Act the First: Scene II

PATRICK [within]. Ah me!

LEOGAIRE. Some mournful voice.

KING. What's this?

CAPTAIN. The form,As of a man who has escaped the storm,Swims yonder to the land.

LESBIA. And strives to give a life-sustaining handUnto another wretch, when heAppeared about to sink in death's last agony.

POLONIA. Poor traveller from afar,Whom evil fate and thy malignant starOn this far shore have cast,Let my voice guide thee, if amid the blastMy accents thou canst hear; since it is onlyTo rouse thy courage that I speak to thee.Come!

PATRICK. Oh, God save me!

LUIS. Oh, the devil save ME!

LESBIA. They move my pity, these unhappy two.

KING. Not mine, for what it is I never knew.

PATRICK. Oh, sirs, if wretchednessCan move most hearts to pity man's distress,I will not think that hereA heart can be so cruel and severeAs to repel a wretch from out the wave.Pity, for God's sake, at your feet I crave.

LUIS. I don't, for I disdain it.From God or man I never hope to gain it.

KING. Say who you are; we then shall knowWhat hospitable care your needs we owe.But first I will inform you of my name,Lest ignorance of that perchance might claimExemption from respect, and words be saidUnworthy of the deference and the dreadThat here my subjects show me,Or wanting the due homage that you owe me.I am the King Egerius,The worthy lord of this small realm, for thusI call it being mine;Till 'tis the world, my sword shall not resignIts valorous hope. The dress,Not of a king, but of wild savagenessI wear: to testify,Thus seeming a wild beast, how wild am I.No god my worship claims;I do not even know the deities' names:Here they no service nor respect receive;To die and to be born is all that we believe.Now that you know how much you should revereMy royal state, say who you are.

PATRICK. Then hear:Patrick is my name, my countryIreland, and an humble hamlet,Scarcely known to men, called Empthor,Is my place of birth: It standethMidway 'twixt the north and west,On a mountain which is guardedAs a prison by the sea,--In the island which hereafterWill be called the Isle of Saints,To its glory everlasting;Such a crowd, great lord, thereinWill give up their lives as martyrsIn religious attestationOf the faith, faith's highest marvel.Of an Irish cavalier,And of his chaste spouse and partner,A French lady, I was born,Unto whom I owe (oh, happyThat 'twas so!), beyond my birthrightOf nobility, the vantageOf the Christian faith, the lightOf Christ's true religion grantedIn the sacred rite of baptism,Which a mark indelibly stampethOn the soul, heaven's gate, as itIs the sacrament first grantedBy the Church. My pious parents,Having thus the debt exactedFrom all married people paidBy my birth, retired thereafterTo two separate convents, whereIn the purity and calmnessOf their chaste abodes they lived,Till the fatal line of darkness,Ending life, was reached, and they,Fortified by every practiceOf the Catholic faith, in peaceYielded up their souls in gladness,Unto heaven their spirits giving,Giving unto earth their ashes.I, an orphan, then remainedCarefully and kindly guardedBy a very holy matron,Underneath whose rule I hardlyHad completed one brief lustrum --Five short years had scarce departed --Five bright circles of the sunWheeling round on golden axles,Twelve high zodiac signs illumingAnd one earthly sphere, when happenedThrough me an event that showedGod's omnipotence and marvels;Since of weakest instrumentsGod makes use of, to enhance hisMajesty the more, to showThat for what men think the grandestAnd most strange effects, to HimShould alone the praise be granted.--It so happened, and Heaven knowethThat it is not pride, but ratherPure religious zeal, that menShould know how the Lord hath acted,Makes me tell it, that one dayTo my doors a blind man rambled,Gormas was his name, who said,"God who sends me here commands theeIn His name to give me sight;"I, obedient to the mandate,Made at once the sign of the crossOn his sightless eyes, that startedInto life and light once moreFrom their state of utter darkness.At another time when heaven,Muffled in the thickest, blackestClouds, made war upon the world,Hurling at it lightning lancesOf white snow, which fell so thicklyOn a mountain, that soon afterThey being melted by the sun,So filled up our streets and alleys,So inundated our houses,That amid the wild waves strandedThey were ships of bricks and stones,Barks of cement and of plaster.Who before saw waves on mountains?Who 'mid woods saw ships at anchor?I the sign of the cross then madeOn the waters, and in accents,In a tone of grave emotion,In God's name the waves commandedTo retire: they turned that momentAnd left dry the lands they ravaged.Oh, great God! who will not praise Thee?Who will not confess Thee Master?--Other wonders I could tell you,But my modesty throws shacklesOn my tongue, makes mute my voice,And my lips seals up and fastens.I grew up, in fine, inclinedLess to arms than to the marvelsKnowledge can reveal: I gave meAlmost wholly up to masterSacred Science, to the readingOf the Lives of Saints, a practiceWhich doth teach us faith, hope, zeal,Charity and Christian manners.In these studies thus immersed,I one day approached the marginOf the sea with some young friends,Fellow-students and companions,When a bark drew nigh, from whichSuddenly out-leaping landedArmed men, fierce pirates they,Who these seas, these islands, ravaged;We at once were captives made,And in order not to hazardLosing us their prey, they sailedOut to sea with swelling canvas.Of this daring pirate boatPhilip de Roqui was the captain,In whose breast, for his destruction,Pride, the poisonous weed, was planted.He the Irish seas and coastHaving thus for some days ravaged,Taking property and life,Pillaging our homes and hamlets;But myself alone reservedTo be offered as a vassal,As a slave to thee, O king!In thy presence as he fancied.Oh! how ignorant is man,When of God's wise laws regardless,When, without consulting Him,He his future projects planneth!Philip well, at sea might say so;Since to-day, in sight of land here,Heaven the while being all serene,Mild the air, the water tranquil,In an instant, in a moment,He beheld his proud hopes blasted.In the hollow-breasted wavesRoared the wind, the sea grew maddened,Billows upon billows rolledMountain high, and wildly dashed themWet against the sun, as ifThey its light would quench and darken.The poop-lantern of our shipSeemed a comet most erratic --Seemed a moving exhalation,Or a star from space outstarted;At another time it touchedThe profoundest deep sea-caverns,Or the treacherous sands whereonRan the stately ship and parted.Then the fatal waves becameMonuments of alabaster,Tombs of coral and of pearl.I (and why this boon was grantedUnto me by Heaven I know not,Being so useless), with expandedArms, struck out, but not aloneMy own life to save, nay ratherIn the attempt to save this braveYoung man here, that life to barter;For I know not by what secretInstinct towards him I'm attracted;And I think he yet will pay meBack this debt with interest added.Finally, through Heaven's great pityWe at length have happily landed,Where my misery may expect it,Or my better fate may grant it;Since we are your slaves and servants,That being moved by our disasters,That being softened by our weeping,Our sore plight may melt your hardness,Our affliction force your kindness,And our very pains command you.

KING. Silence, miserable Christian,For my very soul seems fastenedOn thy words, compelling me,How I know not, to regard theeWith strange reverence and fear,Thinking thou must be that vassal --That poor slave whom in my dreamI beheld outbreathing flashes,Saw outflashing living fire,In whose flame, so lithe and lambent,My Polonia and my LesbiaLike poor moths were burned to ashes.

PATRICK. Know, the flame that from my mouthIssued, is the true Evangel,Is the doctrine of the Gospel:--'Tis the word which I'm commandedUnto thee to preach, O King!To thy subjects and thy vassals,To thy daughters, who shall beChristians through its means.

KING. Cease, fastenThy presumptuous lips, vile Christian,For thy words insult and stab me.

LESBIA. Stay!

POLONIA. And wilt thou in thy pityTry to save him from his anger?

LESBIA. Yes.

POLONIA. Forbear, and let him die.

LESBIA. Thus to die by a king's hands hereWere unjust. [Aside.] (It is my pityFor these Christians prompts my answer.)

POLONIA. If this second Joseph then,Like the first one, would unravel,Would interpret the king's dreams,Do not dread the result, my father;For if my being seen to burnIndicates in any mannerI should ever be a Christian,As impossible a marvelSuch would be, as if, being dead,I could rise and live thereafter.But in order that your mindMay be turned from such just anger,Let us hear now who this otherStranger is.

LUIS. Then be attentive,Beautiful divinity,For my history thus commences:--Great Egerius, King of Ireland,I by name am Luis Enius,And a Christian also, thisBeing the sole point of resemblanceBetwixt Patrick and myself,Yet a difference presenting:For although we two are Christians,So distinct and so disseveredAre we, that not good from evilIs more opposite in its essence.Yet for all that, in defenceOf the faith I believe and reverence,I would lose a thousand lives(Such the esteem for it I cherish).Yes, by God! The oath aloneShows how firmly I confess Him.I no pious tales or wonders,Worked in my behalf by Heaven,Have to speak of: no; dark crimes,Robberies, murders, sacrileges,Treasons, treacheries, betrayals,Must I tell instead, howeverVain it be in me to gloryIn my having such effected.I in one of Ireland's manyIsles was born; the planets seven,I suspect, in wild abnormalInterchange of influences,Must have at my hapless birth-timeAll their various gifts presented.Fickleness the Moon implantedIn my nature; subtle HermesWith and genius ill-employed;(Better ne'er to have possessed them);Wanton Venus gave me passions --All the flatteries of the senses,And stern Mars a cruel mind(Mars and Venus both togetherWhat will they not give?); the SunGave to me an easy temper,Prone to spend, and when means failed meTheft and robbery were my helpers;Jupiter presumptuous pride,Thoughts fantastic and unfettered,Gave me; Saturn, rage and anger,Valour and a will determinedOn its ends; and from such causesFollowed the due consequences.Here from Ireland being banished,By a cause I do not mentionThrough respect to him, my fatherCame to Perpignan, and settledIn that Spanish town, when IScarce my first ten years had ended,And when sixteen came, he died.May God rest his soul in heaven!--Orphaned, I remained the preyOf my passions and my pleasures,O'er whose tempting plain I ranWithout rein or curb to check me.The two poles of my existence,On which all the rest dependedFor support, were play and women.What a base on which to rest me!Here my tongue would not be ableTo acquaint you 'in extenso'With my actions: a brief abstractMay, however, be attempted.I, to outrage a young maiden,Stabbed to death a noble elder,Her own father: for the sakeOf his wife, a most respectedCavalier I slew, as heLay beside her in the helplessState of sleep, his honour bathingIn his blood, the bed presentingA sad theatre of crimes,Murder and adultery blended.Thus the father and the husbandLife for honour's sake surrendered;For even honour has its martyrs.May God rest their souls in heaven!--Dreading punishment for this,I fled hastily, and enteredFrance, where my exploits, methinks,Time will cease not to remember;For, assisting in the warsWhich at that time were contendedBravely betwixt France and England,I took military serviceUnder Stephen, the French king,And a fight which chance presentedShowed my courage to be such,That the king himself, as guerdonOf my valour, gave to meThe commission of an ensign.How that debt I soon repaid,I prefer not now to tell thee.Back to Perpignan, thus honoured,I returned, and having enteredOnce a guard-house there to play,For some trifle I lost temper,Struck a serjeant, killed a captain,And maimed others there assembled.At the cries from every quarterSpeedily the watch collected,And in flying to a church,As they hurried to prevent me,I a catch-pole killed. ('Twas somethingOne good work to have effected'Mid so many that were bad.)May God rest his soul in heaven!--Far I fled into the country,And asylum found and shelterIn a convent of religious,Which was founded in that desert,Where I lived retired and hidden,Well taken care of and attended.For a lady there, a nun,Was my cousin, which connectionGave to her the special burdenOf this care. My heart alreadyBeing a basilisk which turnedAll the honey into venom,Passing swiftly from mere likingTo desire -- that monster everFeeding on the impossible --Living fire that with intensestFury burns when most opposed --Flame the wind revives and strengthens,False, deceitful, treacherous foeWhich doth murder its possessor --In a word, desire in him,Who nor God nor law respecteth,Of the horrible, of the shocking,Thinks but only to attempt it.--Yes, I dared . . . . But here disturbed,When, my lord, I this remember,Mute the voice in horror fails,Sad the accent faints and trembles,And as 'mid the night's dark shadows,The hair stands on end through terror;Thus confused, so full of doubt,Sad remembrance so o'erwhelms me,That the thing I dared to doI scarce dare in words to tell thee.For, in fine, my crime is such,So to be abhorred, detested,So profane, so sacrilegious(Strange upon thee so to press it),That for having such committedI at times feel some repentance.Well, in fine, I dared one night,When deep silence had erectedSepulchres of fleeting sleepFor men's overwearied senses,When a dark and cloudy veilHeaven had o'er its face extended --Mourning which the wind assumedFor the sun whose life had ended --In whose obsequies the night-birdsSwan-notes sang instead of verses,And when back from waves of sapphire,Where their beauty was reflected,The clear stars a second timeTrembling lights to heaven presented:--Well, on such a night, by climbingO'er the garden wall, I enteredWith the assistance of two friends(For when such things are attemptedAn associate never fails),And in horror and in terror,Seeking in the dark my death,Reached at length the cell (I trembleTo remember it) in whichWas my cousin, whom respectfulSilence bids me not to name,Though all self-respect has left me.Frightened at such nameless horror,On the hard floor she fell senseless,When she passed into my arms,And ere she regained her senses,She already was outsideHer asylum, in a desert,When if heaven possessed the power,It had not the will to help her.Women, when they are persuadedThat the wildest of excessesAre the effects of love, forgive themEasily; and, therefore, pleasureFollowing tears, some consolationIn her miseries was effected;Though, in fact, they were so great,That united in one personShe saw violence, violation,Incest, nay, adultery even,Against God who was her spouse,And a sacrilege most dreadful.Finally we left that place,Being carried to ValenciaBy two steeds that well might claimFrom the winds to be descended:Feigning that she was my wife,But with little peace we dwelt there;For I quickly having squanderedWhatsoever little treasureI brought with me, without friends,p 260Without any hope of help there,In my dire distress appealedTo the beauty still so perfectOf my poor pretended wife:If for aught I did I everCould feel shame, this act aloneWould most surely overwhelm me;Since it is the lowest basenessThat the vilest breast descends to,To put up to sale one's honour,And to trade in love's caresses.Scarce with shameless front had IThis base plan to her suggested,When concealing her designShe gave seeming acquiescence;But I scarce had turned my back,Hardly had I left her presence,When she, flying from me, foundGrace a convent's walls to enter.There, a holy monk advising,She a saving port and shelterFound against the world's wild storms,And there died, her sin, her penance,Giving all a great example;May God rest her soul in heaven!--Seeing that the narrow worldNow took note of my offences,And that soon the very landMight reject me, I determinedTo re-seek my native country;For at least I there expectedTo be safer from my foes,In a place so long my centreAnd my home. The way I tookAnd to Ireland came, which welcomedMe at first as would a mother,But a step-mother resembledBefore long, for seeking a passageWhere a harbour lay protectedBy a mole, I found that corsairsLay concealed within the shelterOf a little creek which hisOut of view their well-armed vessel.And of these, their captain, Philip,Took me prisoner, after effortsMade in my defence so brave,That in deference to the mettleI displayed, my life he spared.What ensured you know already,How the wind in sudden angerRising into raging tempest,Now chastised us in its pride,Now our lives more cruelly threatened,Making in the seas and mountainsSuch wild ruin and resemblance,That to mock the mountain's prideWaves still mightier forms presented,Which with catapults of crystalMade the cliffs' foundations tremble,So that neighbouring cities fell,And the sea, in scornful temper,Gathering up from its abyssesThe munition it collecteth,Fired upon the land its pearlsIn their shells, wherein engenderedBy the swift breath of the morningIn its dew, they shine resplendentTears of ice and fire; in fine,Not in pictures so imperfectAll our time to waste, the crewWent to sup in the infernalHalls themselves; I, too, a guestWould have equally attendedWith them, if this Patrick, here,Whom I know not why I reverence,Looking with respect and fearOn his beauteous countenance ever,Had not drawn me from the sea,Where, exhausted, sinking, helpless,I drank death in every draught,Agony in each salt wave's venom.This my history is, and nowI wish neither life nor mercy,Neither that my pains should move thee,Nor my asking should compel thee,Save in this, to give me death,That thus may the life be endedOf a man who is so bad,That he scarcely can be better.

KING. Luis, though thou art a Christian,Which by me is most detested,Yet I so admire thy courageThat I wish, before all present,Between thee and him to showHow my power can be exerted,How it punishes as rewards,How it elevates and depresses.And so thus my arms I give thee,That within them thus extendedThou may'st reach my heart; to theeThus beneath my feet to tread thee;The two actions signifyingHow the heavier scale descendeth.And that, Patrick, thou may'st seeHow I value or give creditTo thy threats, thy life I spare.Vomit forth the flame incessantOf the so-called word of God,That by this thou may'st be certainI do not adore his Godship,Nor his miracles have dread of.Live then; but in such a stateOf poor, mean, and abject service,As befits a useless hindIn the fields; and so as shepherdI would have thee guard my flocks,Which are in these vales collected.Let us see, if for the purposeOf this mystic fire outspreading,Being my slave, thy God will free theeFrom captivity and thy fetters.

LESBIA. Patrick moves my heart to pity.

POLONIA. Not so mine, for none I cherish.Had I any, none would move meSooner than this Luis Enius.