University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

—The Grand Square in Madrid.
Enter Christoval, Juan, and Soldiers.
He marches them round the Stage, and then addresses them.
Christoval.

Brother soldiers, I have but a few words
to say to you; and to tell the truth, the occasion
makes them look so like a speech, that I fear I
shall stammer most cruelly. Yet I must explain
myself, to benefit by your assistance.

Juan.

Tell us but the object, and lead us to
achieve it.

Chr.

Then it is dearer to a soldier, friends, than
even the laurels of his valour—it is a deed of
mercy. Brothers, a woman, whose only crime is
love, pines in a dungeon; shut with her infant
from the freshening day-breeze. She was once,
comrades, beauteous as summer, ere superstition
bowed her lovely head, and grief wrought
winter on it with her tears.—She is dear to me by
every tie—Make my cause yours.

Juan.

The cause is pity!—We love you, Captain,
heartily—To obey you is a duty in all cases.

Chr.

Aye, and to feel for woman in distress, is
a lesson, which nature wrote upon our hearts, when
our first infant cries proclaim'd our wants, and
found them answer'd by a mother's love.

Juan.

O, no more, good Captain—Lead us to
her rescue.

Chr.

You speak like an angel—and fight, I
know it, like a devil. Pardon me! I was for trying,
whether I had not eloquence enough to
mould you to my purpose—but a plague of
long speeches! The true secret is, to fling your
heart upon your lips. One sentence with feeling
for its spirit, and virtue for its meaning, sets
our nature in a blaze, and all the selfish part of
it is blown up in a moment. Now then, my
boys, march—and Heav'n bless you!

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

—A part of the Vaults of the Monastery.
Enter Miranda.
Mir.
This is the way, as well as I may judge.
The dead, in orderly arranged files,
Leave this uncumber'd path, to tempt me onwards.
O, let me find the intervening gate,
And my strong pity, mightier than my force,
Shall burst its brazen folds, though triple-cas'd.
Spirit of Sympathy! be thou my guide.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

—A Sepulchre.
A cross, and a lamp burning before it.
Agnes discovered, sitting upon the ground, leaning upon a coffin—the lid off, and by her side.
Agn.
How sound he sleeps!—Poor infant, 'tis the same
To him this hideous nursery of horror;
This house of death too,—which, for me design'd,
Serves as a pallet-bed, to shroud his slumbers.
Could I be certain they would save my child,
I'd stretch me, patient, in my last abode,
And thankfully embrace eternal sleep.
[She sinks upon the coffin.
[A noise at the gate.]
What noise was that?—'Tis not the usual entrance.

Mir.
[without.]
Agnes!

Agn.
My name!—and in a voice I know not!

Mir.
[without.]
Heav'n sends you a deliverer! Rise! assist me!
Something secures the gate o'th'inner side.

Agn.
Alas! I cannot—My enfeebled joints
Refuse to bear my cumbrous weight again,
And sink me down never to rise.

Mir.
O strive—
So near deliverance!—Do but draw this bolt,
Which lies below the lock, and the gate opens.

Mir.
So little to perform—and shall I fail?
Can I not drag me on the earth as far,
To bring my child to day-light?—For a moment,
Kind Providence, O string my slacken'd nerves!
One effort!—If I save him, I die happy.

[She attains the door, and draws the bolt—but faints, overpowered by the action.]
Miranda forces open the gate, and enters.
Mir.
Horrible cruelty!—Thou wretched mother,
Raise thy dejected head: and let the thought
Of promis'd life, and liberty, and love,
Aid thee, to further my weak powers to save thee!

Agn.
[reviving.]
Did I hear truly? Did some friendly voice
Propose to save?—Look there!—O save my child!—
And leave a sorrow-smitten wretch like me,
To bless your charity, and then expire.

Mir.
Come, come—Nay, give not all so soon for lost.
Rest yet a little, and we'll venture hence.

Agn.
O my preserver!—I had impiously
Parted with confidence and hope together.
I see, no dungeon cruelty can dig,
Malice can fill, or innocence inhabit,
Is too profound and strait for dove-eyed mercy
To pierce with succour for the child of grief.

Mir.
That power will guide us from this den of horrors!
Let me consider—I must first convey
This tender pris'ner to a kindlier place,
And then return with help to bear you hence.
“She that e'er hopes to live to be a mother,
“Feels throbbing in her pure and virgin breast
“The sweet solicitude of trembling pity
“For helpless infancy”—Heav'n is smiling now,
And fostering, well pleas'd, a deed of mercy.
[Exit Miranda.

Agn.
Immortal power, preserve my child!—She's gone.
Spirits of peace, O tranquillize my soul,
Or rapture will be deadly like despair.
[A noise, as of a trap-door heard on the other side.]
The Prioress is seen coming down with Teresa.
Ha! they approach—

Prio.
Wretched Agnes,
Whom all the mercy I intended marks
But deeper with the brands of guilt and shame,—
Answer me, how hast thou divulg'd a secret,
Which I thought never could have pass'd these walls?

Agn.
No:—I will never implicate by weakness
One whose rash pity risk'd ev'n life to save me.

Prio.
Trifle not with my vengeance, wanton—Know,
In spite of all thy arts, it comes to crush thee.
Thou art to die—and this thy hour appointed.

Agn.
Ha! I'm lost!—

Prio.
You have disgrac'd your order and your convent,
Publish'd your infamy, and our dishonour;
Therefore you die.—Behold! the means are ready.

Agn.
Poison!—What, shall I aid my own perdition?

Prio.
Take it—Be brief.

Agn.
For your eternal welfare,
Let me but live an hour for preparation!

Prio.
What! till the partner of your crime shall come
With sacrilege to snatch you from my grasp?
I know the whole of your complotted guilt.
No: now this moment!—Nay then!

[Offers to strike.
Aurelio rushes in through the gate, followed by Hilario and Bonaventure.
Aur.
Hold your hand!
Is this the way that leads to penitence?
These vaults of death, are they the holy means
By which the feeble are restor'd to goodness?
Merciless! horrible! Religion thus
Loses its sacred character and office;
Converts to bigot rage, and rends the heart
Its all-forgiving Author bids it heal.

Agn.
Thus—in the dust, I bless the pitying hand,
Which bruis'd me in its justice but to save me.

[A shout without.]
Christoval, Raymond, Lorenzo, Juan, and Soldiers break in.
Ray.
My life, my Agnes!—we will part no more. [Agnes faints.]


Lor.
O, my dear sister!

Aur.
Bear hence those vile women.

[Another shout without.]
[Exeunt Prioress, Teresa, Hilario, and Bonaventure.
Chris.
Haste, reverend Aurelio, to the Convent!
The people furiously assail the walls,
And nothing but your presence can restrain them.

Aur.
Be ready to resist them, if I fail!
Though there is virtue in their sympathy,
Yet violence is not the march of justice.
Where there are laws, the laws alone should punish.

[Exeunt Aurelio, Juan, and Soldiers.
Ray.
Lift up thy head, my Agnes—See, thy brother.
But ah! I tremble to enquire—our child—

Enter Miranda.
Agn.
He lives—is safe.

Ray.
May I believe it true?

Mir.
Yes, I preserv'd him—Nay, no thanks to me.
Whate'er my future lot, thus to have sav'd
One innocent, is transport to my soul—
A joy too bright for misery to cloud.

Agn.
Where is the other saviour of my life,
Who snatch'd me from the dagger's point—Aurelio?

Mir.
Did he? Aurelio!—Blessings, blessings on him!

Chris.

And now, Lady Runaway, if you have
done with your prayers, vouchsafe a word to Captain
Christoval:—for, though a Nunnery is the
last place I thought of finding you in, I believe you
are my hopeful sister, Miranda.

Mir.
Brother, you're not deceiv'd—'tis she herself;
Who, wild and visionary as she seems,
Feels for her Christoval the truest fondness.

Enter Aurelio, Zingaro, Zingarella, Antonia, &c.
Aur.
Miranda here!—Thou mistress of my fate!
Why, I have news to tell thee, my Miranda,
More strange than all the miracles before us.
The secret of my noble birth reveal'd,
Confirm'd by proofs too evident for doubt,
Dispenses me from the monastic state;
And might I hope you would accept my hand,—

Mir.
Away reserve, and maidenly resentment!
To be permitted to receive his vows,
Whose sympathising goodness has preserv'd
Repentant Agnes to a happier life,—
Thus virtuous, thus to call thee mine, Aurelio,
Is bliss unutterable!—

Chr.
Is this the end
Of all your wanderings, my gentle sister?

Ray.
My Agnes, let me lead thee from this place.
Trust me, thy sufferings well shall be aton'd.

Aur.
As heir to De Medina, all the pow'r
That I have lies at your disposal, Sir.

Zin.
Now, now, Antonia, is your time to speak.

Ant.
One wonder yet remains—You said Medina—
If you are he, I kneel before my brother.

Aur.
My happiness is more than I can bear.
Please you, retire within the Abbey-walls,
And so repose awhile. Events like these
Fever the mind with its own best emotions.
Miranda, come, my love, my monitress!—
With safety may I give me to the world,
While you direct me—my unerring guide!
Our passions are the fairest gifts of Heav'n!
Their just indulgence is our proper joy:
'Tis their perversion only makes us wretched.