University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

A Night is supposed to elapse between the Fourth and Fifth Acts.
The Scenes of this Act lie in the city and neighbourhood of Toledo.

Scene I.

—The Battlements of the Alcazar of Toledo.—Stormy Sunrise.
Enter Padilla, followed by Florio.
PADILLA.
Not here! Maria stole away at dawn,
And I have search'd for her in vain to win
One word of comfort e'er I go to battle;
Boy, have you seen your mistress?

[Seeing Florio.
FLORIO.
She went forth,
And, as I heard, met other noble ladies
Bent on some pious care.

PADILLA.
Heaven bless her in it!
How happy am I that, 'midst fortune's storms,
My little household, morticed in the rock
That shall outlast the visible world, uplifts
A pinnacle that, on its slender summit,
Reflects unrisen dawn! Yet I'd not miss
Maria's valiant smile. Run with best speed,
And pray her join me on this height made dear
By last night's feast.
[Exit Florio.
Those ponderous clouds that drew
An awful splendour from last evening's sun
Spread now a black pavilion, where the storm
Waits to make noon-tide terrible.

Enter Alphonso.
PADILLA.
My son,
I must inquire at last, are you prepared
For orphan'd ruin, which this battle lost
Must bring on your young head? You look serene
As if on some heroic pastime bent,
Contemplating its prize.

ALPHONSO.
Such a desire
Throbs in my eager heart, and hopeful waits
My father's sanction.

PADILLA.
What have I to grant
Except my prayers?

ALPHONSO.
The noblest of all boons,
Your leave to fight beside you.

PADILLA.
And so risk
The only treasure of a doom'd man's widow!

ALPHONSO.
Oh do not speak so sadly! How the tales
Which you made bright with shapes of boyish valour,
While at your knee I stood, reproach me now!
Can I forget how children of the house
Of the great Marquis of Cadiz achieved
Scars from the infidel, e'er thirteen summers
Flush'd in their cheeks? How King Alphonso's heir
At tenderer age, with eager heart, exchanged
The rare felicities of princely youth
For arid battle, and, expiring, strove
To trace in bloody dust consoling words
Whence might be sent assurance to his home
That he died happy? These, and dearer tales,
Which veterans oft with swimming eyes have told me,
Of your own deeds before you reached my age,
Proclaim me laggard.

PADILLA.
If with cheerful heart
I went to this day's battle, you should share it;
But this will be my last.

ALPHONSO.
And should it be,
Let me not miss the last occasion left me;
How shall I ever mix in glorious war
Without one living lesson from my father?

PADILLA.
Are you prepared to die?

ALPHONSO.
I think I am—
Perhaps more fit than if my age were riper.

PADILLA.
Have your desire; go to the priest who offers
Prayers for us in the chapel; make confession
As for your dying hour—it will not need
To hold him long; then hither bring the sword
I gave to you for sport, and I will gird it,
And we will go together.

ALPHONSO.
Thank you, father;
I'll prove no hindrance.
[Exit Alphonso.

PADILLA.
He has chosen bravely,
And has a right to choose, for on his life
Lies nothing that should make death fearful.
[Shouts from the city.
Shouts—
Hollow and wreckless—
In their pause I hear
A deep, low ponderous sound,—the very sound
Of the cathedral's funeral bell when heard
On yonder mountains through the evening air
In far-off years.
[Shouts renewed.
Those clamours surely rise
From some unhallow'd revel:—dreadful pleasure
At such a crisis!

Enter Florio.
PADILLA.
Whence are those wild shouts?
What means that funeral knell?

FLORIO.
I heard no knell;
The shouts rise from the veteran bands who share
Among them heaps of gold and gems dispersed
From the cathedral's chapels.

PADILLA.
From the shrines?
The treasures dedicate to Heaven profaned
To pay my soldiers! Who has pull'd this curse
On my last struggle! Tell me, that my sword
May deal swift justice on the guilty! Speak!
I see you know the robbers—do not shiver—
But speak, if you would live.

FLORIO.
A train of ladies
Attired in shroud-like vestments, moving slow
With spectral pageantry and saddest music
Besought the saints to pity and forgive
A deed compell'd by such sad urgency
As will assure its pardon.

PADILLA
(grasping his sword).
Urgency!
How durst you—

FLORIO
(kneeling).
Spare me—I have meant no ill.

PADILLA.
No ill!—Stand up—You meant no ill—alas!
So soon corrupted by the sophist world
To use its basest words! You think those treasures
Which fatal sacrilege has rifled, shows
For idle gazers—nay perhaps have learn'd
To hold the honor'd dead who heap'd them fools
Thus to bestow their wealth beyond return
Of mortal use. Oh child! They are the offerings
Which prodigality of boundless love
And grateful adoration, wanting words
For utterance, sought amidst the precious things
Earth holds, to speak in beauty to the future;
And on each gift a radiant angel waits
To guard devotion's symbol! I must fight,
By these abandon'd!—you beheld the spoilers—
Who led them? Answer—or my sword shall search
That quivering heart—speak!—I implore you, speak!
Say—it was not—Oh mercy!

[Shouts renewed.
Enter Maria.
PADILLA.
Can it be?
You have no portion in this impious daring?—
Say so and bless me!

MARIA.
I have acted boldly
In firm belief that pardon will attend
A deed which brings the treasures of the saints
To aid a cause which, living, they had died for.

PADILLA.
So! I am alone; there is a gulf divides us—
All lost!

MARIA.
How lost?

PADILLA.
For this world; but that's little;
I thought till now, however lapsed in duty
To my anointed sovereign, I maintain'd
My fealty to Heaven's eternal Law
And Him who sits beyond it;—that is gone—
And death's no refuge.

MARIA
(kneeling).
Kill me here, and live
Assoil'd from guilt my desperate love brings on thee!
Do not transfix me with those eyes of stone,
But slay me!

PADILLA.
Slay! who spoke that dreadful word?
Slay! you should live for ages to implore
The saints for pardon! Slay! That word means death;
And, in that death, which I esteem'd a haven
Of golden rest, the shadow of this hour
Will follow with its vengeance.

MARIA.
Then divorce me;
Sever your lot from mine; if I have sinn'd
Beyond forgiveness, cast me off, and keep
Your right to blessing,—so you let me kiss
Your hand once more, and hear one gentle word
Before we part for ever.

PADILLA.
No, Maria,
I will not separate my lot from your's,
Here or hereafter. Rise, and look with love
Upon your blasted husband.

MARIA.
Blasted! Spurn me.

PADILLA
(raising and embracing Maria).
No; thus, once more, I join my soul with yours
For ever. I remember when we stood
Before the Priest to consecrate the state
In which the holiest ecstasy of earth
Enriches the immortal, and exchanged
The common vow of constancy “till death
Should part us,” which gay brides and bridegrooms take
And keep without reproach till parting comes
According to the word, and then forget
Their loss in other contracts which they seal
With the same brief formality, and pass
In decent round of duty, till the grave
Sets the survivor free to wed again,
As if the marriage of pure hearts had bonds
For mortal life alone; I felt your hand,
Which had been tremulous in mine, grow firm
And your eye flash'd a question on my soul
Which from that soul I answer'd,—with disdain
Of the poor limitation of a span
For such great bargain, and a pledge that ours
Was for both worlds. I own that bond and pray
That I may share your doom.

MARIA.
I cannot weep,
For my heart's iron.

PADILLA.
Do you not hear a knell
As from a distant church?

MARIA.
No—any sound
Were better than the silence.

PADILLA.
A funeral knell;
Yet softer than before you came: its portent
Seems fraught with solemn mercy.

[Enter Alphonso gaily, with a helmet on, and sword in his hand.
ALPHONSO.
I am ready;
The troops wait in the Square.

PADILLA
(to Maria).
He goes with me.

MARIA.
Oh not to-day!—

PADILLA.
Hold!—not a word to him.

MARIA.
Oh not to-day; all things in earth and sky
Are charged with terror; see the river's mists
Rise like huge shrouds to veil your battle-field
And the air's fill'd with storm.

PADILLA.
We must abide it;
My army will to-morrow be dissolved
Unless to-day it conquers.
[Girding the sword on Alphonso.
Let me arm you;
The sword fits well; embrace your mother.

[Alphonso kisses Maria, who stands abstracted.
ALPHONSO.
Cold
As marble! Do not fear for me; I go
To win my knighthood.

MARIA.
Go—I dare not bless you.

PADILLA
(embracing Maria).
Farewell, my dear one; let me see you smile;
That's well; be hopeful. Now, young soldier, tread
With lightest foot, for there's no freer heart
In all the thousands that share this day's peril
Than that you carry.

[Exeunt Padilla and Alphonso.—Trumpets below sound a salute.
MARIA
(alone).
Gone—those trumpets greet them—
Time rushes to its cataract.
[Looking over the battlements on thick mists rising from the Tagus.
Part, clouds,
And let me see the squadrons of our foes
To mate these phantoms of despair!
[Lightning.
That flash
Came at my call to show in jagged fire
The plumes down-pouring from the mountain brow
And streaming swords.
[Lightning.
Another flash—they are gone—
Already in the narrow vale where Death
Is busy, while the tempest veils his work.
Oh for a moment's glance of yonder conflict
The mists conceal, or for one battle sound
Above the thunder!

[Storm rages nearer.
Enter Lopez.
LOPEZ.
Madam, will you seek
The chapel where the Friar with ceaseless prayer
Implores the Saints to aid us.

MARIA.
Saints! I am barr'd
From intercession of the martyr'd dead
And from all sacred roofs; but here, in right
Of my remorse and wretchedness, I cry
To the bare Heaven for succour!

LOPEZ.
Yet descend—
The winds impel a deluge which will sweep
In a few moments hither.

MARIA.
Let it come,
And wrap me in its fury.

LOPEZ.
As my master pass'd
He pray'd me, as if life hung on the word,
To urge you to take shelter; and my hand
Prest as in final parting.

[Weeps.
MARIA.
Good old servant—
You weep; I thank you; for your tears dissolve
The iron at my heart, and bid it yield
Obedience to its lord. Lead where you please.

[Exeunt Maria and Lopez. Storm continues.

Scene II.

—The Tent of the Regent Adrian pitched on the eminence of the first Scene of the Second Act.—Storm raging.
The Regent and Gonsalvo.
ADRIAN.
The elements fight for us, but is it certain
That they will conquer? If the battle hangs
In doubt, I'll not be absent from the field,
But brave the tempest.

GONSALVO.
Be assured, Lord Cardinal,
Of such a victory as shall quench for ever
The smouldering embers of revolt: the veterans,
Struck by the loss of the distracted Queen,
Whose presence gilded treason, deem the storm,
That dash'd against them at their onset, wing'd
By Heaven to scourge rebellion, and forsake
The accursed banners to accept the pardon
Your mercy offers; while Toledo's craftsmen,
Though stout of heart, unused to war, will falter,
Confused by double terrors.

ADRIAN.
Yet I'll go forth—
The storm subsides.

GONSALVO.
Here's one whose news may solve
All doubts.

Enter Soldier.
GONSALVO.
How stands the battle?

SOLDIER.
'Tis a flight—
When the storm burst in fury from the heights
And our ranks swept down with it, panic seized
Padilla's choicest soldiers, and they fled
Or cried for quarter, while the heroic craftsmen
Struggling with desperate valour at his call
To flank us towards the mountain, in the marsh
That stretches eastward at the Tagus side,
Sinking knee-deep, were captured, or endured
Our swords unflinching.

ADRIAN.
Do you bring me news
Of the arch-rebel, in whose death alone
This treason will expire?

SOLDIER.
No—but the offer
Of pardon his betrayer may assure
For many traitors, with great largess, scatter'd
By spies among the quailing troops, must bring
Padilla to your judgment.

ADRIAN.
Judgment is pass'd—
That he, and chiefs who fought with him, shall die
Within an hour of capture. Let the block
Be planted on the loftiest rock that stands
Direct before Toledo, that their deaths
May freeze the hearts they snared.
[Trumpets without.
Those sounds proclaim
Our victory complete; their blood shall seal it.

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

—A Hall in the Alcazar of Toledo.—Padilla enters hastily, throws his helmet on a table, and sits beside it.
PADILLA.
All lost except these walls, which scarce will hold
For time to breathe and die! But where's my son—
He was unharm'd beside me at the gate
When I protected the last gallant craftsmen
That sought its shelter;—is he left without?
Or here before me? Grant me strength to ask—
Within there!

Enter Florio.
PADILLA.
Is he here?

FLORIO.
Who?

PADILLA.
Who! my boy—
I mean Alphonso.

FLORIO.
I have not beheld him,
But at the gate, a wounded soldier prays
That you would hear his tidings, which, I think,
Are of your son.

PADILLA.
Let him be tended hither:
Now God grant courage!
[Carillo is brought in, wearing the uniform of a common soldier, supported.
You have tidings for me;
You are hurt—you are sinking—what a wretch am I
To torture you with question! Yet I implore you
Utter one word—what know you of my son?

CARILLO.
I am most happy that I caught these wounds
In warding from his brow the swords that flash'd
Around it, and so saved him.

PADILLA.
Then he lives?

CARILLO.
Lives, but borne captive.

PADILLA.
To the camp of Adrian!
Worse fate! yet let me not be thankless to thee!
I saw thee stem the flying crowd with valour
Which, shared by chieftains' hearts, had changed the fortune
Of this last combat; what's thy name?

CARILLO.
'Tis mangled.

PADILLA.
I know thee now; thou art the youth Carillo
Who bore my censure; well hast thou redeem'd
Thy honor; oh that thou mayst live! Help! Help!

CARILLO.
I die contended with thy praise; may Heaven
Preserve and bless thee!

[He is borne out.
PADILLA.
Be thy frailties pardon'd!
My child in Adrian's power! Most cruel duty
That chains me to my station when my life,
With its last desperate energy, might serve
To win his freedom! Yet I must not leave
The dreadful post I fill, whatever agonies
Burn midst my heartstrings. I must suffer in it
Till death release me.

Enter Ovando, hastily.
OVANDO.
Do you hear the cry
That rends the city?

PADILLA.
No; what cry?

OVANDO.
For you;
The crowd, in terror's frenzy, call for him
Who led them forth to slaughter; they will see you.

PADILLA.
How—what said you?

OVANDO.
That the infuriate people
Demand your presence.

PADILLA.
I obey their call:
Forgive me; I was for a moment lost;
My son is—yonder.

OVANDO.
Captive?

PADILLA.
So.

OVANDO.
I am heartstruck;
I was too rude.

PADILLA.
Not so; I have no right
To muse on private grief.

Enter Tendilla.
TENDILLA.
Forgive my errand;
It shames me.

PADILLA.
Pray speak on.

TENDILLA.
The Council, met
In desperate haste, have voted that you stand
Twixt them and mercy, and require your name
To act of resignation of your power
As general of the army.

[Tendilla produces a parchment while Padilla eagerly speaks.
PADILLA.
Will they take
All office from me? Strip me of my rank?
Cancel the bond of duty with command?
Dismiss me to the common herd of men
Naked and lonely?

TENDILLA.
It is even so.

PADILLA.
Give me the scroll.
[He eagerly signs and returns the scroll.
There! you have done your work
Briefly and well.

TENDILLA.
My office was a sad one;
Forgive it.

PADILLA.
Forgive! I thank you; leave me to myself,
But take my blessing with you.
[Exeunt Tendilla and Ovando.
I am free—
I shall not die in vain. The Regent's offer
Of pardons at the will of him who gives
Padilla to the axe, shall be embraced
This hour; the holy father, who prays for us
Within, shall bless my mission and array me
In reverend semblance, which will give free passage
To Adrian's camp, to strike a noble bargain
And to fulfil it gladly.

Enter Florio.
FLORIO.
Will you see
My lady for a moment?

PADILLA.
No; not now;
Tell her I am busy—but quite calm—and soon—
Yes; very soon, shall meet her.
[Exit Florio.
It is hard
To leave her unembraced, yet on a moment
Hangs the last issue. Heaven vouchsafe my son
Life till I reach him, and I'll cast aside
This robe of frail mortality, with joy
More eager than, when flush'd in summer's noon
With martial sports, I threw my vestments off
To cleave the lucid Tagus. Youth's sweet spring
Throbs in my veins as then; I trample air.
[Exit Padilla.

The Last Scene.

—The Tent of the Regent.—The Storm dispersing.—Adrian discovered with Officers of his staff.
ADRIAN.
Bring forth the noblest prisoners; they shall first
Atone their treason.
[Mondeiar brought in guarded.
Who is this?

MONDEIAR.
My name
Is Mondeiar.

ADRIAN.
Do I, in you, behold the brother
Of the arch-rebel's wife?

MONDEIAR.
You see the brother
Of an heroic lady who exults
In the affection of the noblest soldier
Castile has nurtured,—who, if his loyal heart
Had not refused to listen to our prayers,
Would have, ere this, been rebel to such end
That you had pray'd him, on your knees, to take
From you the anointing oil. I wait my doom.

ADRIAN.
You see it; yonder hillock bounds the course
Of your life's journey.
[Alphonso is brought in guarded.
Who is this—a stripling?
Set him before me. You are very young
To choose revolt; it may be older traitors
Constrain'd you; if it was so, and you answer
My questions frankly, I may show you grace.
Who took you into battle?

ALPHONSO.
My free heart,
Following a glorious father.

Enter Soldier.
SOLDIER.
My lord, a priest
Who says that, if you grant his terms, he'll give
Padilla to your justice, craves admission.

ADRIAN.
Admit him instantly.

ALPHONSO.
A priest so vile!

ADRIAN
(to Alphonso).
Your speech is bold, but your faint heart belies it;
You tremble and grow pale; 'tis well; there's hope
Your stubbornness may yield.

Enter Padilla in the disguise of a Friar.
ADRIAN.
Are you the priest
Who can betray Padilla?

PADILLA.
I will place him
Within your grasp, if you accept my terms.

ADRIAN.
Name them.

PADILLA.
First, pardon for these prisoners.

ADRIAN.
These?
Why care for them?

PADILLA.
No matter; 'tis my will.

ALPHONSO
(recognising Padilla's voice).
That voice! Do not believe this Friar's rash promise;
Send him away, and let your sentence fall
At once upon my life.

PADILLA.
Peace—lest I curse you.

ADRIAN.
Be silent, boy.

PADILLA.
He'll not offend again.

ADRIAN.
I pledge my word for their release; what else?

PADILLA.
Your promise that Toledo shall be free
From spoil and insult, and her sons from vengeance.

ADRIAN.
If you consign Padilla to the axe,
The great example shall not be obscured
By meaner acts of punishment.

PADILLA.
Enough.
Thus I resign him to you.

[Padilla throws off the Friar's dress.
ADRIAN.
'Tis himself—
My knees sink under me as if constrain'd
To bend before him.

PADILLA.
You will keep your word?

ADRIAN.
In all things.

PADILLA.
Let me clasp my son and die.

[Alphonso rushes into Padilla's arms.
ALPHONSO.
Why did you rescue me?

PADILLA.
To live for Spain.

ADRIAN.
Your son! If you would speak apart, you may.

PADILLA.
I thank you; I can teach him nothing more:
He has seen his father's life; he'll see his death;
He'll learn no other lesson. Let me gaze
One moment on my glorious birth-place, clad
In solemn beauty by the storm that yields
Her towers to fill my vision's grasp. Toledo,
The crown of Spain; fortress of Christian faith,
That from the ages of the mighty Goths,
Hath kept thy liberties unblemish'd, take
Fond benediction of thy dying son,
John de Padilla,—who in death enjoys
The sense that his last hour has served thee well,
And, with the strength of life's last rally, prays
Duration for thy grandeurs while the rocks
On which thou sitt'st in queenly state shall last,
And glory for thy children while Castile
Shall tower among the nations!

MARIA
(without).
I am his wife—
Padilla's wife—make way.

PADILLA.
'Tis my wife's voice;
Pray let her pass; she will less trouble you
Hereafter if she see me.

ADRIAN.
Let her pass;
She must not hold you long.

PADILLA.
Fear not; she'll speed me.

Enter Maria, who embraces Padilla.
PADILLA.
Forgive me that I stole away to save
Our son; he is pardon'd.

MARIA.
At what cost? Your life!

PADILLA.
He would have laid down his young life to add
An hour to mine, which I have nobly used,
Not worth the purchase of a day, to save him
To you for many years.

MARIA.
Ay; many years.

PADILLA.
They will appear like moments when we meet
Beyond those sunbreaks.

MARIA.
Then you think me pardon'd?

PADILLA.
As certainly, Maria, as I stand
Enfolding you, and presently shall die;
In the serenity that fills my soul
I recognise assurance for us both
Of full remission.

ADRIAN
(to his Officers).
Why was such a heart
A traitor's?

MONDEIAR.
Do you dare to call him traitor?

PADILLA.
Forbear, my brother; when in arms, 'twas meet
To hurl such imputation back, but now
Meek resignation to the will of Him
Who calls me to His bar, alone should rule
The parting throbs of life. I would not tax
The Regent's patience further; so, at once,
Farewell. Rejoice to think that e'er yon cloud,
That waits upon the sun, shall drink its light
Our own Joanna's little face will shine
Direct upon her father's.
(To Adrian.)
You'll give passage
For these to their old home?

MARIA.
Not there!—the joys
Our dear abode has nurtured, crush'd on earth,
Will have no portion in etherial realms
Where we shall meet; and I must henceforth breathe
To dream of the Eternal.

PADILLA.
Think not, dearest,
Our old delights will fail us; no—I feel
Upon this giddy margin of two worlds,
That there is nothing beautiful in this
The passion'd soul has clasp'd, but shall partake
Its everlasting essence; not a scent
Of rain-drench'd flower, nor fleece of evening cloud
Which blended with a thought that rose to Heaven
Shall ever die; but link'd with joy that drew
Colour and shape from this fair world, shall shed
Familiar sweetness through the glorious frame
After a thousand ages.

MONDEIAR.
Will you speak
Nothing of public import;—of your course?

PADILLA.
Nothing—my course is of the past—afar
Already I survey it, as I stand
Assoil'd from mortal strife, in hope to win
Eternal peace. So take at once farewell.

MARIA.
Let me go with you to the end.

PADILLA.
No farther;
The way I see is short. Farewell for this world.
[Exit Padilla, guarded.

[Donna Maria remains standing in the centre of the scene, gazing after Padilla and supporting Alphonso.
ADRIAN.
Lead her away; thence she will see him die.

MARIA.
Lead me away! Think you I fear the block,
The headsman, and the axe? No—I behold
A sainted hero turn those ghastly shapes
To images of triumph; while it lasts
These eyes shall drink his mortal greatness in;
Kneel down, my son, and gaze with me; you'll see
Nothing so beautiful on this side heaven.

[Alphonso falls on his knees before Maria, but covers his face with his hands; she stands erect fixedly gazing in the same direction.
ALPHONSO.
Forgive me; 'tis not possible.

MARIA.
He treads
Lightly as on the evening when I changed
Love's vow for his; he lays his robe aside
With airiest grace; he turns his head—thank God
I caught that look and know it met my own—
He kneels before me; while the sun sheds forth
A slanting glory through the lurid clouds
That falls upon him as a visible track
From earth to heaven; and now the headsman wields
His feeble axe in air.

ALPHONSO.
It falls? It falls?

MARIA.
No—it has caught the sunbeam—and revolves
Above him like a crown of glory sent
To wreathe his head. He spreads his hands; his soul
Breathes prayer through parted lips that keep the hue
They wore in freshest youth.

ALPHONSO.
And now?

MARIA.
With God.