University of Virginia Library

HENRIQUEZ:

A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

MEN

• The King of Castile (Alonzo, surnamed the Noble).
• Don Henriquez, his general.
• Don Carlos, a noble soldier, attached to Henriquez.
• Antonio, a young gentleman in love with Mencia.
• Balthazar.
• Blas, a youth in the service of Leonora.
• A Friar, confessor to Henriquez.
• Diego, steward to Henriquez.
• Courtiers, confessors, attendants, gaolers, &c.

WOMEN

• Leonora, wife of Henriquez.
• Mencia, sister to Leonora.
• Inez, an attendant of Leonora.

Scene, the castle of Henriquez, a few leagues from the town of Zamora, and in the said town. Time, the beginning of the 13th century.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A grove near the castle.
Enter Diego with a letter, muttering to himself before he speaks aloud.
Diego.
The honour of the house of Altavera,
Of all those chiefs, whose bread I and my sires
So many years have eaten without reproach,
Must it be sullied now?—Diego Furnez
Must take upon him, then, th' informer's office,
With all its paltry baseness and concealment.
To Altavera's lords, with manly freedom,
My fathers spoke, and so have I. But then
I did oppose this marriage which hath sunk
His noble pride so low. Such information
From me would be suspected; and his anger,
When so excited, might, perhaps,—a blow!
Diego Furnez could not live disgraced,
And, dying unrevenged, would die disgraced.
Ay, it must be; necessity compels me.
Lays down the letter, then looking hastily about, snatches it up again.
Surely I hear a stranger's voice approaching.
I'll drop it farther on, and watch my time,
When Don Henriquez may be sure to find it.

[Exit.
Enter Antonio and Mencia, speaking as they enter.
Ant.
Forget thee, Mencia! Yes, I will forget thee
When means are found to make it possible.
Thine image, independent of my will,
Where'er I am, is with me; night and day
Before my fancy's eye it smiles or weeps;
Motions its arms, as thou wert wont to do,
When distance barr'd our intercourse of words;
Is present with me more than present things;
And makes my wretched life a maniac's dream,
Lost and unprofitable.
Is there some potent spell to lay this sprite
That haunts me to my ruin? Vain, vain words!
Thou canst not be forgotten.

Men.
Thou but deceiv'st thyself: there are two spells,
Absence and time, which have to many a lover
His peace restored. Fate has between us now
A barrier placed, which all my feeble strength
Could not o'erleap; therefore I have consented.

Ant.
Consented! O to what hast thou consented?
To more than the rejecting of my love,
Which thy ambitious sister, since the day
That raised her, as the wife of Don Henriquez,
To greatness, which she knows not how to bear,
Regards as too presumptuous. Thou art silent.
To more than this hast thou consented, Mencia?

Men.
Question me not; I cannot tell thee now;
Yet thou shouldst know. I have, alas! I have,
O'ercome by prayers, and wearied with contention,
Consented to bestow my luckless hand
On one who tried, but could not win my heart:
And I am bound—

Ant.
Thou art not! no, thou art not!

Men.
Alas, I am! and so will hold myself.

Ant.
Thou shalt not! Holdst thou sacred every tie,
But those that bind thee to thy earliest friend;
To him who was thy playmate and thy guard;
Who through thy native woods ran by thy side;
Play'd with thee, sang with thee, built thy first bower,
Where thou, his mimic mistress, kept thy state,
Screen'd from the mid-day sun, when he, the while,
Still pleased thee, as thou lentst thine eager ear,
With tales of wonderment and tales of love?
All claims but his! O say not so, sweet Mencia!
Let me implore thee on my bended knee!

Men.
Hush! rise! we are observed; this spot is now
Traversed by busy feet, in preparation
For a gay feast to-night, held at the castle,
In honour of Henriquez' safe return.
Leave me, I pray!

Ant.
By unfrequented paths,
Through rugged wilds I've travelled many a league:
Three irksome days and nights in that deep grove,
The ruin of an ancient sepulchre,
Like some unhallow'd spirit, I have haunted
To watch a lucky moment when thy steps
Should lead thee near the place; and having found thee,
Thinkst thou to cast me off with fev'rish haste,
As thou wouldst shake an adder from thy robe?

Men.
Nay, nay! for yonder Don Henriquez comes;
There's danger here.

Ant.
And come who will, and let what will betide,
Despair thinks not of danger.

Men.
Retire, retire, and we shall meet again.

Ant.
When? where? this night? to-morrow? name the time.

Men.
To-morrow by the early dawn I'll meet thee.
No; not to-morrow, but the following morn.

Ant.
And at that early hour?

Men.
Even so: retire.

Ant.
I have thy word for this?

Men.
Thou hast, thou hast. [Exit Antonio.
(Alone.)

Ay, he has loved me as no other will,
And thus he is requited. Woe the day!
Why did my timid spirit yield so poorly
To an ambitious sister?—Must it be?
Henriquez is a man whose native feelings
Of honour and of justice rise indignant
Against the slightest breach of honest faith.
The interests of his house to him were nothing
Opposed to generous ties—to simple right.
I will to him—ah, no! I dare not do it.
(Looking out.)
He is at hand. That paper keeps his eye
Intently occupied.—What can it be?
Perhaps some letter dropp'd by poor Antonio,
And then all is discover'd. Enter Henriquez.

You twist that letter in your hand, my lord,
As a most worthless thing. May I presume?
I am not curious.

Hen.
Yet thou hast a mind,
Not being curious, just to peep into it.
Well; it might case thy silken threads, perhaps,
Or wrap thy scented comfits. Take it then.
[Offering her the letter, and then drawing it back.
No; spells lurk in such crooked lines as these
To work unhappy fancies out of nothing.
Perhaps same hateful witch has mutter'd o'er it
Her blasting benison; thou shalt not have it:
I'll put it up to light my ev'ning lamp.
Thou goest?

Men.
I have been too long truant here,
And my neglected task calls me within.

[Exit.
Hen.
(alone).
Why look I still upon this foolish scroll?
As foolish as 'tis spiteful. Leonora
Has for her wicked solace in my absence
My noble friend—my second self received!
Good likely tale! [Reads again.

“An unknown friend cautions thee to beware of
Don Juan. He has played thee false in thine
absence, and destroyed thy wife's virtue and thine
own honour. Look to it, if thou wouldst not become
the most contemptible of all doating husbands: for
thy fond security will make them bold, and the
world will point at thee ere long.”
The common cant of all those friends unknown.
Juan and Leonora! blest, most blest,
In friendship and in love! This canker'd fiend
Is stung therewith. Envy most devilish,
Yet not uncommon in this wicked world.
Well; it shall serve to light my evening lamp;
God mend the wretch who wrote it.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

A small ornamented apartment in the castle. Enter Blas and Inez, carrying different things in their hands, speaking as they enter.
Inez.
I leave thee too these cases of perfume,
And this small book of tales and warlike sports.
Place them as I have said, and be thou secret:
Be sure thou tell to no one for what guest
This chamber is prepared.

Blas.
But if I should, I should not break my word.
I guess'd it out myself; thou didst not trust me.

Inez.
Yes, but I did confirm thy guess, more surely
To rivet thee to secrecy. Thy lady
Will greatly be displeased, shouldst thou divulge it;
Therefore be prudent.—When thy task is done,
Thou'lt find me in the lower corridor.

[Exit.
Blas.
(murmuring to himself).
Be secret, tell to no one, and thy lady
Will greatly be displeased! What is't to me?
And yet I do not like this strange concealment.

[Employs himself in arranging different things, whilst he sings part of an old ballad.
Enter Henriquez.
Hen.
And is it thou, good Blas, who singst so well?
I heard thee as I cross'd the gallery,
And was led hither by the well-known tune
That, when a boy, I have so often heard.
But cease not; sing the rest of that old story.

Blas.
In sooth, my lord, I have forgot the rhymes.

Hen.
But canst thou not, without the rhymes, remember
The third escape which for her lawless lover
The wily dame devised?

Blas.
Yes, in a groom's attire she sent him forth
To hold her husband's stirrup at the gate,
As he alighted from his warlike barb.

Hen.
Was not her simple lord at length revenged?
And how was that, I pray?

Blas.
She had a step-son, who from Palestine
Return'd, and hearing of his father's wrongs,
Swore to revenge them.

Hen.
E'en so; I now remember it distinctly,
And the concluding lines sound in my ears.
Ay, many a time I've listened to that ditty:
She was a wicked dame of whom it tells.
Thinkst thou the rhymester knew of such a one?
Or be there any such?

Blas.
I do not know: there may—and there may not.

Hen.
May, or may not! thou needst not blush so deeply.
What's thy employment here? Some new arrangement.
Thy lady's private closet so disturb'd!
Ay, and this curtain'd couch!—For whom, I pray,
Prepare ye this, good Blas?

Blas.
I do not know, my lord.

Hen.
Thou dost not know!
Why dost thou blush so strangely as thou speakst?
Compose thyself; I do not seek to know.
What scented thing is this? it smells most sweetly.

Blas.
It is a box of aromatic gums.

Hen.
It needs must be some dainty fair, for whom
Such delicacies are provided. Ay,
And learned too, I guess, for here are books.
A soldier's book!
(Turning over its leaves.)
Ha! 'tis mine own old friend.

Blas.
His name is then upon it.

Hen.
Thou seemst alarm'd, methinks: how's this? whose name?

Blas.
I do not know, my lord. Your own old friend.

Hen.
It was the book I call'd so: in my youth
It was my favourite study.

Blas.
I had forgot; the book is yours, my lord,
And only borrow'd now for his amusement.

Hen.
For her's, thou meanst: is't not a female guest?
Blushing again! What mystery is here?
Tell me for whom this chamber is prepared.
[Pause.
Thou wilt not answer. Nay, I will not force thee;
But tell me only—is this guest a woman?
What! silent still! 'tis not a woman then?

Blas.
No, good my lord.

Hen.
Some fav'rite page, perhaps, who for the night
Must near his dame be lodged?—It is not this?
I do command thee tell me who it is;
[Taking hold of him roughly.
For by thy face I see too well thou knowest.
What guest sleeps here to-night?

Blas.
Don Juan is the guest; this is the room
Where he is wont to sleep.

Hen.
Is wont to sleep! Has he been here of late?

Blas.
'Tis said he has been here; for me, I know not.

[Henriquez, turning slowly from him, walks to the bottom of the stage.
Blas
(aside, looking after him).
Surely he heard my words; yet calm and silent!
No further question following my reply!
Fool that I was to be so much afraid,
Since he regards it lightly.

Hen.
(returning).
Where is thy lady?

Blas.
She gives directions in the pillar'd hall;
At least I left her there a short time since.

Hen.
Go, see, and bring me word.
[Exit Blas.
[After a pause, and then muttering indistinct words.
[Looking at it near, and taking it in his hands.
(After a pause.)
[Returning to the casket, and taking out other papers.

Re-enter Blas.
Blas.
My lord, I've found her: Donna Leonora
Has bid me say she will be with you instantly.

Hen.
I cannot see her now: I am not well.
I shall be better shortly: tell her so.
I'll rest me in my chamber for an hour,
And would not be disturb'd. Prevent her coming;
And say I would repose. Go, tell her quickly.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE III.

Enter Leonora and Mencia, followed by Diego, speaking as they enter.
Diego.
It shall be done; I understand you, madam;
Those lofty plumes must grace the seat of honour,
The chair of Don Henriquez.

Leo.
Yes; and the chair of Don Henriquez' wife:
See that they both be graced.

Diego.
Never but once,
(Lady, forgive the freedom of my words,)
Never but once before was chair of state
Beneath this roof so crested: years gone by,
When Don Henriquez' father, from the king,
Held in these parts, then threaten'd with commotions,
A regent's power. And then his noble lady,
Although the blood of kings ran in her veins,
Did at due distance humbly take her place
On a low stool, unmark'd by any honour.

Leo.
Ay, good Diego, such meek humble dames
Have lived, as we are told, in former days.
Do as I have desired thee.

Diego
(aside, murmuring as he goes out).
Lofty dame!
Making so proud a stir, like some pert hedgeling,
Chirping and flutt'ring in an eagle's nest.

[Exit.
Men.
Sister, you aggravate the mark'd dislike
That old domestic bears you: be more gentle.

Leo.
O he dislikes me not; it is his humour.
Dislike me! Have I not to him and his
Been even profuse in gifts? The foolish thought!

Men.
Ay; but the meekness of his former lady,
She, too, who had a king's blood in her veins,
Dwells in his heart, and beggars all thy gifts.

Leo.
Thou'rt fanciful.

Men.
Nay, nay! and why so fond
Of splendid pomp? Compared to what thou wast,
Thy marriage with Henriquez made thee great;
This doth not make thee greater; woe the day!
Nor happier neither.

Leo.
Woe the day! Poor dove!
That would beneath the cottage eaves for ever
Sit moping in the shade with household birds,
Nor spread thy silver plumage to the sun.

Men.
The sun hath scorch'd my wings, which were not made
For such high soaring.
He who would raise me to his nobler rank
Will soon perceive that I but grace it poorly.

Leo.
Away with such benumbing diffidence!
Let buoyant fancy first bear up thy merit,
And fortune and the world's applause will soon
Support the freight. When first I saw Henriquez,
Though but the daughter of a humble house,
I felt the simple band of meadow flowers
That bound my hair give to my glowing temples
The pressure of a princely coronet.
I felt me worthy of his love, nor doubted
That I should win his heart, and wear it too.

Men.
Thou dost, indeed, reign in his heart triumphant;
Long may thy influence last.

Leo.
And fear not but it will. These pageantries
Give to the even bliss of wedded love
A varied vivifying power, which else
Might die of very sloth. And for myself,
My love for him, returning from the wars,
Blazon'd with honours, as he now returns,
Is livelier, happier, and, methinks, more ardent,
Than when we first were married. Be assured
All things will favour thee, if thou hast spirit
To think it so shall be. Thou shak'st thy head.
It is not reason, but thy humble wish,
Thy low ignoble passion that deceives thee,
And conjures up those fears. Weak wav'ring girl!
Art thou not bound?

Men.
Weakness in yielding to your will, indeed,
Has fetter'd me with bands my heart disowns.

Leo.
Fy! say not so. Hush! let not that sad face
O'ercloud the joy my gen'rous lord will feel,
When he discovers what we have conceal'd,
With playful art, to make his joy the keener.
Hush! here comes Blas again.

Enter Blas.
Blas.
He will not yet.
I have been watching near his chamber door,
And when I gently knock'd, as you desired,
He answer'd me with an impatient voice,
Saying his head was drowsy, and lack'd rest.

Leo.
I'll go myself.

Blas.
Nay, madam, do not yet.
I guess that some cross humour has disturb'd him;
Sleep will compose it.

Leo.
Humour, dost thou say!
He ne'er was cross with me.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The private apartment of Henriquez, with his chair and table, and a lamp burning on the table; the stage lighted only by this lamp.
Enter Henriquez with a sword in his hand, which he lays on the table in the light, shrinking back as he looks at it.
Hen.
The blood!—this blood!—his blood!—O dismal change!
When rose the sun of this sad day; how gladly
Would I have shed mine own, to have sav'd one drop
Of what was then so dear! (Pushing it into the shade.)
Be from my sight!
It wrings my heart: and yet so black a stream,
So base, so treacherous, did never stain
The sword of holy justice.
(After sitting down, and gazing some time on the ground.)
This is a pause of rest from the first act,
The needful act of righteous retribution.
Oh! is it rest? The souls that fell from light
Into the dark profound, cut off from bliss,
Had rest like this.
(Pressing his temples tightly with both hands.)
How furiously these burning temples throb!
Be still! be still! there's more behind to do;
But no more blood: I will not shed her blood.
(Knocking at the door.)
Who's there?

Voice.
Are you awake, my lord?

Hen.
What dost thou want?

Voice
(without).
The banquet is prepared, the guests assembled,
Your grooms are waiting, and your vestments ready.
Will you not please, my lord, to let them enter?

Hen.
(to himself).
The guests assembled! Vile bewild'ring dream!
I had forgot all this. I must appear.

Voice
(without).
Will you be pleased, my lord, to let them enter?

Hen.
Be still—be still; I'll open to them presently.

[Exit hastily into an inner chamber, taking the sword with him.

SCENE II.

The grand hall of the castle lighted up magnificently. Leonora, Mencia, Carlos, and company discovered; music, which presently ceases, and Enter a Servant.
Leo.
(aside to servant).
How is thy master? Has he left his chamber?

Serv.
(aside to Leonora).
Yes; he will soon appear; he is preparing.

Leo.
(aloud).
Indeed, indeed, I have been much concern'd
That Don Henriquez has, from sudden illness,
Been tardy in respect to noble guests
Whom he so truly honours; but I hope—
(Flourish of trumpets.)
Ha! who is this? Some guest in princely state.

Enter Servant.
Serv.
The king is at the gate.

Leo.
The king! a great surprise! unlooked-for honour!
I'll to the gate. (To the music.)
Strike up a royal welcome!

[Exeunt Leonora, Carlos, and others, while the music plays a grand martial air; then
Re-enter Leonora, &c., conducting the King, attended, who receives the homage, and continues speaking in dumb-show to many of the company, till the music ceases.
King
(to Leonora).
Fair hostess, I am come in homely trim
For such a gay assembly.

Leo.
Your poor servants
Are greatly honour'd by this condescension;
A glad surprise, so far beyond our hopes.

King.
Ay, and beyond mine own, fair dame; but finding
From wrecks of mountain torrents, or neglect,
The straight road to Zamora was impassable,
I took the wider compass, and proceeding
Through these domains by favour of the night,
Your castle from its woods look'd temptingly,
And beckon'd me afar to turn aside.
The light from every lattice gaily stream'd,
Lamps starr'd each dusky corridor, and torches
Did from the courts beneath cast up the glare
Of glowing flame upon the buttress'd walls
And battlements, whilst the high towers aloft
Show'd their jagg'd pinnacles in icy coldness,
Clothed with the moon's pale beam.
—It pleased my fancy;
And here I am, a hasty visitor,
Who must Zamora reach by early day;
Where many a lofty lord, and learned clerk,
And all the rogues and robbers of the district
Await my coming.

Car.
All of them, my liege?

King.
I spoke at random, like a graceless layman:
More than the church's portion were presumption,
A tithe of them will do.—Here is Henriquez.

Enter Henriquez, richly dressed.
Hen.
My humble homage to your highness: welcome
To my poor house, so honour'd by your presence.

King.
I thank thee, brave Henriquez, but I fear
'Tis an untimely visit; thou'rt unwell.

Hen.
Nought but a passing ailment; do not name it.

King.
In faith your face is wan, and strangely changed,
And would become a sober beadsman's frock
More than a festive mantle. How is't with you?
Retire again to rest.

Hen.
My face speaks falsely, I am much recover'd.
Here is the cup of welcome; will your grace
Be pleased to honour me.

[Taking a cup from a servant, and presenting it on one knee to the King.
King.
All good be on your head, and this fair dame's!
[Bowing to Henriquez and Leonora, and then drinking.
Fair ladies and brave lords, well be ye all!

[Bowing to the company, and drinking again.
Hen.
(to the servant, who is pouring out a cup for him).
Up; fill it to the brim.
Health to the king, and a long happy reign!
[Drinks.
To all my honour'd guests health and good welcome!

[Drinks again.
King.
A goodly company: here are, methinks,
High blood enough, plumed hats and coronets,
To furnish out a court.

Leo.
They honour this poor feast which I have fashion'd.
To grace my lord's return.

King.
You have done well; and I should grace it too,
Who was the greatest gainer by his absence,
When he with brave companions like himself
Against the Moors did for the state good service,
As Alcantara, by their valour won,
And now a noble hold for Christian knights,
Can nobly testify.
I speak not of the Navas de Tolosa,
Where he upon that memorable day
Broke through the Moslem chain of armed guards,
Changing their strength to slaughter and dismay:
We are too apt to speak of recent services.
Former or recent, would I could repay them!

Hen.
Your bounty has already done it nobly.

King.
Fy, fy! a trifle; what would scarce maintain
A rustic lord, who dozes life away
In his porch'd hall, where hawks wink on the perch,
And hounds lie sleeping round him. Take this ring:
My royal father wore it many a day;
And whatsoe'er thou shalt request of me,
Returning to my hand this pledge again,
It shall be granted, were it half the realm.

Hen.
(receiving it on his knee).
I thus receive it with all humble duty.
[Rising with forced animation.
But let us now be gay: the time wears on.
By early dawn I must attend your highness,
To reach Zamora by th' appointed hour.

Leo.
I am rejoiced to see you so recovered.

[To Henriquez.
Hen.
I thank you, lady; let your guests receive
Your present courtesies.—Where are the minstrels?
Let them strike up a dance: we are too still.

Leo.
Doubt not we shall be gay; but we expect
Some merry masquers here to join our revels;
They should have come ere now.

Hen.
Wait ye for such? Are they not come already?

Leo.
How so, my lord?

Hen.
The world is full of them:
Who knows the honest unclothed worth of those
That by your side may stand, drink from your cup,
Or in your bosom lie? We are all masquers.

King.
Your wine has cheer'd you to a gibing humour;
You are severe, my lord, on this poor world.

Hen.
If I have said amiss, e'en let it pass:
A foolish rev'ller may at random speak:
Who heeds his idle words?—Music strike up.

[Music; the King retires with Henriquez to the bottom of the stage, and the guests prepare to dance, when Blas with a face of horror enters the hall, and beckons Carlos aside.
Car.
What dost thou want?

Blas.
A fearful thing has happen'd;
And to my lord, or Donna Leonora,
It may not hastily be told.

Car.
What is't?

Blas.
A murder'd body near the castle lies,
But newly slain; and they who found it swear
(For well they know his form and countenance),
It is Don Juan's body.

Leo.
(who has stolen near them to listen).
Don Juan's body, saidst thou? Is he dead?

Blas.
Yes, madam, they have found him in the wood
Lifeless and—

Leo.
Oh, I guess thy horrid look!
And he is murder'd? Dreadful, barbarous deed!

[Exclaiming aloud.
[All quit their places for the dance, and crowd round Leonora, who is supported by Mencia, appearing also affected, whilst Henriquez, at a distance, observes them intently.
Leo.
(recovering).
O Carlos! tell my lord the horrid tale.
I must retire.

[Exit with Mencia and other ladies.
King
(coming forward with Henriquez).
Some strange commotion here!

Hen.
(to Carlos).
What has befallen?

Car.
What will most keenly rend your noble heart;
Yet to a soldier I should tell it plainly:
Don Juan, from some secret villain's stroke,
Has met his fate this night, and near your walls.

Hen.
Away! Howl not so wild a dirge to me:
Far distant from these walls, full many a league,
Don Juan surely is. Ye are deceived.

Blas
(shaking his head).
No, no! O no!

Car.
I fear he tells us true.

Hen.
He wrote to me, not many days ago,
A letter, dated from his northern seat,
Which made no mention of his visit here:
If what you say be true, it is most strange.
I'll be assured if it, indeed, be so.

[Going hastily.
Car.
(preventing him).
Retire, and I will see it ascertain'd:
You shall not look upon so sad a sight.

King
(to Henriquez).
Retire, my lord: it were not fit you went.
Your noble guests beseech you to retire.

Hen.
I will obey your grace. I thank ye all.

[Exeunt Henriquez and Carlos severally.
King
(to the guests).
Were it not well that we should all retire?
Our banquet to a funeral wake is turn'd,
And cannot cheer us now.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

An inner court of the castle, lighted by a lamp over the gateway, the stage otherwise dark. Enter Diego and two servants, with dark lanterns, speaking loud and confusedly as they enter.
1st serv.
I could be sworn to it. Go tell my lord:
Why hold we here such idle altercation?

Diego.
He must not be disturbed.

1st serv.
How not disturbed?

Enter Carlos above, looking down from an open corridor.
Car.
Ho! who are ye who talk so eagerly?
What is the matter?

1st serv.
The murderer is found: come down, Don Carlos!
For we would fain pursue him through the wood,
But thus unarm'd we dare not.

[Exit Carlos above.
2d serv.
Ay, he is coming: he will be our warrant,
And tell us what to do.

Re-enter Carlos below.
Car.
Well, friends, what did you say? the murderer?

1st serv.
Yes; I can swear 'tis so: I would have followed him,
But, lacking arms, I durst not.

2d serv.
So would I.

1st serv.
Give us some stout companions and good weapons,
And, scatt'ring different ways, we'll scour the wood,
And seize him shortly.

Car.
In the wood ye found him?

2d serv.
Yes; as we went, out-stripping our companions,
To bear Don Juan's body to the castle.

Car.
How guess you 'tis the murderer?

1st serv.
A youthful cavalier for several days
Has been secreted in the wood. I've seen him;
And the dark form that cross'd my light e'en now
I could be sworn is he.

Diego.
It is not likely that the murderer
Should be so near the slain. He would, methinks,
Run from the spot forthwith.

Car.
True, ne'ertheless
A mind distracted in a wood so tangled
Might run and make no way. (To servants.)
Go ye forth:
I will myself assist your search. But, first,
We'll fetch our weapons. Ha! what noise is that?
[Noise without.
'Tis voices at the gate.

1st serv.
It is the body.
(Voice calling from the outer court.)
Ho, there!
Who watch within? Lend us your aid,
We know not where to bear it.

Omnes.
It is the body.

[Exeunt, running eagerly through the gateway.
Enter Mencia below, who has appeared before listening in the corridor.
Men.
He will be found and seiz'd: they'll have no mercy.
The dreadful doom! O heaven, have pity on him!

Enter Inez.
Inez.
What is the matter, madam? Whither go you?

Men.
I cannot tell.

Inez.
Go in, I do beseech you,
And stay in your apartment. I, mean time,
Will be upon the watch, and bring you word
When they return. Think you that there has been,
For I have listen'd too, a cavalier
Secreted in the wood?

Men.
No; heed me not;
I know not what I say.

Inez.
Yet stay not here, lest you should raise suspicion;
Return to your apartment; be entreated.

[Exeunt, Inez leading off Mencia.

SCENE IV.

Enter Leonora and Carlos by opposite sides.
Car.
Madam, I have obey'd your summons; say
Whate'er my humble service may perform.
How fare you after this most dismal shock?

Leo.
As one who hath a friend and husband both
In one dire tempest lost. And, noble Carlos,
Grief triumphs over pride, when even to thee,
Though knowing well thy friendly worth, I own it.
He was—I mean Henriquez—Oh! he was
To me most strangely alter'd ere this stroke.

Car.
You are deceived; expecting to retain
The undiminish'd empire of his heart
Beyond the usual term of bridegroom weakness.
It could not be.

Leo.
No; I am not deceived.
Sickness did yesterday for many hours
Confine him to his chamber; yet in vain
Did I entreat admittance—I, who used
To soothe his saddest hours, if any sad
Could pass when I was near him.—
And now again he is shut up alone,
And has refused to see me. Worthy Carlos,
Do me a kindness: go thou to his door,
And beg admittance; then in my behalf,
Since by another's influence I must move him,
Crave audience even for a few short moments.

Car.
Nay, charming Leonora, urge him not:
He will admit thee when he is disposed
For soothing sympathy; to press it sooner
Were useless—were unwise.

Leo.
Yet go to him; he will, perhaps, to thee,
So long his fellow-soldier and his friend,
Unburthen his sad heart.

Car.
You are in this deceived. His fellow-soldier
I long have been. In the same fields we've fought;
Slept in one tent, or on the rugged heath,
Wrapt in our soldier's cloaks, have, side by side,
Stretch'd out our weary length like savage beasts
In the same cheerless lair; and many a time,
When the dim twilight of our evening camp
Has by my foolish minstrelsy been cheer'd,
He has bent o'er me, pleased with the old strains
That pleased him when a boy; therefore I may,
As common phrase permits, be call'd his friend.
But there existed one, and only one,
To whom his mind, with all its nice reserve
Above the sympathies of common men,
He freely could unfold; and having lost him,
Can I intrude upon his private thoughts
Like one who would supply a vacant place?
His heart, I know it well, would from such boldness
Revolt, even with disgust.

Leo.
Yet Juan's death did seem to move him less
Than such dear friendship might have warranted.

Car.
It was his custom to restrain his looks
When strongly moved, or shun all observation.

Leo.
And I am now become that humble thing,—
A wife shut out from equal confidence!

Car.
Have patience, madam, take it not so deeply.

Leo.
I would have patience,—

Car.
Hush! we're interrupted.

Enter Blas.
Blas
(to Leonora).
Don Juan's secretary is arrived,
Who brings with him—so has he bid me say—
Papers of great importance, which he begs
May, and without delay, to Don Henriquez,
In presence of due witnesses, be read.

Leo.
It is a happy thing; this call will rouse him;
Be thou the bearer of this message, Carlos;
He cannot think thee an intruder now.

Car.
I will obey you.

Leo.
And be sure immediately
To give me notice how he has received it.

Car.
I will not fail.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE V.

A spacious apartment. Enter Balthazar, followed by Blas, carrying a case with papers, which he lays on a table.
Bal.
(after examining it).
Is Don Henriquez ready, gentle youth?

Blas.
He'll soon be here; the lady is at hand,
With others, who will witness what you read.

Bal.
I'm glad she comes to soothe his gloomy grief,
For I have that to read will move him greatly.

Blas.
I doubt it not: Don Juan loved him well,
As it was thought.

Bal.
Sayst thou, as it was thought!
I've often seen them spend whole days together,
Neglecting all the sports of hall or field,
In some sequester'd corner, side by side,
Pacing, though young, with the slow steps of age,
Each like the other's shadow; while, by turns,
Such power of words flow'd from them, and their eyes
With pleasure or with gentle anger flush'd,
As the keen wilful sporting of their minds
Through some wild chace of thought pursued the game.
I mark'd them oft: it was a pleasing sight.

Blas.
Were they, indeed, such dear and loving friends?

Bal.
Yes, gentle youth, they were. It seem'd, in truth,
As though each kept his thoughts i' th' other's breast,
Lock'd up e'en from himself, having when met,
And only then, free use of his own treasure.

Blas.
So closely knit?

Bal.
Yes; I have seen Henriquez
By Juan's sick-bed sit, night after night,
Like tenderest nurse watching her infant charge;
And then I've seen the tears course down his cheeks,—
His youthful face all shrunk and pale with grief.
Such dear and manly friendship knew I never.

Enter Leonora and Carlos, followed by Diego, who then retires with Blas to the bottom of the stage.
Leo.
(after a pause).
I think I hear him coming.

Car.
I think so too; yet grief is slow of foot,
And those are rapid strides like one in haste.

Enter Henriquez, who returns slight and sullen acknowledgments to their civilities, and going directly to a seat prepared for him, sits down without speaking.
Bal.
(to Henriquez, after a pause).
My lord, here is a will, with other papers,
Which your deceased friend, my noble master,
Committed to my keeping six days since,
When he departed from his native home.
His ancient fav'rite hound howl'd piteously
As from the gate we prick'd our steeds, and yet
We took no heed of it, nor thought, alas!
That he would ne'er return.—Please you, my lord,
That it should first be read?

Hen.
Proceed; I'll listen.

Bal.
From the great love, above all men besides,
Which living he did bear you—

Hen.
Nay, proceed;
There needs no prologue to it.

Bal.
(reading).

“The last will of me, Juan de Torva, written and signed by mine own hand, as these characters testify, is this. I bequeath to my beloved, my early, my only friend, Don Henriquez d'Altavera, the whole of my lands, my castles, my dependencies, my treasures, to be possessed by him and his heirs for ever; and for as much as I have more confidence in the wisdom and generous propriety of his judgment than my own, I leave those whose names (also by mine own hand) are herein written, to be provided for, as he, thinking and acting for me when I shall no longer be able to think and act for myself, shall deem right. These, with the last love and blessing of my heart I bequeath to him; desiring that my poor earthly remains may be laid in the same spot where he himself shall be interred.

May God have mercy on the soul of a humble sinner! Done with mine own signature. “Juan De Torva.”

Here follow names of many old dependants,
And witnesses who saw him sign this deed;
Shall I repeat them?

Hen.
(motions him to forbcar, and after covering his face with his hands for a moment or two).
You also spoke, I think, of other papers:
The date of this is, as I guess, remote.

Bal.
Nay, it is recent—only two months since.

Hen.
So late as that!—You mention'd other deeds.

Bal.
Yes, good my lord; entrusted to my keeping,
Here is besides a marriage contract made
Between himself and the fair Mencia.

Hen.
(starting from his chair with violent gesture).
What didst thou say? The sister of my wife?
Say it again: I know not what thou saidst.

Bal.
It is, my lord, a marriage contract made
Between himself and Donna Mencia,
The sister of your wife; to whom by stealth,
The lady being somewhat disinclined,
He has of late made frequent visits; hoping
Last night, with her consent, to have surprised you,
When as a masquer he should join the guests,
By asking from your love a brother's blessing.

[Henriquez falls back into his chair, uttering a deep groan.
Leo.
(rushing to him in great alarm).
Alas! so strong an agony is here,
The hand of death is on him.

Car.
'Tis but the pitch and crisis of his grief:
Be not alarm'd; he will recover quickly.

[Diego, coming forward, speaks aside to Leonora.
Diego.
Bid all withdraw, and be with him alone
When he recovers.

Leo.
(aside).
How when he recovers?
Alone with him! I know not what thou meanst.

Diego
(speaking to her aloud).
My lord has from his youth been thus affected,
When press'd by grief; I've seen him so before.
And when the fit goes off, I've known him also
Utter wild ravings. Solitude and stillness
Are necessary. Pardon me this boldness.

Leo.
Thou'st seen him thus before?

Diego.
It is a patural infirmity;
Let all retire and leave him.

Leo.
(motions all to retire but Carlos).
Don Carlos will remain.

[To Diego.
Diego.
None but yourself, I do beseech you, madam;
And I will watch by you till he recover.

[Exeunt all but Diego, Leonora, and Henriquez, who, while she hangs over him, groans as before.
Leo.
That groan again! My dear—my dear Henriquez!
Alas! that look! thine agony is great:
That motion too! (He rises.)
Why dost thou stare around?
We are alone; surely thou wilt not leave me.
Where wouldst thou be?

Hen.
I' the blackest gulf of hell;
The deepest den of misery and pain;
Woe bound to woe—the cursed with the cursed!

Leo.
What horrible words, if they have any meaning!
If they have none, most piteous!—
Henriquez; O, my lord!—My noble husband!
I thought not thou wouldst e'er have look'd on me
As thou hast done, with such an eye of sternness.
Alas! and hadst thou nothing dear on earth
But him whom thou hast lost?

Hen.
I had, I had! Thy love was true and virtuous.
And so it is: thy hand upon my breast.
[Pressing her hand, which she has laid upon his breast.
I feel it—O how dear!
[Is about to kiss it, but casts it from him.
It must not be!
Would thou wert false! Would grinding contumely
Had bow'd me to the earth—worn from my mind
The very sense and nature of a man!
Faithful to me! Go, loose thee from my side;
Thy faithfulness is agony ineffable,
It makes me more accursed. Cling not to me:
To taste the slightest feeling of thy love
Were base—were monstrous now.—Follow me not!
The ecstasy of misery spurns all pity.

[Exit.
Diego.
And do not follow him: O do not, madam!
This fearful fit will soon exhaust its strength,
And leave his reason free.

Leo.
God grant it may! It is a fearful fit.
But thou thyself lookst strangely, and thy visage
Seems haggard with a passing consciousness—
Thou dost not think—

Diego.
No, no! what should I think?
Retire to your apartment: I meantime
Will watch my lord, that none may cross his way
Till he be safely lodged within his chamber.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

A narrow hall or passage. Enter Carlos and Balthazar.
Car.
(calling to somebody behind him as he enters).
Go, bid those spearmen from the armourer
Receive their pageant suits, and let the warder
Hang o'er the battlements his sable flag!

Bal.
And will not Don Henriquez, then, in person
Attend the funeral rites?

Car.
His ancient steward
Has signified to me his lord's desire
That I should fill his place in every thing
Respecting this sad ceremony.

Bal.
Have you not seen himself?

Car.
No; grief so stern, so cover'd and profound,
I never knew: he has refused to see me.

Bal.
They say his ghostly father hath been summon'd:
He'll try to soften his untoward grief.

Car.
I hope he will; but pass we on, I pray.

Bal.
The murd'rer has, I hear, escaped their search.

Car.
He did escape, if it was any thing,
Those frighten'd peasants saw.

Bal.
In truth it is a black, mysterious deed;
And, as it strikes my mind—

Car.
Some other time:
Pass on, I pray, our business must proceed.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The grand court of the castle.

Enter a pompous funeral procession by an arched way at the right side of the bottom of the stage, and crossing it in a diagonal line, passes out by the left side of the front; which joins the massed richness of a perspective to the distinctness of a side view.

SCENE II.

A small private apartment. Enter Leonora, walking thoughtfully across the stage; then enter Diego, upon which she turns, and goes up to him, without speaking.
Diego
(after pausing for her to speak first).
They told me, madam, you desired to see me.

Leo.
Yes, good Diego, I would speak with thee;
Yet what I have to say comes of no sense,—
Mere curiosity,—a woman's humour.
Looking from my apartment not long since,
Methought I saw thee in the inner court,
Earnest in conversation with Balthazar.
I mark'd you for a while, and his strange gestures
Seem'd those of anger rather than of grief.

Diego.
He was, in truth, somewhat intemperate.

Leo.
What has disturb'd him?

Diego.
He is a man by nature cross and captious,
And hardly to be satisfied.

Leo.
How so?
Has aught been wanting in the funeral honours
Paid to his master?

Diego.
No; it is not that.
He rather thinks we have been more intent
On idle pageantry, than truly zealous
In finding out the murd'rer of his lord;
'Twas this did move him to unseemly warmth,
And words which I may not repeat.

Leo.
(eagerly).
What words?
Does he suspect—No; what should he suspect?
[Pausing and gazing on Diego, who is silent.
Thy face looks pale and haggard. Did he name him?

Diego.
Name whom?

Leo.
No, no one. This bewilder'd brain
Will run on things too wildly fanciful.
I'll speak to him myself; he shall be satisfied.
Search shall be made without delay. Go to him,
And tell him I would see him privately.

Diego.
He is not here.

Leo.
What! not within the walls?

Diego.
Mounted upon his master's swiftest steed,
He left the castle short while since; ere this
He must be near Zamora.

Leo.
Why such haste?

Diego.
I know not; 'tis, perhaps, to gain admission,
Before the opening of his royal court,
To the king's private ear.

Leo.
(alarmed).
Most strange! some thought— some dark imagination
Has worked him to this frenzy.—Tell me truly
Where his suspicions rest: for he has spoken
Words which thou wouldst conceal. Spoke he in hints?
O tell me all!—He did not name Henriquez?

Diego.
No; by the noble house of Altavera,
Had he so done that word had been his last.
Diego Furnez, aged as he is,
Had ne'er stood by with rapier by his side
To hear his master's honour rudely stain'd
With horrid imputation.

Leo.
Hush! speak low.
I meant not that! a thing too wild and frightful
Even for a hasty thought.—But does he know
A lurking stranger in the wood was found,
With scared and hasty fear, confessing guilt?

[Mencia, entering behind them, and listening to the last words, rushes forward in grcat alarm.
Men.
Confessing guilt! O trust not his confession!
Believe not what he says! a frenzied dream!
For mercy's sake, my sister! O, for mercy!

Leo.
Mencia; what sudden madness seizes thee?
Mercy! for whom dost thou implore my mercy?

Men.
Cruel thou art to ask! My first, my dearest:
O had no other ever look'd upon me,
This misery had not been.

Leo.
It is Antonio, then, for whom thou fearest?
Is he the stranger who escaped their search?

Men.
Has he escaped? Then heaven be praised he has!

Leo.
And thou didst know that he was lurking here?

Men.
Catch not so eagerly my foolish words;
I think of him when any youth is mention'd.

Diego.
Lady, we only said, “a lurking stranger:”
It is yourself who marks him as a youth.

Men.
I know not what I say;—I'm most unhappy:
I will retire.

Leo.
Yes; thou hadst best retire;
And be appeased; Antonio is not found,
Though now we know on whom to fix the charge. [Exit Mencia.
(Gladly to Diego.)

Now it is clear: it is a blest relief!
My good Diego, faithful, kind, old friend;
Even for the love which thou dost bear thy lord,
I call thee friend;—it is a blest relief.
(Taking his hand.)
It comes upon my heart,—a loaded heart,
That was with horror press'd, and brings these tears.

Diego.
God bless you, lady! Had I sooner known
The steady truth and kindness of your nature,
It had been well, for I have been perverse;
But henceforth I will curb all wayward thoughts,
And honour you as Don Henriquez' wife,
And worthy so to be.

Leo.
Cease, friend; all thy perverseness is forgotten. Enter Carlos.

In a good time thou com'st, my noble friend.

Car.
How's this? Strange joy has lighten'd up your eyes,
Unsuited to these hours of sable sadness.

Leo.
We have discover'd Juan's murderer.

Car.
I'm glad to hear it: have you certain proof?

Leo.
Antonio, Mencia's lover; a wild youth,
Whose most presumptuous love, not long ago,
She had for Juan's nobler suit rejected,
Is the mysterious stranger, here, by night,
Found lurking in the wood, whose hasty flight
So well betrayed his guilt.

Car.
I will, and instantly,
Despatch a swift pursuit, to trace his flight.
I've seen the youth, and can describe his mien,
And slender, graceful form. O most unlike
One who could do a fell and bloody deed!

Leo.
A gentle form the fellest heart may shroud.

Diego.
I have known such to anger and to blood
More prone than sterner men.

Car.
You seem offended with me, but I meant not
To question what you say. The time is precious:
I'll send, without delay, on every track,
Those who, I trust, will shortly seize upon him.
Guilty or innocent. I came to say
Those maids and holy men, as you appointed,
Are in the chapel met, and wait your presence,
To sing a nightly requiem for the dead,
Who, in the vault beneath, his first still night
Of the grave's rest doth pass.
But we'll postpone these rites till we have done
What must not be delayed.

Leo.
Ay; let us lose no time.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The burying vault of the castle, with monuments of the dead; and near the front of the stage, a newly covered grave, seen by the light of a lamp placed on a neighbouring tomb, the stage being otherwise dark. A solemn requiem for the dead is heard at a distance, sounding from above. As it draws to a close, Henriquez appears at the further end of the vault with a light in his hand, which he holds out from him, as if in search of some object, and, seeing the grave, casts the light from his hand, and rushes towards it
Hen.
(after gazing some time on the grave).
And here thou liest with all thy noble parts,
Thy lofty, liberal soul, and goodly form,
And heart of love so thorough and so true!
This is thy rest, the meed and recompense
Thy generous worth hath from thy friend received!
Thy friend! O savage heart and cruel hand!
Fell, hateful, faithless, cowardly, and base!
Of every baleful thing, by heaven cast off,
Most cursed and miserable!—
O that ere this the dust had cover'd me
Like a crush'd snake, whose sting is yet unsheath'd!
Would in the bloody trench some sabred Moor
Had lanced this hold of life—this latent seat
Of cruelty! or rather that some dart,
Shot erring in our days of boyish sport,
Had pierced its core! Then by my early grave
He had shed over me a brother's tears;
He had sate there and wept and mourn'd for me,
When from all human hearts but his alone
All thoughts of me had been extinguished. Juan!
My Juan, dear, dear friend! Juan de Torva!
Thy name is on my lips, as it was wont;
Thine image in my heart like stirring life;
Thy form upon my fancy like that form
Which bless'd my happy days. How he would look,
When with his outspread arms, as he return'd
After some absence!—Oh, it tortures me!
Let any image cross my mind but this!
No, no! not this!—Sable, sepulchral gloom!
Embody to my sight some terrible thing,
And I will brave it.
(Pausing and looking round.)
It doth! it doth! there's form and motion in it.
Advance, thou awful shade, whate'er thou art!
Those threat'ning gestures say thou art not Juan.
[Rubbing his eyes.
It was but fancy.—No; the soul to Him
Who is the Soul of souls ascended hath,
Dust to its dust return'd. There is nought here
But silent rest that can be rous'd no more.
Beneath this mould, some few spans deep he lies.
So near me, though conceal'd!—Curs'd as I am,
The cords of love e'en through this earth have power,
Like a strong charm, to draw me to him still.
[Casting himself upon the grave.
Burst, guilty heart! rend every nerve of life,
And be resolved to senseless clay like this,
So to enlap his dearer clay for ever.

Enter Carlos.
Car.
(looking round him).
He is not here: nought see I through the gloom
Save the cold marble of those tombs which, touch'd
With the wan light of yon sepulchral lamp,
Show their scroll'd ends to the uncertain sight,
Like shrouded bodies rising from the earth.
[Going towards the grave.
Ha! something stirring on the new raised earth!
It is Henriquez, wrapped in frantic sorrow.
[Advancing to him.
Henriquez! hearst thou not, noble Henriquez?
Nay, nay! rise from the earth: such frantic grief
Doth not become a man, and least of all
A man whose firm endurance of misfortune
Has hitherto so graced his noble worth.
Giv'st thou no answer but these heavy groans?
Thou canst not from the tomb recall the dead,
But rouse thy spirit to revenge his death.

Hen.
(raising his head).
What saidst thou?

Car.
Quit this dismal bed of death,
And rouse thee to revenge thy murder'd friend.

Hen.
He is revenged; heav'n deals with guilt so monstrous:
The hand of man is nothing.

Car.
Ay, but the hand of man shall add its mite.
[Taking hold of his hand to raise him.
Up from the earth! I've found the murderer.

Hen.
(springing up fiercely, and seizing him by the throat).
Layst thou thy hand on me?
What is or is not,
The God of heaven doth know, and He alone.
Darest thou with mortal breath bestow that name,
To the dishonour of a noble house,
On one of ancient princely lineage born?

Car.
Let go thy frenzied grasp! Should brave Castilians
Thus grapple hand to hand, like angry boys?
Fit time and place shall justify my words,
If they indeed offend.—Our watch hath seiz'd
In hiding near the castle, most suspiciously,
A youth who hath to Mencia's love pretended,
Whose hand, we cannot doubt, hath done the deed;
But if he be of such high lineage born,
'Tis more than he hath claim'd or we will credit.
Why drop your arms thus listless by your side;
Your eyes upon the ground? Will you not go
And see the prisoner, and hear him question'd?

Hen.
Ay, ay, this is required: I'll go with thee;
I comprehend thee now.

Car.
And yet thou mov'st not:
Does any sudden pain arrest thy steps?

Hen.
I am benumb'd and faint.—I'll follow thee.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

A prison in the castle. Antonio discovered disconsolate near the front of the stage. A high door at the bottom, with stairs from it, leading down into the prison.
Ant.
(after shifting his posture several times, and sighing heavily, raises his eyes on hearing the door open gently).
Another visit! do they vainly think,
By oft-repeated questions, to betray
A spent, enfeebled mind into confession?
It is a woman! it is Mencia's self!

Enter Mencia, descending the steps into the prison.
Men.
This is no time for words like these. I dread
E'en but to look upon thee, wretched man!
Take this disguise; it will ensure escape.
There is a faithful friend who waits without,
And by the postern will direct thy flight.
Speak not, but throw these weeds about thee quickly;
The time is precious.

[Holding out garments which she bears over her arm.
Ant.
Thou dreadst to look upon me, yet thou comest
To save my life—to save a murderer's life?

Men.
I said not so in pity of thy state;
That bloody deed I know hath been the act
Of frenzied passion: in some foreign land
Live and repent: Heaven grant thee grace for this!
Let not man's hand, the brand of public shame,
Be on thy wretched head!

Ant.
The hand of man, the brand of public shame,
Falls on the guilty head, by heaven's appointment.
Thou riskest the salvation of thy soul
In aiding my escape; and for my life,
If of thy love bereft, I care not whether
The headsman's axe, or the slow hand of nature,
Shall rid me of it. Nay; the first were best.

Men.
O no! upon my knees I do conjure thee.
[Attempting to kneel, but prevented by him.
If I offend in this, heav'n will forgive me:
For, oh! if thou art lost, I am most wretched.
My misery or peace hangs on thy life;
Therefore, upon my bended knees, I beg.
[Sinking from his hold to the ground.
'Tis for myself I plead; fly instantly.

Ant.
(raising her).
Ah dear, dear Mencia! And car'st thou thus,
For a foul criminal,—a man of blood?
What, then, had been thy care—may I not say—
What, then, had been thy love—had he been innocent?

Men.
Alas, alas! hadst thou been innocent,
I had defied the world, with all its lures,
Again to sever us. Yet, as thou art—

Ant.
Misfortune, thanks! Thou hast done more for me
Than the devoted care of many years.
Come, then, defy the world to sever us,
My generous Mencia; I am innocent.

Men.
Ha! dost thou say it? Saidst thou innocent?
And sayst thou truly so? Hast thou not done it?
Is it no mockery of joy? O no!
That look, that smile! Yes, thou art innocent;
And, heaven be praised, thou art!

Ant.
I am, indeed, of Juan's death most innocent.
And though some circumstances do at present
Accuse me strongly, yet, I trust in heaven,
That on my trial so it will appear.

Men.
Nay; do not trust. O no! for Don Henriquez,
Made savage by despair, will have a victim,
And catch with eagerness at every proof,
How slight soe'er it be. Fly; quickly fly,
And I will follow thee and share thy fortune
Or be it good or ill.

Ant.
O blessed words! my dear, my gen'rous love!
My heart throbs at the thought, but cannot thank thee.
And thou wilt follow me and share my fortune,
Or good or ill!
Ah! what of good can with a skulking outlaw
In his far wand'rings, or his secret haunts,
E'er be? O no! thou shalt not follow me.

Men.
Good may be found for faithful, virtuous love,
In every spot; and for the wand'ring outlaw,
The very sweetest nooks o' the earth are his.
And be his passing home the goatherd's shed,
The woodman's branchy hut, or fisher's cove,
Whose pebbly threshold by the rippling tide
Is softly washed, he may contented live,
Ay, thankfully; fed like the fowls of heaven
With daily food sent by a Father's hand.

Ant.
(pressing both her hands to his heart, and then kissing them).
Thanks, gentle, virtuous Mencia; but, alas!
Far different is the hapless outlaw's home
From what thy gentle fancy fashioneth.
With lawless men he must protection find.
Some murky cavern where the light of day
Hath never peer'd—where the pitch'd brand, instead,
Sheds its red glare on the wild revelry
Of fierce banditti; or the pirate's bark,
Where stalks the sabred ruffian o'er the deck,
Watching his distant prey—some home-bound ship,
With all its stores and freight of precious souls,
Who ne'er shall greet their native shores again,
Must be his guilty home.

Men.
Alas, alas!

Ant.
Thou shalt not follow me, nor will I fly.
Sever'd from thee I will not live, sweet love,
Nor shalt thou be the mate of one disgraced,
And by the good disown'd. Here I'll remain,
And heav'n will work for me a fair deliv'rance.

Men.
No, no! the present means for thy escape
Are sent to thee by heav'n. Be not so stubborn!
With or without me fly, even as thou wilt,
But do not linger here.
[Looking to the door on hearing it moce.
The door—O misery! we are surprised.
It is Henriquez; Heaven have pity on us!

Enter Henriquez, while Mencia shrinks behind Antonio.
Hen.
(advancing).
Ha! not alone! Who is it? Wretched Mencia!

Men.
(rushing forward).
Oh he is innocent! Have pity on us!
Turn not away from me, noble Henriquez.
[Catching hold of him eagerly.
Heaven knows that he is innocent.

Hen.
Then, pray thee, be at peace; heav'n will protect him.

Men.
Frown not; my wretchedness has made me bold.

Hen.
Away, away! I do not frown on thee.
Thou art the baleful cause of all this misery,
And yet I blame thee not. Away, and leave us!

Ant.
Retire, dear Mencia; to thy chamber go;
It is not fit that thou shouldst tarry here.

[She retires unwillingly; Henriquez waving his hand to quicken her retreat, and waiting in gloomy silence till she is gone.
Hen.
Unhappy youth; thou hast to thine accusers
Thine innocence asserted with the earnest
And simple manliness of truth; yet truth,
Supported only by the word of him
Who is accused, will nought avail. How is it?
If there be any circumstance that may
Support or prove thy words, I do entreat thee
To tell me freely, and I will, with speed,
Use every means that may unfold it fully
To aid thy exculpation. (Pauses.)
Is there none?
Bethink thee well: how slight soe'er it be,
It may to others lead of more import.

Ant.
Thanks, generous man!

Hen.
Nay, nay! What is thine answer?

Ant.
Alas! four days within that fatal wood
I have been hid; unseen of every one
But Mencia, and those hinds who did pursue me.
What circumstance can then avail me? No;
Heaven, in its justice, will unfold the truth;
In this I put my trust; proofs I have none.

Hen.
Take the deliv'rance, then, which heaven has sent thee.
Fly, save thy life. (Offering a purse.)
This will procure the means,
When thou hast clear'd the precincts of the forest.
All now is still, and favours thy escape.

Ant.
My lord, like one stunn'd with astonishment,
I thank your gen'rous care. But, Don Henriquez,
Though born of blood less noble than your own,
An outlaw's fate, from friends and country banish'd,
My honest fame blurr'd with imputed guilt,
Is not deliv'rance such as I accept,
Such as a true Castilian can accept.
You offer it in pity of my youth,
Therefore I thank you; but I'll here abide
Such vindication as becomes mine honour.

Hen.
But should it fail thee, canst thou better brook
A malefactor's death, the public gaze,
The scaffold's open shame, the executioner,
All the degrading ministry of death;
Even that which so attainteth noble blood
That ages wear not out th' abhorred blot,
Disgracing all thy line? Ay, think of this:
It makes me shudder as I utter it,
Who have in battle faced all dreadful things.

Ant.
In truth, it makes your strengthen'd features wear
A ghastly hue of horror. How is this,
That such strong sympathy should move you so?
You think me guiltless in the very front
Of proof that should condemn me: then, belike,
Some shrewd suspicion of the actual hand
That did th' accursed deed lurks in your mind.

Hen.
Ha! Cast an accusation on mine honour!

Ant.
No, Don Henriquez; with a friendly wish
To do me service cam'st thou here, and sacred
Is all that thou in privacy hast done
Or utter'd. Yea; though thou shouldst now confess
That thou thyself wert Juan's murderer
(Start not, these are but words of argument);
Yea, e'en supposing this, and that my rescue
From the uplifted axe depended on it,
Yet would I not betray thee.

Hen.
(turning away haughtily).
Thou art incorrigible: take thy will.
[Returning and laying down a key.
I leave thee this; thou wilt consider of it.
Say, is there aught that thou wouldst have me do?

Ant.
Send me a priest. Though only such transgressions
As youthful folly prompts rest on my mind,
Yet would my soul, shrived by some holy man,
His ghostly counsel take, and be at peace.

Hen.
And be at peace! Ay, ghostly counsel may
To such as thou give peace. O could it also—
I know an aged friar, wise and prudent:
Thou shalt be satisfied.

[Exit.
Ant.
(after following him with his eye as he ascends the stair at the bottom of the stage).
But that it were so horrid and unnatural,
A thing at strife with all consistent thoughts,
I could believe—No; 'tis impossible.

[Retires to the bottom of the stage, and the scene closes.

SCENE II.

An antechamber.
Enter Carlos and Friar by opposite sides.
Car.
Good morning, father! you are early here.
Whom come you to confess?

Friar.
I have already been with the poor prisoner.

Car.
And thou hast heard, no doubt, the horrid truth
Which he denies to every one besides?

Friar.
I've heard all he confesses.

Car.
Ay; what strange tales, what secret horrid things,
In thy long course of ghostly ministry,
Have in thine ear been pour'd! By this good hand,
But that I did prefer the jointed mail
And weapon's stroke to haircloth and the scourge,
The roar of battle to the chaunting choir,
I had become a friar, to learn, like thee,
All those dark mysteries of human nature,
To which thy mind is conscious.

Friar.
Gentle son!
Pardon my words; thou talkst in ignorance.
A tale of guilt, wrung from the sinner's soul,
Strikes not the fancy like a winter's tale
Of moonlight witchery, or murder done
I' th' secret chamber. No; a counter sympathy
Doth quell the fancy then. Thou speakst in ignorance.

Car.
True, father, this may be. With your permission
I will attend you to the gate.

Friar.
Not now.
I'm summon'd: Don Henriquez waits for me.

Car.
At the confessional?

Friar.
So I believe; I meet him in the chapel.

Car.
I am right glad of this. We marvell'd much
He did not sooner think of ghostly comfort.

Friar.
I have been summon'd by him once before;
But when I came, capricious in his sorrow,
He would not see me.

Car.
Speak comfort to him, and enjoin some penance
For the indulgence of such frantic grief;
So wayward, so excessive. May God bless thee!
[Exit friar.
Here comes our keen and fiery secretary.

Enter Balthazar.
Bal.
Ay; every cot and castle in the realm
At my command must open gate and hold,
Chamber and bower; e'en the sepulchral vault,
Whose sable scutcheon'd door hath not for years
Upon its hinges jarr'd, must be unlock'd,
And show its secrets to the searching light.
But as I learn you have secured the murderer,
I am content; here ends my brief commission.
I pray you lead me to the prison-house:
I burn to see the wretch.

Car.
Come, follow me

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A chapel. Henriquez discorered on his knees by the confessional, the Friar bending over him, and muttering words in a low voice.
Friar
(aloud).
Rise, son, in humble but assured faith!
Repentance, and these penances endured,
Will gain from heavenly grance full absolution
Of this most guilty deed—of all thy sins.
Rise, and be comforted!
[Raising him, and leading him forward.
Be comforted!
The worst of sinners league not with despair,
But by their own untoward disbelief,
The greatest sin of all. Thou smit'st thy breast,
And shak'st thy drooping head: thou must not doubt.
All sin is finite, mercy infinite;
Why shouldst thou doubt that God will pardon thee?

Hen.
I doubt it not. God's mercy pardons all
Who truly do repent; and O how truly,
How deeply, how intensely I repent!
But in my breast there is a goading sense,
An inward agony, a power repelling
In dire abhorrence every better thought.
The bliss of heaven for me! incongruous hope!
My soul, my fancy, yea my very will
Is link'd to misery; and happiness
Comes to my thoughts like gleams of painful day
To owls and bats, and things obscene and hateful,
Fitted by nature for their dismal dens.
O that I were like such! in the reft rock
Of some dank mine coil'd up, dull and unconscious
Of the loud hammer's sound, whose coming stroke
Should crush me from existence!

Friar.
Alas, alas, my son, have better thoughts.

Hen.
Let them arise in better hearts, for mine
A nest of stinged scorpions hath become,
And only fit for such. Each recollection,
Each waking fancy, like a barbed fang,
Pierces its core with thrilling agony,
Which yields to a succeeding, sharper sting,
And that again to others keener still.
So kind, so dear, such manly, true affection!
Friendship so pure! such noble confidence!
Love that surmounted all things! When, in passion,
I did an outrage on his fiery blood,
What would have hurl'd on any other head
The instant stroke of death—he only waited—

Friar.
Give o'er, my son; thou art too vehement.

Hen.
He waited till my senseless rage was spent,
Then smil'd—O such a sweet, upbraiding smile!
Open'd his arms, and clasp'd me to his heart.
That smile, those open'd arms, I see them now,—
I see them constantly; where'er I turn,
They front me like a vision of delight
Changed to a gorgon terror.
Yet no restraining love did plead for him:
As though he had some common rev'ller been,
All base suggestions were received against him,
Were cherish'd, brooded on by dint of thought,
Work'd to a semblance of consistent truth,
Which, but for this, hateful ingratitude,
All other crimes surpassing, ne'er had found
Credence so wild. Iron heart and ruffian hand!
Ye took your cursed will, and slew the noblest,
The bravest, and the best, like a vile traitor!

[Beating his forchead and striding away.
Friar.
My son, this is wild ecstasy of passion,
Which leads not to that humble true repentance
Our holy church enjoins.

Hen.
(returning).
Or had I met him as an open foe,
With accusation of defiance fairly
Preceding vengeance; but unheard, i' th' dark!
Tremble, ye venerable roofs, ye towers
Of my brave fathers, men without reproach;
Fall on my cursed head, and grind to dust
What bears the honour'd semblance of their son,
Although unmeet to bear the human form.

Friar.
Nay, nay! I pray forbear; this violent grief
For thy soul's weal is most unprofitable.
Betake thyself betimes to prayer and penance.
The sufferings of the body will relieve
The suff'rings of the mind.

Hen.
The sufferings of the body! They are powerless.
[Showing his hand.
See here, short while, in agony of thought,
Pacing the armoury where hangs the mail
Which Juan wore, when in Tolosa's field
We fought the turban'd Moslems side by side;
It was his gift, which I did beg of him,
In the proud joy I felt at his high deeds.
How swell'd my heart! A braver knight in arms
Fought not that day. Bold heart and potent hand,
And lofty mien and eyes that flash'd with valour!
Where run my words? I have forgot their drift.

Friar.
Something which happen'd in the armoury.

Hen.
Ay, in the armoury, as I have said,
I struck my hand, in vehemence of action,
On a spik'd shield, nor knew till afterwards,
When the wild fit was past, and oozing blood
Loaded my clammy touch, that in my flesh
The broken iron was sheath'd.
No; what can corporeal pain or penance do?
That which inflicts the mental wound, which rends
The hold of pride, wrenching the bent of nature;
'Tis that alone hath power. Yet from the effort
Nature starts back; my mind, stunn'd at the thought,
Loses the use of thought.

Friar.
I do not understand you, good my lord.

Hen.
It matters not; you will, perhaps, hereafter.

Friar.
You are at present feeble and exhausted,
And lack repose; retire awhile, my son.
Hark! on the walls without, do you not hear
The warder's call to note the rising morn?

Hen.
The morn! And what have I to do with morn?
The redd'ning sky, the smoking camp, the stir
Of tented sleepers rousing to the call,
The snorting steed, in harness newly dight,
Did please my fancy once. Ay; and the sweetness
Of my still native woods, when, through the mist,
They show'd at early dawn their stately oaks,
Whose dark'ning forms did gradually appear
Like slow approaching friends, known doubtfully.
These pleased me once in better days; but now
My very soul within me is abhorrent
Of every pleasant thing; and that which cheers
The stirring soldier or the waking hind,
That which the traveller blesses, and the child
Greets with a shout of joy, as from the door
Of his pent cot he issues to the air,
Does but increase my misery.—
I loathe the light of heaven: let the night,
The hideous unbless'd night, close o'er me now,
And close for ever!

Friar.
Cease, cease! and cherish not such dark despair.
Retire to your apartment, and in prayer
Beseech Almighty Goodness to have pity
On a perturbed soul.

Hen.
Pray thou for me; I will pray when I can.

Friar.
Hark! steps along the corridor; they come
To say an early mass for the repose
Of the interr'd: they must not find you here.

Hen.
And to the dead they give repose! What mass,
What prayers, what chaunted hymns can to the living
Give respite from this agony of soul?
Alas, alas! there is no cure for this.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

A small court before the door of the prison, which is open. Blas and other domestics discovered waiting near it.
1 dom.
(to Blas).
Goes Don Henriquez with the prisoner?

Blas.
He does; his noble courser at the gate,
Black Sultan, saddled stands, champing the bit,
And casting from his mouth the flaky foam.
Stand back; they're coming now.

Enter Antonio, Carlos, Friar, Balthazar, and Diego, from the prison.
Friar
(to Antonio).
Be not cast down, my son, but trust in heaven!

Ant.
And so I do; that is my stay, good father;
And yet, methinks, these fetters might be spared.
By Don Henriquez' orders am I thus
Like a vile felon chain'd?

Car.
'Tis by his orders; 'tis a stated form.
I fear they gall you; are they clench'd too tightly?

Bal.
Who doth a felon's deeds must e'en submit
To bear a felon's manacles.

Ant.
(to Baltiiazar).
Yes; man of pens, and records, and old lore,
Such is thy narrow and ungen'rous nature.
[Turning to Carlos.
This rough but noble soldier, bred in camps
And midst the broil of battle, is more gentle.
Henriquez seem'd inclined to pity me,
To think me innocent; then, wherefore these?

Car.
Come, we lose time, we must begin our journey
To reach the town by close of day, Henriquez
Being intent to gain a royal audience
Before the sitting of to-morrow's court.

[Exeunt all but Diego, to whom enters Leonora, with something in her hand.
Leo.
My good Diego, hie thee to the gate;
And ere thy master mount, give him this scarf,
These gloves too, and his signet, which, in haste,
He left behind.
[Giving them to him.
He has forbidden me to follow him,
And he must be obeyed.

Diego.
He shall receive them.

Leo.
How look'd Antonio when they led him forth?
Greatly dejected?

Diego.
No; he bears it stoutly.

Leo.
Asserting still that he is innocent?

Diego.
Ay, ay; but every villain does the same.
Does not my lord believe that he is guilty?

Leo.
I cannot doubt it. When he left the chapel
A long time in his chamber he remain'd;
When he came forth again, I watch'd his eye,
And it was calm, though gloomy. Then forthwith
He gave his orders that a band of spearmen
Should be in readiness to guard the prisoner
Bound to Zamora; and were he in doubt,
He were not now so calm, being before
So greatly agitated. Hie thee quickly.

[Exeunt severally.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The court at Zamora, a grand hall of audience. Nobles, prelates, officers, &c. discovered in waiting; a flourish of trumpets. Enter the King and his train, who walks slowly, as he receives their homage, to a chair of state near the front of the stage.
1 noble
(presenting a petition).
May't please your highness, look on this petition,
Humbly presented to your royal notice
By one of noble blood.

King.
And noble conduct, too, I hope, Don Pedro.
What is its plea?
[After reading the paper slightly.
That he beneath a lady's window hath
A most audacious suitor slain, who there
Did charm her ear with love-sick ditties.—Slew him!
A harsh device to win the lady's favour;
Had she not ears to be again enthrall'd?
Another song had been a fitter weapon
Of opposition than a sword, methinks.
[Giving the paper to a secretary.
Note down that I will look on this again.

2d noble
(giving a paper).
Deign, royal sir, to look upon this paper.

King.
Freely, Don Blas; from such a noble hand
It needs must be an honourable suit.
[Reading the paper.
Don Julian, of the noble house of Guzman,
Hath, by the cadet of a meaner house,
Been elbow'd from his place, who most nefariously
Refused to yield to him the dexter side.
[Reading on more slightly.
Honour repair'd—that he be forced—a blow!
[Shaking his head.
We are too learned in this ancient kingdom.
Nay, reverend prelate, no offence to you;
The clergy stand acquitted of this charge.

Prelate.
I know not how to comprehend your highness.

King.
We should be spared full many a deadly broil,
Did we not know our right hand from our left.
We are in this, good sooth! too nicely learn'd,
Which doth but scantily, in my opinion,
Supply the want of every other lore.

2d noble
(aside to 1st).
Never may I again i' th' royal presence
Wear hat and plume, if this is not derision.

1 noble
(aside).
'Tis Don Henriquez we may thank for this.
He spoke not to us thus when the arm'd Moor
Was nearer to his doors.

King
(to prelate).
And now, my lord, let me receive your paper.

Prelate.
Most humbly to your highness I present it,
From pious men, whose prayers are offer'd up
For your prosperity.

[Gives the paper.
King
(reading it slightly).
“That the free hinds of Tormes and their wives
Refuse their wonted offerings to the convent,
And therefore humbly—the adjoining lands—
A royal compensation.”—So it runs,
And it must cost me many a fruitful field,
Because those villagers love fatted pullets,
As well as sober, self-denying monks!
This also at our leisure we'll consider.
[Gives the paper to the secretary, and sitting down, receives other petitions, when a confused noise is heard.
What noise is that without?

Enter an Officer.
Offi.
May't please you, Don Henriquez waits without.

King.
Henriquez, my brave general? How is this?

Offi.
He comes attended by a goodly train,
Guarding a prisoner, and humbly begs
To be admitted to the royal presence,
Before your court shall sit.

King.
Most willingly: say, I am ready now
To give him audience.
[Exit officer.
I marvel much
How it should be. In this unwonted form
To bring his prisoner!—But here he comes.

Enter Henriquez, followed by Carlos and Antonio, going up to the King, who rises to meet him.
King.
Thou too, my valiant friend, a suitor here?

Hen.
A humble supplicant.

King.
Who needs not sue.
Say freely what thou wouldst, and it is granted.

Hen.
But what I beg, an earnest boon, must be
Confirm'd to me with all solemnity,
Before I utter it.

King.
A strange request!
But that thy services have been to me
Beyond all recompense, and that I know
Thy country's welfare and thy sovereign's honour
Are dear to thee, as thou full well hast proved,
I should with some precaution give my word.
But be it so; I say thy suit is granted.

Hen.
Nay, swear it on this sword.

King.
Where doth this tend? Doubtst thou my royal word?

Hen.
When honour'd lately by your princely presence,
You gave to me this ring with words of favour;
And said if I should e'er, by fortune press'd,
Return the same to you, whatever grace
I then might ask, should be conceded to me.
[Giving the ring.
Receive your royal token: my request
Is that you swear upon my sword to grant
This boon which I shall beg.

[Holds out his sword to the King, who lays his hand on it.
King.
This sword, this honour'd blade, I know it well,
Which thou in battle from the princely Moor
So valiantly didst win: why should I shrink
From any oath that shall be sworn on this?
I swear, by the firm honour of a soldier,
To grant thy boon, whatever it may be.
Declare it then, Henriquez.
[A pause.
Thou art pale
And silent too: I wait upon thy words.

Hen.
My breath forsook me. 'Tis a passing weakness:
I have power now. There is a criminal,
Whose guilt before your highness in due form
Shall shortly be attested; and my boon
Is, that your highness will not pardon him
However strongly you may be inclined
To royal clemency,—however strongly
Entreated so to do.

King.
This much amazes me. Ever till now,
Thou'st been inclined to mercy, not to blood.

Hen.
Yea; but this criminal, with selfish cruelty,
With black ingratitude, with base disloyalty
To all that sacred is in virtuous ties,
Knitting man's heart to man—What shall I say?
I have no room to breathe.
[Tearing open his doublet with violence.
He had a friend,
Ingenuous, faithful, generous, and noble:
E'en but to look on him had been full warrant
Against th' accusing tongue of man or angel,
To all the world beside,—and yet he slew him.
A friend whose fost'ring love had been the stay,
The guide, the solace of his wayward youth,—
Love steady, tried, unwearied,—yet he slew him.
A friend, who in his best devoted thoughts,
His happiness on earth, his bliss in heaven,
Intwined his image, and could nought devise
Of sep'rate good,—and yet he basely slew him;
Rush'd on him like a ruffian in the dark,
And thrust him forth from life, from light, from nature,
Unwitting, unprepared for th' awful change
Death brings to all. This act so foul, so damned,
This he hath done: therefore upon his head
Let fall the law's unmitigated justice.

King.
And wherefore doubtst thou that from such a man
I will withhold all grace? Were he my brother
I would not pardon him. Produce your criminal.

[Those who have Antonio in custody lead him forward.
Hen.
(motioning with his hand to forbid them).
Undo his shackles; he is innocent.

King.
What meaneth this? Produce your criminal.

Hen.
(kneeling).
My royal master, he is at your feet.

[A cry of astonishment is heard through the hall; the King, staggering back from the spot, is supported by an attendant, while Carlos and Antonio, now free from his fetters, run to Henriquez, who continues kneeling, and bend over him in deep concern.
King
(recovering).
A fearful shock! Mine ears are ringing still.
Rise, Don Henriquez d'Altavera, rise!
(Turning away his head.)
Raise him: O do not let me see him thus!

[Motions the crowd to withdraw, who go off, leaving the King, Henriquez, Carlos, and Antonio only on the stage.
King
(fiercely).
Carlos, on thee my anger rests, who thus
Stoodst by and suffer'dst me to be deceived.

Car.
Condemn me not, my liege; I was myself,
Convinced this youth had done the deed, deceived.
This on a soldier's honour I aver.

King.
Alas, Henriquez! thou hast practised on me
With cruel guile. I would right gladly forfeit
The fairest town thy sword e'er won for me,
And be again at liberty to pardon
Whatever thou hast done: a deed, most surely,
By thy high nature all too rudely charged.
Thou in the frenzy of some headlong passion
Hast acted as a madman, who still wreaks
His direst wrath on those he loves the most.

Hen.
No, no! it was an act of brooding thought,
Of slow intent, of dark consideration.
Our early love, with all his fair endowments
And noble qualities, before my mind
Did clearly pass; pass and return again,
And strongly plead for him, and were rejected.

King.
Go to! thou hast a wild imagination,
Which has o'erreach'd thy judgment.—Set me free.
The public weal requires thy service: oaths
Adverse to this do not, and should not, bind.

Hen.
There are within your kingdom many chiefs
Who may do better service to the state,
Though not with better will than I have done;
[Laying his sword at the King's feet.
Here do I part with ensigns, arms, and war;
Nor soldier's brand, nor baton of command,
This hand accursed shall ever grasp again.
Your highness by the honour of a prince
Stands bound to me in this, and you are bound.

King.
Ay, if it needs must be, determined spirit!
Yet, think again; be it awhile deferr'd,
This dismal trial, for a month—a year.

Hen.
Not for a day.

King.
Thou art too boldly stubborn.
By what authority dost thou oppose it,
If 'tis my pleasure it should be deferr'd?

Hen.
The law's authority emboldens me.
I am Don Juan's heir, and do by right
Demand the speedy trial of his murderer.
Nor think the law's delay would aught avail.
How many secret ways there may be found
To rid a wretch of life, who loathes to live.
My soul demands this sacrifice—pants for it,
As that which can alone restore to it
The grace of heav'n and the respect of men.

Car.
Noble Henriquez, thy too stubborn virtue—

Hen.
Nay, Carlos, hold thy peace. Be not my foe:
He were my greatest enemy who should
Impede this consummation. When 'tis past,
Then let the favour of my princely master,
Of loving camp-mates, and all virtuous men,
Return to me again. A noble treasure
That will redeem my memory from shame.

King
(embracing him).
Living or dead, brave man, thou must be honour'd!
I will no more contend with thy desires.
Some preparation for this solemn ceremony
Thou wilt require; Don Carlos will conduct thee
Where thou mayst rest and find all needful aid.

[Exit.
Hen.
Come, friends, till I am summon'd to my trial:
The time is short, and we must husband it.
[Going and stopping again.
I shun not now thy friendly aid, good Carlos;
My heart is lighten'd of its heavy load,
And I can take a good man by the hand,
And feel we are akin.

Car.
To all that is most great and admirable
Thou art akin. I have no words to speak
The thoughts I have of thee, thou noble man!

Hen.
(to Antonio).
And thou too, gentle youth; give me thy hand.
Thy noble confidence did point to me
The true and honour'd path. For, hadst thou fled,
I might have shrunk aside, and been on earth
A sullen secret thing of wretchedness,
Cursing the light of heaven. Gentle youth,
I've felt the kindly pressure of thy hand,
And all thy gen'rous sympathy: forgive me,
That I did hold thy mind so long in doubt.

Ant.
O nothing did I doubt that thou didst know
My innocence, and would protect it; yet,
This noble, terrible act I ne'er divined.
Would I had fled my prison at thy bidding,
And lived a vagabond upon the earth,
Ere this had been! What was my name or worth?
But thou—

Hen.
Cease, cease! repent it not, sweet youth;
For all the friends on earth would not have done me
Such true and worthy service!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A royal apartment. Enter Leonora and Friar.
Friar.
The king will from his council come ere long;
Then wait, I pray, and take a little respite
From this impatient fever of your mind.

Leo.
Take respite! this impatience! O, good father!
Thou canst not know this agony, and speakst
Like one secured from human misery.
Heaven grant me patience! I have need of it;
But it must come from heaven.

Friar.
See; now his highness enters.

Enter King attended; and Leonora, running to him, casts herself at his feet, embracing his knees.
King.
The lady Leonora! rise, dear lady.

Leo.
No; to your knees I'll cling, nor quit my hold
Till from your royal pity I obtain
The mercy I implore.—My lord Henriquez—
Your valiant general—my dear, dear husband—
Say that he shall not die. This execution!
This malefactor's end! O save him! save him!

King
(raising her).
As far as I have power, your suit is granted.

Leo.
Then he is saved—he lives? Is it not so?

King.
Alas! I would it were. Your lord refuses
All royal mercy. I have sworn to him
Never to pardon Juan's murderer.
If thou canst move his stubborn spirit, kneel,
And at his feet implore him to release me
From this most fatal oath.

Leo.
Move him! Alas, alas! this will not be;
I know him well: in what he deems the right,
He is inflexible. But solemn oaths,
E'en oaths upon the holy relics sworn,
The holy church annuls: it will release you.
Then say not you are bound.

King.
From oaths upon the holy relics sworn
The church can loose, as thou, no doubt, hast learnt
From sacred books and this good father's lore;
But, solemnly, upon Henriquez' sword
I've pledged a prince's word—a soldier's honour,
From which nought can release me, but the will
And free consent of him to whom 'tis pledged.
Hie, therefore, to thy lord: kneel at his feet,
And may heav'n give thee power to touch his heart.

Leo.
Is all my hope in this! Unhappy woman!
By heaven and man abandon'd—Dismal doom!
The woe of desperation!
[Franticly wringing her hands, and then turning in anger to the King.
There's mockery in this. Thou art a king,
And canst command what I would beg in vain;
Command him, as his royal liege and master,
That he release thee from this fatal pledge.
A king, and not obey'd! deceitful shadow!
Doth not thy power o'er all things reign supreme?

King.
Not o'er men's wills.—
This is a power heaven to itself retains,
And ne'er did delegate to mortal being.

Leo.
(pacing about as before).
Despair, despair!
What see I but despair,
Shame, infamy, a malefactor's end?

King.
Wring not thy hands so wildly, wretched lady!
His life, indeed, we must despair to save;
But infamy is from his name remov'd,
As heaven from hell. Yea, his proud house shall boast
Of this its noble malefactor, more
Than all its trophied chiefs.
When at the bar he stood arraign'd, and pled,
Proving his secret guilt, against himself,
Ne'er rose his form so nobly on the mind,
Even in his days of triumph.—
But when the fatal sentence was pronounced,
He raised his head, and sent a look to heav'n
Of pleased appeal and solemn thankfulness;
A look of pious hope so dignified,
He seem'd like some fall'n seraph that again
Had won his way to bliss.—A general murmur
Of admiration from deep silence rose.
Old men did clasp their hands, and young men wept;
And those who on his victories bestow'd
A cold and niggard praise, now, with full hearts,
Gave boundless tribute to his lofty virtue.

Leo.
And he was honour'd thus! high heaven be prais'd!
[Bursting into tears.
It makes me weep that they did weep for him.
Heaven's will be done!
I've been too stern and violent in my grief:
God grant me more submission to His will,
And I will learn to bear it. My Henriquez!
The brave with tears of admiration grace
Thy hapless end, and rescue thee from shame.

King.
Rescue! far more than rescue: his proud house
The very implements of execution
Will henceforth in their banners proudly weave.

Leo.
I needs must weep; but let my tears have vent,
And I shall be resign'd.

Enter Carlos and Antonio.
King
(to them).
How is Henriquez? came ye from his tower?

Car.
Most admirably well; his soul is up:
I left him shaking hands most cordially
With his worst enemy, and he intends,
Ere close the night's first watch, to spend an hour
In social converse with some early friends,
Who shared his first campaigns, and have desired
To see his face once more.—
His soul seems open'd now, and raised above
That close reserve, which was his greatest blemish.

King.
Some noble minds do from misfortune rise,
Yea, e'en from guilt, more noble than before;
As by the hardest blow the smitten ball
Bounds highest from the earth.—
Retire, fair Leonora: this good man
(pointing to friar)
Will heavenly comfort to thy soul impart,
And strengthen it to bear the coming trial.

[Friar supports her on one side, while Antonio offers his aid also, as she goes off.
Leo.
(to Ant.)
Not thou; the hidden cause of all this woe.

Friar.
Nay, daughter, be not angry with this youth.
The will of heaven must be; the means appointed
Must also be: he is most innocent,
Since ignorant of ill.

Leo.
My grief is wayward still; but I'll subdue it.

[Takes hold of Antonio, and exit with him and friar, while King, Carlos, and attendants go out by another door.

SCENE III.

Before the gate of the prison; the stage dark, excepting a lamp hung over the gate; sentinels discovered on watch.
Enter Balthazar with a dark lantern.
1st sen.
Stand! who art thou?

Bal.
A friend, connected with the noble prisoner.

Sen.
Stand there aloof; thou mayst not enter yet.

Enter Friar by the opposite side.
1st sen.
Ho there!

Friar.
A friend.

2d sen.
A friend! What seekst thou here?

Friar.
I am a priest, confessor to Henriquez.

1st sen.
Thou shalt have entrance presently.

Friar.
I thank thee.
[Going up close to Bal.
Thou art Balthazar?

Bal.
And thy servant, father.

Friar.
Thou'rt up betimes; it is still pitchy night.

Bal.
Nay; look thou eastward; you dull line of light,
Bounding the sable darkness of the earth
From the sky's fainter gloom: it is the dawn.

Friar.
Ha! runs the time so fast! what noise is that?

Bal.
The hum of distant voices, and the sound
Of preparation for the awful morn.
As I now pass'd along, in every street
I heard the eager citizens astir,
While light from many a lattice gleam'd. And onward,
As I approach'd th' appointed place, I saw
Round the fenced spot, already gather'd, groups
Of men and women, young and old, whose faces
Did seem, from darkness, as from nothing sprung,
Touch'd with the torches' glaring light, which downward
Stream'd from the lofty scaffold, whereon forms
Of busy artists at their fatal work,
And ghastly headsmen moving to and fro,
Appear'd like blacken'd fiends. Dost thou not hear
The stroke of hammers, and that sounding plank?
There comes a strange and thrilling coldness o'er me.
[A pause and noise without.
I little thought to feel such ruth for him,
The man who slew my good and noble master.

Friar.
Why shouldst thou not? the feeling does thee honour;
And he doth for that rash and rueful deed
Make dear and great amends. The gate is open'd.

[Exeunt into the prison.

SCENE IV.

A passage way in the prison. Enter Friar and Gaoler, speaking as they enter.
Gaoler.
But it is past the hour; he must be waked.

Friar.
Waked! dost thou think he sleeps?

Gaoler.
Yes, father; he hath slept, I guess, since midnight.

Friar.
How knowst thou this?

Gaoler.
I've listen'd at his door
From time to time, and nought have heard within
But a deep silence, once or twice brok'n faintly
By slow-heaved breathings, as of heavy sleep.

Friar.
So sound asleep, and such a morn to wake to!

Gaoler.
Nay, they who sleep before their day of doom
Sleep often thus,—a deathlike, dreamless sleep.
[Speaking as he goes off.
I well remember one, who, on the morn—

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

The prison chamber. Henriquez discovered asleep on a couch, near the front of the stage.
Enter Friar and Gaoler.
Friar.
Still fast asleep: it grieves my soul to wake him.
No trace of trouble on his face! He lies
Like a tired hunter after toilsome chase.
Call to him, friend, I cannot.

Gaoler.
Ho! Don Henriquez! ho, my lord! awake!
Awake, my lord!—He is in heavy sleep,
Like the dull rest of death, which hath no ear.

Friar.
Oh that it were indeed the rest of death!
It is a woeful service to awake him.
How goes the time? Might he still sleep awhile?

Gaoler.
'Tis past the hour at which he charged me strictly
To call him up.

Friar.
Then he must be obey'd.

Gaoler
(touching him gently).
Wake! Don Henriquez, wake! It is the hour.
He moves him now: the sound is in his ears;
The light annoys his eyes. Awake, my lord!

[Touching him again.
Hen.
(raising his head).
What is it?

Gaoler.
'Tis the hour the morning breaks.

Hen.
(starting from his couch).
Bring me my armour: have ye roused the camp?
Bid every soldier dight him for the field:
I've slept too long.

Gaoler.
It is the very hour
At which you did give orders to be waked.

Hen.
Ha! Yes, I understand thee: it is morn,—
The fated morn that brings to me no noon.
Sleep from the tablet of my brain had razed
All present things, and in my waking fancy
Had led me back to what I was so lately.
I thank you. Dawns the light?

Friar and Gaoler
(both at once).
The morning breaks.

Hen.
Your voices sound like midnight, not like morn.
Welcome, good father; thou art come, in truth,
To wake me for the fight, and brace my strength,
Not with corporeal arms.

Friar.
No, good my lord;
A nobler armour, for a nobler warfare:
And the Almighty King, whose valiant soldier
Thou wilt this day approve thyself to be,
Will gird thee for the field. Receive from him
His high commission, worthy of a man.

Hen.
(looking upward, and then kneeling with his arms on his breast, and his head bowed to the ground).
I do receive it, father, most devoutly.
[Rising with solemnity.
Let me be forward in my work, good father.
I would retire, and give my thoughts to heaven
Ere earthly things shall press to mingle with them.
Come, then, and join thy fervent prayers with mine,
And teach my dying voice to sue for mercy.

[Exit with friar.
Gaoler
(looking after Henriquez).
The right true metal this; 'twill bear the furnace.
Ah! who would once have thought that from my custody
He should pass forth to such a death? Heaven doom'd it.
[Noise and bustle without.
What noise is that without?—Ho! who would enter?

Voice
(without).
Open; it is the king.

[Gaoler opens the door, and enter the King, Carlos, Antonio, and Balthazar.
King
(to gaoler).
Where is thy noble charge?

Gaoler.
With his confessor, in the private chapel.

King.
How is he, gaoler? Has he through the night
Had any rest?

Gaoler.
Yes, may it please your highness,
He hath slept soundly.

King.
Sound sleep in such a state! Yet, wherefore marvel:
He has been used to look death i' the face.

Car.
Ay, in the field; but many brave him there,
Who on a scaffold feel their manhood quail.

King.
Is it so, gaoler? Thou hast good experience.

Gaoler.
Some years ago, two brothers suffer'd here,
For an offence of state; the one a soldier,
Stout, brave, and bold in war; the other bred
To quiet life at home; but on the scaffold
The man of peace did bear the loftier brow,
And beat the hardy vet'ran shamefully.

King.
Strange creatures are we all! and who is known
Until his trial comes?—I think, good Carlos
Thou toldst me he conversed with cheerfulness
Till a late hour last night.

Car.
Yes, good my liege,
Having first settled all his worldly cares,
Like one, who, from a heavy load released,
Unclasps his vest to recreate himself,
He with two ancient camp-mates and your liegeman
Convers'd with kindlier, more enliven'd freedom
Than he was wont: spoke of their old adventures,
Prais'd many a valiant heart, fall'n in the field,
And of the fate of others did inquire
With kindly interest, as though his soul
Upon the very parting verge of nature
Felt nature's sympathies more warmly. Truly
His spirit seem'd already to have doff'd
Its earthly coat, and gain'd a purer being.

King.
Ay; he is passing to a higher state:
So teach our holy men, and I believe them.
Doth aught approaching to a final end
Of dark extinction rise to meet it thus?
It doth not;—no, it cannot.
But first he settled all his worldly cares.
And what are his bequests?

Car.
Balthazar, thou canst tell.

Bal.
He first of all provides a noble monument
To Juan's mem'ry near his native town,
Desiring he himself may be interr'd
In the same vault with him, and by his side.
For many friends, and all his ancient servants,
Forgetting none, he hath made kind provision.
His lady's dowry is enlarg'd, and Mencia
Receives a noble portion to bestow
Upon her early lover, this good youth,
Whom he hath named with words of special love.

King
(to Antonio, who turns aside to weep.)
Weep freely, gentle youth; whom he hath loved
Shall ever in his prince's favour hold
An honourable place.—Pray thee, proceed.

Bal.
He hath, besides, for good and pious ends,
A large benevolence—

Car.
Hush! he approaches.

Re-enter Henriquez and Friar.
King
(advancing to meet him).
My noble friend, I felt a strong desire
Once more—a short intrusion.

Hen.
Say not so.
Your grace is come to wish me a good morrow,
And cheer me on this outset of my way.

King.
Alas! a dismal cheer, a woful morrow!

Hen.
Nay, three successive days have dawn'd upon me
Through such a gloom of hopeless misery,
That this, comparatively, seems indeed
A morn of cheer. Then so consider it.
And now, in parting, I would beg of you
To pardon whatsoe'er, in my long service,
I've done, in ignorance or stubborn will,
To prejudice the service of the state,
Or to offend your grace. Once at Cuenca
I rashly hazarded some brave men's lives;
And, for th' unmeaning triumph of a day,
Those brave men's lives were lost. My heart for this
Has suffer'd many a pang; but pride till now
Restrain'd confession. Pardon me for this.

King.
Thou needst from me no pardon; yet thou hast it,
And with it, too, my thanks,—my solemn thanks,
For all the noble service thou hast done me.
And is there no request thou hast to make?

Hen.
Yes, if I might presume. Here is a list
[Giving the King a paper.
Of some brave officers, whose worthy services
Deserve promotion: let them, for my sake,
Find favour with your grace. This is my suit.

King.
It shall be done. Oh that a suit of mine
Could, in return, move thine obdurate bosom!

Hen.
What is't, my gracious master?

King.
If I have been to thee a gracious master,
Be thou a gracious liegeman, and restore—
Restore to me that honour of my reign,
That pride, and fence, and bulwark of my land,—
Restore to me again my gallant general,
Henriquez d'Altavera.

Hen.
Alphonso of Castile, I've serv'd thee long,—
Yea, though I say it, I have served thee bravely.
Have I from fire, or flood, or havoc shrunk?
What battle have I lost, what town abandon'd,
That now I may not, like a noble Spaniard,
My earthly station quit, from insult spared?
I've owed you service as my rightful king;
I've owed you service as my gracious master:
But not for man on earth, nor saint in heaven,
Would I submit a loathed life to live,
After the horrid deed that I have done.

Friar
(laying his hand gently on Henriquez).
My son, my son! where is the Christian meekness,
Which, at the Throne of Grace, some moments since,
Thou didst devoutly pray for?

Hen.
Father, I am reproved: my mortal frailty
Was smother'd, not extinct.
[Turning to the King.
I will not, standing on this awful verge,
To mortal greatness bend, else on my knees
I'd crave forgiveness of this new offence:
[Laying his hand sorrowfully on his breast.
An unrein'd mind, offending to the last!

[The King rushes into his arms and embraces him; then turns away, retiring to the bottom of the stage, to conceal strong emotion.
Hen.
Carlos, thou wilt not leave me till the end;
But thou'lt forgive me now the many wrongs
I've done thine honest worth, fastidiously
Bestowing confidence on one alone. [Taking his hand affectionately.
(Turning to Antonio.)

And thou, brave youth, I know thy gen'rous soul.
Though I have held thee long in doubt, I trust
Thou partst with me in charity.

Ant.
(catching his hands, and kissing them fervently).
In love,
In deepest admiration, in devotion
That for thy sake would make me welcome death,
Yea, suffer shame, or be an outlaw'd wretch,
Cast off from all my kind.

Hen.
Come to my heart! think of me when I'm gone;
And be my fate thy warning. For I see
Keen passions and affections in thy nature,
Akin to those I felt in early youth.
And when thou thinkst of me, consider this:
The law condemneth not a man unheard,
Be he the veriest wretch upon the earth:
But I condemn'd my dearest friend unheard.
Balthazar, thou dost know how very dear—
No, no! thou couldst not know how well I loved him.
Farewell, good secretary, and be sure
Thou mind thy charge. See that it be erected
With strength and skill; a noble monument,
That will resist the silent strokes of time.
(Looking round.)
Where is my ancient servant, good Diego?
How is it that I do not see him here?

Bal.
On learning that your sentence was pronounced,
He took his bed; and whether violent grief
Or other means did speed his end, I know not:
He died last night.

Hen.
Then I shall meet him shortly, where the servant,
Freed from his master, fears his wrath no more.
My poor Diego! he did live with me
In too much awe: and yet he loved me well.
I was to blame in this.

Enter Leonora and Mencia.
Car.
Thy Leonora comes.

Hen.
Ah! would she had been spared this dismal parting!

Car.
She would not be restrain'd.

Hen.
My Leonora, wherefore art thou come?
Yet thou art welcome to my heart once more.
Farewell in love,—in true, in most dear love,
My dearest wife!

Leo.
Oh no! thy cruel wife,
The cause of all thy misery,—thy bane.

Hen.
(embracing her).
Hush, hush! thou wast my torment and my bliss,
But O! far more my bliss! So be content.
I have had many days of prosperous life
Before this storm of misery broke upon me,
Thy love the flower and crown of all. Be comforted!
And Mencia, too, sweet maid, I understand
Thy mute farewell, which I accept. God bless thee!
Antonio, take thy charge.

[Putting Mencia's hand in his.
Heaven bless thee, and farewell, my dearest wifel
Leo.
Not yet, not yet! my swelling heart will burst.
It tries to utter what it cannot.—Oh!

[A bell tolls, and she, giving a loud shriek, falls into the arms of Mencia and Antonio.
Hen.
Bear her away; I may not look again!

[As she is borne off, the King advances to the front.
King.
Farewell, thou noble man! Part we in charity?

Hen.
In charity; and on your royal head
My dying blessing rest!
[Exit King.
Here comes the marshal. Enter Marshal and other officers.

(To the marshal.)
Are all things ready, then? [The marshal bows.
(To Carlos and friar.)

My faithful friends,
Who still cling to my latest throb of life,
I claim of you a kind but painful service!

[He begins to move, the friar walking by his side, and Carlos following, while the bell tolls, and a large door in the centre of the back scene being thrown open, discovers a grand arched passage, lined with guards and other public officers, who, as he passes along, join the procession. The curtain drops.