Ah, throw this filter far from thee! My reason is wandering. Stop! Alas! O my Don Juan! This drug is potent! In the heart it wakes a hydra with a thousand tearing teeth devouring it. I knew not that such pangs could be. What is this thing? Tis liquid fire. Drink not, for much thou'd suffer.
Anani to Don Rui. Ah, thy soul is cruel. Couldst thou not have found for her another drug? He drinks and throws the vial away. What dost thou? What thyself has done. Come to my arms, young lover. Now. They sit down close to each other. Does one not suffer horribly? No. No. These are our marriage rites. But for a bride, I'm very pale. Say am I not. Ah, me. Fulfilled is now the fatal destiny. O misery and despair to know her pangs. Be calm. I'm better. Towards new, brighter light, we now together open out our wings. Let us with even flights set out to reach a fairer world. Only a kiss, a kiss. They embrace. O agony supreme. O blessed be heaven. Thou wilt for me a life by spectres followed, and by abysses yawning and circled still.
Yet grants that weary of a road so rough, I fall asleep my lips upon thy hand. How happy are they! Come, come, Dornia soul. All's dark. Dost thou not suffer? Nothing now, O nothing. Seest thou not fires in the gloom? Not yet. Ah, behold. He falls. Don Ruy Gomez, raising the head which falls again. He's dead. Doña Sol. Disheveled and half raising herself on the seat. Oh, no. We sleep. He sleeps. It is my spouse that here you see. We love each other. We are sleeping thus. It is our bridal. I entreat you not to wake him, my lord duke of Mudose, for he is weary. She turns round the face of Ernani. Turn to me, my love. She falls back. More near. Still closer. Dead.
Oh, I am damned. He kills himself. End of Act 5. End of Ernanny by Victor Hugo Translated by Mrs. Newton Crossland