University of Virginia Library

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.