SCENE I.
A prison in the castle. Antonio discovered disconsolate near the front of the stage. A high door at
the bottom, with stairs from it, leading down into
the prison.
Ant.
(
after shifting his posture several times, and
sighing heavily, raises his eyes on hearing the
door open gently).
Another visit! do they vainly think,
By oft-repeated questions, to betray
A spent, enfeebled mind into confession?
It is a woman! it is Mencia's self!
Enter Mencia, descending the steps into the prison.
And comest thou to visit me, to bless
My dismal prison-house with what were bliss
E'en in the lowest state of human misery?
Sweet Mencia! thou hast pity on me then.
Pity embedded lies where love hath been,
And love again doth from that pity spring,
As the dropp'd seed of some fair faded flower
Shoots its sheath'd bud from the cleft mould, first peeping
In timid beauty, after April showers,
Then swelling, bursting, spreading its soft leaves
To the free air, more fragrant than before.
Yes, I am happy, gentle Mencia,
In spite of fate, if thou still carest for me.
Men.
This is no time for words like these. I dread
E'en but to look upon thee, wretched man!
Take this disguise; it will ensure escape.
There is a faithful friend who waits without,
And by the postern will direct thy flight.
Speak not, but throw these weeds about thee quickly;
The time is precious.
[
Holding out garments which she bears over her arm.
Ant.
Thou dreadst to look upon me, yet thou comest
To save my life—to save a murderer's life?
Men.
I said not so in pity of thy state;
That bloody deed I know hath been the act
Of frenzied passion: in some foreign land
Live and repent: Heaven grant thee grace for this!
Let not man's hand, the brand of public shame,
Be on thy wretched head!
Ant.
The hand of man, the brand of public shame,
Falls on the guilty head, by heaven's appointment.
Thou riskest the salvation of thy soul
In aiding my escape; and for my life,
If of thy love bereft, I care not whether
The headsman's axe, or the slow hand of nature,
Shall rid me of it. Nay; the first were best.
Men.
O no! upon my knees I do conjure thee.
[
Attempting to kneel, but prevented by him.
If I offend in this, heav'n will forgive me:
For, oh! if thou art lost, I am most wretched.
My misery or peace hangs on thy life;
Therefore, upon my bended knees, I beg.
[
Sinking from his hold to the ground.
'Tis for myself I plead; fly instantly.
Ant.
(
raising her).
Ah dear, dear Mencia! And car'st thou thus,
For a foul criminal,—a man of blood?
What, then, had been thy care—may I not say—
What, then, had been thy love—had he been innocent?
Men.
Alas, alas! hadst thou been innocent,
I had defied the world, with all its lures,
Again to sever us. Yet, as thou art—
Ant.
Misfortune, thanks! Thou hast done more for me
Than the devoted care of many years.
Come, then, defy the world to sever us,
My generous Mencia; I am innocent.
Men.
Ha! dost thou say it? Saidst thou innocent?
And sayst thou truly so? Hast thou not done it?
Is it no mockery of joy? O no!
That look, that smile! Yes, thou art innocent;
And, heaven be praised, thou art!
Ant.
I am, indeed, of Juan's death most innocent.
And though some circumstances do at present
Accuse me strongly, yet, I trust in heaven,
That on my trial so it will appear.
Men.
Nay; do not trust. O no! for Don Henriquez,
Made savage by despair, will have a victim,
And catch with eagerness at every proof,
How slight soe'er it be. Fly; quickly fly,
And I will follow thee and share thy fortune
Or be it good or ill.
Ant.
O blessed words! my dear, my gen'rous love!
My heart throbs at the thought, but cannot thank thee.
And thou wilt follow me and share my fortune,
Or good or ill!
Ah! what of good can with a skulking outlaw
In his far wand'rings, or his secret haunts,
E'er be? O no! thou shalt not follow me.
Men.
Good may be found for faithful, virtuous love,
In every spot; and for the wand'ring outlaw,
The very sweetest nooks o' the earth are his.
And be his passing home the goatherd's shed,
The woodman's branchy hut, or fisher's cove,
Whose pebbly threshold by the rippling tide
Is softly washed, he may contented live,
Ay, thankfully; fed like the fowls of heaven
With daily food sent by a Father's hand.
Ant.
(
pressing both her hands to his heart, and then
kissing them).
Thanks, gentle, virtuous Mencia; but, alas!
Far different is the hapless outlaw's home
From what thy gentle fancy fashioneth.
With lawless men he must protection find.
Some murky cavern where the light of day
Hath never peer'd—where the pitch'd brand, instead,
Sheds its red glare on the wild revelry
Of fierce banditti; or the pirate's bark,
Where stalks the sabred ruffian o'er the deck,
Watching his distant prey—some home-bound ship,
With all its stores and freight of precious souls,
Who ne'er shall greet their native shores again,
Must be his guilty home.
Men.
Alas, alas!
Ant.
Thou shalt not follow me, nor will I fly.
Sever'd from thee I will not live, sweet love,
Nor shalt thou be the mate of one disgraced,
And by the good disown'd. Here I'll remain,
And heav'n will work for me a fair deliv'rance.
Men.
No, no! the present means for thy escape
Are sent to thee by heav'n. Be not so stubborn!
With or without me fly, even as thou wilt,
But do not linger here.
[
Looking to the door on hearing it moce.
The door—O misery! we are surprised.
It is Henriquez; Heaven have pity on us!
Enter
Henriquez,
while
Mencia
shrinks behind
Antonio.
Hen.
(
advancing).
Ha! not alone! Who is it? Wretched Mencia!
Men.
(
rushing forward).
Oh he is innocent! Have pity on us!
Turn not away from me, noble Henriquez.
[
Catching hold of him eagerly.
Heaven knows that he is innocent.
Hen.
Then, pray thee, be at peace; heav'n will protect him.
Men.
Frown not; my wretchedness has made me bold.
Hen.
Away, away! I do not frown on thee.
Thou art the baleful cause of all this misery,
And yet I blame thee not. Away, and leave us!
Ant.
Retire, dear Mencia; to thy chamber go;
It is not fit that thou shouldst tarry here.
[
She retires unwillingly;
Henriquez
waving his
hand to quicken her retreat, and waiting in
gloomy silence till she is gone.
Hen.
Unhappy youth; thou hast to thine accusers
Thine innocence asserted with the earnest
And simple manliness of truth; yet truth,
Supported only by the word of him
Who is accused, will nought avail. How is it?
If there be any circumstance that may
Support or prove thy words, I do entreat thee
To tell me freely, and I will, with speed,
Use every means that may unfold it fully
To aid thy exculpation. (Pauses.)
Is there none?
Bethink thee well: how slight soe'er it be,
It may to others lead of more import.
Ant.
Thanks, generous man!
Hen.
Nay, nay! What is thine answer?
Ant.
Alas! four days within that fatal wood
I have been hid; unseen of every one
But Mencia, and those hinds who did pursue me.
What circumstance can then avail me? No;
Heaven, in its justice, will unfold the truth;
In this I put my trust; proofs I have none.
Hen.
Take the deliv'rance, then, which heaven has sent thee.
Fly, save thy life. (Offering a purse.)
This will procure the means,
When thou hast clear'd the precincts of the forest.
All now is still, and favours thy escape.
Ant.
My lord, like one stunn'd with astonishment,
I thank your gen'rous care. But, Don Henriquez,
Though born of blood less noble than your own,
An outlaw's fate, from friends and country banish'd,
My honest fame blurr'd with imputed guilt,
Is not deliv'rance such as I accept,
Such as a true Castilian can accept.
You offer it in pity of my youth,
Therefore I thank you; but I'll here abide
Such vindication as becomes mine honour.
Hen.
But should it fail thee, canst thou better brook
A malefactor's death, the public gaze,
The scaffold's open shame, the executioner,
All the degrading ministry of death;
Even that which so attainteth noble blood
That ages wear not out th' abhorred blot,
Disgracing all thy line? Ay, think of this:
It makes me shudder as I utter it,
Who have in battle faced all dreadful things.
Ant.
In truth, it makes your strengthen'd features wear
A ghastly hue of horror. How is this,
That such strong sympathy should move you so?
You think me guiltless in the very front
Of proof that should condemn me: then, belike,
Some shrewd suspicion of the actual hand
That did th' accursed deed lurks in your mind.
Hen.
Ha! Cast an accusation on mine honour!
Ant.
No, Don Henriquez; with a friendly wish
To do me service cam'st thou here, and sacred
Is all that thou in privacy hast done
Or utter'd. Yea; though thou shouldst now confess
That thou thyself wert Juan's murderer
(Start not, these are but words of argument);
Yea, e'en supposing this, and that my rescue
From the uplifted axe depended on it,
Yet would I not betray thee.
Hen.
(
turning away haughtily).
Thou art incorrigible: take thy will.
[
Returning and laying down a key.
I leave thee this; thou wilt consider of it.
Say, is there aught that thou wouldst have me do?
Ant.
Send me a priest. Though only such transgressions
As youthful folly prompts rest on my mind,
Yet would my soul, shrived by some holy man,
His ghostly counsel take, and be at peace.
Hen.
And be at peace! Ay, ghostly counsel may
To such as thou give peace. O could it also—
I know an aged friar, wise and prudent:
Thou shalt be satisfied.
[
Exit.
Ant.
(
after following him with his eye as he ascends
the stair at the bottom of the stage).
But that it were so horrid and unnatural,
A thing at strife with all consistent thoughts,
I could believe—No; 'tis impossible.
[
Retires to the bottom of the stage, and the scene closes.
