University of Virginia Library

LEONOR DE GUZMAN:

A TRAGEDY.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

• Don Pedro, King of Castile and Leon.
• Don Enriqué, Condé de Trastamara, Eldest son to Doña Leonor.
• Don Fadriqué, Master of Santiago, Twin brother to Don Enrique.
• Don Tello, Another son to Doña Leonor.
• Don Juan Alonso de Alburquerqué, Prime Minster to Don Pedro.
• Don Juan Nuñez de Lara, Lord of Biscay: a presumptive heir to the crown.
• Don Fernando Manuel de Villena, His nephew, brother to Doña Juana.
• Alonso Coronel, Governor of Medina Sidonia.
• Cañedo, His liegeman and friend.
• Priest, Chaplain to Doña Leonor.
• Ambassador, From the rebel Don Juan Manuel.
• Page, Attending on Don Pedro.
• Doña Maria de Portugal, Mother to Don Pedro.
• Doña Leonor de Guzman, Mistress to King Alfonso.
• Doña Juana Manuel de Villena, Sister to Don Fernando.
• Courtiers, Ladies, Knights, Soldiers, Citizens, Attendants, &c.

Scene, Several parts of Castile.
Time, A. D. 1350 and 1351.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Medina Sidonia. Before the Gates of the Castle. Sentinels on duty. The morning drum is heard, and the ceremony of relieving guard passes; then enter, from the Castle, Coronel and Cañedo. The Sentinels salute them.
Coronel.
The saints relieve me from my governorship!
My honors hang about me like wide clothes
Upon a shrunken body; I scarce move
Without some awkward stumble, plainly showing
My great unfitness for my great command.
I'll never make a courtier. Look, Cañedo,
How do these silken slops become a frame
Worn gaunt in armor? Does this feathered cap
Droop o'er the ugly line my helmet fretted
Round my bald forehead? Can this chain and key
Cover my gashes? Or this slender staff
Bear the huge weight of my uncourtly limp
Through bows and cringes? Bah! I spat at fortune
When I forsook the wars.

Cañedo.
Despite thy “bah,”
One sees the wolf's teeth grinning plain enough
Through the sheep's fleece.

Cor.
Ay, there 's the curse of it!
But yesterday I had a boon to ask,—
I vow I asked it in my smoothest phrase,—
When, to my horror, Doña Leonor
Laughed in my face, and said, in her mild way,
“Out with your dagger, Coronel! The act
Would fit the voice.”

Cañ.
And thou?

Cor.
And I! I ran—
Broke through her maidens, like a hurricane
Through the rose-gardens of Granada—ran
To find a mandolin, and pitch my voice
Down to its finest note. Pray, hear me now,
In the sharp treble of my lady's page:
“Par Dieu,”—they say that 's French,—“I've found a band,
A pretty band of silk—par Dieu! I have;
And I have vowed to Mary and Saint James
To bind it on its ravishing abode,
Or die in treasuring it—par Dieu! I have!”
Which means, in simple speaking, I have found
A wench's garter, and would tie it on.
Fie! fie! it turns my stomach inside out,
To hear their lady-talk.

Cañ.
Such blows on hand,
While we are rusting here without a rub!
Moors flying pell-mell—Don Alfonso's spears
Combing their horse-tails out upon the wind—
Gibraltar's garrison with all its eyes
Fixed upon Africa, as on a goal—
The plague afoot too—Heaven at work with man—
Why death must caper like a harlequin!

Cor.
Ay, how I long to have my iron out!
Cañedo, just hold still, and be my Moor,
Until I break this stick across thy sconce.

[Breaks his wand over Cañedo's head.]
Cañ.
Thou dost not strike with the old force.

Cor.
I fear it.
Did I not hurt thee?

Cañ.
Not a whit.

Cor.
That's sad!
Had I my great Toledo, thou shouldst dance.

Cañ.
But had I mine?—

Cor.
What then?

Cañ.
I'd dance thee to
Much the same music.

Cor.
If thy sword agreed,
In length or temper, with that tongue of thine,
The Cid would shoulder over in his tomb,
To give thee room beside him.

Cañ.
Hold thy prate,
Or I may choke thee with thy governor's chain!

Cor.
Not till I 'd thumped thy mazzard with its key.

Cañ.
Saint Jago! but I'll teach thee—

Cor.
All thou know'st,
And after dub me fool.

Cañ.
Here 's sharper wit.

[Drawing.]
Cor.
It draws as sharp reply.

[Drawing.]
Cañ.
Now keep thy ward.

First Sentinel.
Good gentlemen!

[Advancing.]
Second Sentinel.
Keep back! the blood they shed
I'll catch in a tailor's thimble.

Cañ.
Art thou ready?

Cor.
For what?

Cañ.
To have thy throat cut.

Cor.
As thou art.

First S.
Are they not brave?

Second S.
Ay, as twin lions, boy:
They live to wrangle; they'll ne'er die for it.

(Coronel and Cañedo fight.)
Cor.
Cañedo, hist! look there.

[Drops his sword.]
Cañ.
Where?

Cor.
O'er the hill.

Cañ.
I am no hawk. What seest thou?

Cor.
An armed band
Topping the hill—a mass of moving steel—
The fore-guard of an army, if I know
A bodkin from a sword. Ho! ho! Cañedo,
Throw up thy cap! Gibraltar has been won,
And here comes King Alfonso with the spoils!
Turn out the guard, and saddle my dun horse;
I'll meet our sovereign on the way. Ho, there!
Shake out the yellow silk of old Castile!
Run to the outer wall, and make it blaze
With our bright hauberks and our lifted spears,
Until the very stones appear on fire,
While our bold trumpets ring in heaven's glad ear,
Its soldier has returned with victory!

[Drums. Exit Guard.]
Cañ.
Hast thou the plague?

Cor.
Ever, when thou art near.
Thou ugly budget of mortality,
Throw up thy cap! or, by the saints, I'll make
Thy cap and thee a fixture in the air,
By hanging thee for treason!

Cañ.
Well, hurra!
[Throwing up his cap.]
Behold thy sign in heaven,—an empty cap,
As thine is always.

Cor.
Hum! thy hair-patch fills it
With anything but wit. Go take the news
Of yonder march—for I'm in desperate haste—
To Doña Leonor.

Cañ.
I see thy drift:
Thou wouldst evade thy duties, governor.
O, fie! do courtesy by deputy?

Cor.
Now, my dear friend—

Cañ.
I'll face the devil first!
I hate a woman.

Cor.
They are quits with thee.
She may discover it as best she can.
I'll not be jeered at. There shall be no more
“Out with your dagger, Coronel,” to please
All the best dames of love within the land.
And yet I fear—

Cañ.
By Jupiter, thou 'rt right!
A peasant's honest drudge takes rank with me
Before the wanton of an emperor.

Cor.
Go in to thy command, and man the walls:
I'll mount, and gallop forth to meet the king.

[Exeunt severally.]

SCENE II.

The Same. The Great Hall of the Castle. Leonor de Guzman discovered seated in state, surrounded by Don Juan De Lara, Don Fernando de Villena, Don Tello, Courtiers, Knights, Ladies, Men-at-Arms, &c. Don Juan de Lara is in the act of investing Don Tello with a crimson Scarf, the order of “La Banda.”
Lara.
Arise, Don Tello, of the crimson band,
A noble knight, and brother in our arms!
I thus salute thee.

[Embraces him.]
Leonor.
And, I pledge my faith,
He shall prove worthy of the dignity.
I pray you, gentlemen, make way for me:
[Advancing.]
A mother's kiss should not be last to greet
The honors of a son. (Kisses Don Tello.)
Don Tello, know
This order was bestowed to spur thee on
To actions that may make thy worth appear
Equal with our bestowing. This fair badge
Is not an ornament for festal days,
A ribbon to enrich thy vanity,
But the illustrious mark by which Castile
Knows her great children, and can turn to them
With confident assurance of such deeds
As raised her glory to its present height.
Thy breast is girt as with a ring of fire:
An evil act within its circle looks
Prodigious to beholders, and draws all
To fix their concentrated eyes upon
The splendid criminal. Small flames on heights
Show further than great fires in humbler spots;
And they who see them from the vale below
Oft take a candle for a meteor.
Remember this; and fear thy slightest fault
May spread corruption through an empery.

Lara.
(Apart to Villena.)
Right royal that, and to the purpose, too:
Some one has told her of Don Tello's slips.

Villena.
(Apart to Lara.)
Ay, if a lance-head ever fray that band,
Charge me with scandal.

Lara.
Hark! there 's more to come.

Leo.
Don Tello, thy renown lies next my heart,
Close to thy father's. I have much to say;—
But no,—not here. A mother's privilege
Borders too near the sanctity of prayer
For public ears. Call the ambassador.

[Resumes her state.]
Flourish. Enter the Ambassador from the Rebel, Don Juan Manuel, with Gentlemen, Soldiers, Attendants, &c., bearing sumptuous presents.
Ambassador.
(Kissing Doña Leonor's hand.)
Lady, my lord salutes you with these gifts,
Rather as evidence of his good will,
Than as fit offering to your deserts.
The gods, who scorned the shepherd's sacrifice
Of curds, and wine, and bleeding throats of lambs,
Looked not unkindly on the worshipper,
Despite the simple service of his hands.—

Leo.
Pray you, end there. To offer mortal ears
That which becomes divinity alone,
Insults its majesty and our plain sense.
The power I hold is delegated trust
From the true centre of all power, the king.
If you have business that concerns the state,
I'll hear with patience; if you 'd deal with Heaven,
Carry your incense to the nearest church.

Lara.
(Apart to Villena.)
Mark the ambassador! That lofty stride
Tripped up his earthly progress.

Vil.
How he burns!
His throat is full of thistles.

Leo.
Is there aught,
Between Don Manuel and his majesty,
That our discourse may further?

Am.
Much, your grace,
But not intended for publicity.

Leo.
Speak out. The government deserves distrust
That stops the people's ears while it debates.

Am.
Your wishes are commands. Don Manuel,
Some time in arms against his sovereign,
Proffers his fealty to you, and swears
To be your liegeman on a single term.

Leo.
Name it. The king would stretch his clemency,
To make a friend of his illustrious foe.

Am.
'T is a condition pleasant to the king—
Or rumor lies for once in good report—
And honorable to her for whom 't is urged:
Simply, that Don Alfonso should divorce
That hag of Portugal—

Leo.
Sir, let me say,
That is no title in Castilian ears
To know their queen by. How now, gentlemen,
Is there no gauntlet down upon the word?
You downcast men, do you not blush to see
The spurs of chivalry upon your heels?
(Lara, Villena, and other Knights, throw their gauntlets before the Ambassador.)
There, on my faith, you see 't is raining steel!
Thou backward, Tello!
[He throws down his gauntlet.]
And, to crown them all,
Behold a prince's glove upon the heap!
Bear our defiance to Don Manuel;
And say, a word of treason is a spell,
To conjure up such loyal storms as this,
In our Castilian air. Your pardon, sir:
We check your lord, not his ambassador.
What follows this?

Am.
Your coronation, lady.
After divorcement of the queen, my lord
Would see the imperfect throne made whole by you.

Leo.
What say you, sirs? My lord of Lara, speak.

Lara.
I only may repeat the general voice,
Strengthened by sanction from the king himself.
Accept the offer, not as his alone,
But as the constant wish of all Castile.

Leo.
Speak, Don Fernando.

Vil.
Lara's choice is mine.

Leo.
My son, Don Tello?

Tello.
If they make me royal,
I'll fill my office with what grace I can.
Certes, if one held out a crown to me,
I should not put my hands behind my back.

Leo.
Thou art the frankest speaker of them all.
Ah, gentlemen, it is your private hopes
Of what may follow to yourselves, through me,
That hurries this advancement.

Lara.
You mistake,
At least in me, the object of our hopes.
Through you Castile would flourish—

Leo.
Has it not?
If naught's accomplished, nothing can I do.
I found this land an arméd wilderness,
A chain of citadels, and all between
Was desolation trampled into dust
By a fierce soldiery, who only brooked
The fiercer orders of their savage chiefs.
So, in the midst, I built a house of peace,
An unwalled palace, full of open doors;
And round about I spread a garden-plot,
Hedged it with flowers, and from its sculptured urns
I sent the streams back to their native heaven,
Returned in music. No defence was mine,
Save the imploring weakness of the flowers,
The scented dews my fountains scattered out,
And the light blushes of my garrison.
Yet at my gate War laid aside his spear,
And vines ran round it, from the hand-worn grasp
Up to the steely point, whence blossoms hung
Trembling with horror. Ay, the rugged god
Doffed his grim casque, and sat beside my feet,
Until I schooled him with the mandolin;
Or taught his awkward limbs to move apace
In other measures than the martial tread.
Are these things naught? These are my conquests, sirs;
And she who steps beyond her threshold's dust,
To play Achilles in her woman's gear,
Shall find the sword-hilt frets her dainty hand,
And the great helmet makes her forehead ache.

Lara.
Yet there are other duties of a queen,—
Calm government, the sway of useful days,
Bent on a nation's welfare.

Leo.
Ah! the hand
That takes a sceptre up, knows not how soon
The royal symbol must become a sword.

Am.
But, lady—

Leo.
Ay, sir, so much for myself;
Now for the weightier matters of the realm.
What are your master's ends in this affair?

Am.
I am his spokesman, not his confidant.

Leo.
Mark, how much nearer to his heart am I
Don Manuel fears Castile's advancing power
May crush the Moor, and win a general peace:
In which conjuncture, rebels like himself
Could ill abide our undistracted arms.
His safety hangs upon our foreign wars.
Divorce the queen, and on our western skirts,
Instant, insulted Portugal uprears
His warlike standard, in the queen's behalf;
While, from the south, the hordes of Africa
Again win footing on our weakened lines.
Then our new liegeman puts his oath aside,
With the same readiness he put it on,
And rises in our midst a dangerous foe,
Made more audacious by his treachery.
Say to your master that my lord, the king,
Treats with his rebels at the lance's point,
Nor ever recognized, nor ever will,
Don Manuel's right to treat by embassy.
Take back the trinkets you designed for me—
Don Manuel's needs will shortly ask for them;
And tell him, Leonor de Guzman loves
No title in the spacious gift of man,
Above the welfare of her native land.

Am.
Must this be final?

Leo.
Yes, sir; 't is the fruit
Of many a painful hour of solemn thought,—
Of many a struggle with a treacherous heart,
Whose passions threatened to be paramount.

Am.
Lady, with your reply my functions cease.
Now, as a gentleman of Spain, I say
That your refusal of this proffered crown
Rivals in splendor the ambitious gift,
And dims its jewels with your eloquent breath.
She who next wears the honors you put by
Must sit beneath you in real dignity.
Humbly I take my leave.

[Kisses her hand, and exit with his suite.]
(Solemn music, tolling of bells, and cries of grief, are heard.)
Leo.
What sounds are these
That so appal me, like the uplifted voice
Of direful prophecy?

(Enter Don Enrique and Don Fadrique, followed by Coronel and Cañedo.)
Enrique.
Mother!

Leo.
My son!—
And thou, twin brother to my eldest born!
The hour that made your difference in birth,
Makes none within my heart.

En.
Mother!

Fadrique.
Alas!

En.
O God! be doubly dear to us a while,
Or fate will crush us!

Leo.
Sons—Enrique—speak!
What is this mystery?

En.
Mystery! Would 't were so,
And not so plain before my shrinking soul!
Tell her, good brother.

Fad.
Didst thou speak to me?

Leo.
This cruelty is not usual with you, sons.—
The king, the king!—Where is your father?

En.
Look,
Through the wide casement, on yon mournful host!—
The trailing pikes—the furled emblazonry
Of our victorious standards—the bowed heads
Of veterans who behold each other's scars
Channels for running tears, without surprise—
The empty saddle—

Leo.
'T is thy father's steed,
Roderick, the last of the old Gothic strain;
Oft have I held him by his golden bit,
Against Alfonso's spurring.—

En.
Mother, mother,
Thou dreamest, mother. Wake! the king—

Leo.
The king?
Well, well, the king is ill?—is wounded?—Ha!
Where is the king?

En.
He's dead!

Leo.
No, no!

[Faints.]
All.
Dead! dead!

En.
Fadrique, loose her collar. She revives.
O, bitter waking to a world of woe!

Leo.
Some one—thou, thou, Enrique, was it not?—
Brought me a message from my lord the king.

En.
Many.—

Leo.
Thou dar'st not tell me he is dead?
Thou wouldst behold a helpless woman quake?
Such words are treason while the sovereign lives.

En.
Alas!

Leo.
And thou believ'st it?

En.
From these arms—
For there were few who dared confront the plague—
That mighty champion of Christendom
Took flight for heaven.

Leo.
Dear Lord! and is it so?
I feel somewhat bewildered in my mind,
And what I see is hardly in clear view,
Though I see much—much—much—

[Walks about wildly.]
En.
Awake, poor heart!
Nay, slumber on. Her smitten sense is numb,
And reason sits not upright on his throne.
But we, Fadrique, have beheld such things,
As might parch up the tearful eyes of grief
With flaming anger.

Fad.
Yes; and 't is no time
To stand before our fate with idle hands.
Mother, the liberty and lives of all
Whom thou call'st children are in jeopardy:
Inaction will undo us.

En.
Speak to us!
Dear mother, thou hast sorrows that pass cure,
But there are other wounds that need thy aid.

Leo.
What said your grace?

Fad.
The king is dead, good mother.

Leo.
Ay, I know that.

En.
And all the smothered hate
Of Alburquerque, and the wolfish queen,
Begins to darken in each face we see.

Leo.
Where is the king?

Fad.
Dead.

Leo.
Then what help have we?
Or what worse fortune can befall? Why, we
May sit and laugh, like beggars, in our rags,
At the rich trappings which men fear to lose.

En.
Such desperation would disgrace a man,
Yet it shows sweetly in thee, mother. I,
Who hold the duties of an eldest son,
Must not so far forget the blood I bear,
As to sit sobbing o'er my father's corpse,
While ruin seizes on his heritage.
Fly to thy order, brother. I believe
Santiago's banner can protect its master,
Until I rally our undoubted friends.
Tello, take horse—I need not bid thee spur—
And bear Fadrique company. Away!

Fad.
Thy blessing, mother.

Leo.
God protect you both!
[Exeunt Fadrique and Tello.]
Enrique, thou misjudgest: I am patient—
Quite patient—ready to be ruled by thee;
Only ask nothing may proceed from me;
Do with me as thou wilt.
(Solemn music. Enter Soldiers with the bier of King Alfonso.)
O heaven! my—sovereign!
Husband, I nearly said: but I'm a widow,—
Or was years since, before Alfonso's day,—
And the old term comes easily to my lips.
Besides, Alfonso loved that name from me,
When we were jesting.—Ay, that corpse could jest:
You would not think it, now, to look at him.
Forgive me, friends, for slandering your king.

En.
O mother, mother, put these toys away,
And bless the swords that must be drawn for thee.

Leo.
No swords for me.—Yet, dear Enrique, do
That which seems best, without a thought of me.
My lord of Lara, you were guardian,
Under the gracious orders of the king,
Of my poor person;—what would you advise?

Lara.
Shut up the castle. You have power enough
To bide a two-years' siege from half Castile.

En.
I like the counsel.

Leo.
Governor Coronel,
Shut up our castle.

Coronel.
Not till I am forth.
I have some pressing business in Seville.

Cañedo.
The only sane reply thou ever madest!

[Apart to Coronel.]
En.
Now, thou ungrateful traitor, were it not
For the most sacred presence of the dead,
I 'd buffet thee!

Cor.
Peace, bastard! you may have
Some fair occasion in an open field.

[Throws down his key of office, and exit, with Cañedo.]
Leo.
Our friends fall off with little shaking, son.
My lord of Lara, as our deputy,
[Offering the key.]
We here present our castle's key to you.

Lara.
Forgive me, lady: a neglected order,
Urging my instant presence at Seville,
Is two days old with me.

[Exit with Villena.]
En.
Return, false Lara,
And, on my father's bier, I'll offer up
Thy faithless body to his angry ghost!
(The Courtiers, Knights &c., gradually drop out, talking eagerly, and leave Leonor, Enrique, and the soldiers, with the body.)
You skulking villains, cannot you remain?

First Courtier.
I 'm most obnoxious to the plague, my lord;—
My father died of it.

[Exit.]
Second Courtier.
And mine.

[Exit.]
Third Courtier.
And mine.

[Exit.]
En.
Yet left the plague-spot in your very souls,
You nest of sickly cowards! Shame, sir knight!
I saw you win those rowels, that so ring
Disgrace behind you, in a battle-field!

Knight.
But not to lose them in a broil.

[Exit.]
Leo.
(Approaching the bier.)
Alack!
Blame not the leaves for falling with the trunk.
Here lies in death the noble tree from which
Castilian honor drew its only sap.
Alas! thy branches sheltered noisome weeds,
That sucked their living from thy generous roots;
And thou didst drop o'er them thy healthful dews,
And smiled, as if thou 'dst nurtured gentle flowers.
When such as he o'erturn, the world around
Is strewn with ruin. Son, depart at once:
Gather thy friends; or, shouldst thou fail, perchance,
Then, join me in Seville. My mind is clear,
And wholesome blood runs through my veins again.

En.
Mother, I'll keep with thee: there 's time enough.

Leo.
Where goes the body, friend?

Soldier.
Towards Seville.

Leo.
Thither go I. Alfonso, love like mine
Ne'er takes a parting e'er the shroud is on.
Faithful to thee, I followed thee through life—
Faithful, I follow through the shades of death!

(Solemn music. Exeunt Soldiers with the body, followed by Leonor and Enrique.)

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A Street in Seville. Enter a knot of Citizens.
First Citizen.
Her grand-aunt was a conjurer, and made—

Second Citizen.
An ass of you. I see no witchcraft there.

First C.
Why, you—

Third Citizen.
Be civil. Fair words are fair gifts.

First C.
I say, her grand-aunt was a conjurer—

Second C.
So are not you.

Third C.
Well, patience hears long tales:
But let us listen.

First C.
And she made, they say,
A magic girdle—

Second C.
Girth for her said ass—
Being a stumbling beast; and to the girth
She fixed a bladder full of solid lies,
That rattle, like the coxcomb of a fool,
Whene'er the said ass jogs.

Third C.
O! neighbors, neighbors,
Wit is a sword, and wrangling feeds the leech.

First C.
I heed him not.

Second C.
'T is not for lack of ears.
You are a foul kind of chameleon,
Who live upon the floating breath of slander;
You 'd go a journey to bring home a lie,
And be so fattened on it, e'er you came,
Your wife would scarcely know you. You pass life
In raking up such shreds of calumny
As none will own, things men cast out of doors,
With stealthy blushes: yet you treasure them,
And hang your filthy garbage in our sight,
As if the saints had worn it. Give report
Stamp base enough, and 't is your current coin;
While honest gold you smell at, and return.
You 'd believe Judas when he spoke in jest,
Yet doubt the true Apostles on their oaths.
If you had any seeds of goodness in you,
I 'd rake you over, but I 'd make them sprout!

First C.
Pray, have you done, or are you out of breath?

Third C.
Let Satan give instruction to his own.
An angry teacher trains a stupid school;
And so, farewell! Short partings give short pains.

[Going.]
Second C.
Well said, brown wisdom! I will give him o'er,
If you'll return. I'll miss your sentences;
They come like texts into a dull discourse,
Seasoning the matter with a taste of heaven.

Third C.
Thank you 's soon said. Our gossip's patient, too,
And that moves mountains.

Fourth Citizen.
Let us have the tale.

First C.
Nay, if he snub me—

Second C.
I will not, in faith.
Lie on,—I'll listen, if I can't believe.

First C.
Well, the grand aunt of Doña Leonor
Was an enchantress, and could make the stars
Go backward in their orbits.—

Second C.
Did she ever?

First C.
I know not; but she could.

Second C.
I'd have the proof.

Third C.
Apt swearers are apt liars.

Second C.
True, indeed;
I break my promise.

First C.
So, one night, she made
A wondrous girdle, from the inner skin
Of maiden's hearts that broken were of love.—

Second C.
A rare material!

First C.
Then she took the belt,
And held it o'er the infernal fumes, until—

Second C.
She sneezed, and dropped it in?

First C.
No, no, indeed;
Till it became invisible to all—

Second C.
That I believe.

First C.
Save her who wears it. And this girdle she,
In a dark hour, gave Doña Leonor;
Saying, its magic had the power to hold
In abject love whatever man she willed.
She chose Alfonso.—

Second C.
She struck high at once.
But why not choose him, ere he chose the queen?

First C.
The belt was not then fashioned.

Second C.
And they say—
Let me take up your story—that at times,
In the full moon, when fools are very rife,
This magic girdle presses her about,
And doth so burn her with infernal flames,
That she cries out, in direful agony—
Curses her aunt, as if she were no kin,
And says— [Pauses.]


All.
O, Lord! what says she?

Second C.
Things like this—
“I can tell asses, if I hear them bray!”
Who shall want audience for a silly tale?
The loveliest woman on Castilian earth,
The gentlest dame that ever drew our air—
She, the epitome of excellence,
The flowering top and glory of her sex—
She to be rated as a sorceress,
By filthy rascals whose best breath would be
An insult to her presence! Get you home,
And grind your knee-balls to the very bones,
In thanks to her, and prayers for your base selves!—
Foh! you are odious.

[Exit.]
First C.
There 's a fellow for you!—
A very infidel, who scarce believes
In sorcery itself. The rude-tongued fool!
Would I had throttled him! This comes, I trow,
Of home-bred ignorance. I 've been to Rome—
Ay, and to Paris—where I 've seen more witches—
Real sturdy witches, young and old, forsooth—
Burnt at the stake, upon a holiday,
Than I have fingers to these fellow hands.
I tell you, one time—

(Enter a Citizen hastily.)
Fourth C.
What 's the news, good friend?

Fifth Citizen.
Gibraltar is surrounded by the king,
And must surrender ere another week.
The plague has broken out—

All.
The plague! the plague!

Third C.
Who told you so?

Fifth C.
One from Gibraltar.

All.
(Running from him.)
Ha!

First C.
Out of our sight! thou villain, as thou art,
To speak with clean men! Take thy plague away,
Or we'll fall on thee!

Fifth C.
I am sound.

First C.
Thou liest!
Thou 'rt one great sore.

Fifth C.
Indeed, I feel not well.

Third C.
Caution 's a famous doctor: I'll be off.
Better go laughing, than remain to weep.

[Exit.]
Fifth C.
Pray, friends, assist me! I 've a burning pain
Across the temples, and—

All.
The plague! the plague!

First C.
Thou desperate wretch, to issue from thy house
In this condition! Bear thy malady
Back to thy wife and children, like a Christian.
Nay, if thou 'lt not be going, I'll away.

[Exit with the others.]
(Reënter Second Citizen.)
Fifth C.
O! I shall perish!

[Lies down.]
Second Citizen.
What's the matter here?
Ill, and no creature nigh! What is it, friend?

Fifth C.
I tell you frankly, sir, because you speak
From a kind heart, I have the plague.

Second C.
Poh, poh!
You 're clean as snow. I feel no fever here.—

Fifth C.
'Sdeath! do not touch me!

Second C.
What an eye you have!
Clear as a sunbeam. Let me see your tongue.
Thou move compassion by thy false disease—
Stir a man's heart to pity by thy groans!
Thou arrant beggar, art thou not ashamed
To face detection?

Fifth C.
On my life, I feel
A deal improved by your encouragement.
[Rises.]
The pain has left my head.—

Second C.
Not yet a while;
Thou 'lt feel it shortly. (Strikes him.)
Has the fit returned?
Impostor—counterfeit—sham plague!

[Beating him.]
Fifth C.
O!—O!

Second C.
I'll teach thee to act Lazarus in the streets,
For my annoyance! Get thee to thy home,
And play thy pranks before thy intimates;
Or I will cudgel all the flesh from thee,
And drive thee homeward in thy naked bones!
Out, thou flea-bitten, verminating rogue!

[Exit, beating him out.]

SCENE II.

The Same. The Throne-Room in the Alcazar, meanly furnished. Enter Don Pedro and his Page, in poor attire.
Don Pedro.
Offered thee alms!

Page.
Fair alms, a silver crown,
As I was standing at the palace-gate,
Sunning my rags. It would have moved your mirth,
To have seen the dews on Leonor's long lashes,
As she held out the coin, and murmured forth—
“Poor boy!”

Don P.
But when was this?

Page.
A month ago,
Ere she departed.

Don P.
What was your reply?

Page.
A simple bow. For, seeing my best hose
Was somewhat airy, and my doublet's sleeve
Needed a patch, to keep my elbow in,
My cap a roof, to keep the weather out,—
Seeing that crowns, with us, are not so rife
As figs in August,—seeing no one saw,—
I made my bow, and slipped the silver piece
Into my bottomless pocket; whence it slid
Down my rent stocking, without accident,
And firmly settled in my tattered shoe,
From which I drew it.

Don P.
By this merry light,
I'm followed by a beggar!

Page.
Please your grace,
I am the only beggar fool enough
To do such following.

Don P.
Marry, that is truth!
No lighter, though, because it turns a jest.

Page.
If nothing happen, master, we shall starve
Before we reach another crown.

Don P.
In sooth,
I am sick of jesting. Let us fly my hawk.

Page.
The ragged tercel that takes all our wealth—
My rent-roll and your princely revenue—
To keep in sparrows? Master, we'll retrench;
Sell our gray hawk, and buy a hobby-horse.
I'll dance the morrice, and you'll ride the horse,
With an alms-pipkin at your saddle-bow.
Why, come, this looks like living!

Don P.
Leave thy jests,
Or I will fit thee with a cap and bells!

Page.
'T would puzzle you. Besides, I like your offer;
The coxcomb covers many a better head;
And 't is my right. Am I not jester, cousin,
Page, Chamberlain, grand Usher of both wands,
Master of hawks, and Keeper of the robes,
Purveyor of the forests and the floods,
Lord Treasurer, chief Cup-bearer, the Guard—
Captain and soldiers—navy, and what not,
All crammed in one, and salaried at two pence,
In legal coinage of our father's realm;—
Both pennies payable—when I can get them?
Answer that question.

Don P.
Thou 'rt a silly boy;
And I scarce better, for indulging thee.
Here comes the queen, my mother. Look, your tongue
Be on its guard, or you may lose its use.

Page.
And Alburquerque, with his ugly head
Scheming and plotting for the sorry body
That cannot hold it upright. There 's a man
Who'll crawl in hell, if he may strut on earth;
Who sees our nature through his darkened soul,
And charges mankind with more infamy
Than priests impose on Satan. Mark, your grace,
Here 's Alburquerque to the life. (Mimics him.)
Don Pedro,
Go not abroad; there 's a danger in the wind.
Lie not abed; sleep leagues with murderers.
Eat not, nor drink; for so is poison taken.
Smell not a rose; I 've known them venomous.
Stay here with me; and let me tutor you
That all God's blessings really are but curses,
In pleasant masquerade; and that—

(Enter Doña Maria and Alburquerque, behind.)
Alburquerque.
Well, boy!

Page.
Well, man!

Alb.
Go to! you 're pert.

Page.
Not I, my lord:
I only told my master what a world
You and the devil would have made of this,
Had you but shaped it, and not heavenly art.

Alb.
Sirrah!—

Doña Maria.
My lord, leave Pedro to his page:
My son has spoilt him.

Alb.
I'll remember though.
Conspiracy doth cackle in that egg;
'T will walk full-feathered shortly.

Doña M.
If the king—

Alb.
Beseech you, madam, walk aside a step;
The page may overhear us.

Doña M.
No, my lord!
About my wrongs I will be loud enough,
For heaven cries with me. Would that all Castile
Might turn its ear upon its queen's distress,
Till silence, horrified at what it hid,
Found tongues to echo me! Look round you, here:
Know who I am, Queen of Castile and Leon—
Wife to a king, and daughter to a king—
Whose earliest hours knew naught but royal state,
Whose toys were crowns and sceptres, whose young feet
Tottered along the carpet of a throne,
Or slept among its pillows; who was taught
To hold myself a sacred thing, apart
From the pollution of humanity—
A something, stationed between God and man,
Nearer divinity than dust;—then say,
This fiction of a crown, this dearth of power,
This squalid court, this cold neglect, this want
Of the surroundings that belong to me,
Fit the bare title which is mine by right
Of Heaven's bestowing, by my royal birth,
By marriage, and by general consent!

Alb.
Madam, I do not.

Doña M.
No, nor this alone.
Forget my rank, and call me only wife
To a Castilian gentleman; then judge
If there 's a hind, within the scope of Spain,
Whose amours match the shameless insolence
Of Don Alfonso's! Sins like his are done
Under the wicked covering of night,
Or hid in caves and dens from blushing day;
But he—he puts his crown upon his guilt,
And makes it pompous in his regal robes,
Sets up its statue in the market-place,
And calls the world to witness! These things glare;
They are not sobered with a mere regret.
He ranks his haughty bastards in my sight,
Beggars the state to give them revenues,
Commands and titles; while the sole command
He lays on Pedro is to call them brothers!
You, sir, are learned in vices; tell me, now,
Is there his mate in all your histories?

Alb.
Your grace, the actions of a sovereign
Look not to history for precedent,
Nor recognize the rules of private men.
A king—

Doña M.
May turn mankind to hypocrites,
Throw down the barriers between right and wrong,
And root heaven's kingdom from the earth!

Alb.
O, no!
The Church has virtues—

Doña M.
Which it keeps at home,
For fear their fashion has run out of date!
When has the Church took cognizance of this,
Or crooked its finger at the king or her?
That witch of Guzman—pah! it scalds my tongue
To spit her name out—has kept open court,
More dazzling than the Persian's brightest dream,
Crowded with suitors, over-run with wealth:
A place where honor brought his golden spurs,—
Naught valued till they glittered in her eyes,—
Where poets sang, where orators discoursed,
Where learning trimmed and lit his patient lamp,
Where art drew inspiration from fair lips,
Where warriors showed their scars, where gentle peace
Nestled in luxury, where Fame, herself,
Stood, as upon the summit of a hill,
And thence took flight towards heaven. Ah! sir, 't was here
The Church so placidly laid by its cross,
Its austere brow, its awful book of laws,
And entered, gambolling like a reveller,
With looser jests than it could find within.
Thou hear'st this, Pedro?

Don P.
Yes, with sorrow, mother.

Doña M.
No, no; with fury! for thy mother's blood
Burns hot in thee; and all the memories
Of twenty years are smouldering in thy veins,
Against the day of reckoning. When thou 'rt king,
Dole out thy mercies like the summer's dew,
But pour thy vengeance like the winter's hail;
And on these bastards, and their hated dam,
Fall in consuming fire!

Page.
There 's good advice!
Quite motherly and queenly, and designed,
No doubt, for furtherance of the general good.
Would I were old! The coming generation
Have more before them than they reckon on.

[Aside.]
Doña M.
Speak, Pedro, speak!

Don P.
I may do wrong, perhaps,
Out of the nature which belongs to me;
But, on my soul, I will not meditate
My crimes beforehand.

Doña M.
Art thou son of mine?

Alb.
Beware! you tamper with a brand of fire;
Look, at which end you grasp it.

[Apart to Doña Maria.]
Doña M.
True, in faith!
The fruit must ripen ere we press its juice.
[Aside.]
My lord, you had some tidings of the king;
Lay them before us. Lo! I take my state,
Queen of Castile and Leon! (Sits upon a low stool.)
Is it well,
Ha, Pedro? Gentlemen, keep back the press!
Our loyal people crowd so thickly on us,
We have scant breathing-room! Ha! ha! 'fore Heaven,
I can be merry with my misery!
[Laughing.]
Say on, Don Juan.

Alb.
The old news renewed:
Battles and Moors, but always victory.
The infidel holds Spain by one bare rock,
And that seems shaking. Ere the week be out,
We may have tidings of Gibraltar's fall.
There 's little fighting; for the plague has raised
His spotted banner 'twixt the hostile camps,
And both stand still before him, all aghast,
Owning the coward.

Doña M.
Should the plague—Well, well,
I trust the king is—well?

Page.
'T was uttered ill.

[Aside.]
Alb.
Quite well, and confident of victory.

Don P.
Would I were by his side!

Doña M.
Thou, thou, indeed,
A lawfully-begotten son of mine!
Thy birth doth lack the charming quality
Of sinful love. Wert thou a bastard, now,
A brat of Guzman, thou shouldst bear a sword,
And buckle thee in steel, and back a steed;—
Haply, to knock thy legal brother's brains
Out of his crown, some day!

Don P.
O, mother, cease!
This heartless jesting is beneath thy rank.
Come, comrade, let us to the fields again;
The fields have better counsel than the court.
God's breath comes to us on the straying gales,
And whispers peaceful love to us, and all.
There 's something wrong, something at war with Heaven,
In man's society: I know not why,
But still I feel it.

Page.
I could weep a year.
My jests are over, for to-day at least.

(As they are about going, enter a Messenger, hastily. Don Pedro and the Page return.)
Alb.
What news?—what news?

Messenger.
The king is dead.

Doña M.
(Starts up.)
Ha! ha!
[Laughing.]
My hour has come, at last!

Don P.
O, heavens!

[Weeps.]
Page.
Kind saints!
Is that the way our wives receive our deaths?

[Aside.]
Doña M.
Ha! ha! [Laughing.]


Alb.
Dear madam!—

Doña M.
Shall I not laugh out?
This is the hour I 've waited on for years.
For this I bore his insults, and the mock
Of public pity. 'T was for this I bore
My lady Leonor's magnificence,
Her smiles, her nods, her very company—
And did not send my dagger through her heart!
I knew just Heaven would grant it in good time,—
I prayed for it,—and it has come at last!
Shall I not laugh! [Laughing.]


Page.
Does not the devil too?

[Aside.]
Doña M.
Pedro, my son, awake!

Don P.
I am an orphan!

Doña M.
So are the bastards! let that comfort thee.
There 's not a cobweb 'twixt us and our foes.
Now strike! while they are stunned with feeble grief;
And let the blow that blinds them, clear thy sight.

Alb.
Madam, I pray you, leave the king to me;
I'll bend, but you will break him. [Apart to her.]


Doña M.
Yes, the king—
All hail, King Pedro! Thank you for the word!—
I shall go crazy!

[Walks about.]
Page.
Here 's a pretty school
To put a child to! [Aside.]


Alb.
Please, your majesty—

Don P.
The king is dead! [Weeping.]


Alb.
The office never dies:
And it behooves your grace to look abroad,
And see what ground your kingdom stands upon.
I would not urge it, at a time like this,
Were not your kingdom's peace embraced in it.
The sons of Leonor have great estates,
Peopled with warlike vassals, and their mother
Is of a subtle wit, and used to rule.
They'll not go down without a sturdy tug;
And down they must go, or you cannot reign.

Doña M.
Listen, my son.

Don P.
I hear. Let me begin
My novel sway by striking close at hand.
Madam, I charge you, on your loyalty,
To hold my father's memory in respect.

Doña M.
He never loved thee, Pedro.

Don P.
The more cause
Have I to mourn his early taking off:
Time and good actions might have won his love.
Mother, be decent in thy widowhood,
Or I may grieve thee.

Doña M.
Pedro, speak not thus,
With knitted brows and gloomy threats, to me.
Thou art the only thing I truly love.
Through all the sorrows I have passed, thy voice
Was solace to me, and thy growing form
Consoled the dwarfish aspect of my fate.
Thou canst not tell what I endured, to reach
The triumph of the hour that makes thee king—
What anxious days, and what unslumbering nights!
But with my love for thee, another passion—
Sustained by all I saw, or heard, or thought—
Grew side by side; a deadly, blasting hate
For Leonor de Guzman and her brood
Of upstart bastards! Render them to me—
'T is the sole boon I'll ever claim from thee;
Make me their destiny, as they have made
Thy mother their chief victim.

Don P.
Madam, no!
Her children are my brothers, and her fate
Rests on the future actions of her life.

[Walks up with Alburquerque.]
Doña M.
Curse him, just Heaven, and make his mercy turn
To ceaseless torment! May his brothers be
Traitors to him, as he has been to me!—
Gall in his goblet, nightmares in his sleep,
Goads to his crimes, and clogs to his good deeds;
Till restless anguish arm his desperate hand
With fratricidal fury! Grant it, Heaven!—
Nay, gracious saints, undo my impious curse!
My wrongs have maddened me. O, Pedro, Pedro,
Fate chose my bitterest moment from this hour!

Don P.
(Advancing with Alburquerque.)
If 't is your thought that Doña Leonor
May raise the horrors of a civil strife,
'T were prudent you restrained her liberty,
With due respect.

Alb.
O, yes, your majesty,
With due respect.

[Laughs aside]
Doña M.
Will she to prison then?

Alb.
(Drawing Don Pedro aside.)
Besides, I could not answer for her care,
Were she at large. The queen will now have friends,
And friends have daggers, and—

Don P.
No more of this.
Take you her guardianship.

Alb.
As for her sons,
They may be trusted till they show their teeth.
I'll have my spies about them. 'T were not well
To start with too much rigor, till we know
What power we wield. For harshness, please your grace,
Might swell the faction 'gainst yourself, by those
Who now stand neutral, balanced either way,
And easily won by clemency. The mass,
In all great kingdoms, is composed of such;
And parties feel it, when it wills to throw
Its mighty weight into the doubtful scale.
[Don Pedro yawns.]
I weary you?—I see I do, your grace—
Pray, do I not?—I tire you with these things?
If I do not, I miss my own design. [Aside.]


Don P.
'T will be your interest to uphold the throne
Through which you rule; therefore, I trust to you.

Alb.
(Bowing.)
Sage boy! [Aside.]


Don P.
Retain the powers my father gave,
Yet breathe my childish mercy through your acts.
I seem to be the only mourner here;
Let me go grieve.

[Walks apart.]
Doña M.
She will to prison then?
O, bless my fortune, that had this in store!

Alb.
Ay, and forever. See how policy
Wins, piece by piece, that which your heady force
Could never compass. Madam, you must be
More circumspect and gentle with your son.
I know his nature, and can mould its wax
To any shape you purpose. But take heed
Of sudden passions, and displays of wrath.

(Enter Coronel and Cañedo.)
Doña M.
Whom have we here?

Alb.
Alonzo Coronel,
Welcome! What brings you to Seville?

Coronel.
My lord,
I come to be enrolled among your friends.

Alb.
The tide has turned. (Apart to Maria.)
Sir, your alacrity
Is your best commendation. Were you not,
Some time, the Guzman's governor?

Cor.
I was,
Till duty taught me where allegiance lay.

Cañedo.
Poh! how you talk! 'T was simply thus, my lord:
He flung his key at Doña Leonor,
Called Don Enrique bastard, and ran off.
There 's a short story!

Alb.
Its reward shall come.
We here create you lord of Aguilar,
Giving the flag and cauldron of a Don,
With all the privileges of Rico Hombre.

[To Coronel.]
Cor.
Cañedo, this o'ertops the Guzman's wall.
[Apart to him.]
I brought my friend, too—an unsightly thing;
But, then, my lord, I brought him not for show—
As my best offering. He can bite and hold,
A very wolf in battle.

Cañ.
If that be
The character you give before my face,
Heaven save my back, Alonzo!

Alb.
I accept him,
At your good word, and will provide for him.
Who 's governor now?

Cor.
Lara refused the charge.

Alb.
Ha! Lara? This is golden news!

Cor.
And mark,
The lord of Lara following its report.

(Enter Lara and Villena.)
Alb.
Welcome to both! Good gentlemen, your speed
Is cheerful notice of your fair intents.
(A number of Courtiers, Knights, &c., assemble at the back of the scene.)
Madam, the bees are swarming. (Apart to Maria.)
We have need
Of faithful men to fill our offices.
We take it as an honor that such names
As Lara and Villena can be placed
Topmost upon the ranks of government.

Lara.
Thanks, Alburquerque! Though our motives be,
As you may rate them, selfish at the base;
Yet while your government has power to stand,
By our joint efforts, we shall not fall off.

Alb.
Your candor pleases me. Madam, behold,
How one short hour has changed the face of things!
These moths, that flutter round our brightening lamp,
Are, singly, little but mere silk-spinners;
Yet, by a skilful knitting of their work,
I'll form a cable that shall hold Castile
Fast at our anchor. Smile, for Heaven's sake, smile!
Sunshine costs nothing, and its gift may bring
Abundant harvest. [Apart to Maria.]


Doña M.
Smile on these, too, sir?
(Enter Leonor de Guzman and Don Enrique.)
Would that my eyes had venom in their light,
And every glance had power to slay a host!
You should not lesson me in smiling, then,
Even on these. How now, thou sorceress,
Has witchcraft failed thee? Dar'st thou set thy foot,
Insolent minion, in our very court?

Enrique.
Madam!—

Leonor.
Enrique, give me leave to speak.

Doña M.
What, thou wouldst whine of love to King Alfonso,
Gloss o'er thy sins with lying rhetoric,
And set heaven blushing at the gifts it gave!

Leo.
No, madam, no: though something might be said,
Of how the holy law of mutual love
May wipe the slander from a life like mine.
Not for myself I come. The fatal day
That took Alfonso turned my eyes from life,
And the tame hum and bustle of the world.
The hours that lie between me and my grave
I count, as one who waits some great event
Beside a dial, and would urge the shade
That towards his hope creeps tardily along.
Doña Maria, it is not with you
I would discourse, but with his grace, the king.

Doña M.
Doubtless, thou crafty trickster, not with me,—
Who traced thy winding courses, year by year,
Marking each footstep with some wrong of mine,—
But with the king, whose unsuspicious mind
Needs my sad talisman against thy arts.
Thus, as his mother, I arise between
Thy guilty purpose and his gentle heart!

Leo.
I have no purpose but to intercede
For King Alfonso's children; and the voice
Of nature, pleading louder than my own,
Shall win Don Pedro to his brothers.—

Doña M.
Shame!
Hast thou the impudence to call thy crew
Of vipers brothers to my son?

Leo.
Ay, madam,
Haply, if you were honest with the king.

Doña M.
Ha! lady, art thou of so keen a wit?
Arrest her!

En.
(Drawing.)
He who touches but her garb,
I'll hew to atoms!

Alb.
Folly has run mad.
Madam, your—

Doña M.
Treason! Cut the bastard down!

(Alburquerque rushes back to Don Pedro. The Courtiers draw and advance on Leonor and Enrique.)
Don P.
(Mounting the throne.)
Forbear! I am the sovereign in Castile!
And till your treason root me from my seat,
You who thus jet shall flourish under me!

(Courtiers uncover, and fall back.)
Alb.
(To Maria.)
Here is a sermon on my text, your grace.
This headlong course will run you out of breath:
Excessive anger is the blindest thing
That e'er sought vengeance. Patience, patience, madam!
Wait till the reins are fairly in our hands,
And the state ambling gently under us;
I'll show you tricks, then, when the king 's not by
I'll strip these Guzmans for you, root and branch.
But you must smile—a very heavenly smile—
Or shed a tear or two, perhaps, while they
Lie at your feet, and wither in your hate.
Begin, begin!

Doña M.
Don Pedro, pardon me.
The open insult of my fellow-queen—
She who was reigning while I staid at home,
To rock your cradle, and to suckle you—
Moved me a little. And besides, my liege,
There are some years of suffering on my brow,—
Pray, mark my lady's, it is very smooth,—
And some harsh lines of silver in my hair,
While hers is glossy with untroubled ease.
The rose has burned to ashes on my face;—
Yet lives again in her transparent cheek.
She can go through her fingers, and record
A loving child upon each dainty tip;—
I have but one, and he forgets to love!

Don P.
Mother, thou wrong'st me. For the love of grace,
I prithee lay this bitterness aside,
Sweetening thy nature with more holy thoughts.
Enrique, brother, I will not suppose
You are unmindful of the love we shared
In great Alfonso's heart; nor that one grief,
For his untimely loss, together binds us.
While you preserve allegiance to the king,
You shall not suffer for the brother's love.

Leo.
I humbly thank your grace; and to your care
Commit your father's children.

Doña M.
(Apart to Alburquerque.)
Shall she triumph?

Alb.
Can she stop time, or stretch this lucky hour
Out into doomsday?

[Apart to Maria.]
Don P.
My lord Chancellor,
To your safe-keeping we confide the person
Of Doña Leonor. And see no harm
Come to the lady, in whatever shape,
On pain of our displeasure; nor such rights,
As by the law have been allowed to her,
Be now denied her.

En.
How is this, my lord?

Alb.
Reasons of state forbid the liberty—
At least, the perfect liberty, I own—
Of Doña Leonor. His majesty
Fears somewhat for his mother's jealousy,—
Sir, there are knives and poison in the land,—
[Whispers.]
And, therefore, gives her to my custody.

En.
I can protect her, if 't is that you fear.
I like it not. Don Pedro, you undo
Your royal mercy.

Alb.
Condé, be content;
You shall be free to come and go to her.
We do not mean this for imprisonment.

En.
And so you gild the cage! Ah! sir—

Leo.
My son,
Bow with obedience to thy king's command.
It matters little where I dwell to me,
Still less to all the world. Thy liberty
Is warrant for my safety.

En.
Let but a hair—
Look, Alburquerque, what I say to you—
Let but a hair be rent from that fair head,
And I will—

Leo.
Thou art passionate. My lord,
I must intrust my person to your charge;—
For, to be frank, I see no fair escape.
Lord Alburquerque, we are not new friends,
We have met often; and I understand
Your wily policy and cunning turns,
Almost as well as you who practise them.

Alb.
Ward, this is somewhat bluff.

Leo.
But true, my lord.
My children's welfare rests upon my hands,
And I must rise, with all my weight of grief,
To wait upon their fortunes. Be but true,
And I will meet your candor with like truth;
But should you practise on me, art for art,
And scheme for scheme, shall meet you everywhere.
I shall be jealous of your guardianship,
And give the king a fair account of it,
By ways you cannot see.

Alb.
(Aside.)
Ha! ha! my lady,
This looks like brisk employment! Brain to brain
We'll fight our battle: I'll outwit you, though;—
Trust me for that.

Leo.
Don Pedro, many thanks,
For the great kindness you have shown to me,
Now, in my ebb of fortune. Let me be
Among the first to hail you on the throne.—
Long live Don Pedro, King of fair Castile!

All.
Long live the King of Leon and Castile!

[Flourish.]

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Same. A State-Apartment in the same. Enter Doña Maria and Alburquerque.
Doña Maria.
School me to patience! Make me one of those
Who pander to the Guzmans' growing power!
My lord, you promised me their overthrow;
And while your promise kept its aspect fresh,
I waited—none more patiently—till time
Should fill the crescent which I kept in view.
What have you done?—Heaped wealth unlimited,
New offices, new honors, new commands,
Upon my foes; until the blazonry
Of your additions has so charged their shields,
As almost to conceal the left-hand bar.
This is your work, and this is my revenge!

Alburquerque.
'T is the beginning. You have seen a hawk
Mounting the heavens, to strike his rising prey;
When does he wheel, and make the fatal stoop?
Not while his quarry towers above his head,
But when his wing has won the upper place;
And the tired heron, shuddering with affright,
Sees the sharp beak and talons of his foe
Poising between him and the blue of heaven.
The Guzmans rise, but we rise faster, madam,
To overtop them in their venturous flight.

Doña M.
Words, words! you give me naught but pretty words,
And I ask deeds.

Alb.
You'll have them ere you think.
Look at the state in which I found Castile!—
A kingdom veined and arteried with plots,
Flowing and ebbing, crossing and recrossing,
Through every corner of her wide domain.
Here Lara, whispering of the royal blood
That came to him from the tenth king Alfonso;
There Aragon, full of the sweeping claim
Of its Infanté, nephew to the king,
Your former husband.—Here was cause for strife!
But add to this, a hundred haughty lords,
Shut up in towns and castles, with demands
Upon the crown that grew as days went by.—
Not to forget the Moorish war, bequeathed
By your great husband to his only son.
Madam, this net-work cramped me, hand and foot,
Till I burst through it. And I tell you now—
Even while I hold these elements in check—
That if King Pedro die, or I but slack
My rigid grasp, Castile shall see a storm,
To which mere chaos would be harmony.
Why, let the boys of Doña Leonor
Strut, fume, and threaten, if they do no more.
I'll be the first to find them gilded coats,
Until I choose to strip them to the bone!

Doña M.
There seems some reason in your policy.
And yet my—

Alb.
Reason! good lady, were that all!
If plain, blunt sense could compass my designs,
I'd go to bed at noonday. But the king,
He must be pleased with hunting-shows and games,
Or vexed with tangled matters of the state,—
Talked with and mystified; until for love
Of present pleasure, or disgust with rule,
He flings his crown into my ready hands.
Then, Don Enrique must be found new toys,
Before the old ones weary. Even now
He scours the country, drumming up old friends,
And mustering new allies. And I—poor I—
Must rack my brain for some fresh dancing-jack,
To keep him quiet.

Doña M.
And the mother, sir?

Alb.
Ay, ay; I know not what her grace is at.
The marriage of her eldest son, I hear,
With Don Fernando's sister.

Doña M.
So, indeed?
Juana shares her prison, and Enrique
Visits it daily.

Alb.
I must look to that.
The Guzman is Juana's guardian,
By King Alfonso's order, and Biscay
The ward's fair portion. Hum! Biscay—Biscay!—
A dangerous foe, and a fast friend. That land
Breeds natural warriors; the children, there,
Teeth on a sword-hilt. I have only given
Titles and gewgaws, no effective power;
But this Biscay is very solid stuff.—
They shall not have it. Here is more to do:
Wheedle Fernando, threaten Leonor,
And gain possession of Juana. Gods!
I am both minister and harlequin,—
Head to the state, and jester to the court!
Did not the king, Alfonso, pre-contract
Enrique with Juana?

Doña M.
Surely, sir:
There was some stir when he betrothed the two.

Alb.
I had forgotten.

Doña M.
I have not. 'T is one
Of the grave matters in my long account
Against the Guzman. 'T was a holiday,
By the king's order, when the deed was sealed;
'T will be a fast-day ere 't is ratified!

Alb.
Right, right! Here is Fernando—Lara too.
(Enter Lara and Villena. Maria retires.)
Well met, my lords! Lara, a word with you.
[Takes him apart.]
There 's a new faction making head, they say,
With claims no humbler than the crown itself—
Your crown, perchance—the crown which you may wear,
If Pedro die without an heir. In sooth,
The king is sickly; and Castile, I trow,
Would ne'er accept a king from Aragon.
Look to it, Lara.

Lara.
What new plot is this?

Alb.
The Guzmans'. Trastamara and Fadrique
Are busy marshalling their chiefest friends,
And spreading rumors, that Alfonso willed
The crown to them, among the multitude.

Lara.
Upstarts!

Alb.
Yet powerful. Would it not be well
To counterplot among their friends, and crush
The seeds of treason ere they take firm root?

Lara.
It would, indeed. I will about it straight.

[Going.]
Alb.
I'll tell you more, anon.

Lara.
Thanks, thanks!

[Exit.]
Alb.
That bee
Will buzz in Lara's brain for many a day.
He and the Guzmans will have merry times,
Among themselves, while I look on and laugh.
[Aside.]
Ah! Don Fernando, 't is a joy to me
To see your smiling features in the court.
Your sister favors you—and, by the by,
Where is that lady?

[Taking him apart.]
Villena.
With her guardian.

Alb.
Her guardian?—who, sir?

Vil.
Doña Leonor.
Her dismal prison, to my sister's eyes,
Is the bright spot of Spain.

Alb.
It is a pity—
A grievous pity! For the king should see
Those charms, the churlish maiden hides from him.
He must be married.—Well, well!—

Vil.
Did you say
The king designs to marry?

Alb.
Not to-day.

Vil.
My sister is betrothed to Don Enrique.

Alb.
A very grievous pity!

Vil.
Why, my lord?

Alb.
His star seems waning. He will scarce out-live
The many schemes he is so apt at framing,—
Rebellions, murders, and what not.

Vil.
Good Heaven!
Is he a traitor?

Alb.
'T is a pity, though!
I chose your sister as a proper maid
To bring beneath the notice of Don Pedro.
In sooth, I might have pushed her excellence
Some steps before the others. Well, you say
She is betrothed; of course, that ends it all.

Vil.
My lord—

Alb.
I'll not detain you.

Vil.
If you mean
Your choice fell on Juana, as our queen,
I see no obstacle—

Alb.
Nor I, forsooth:
Who could be worthier?

Vil.
She shall come to court.

Alb.
That would require a deal of management:
For Doña Leonor can keep her ward,
By the Castilian laws, against us all.
Ask the king's warrant.

Vil.
That I will!

Alb.
And, lo!
Here comes his grace to grant it.

(Enter Don Pedro from hawking, with a bird upon his fist; accompanied by Enrique, Courtiers, Falconers with hawks, &c.)
Don Pedro.
Pray you, brother,
Give me your hawk. He is a gallant bird;
How close his feathers lie! and what a spread
Of wing he makes in his audacious flight!
There is a head becomes its feathery crest
More than black Edward's; and his sinewy neck,
Lithe as a serpent's, joins his arching chest
Without a break. Mark, how assured a grip
His talons take upon my glove! Your hand,
Cased in a gauntlet, could not pinch me thus.
Give me the bird.

Enrique.
It flatters me, to think
I can bestow a favor on your grace.
'T is only quittance too.

Don P.
O! marry, yes;
He slew my falcon. Alburquerque, hark!

Alb.
Your grace?

Don P.
Your gift, the great Burgundian hawk,
Was but a haggard, after all your praise.
This is my brother's bird. I'll tell you, now,
How your Burgundian suffered. For a wager,
As to which hawk could strike the quarry first—
Mine or Enrique's—we both cast them off.
But the shrewd heron slipped between the two,
Dropped like a stone, and left the rivals there,
Facing each other, in their topmost flight.
A while they paused, and then, 'gainst nature, rushed
Grappling together. 'T would have moved your blood,
Had you but seen the feathered warriors tilt!
Beak threatening beak, and talon locked in talon,
Wheeling and darting, striking and retreating,
Like two brave jousters at a course of spears,
While through the air their riven armor fell
In feathery clouds. Now, your Burgundian hawk
Waged battle nobly; then, anon, he turned,
Turned like a craven—had he flown to me,
I would have wrung his head off—turned and fled!
But Don Enrique's falcon closed, and struck,
Straight through the coward's gorge, a deadly blow!
“Foul!” cried I; “Fair!” Enrique cried; and while
We stood there wrangling, down fell Burgundy,
Headlong, to earth!

[Laughs.]
Alb.
A battle royal, sire!
Worthy the great spectators.

Don P.
Tell me, now—
You store your beauty in your country house—
Who was the fair one that reclined upon
Your window-ledge, as we rode forth to-day?
Par Dieu! I heard strange music in the air,
And smelt new odors, as I gazed upon
That wonder, sitting in a haze of light,
Which seemed to eddy with my whirling brain,
And bring a most delicious sickness o'er me.

Alb.
Unless your grace may mean my grandmother,
Who thinks her charms but ripen with her years,
I have no other female, save my ward,
Maria de Padilla,—a fair girl,
As women go in this world.

Don P.
Wondrous fair!

Alb.
(Aside.)
Nibbling already! When the time is come
That I must look you up a lady-love,
To keep your grace from ogling my Castile,
Maria shall succeed the hawks and dogs:
But hawks and dogs must serve you yet a while.

Vil.
Your grace, a boon! I ask my sister—

Alb.
(Aside to him.)
Hist!
Wait till Enrique goes.

Don P.
Your sister, how?

Vil.
I must reply. (Aside to Alburquerque.)
She is the ward, your grace,
Of Doña Leonor, a prisoner now,
And, therefore, not a guardian capable
To fill her duties. I demand Juana,
Both as her brother, and by right of law.

Don P.
These are high words.

Alb.
(Aside to Villena.)
Shrink, shrink, or lose your suit!

Don P.
Is not Juana de Villena free
To come and go, without restraint or dread?

En.
Brother—

Vil.
Your grace—

Alb.
Your highness—

Don P.
Gentlemen,
This may be zeal, but 't is not courtesy.
Enrique, speak.

En.
He has a brother's eye
To some rich lordships in Biscay.

Vil.
And thou—

Don P.
Now, by the light of heaven, you quarrel here,
Here, in our presence! Don Fernando, think
Where you are standing; and remember, too,
He whom you “thou,” with impudent contempt,
Is brother to your king!

Vil.
I pray your grace—

Don P.
No more! There 's many a door to the Alcazar,
And till your sister may see fit to walk
Through one of them, she 's welcome to remain.

En.
I thank you, brother.

Don P.
Thank Castilian law,
To which we bow, with the same reverence
As does the poorest subject in our realm.

Alb.
Abandon all, and trust your cause to me.

[Apart to Villena.]
Vil.
Needs must,—and so forth.

[Aside.]
Don P.
Ho! break up the court!
This scene distempers me. Your arm, Enrique.
I am not well.

Alb.
Room, for the king—room, room!

[Exit Don Pedro, supported by Enrique, with all the others except Doña Maria and Alburquerque.]
Doña Maria.
You'll never govern him. My son complained,
And I must follow.

[Exit.]
Alb.
A headstrong colt, I own—
A very devil to resist the spur;
And yet he may be managed by a hand
That feels the bit with caution, and applies
His rages to his rider's furtherance.
Yes, I can ride him; for one simple reason,—
He cannot find his way unless I guide.

[Exit.]

SCENE II.

The Same. A Prison-Room in the same. Leonor de Guzman alone.
Leonor.
A change from my gay court, a sorry change!
Yet what is life but changes? And would not
Life's sweetness cloy, without its bitterness?
The ebbs and flows of being keep its tides
Fresh on the surface, while the central soul,
Like some volcano of the under sea,
Boils on forever—on, though storm or calm
Rule o'er the outer and apparent flood—
Setting its streams of thought, now here, now there,
In purifying motion. I oft think
That they whose lives seem calmest to the view,
And most unmarked by fortune's varying stamp,
Have most turmoil within. For, were it not,
Mere want of action would unstring the mind,
And settle idleness in idiocy.
So let me think, though every thought of mine
Move with a shadow of remembered grief;
And in my prison, like the close-pent brain,
Be still the power that gives free sinews work.
I have an influence on the world beyond;
And I, who nothing hope from earth's desires—
I, whose sole hope beacons across the grave—
I, who stand calmly, waiting for God's breath
To waft me towards him and his royal guest,
The great Alfonso—I indeed should be
A mighty instrument for others' good.
Therefore, while life is mine, my sons shall have
The best of me.
(Enter Juana de Villena.)
Good-morrow, gentle daughter!
May I address thee thus? This pretty hand
Was pledged to my Enrique.

Juana.
And there rests,
In maiden widowhood.

Leo.
One faithful heart,
One miracle of nature, in our midst!

Jua.
Madam, the heart is sorrowing that the hand
Cannot keep faith.

Leo.
Thou 'rt melancholy then?
Thou lov'st the Condé?—thou would'st marry him?

Jua.
I said so once, with all my strength of soul,—
I have not altered since.

Leo.
Then get thee ready;
Thou shalt be married ere the sun go down.

Jua.
I doubt.—How can I doubt? Your uttered word
Has ever carried the command of fate.

Leo.
I am quite serious. See, Enrique comes!
In faith, I feel a mother's jealousy;
I never know to which of us he comes.

(Enter Enrique.)
Enrique.
Mother!

[Embraces her.]
Leo.
Here 's one who has a sweeter claim.

En.
Forgive me, dear Juana! I have much
That will concern you both. Your brother vows
To tear you from us, dearest.

Leo.
And the king?—

En.
Will not consent.

Leo.
Then she shall not go hence.

En.
The king is ill. A sudden malady,
Of swift and dangerous seeming, struck him down
As he gave audience. All is in confusion,
And each man speculates upon his death.
The rival claimants for the doubtful crown—
Parties of Lara and of Aragon—
With factious haste, are almost up in arms.
Let them get up, and we'll begin to stir.

Leo.
Heaven spare Don Pedro!

En.
Frankly, so say I.
Just now, our friends are scantily prepared
To push our fortunes. Fight or fall we must,
Should Pedro leave us.

Leo.
True. He stood our friend—
Who had most cause to fear us—with a strength
That made his boyish port heroical,
When the whole court was thirsting for our blood.
Heaven save Don Pedro, therefore! Now, my son,
Should the king die, before thy marriage-rites
With fair Juana have been solemnized,
Thou 'dst miss thy bride.

Jua.
Let me retire.

[Going.]
Leo.
Come back,
Thou arrant runaway!

Jua.
Indeed—indeed—

Leo.
Indeed, indeed, thou art a very woman!

[Laughing.]
En.
Gentle Juana, do I frighten thee?

Jua.
O! no, my Lord.

En.
Why dost thou fly me, then?

Jua.
I do not know.

Leo.
I do. Nay, tremble not;
Our sex's secrets are quite safe with me.
But, to be plain, your nuptials are in peril,
And, with all secrecy, must be performed
Before the day be older. Fashion it
To suit yourselves.

[Exit.]
Jua.
Nay, now, do you come back.

En.
She 's gone, and left thee to thy direful fate,—
Alone with one who loves thee! Sweet Juana,
How does my mother's purpose seem to thee?

Jua.
To me? How seems it to your lordship?

En.
Nay,
How seems it to your ladyship? A sigh!
It seems to me the summit of my fate,
The spot from whence I look on happiness,
As on a pleasant land, from some great hill;
Just when the Spring is freshest, ere a leaf
Curls with the yellowing Summer; while the fruit
Is folded in the blossom, and a sun,
Rich with the humid promise of the year,
Looks through the hazy air, and wraps the whole
In dreamy quiet. Dearest, if our lives
Assume no brightness from this point of view,
Let us turn atheists; for love was given
As a foretaste of what the saints enjoy.

Jua.
More than my ear finds rapture in your words.
Ah! sir, this eloquence may tire some day,
Or the sweet lips that utter it for me
May keep it for another.

En.
Dost thou croak?
Has the mild dove changed voices with the raven?
Here 's that at which my lips will never tire.

[Kisses her.]
(Enter Alburquerque and Villena, with Attendants.)
Alburquerque.
Caught in the act!

En.
Ha! sir, do even you
Break on my mother's privacy without
A customary warning?

Alb.
I'm short-sighted,
But, pray, is that your mother? What a blush!

[Laughing.]
En.
Is it a privilege of prime ministers,
To offer insult wheresoe'er they please?

Alb.
Forgive me, Condé, I am somewhat gay;
'T would be self-cruelty to stop my humor.
Doña Juana, you must come with us.

Jua.
Why should I come?

Alb.
(Shaking a paper.)
I 've warrant why you should.

En.
Don Pedro's order?

Alb.
Ay, sir.

Villena.
Sister, come:
You should not harbor with this base-born tribe.

En.
You are her brother, and may wag your tongue
Without my notice.

Jua.
Dear Enrique, no!
I will not leave for all the kings on earth.
As my betrothed, and a Castilian knight,
I charge you to protect me from these men!

En.
While I have life. Without there!
[Draws.]
(Enter armed Attendants.)
Gentlemen,
The odds are not so great.

Alb.
Arrest them both!
In the king's name, I order it!

[His party advance.]
En.
Stand back!
You that come on so lightly, beat retreat,
Or we will drive you!

Alb.
Forward, for the king!

[Draws.]
(As the two parties engage, enter between them Leonor de Guzman.)
Lenor.
What means this clamor? In my lodgings too!
Do you, sirs, claim to be half civilized,
Or are ye but a pack of wolves? Put up!
Think ye I ne'er saw weapons bare before,
That you would daunt me? What, Lord Chancellor,
Are you the foremost in your own disgrace?
For honor's sake, explain!

Alb.
I have a warrant—

Leo.
First let me read it; then I'll understand
Your motive in this most disgraceful brawl.

Alb.
I have a warrant from Don Pedro, madam,
To claim the person of your ward, Juana.

Leo.
And I would read it.

Alb.
An hidalgo's word
Is proof enough.

Leo.
That very much depends
On the hidalgo.

Alb.
(Aside to Villena.)
Damn her cunning! 'Sdeath!
We 're trapped already. Understand, I said
I'll have a warrant—

Leo.
Get your warrant first,
And take the lady after. Sir, I know
Each turning in that crooked brain of yours;
There 's not a labyrinth so full of guile,
In all your mind, but I have tracked it out,
From its least issue to its turbid source.
Give up your treachery, at least with me,
And take to downright violence at once.
Here I, a guardian by Castilian law,
Stand on my rights as a Castilian dame:
Now let the proudest lord within the land,
Unbacked by orders from the throne itself,
Abide the conflict! On this outraged spot,
I'll see my household butchered, one by one,
Ere I will yield a tittle of my rights!

Alb.
We are dismissed. 'T were best to go at once.
[Aside to Villena.]
[Going, he turns back.]
I'll have the warrant, though, or lose my head,—
Ay, and die talking!

Leo.
Of all things but heaven.
Ah! you shrewd schemer of iniquity,
Look that the prodigal plots you send abroad
Do not return from feeding with the swine,
On husks and offal, to offend their father,
While he is sitting in prosperity
Among his kindred!

Alb.
Look you, I will have
The warrant!

Leo.
You shall have the lady, then.

Alb.
Heaven speed you! We are entered in a race;
One or the other shall trip up ere long.

[Exit, with Villena and Attendants.]
Leo.
Now for your marriage! There is not a moment
So small, within our reckoning of time,
That is not crowded with a thousand checks
To us and our design. Some one of you,
Seek out my chaplain, with your greatest speed
[Exit an Attendant.]
Enrique and Juana, deck yourselves
For the blessed rites. I will forgive the haste
Your toilets may betray. Speed, speed, my loves,
And not fine raiment, is our great need now!

[Exeunt.]

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Seville. The Plaza Real. Parties of Soldiers and armed Citizens cross the stage; some crying “Lara!” some “Fernando of Aragon!” others “Trastamara!” Enter Coronel and Cañedo.
Cañedo.
Heavens! what a hubbub!

Coronel.
I have stood in breaches
When the air hissed with shafts and javelins,
And rang with voices of the engineers
Cheering their comrades at the thundering rams—
When furious swords were hammering horrid din
On shield, and helm, and hauberk—when great walls
And lofty turrets, with incessant crash,
Strewed shuddering earth with ruin, far and near;—
I 've heard the thunder-clouds, among the hills,
Roll as if some Titanic monster drove
His ponderous car across their rocky tops;—
I 've heard the bellowing ocean send his tides,
Goaded to madness by the hurricane,
Full forty fathom up the groaning cliffs,
Until his spray salted the stooping clouds;—
I 've heard a woman scold—heard thee blaspheme—
Have dreamed of hell, and chaos, and such things;—
But never, since I pricked an ear at sound,
Heard I the clamor of this frantic town!

[Shouts within.]
Cañ.
I'll be as crazy as the best of them.
Castile for Lara!

Cor.
Ho! for Lara, ho!
Yell, yell, Cañedo—yell him to the throne!

Cañ.
Now, for my part, I like a quiet fight;
I 'd rather split a head than split my lungs.

[Shouts within.]
Cor.
Hear how they roar! (Enter a Soldier.)
The newest news, good friend?

Soldier.
The king is dead.

[Exit, hastily.]
Cor.
That all? I thought the devil
Was dead and buried, and his fry broke loose.

Cañ.
I'll bet he lies.

Cor.
Doubtless. The knave 's too wise
To speak the truth without some provocation.
Yet, for all that, die young Don Pedro must,
If death's grave heralds, the Sevillian doctors,
Are to be trusted in their mystery.

Cañ.
Our side is best.

Cor.
For once thou 'rt in the right.
Lara is nearer to the crown than they
Who start their adverse claims.

Citizens and Soldiers.
(Within.)
Ho! Lara! Lara!

(Enter Lara and Villena, followed by a crowd of Citizens and Soldiers.)
Lara.
O, curse his treachery! That faithless wretch,
Sly Alburquerque, has deserted me,
And sides with Aragon.

Villena.
His reason 's plain;
You 're in Seville, and Aragon at home.
'T is time the traitor wants—time, only time.

Lara.
Curse, curse his baseness!

Cañ.
Lara for Castile!

Cor.
Leave off thy yells, and take to curses, friend;
Thou seest 't is the new fashion. Curse Don Juan
Alonso de Alburquerque, by each name
He got at baptism!

Cañ.
Ay, ten million curses
Hunt him to death, and make him peaceable!
I'll swear his present life has little ease.

Cor.
Is the king dead?

Vil.
Not dead, but dying fast.

Cor.
Lara for king!

Lara.
You side with us, brave sir?
What shall we do?

Cor.
Seize on the crown, of course;
And when you have it on, let Aragon
But reach to pull it off.

Vil.
Sound counsel, uncle;
For were the crown in hand, we 'd strain a while
Ere you should lose it.

Cañ.
To the palace, then!
Long live King Lara! What 's his christian name?

[To Coronel.]
Cor.
Juan—thou block!

Cañ.
Long live King Juan! Shout!

All.
Long live King Juan!

(Enter a crowd crying, “Aragon!”)
Cañ.
Let 's begin our work
By cutting these knaves' throats.

Cor.
Well thought of, faith!
Room for the king, or we will tread you down!

(The crowd shouts, “Castile for Aragon!”)
Cañ.
Ho! forward, then!

[Draws.]
Cor.
Long live King Juan! On!

[All draw.]
(As the opposing parties are about to engage, enter Don Pedro, supported between Alburquerque and another Nobleman, followed by Knights, Attendants, Guards, &c.)
Alburquerque.
Back! you who hold allegiance to the king!

All.
(Uncovering.)
The king! the king!

[They fall back.]
Don Pedro.
What shouts were those we heard?
Who cried, “King Juan,”—who cried, “Aragon,”—
While I, King Pedro, reign?

[Staggers.]
Alb.
(Supporting him.)
It was not you,
My lord of Lara, certainly not you?
You are too modest—if I know your lordship—
To bellow treason in your own behalf.

Lara.
It was not I.

Alb.
Nor Don Fernando, either;
His head is too well set upon his neck,
To wish it off. Hey, Coronel?

Cor.
'T was I.

Cañ.
And I, so please you.

Cor.
(Aside to him.)
Hush thy stupid noise!
Keep thy thick tongue away from my affairs!
Hearing his grace was dead, and loving so
The kingly office, for his royal sake,—
As widows who lament a husband's loss
By marrying another,—we bethought us
That 't was high time to have another king.
Finding the lord of Lara close at hand,
We, boiling over with our loyal mood,
Cried him for king, with the best lungs we have—
Much in the fishwives' manner.

Cañ.
(Aside.)
There 's a lie
To whiten Judas!

Alb.
So you—Ha! ha! ha!
[Laughing.]
You are the boldest beggar in Castile!
Pardon these men, your grace,—because, your grace,
We dare not slaughter them—that 's all.

[Aside to Don Pedro.]
Don P.
We do.

All.
Long live King Pedro!

Don P.
(Aside to Alburquerque.)
I am very ill;
Take me away, or I shall swoon.

Alb.
Bear up!
Swoon, and your crown falls off.

Lara.
What ails the king?

Alb.
Naught, naught. Your treason has afflicted him;
He hides upon my neck his gracious tears.
Lean hard on me, your grace. [Aside to Don Pedro.]
His grace's health
Is quite restored, thank Heaven! though he—stand firm!— (Aside to Pedro.)

Is somewhat weakly yet. Get to your homes,
I pray you, sirs. I'll send the royal guard,
To scour the streets, and shut the rebels up.
My resolution cheers your faithful hearts;
I see it in your faces. Go, sirs, go!
[Exeunt all but the king's party.]
'T is over, please your grace.

Nobleman.
The king has swooned

Alb.
Back, to the palace! As you go along,
Spread out your mantles, to conceal his grace,
And bear him gently through the private door.
Should any question you, your best reply
Were to knock out the asker's brains. Away!—
Gently; forget not, in your haste, you bear
All Alburquerque's treasure in your arms.
[Exeunt with Don Pedro all but Alburquerque.]
What a brave tool is that young king of mine!
How he rends treason, when my hand directs!
There 's Lara over, spite of all his noise;
The other curs, that only barked at him,
Have slunk away before my bolder tread,
And peace is slumbering o'er the quiet town,
Dreaming of bright to-morrow. Dreams and hopes,
That steal away the life of silly man—
The sleeping and the waking vision—which
Is idler, falser, and less oft fulfilled?
Now brooding Night has turned the downy side
Of her dark wing upon this peaceful hour,
And all the world seems drowsy for repose.
Perhaps, to-night, even prime ministers
May sleep their time out. I will home, and try.

[Exit.]

SCENE II.

The Same. A Room in the Alcazar. Enter Doña Maria.
Doña Maria.
Must the whole purpose of my life be lost,
Because a wilful boy is obstinate?
Must all the passions which my wrongs evoked,
To shape my destiny, subside again
Without their natural issue? I am naught,
There is no leading motive to prolong
My aimless days, unless I find revenge.
No heart-struck wight so ached to bless his eyes
With the fair creature who bewildered him,
As I to see the justice which is mine
Rush to its consummation. I have gazed
Upon revenge, until it seems a thing
Holy as thoughts of heaven; and sure it is
Justice, not vengeance, to the eyes above.
Suppose I kill her? with my own true hand
Sweep her from earth? What could Don Pedro do?
Murder his mother? Well, and what of that?
He could not call the Guzman back to life;
And I 'd die laughing. Ha! 't is a new thought,
Yet good and tempting. Could I reach her, now,—
Find some occasion. The Alcazar's doors
Are shut against me. I must think of this.
Ha! ha! it would be rare!—with my own hand!

[Laughing.]
(Enter Alburquerque.)
Alburquerque.
There, madam, that 's the courtly face I like!
How well a smile becomes you!

Doña M.
But you, sir,
Are not the blest occasion of my smile,
Your heart must tell you.

Alb.
At the Guzmans still!

Doña M.
No, no; a happy train of gay ideas
Gathered in one, and burst into a smile.
Had you your enemy beneath your foot,
Feeling with one hand where his heart beat most,
While in the other gleamed your naked brand,
Quivering with eagerness to end the deed,—
Would you not smile?

Alb.
Most likely.

Doña M.
Ay, you 'd grin
With all the beauty of a tickled fiend.

Alb.
My beauty thanks you.

Doña M.
When will you bestow
The vengeance I demand, not as a grace,
But as a sacred right?

Alb.
Patience, a while.

Doña M.
Patience forever! thus you put me off.

Alb.
These Guzmans—by the by, well thought!
I'll get my warrant. Sickness has destroyed
Don Pedro's power to battle with my voice.
I talk him mad. He 'd give the whole broad earth—
Throwing Castile in, as of no account—
For one short hour of peace. I'll get my warrant.

Doña M.
What warrant?

Alb.
To remove the Guzman's ward
Here date the birth, too, of your own revenge.
Don Pedro mends. A month will see our power
Flooding Castile; and as we rise in height,
We drain the Guzmans dry. Another month,
And I will force them to rebellious acts,—
To open treason, and defiant arms.
Another still, shall see them at my feet,
Grovelling, and spurned! I hate her with a hate
You cannot add to, nor abate, one jot.
Your hate is honest, therefore harmless, lady;
But mine is deadly, and would crawl and crawl,
Through patient centuries, so that, at last,
It might bound up and sting! There 's my whole heart;
Make what you please of it.

Doña M.
You 'd rival me
In my dear purpose? She is mine, I say,
And I will have her! See you keep your hands
From scorching, by this meddling in my fires!
Sir, you presume to take upon yourself
The part of principal, whom I designed
Only as instrument. Could I suppose
That there were one to share my hate with me,
To take my vengeance from my rightful hands,
Feel all my triumph,—by yon heavenly light,
I 'd turn to loving Leonor, and stand
A shield and falchion between her and harm!

Alb.
Are you quite sane?

Doña M.
I know not that I am;
But this I know, I'm jealous in revenge,
And I will overreach you. Look you, sir,
If she must die, to glut an enmity,
'T is for my cause alone.

Alb.
Forgive my zeal.
I thought my hatred to your life-long foe
Would please you well.

Doña M.
It does not please. You raise
A puny cause, and equal it with mine.

Alb.
'T is very strange!

Doña M.
Hate with a heart like mine,
And 't will be strange no longer.

Alb.
Hatred, then,
Has jealousies like love.

Doña M.
Like everything
That takes a sole possession of the heart.
While you were working towards my private ends,
I trusted you—nay, urged you to the task;
But, now, you rise and call the thing your own:—
Hence, I abjure you!

Alb.
'T is a curious light,
Thrown on the morbid passions of the mad:
For that the wearing process of her wrongs
Has driven her mad, I see no way to doubt.
[Aside.]
Well, madam, take her—I concede to you
All right and title in your Leonor—
Take her, God bless you, and be happy!

Doña M.
Ha!
You 'd cozen me? I see it in your smirk.
You think me crazy? I am sane, good sir,—
Quite sane enough to counterplot your snares.
I'll make you own, Lord Chancellor, ere long,
That all the craft of statesmanship falls short,
When its divided interests must contend
With one lone passion of a woman's heart.
Farewell! I ask no counsel, seek no aid:
One of us twain shall have a laugh at this!

[Exit.]
Alb.
She 's raving mad, I'll swear it on the mass!
Another wild enthusiast to watch—
Another human thing to check and turn,
And hold and loosen, and so overthrow.
The Guzman 's mine!—Why, I'm as mad as she!
There 's something solid in her lunacy,
Something that finds an echo in my heart.
The Guzman 's mine, for all. Well, well— (Enter Coronel.)
How now?

Coronel.
My lord—

Alb.
Why, so was Lara yesterday.

Cor.
He 's dead.

Alb.
Thank God!

Cor.
Villena, too.

Alb.
More thanks!
You see how Heaven is fighting for Castile!

Cor.
Their deaths were sudden.

Alb.
The less pain.

Cor.
Some say—

Alb.
I poisoned them?

Cor.
'T is said.

Alb.
They wrong my office;
Now I am minister, I use the axe.
Your news is better than your scandal, sir:
For it I'll make you the king's Cup-bearer:
More such, and I'll divide my place with you.

Cor.
I'm not ambitious for a crown of thorns.

Alb.
(Starting.)
Right! you are strangely right! The crown is mine,
The glory mine,—perhaps, the shameful death.
Right, Coronel!—You heard?

Cor.
Nothing, my lord.

Alb.
'T were wiser you did not. Thank Heaven, again,
For all its bounties to our fair Castile!

Cor.
(Aside.)
I mar these sweet devotions. Ha! ha! ha!
[Laughing.
That holy thought keeps wretched company.

Alb.
What said you, Coronel?—a crown of thorns?
You are chief Cup-bearer—remember that.
I must go watch the Guzmans. Farewell, sir.
[Exit Coronel.]
A crown of thorns!—Right, very right, indeed!

[Exit slowly.]

SCENE III.

The Same. A large Hall in the Same. Leonor de Guzman and Enrique discovered. Enter an Attendant.
Leonor.
No tidings of my chaplain?

Attendant.
None, your grace.

Enrique.
To catch priests, mother, thou must fish with bait,—
Fat livings, or fair maidens—

Leo.
Shame! for shame!
Thou takest old scandals for new truths, Enrique.
It is too much the fashion of our age:
But, son, remember, he who jests at things
Held sacred by the body of mankind,
Insults the dignity of man, and sets
His flashy jokes above our grandest thoughts.

En.
I meant but little.

Leo.
Doubtless: yet thou 'dst claim
A place in wisdom over all thy race,—
Past, present, and to come. Go forth again,
And push your search with busy secrecy.
[Exit Attendant.]
Perhaps the chaplain keeps away through fear.
I 've spent a goodly time in argument,
To overcome his scruples at the rites.
Naught but the contract, with the royal seal,
Will satisfy him: that I have mislaid.

En.
'T is the first mention thou hast made of it:
I have it, mother.

Leo.
Heaven be praised! where, where?

En.
Close, at my lodgings.

Leo.
Fly, and bring it here.
How blind was I, not to have questioned thee!
Time has slipped by—most precious, precious time—
While I consulted with myself.—O, fly!
[Exit Enrique.]
And so Enrique had it all the while!
This comes from self-dependence. Over-trust
In our own knowledge is an ignorance
More perilous than modest diffidence,
That doubts and asks, and from a child, perchance,
May hear replies that daunt philosophers.
I searched the world for that which lay at home,
Formed secret plans to ferret out this deed,
When a mere opening of my thought-pinched lips
Was all I needed. We consume in thoughts
That are the tattle of the market-place;
And our best wisdom, after all our toil,
Is but the world's, in rounded sentences.
Who 'd thought Enrique—Well, I'm wiser now;
An open heart is a sage counsellor.
Juana!

(Enter Juana de Villena.)
Juana.
Madam!

Leo.
It has come, at last,—
The wedding-day, I promised long ago.

Jua.
And every day since then.

Leo.
Thou 'rt peevish.

Jua.
No:
'T is the first pledge you ever left unfilled.
Madam, I love you, and can pardon more
Than that which lies not in your power to give.
Yet if I doubt the baffled promise now,
I blame this prison more than you, dear lady.

Leo.
(Kissing her.)
Thou 'rt a sweet maiden! but we'll see, we'll see.
This prison—true, it has perplexed my will;
Yet even those doors can never shut out hope.
I keep the freshness of my mind untouched,
Fill these close chambers with my smiles, and wake
A ready music in the vaulted roofs
With pardonable laughter. Dear Juana,
Had they not prisoned me, I should have sunk
Beneath Alfonso's death; but sufferings,
That were disjointed from my deeper grief,
Roused all my strength to beat them back again.
I thank my enemies for this, at least.

(Reënter Enrique.)
Enrique.
Here is the parchment.

Leo.
(Reading.)
All in proper form.
In to my heart, and nestle in its warmth!
Once more, Juana, don thy wedding-clothes,
And wait my call within. Enrique, thou
Stand on a moment's warning to come forth.

En.
We have observed this form for many a day;
Yet, as it pleases, we will play it o'er.

Leo.
To-day my heart is whispering success.

(Enter Attendant.)
Attendant.
Your chaplain, madam.

[Exit.]
Leo.
Ha! In, in, my loves!
The sun is shining on your brightest day!
(Exeunt Enrique and Juana. Enter the Chaplain.)
Do not prepare thyself with shrugs, and frowns,
And signals of distress. Good father, look,
Here is the deed! 'T is signed by King Alfonso,
Witnessed by all the ministers, and sealed
With the armorial castles of the realm.
Thou doubt'st? Hast thou betrayed me?

Chaplain.
Daughter, no:
Yet there are fears, not only for the Church,
But thee, who'll be the chiefest sufferer
By this concealed affair.

Leo.
Think not of me.
If by this deed I made a sacrifice
Of the few days which Heaven designs for me,
Think'st thou not, father, I would through with it,
Though every step were nearer to the grave?

Chap.
Indeed, I fear—

Leo.
Fears are no guests of mine.

Chap.
Yet for thyself.

Leo.
My children are myself:
I have no care beyond my family.
I know the weight and moment of this deed;
It may exalt Enrique to a crown—
Ay, even to a crown: and as for me,
Father, it can but kill; and if I feel
No fear of death, his common sting is gone.

Chap.
I will consent.

Leo.
O, bless thee!—Hark! I hear
A cat-like foot-fall in the corridor.
[Drops on her knees.]
Father, I do confess, I have much wronged,
(Enter Alburquerque.)
In spirit, that good man, Lord Alburquerque.
I do confess—

Alburquerque.
What farce is this?

Leo.
My lord,
You see me at confession. Pardon me;
My sins are heavy.

Alb.
I can witness that.

Leo.
Your evidence will never reach the court
I shall be tried by. In a moment, sir,
I'll be at leisure.

Alb.
Here 's some villany!
I'll try her, though.

[Aside and exit, dropping his handkerchief.]
Chap.
Daughter, arise! he 's gone.

Leo.
A moment, father,—bear with me a while.
I do confess, I 've had suspicious thoughts
Of good Lord Alburquerque—
(Reënter Alburquerque suddenly.)
Ah! I knew it!

[Aside.]
Alb.
I dropped my—

[Looks around.]
Leo.
Wits, my lord?

Alb.
Hum! Still on her knees:
A pious sight! (Aside.)
My precious handkerchief:
A love-gift, madam.

[Picks it up, and abstractedly begins tearing it.]
Leo.
And you treat it thus!

Alb.
'Fore Heaven! you 'd best not mock me!

[Going.]
Leo.
Mock you, sir?
Do I offend?—Nay, stay, my lord. Have you,
Or any of the courtiers, seen my son?
Pray send Enrique to me.

Alb.
(Aside.)
So it seems
I have outrun suspicion. Should I see
The Condé, madam, I will be your page.
Something is wrong here. Could I trust my nose,
I 'd say that I smelt treachery in the air.
I'll not neglect you long,—be sure of that.

[Aside and exit.]
Leo.
(Springing up.)
Now, father, haste! Juana and Enrique,
Come forth! My promise is well-nigh fulfilled.
(Reënter Juana and Enrique.)
On, to the chapel!

Chap.
For thy sake alone,
I made my opposition.

Leo.
Say no more,
But get about thy duties. I'll stand guard.
Gather my household, as you go along,
And take them in as witnesses. No words;
Words are the clogs of action.
[Exeunt all but Leonor.]
Ha, ha, ha!
[Laughing.]
Good Alburquerque, if you knew of this!
O, gracious Heaven, what if they murder me!
Why, let them strike! I 've done a deed to-day,
With which Castile shall ring for years to come.
What is my life to my Enrique's love,
And blessed tears upon my memory?
Already, in my fancy, I can see
A shadowy crown that binds his regal brows,
And deepens, slowly, till its form becomes
Substantial matter, blazing with great gems,
And all the royal symbols of Castile!—
(Reënter Alburquerque.)
Ha! vulture!

Alburquerque.
Fresh from the confessional,
You re-begin your naughtiness. Alas!
Continued penitence must pre-suppose
Continued sin. I fear such penitence
Is Satan's stale temptation to new guilt.
Ward, I must keep your soul in stricter charge.

Leo.
A man may enter the infernal gates
With proverbs on his lips. You are a bee
That hives its honey for another's use.
My lord, is Don Enrique found?

Alb.
He 's here.

Leo.
Indeed? I see him not.

[Laughing.]
Alb.
O, fie! my lady,
Is childish trifling the best wit you bring,
To meet at our joined issue? For my part,
Being no ready jester with my tongue,
I put my jokes in writing. Look you, now,
[Shows a paper.]
Here is the substance of my thoughts,—the warrant,
Signed by Don Pedro, which I promised you.

Leo.
(Reading.)
Did the king sign this?
And must Juana be withdrawn from me?
You use me harshly. Must she go to-day?

Alb.
Upon the instant. For Don Pedro thinks
Such wide possessions as Juana holds
Are dangerous wardships in a subject's hands.
A treacherous guardian might employ her wealth
For private objects, without fear of loss,—
In treasons, plots.—I see you understand.

Leo.
The king thinks thus?

Alb.
And, therefore, has resolved.

Leo.
A wise young king!—both wise and resolute!
They say his wisdom 's at his elbow ever,
Not in his brain, where common wit abides.

Alb.
Where is Juana?

Leo.
At her prayers, my lord.

Alb.
This is a prayerful house.

Leo.
I'll summon her.

Alb.
Yes, and at once. For since her brother's death—

Leo.
Her brother's death! Poor soul! she knows it not.
How fell it, sir?

Alb.
Through lack of life, they say.
Bring her, and you shall hear.

Leo.
Miguél!

(Enter an Attendant.)
Alb.
I'll go.

[Going.]
Leo.
(Preventing him.)
Nay, nay, my lord, you'll keep me company.
Miguél, you'll find my ward, engaged in prayer,
Within the chapel. After she has done—
You understand me?—after she has done,
His lordship fain would greet her. As you go,
Close all the doors, and make their fastenings tight.
[Aside to him.]
(Exit Attendant, closing the doors.)
So much I hold the church's offices
In my respect—

[Noise without.]
Alb.
(Starting.)
I heard a bolt shoot.

Leo.
—That,
Taking the liberty—

Alb.
You talk for time:
Your face betrays you. Cope with me, forsooth!
There 's some vile plot afoot within this house!
The air is black with it!—Ho! there, my guard!
(Enter Soldiers.)
Search the Alcazar!

Leo.
(Aside.)
Now, they're at the rites!
Maritum juxta ritum sanctæ.—Now,
Juana answers, Volo!—Now, the ring
Is blessed, is sliding on her finger—I
Was married once.—Oremus, says the priest:
And now, the benediction!—Hold, my lord!—
[Aloud.]
Per Christum Dominum—Amen! I cry,—
Ha! ha! my lord, you are an age too late!

[Laughing.]
Alb.
Are all the women in the kingdom mad?
Ha! madam, are your glances all that way?—
In, to the chapel!

Guard.
(Trying the door.)
It is barred, my lord.

Alb.
I did not ask you if the door were barred,
I ordered you to pass it. Find a way,
[Drawing.]
Or, by the saints, I'll drive you through it!—On!

[Soldiers attempt to force the door.]
Leo.
Stand, thou firm oak!

Alb.
It yields! Let me assist.

Leo.
(Holding him.)
My lord, you shall not!—nay, beseech you, sir!—
There 's naught within.

Alb.
(Struggling with her.)
Thou liest! Unhand me, fool!
I would not do thee violence.—Off! off!

[Flings her off.]
(A burst of organ-music is heard.)
Leo.
'T is done! 't is done! Now tear the prison down,
And make its ruins monuments for me!

(Organ-music. The door gives way. The Chaplain, followed by Enrique, Juana, and a bridal-train, are discovered within the doorway, and slowly enter.)
Alb.
What means this mummery?

Leo.
A marriage masque—
No more, my lord—a masque, a merry sham.
You 're welcome to our bridal!

Alb.
Are they wed?

Chaplain.
They are, my lord.

Alb.
Sir priest, your shaven crown
Shall ache for this!

Chap.
(Offering the parchment.)
Here 's my commission: Read.

Alb.
Curse thee and thy commission! Some one—Guard,
Drag down that sorceress to a dungeon! Wretch,
I'll make you wish this wedding-day of yours
Were blotted from the calendar!

Leo.
And I—
I kept my promise, Alburquerque. Mark,
I have outdone you in your own bad trade!
O, Heaven!—I cannot reach thee, dear Juana;
[Staggers towards her.]
But bless thee, daughter! I am sick with joy.
My lord, pray kiss the bride for me—O! O!

[Faints]

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Street in Talavera. The houses hung with banners, garlands, etc. The street spanned by triumphal arches, and strewn with flowers. Music, bells, shouts, etc., are heard. Enter a crowd of Citizens.
First Citizen.
Has the procession passed?

Second Citizen.
Not yet.

Third Citizen.
Keep back!
Your bushy-head is stuck before my eyes:
I would not see the progress in your hair.

Fourth Citizen.
You 're coarse.

Third C.
But honest.

First C.
Have you seen the king?

Second C.
Often.

First C.
What looks he like?

Second C.
A well-grown boy:
He favors your cub, Pablo.

First C.
So, indeed?

Second C.
Ay, he 's but human; has your aches and ails,—
Sweats when he 's hot, and shivers when he 's cold,—
Eats when he 's hungry, drinks when he is dry,—
Will die, sans question, if he catch the plague,
And go to dust the same as any here.

First C.
That 's odd! He wears a crown?

Second C.
Not always, friend;
'T would make his own crown ache.

First C.
You 're passing dry.

Citizens.
(Within.)
Long live King Pedro!

All.
Ho! long live the king!

(Ladies throw garlands and flowers from the balconies and windows. Music, ringing of bells, etc. Enter, in triumphal procession, Noblemen, Knights, Gentlemen, Priests, Pages, Soldiers, etc., with banners, arms, crosses, etc.; then, Coronel, bearing a great cup.)
First C.
Who 's that?

Second C.
Alonso Coronel, by trade
A traitor: he shifts his lieges with his coats.

First C.
He 's the king's poisoner; for, see his cup.

Second C.
That is a private office.

(Shouts. As Coronel and the rest pass off, enter the Grand Standard-bearer, the Lieutenant-general of Castile, the Lord High Chamberlain, the Captain of the Guard, and others of the royal household, in their robes, and bearing the insignia of their offices.)
First C.
Look, look, sir!
There goes the king, carrying his golden crown
Upon a cushion, for his better ease.

Second C.
The saints forgive! That is the Lord Lieutenant.

First C.
He must be honest, to be trusted thus.
Now, never tell me that's not the king's headsman;
I see the sword. How grim the villain looks!

Second C.
Why, neighbor, he is the Lord Chamberlain.

First C.
Is that the king's sword?

Second C.
Ay.

First C.
Were I the king,
I d keep my sword and jewels to myself;
For fear they 'd knock my brains out with the one,
To steal the other.
(Enter Don Pedro, Alburquerque, Doña Maria, Ladies, &c.)
Who is he that smiles?—
The ugly fellow with the seals and key?—
The king's clerk, ha?

Second C.
The greatest Don in Spain,
Lord Chancellor, and Treasurer of the realm,
Juan de Alburquerque.

First C.
By the saints!
I'll keep my body from his clutches. Lord!
Had ever man such wicked eyes as his!

Third C.
And brains to back them.

[Alburquerque smiles and bows to the people.]
All.
Ho! King Pedro! ho!

[Don Pedro bows.]
First C.
What little boy is that who bows his head?

Second C.
That is the king.

First C.
The Lord forgive me, friend!
I took him for the seal-and-key man's knave,
Aping his master.

Third C.
You might shoot more wide.

All.
Hush! hush!

First C.
The king would speak.

Third C.
The king, indeed!
Wait till the Chancellor has cleared his throat.

(Shouts. Alburquerque ascends a stand, smiling and bowing.)
Alburquerque.
Loyal Castilians, in the king's behalf,
I thank your noble spirits for this cheer.
His grace has pleased to make me orator,
More from affection than my own deserts;
And if my speech sound roughly in your ears,
Blame not the king, but say the instrument
Fits not his purpose.

First C.
That is sweet enough.

Third C.
Soft as the velvet on a tiger's paw.

Alb.
I do not pause for want of matter, friends,
But from a flood of it. 'T were tedious,
Even in your faithful hearing, to recount
The many glories of King Pedro's reign.
You who affect your country—as I trust
All do, within the compass of my voice—
Can call to mind the doleful days she passed
Ere the young king was firmly in his seat.
Which one of you could leave his cottage-door,
With full assurance of a safe return?
Whose wife was sacred? Whose fair daughter kept
Her chastity inviolate? Or who
Had heart to lay up wealth, or gather flocks,
Or plant a vineyard, or plough up a field,
Or do the lightest labor, that reposed
Upon the future for its just reward?
And why? Because the land was faction's prey.
Because the cottage looked askance, in dread,
Upon the neighboring castle. Because law—
That equal arbiter 'twixt high and low—
Was but a word. Because your pleasant fields
Were trodden by the bloody foot of war.
Because your wives were ravished 'neath your eyes,
By shameless ruffians, and your daughters led
Into a servitude more infamous
Than old Egyptian bondage.—Ay, and you
Were scoffed, insulted, scourged,—nay, slain outright,—
If your poor tongues arose in mutiny
Against your savage masters. Scarce a year,
And all these horrors were familiar things.
O, what a change—O, what a blessed change—
Has fallen upon Castile! I 've tamed—I mean,
The king has tamed his lords, destroyed their dens,
Scattered their servile troops, avenged your wrongs;
And turned his nobles to a better use
Than plundering, torturing, and murdering you.
Can you ask more, who have security
For house and household, faith in property,
Equal and proper justice unto all,
And the mild triumphs of a settled peace?

All.
No, no! Long live King Pedro!

Alb.
It assures
His royal mind, to hear you answer thus,
And ratifies his future policy.
There may be some who murmur at the king,
Even while his gentle goodness shelters them:
To them I say, that perfect government
Is not the offspring of a single day;
But, like the greater creatures of the earth,
Is rounded slowly in the womb of time,
And brought to light with more extended pains
Than the less bulky matters of the world.
Once more, I thank you for his majesty;
Who, when he 's hence, would ask your memories
To hold no thoughts of him that are not warmed
By the dear currents of your grateful hearts.
Therefore, his grace has ordered me to give
A royal largess to the suffering poor;
Found a new chapel in Saint Pedro's name;
Rebuild your bridges, open up your roads,
And make your fountains spout with wine to-day.

All.
Long live King Pedro!—God protect the king!

[Exeunt Don Pedro and Alburquerque, bowing, Doña Maria, and the others.]
First C.
'T was a grand speech!

Third C.
You understood it, then?

First C.
O, yes; about the womb of government
Producing monsters, and the like. But, then,
The largess was the thing!

Third C.
He but returns
A piece of what the taxes wrung from us:
He 's liberal in our pockets.

First C.
Friends, come on!
There'll be more speeches, and more largess, too.
What a sweet gentleman the Treasurer is!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II.

The Same. A Dungeon in the Castle. The music of Don Pedro's progress, the shouts of the people, &c., are occasionally heard without. Enter Leonor de Guzman.
Leonor.
Shout on, good people!—ring, ye merry bells!—
Ye jocund instruments of harmony,
Breathe your glad music to the breathless heavens!
That he who sitteth in eternal joy,
Amid angelic minstrelsy, may smile
To see his happy children mimic him!
I am glad the world rejoices; for poor I,
Who sit amid the embers of my life,
Turning its dying fancies o'er and o'er,
Had almost lost my faith in happiness.
My sorrows cast a shadow either way,
Darkening the past, and glooming towards the future.—
This is not just. Misfortunes I have known,
Cares, troubles, dangers; yet some touch of light
Has gilt the summits of my drearest fate,
Just as the hour seemed darkest. I have known
Long days of rapture, nights of sweet content,
Lit by prophetic dreams of coming cheer,
And memories of forgotten happiness.
I have no right to murmur. Born to naught,
I lived a queen; unwedded, I was loved;
Loved, I brought forth a numerous progeny;
And they, though base-born, only less than kings.
My deeds have given my country history;
My virtues live in many a grateful heart
That knew their bounty; and my fate shall draw
The drooping eyelid o'er full many a tear
That falls upon the silence of the past:—
I am immortal in man's memory.
[Shouts, music, &c.]
Therefore, rejoice, good people of Castile,
And give dumb instruments a voice of joy!
You share a cheerfulness which once was mine.

(Enter Juana and the Chaplain.)
Juana.
Joy, mother, joy!—Yet this is cruel in me,
To bring my merriment to your abode.
Forgive my folly!

Leo.
[Laughs and sings.]

Jua.
Enrique—O,
Mere rapture makes me stumble in my speech—
Enrique has escaped, and sheltered him
In the Asturias.

Leo.
Now, be praise to Heaven!
A while ago, I almost did repine,
Because these walls were dark, and yon small grate
Was chary of the sunlight, and the drops
Of chilling water, from these sweating vaults,
Seemed to be falling on my lonely heart.
But, now, the walls are windows, and the grate
Glows, as if burning in the central sun,
And every drop falls from the blue above,
Like rich celestial dew. (Shouts, &c., without.)
Ay, shout again,
Shout, ye blind multitudes! for I desire
A nation's voice to tell my gratitude!
I knew the springs of mercy were not dry,
I knew God's hand sowed blessings through the world,
I knew this dungeon hid me not from him,
And yet I dared repine!

Chaplain.
Daughter, thy words
Are fervent with the essence of true grace.
Hast thou repented of the sinful tie
That bound thee to Alfonso?

Leo.
Father, no;
Frankly, I tell thee, it is there my heart
Fights with thy holy teachings. I repent
The wrong our union did the hapless queen,
The public scandal of a life like ours,
The charter which we gave to those who sought
Excuses in example; but the tie—
The pure connection of two faithful hearts,
Through the mysterious avenues of love—
Seems something holier, something nearer heaven,
Than aught the Church has gathered from above.
There is no creed for this, no law, I own,
Save that which nature whispers in our ears;
And, in her whisper, pardon if I thought
I heard the still small voice.

Chap.
Ah! daughter, daughter,
This mars thy faith, and makes it incomplete.
Thy stubborn clinging to one darling sin
Will lose thee heaven.

Leo.
Heaven judge me! I have judged
According to the light within my soul.
If there was better light, as thou dost urge,
It never shone for me.—No more of this.

Chap.
Thou 'st never felt the guilt of thy misdeed?

Leo.
Never, so help me Heaven! Now, if thou wilt,
Heal o'er the other wounds within my soul;
But leave this bare to God's anointing eye.
My task on earth is finished. Father, come,
And get me ready for a higher life.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III.

The Same. A State Apartment in the same. Don Pedro, Doña Maria, and Alburquerque discovered.
Don Pedro.
Now that our rule is settled in Castile,
And we the darlings of the people's hearts,
Were it not well, amid our happiness,
To cast an eye on mercy, and declare
A general amnesty?

Alburquerque.
Methinks, your grace
Has simply turned the matter upside down.
For, by your favor, as your arm is strong,
And able to bear out your royal will,
Now is the time most fit for punishment.
Now weed the kingdom of your enemies,
By their decay enriching your tried friends;
And if the vassals murmur for their lords,
Give them grand bull-fights, at the dead lords' cost.
Thus says my almanac.

Don P.
My lord, you 're wise;
And to your hands we trust our government,
With good assurance of prosperity.
Yet, surely, there are some, now prisoners—
For I have heard our castles groan with them—
Whose liberation would not harm the state.
'T was but to-day Fadrique pressed a suit
To free his mother, Doña Leonor.
And so far as my unripe wit may go,
I see no reason—

Alb.
But I see a thousand
Why you should chop her head off!

Doña Maria.
(Laughing.)
Pardon me:
Was it because she over-reached your skill
In Don Enrique's marriage?

Alb.
That will do,—
Out of a thousand reasons, that 's enough.
I freely own, she circumvented me.

Doña M.
Which only proves— [Pauses.]


Alb.
Well, what?

Doña M.
That you were gulled
Less by her skill than by your want of it.

Alb.
Show me so deep a woman.—

Doña M.
(Aside to him.)
Here, sir.

[Curtseys.]
Alb.
Pish!
Your highness should do one of these two things
Either put Doña Leonor to death,
Or make her your prime minister.

Don P.
(Laughing.)
You jest.

Alb.
The saints forbid! for, ere the year be up
Castile will be alone with one of us.
In soberness, I would advise your grace
To give me warrant for that woman's death.
I'll execute it in a private way,
With little noise—

Doña M.
And little pain to her.
How feeling in your lordship! what a care
To make death comfortable! Please, your grace,
I, as a woman, cry against an act
That would disgrace the honor of your sex;
One whose sole motive and excuse would be
Your victim's weakness.

Don P.
You forget your wrongs.

Doña M.
Ay, in the presence of so foul a wish,
I blush to know my thoughts were kindred once.
Time and her sufferings have so moved my heart,
That I would greet her with a sister's kiss,
Rather than render her to that bad man,
Who 'd stain your ermine for a private pique.

Don P.
Mother, this mercy shows—

Alb.
Ay, shows, your grace—
Nothing but shows—you hit the very word!
Her mercy is not real, 't is counterfeit,
It has to me a hollow-hearted sound;
And yet she 'd palm it—

Don P.
Recollect yourself!
Your spleen breaks in upon your sovereign's speech,
To vilify his mother. Have a care,
Or even you may carry it too far.
Must I deny the virtue I behold,
To trust the secret guilt your words betray?
You cover your revenge in robes of state,
And ask my voice to sanction the vile hag;
While naked mercy must be shuffled by,
To give your harlot room. Beware, my lord,
Lest these instructions in cruel policy
Be not too well remembered,—lest the spring
Of impious knowledge, opened in my mind,
Some day, o'erwhelm the opener!

Alb.
'T was my haste:
Yet I can show the motives—Sire, you frown—
You frown upon your faithful counsellor!
You frown upon the pilot whose true eye
Guided your early voyage past many a rock,
Unknown to you, who laughed from the high deck;
Through many a storm, whose raging waters strove
To tear his hand from the unsteady helm,
While you slept lightly in your dangerous berth!
Ay, sire, through treacherous calms, and furious storms,
Scorched by hot suns, or blind with hissing spray,
Weary with watching, sick with over-toil,—
I bore you safely. This is my reward!
Ah! you do well, to push the knave aside—
The rough, blunt fellow whom you loved at sea—
Now you are riding, with your anchors down,
And all your streamers fanning the mild airs,
Safe in the harbor which he brought you to.

Don P.
My lord—

Alb.
Still frowning! Well, discharge me, then;
You may find better statesmen in the streets;
The earth must teem with them; or you, my liege,
Would be more careful in preserving me.
'T is not the minister whose heart is wrung,
By this decline from early confidence,
It is the man!

[Affects to weep.]
Doña M.
(Aside to him.)
O! let me see that tear—
That natural wonder—O! beseech you, sir! [Laughing.]


Alb.
Marplot, begone! [Aside to her.]


Don P.
Dear Alburquerque, nay—

Alb.
Here I lay down the seals and golden key,
That marked my office of abundant trust,
Here, at Don Pedro's feet; and may the hand
That lifts them thence be worthier of their charge,
By skill and grace, if not by honesty.
[Lays down the seals and key.]
Lie there—until I pick ye up again.

[Aside and exit.]
Don P.
My lord!

Doña M.
He 's gone. Alas! dear gentleman,
He was sincere, no doubt, in his intent;
But Leonor, poor creature, must not die:
She is the mother of thy father's sons.
Thou 'lt free her soon?

Don P.
Not yet.

Doña M.
Thou 'lt give her hope?

Don P.
Yes, if the Chancellor consent.

Doña M.
But, Pedro,
Thou art the king, and can do anything.

Don P.
I 'm not so sure of that. Too well I know,
I cannot govern this Castile of mine,
Without Lord Alburquerque. Mother, send,
Send to his palace, bid him come to me;
And say, his seals are lying at my feet,
Awaiting his return.

Doña M.
I'll go myself,
In secrecy and silence. 'T were not well
To have this business noised abroad. True, true,
We cannot do without the Chancellor.
Farewell!—Pray, trust thy signet-ring to me,
And let me bear a little ray of hope
To Leonor. 'T is an odd fancy, ha?
Yet words of hope and comfort, from my mouth,
Would move her strangely.

[Drawing the ring from his finger.]
Don P.
'T is as well, perhaps,
To grant her wish; for Leonor must die.
[Aside.]
Thou must not leave ere you are reconciled.
Forgive some rudeness from her natural pride,
And say I pity her. But, then, the state,
Or Alburquerque, or whate'er it is,
Will murder her! (Aside.)
Well, take my signet-ring—
The Chancellor would rage to see it go—
[Aside.]
Would it were always used in such fair deeds!
Juana keeps with her—she owes me that;
I gave Fadrique leave to see her, too;
Another kindness which she'll thank me for.
But, then, the state—O! mother—

[Walks up the stage.]
Doña M.
Farewell, son!

(As she is going, reënter Alburquerque, with a bundle of papers. He regards her fixedly—she returns his look.)
Alburquerque.
Well, what now?

Doña M.
Nothing, my good lord.

Alb.
Hum! hum!
Nothing, indeed? You have a conquering look.

Doña M.
I have been pleading with the king for you.
For—hark you, sir—I have resolved to drop
My hate to Leonor within your hands.
I am but weak, and see I must abide
Your lordship's pleasure; play a second part,
And leave the stage to you. But swear to me
Not to give up your purpose till the king
Sign her death-warrant. This, at least, I'll have.

Alb.
You shall. But I will have the Guzman, hey?
That, too, I purposed. Ha! ha! ha! she 's mine!

[Laughing.]
Doña M.
You are not generous.

Alb.
(Laughing.)
Ha! ha! why, no:
I like a triumph.

Doña M.
Pray, address the king:
He 's ripe to welcome you.

Alb.
(Laughing.)
Ha! ha! 't was rare!
A woman rival me!

[Turns towards Don Pedro.]
Doña M.
(Aside.)
And conquer you!
Now for my swoop of vengeance!

(As Alburquerque slowly approaches Don Pedro, Doña Maria steals off.)
Don P.
Welcome! Nay,
Do not hold off, but take your seals again.

Alb.
My liege, you misconceive me. I have brought
The papers, of most pressing consequence,
Which lay beneath the judgment of my eye.
The man who holds my place as minister
Will get some headaches over these, I trow!
They are of urgent moment—though I have
A wain-load waiting at the palace-gate—
And so I brought them first. For, notice, sire,
[Going over the papers rapidly.]
This is a plan for rating the poll-tax.
This is a paper on the custom-dues
Established by Navarre. This, from Biscay,
Begging their English league may be confirmed.
Here 's a petition from the clergymen—
Long articles, in number twenty-one—
A most involved and cunning document.
Here 's one on criminal procedure; this
Needs instant reformation. Here, the salt-pits,—
A question to be managed dexterously.
Hum!—wool—wine—taxes—taxes—taxes.—This
Is the projected treaty with Navarre.
Ah! here is business—here is food for thought!
For, sire, I hold that Aragon—

Don P.
Good heavens!
I nothing know of this!

Alb.
Let me explain.
The Cortes that will meet—

Don P.
Forbear, forbear!
On your allegiance, I command you, hold!
You drive me frantic with the catalogue;
Spare me the explanation. Take your seals,
And end these matters in your own good way.

Alb.
Forgive me, sire.

Don P.
You do not love me.

Alb.
Yes,
Most dearly, sire; but Leonor, my foe,
Has got between me and your confidence.

Don P.
In Heaven's name, take her, and perform your will;
But, pray, take up your seals and treasury-key!

Alb.
(Running over the papers.)
Ay, here 's the warrant. Sign, your grace.

[Puts a pen in his hand.]
Don P.
(Writing.)
'T is done.

Alb.
And I resume my seals and key. (Picks them up.)
My liege,
Lend me your signet: 't is a private warrant.

Don P.
I have it not.

Alb.
Indeed? I cautioned you
Never to part with it, except to me.
Who has it, sire?

Don P.
My mother.

Alb.
Horrible!
The devil 's rampant in Castile, I think!
That ring bears absolute command with it.
O! sire, you sealed the fate of Doña Leonor
An hour before you thought.

[Going.]
Don P.
Stay, Chancellor!
Where are you going?

Alb.
To the Guzman's cell.
Heaven grant I be in time!

Don P.
For what, my lord?

Alb.
To stay your mother's hand, before it reeks
With Leonor de Guzman's blood.

Don P.
O! O!—
O! terrible conjecture! Dare not think—

Alb.
Abide the issue, and you'll think with me.
The subtle monster! how she smiled and bowed,
And begged revenge from me, and stole away,
With the damned purpose packing her hot heart
Until it almost burst! O! women, women!
Turn you to devils, and the ancient fiends
Shall stand aghast with horror! 'Sdeath! I dream,
I dream, while she 's at work. (Aside.)
Farewell, your grace!
The woman has cajoled me, as I live!

[Aside and exit.]
Don P.
I'll not believe it, till the frightful deed
Make her as odious as the thought of it.
Never! 't is monstrous! And the Chancellor
Outdoes suspicion in suspecting it.

[Exit.]

SCENE IV.

The Same. A Dungeon in the Same. Leonor de Guzman discovered.
Leonor.
I cannot master them: these gloomy thoughts
Crowd and bewilder reason. If a voice
Had cried from heaven, Thy latest hour has come,
I could not more believe it. Can the soul
Warn its dear body of their sad divorce,
Ere death confront them? Or am I the fool
Of dreadful fancies, nourished in the dark
Of this detested prison? Bounteous Heaven,
If yonder sun, that, like a traveller,
Pauses upon the boundaries of his land,
To take a survey of the things he loves,
Shall ne'er return to me,—grant one last boon!
That I may calmly lapse into thy arms,
With time to think of thy beneficence;
And not be hurried to the judgment-seat,
By thy grim officer, appalling Death,
Crying against the justice of my doom.
I fear thee not, O Death! The grave, the worm,
The noisome process of a slow decay,
Were naught to me, if being ended there,
And peace closed up the dying lids for aye.
But, O! the terrors that a sinful soul,
Bursting its slumber at the Archangel's trump,
Must feel when it remembers its last act,
Ere it lay down to sleep, was guilty fear,
That tugged and wrestled with its Maker's will!
O watchful Heaven, if my poor destiny
Have o'er engaged the service of thy thoughts,
Grant me my prayer! And, as my latter days
Are full of frowns and dreadful threatenings,
Smile at the last, and round my closing hours
With all the bounties thou 'st withheld so long!
I do not murmur, Lord,—I do not ask,
While all are taken, I alone should stay;
I would but choose my way of going hence,
Not as a voyager, as a suppliant.

(Enter Juana and Fadrique.)
Fadrique.
Mother!

[Embraces her.]
Leo.
My son! Sure Heaven has re-begun
Its broken blessings. But how cam'st thou here?
Where is Enrique?—hast thou heard from him?
They tell me he has fled to Portugal.
And Tello, too?—and all the little ones
Who call me mother? Stay, Fadrique, stay!
Answer no questions till I look at thee.
How thou hast grown!—Juana, has he not?—
An inch or more. Much like thy father, too:
His breadth of shoulder, and his girth of chest,
And the fixed eye that looked through coming years,
So like a prophet's. Now, the news, the news!
Thou seest they keep me from it in this cell.
Here time is stagnant; the vast tides of life
Flow by yon loop-hole, yet no ripple comes
To break the calm in which I idly sleep.
I am a foolish woman, for I think
That I am weeping.

[Weeps.]
Fad.
Mother, do not grieve!
Enrique, and my brothers, are quite safe;
And, as for me, I blush to recollect
How kind thy enemies have been to me.
Be of good cheer: I saw the king to-day,
And found his spirit was inclined to be
Most kindly towards thee. He, by special grace,
Sends me, as earnest for his good intents.

Juana.
Your hard imprisonment is well-nigh o'er.

Leo.
I know it, dear Juana. Days ago—
But more to-day than any former time—
I had undoubted notice.

Jua.
That is strange!
And yet you told me not.

Leo.
I could not then.
The words seemed doubtful. They are plainer now,—
Plainer and plainer, as the moments fly.

Fad.
What mean'st thou, mother?

Leo.
This: if one should say—
One of the playmates of my childhood—Why,
Why do my thoughts run backward to their source,
Keeping my childhood ever in my sight?

Fad.
I really know not. Thou began'st to say?—

Leo.
O, yes. If one should ask me, “Leonor,
Where wilt thou be to-morrow?” I 'd reply,
In heaven, beloved; and feel I spoke strict truth.

Fad.
Confinement has unstrung thy mind. Alas!
Who put these dreary notions in thy head?

Leo.
Why, so I ask; and shake my heavy brain,
And look around for comfort. Naught replies;
And once again my lonely spirit sinks
Beneath the pressure of a dismal doom.

Fad.
'T is the dark hour before the morning breaks.

Leo.
Ay, and the morning breaks in heaven.
(Doña Maria appears at the door, looks in, and retires.)
My son,
Dost thou believe the spirit can detect
The presence of things hurtful? For, just now,
I felt as if the shadow of death's wing
Passed over me, and chilled me to the soul.

[Shudders.]
Fad.
Dear mother, hear—

(Enter an Attendant.)
Attendant.
My lord, the king desires
Your instant presence.

Fad.
But a moment more.

Att.
My orders bade you speed.

Leo.
Kings never wait.
Go, my Fadrique; it may mar you else.

Fad.
Let it; I care not.

Leo.
But I do, my son.
I may behold thee, though thou seest not me,
Looking adown the sunny depth of heaven
Upon this troubled earth. A last farewell!
And tell Enrique, when he' s king—

Fad.
He 's king!

Leo.
I had it in a vision, and 't will be.

Fad.
Thou art the plaything of thy fantasy.
Farewell!—Yet stay a moment.—

Doña Maria.
(Without.)
Don Fadrique!

Fad.
'T is the king's voice.

Leo.
Or one that mimics it:
Yet go.—That voice was terrible to me.

[Aside.]
Fad.
Farewell! until we meet.

Leo.
In heaven.

[Embraces him.]
Fad.
Farewell!

[Exit.]
Leo.
I 've looked my last upon him! Gentle Heaven,
Withhold the blow no longer!—Strike, at once,
Before my coward fancies make me rave!

Jua.
Dear mother, thou art ill.

(Enter Doña Maria, masked and cloaked, with Attendants, also disguised.)
Leo.
My prayer is answered.

Jua.
Who are these masks?

Doña Maria.
Leonor de Guzman, hark!

Leo.
Maria de Portugal, I listen.

Doña M.
Ha!
Thou know'st me, then?

Leo.
I pray you, drop your mask;
It frightens me, yet does not hide your face.

Doña M.
Behold my face, and let it drive thee mad!
[Unmasking.]
Seest thou these furrows on my youthful brow,
This net-work web of scars and crooked lines?
Seest thou these grizzled locks—these withered hands,
Pinched by the grip of misery—this low stoop,
That bears the burden of a thousand cares—
These tear-scorched eyes—this breast, a home for sighs
And quivering inspirations?—Dost thou know
The heart within, the lonely heart, that aches
At each pulsation? This is all thy work,
And thou shouldst know it!

Leo.
Had you loved the king—

Doña M.
Hadst thou not lied, as thou art lying now,
He might have loved me. Love him! Did I not?
With passions to have burst thy puny heart,
Hadst thou but felt them. If they turned to gall,
And poisoned heart and brain, who was to blame—
I, or thou, wanton? Men have called thee fair,
Blaspheming sense, by saying thou wert born
To prove how plain the touch of heaven might show
In earthly clay; and they have said thy form
Was a poor casket for thy richer mind:
Now, in thy wisdom, why have I come here?

Leo.
Perhaps, to slay me.

Doña M.
Thou hast hit the mark
With thy first shaft.

Jua.
(Kneeling to Doña Maria.)
O, madam—please your grace!—

Doña M.
Back, bastard's drudge! Prepare to die.

Leo.
I have:
My life has been one act of preparation.

Doña M.
Thou sweet-faced hypocrite—thou who hast been
The minion of man's passions—thou prepare,
By such a life, to brazen heavenly wrath!
What dost thou fancy heaven?

Leo.
A blessed place,
Where the sincerely penitent may dwell,
Quite purified through mercy.

Doña M.
Purified!
Hast thou repented?

Leo.
You have given me time,
Here, in my prison, through the long, long nights,
To be alone with Heaven. I thank you, madam;
For, through your darkest clouds, grace dawned on me.

Doña M.
Fool that I was! Feel'st thou secure of grace?

Leo.
As far as mortal may.

Doña M.
Dost thou repent
Thy wrongs to me?

Leo.
I do, sincerely, madam,
With all the mischief my example did,
And pray your pardon heartily.

[Kneels.]
Doña M.
Thou dost?
I 'd add new fuel to the flames of woe,
Ere I 'd do this for thee. Dost thou repent
Thy sorceries,—the devilish arts employed
On me and Pedro, to o'ercome our lives,
While we lay, weakly, in one painful bed?

Leo.
I never practised them.

Doña M.
'T is false!

Leo.
Indeed,
I ne'er had cause to pray to Heaven for that.

Doña M.
Dost thou repent the shameless life thou 'st led
With King Alfonso,—the bold, guilty love?

Leo.
The life, perhaps, I do regret; the love
Never, O never!

Doña M.
(Laughing.)
Ha! there 's still one spot—
There 's still one damned spot upon thy soul—
Which the infernal flames shall kindle to!

[Seizes her.]
Jua.
O murder!—murder!—

Doña M.
Stop that screech-owl's breath!

[Attendants seize Juana.]
Leo.
Spare me—be merciful—O let me go!
[Struggling with her.]
I am a woman—not a heroine—
One of thy sex! I would not use thee thus!

Jua.
Help!—murder!—murder!—Hark!

[Noise without.]
Leo.
O, pardon me!
I loved Alfonso—that is my excuse!

Doña M.
And that my retribution!

[Stabs her.]
Leo.
It is well!
God's purpose, and I bow to it.

[Falls.]
(Juana rushes forward and raises her.)
Alburquerque.
(Without.)
Stand by!

Sentinel.
(Without.)
The queen commanded—

Alb.
(Without.)
Curse the queen's command!
(Hurls the Sentinel through the door, and enters, followed by armed Attendants.)
Ho! Leonor de Guzman; wake, look up!
I 've brought another—surer than the first—
Another warrant—try to gull me now—
Strangle that woman!

[His Attendants advance towards Leonor.]
Doña M.
(Interposing.)
Murderers, back! or I
Will strike you with my poniard!

Alb.
Murderers, hey?
By what new title have you dubbed yourself?

Doña M.
Avenger, and not murderer. No, my lord,
You shall not harm a single hair of her.
She 's all my own, by virtue of my wrongs.

Alb.
And mine, by virtue of my rights.

Jua.
Peace, peace!
A little quiet for a parting soul!

Leo.
Let the wolves rage, according to their kind.
I am content with Heaven's decree. If fate
Were in our hands, we 'd make but sorry work.
O, hapless queen! the tears you'll shed for this
Cannot be numbered by a count of years.
Forlorn, heart-broken, lonely, cast aside
By him, your son, the only soul you love,
You shall drag on a train of painful days,
Darker and longer than the arctic nights.
Despised by all, pitied by none, you'll die
A death as sudden as my own!

Alb.
And I?—
Now, while the gift of prophecy is strong,
A word for me; for I deserve your care;—
My fate?

Leo.
Dead, in Enrique's cause; and then—

Alb.
The sky will fall, and we'll catch larks!—Amen!

Leo.
Scoffer, your jeers fall blunted on my ear;
The shield of death is spread above my head,
And mocks are useless.

Alb.
Prophetess, what then?
We'll pry fate's doors a little wider; speak!

Leo.
Your carrion shall be borne before a host,
Till it offend the decency of sense.
Living, you made Castile your foul abode—
Dying, you'll make it loathsome! Wretched man,
The hand you've raised shall crush you to the earth;
The snares you lay shall tangle your own feet;
The friends you've made shall make themselves your foes;
The foes you've made shall be your only friends!
And, in the sight of triumph, murderous death
Shall snatch you suddenly!

Alb.
Hey! Coronel—
What was it, Coronel?—a crown of thorns?
Right, strangely right!—a crown of thorns, indeed!
Methinks, I feel them sting!

[Exit slowly.]
Leo.
Juana, daughter,
'T is sweet to die within thy loving arms;
But take thy hand away; thou hold'st me back—
Remove thy hand, and let the wound alone—
Thou hold'st me back from heaven. That's kindly done!
See, how the little river steals away!
On that I'll float to heaven. Forgive the queen;
And say good-night to all, for Leonor.
When thy Enrique 's king—Pray, trim the lights—
I faint with thirst—some drink—Alfonso—O!

[Dies.]
Doña M.
I know not that I am avenged, at last.