Act the Third: Scene X

ROSAURA. Noble-hearted Sigismund!Thou whose hidden light heroicIssues from its night of shadowsTo the great deeds of its morning;And as heaven's sublimest planetFrom the white arms of AuroraBack restores their beauteous colourTo the wild flowers and the roses,And upon the seas and mountains,When endiademed with glory,Scatters light, diffuses splendour,Braids their foam, their hair makes golden;Thus thou dawnest on the worldBright auspicious sun of Poland,Who will help a hapless woman,She who at thy feet doth throw her,Help her, since she is unhappy,And a woman; two good motivesQuite enough to move a manWho of valour so doth boast him,Though even one would be sufficient,Though even one would be all potent.Thou hast seen me thrice already,Thrice thou hast not truly known me,For each time by different dressesWas I strangely metamorphosed.First I seemed to thee a man,When within thy sad and sombreCell thou sawest me, when thy lifeWiled from me mine own misfortunes.As a woman next thou sawest me,Where the splendours of thy throne-roomVanished like a fleeting vision,Vain, phantasmal and abortive.The third time is now, when beingSomething monstrous and abnormal,In a woman's dress thou see'st meWith a warrior's arms adorned.And to pity and compassionThat thou may'st be moved more strongly,Listen to the sad successionOf my tragical misfortunes.In the Court of MuscovyI was born of a noble mother,Who indeed must have been fairSince unhappiness was her portion.Fond and too persuading eyesFixed on her, a traitor lover,Whom, not knowing, I don't name,Though mine own worth hath informed meWhat was his: for being his image,I sometimes regret that fortuneMade me not a pagan born,That I might, in my wild folly,Think he must have been some god,Such as he was, who in goldenShower wooed Danae, or as swanLeda loved, as bull, Europa.When I thought to lengthen out,Citing these perfidious stories,My discourse, I find alreadyThat I have succinctly told theeHow my mother, being persuadedBy the flatteries of love's homage,Was a fair as any fair,And unfortunate as all are.That ridiculous excuseOf a plighted husband's promiseSo misled her, that even yetthe remembrance brings her sorrow.For that traitor, that AeneasFlying from his Troy, forgot there,Or left after him his sword.By this sheath its blade is covered,But it shall be naked drawnEre this history is over.From this loosely fastened knowWhich binds nothing, which ties nothing,Call it marriage, call it crime,Names its nature cannot alter,I was born, a perfect image,A true copy of my mother,In her loveliness, ah, no!In her miseries and misfortunes.Therefore there is little needTo say how the hapless daughter,Heiress of such scant good luck,Had her own peculiar portion.All that I will say to theeOf myself is, that the robberOf the trophies of my fame,Of the sweet spoils of my honour,Is Astolfo . . . . Ah! to name himStirs and rouses up the cholerOf the heart, a fitting effortWhen an enemy's name is spoken,--Yes, Astolfo was that traitor,Who, forgetful of his promise(For when love has passed away,Even its memory is forgotten),Came to Poland, hither called.From so sweet so proud a conquest,To be married to Estrella,Of my setting sun the torch light.Who'll believe that when one starOft unites two happy lovers,Now one star, Estrella, comesTwo to tear from one another?I offended, I deceived,Sad remained, remained astonished,Mad, half dead, remained myself;That's to say, in so much torment,That my heart was like a BabelOf confusion, hell, and horror:I resolving to be mute,(For there are some pains and sorrowsThat by feelings are expressed,Better than when words are spoken).I by silence spoke my pain,Till one day being with my motherViolante, she (oh, heavens!)Burst their prison; like a torrentForth they rushed from out my breast,Streaming wildly o'er each other.No embarrassment it gave meTo relate them, for the knowingThat the person we confide toA like weakness must acknowledgeGives as 'twere to our confusionA sweet soothing and a solace,For at times a bad exampleHas its use. In fine, my sorrowsShe with pity heard, relatingEven her own grief to console me:When he has himself been guiltyWith what ease the judge condoneth!Knowing from her own experienceThat 'twas idle, to slow-movingLeisure, to swift-fleeting time,To intrust one's injured honour.She could not advise me better,As the cure of my misfortunes,Than to follow and compel himBy prodigious acts of boldnessTo repay my honour's debt:And that such attempt might cost meLess, my fortune wished that IShould a man's strange dress put on me.She took down an ancient sword,Which is this I bear: the momentNow draws nigh I must unsheath it,Since to her I gave that promise,When confiding in its marks,Thus she said, "Depart to Poland,And so manage that this steelShall be seen by the chief noblesOf that land, for I have hopeThat there may be one among themWho may prove to thee a friend,An adviser and consoler."Well, in Poland I arrived;It is useless to inform theeWhat thou knowest already, howA wild steed resistless bore meTo thy caverned tower, whereinThou with wonder didst behold me.Let us pass too, how ClotaldoPassionately my cause supported,How he asked my life of the kingWho to him that boon accorded;How discovering who I amHe persuaded me my properDress to assume, and on EstrellaTo attend as maid of honour,So to thwart Astolfo's loveAnd prevent the marriage contract.Let us, too, pass by, that herethou didst once again behold meIn a woman's dress, my formWaking thus a twofold wonder,And approach the time, ClotaldoBeing convinced it was importantThat should wed and reign togetherFair Estrella and Astolfo,'Gainst my honour, me advisedTo forego my rightful project.But, O valiant Sigismund,Seeing that the moment comethFor thy vengeance, since heaven wishesThee to-day to burst the portalsOf thy narrow rustic cell,Where so long immured, thy bodyWas to feeling a wild beast,Was to sufferance what the rock is,And that 'gainst thy sire and countryThou hast gallantly revolted,And ta'en arms, I come to assist thee,Intermingling the bright corseletOf Minerva with the trappingsOf Diana, thus enrobingSilken stuff and shining steelIn a rare but rich adornment.On, then, on, undaunted champion!To us both it is importantTo prevent and bring to noughtThis engagement and betrothal;First to me, that he, my husband,Should not falsely wed another,Then to thee, that their two staffsBeing united, their joined forcesShould with overwhelming powerLeave our doubtful victory hopeless.Woman, I come here to urge theeTo repair my injured honour,And as man I come to rouse theeCrown and sceptre to recover.Woman I would wake thy pitySince here at thy feet I throw me,And as man, my sword and personIn thy service I devote thee.But remember, if to-dayAs a woman thou should'st court me,I, as man, will give thee deathIn the laudable upholding,Of my honour, since I amIn this strife of love, this contest,Woman my complaints to tell thee,And a man to guard my honour.

SIGISMUND [aside]. Heavens! if it is true I dream,Memory then suspend thy office,For 'tis vain to hope remembranceCould retain so many objects.Help me, God! or teach me howAll these numerous doubts to conquer,Or to cease to think of any!--Whoe'er tried such painful problems?If 'twas but a dream, my grandeur,How then is it, at this moment,That this woman can refer meTo some facts that are notorious?Then 'twas truth, and not a dream;But if it was truth (anotherAnd no less confusion,) howCan my life be called in properSpeech a dream? So like to dreamsAre then all the world's chief glories,That the true are oft rejectedAs the false, the false too oftenAre mistaken for the true?Is there then 'twixt one and the otherSuch slight difference, that a questionMay arise at any momentWhich is true or which is false?Are the original and the copySo alike, that which is whichOft the doubtful mind must ponder?If 'tis so, and if must vanish,As the shades of night at morning,All of majesty and power,All of grandeur and of glory,Let us learn at least to turnTo our profit the brief momentThat is given us, since our joyLasteth while our dream lasts only.In my power Rosaura stands,Thou, my heart, her charms adoreth,Let us seize then the occasion;Let love trample in its boldnessAll the laws on which relyingShe here at my feet has thrown her.'Tis a dream; and since 'tis so,Let us dream of joys, the sorrowsWill come soon enough hereafter.But with mine own words just spoken,Let me now confute myself!If it is a dream that mocks me,Who for human vanitiesWould forego celestial glory?What past bliss is not a dream?Who has had his happy fortunesWho hath said not to himselfAs his memory ran o'er them,"All I saw, beyond a doubtWas a dream." If this exposethMy delusion, if I knowThat desire is but the glowingOf a flame that turns to ashesAt the softest wind that bloweth;Let us seek then the eternal,The true fame that ne'er reposeth,Where the bliss is not a dream,Nor the crown a fleeting glory.Without honour is Rosaura.But it is a prince's provinceTo give honour, not to take it:Then, by Heaven! it is her honourThat for her I must win back,Ere this kingdom I can conquer.Let us fly then this temptation.'Tis too strong: To arms! March onward!For to-day I must give battle,Ere descending night, the goldenSunbeams of expiring dayBuries in the dark green ocean.

ROSAURA. Dost thou thus, my lord, withdraw thee?What! without a word being spoken?Does my pain deserve no pity?Does my grief so little move thee?Can it be, my lord, thou wilt notDeign to hear, to look upon me?Dost thou even avert thy face?

SIGISMUND. Ah, Rosaura, 'tis thy honourThat requires this harshness now,If my pity I would show thee.Yes, my voice does not respond,'Tis my honour that respondeth;True I speak not, for I wishThat my actions should speak for me;Thee I do not look on, no,For, alas! it is of moment,That he must not see thy beautyWho is pledged to see thy honour.

ROSAURA. What enigmas, O ye skies!After many a sigh and tear,Thus in doubt to leave me hereWith equivocal replies!