University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—The great Square before the Cathedral of Avila.—The Delegates of the Holy Junta discovered in white robes, seated on stone benches ranged in semi-circle; Mondeiar, as Delegate of Toledo, presiding.
MONDEIAR.
'Tis time we should receive the Ambassadors
Whom we dispatch'd to Charles, and who attend us.

Enter Giron.
MONDEIAR.
The Delegate of Burgos—have you sworn?

GIRON.
At dawn beside the altar.

MONDEIAR.
Take your place.

[Giron sits.
Enter Messengers.
MESSENGER.
The General craves admission!

MONDEIAR.
Will you give
Padilla or the Ambassadors first audience?

GIRON.
If I may read your wish, we vote Padilla.

[All bow.
MONDEIAR.
Tell the commander we desire his presence.
[Exit Messenger.
He'll pay our courtesy.

Enter Padilla.
MONDEIAR.
Sit, noble brother.
[Padilla sits.
Segovia's Delegate prays leave to tell
Your prowess at his city.

DELEGATE OF SEGOVIA.
While 'twas circled,
And, by Ronquillo, destined for the sword,
Padilla, by one mighty onset, dash'd
His living wall of soldiers into knots
Of wondering cravens, and dispell'd the siege,
Before Segovia own'd a throb of hope,
Or rose from her despair to breathe a wish
For blessings on his arms.

PADILLA.
Small praise be mine.
Ronquillo, sent to punish, not subdue,
Thought only to meet citizens made feeble
By conscious guilt of blood; and from the bands
That follow'd me, stout hearted though untrain'd,
Fled staggering with amazement at the might
Plain honesty confers. Tell your Segovians,
I wish, instead of stifling me with thanks,
They had made their gibbets blacken with the leaders
Of those who stain'd the rising of Castile
With Tordesillas' murder; but alas!
With base impunity of crime, revolt
Confounds all qualities!

MONDEIAR.
This is not a time
For such a question: we are met to weigh
Your claims to honour, and the best remains—
Proud Fonseca's defeat.

PADILLA.
Account it little—
A rush—a charge or two—and hot pursuit
Of panic-stricken soldiers, whom to hunt
For sword or capture, was as base an office
As to chastise a slave.

MONDEIAR.
Valladolid—

PADILLA.
Open'd its gates without a blow—or blows
Swift conquest made forgotten. Thence I bore
The jewels, sceptres, crowns and regal robes
Of both the kingdoms, which the' astonish'd Regent
Yielded, without a word, and scarcely met
My glance, while I commanded him to creep
Away unharm'd, and lead a shameful life
In the city he had scourged.

GIRON.
Most bravely done.
One form alone remains before we render
For all our solemn thanks—that you accept
The oath of fealty.

PADILLA.
Oath—for what? to whom?

MONDEIAR.
An oath of fealty to the Holy Junta
And ancient customs of Castile.

PADILLA.
Small need,
Methinks, for such an oath from one who serves
With arms, not counsels. Does the oath you claim
Consist with oaths already sworn to Charles?

MONDEIAR.
Yes; we allow of duty to the king,
Provided he concede the just demands
We laid before him.

PADILLA.
O make no reserves—
The great soul trusts! Think how you trusted first,
And at whose bidding—his, who from a cell,
Savagely framed for cruel penance, stepp'd
To the majestic use of courtly arts,
Which luxury makes facile, while he wore
The purple o'er the sackcloth that inflamed
His flesh to torture, with a grace as free
As when it floats o'er worshipp'd womanhood
Or princely youth; his who had learn'd in vigils
Of lonely night, such wisdom for command
Of the world's issues, as if spirits breathed
The long experiences of wisest statesmen
Into a single breast; who from a soul,
Which men imagined withering like his frame
In painful age, pour'd, as from living urn,
Exhaustless courage into soldier's hearts
And made them heroes. What a power burst forth
From the wan Cardinal's expanding frame,
While, with the fluttering voice, that grew as clear
As note of clarion, he invoked Castile
To swear allegiance to her stripling prince,
In faith that he, whom Heaven ordains to rule
Will have Heaven's aid to govern! You replied,
As, through Ximènes, Isabella spake,
And pray'd you, while her daughter's soul should lie
In cloud, to own her grandson.

MONDEIAR.
Noble trust—
Foul recompense.

PADILLA.
Judge not by common rules
The opening passage of a mighty life!
Think you the youth of him who e'er he reach'd
The age a spendthrift stripling sighs for, won
The crown of empire in the game of earth,
Should be esteem'd like youth which princes lavish
In wayward follies, and the servile herd
Excuse with fondness, which expands to worship
When, tired of vapid luxuries, it subsides
Into the decent pomp that stiffly leads
A passionless procession? No; the nature
On bitter nutriment of wisdom fed
In its bright spring-time, starts not from the root
A graceful sapling, but, with gnarled rind,
Spreads to unlovely compass, till its boughs
Shade earth and tower in air. Let us be patient
Till greatness immature grow ripe, to trace
In the stern progress of one regal soul
The infancy of ages. We are arm'd
To teach that royal spirit to be just,
And I'll await the issue.

GIRON.
You must choose
At once, like us, between the oath and exile.

PADILLA.
Exile—for me?

MONDEIAR.
Such is, indeed, the choice
Proposed to all. Great Heaven! you will not leave us
For such poor scruple?

PADILLA.
Exile—that is to leave
My country, in her need, to men who count
Her dangers as their chances of high fortune!

GIRON.
You gaze on me—who mean you?

PADILLA.
Who? Your soul,
Shivering from thin expanse, which guilty hope
Lent its poor compass, knows—and knowing quails for!

MONDEIAR.
No more of this; the embassy attends us.

PADILLA
(aside).
The men return'd from Charles! Why faints my heart?
They may determine all.

Enter Tendilla and other Ambassadors.
MONDEIAR.
Tendilla, welcome;
What is the Emperor's answer?

TENDILLA.
None—save threats
Which, borne by Flemish emissaries, stay'd us
Before we reach'd his presence.

PADILLA.
Did you fly
And leave our prayers unutter'd? What made death
So terrible?

TENDILLA.
It was not death appall'd us—
But shames too vile for a Castilian tongue
To utter; for which Flemish arms were strung
And Flemish eyes were greedy.

PADILLA.
Lost! Undone!

MONDEIAR
(aside to Padilla).
Now, will you hesitate?

GIRON.
Our oath must now
Proscribe the Emperor.

[Padilla, who has been sitting at the extremity of the circle, rises in great agitation, and is about to speak, when a Messenger enters.
MESSENGER.
My lords, a youth,
Who styles himself the general's son, craves audience.

MONDEIAR
(to Padilla).
Will you confer with him apart?

PADILLA.
Not I—
His mission's not for me; although these eyes
Have not embraced him since I went to battle,
I know he would not seek me in this hour
Of solemn duty.

MESSENGER.
No; he prays the Junta
To hear his tidings.

MONDEIAR
(to the Junta).
Are you pleased to hear them?
[All bow.
Bid him approach.
[Exit Messenger.
I'll answer for his bearing.

Enter Alphonso.
PADILLA
(aside).
He does not rush into my arms; that's right—
He does not glance this way; well done.

ALPHONSO.
My Lords,
The service you permitted me to pay
The Queen Joanna makes me bold to bring
News of a change which, for three days, has fill'd
Her household with amazement. The dull sorrow
That weigh'd her silken lashes down has fled,
And eyes, which rarely caught the sunbeam, spread
With wild intelligence. Her ashy lips
Long seal'd in sullen silence, or unclosed
Only to murmur indistinct despair,
Part flush'd with crimson; and, in rapid change,
The broken music of her queenly life
Breathes and commands her childhood's scenes to live
In brightness that appals us, yet, to her,
Seen through the parted foldings of the mists
That have o'erwhelm'd her spirit, they appear
As starting from a depth of years she thinks
Have pass'd upon her lonely state. My mother,
Who day and night keeps watch beside her couch,
Believes her soul is kindling.

PADILLA
(starting up).
It shall kindle!
Heaven does not mock us! When we swore to serve
Joanna's son, we saved the mother's right
If sense should visit her; and now it dawns
In happiest season.

MONDEIAR.
'Tis most true, our oath
Bore such exception.

PADILLA.
Else we had been traitors,
Not only to the stricken princess living,
But to the dead, whom each Castilian holds
Sacred above all living womanhood;—
Her from whose veins Joanna's life was drawn:
Who, o'er the rage of battles and the toils
Of empire, bent an aspect more imbued
With serious beauty earth partakes with heaven,
Than cloister nurtured in the loveliest saint
It shrined from human cares. Her daughter wakes,
As from the sleep of death, to claim her throne,
And ye sit mute, and do not bend a knee
To bless your God!

GIRON.
Must we disturb the course
Of our momentous duties to enquire
How madness glares or flickers? E'er ye deem this
More than the gossip of a weary chamber,
Think in what sad abasement of disease
Joanna's spirit lies—how all regards
Of parents, kindred, country, rank, were lost
In childish adoration of the form
A wreckless husband wore; for whose slight image
Cold, tempests, dangers, injuries and scorns
Were pass'd unheeded, till her spirit, stung
By jealous fury, dock'd 'mid laughter's rage,
The locks that in their golden meshes held
Her truant lord; how, tranced in grief, she bore
A child unconscious, while her thoughts were fix'd
On her far distant scorner: how, when dead,
She cherish'd him as living, till from dreams
Of frightful rapture startled, to a tomb
Beneath Granada's walls by night she bore him,
And cursed the torches when the tempest blew
Their flames athwart death's panoply! And this lady
Ye seek to rule these kingdoms!

PADILLA.
Shallow scorner!
There's not a deed you cast on her as shame
That does not prove her noble. If, on ship-board,
The pictured likeness of her plighted lord
Then unbeheld, grew precious as it charm'd
Her perilous bridal voyage, till she embraced
The living idol who in grace outshone
The vision of the desolate sea, and thus
The mein so sigh'd for, so assured, became,
In spite of wrongs and scorn, an image set
So deeply in affection, that no guilt
Could ruffle it, no falsehood dim, nor death
Touch with decay,—I tell your lordly wisdom,
There is more royalty in such a love
Supremely seated in a woman's heart
Than in the power of monarchs. God alone
Knows what she bore in that self-tyranny
Which to the sweet rebellion of a tear
Denied its license; but through all she made
Of grief a lonely throne; whence she shall rise
In majesty relumined!

GIRON.
'Tis delusion,—
It may be falsehood.

PADILLA.
Lords—I will not smite him—
Hear me! I wager all I have and am
On this great issue. See! I draw my sword,
And swear allegiance to Castilian laws
And to my rightful Queen, Joanna!

[Draws.
GIRON.
Treason!

PADILLA.
So be it answer'd if I fail to show
The Queen restored to govern. Give me, Lords,
A day—an hour—to wake the royal pulse
That lives in her great nature; if I fail,
I will confess this charge of treason just,
And crave a traitor's sentence.

MONDEIAR
(to Padilla).
Be not rash.

PADILLA.
I follow Heaven that points; at this hour's close
Attend Joanna's palace; let the scaffold
Meanwhile be furnish'd for me; and if, then,
Ye do not own her queen, let me ascend it.

GIRON.
Grant his mad prayer.

MONDEIAR.
Dear brother, pause—your foe
Echoes your wish.

PADILLA.
The voice of the Eternal,
That breathes through organs which seem framed to mock it,
Speaks now in Giron's.
[To the Junta.
If you accept my life
In pledge, stand up.
[All rise.
I shall not ask a moment
Beyond the hour, to hail the Queen or die.

MONDEIAR.
Adjourn the sitting. Brother, I will seek you
At Queen Joanna's palace. God uphold you!

PADILLA.
He will—He does.

[Exeunt all but Padilla and Alphonso.
PADILLA
(embracing Alphonso).
Alphonso, you have brought
Tidings more glad than on the thirsty ear
Of dying hope have pour'd since fortune's game
Had empire for a prize. My nature, shiver'd
To fragments from its centre, closes whole
As flawless crystal. I will circle in
The powers of new-born freedom with a band
Firmly expanding as they grow within it,
Beneath a diadem whence steadfast rays
Shall, through the fiercest struggles of the realm,
Shed reconciling calm.

ALPHONSO.
But if this hope
Should fail?

PADILLA.
My work in this world will be done,
And I shall pass absolved; but do not dream it;
Let not such fear impede your bounding feet
Which should be wing'd with joy! Among the spoils
Brought from Valladolid, you'll find the crowns,
Sceptres, and robes, and jewels of Castile
And Aragon; see them, at once, disposed
Around the inner chamber of the Queen
That's curtain'd from her sight—send me a Captain
Fit to direct my soldiers—then expect me
To wait your royal mistress. Fly!

[Exit Alphonso.
PADILLA
(alone).
My soul
Quivers with triumph; yes; the woman's shatter'd
But the Queen lives! The infant through whose dreams
Attendant homage shed obsequious hues
Which made them purple, and who, waking, saw
The brow that wore the fairest crown of earth
Bent with a mother's earnest love, received
A sense of royalty which touch'd will wake
Midst the mind's ruin. Though in deep abyss
Perturb'd the fountain of its reason heaves,
If I can bid the shows of queenly power
Nod o'er its waters, they will spread serene
To give the steady reflex to the day
From majesty's still mirror.

Enter a Captain.
CAPTAIN.
I attend you
At your son's bidding.

PADILLA.
Right; you know the palace
Where the Queen rests in Avila?

CAPTAIN.
The Queen?—
She who is sunk in madness?

PADILLA.
She who, this day
Restored, shall bless Castile. Draw up your soldiers,
So that they line her courtyard; keep them voiceless,
Till you behold aloft a banner wave—
Then raise the shouts of triumph; bid each man
Fling up his helm, and cry, “Long live the Queen!”
And rush with all your officers to throng
Her chamber, that she may assume her state
Girt with Castilian heroes.

CAPTAIN.
May your hopes
Prove true!

PADILLA.
They shall prove true; make haste—away!

[Exit Captain.
PADILLA
(alone).
My life—my honour's life—my country's life
Hang on this hour. Spirit of Isabella,
Whom the strong peril of thy loved Castile
Constrains to listen, shine into the soul
Of thy distracted daughter with such look
As after my first skirmish, 'neath the towers
Of old Grenada, thou didst lavish on me
A stripling, gash'd and fluster'd to thy tent
Conducted to receive more charming praise
Than manhood ever wins; when golden locks
Stray'd from the heroic forehead into films
Of sunlight, and a slender, jewell'd hand
That lightly fell upon my bending head
Shot ecstasy through all my frame! I see
That aspect beam; I feel that touch; I come!
[Exit Padilla.