University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—The Council-house of Toledo. Giron, Villena, Tendilla, Gomez, Ovando, and others discovered.
GIRON.
Whom wait we for? Our duty cries dispatch.

GOMEZ.
Padilla will be here anon.

GIRON.
Padilla!
At such a moment, must we idly sit
Till he has surfeited with speech the rabble
That doat upon his footsteps? Messengers
Attend to tell the people's triumphs won
In kindred cities.

VILLENA.
Let the first in rank
Preside.

TENDILLA.
The first in rank! Well—for to-day—
[Aside to Ovando.
Giron that seat is yours.

GIRON
(having taken the central seat).
Though slight desert
Has raised me to this station, I can grace it
With news most happy;—news which proves the flame
That triumphs in our city, no chance blaze
Like that which an old earth-torch waves from cleft
Of an extinct volcano, but the sign
Of one huge fire that glows within Castile,
And has already burst its shallow rind
In Zamora and Burgos. With your leave,
I'll ask the tidings of the Messengers
Who thence wait on us.

Enter two Messengers.
GIRON.
Who depute you to us?

MESSENGER.
The townsmen who command in both our cities—
Which have one tale for each. Our Deputy,
Returning home from Cortez with the shame
Of voting for the Emperor's donative,
Without an effort to obtain redress
For outrages we suffer from the Regent,
Offer'd with words to cozen us; but hands
Of sturdy citizens prevented speech,
Drew the poor sophist to the gate, and left him
Free to the elements; meanwhile, his house
Was levell'd, and his costly goods were piled
In glittering heaps, from which the poorest shrink
As things accursed. The rest is in suspense
And waits your counsel.

TENDILLA.
As the people won
This freedom, I advise the people mould it.
I move, that, in Toledo, every parish
Choose by the votes of all a councillor
To rule the city, till our just demands
Be satisfied; and that we urge this course
On other cities.

VILLENA
(to Giron).
Do you hear this, Giron?
Is it for this the noblest blood in Spain
Is perill'd?

GIRON.
Be content; Tendilla speaks
The spirit of the hour, and I approve
The scheme he offers. I would only add,
As the time presses, that, in every parish,
The first in station take the votes, and name
The councillor elected. If you all
Agree, all rise.

[All rise—Shouts without.
GIRON.
'Tis well. What means that shout?
Padilla comes—too late.

Enter Padilla and Mondeiar.
GIRON.
Sit, noble friends.

PADILLA.
Your pardon—an unwelcome crowd too long
Detain'd us. Do you meditate a scheme
Of government for present need?

GIRON.
'Tis settled—
A council chosen by free votes of all;
One for each parish.

PADILLA.
All? Reflect again—
Has not a course of ages which begins
Beyond the Saracen, matured a power
Incorporate in Toledo to preside
In exigence like this? From age to age
Renew'd from busy life, yet graced with honour
By old heroic story, which imparts
To citizens beset with care a sense
Of true communion with the glorious Past
And hopeful Future,—one of those old guilds
That through the cities of Castile have nurtured
Freedom in shapes of loyalty, that stand
Like living pillars round the throne to guard it,
And look remonstrance on it.

OVANDO.
Tyrannies,
Servile in infancy, in dotage cruel,
Hollow in all. We'll sweep them to the Past,
With which they boast alliance.

PADILLA.
Slave!

OVANDO.
Dost dare
Denounce me as a slave?

PADILLA.
The worst of slaves—
The bondsman of the moment, scarcely free
To talk of yesterday.

MONDEIAR
(to Padilla).
Pray you, be calm.

PADILLA.
Calm!—while the whirlpool of the hour engulphs
The growth of centuries! Pause ere ye rive,
With strength of fever, things embedded long
In social being; you'll uproot no form
With which the thoughts and habits of weak mortals
Have long been twined, without the bleeding rent
Of thousand ties which to the common heart
Of nature link it; wrench'd, perchance you'll mock
A clumsy relic of forgotten days,
While you have scatter'd in the dust unseen
A thousand living crystals.

GIRON.
We have voted.

PADILLA.
Voted! Will no one join me to implore
Another thought? At least, dispatch, at once,
Fit mission to our King, whence he may learn
That we seek only hearing for such prayers
As royal hearts should answer.

VILLENA.
To the King?
Must all end thus?

OVANDO.
To the King—the recreant?

PADILLA.
This in my presence—
[Padilla lays his hand on his sword, and advances towards Ovando, but is stayed by Mondeiar.
Am I sunk so low
That I must hear this treason, and not strike
The speaker dead?

GIRON.
Ovando, do not raise
Contention here: Padilla counsels wisely;
If Charles reject our prayers—

PADILLA.
He'll not reject them:
Mine only be the peril; let me seek him,
And if I bring not home his seal'd assent
To all we justly claim, I'll bring this life
To pay the forfeit.

GIRON.
No,—we cannot spare you.
Let's number our demands; first, that the King
Dismiss the Regent, and resume his rule
In person over us.

PADILLA.
'Tis just; he'll grant it.

TENDILLA.
Next, that he fill all offices of state
With true Castilians; that the Cortez meet
Once in three years; that every city send
Three to compose it, one the Clergy's choice,
One from the Nobles, from the Commons one.

GIRON.
The Commons!—well!—so be our prayer.

VILLENA.
The Commons!

GIRON.
Be ruled, Villena; 'tis best so; what else?

OVANDO.
That the King's choice in marriage shall await
The sanction of the Cortez.

PADILLA.
I will perish—
Ere I consent to ask my king to yield
His equal part in the divinest joy
Our sins have left us, to the chance caprice
Of heartless policy—to become a slave
In that respect which masters, who are men,
Leave their slaves free to choose in. Do ye mean this?

GIRON.
We'll speak of that hereafter; here's more news.

Enter Messenger from Segovia.
MESSENGER.
Segovia craves your help, invested closely
By Adrian's troops, under his judge Ronquillo.

GIRON.
The war begun? Has then Segovia risen?

MESSENGER.
Have ye not heard how Tordesillas died
On his return from Cortez? Scorning threats
That thickly murmur'd as he pass'd, he turn'd
In the church porch to speak, and waved his hand
With noble motion to enforce the silence
His stately presence claim'd; but e'er a word
Escaped his lips, a hundred massive hands
Were spread to grasp him, and his form was lost
Amidst the infuriate crowds who bore him thence
Shrieking for mercy with a voice that sank
From sharpest cry of anguish to faint moan
Of wearied infancy; and though the Priests,
Robed in procession met them, and upraised
The Host to win a moment's time for prayer,
Swept with him to the gibbet's foot, nor ceased
Their madden'd roar, till lifting him to swing
From the detested beam, they found the work
Of death completed, and with sudden awe
Gazed on their rescued victim.

PADILLA.
Merciful Heaven!
Is this the people's justice?

GIRON.
It is past.
Say on.

MESSENGER.
Ronquillo came, by Adrian sent
To punish, not the reckless crowd alone
But all Segovians; he proclaim'd us outlaws,
And now invests our walls; while Fonseca,
Flush'd with Medina's ravage, where he burn'd
The labours of a thousand looms, leads veterans
To join Ronquillo. If you grant no aid,
Segovia's doom is seal'd, and shameful death
Awaits the noblest of our citizens
Who would have died to stay the rabble's vengeance.

PADILLA.
There's work for me more fit than war of words.
Let me depart your soldier, with no troops
Save such as, on the instant, choose to join
My standard, whether disciplined in arms
Or fresh from workman's labour.

GIRON.
Nobly urged.

VILLENA.
Will you thus arm him to achieve the crown
The rabble fain would give him?

MONDEIAR.
O base fear!
This day, when urged by thousands to accept it,
He spurn'd it with a singleness of nature
Beyond your reach of guessing.

PADILLA.
Brother, peace—
Disdain to answer him; my heart's too full—
Castilians! If ye think that in this mould
Along one fibre creeps a wish so vile
As this poor gamester in his squalid fancy
Deems possible, explore it with your swords;
Here on my knee, with naked breast, I claim
Your quittance or your steel.

[Kneels.
GIRON.
Rise, noble soldier;
I'll answer for your truth with life, and all
Will wager for it their's as freely.
The other Councillors, rising.
All.

PADILLA.
Another hour shall see my march began;
Let me but crave one boon; the Queen Joanna,
Amidst the conflicts of the time, may lack
Observance—

OVANDO.
Have we leisure to attend
The humours of distraction?

PADILLA.
Leisure? Yours?
Your lifetime, if it would outlast the world,
Were nobly barter'd for an hour employ'd
In chasing from the mirror of that soul
One film that dims it. I would pray the council
Leave that my wife may tend her, and my son
Serve her with page's duty.

GIRON.
Deem this order'd
As you desire.

PADILLA.
Attend one parting prayer—
May strength continue to our cause, to claim
Bravely our just demands, and, those achieved,
May grace be with it nobly to dissolve
In old obedience! As you keep this hope
God prosper you! Farewell.

GIRON.
Farewell, great soldier.
[Exit Padilla.
At noon we'll meet again; till then farewell.
[Exeunt all but Giron and Villena.
Villena, you must leave our game to me;
I comprehend and hate Padilla, you
Simply detest him. You would play with men
As with your dice and counters, which may stand
For vulgar natures, but afford no mark
By which a noble constancy of soul
May bear its estimate; and as a child,
Moving an unknown power, confounds the wisest,
So, while you weave your schemes with common chances,
Greatness perplexes all.

VILLENA.
If he should come
Victorious home?

GIRON.
He will return victorious,
But with scarce half the troops he carries hence,
And more than half of them rude clowns who leave
Their trades, in sudden passion to be school'd
By discipline they guess not, and to smart
With wounds, which the train'd soldier having learn'd
In youth to image with his future, bears
As ills familiar, but to craftsman's sense
Will seem strange sorrows. Then, be sure, that Charles
Will scorn the missives of revolted subjects,
And our proud chief, who fancies that he arms
At once for king and rabble, disabused,
Will stand aghast, with nature rent in twain
And fall to ruin; meanwhile he and all
Who worship him, have left the state to us.

VILLENA.
Say rather to a council rabble-chosen.

GIRON.
Tut! you as dimly read the common mind
As the heroic spirit. Trust me, Marquis,
The lower that the soil lies, and the wider
The surface it presents, the kindlier strikes
The germ of new dominion there; the rankness
Of elements that moulder round its stem
Shall shed imperial purple through its flower
When it shall flaunt in sunshine.

[Shouts without.
VILLENA.
Those shouts hail
Padilla's band departing.

GIRON.
Well! We talk
More safely thus protected by their clamour,
While they exhaust the passion which inspires it.
Believe me, comrade, when the incense floats
Most thickly round the idol's shrine, its fire
Begins to smoulder. Let us divide the stakes
Fairly for once: the glory of the day
Padilla justly wins; its spoils be ours!

[Exeunt.