THE PAINTER OF HIS OWN DISHONOUR
A monologue from the
play by Pedro
Calderón de la Barca
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NOTE: This monologue is reprinted
from Eight Dramas of Calderon. Trans. Edward Fitzgerald.
London: Macmillan & Co., 1906. |
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- SERAFINA: Poor argument! I rather draw that he
- Who ventures on such desperate acts can have
- No true respect for her he outrages,
- And therefore no true love. No, daring traitor--
- But I'll not strive to break the heart of flint,
- But wear it with my tears. Hear me, Alvaro,
- In pity--in mercy--hear me.
- This thing is done, there is no remedy,
- Let us not waste the time in arguing
- What better had been done; the stars so ruled it--
- Yea, providence that rules the stars. Well then,
- What next? Alvaro, I would speak of this;
- And if't be right I owe you any thing,
- Be it for this one boon, a patient hearing.
- Listen to me--
- I never draw a breath but 'tis on fire
- With Juan's vengeance; never move a step
- But think I see his fierce eyes glaring at me
- From some dark corner of this desolate house
- In which my youth is buried. And what gain you
- By all this crime and misery? My body,
- But not my soul; without possessing which,
- Beauty itself is but a breathing corpse,
- But a cold marble statue, unsuffused
- With the responsive hue of sympathy,
- Possess'd but not enjoy'd.
- Oh, ill betide that villain love, not love,
- That all its object and affection finds
- In the mere contact of encircling arms!
- But if this move you not--consider, Alvaro--
- Don Juan is a nobleman--as such
- Bound to avenge his honour; he must know
- 'Twas you who did this monstrous act, for Flora
- Would tell him all. There is one remedy:
- 'Tis this, that you, despairing of my love,
- Which you can never gain--forego me quite,
- And give me up to some cold convent's cloister,
- Where buried I may wear away--
MORE MONOLOGUES BY CALDERÓN |
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