The Painter of his own Dishonour
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The Painter of his own Dishonour - Pedro Calderón de la Barca
Pedro Calderón de la Barca
The Painter of his own Dishonour
Published by Sovereign
This edition first published in 2023
Copyright © 2023 Sovereign
All Rights Reserved
ISBN: 9781787367449
Contents
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
ACT I
ACT II
ACT III
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
FedericoPrince of Orsino.
Celiohis Friend.
Don LuisGovernor of Naples.
Porciahis Daughter.
Alvarohis Son.
Fabio} their Servants.
Belardo
Julia
Don Juan Roca
Serafinahis Wife.
Don Pedrohis Father-in-law.
Leonelo} their Servants.
Flora
Maskers, Musicians, Sailors, etc.
ACT I
Scene I.—A Room in Don Luis’ palace at Naples.
Enter Don Luis and Don Juan meeting.
Luis. Once more, a thousand times once more, Don Juan,
Come to my heart.
Juan. And every fresh embrace
Rivet our ancient friendship faster yet!
Luis. Amen to that! Come, let me look at you—
Why, you seem well—
Juan. So well, so young, so nimble,
I will not try to say how well, so much
My words and your conception must fall short
Of my full satisfaction.
Luis. How glad am I
To have you back in Naples!
Juan. Ah, Don Luis,
Happier so much than when I last was here,
Nay, than I ever thought that I could be.
Luis. How so?
Juan. Why, when I came this way before,
I told you (do you not remember it?)
How teased I was by relatives and friends
To marry—little then disposed to love—
Marriage perhaps the last thing in my thoughts—
Liking to spend the spring time of my youth
In lonely study.
Luis. Ay, ay, I remember:
Nothing but books, books, books—still day and night
Nothing but books; or, fairly drowsed by them,
By way of respite to that melancholy,
The palette and the pencil—
In which you got to such a mastery
As smote the senseless canvas into life.
O, I remember all—not only, Juan,
When you were here, but I with you in Spain,
What fights we had about it!
Juan. So it was—
However, partly wearied, partly moved
By pity at my friends’ anxieties,
Who press’d upon me what a shame it were
If such a title and estate as mine
Should lack a lineal inheritor,
At length I yielded—
Fanned from the embers of my later years
A passion which had slept in those of youth,
And took to wife my cousin Serafina,
The daughter of Don Pedro Castellano.
Luis. I know; you show’d me when you last were here
The portrait of your wife that was to be,
And I congratulated you.
Juan. Well now
Still more congratulate me—as much more
As she is fairer than the miniature
We both enamoured of. At the first glance
I knew myself no more myself, but hers,
Another (and how much a happier!) man.
Luis. Had I the thousand tongues, and those of brass,
That Homer wished for, they should utter all
Congratulation. Witty too, I hear,
As beautiful?
Juan. Yourself shall judge of all,
For even now my lady comes; awhile
To walk the Flora of your shores, and then
Over your seas float Venus-like away.
Luis. Not that, till she have graced our gardens long,
If once we get her here. But is she here?
Juan. Close by—she and her father, who would needs
See her aboard; and I push’d on before
To apprize you of our numbers—so much more
Than when I first proposed to be your guest,
That I entreat you—
Luis. What?
Juan. —to let us go,
And find our inn at once—not over-load
Your house.
Luis. Don Juan, you do me an affront—
What if all Naples came along with you?—
My heart—yes, and my house—should welcome them.
Juan. I know. But yet—
Luis. But yet, no more ‘but yets’—
Come to my house, or else my heart shall close
Its doors upon you.
Juan. Nay, I dare not peril
A friendship—
Luis. Why, were ’t not a great affront
To such a friendship—when you learn besides,
I have but held this government till now
Only to do you such a courtesy.
Juan. But how is this?
Luis. Sickness and age on-coming,
I had determined to retire on what
Estate I had—no need of other wealth—
Beside, Alvaro’s death—my only son—
Juan. Nay, you have so felicitated me,
I needs must you, Don Luis, whose last letter
Told of a gleam of hope in that dark quarter.
Luis. A sickly gleam—you know the ship he sail’d in
Was by another vessel, just escaped
The selfsame storm, seen to go down—it seem’d
With all her souls on board.
Juan. But how assured
’Twas your son’s ship?—
Luis.