University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

A Month is supposed to elapse between the Second and Third Acts. The Scene throughout the Third Act lies in Avila.

Scene I.

—A Street in Avila.
VILLENA.
You say our fortune ripens; where is its show
Of fruit or blossom to repay our sojourn
In this dull Avila?

GIRON.
Have not all cities
Which tower throughout Castile embraced our cause,
And hither sent their delegates to form
The Holy Junta, who this day assemble?
And though Padilla's fame to Mondeiar gave
Toledo's voice, do I not sit for Burgos?

VILLENA.
And what is won for me but manners curb'd
By stricter supervision?

GIRON.
So you think
This state will last! 'Twill break in thousand fragments;
Then he who leads the troops will rule Castile.

VILLENA.
Such luck will be the General's who returns
This hour with fresh-won glories.

GIRON.
And this hour
The messengers dispatch'd to Charles will meet us
And, as I prophesied, without redress.
The Junta, who propose to sway men's hearts
By solemn plainness, in the open square
Sit to claim oaths of fealty to their power,
Without regard of Charles, unless he grant
Petitions which, I know, he scorn'd to hear.
Padilla will refuse to take that oath,
And the alternative is exile. Guess
Who then will lead the army.
[Trumpets without.
Hark! those sounds
Proclaim the Junta sitting. I am late.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.

—The great Square before the Cathedral of Avila.—The Delegates of the Holy Junta discovered in white robes, seated on stone benches ranged in semi-circle; Mondeiar, as Delegate of Toledo, presiding.
MONDEIAR.
'Tis time we should receive the Ambassadors
Whom we dispatch'd to Charles, and who attend us.

Enter Giron.
MONDEIAR.
The Delegate of Burgos—have you sworn?

GIRON.
At dawn beside the altar.

MONDEIAR.
Take your place.

[Giron sits.
Enter Messengers.
MESSENGER.
The General craves admission!

MONDEIAR.
Will you give
Padilla or the Ambassadors first audience?

GIRON.
If I may read your wish, we vote Padilla.

[All bow.
MONDEIAR.
Tell the commander we desire his presence.
[Exit Messenger.
He'll pay our courtesy.

Enter Padilla.
MONDEIAR.
Sit, noble brother.
[Padilla sits.
Segovia's Delegate prays leave to tell
Your prowess at his city.

DELEGATE OF SEGOVIA.
While 'twas circled,
And, by Ronquillo, destined for the sword,
Padilla, by one mighty onset, dash'd
His living wall of soldiers into knots
Of wondering cravens, and dispell'd the siege,
Before Segovia own'd a throb of hope,
Or rose from her despair to breathe a wish
For blessings on his arms.

PADILLA.
Small praise be mine.
Ronquillo, sent to punish, not subdue,
Thought only to meet citizens made feeble
By conscious guilt of blood; and from the bands
That follow'd me, stout hearted though untrain'd,
Fled staggering with amazement at the might
Plain honesty confers. Tell your Segovians,
I wish, instead of stifling me with thanks,
They had made their gibbets blacken with the leaders
Of those who stain'd the rising of Castile
With Tordesillas' murder; but alas!
With base impunity of crime, revolt
Confounds all qualities!

MONDEIAR.
This is not a time
For such a question: we are met to weigh
Your claims to honour, and the best remains—
Proud Fonseca's defeat.

PADILLA.
Account it little—
A rush—a charge or two—and hot pursuit
Of panic-stricken soldiers, whom to hunt
For sword or capture, was as base an office
As to chastise a slave.

MONDEIAR.
Valladolid—

PADILLA.
Open'd its gates without a blow—or blows
Swift conquest made forgotten. Thence I bore
The jewels, sceptres, crowns and regal robes
Of both the kingdoms, which the' astonish'd Regent
Yielded, without a word, and scarcely met
My glance, while I commanded him to creep
Away unharm'd, and lead a shameful life
In the city he had scourged.

GIRON.
Most bravely done.
One form alone remains before we render
For all our solemn thanks—that you accept
The oath of fealty.

PADILLA.
Oath—for what? to whom?

MONDEIAR.
An oath of fealty to the Holy Junta
And ancient customs of Castile.

PADILLA.
Small need,
Methinks, for such an oath from one who serves
With arms, not counsels. Does the oath you claim
Consist with oaths already sworn to Charles?

MONDEIAR.
Yes; we allow of duty to the king,
Provided he concede the just demands
We laid before him.

PADILLA.
O make no reserves—
The great soul trusts! Think how you trusted first,
And at whose bidding—his, who from a cell,
Savagely framed for cruel penance, stepp'd
To the majestic use of courtly arts,
Which luxury makes facile, while he wore
The purple o'er the sackcloth that inflamed
His flesh to torture, with a grace as free
As when it floats o'er worshipp'd womanhood
Or princely youth; his who had learn'd in vigils
Of lonely night, such wisdom for command
Of the world's issues, as if spirits breathed
The long experiences of wisest statesmen
Into a single breast; who from a soul,
Which men imagined withering like his frame
In painful age, pour'd, as from living urn,
Exhaustless courage into soldier's hearts
And made them heroes. What a power burst forth
From the wan Cardinal's expanding frame,
While, with the fluttering voice, that grew as clear
As note of clarion, he invoked Castile
To swear allegiance to her stripling prince,
In faith that he, whom Heaven ordains to rule
Will have Heaven's aid to govern! You replied,
As, through Ximènes, Isabella spake,
And pray'd you, while her daughter's soul should lie
In cloud, to own her grandson.

MONDEIAR.
Noble trust—
Foul recompense.

PADILLA.
Judge not by common rules
The opening passage of a mighty life!
Think you the youth of him who e'er he reach'd
The age a spendthrift stripling sighs for, won
The crown of empire in the game of earth,
Should be esteem'd like youth which princes lavish
In wayward follies, and the servile herd
Excuse with fondness, which expands to worship
When, tired of vapid luxuries, it subsides
Into the decent pomp that stiffly leads
A passionless procession? No; the nature
On bitter nutriment of wisdom fed
In its bright spring-time, starts not from the root
A graceful sapling, but, with gnarled rind,
Spreads to unlovely compass, till its boughs
Shade earth and tower in air. Let us be patient
Till greatness immature grow ripe, to trace
In the stern progress of one regal soul
The infancy of ages. We are arm'd
To teach that royal spirit to be just,
And I'll await the issue.

GIRON.
You must choose
At once, like us, between the oath and exile.

PADILLA.
Exile—for me?

MONDEIAR.
Such is, indeed, the choice
Proposed to all. Great Heaven! you will not leave us
For such poor scruple?

PADILLA.
Exile—that is to leave
My country, in her need, to men who count
Her dangers as their chances of high fortune!

GIRON.
You gaze on me—who mean you?

PADILLA.
Who? Your soul,
Shivering from thin expanse, which guilty hope
Lent its poor compass, knows—and knowing quails for!

MONDEIAR.
No more of this; the embassy attends us.

PADILLA
(aside).
The men return'd from Charles! Why faints my heart?
They may determine all.

Enter Tendilla and other Ambassadors.
MONDEIAR.
Tendilla, welcome;
What is the Emperor's answer?

TENDILLA.
None—save threats
Which, borne by Flemish emissaries, stay'd us
Before we reach'd his presence.

PADILLA.
Did you fly
And leave our prayers unutter'd? What made death
So terrible?

TENDILLA.
It was not death appall'd us—
But shames too vile for a Castilian tongue
To utter; for which Flemish arms were strung
And Flemish eyes were greedy.

PADILLA.
Lost! Undone!

MONDEIAR
(aside to Padilla).
Now, will you hesitate?

GIRON.
Our oath must now
Proscribe the Emperor.

[Padilla, who has been sitting at the extremity of the circle, rises in great agitation, and is about to speak, when a Messenger enters.
MESSENGER.
My lords, a youth,
Who styles himself the general's son, craves audience.

MONDEIAR
(to Padilla).
Will you confer with him apart?

PADILLA.
Not I—
His mission's not for me; although these eyes
Have not embraced him since I went to battle,
I know he would not seek me in this hour
Of solemn duty.

MESSENGER.
No; he prays the Junta
To hear his tidings.

MONDEIAR
(to the Junta).
Are you pleased to hear them?
[All bow.
Bid him approach.
[Exit Messenger.
I'll answer for his bearing.

Enter Alphonso.
PADILLA
(aside).
He does not rush into my arms; that's right—
He does not glance this way; well done.

ALPHONSO.
My Lords,
The service you permitted me to pay
The Queen Joanna makes me bold to bring
News of a change which, for three days, has fill'd
Her household with amazement. The dull sorrow
That weigh'd her silken lashes down has fled,
And eyes, which rarely caught the sunbeam, spread
With wild intelligence. Her ashy lips
Long seal'd in sullen silence, or unclosed
Only to murmur indistinct despair,
Part flush'd with crimson; and, in rapid change,
The broken music of her queenly life
Breathes and commands her childhood's scenes to live
In brightness that appals us, yet, to her,
Seen through the parted foldings of the mists
That have o'erwhelm'd her spirit, they appear
As starting from a depth of years she thinks
Have pass'd upon her lonely state. My mother,
Who day and night keeps watch beside her couch,
Believes her soul is kindling.

PADILLA
(starting up).
It shall kindle!
Heaven does not mock us! When we swore to serve
Joanna's son, we saved the mother's right
If sense should visit her; and now it dawns
In happiest season.

MONDEIAR.
'Tis most true, our oath
Bore such exception.

PADILLA.
Else we had been traitors,
Not only to the stricken princess living,
But to the dead, whom each Castilian holds
Sacred above all living womanhood;—
Her from whose veins Joanna's life was drawn:
Who, o'er the rage of battles and the toils
Of empire, bent an aspect more imbued
With serious beauty earth partakes with heaven,
Than cloister nurtured in the loveliest saint
It shrined from human cares. Her daughter wakes,
As from the sleep of death, to claim her throne,
And ye sit mute, and do not bend a knee
To bless your God!

GIRON.
Must we disturb the course
Of our momentous duties to enquire
How madness glares or flickers? E'er ye deem this
More than the gossip of a weary chamber,
Think in what sad abasement of disease
Joanna's spirit lies—how all regards
Of parents, kindred, country, rank, were lost
In childish adoration of the form
A wreckless husband wore; for whose slight image
Cold, tempests, dangers, injuries and scorns
Were pass'd unheeded, till her spirit, stung
By jealous fury, dock'd 'mid laughter's rage,
The locks that in their golden meshes held
Her truant lord; how, tranced in grief, she bore
A child unconscious, while her thoughts were fix'd
On her far distant scorner: how, when dead,
She cherish'd him as living, till from dreams
Of frightful rapture startled, to a tomb
Beneath Granada's walls by night she bore him,
And cursed the torches when the tempest blew
Their flames athwart death's panoply! And this lady
Ye seek to rule these kingdoms!

PADILLA.
Shallow scorner!
There's not a deed you cast on her as shame
That does not prove her noble. If, on ship-board,
The pictured likeness of her plighted lord
Then unbeheld, grew precious as it charm'd
Her perilous bridal voyage, till she embraced
The living idol who in grace outshone
The vision of the desolate sea, and thus
The mein so sigh'd for, so assured, became,
In spite of wrongs and scorn, an image set
So deeply in affection, that no guilt
Could ruffle it, no falsehood dim, nor death
Touch with decay,—I tell your lordly wisdom,
There is more royalty in such a love
Supremely seated in a woman's heart
Than in the power of monarchs. God alone
Knows what she bore in that self-tyranny
Which to the sweet rebellion of a tear
Denied its license; but through all she made
Of grief a lonely throne; whence she shall rise
In majesty relumined!

GIRON.
'Tis delusion,—
It may be falsehood.

PADILLA.
Lords—I will not smite him—
Hear me! I wager all I have and am
On this great issue. See! I draw my sword,
And swear allegiance to Castilian laws
And to my rightful Queen, Joanna!

[Draws.
GIRON.
Treason!

PADILLA.
So be it answer'd if I fail to show
The Queen restored to govern. Give me, Lords,
A day—an hour—to wake the royal pulse
That lives in her great nature; if I fail,
I will confess this charge of treason just,
And crave a traitor's sentence.

MONDEIAR
(to Padilla).
Be not rash.

PADILLA.
I follow Heaven that points; at this hour's close
Attend Joanna's palace; let the scaffold
Meanwhile be furnish'd for me; and if, then,
Ye do not own her queen, let me ascend it.

GIRON.
Grant his mad prayer.

MONDEIAR.
Dear brother, pause—your foe
Echoes your wish.

PADILLA.
The voice of the Eternal,
That breathes through organs which seem framed to mock it,
Speaks now in Giron's.
[To the Junta.
If you accept my life
In pledge, stand up.
[All rise.
I shall not ask a moment
Beyond the hour, to hail the Queen or die.

MONDEIAR.
Adjourn the sitting. Brother, I will seek you
At Queen Joanna's palace. God uphold you!

PADILLA.
He will—He does.

[Exeunt all but Padilla and Alphonso.
PADILLA
(embracing Alphonso).
Alphonso, you have brought
Tidings more glad than on the thirsty ear
Of dying hope have pour'd since fortune's game
Had empire for a prize. My nature, shiver'd
To fragments from its centre, closes whole
As flawless crystal. I will circle in
The powers of new-born freedom with a band
Firmly expanding as they grow within it,
Beneath a diadem whence steadfast rays
Shall, through the fiercest struggles of the realm,
Shed reconciling calm.

ALPHONSO.
But if this hope
Should fail?

PADILLA.
My work in this world will be done,
And I shall pass absolved; but do not dream it;
Let not such fear impede your bounding feet
Which should be wing'd with joy! Among the spoils
Brought from Valladolid, you'll find the crowns,
Sceptres, and robes, and jewels of Castile
And Aragon; see them, at once, disposed
Around the inner chamber of the Queen
That's curtain'd from her sight—send me a Captain
Fit to direct my soldiers—then expect me
To wait your royal mistress. Fly!

[Exit Alphonso.
PADILLA
(alone).
My soul
Quivers with triumph; yes; the woman's shatter'd
But the Queen lives! The infant through whose dreams
Attendant homage shed obsequious hues
Which made them purple, and who, waking, saw
The brow that wore the fairest crown of earth
Bent with a mother's earnest love, received
A sense of royalty which touch'd will wake
Midst the mind's ruin. Though in deep abyss
Perturb'd the fountain of its reason heaves,
If I can bid the shows of queenly power
Nod o'er its waters, they will spread serene
To give the steady reflex to the day
From majesty's still mirror.

Enter a Captain.
CAPTAIN.
I attend you
At your son's bidding.

PADILLA.
Right; you know the palace
Where the Queen rests in Avila?

CAPTAIN.
The Queen?—
She who is sunk in madness?

PADILLA.
She who, this day
Restored, shall bless Castile. Draw up your soldiers,
So that they line her courtyard; keep them voiceless,
Till you behold aloft a banner wave—
Then raise the shouts of triumph; bid each man
Fling up his helm, and cry, “Long live the Queen!”
And rush with all your officers to throng
Her chamber, that she may assume her state
Girt with Castilian heroes.

CAPTAIN.
May your hopes
Prove true!

PADILLA.
They shall prove true; make haste—away!

[Exit Captain.
PADILLA
(alone).
My life—my honour's life—my country's life
Hang on this hour. Spirit of Isabella,
Whom the strong peril of thy loved Castile
Constrains to listen, shine into the soul
Of thy distracted daughter with such look
As after my first skirmish, 'neath the towers
Of old Grenada, thou didst lavish on me
A stripling, gash'd and fluster'd to thy tent
Conducted to receive more charming praise
Than manhood ever wins; when golden locks
Stray'd from the heroic forehead into films
Of sunlight, and a slender, jewell'd hand
That lightly fell upon my bending head
Shot ecstasy through all my frame! I see
That aspect beam; I feel that touch; I come!
[Exit Padilla.

Scene III.

—An Antechamber in the Palace of the Queen Joanna.—Ladies waiting.
Enter Maria.
MARIA.
Is the Queen sleeping still?

LADY.
Yes; but she smiled
Just now in sleep, and murmur'd out your name.

MARIA.
My name? She has not known me through the weeks
I have attended her.

LADY.
I am sure she named you;
And yet she stirr'd not while your son disposed
Sceptres, robes, crowns, and gems beyond the curtains
That fall around her.

Enter Padilla.
MARIA
(running to Padilla).
My dear husband—

PADILLA.
Hold—
I dare not clasp you to my heart till Heaven
Assure our triumph.

MARIA.
How?

PADILLA
(to the attendant Ladies).
Please you to watch
The Queen's awaking. When she stirs, let music,
A lute touch'd softly to some old dull tune
She may have heard in Flanders, meet her ear.

[Exeunt Ladies.
PADILLA.
Maria, on this hour depends the fate
Not of our household only, but Castile,
Which lives or withers as Joanna's heart
Shall glow or fail. Be near her when she wakes;
Strive to dispel ignoble memories from her,
While I abide your summons.

[Exit Maria. Soft music within.
PADILLA
(alone).
Hark the music
Bespeaks her waking; now be with us Heaven!
[Exit Padilla.

Scene IV.

—The Chamber of the Queen Joanna.—A royal Chamber, divided by curtains which fall in a crescent round a couch on which the Queen Joanna is reclining. At the head of the couch is placed a Chair of State, beside which Donna Maria and Alphonso are standing—at its foot an Attendant Lady is sitting on a low stool with a lute, on which she is playing.—She ceases to play as the scene opens.
JOANNA
(waking).
Whence is that air? I think I heard it play'd
Long since; was it by you?

LADY.
No, madam, never;
'Tis of my country, Flanders.

JOANNA.
Flanders? True—
I now remember, years—long years—ago
In your gay land I heard it. I was a bride then,
And the most glorious face that Nature shaped
In ecstacy, look'd down with love on mine;
You well may wonder—'tis a tale so old—
To see me living still.

MARIA.
Your Highness' age
Leaves years of life to come.

JOANNA.
Ay years, years, years—
For I am doom'd, to wear a wondrous life,
Far off, it dawn'd in lustre; then 'twas pall'd
In blackness streak'd with horrors; now it bursts
From sleep by fits, when long past things flash out
In shapes that crowd the chambers of my brain
To agony that spends its force in throbbing;
And then I sleep again—long dreamless sleeps—
Which must endure for years; so Time sweeps by
And leaves me a dull monument to keep
His saddest records; none would own me now
For Isabella's daughter.

MARIA.
All who knew
Her image living, trace it in your Highness.

JOANNA.
No; I alone of those that breathe have known her;
And I can tell you things no living eye
But mine beheld. When the world's mighty strife
'Twixt Moor and Christian, in which radiant saints
Vouchsafed to mingle with our hosts, was crown'd
By cession, in earth's breathless silence, made
Of tamed Grenada, by my mother's side
I sat, and saw the enormous towers unscathed
As still defying siege, beneath the range
Of ice-clad mountains, which with peaks of fire
Look'd pinnacled for angels' feet. Our veterans
Stood like mail'd statues, till the giant cross
Of virgin silver, which my father raised
Before him in his battles, shone erect
Against heaven's azure, on the Alhambra's top,
Flinging its sacred shadow on the dome
Which sullenly heaved under it; then all
Fell on their knees, and down scar-furrow'd cheeks
Large tears roll'd slowly, as the hymn of praise
Floated on air; but none advanced a step
Toward the surrender'd gates, till thence appear'd
Hundreds of Christian captives freed from depths
Of Moorish dungeons, shrinking in strange sunlight,
Who totter'd to my mother's feet to bless
Her face, like those, they said, which beam'd in sleep
That follow'd torture. Then, what shouts arose!
What endless torrent of plumed troops swept by us,
With cataract roar! It rushes on my brain—
It racks me—lay me down.

[Maria assists Joanna to lie down and adjusts the pillows.
JOANNA.
Your touch is gentle—
What are you call'd?

MARIA.
Maria de Pacheco;
I've watch'd a month beside your Highness.

JOANNA.
Ha!
I think I heard—it must be long ago—
You call'd an infant by my slighted name;
Does she live still?

MARIA
(bursting into tears).
In heaven.

JOANNA.
Fie! do not weep,
You see I do not weep who outlive all;
I have not shed a tear since that long night
Which I endured beside Medina's postern,
When, while the snow weigh'd down the fluttering robe
That clad me, I defied the minion lords
Who strove to win me back to the sad couch
I left to make my lonely way to him
Whose soul was pledged to mine; they tore me thence;
But I escaped their feeble bonds again,
And traversed land and sea to find—to find—
A Flemish wanton snaring Philip's soul
With golden tresses. See! She kneels and prays
With baby prettiness and honied words
For pardon—never! Doff those glistening locks
And stand, unshaded by a curl, the gaze
Of her you have stabb'd! I am a Princess still
And will have justice! What if Philip frown?
I like him best when frowning—
Do I wander?
I am far sunk in years, and age has licence
To babble of old times.

MARIA.
All women shared
The wrongs you bore from Philip.

JOANNA.
Shared? what mean you?
When did I crave a partner for my grief,
Or talk of wrongs? I was too wan for Philip—
The beautiful! He gazes on me now—
Smile—smile—so for eternity!

MARIA.
In death
Be all his frailties shrouded!

JOANNA.
Death! You are fair,
Yet, from your lips, the dismal echo breathes
Of the world's lie. This cold and barren earth
And the dull roof of clouds that clip it round,
Leaden and low, to shroud it from God's azure,
Ring with that falsehood; he was sick and lay
In trance, and all who envied me conspired
To call it death, and laid him in a grave—
But thence I pluck'd him—pale—but not more pale
Than I have seen him when I watch'd his couch
After long revels, whence he woke to know me,
And sometimes thank me. This poor heart still beats,
And, by its beating, I'm assur'd he lives.

MARIA.
Since you so fervently desire his life
I'll wish him living; but yourself entomb'd him
In marble at Grenada.

JOANNA.
So—you have heard
That rare device; how, through each day encamp'd,
I curtain'd him, and bore him on by night,
Loathing all roofs, that I might laugh at those
Who watch'd his waking. 'Tis a dismal journey—
The torches flicker through its mists—the sleet
Descends to quench them—I'll not track it on—
Tell me how fares the world, what path your husband
Treads of its dusty ways?

MARIA.
He is one whose name
Your Highness may have heard—John de Padilla—
Whose youth won glory in the Moorish war,
And whose life now awaits your Highness' service.

JOANNA.
I knew a boy so named, whose dawning valour
My parents cherish'd when they lived in camp
At Medun; can he live still?

MARIA.
He attends
Your gracious bidding.

JOANNA.
Let him come this instant;
I little dream'd a nobleman who knew me
In my bright childhood lives.

MARIA
(to Alphonso).
Inform Padilla
The Queen commands his presence.

[Exit Alphonso.
JOANNA.
Queen! I'll take
My state to welcome him; set me my chair,
I'll fill it like a throne, and shame my mockers.

[Maria places the Chair of State in front, and assists Joanna to take it.
Enter Padilla, followed by Alphonso.
PADILLA
(kneeling before Joanna).
I pray your Majesty to look with grace
On your distracted subjects.

JOANNA.
Mine? You mock me;
I am only sovereign of these rooms,—these ladies
My few poor subjects. Let me look upon you;
'Tis said you are the glorious youth who won
Two crescent standards 'neath Grenada's walls
With marvellous prowess; rise; it cannot be—
Those battles have been hush'd an age, and you
Are in your prime still; yet you are like the boy
My mother loved to praise.

PADILLA.
I am the same
Whom that rich guerdon bless'd. Let me assure
My own the happy brow on which it lighted
By one most sacred memory which none other
Of my degree can cherish. When the sovereigns,
After Grenada's capture, held their court
In radiant Seville, I once shared the feast
Of their small household, and when sunset closed
The pastimes gracious Royalty had plann'd
For festal youth, and I was shrinking homeward
Full of delight, I saw the Queen with smile
That lent authority's augustest presence
The charm of angel, beckon me to wait
Upon her steps;—I follow'd to the shrine
At which, with her, the royal children kneel'd
In vesper adoration. Softest light
Shed by one silver lamp reveal'd the walls
Of alabaster, storied with the deeds
Of saints and martyrs, carved in white as stainless
As the fantastic wonders nature shapes
In Alpine caverns. By your side was John,
Your rosy brother; opposite to him
Your sister Isabella bent a head
So stately and so sad, as if she felt
Chill shadow of her destiny to wear
The crown of Portugal with speedy change
For cypress and for amaranth. With arm
Tightening about her neck, and eye upturn'd,
Stood Kate the youngest.

JOANNA.
I behold them all—
I see you kneeling with us; and a strain
Wafted from childhood murmurs through my heart
And makes it lighter.
I think I must have dream'd
Strange, heavy dreams;—for it seems yesterday
When we were ranged beneath my mother's eye
Obedient children; Kate scarce totter'd then—
She may live still; oh tell me, is there one
To call me sister?

PADILLA.
Katherine is queen in England.

JOANNA.
England? I was in England once—three months
Feasted at Windsor, by a monarch styled
The Seventh Henry. Oh that I had perish'd
Before I touch'd its shore!

PADILLA.
I pray you, wherefore?

JOANNA.
Because death then had clasp'd me in an hour
Of Philip's love. For weeks we had been toss'd
Upon the wintry seas, from Flanders bound
For Spain, with no companions but our sailors,
Rough, weather-beaten men, with grizzly locks
And tawny limbs, whose kindness raised my wonder,
For never from my women's tenderest care
Felt I such true observance as wild ocean
Had taught her mates; and Philip's heart was soften'd
By dear remorse that made me bless the storms
That waken'd it, till lightning struck our mast
In the black valley of two mountain seas,
Lit into hungry crimson by strange fire
That revell'd in the dripping cordage; changed
The sails to sheets of tatter'd flame, and show'd
Gaunt visages of brave men whom the fate
That yawn'd and glared around us struck to shapes
Immovable with horror; in that instant
By flash of a huge splinter, as it fell,
I saw my husband's face bent down on mine
With such remorseful beauty as o'erpaid
My years of weary sorrow. How I cursed
The dismal beach of Weymouth, where I woke
From happy trance to find myself in life!

PADILLA.
Lady, you then were on your way to Spain
To solemnise your heirship of the crown
Which now is yours. Oh let it from your brow
Shine on Castile!

JOANNA.
My brow?—you cannot mean it—
My crown?—how mine? Where is my brother John?
Is he not heir of all?

PADILLA.
From noblest hopes
A nation ever cherish'd in its prince,
Ere his first year of bridal joy had flown,
God call'd him, and the youth unmurmuring left
Earth's fairest lot; and, in his tomb, a babe,
The blighted fruit of happy love, awaits
A two-fold waking.

JOANNA.
Now I see it all;
My crown is wrested from me by a father,
And he is mighty.

PADILLA.
Ferdinand is dead.

JOANNA.
Dead? When he died, did no one urge my right?
You said my sister Isabella died—
Where was my son—on whom I have not gazed
Since his stern beauty fill'd my wasted arms?
It rises on me now with face that frown'd
In answer to the smiles my poor heart lavish'd,
To smite it! Charles usurps his mother's throne—
Tell me no more; let me lie down again,
And dream away my days.

PADILLA.
He held the crown
For you, till mercy should dispel the clouds
Which now are melting in the gracious sunlight
Shed on your spirit. We had honour'd still
His glorious youth, but that he left Castile
To foreign minions; against these we rose;
And from their grasp we have redeem'd the crown
For you, our sovereign lady, whom we pray
To wear it.

JOANNA
(starting from the chair).
Won for me?

[At a sign from Padilla, Alphonso draws aside the curtains which had divided the chamber, disclosing a magnificent saloon furnished with large mirrors—terminating in a balcony, beyond which the towers of the Cathedral are seen—the sceptres, crown, and regalia of Castile and Aragon disposed around the saloon.
PADILLA.
Behold—
The ancient symbols of the regal power
Rescued for you!

JOANNA.
Can this be real?
[Alphonso presents the Crown of Castile kneeling to Joanna, who takes it in her hand; her fingers play hurriedly over the jewels.
'Tis real;
This is the crown which great Ximenes placed
Upon my forehead in Toledo's square,
When I was hail'd as heiress of these realms;
How the vast pomp expands before my soul,
Which swells to compass it! And this is mine!
My own! Brave soldier, place it on my head!

PADILLA
(placing the Crown on Joanna's head).
Forgive me; my hands tremble with delight;
Permit my wife to fix that robe. [To Alphonso]
The signal!

[Alphonso waves a banner from the balcony; Maria arrays Joanna in one of the royal robes; as she does so Joanna catches a view of herself in a mirror and stands gazing with delight. Shouts arise without and cries of “Long live the Queen!”
JOANNA.
Is that my form—the form I thought decay'd
And shrunk in age? What shouts are those?

PADILLA.
The voice
Of your enraptured people.

[Shouts continue—martial music—Padilla's Captain rushes in with the Banner of Castile and waves it over the Queen—The room becomes full of Officers and Soldiers.
PADILLA.
See the flag
Of your Castile!

JOANNA.
I bless it. Let the gates
Be thrown wide open; let my subjects throng
My palace, and approve me while I swear
To reign for them.

[In a pause of the shouts the distant music of the Cathedral organ is heard.
JOANNA.
Pray you one moment—hush—
Those sounds refresh my thirsty soul—forgive me—
Thank God I weep again!

[Members of the Holy Junta enter and kneel to the Queen—Shouts renewed.
PADILLA.
The Holy Junta
Who have preserved your kingdoms, claim your blessing.

JOANNA.
They have it; I must ask their wisdom's aid
To teach me how to rule.

[Alphonso bears to Joanna the Sceptre of Aragon.
PADILLA.
The holy sceptre
Of Aragon.

JOANNA
(taking it).
Yes; this at Saragossa
I swore to wield in mercy, when I deem'd it
A gorgeous plaything. I will keep that oath.

[Mondeiar brings forward the Banner of Toledo; and is about to lay it at Joanna's feet.
PADILLA.
The Delegate from your own Toledo lays
Its banner at your feet.

JOANNA.
No; let it float
On the proud air—the banner of my birthplace,
That I may hail its star of gold that flash'd
Upon me in my infancy with hope
Of grandeur now fulfill'd.
[Mondeiar waves the Banner of Toledo.
Beloved Toledo—
Your Queen shall fill you with her state!—for there
I'll fix my Court. Meanwhile behold my general
[To Padilla.
To whom I trust my armies; my chief lady
[To Maria.
Who shall direct my household.
[Padilla and Maria kneel on each side of the Queen, and kiss her hands—Soldiers and Citizens pour in—the organ swells into triumphant music—banners are waved in different parts of the Saloon.
JOANNA stands in the front with her hands clasped and exclaims
Mother, bend
From your eternal seat to reign with me!

[The drop-scene falls.