•y C A R P I O % Crajjttrg I3ST ZPIVIE .A.CTS BY JOHN PINNAMOEE Autho?' of " Francesca Vasari " GEORGE ROBERTSON x8 7 5 ftf MELBOURNE: PRINTED BY WALKER, MAY, AND CO., 9 MACh'ILLOP STREET. TO EICHAED ANNESLEY BILLING, ESQ., M.A., BAEEISTEE-AT-LAW, AS A SLIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENT OE HIS UNVAEYING KINDNESS TO THE ATJTHOE, AND HIS KINDLY APPEECIATION OE A EOEMEE EFEOET BY THE SAME WEITEB, ptljis ^>kg IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. PREFACE. The story of Bernardo del Carpio has at all times been a favourite one with the dramatists and poets of Spain — no less than seven tragedies (as we are told), and innumerable ballads, having* been composed on the subject in the language of that country. With the tragedies I have no acquaintance whatever • but there cannot be more resem- blance between them and the present work than is the necessary consequence of the same story being treated by the authors of each : and my knowledge of the ballads is solely derived from perusing Lockhart's highly spirited translations. Although the exploits of Carpio, and other matters dealt with in this drama, have been put forth by many historians as matters of fact, others have gone so far as even to deny that our hero ever had a physical existence. With this let the learned deal. But it was clearly my duty to avoid falsifying any known historical fact : and I have, therefore, among other things, rejected (notwithstanding its effective- ness) the obvious anachronism of representing Carpio as the hero of Roncesvalles, and the slayer of the immortal Rolando ; the battle in question having* been fought thirteen years before Alfonso the Chaste ascended the Asturian throne, and the events of this drama being sup- posed to occur in the latter portion of his reign. VI PREFACE. The history, quasi history, or romance of Carpio, undoubtedly presents many attractions to the dramatist. But it appeared to me, viewing it as I elected to utilize it, to be deficient in what is sometimes called " female interest " — it being a general principle that no drama can be quite successful unless the sympathies of the reader or auditor are enlisted on behalf of some member of the gentler sex. To this consideration is due the introduction of the character of Margaret, the incidents connected with whom, as well as those comprising the Fourth and Fifth Acts of the play, are matters in respect of which I have to assume the sole responsibility. In conclusion, I desire to call attention to the fact that I have deviated from the original story by making Saldana a prisoner at Oviedo, instead of at Luna. This was done in order the better to preserve " unity of place." And while I do not venture at present to express my views with regard to the unities, I think it will be conceded that they are matters proper for consideration when they do not materially affect other matters' of possibly greater importance. JOHN FINNAMORE. Melbourne, June, 1875. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Alfonso II., surnamed " The Chaste," King of Asturias. Bamiro, son of Bermudos, the late King, and heir-apparent to the Throne. Bernardo del Carpio, ' Carlos, Velasquez, Garcias, y Nobles. Ferdinand, Sebastian, Gonsalez, A Monk Rodrigo, a Soldier. Bertha, the Queen. Margaret. Nobles, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Attendants, fyc. Scene. — Oviedo, and the surrounding country. Period.— Early in the Ninth Century. C A R P I 0- ACT I. SCENE I. — Oviedo — An open Court in the King's Palace — A Chapel. Enter Carlos and Ferdinand. Ferdinana. How long- since Carpio joined the Spanish camp ? Carlos. Six years or more. He was a stripling* then. But soon his deeds made elder warriors yield Their pride of place to him. Ere yet his chin Could boast a beard, he slew in single fight The giant chief, Orasmin. Ferdinand. While in France, I heard it stated that he once preserved Alfonso's life. Carlos. Ay, when a very boy. Ferdinand. 'Twas when the Moors burst ope' the city gates, And almost were our masters, was it not ? Carlos. It was, sir. This young Mars did make his way "Where brave men shrunk before the deadly peril : And while we stood amazed and speechless all At his undaunted act, the valiant youth, With a boy's weapon, slew the king's opposer. The deed is well remembered yet : it changed The fortunes of the day. But who is here ? 2 2 CARPIO. [ACT I. Enter Garcias. Garcias. Fair gentlemen, good morrow to you both. Most joyful news ! Alfonso has proclaimed The termination of our three days' fast. In grace of the event, his Majesty Has sent a special message to the queen, That he will deign, at noon, to kiss her hand. The court is all excitement at the news. Ferdinand. Is it so great a wonder that our king Should kiss his wife's hand ? Garcias. Ay : it is regarded As a phenomenon. Whether it portends Eruptions of the earth, or an eclipse, I cannot say ; but learned men predict It is a boding that the Saracen Will overrun all Europe. Carlos. Soft, the king. Enter the King, attended by a Monk; also, Velasquez, Sebastian, and others. King [to Velasquez]. Now, sir, what wouldst thou with us 1 We are bent To hear thee. Velasquez [kneeling]. First, upon my knees Xing. Arise : We do not doubt thy loyalty, nor seek This crouching show of homage. We attend thee. Velasquez. Let me not make the forfeit of your love, If, in my country's name, I plead for one That was my friend ; whom five-and-twenty years Of solitary durance at your hand Have not estranged from you, his sovereign lord. Xing. A bad beginning. But I'll hear you first, And then — Proceed, my lord. Velasquez, Saldana, sire. Xing. Enough, sir, — I have heard enough. Count Carlos, We did not see thee. Benedicite ! What tidings from Bernardo, since the Moors Encamped at Luna ? SCENE I.] CARPIO. 3 Carlos. Nothing further, sire. King. Heaven ! give me years to see those infidels Routed from out the land. If it be true, As holy men have vouched, that I'm raised up, And, through the perils which involved my sire In an untimely end, sustained and saved, To be the instrument of a great purpose, Oh, make Thy servant worthy of his trust ! What think you, reverend monk ? ami designed For such an office 1 Monk. It were sin to doubt What hath been prophesied. King. Amen ! Velasquez. My liege, King. I charge you, on your life Velasquez. What is my life But a poor breath, whose worth is in the use 'Tis put to ? While that breath is mine, my lord, I'll spend it thus. King. You sue to me in vain. No ; let him rot — rot in his dungeon ! I Have sworn he ne'er shall quit those walls alive — And I will keep my oath. Velasquez. His crime unknown King. It is not fit that I divulge the cause For which I hate him. First, the dig'nity Of monarchy I would uphold, whose high And fixed authority disdains to plead Where it commands, or to extenuate The act whose proudest sanction is the will That orders it. Nor is it meet the world Should learn the story my indignant blood Boils at remembrance of. Let it suffice That I thus nourish my determined hate From bitter provocation. And for you, Be counselled in good time, nor longer urge Your supplication for a wretch condemned. Velasquez. I will not cease to tell thee thou dost wrong-. King. Beware ! as. I fear thee not. 4 CARPIO. [ACT I. King. Peace, poisonous reptile ! If ever thy rebellious tongue presume To name again that canker to my peace, Detested Saldane, in my hearing's scope, Look forward to a doom more swift than his, But not less terrible. Hence from my sight ! {Exit Velasquez. Forgive my wrath, Saints of Heaven ! Hark ! Hymn, sung in the Chapel. Thou didst command — "Let day succeed the night, Let there be light ! " The elements obeyed, And giant Darkness fled, reluctant, but dismayed. [ While the hymn is singing, the King uncovers his head, which he rests on the Monk's breast. King. I have committed a most grievous sin In giving way to anger. Monk. Our chaste brother Condemns himself too sternly. King. 'Tis not so. Weak as I am, and old, the rebel blood Is hot within me, and excites my heart To passions that are sinful. Holy father, And you, my friends, — go in and pray for me. / may not enter till I have done penance. Carlos, remain. Pray for my sins, good people. [Exeunt into Chapel all but the King and Carlos. Hymn, continued. Thine edict was made known. Amid the throes Of Chaos rose The golden god of Day, In bright cerulean throned, and Nature owned his sway. King. Give me thy hand. I've honored thee, and found Repayment in thy loyalty and love, Thy wisdom, and thy services. I doubt SCENE I.J CARPIO. Velasquez, and his purpose. Hast thou noted — I know thou hast — his coldness in our interest — The heat with which he urged Saldana's cause 1 He is a traitor : keep thine eye upon him. Carlos. Toft myself have "begged Saldana's freedom King. Thou didst not know his crime. I'll tell it thee. I had a sister once — Once, do I say ? Ay, Carlos, once — for I have razed her name Out of our house's records, and she is To me a thing unloved — almost forgotten. You knew her, as I think ? Carlos. The fair Ximena. King. Fair ! She was fair, hut not for that I loved her. I saw that she was beautiful ; for I Could trace, as others might, the lines that gave Her form its symmetry j and, not unmoved, Could view the lustre of her eye ; the soft And delicate complexion of her cheek ; The pearls half-hidden by her coral lips ; The auburn hair that wantoned o'er her neck, Rippling and shining, as the limpid stream By summer sunset gilded. I designed Her beauties for the cloister. Carlos. Did she not Embrace its solitude ? King. She did — but how ? Tainted, corrupt, a votary of earth And its delusive pleasures. And the slave Who insolently balked my dearest wish Was Saldane. Carlos. Can it be King. I know, my friend, What you would say. Not so. A mockery Of marriage passed between them — some false priest United them — some monk I would have scourged For daring to defy me, had not death O'erta'en him ere my vengeance. I discovered The secret of their nuptials by the signs She could not hide, and forced from her the truth. Then, in the tempest of my wrath, I plunged 6 CARPIO. [ACT I. The hated Saldane in his dung-eon, where The light of day shines never, and the slime Breeds noxious weeds, and lingering- disease, And reptiles so consorted with the place That one pure ray of sunshine would destroy them. There let him waste his miserable life In agonized remorse, and call for death — The solitary blessing which my hate Cannot deprive him of — the only hope That lies between him and the world beyond. Carlos. And the Infanta 1 King. I concealed her state From the whole court, until — accursed day ! — Her child beheld the light. When she recovered, I forced her to a convent. Carlos. Let me ask One question more. Her offspring King. ; Twas a boy. Canst thou not guess ? Carlos. The period of her absence Accords with Carpio's age. King. Thou aim'st aright. To thee alone, my Carlos, have I told The secret of his birth — and my deep shame. Carlos. 'Tis in my bosom lodged as in a grave. King. Thou know'st the cause, now, of that quenchless- hate I bear to Saldane. To thy mind, perhaps, It may seem disproportioned to the wrong, But not to mine. Man's ingenuity Could not devise a torture great enough To satiate my desire. [Music within the Chapel. Hark ! 'tis the hymn Of parting. Let's away — I would not now Be gazed upon. Let me lean on thee, Carlos. [As they go out, the following is sung within the Chapel. SCENE II.] CARPIO. 7 Hymn, continued. As with, primaeval night, our souls within Are black with sin. Oh, be it Thy decree That we may seek and find eternal light in Thee ! [Scene closes in. SCENE II. — An Apartment in the Palace. Enter the Queen and Margaret. Queen. Still sad, my Margaret 1 Let us beguile The tedious moments, as they pass, with tales Of love and valour. Prithee, dearest child, Assume at least the guise of mirth. Methinks There's no such thing as real happiness ; But yet it soothes us to deceive ourselves By the mere outward semblance of a joy We feel not in our hearts. Margaret. Sweet lady, pardon : I have not learned to hide my sorrows yet. Queen. Confide thy griefs to me. Why art thou sad ? Margaret. Dared I but speak Queen. Then wouldst thou speak of love. Why art thou silent ? I have read thy heart And know thy secret. I could breathe a name That would the lilies of thy cheek displace, And plant the rose instead. Thou lovest Carpio. Margaret \hneeling\ My queen, forgive me. Queen. Wherefore dost thou kneel ? Margaret. Do not desert me. I have never dared So to forget my own unworthiness As to indulge a thought of being his 5 Or, if I did, I have rebuked myself, And then was humbler than before. My hope — My only hope — was to love on in secret, And die at last — his name upon my lips. 8 CARPIO. [ACT I. Queen. Fear not that I will chide thee, gentle child — Nor think too lowly of thine own deserts. Such charms as thine, dear Margaret, have oft Plunged nations into warfare, as, of old, Fair Helen's did ; and beauty less than thine Hath been the priceless purchase, and the pledge, That won contending princes back to peace. Nay, dry thine eyes — my sovereign lord approaches. Enter the King, Carlos, Garcias, Ferdinand, Sebastian, and Courtiers. King. Bertha, our Queen. Queen. The saints protect Alfonso ! King. Thou hast our thanks. And let it not be deemed Disparagement unto thy worth, my queen, That we so rarely see thee, whom to see More often were to make this sinful nature Idolatrous and perjured. The great vow To which I bound myself when I assumed Asturias' sceptre at Bermudo's hand, Prescribes this life of chastity ; but yet, As token of the grace with which we view Your numerous perfections, thus we venture To kiss your royal hand. Garcias [apart to Ferdinand]. Some wives prefer To have their lips kissed rather than their hands. King. My Margaret, come near me — nearer yet. The bloom is on thy girlhood's cheek. Methinks Each day you grow more lovely, as the spring, Fanned by approaching summer's breath, each day Unfolds a richer beauty. Margaret. Dear my liege, You ever were too kind to your poor child. King [aside]. My child ! She hits too near the truth. 'Tis there My reputation's 'perilled. \ Aloud] Margaret, Canst thou recall thy early childhood's days, And thy dear native country where we found thee ? Margaret. My own sweet France ! SCENE II.] CARPIO. 9 King. Ay, speak to me of France. Say on, my girl. Margaret. I can remember it Since, when a child, I played among- the vines That grew within the silent convent walls • Or listened, breathless, to the holy chaunt Of pious nuns, whose gentle voices seemed By angels wafted to the throne of God ! I can remember, too, when first they told me I was an orphan. Xing. Thou art not an orphan ! Girl, seek to know no further — and be all These clouded memories forgot. Thy country Henceforth is Spain, and dearer than a father's Shall be thy monarch's love. [A horn sounded without. But hark ! that note Announces news from Carpio. Let the envoy Be summoned hither. [Exit Garcias. Queen. By your gracious leave, We will withdraw. King. Your wish accords with ours — For tales of strife befit not woman's ear. Farewell, our noble queen. \_Exeunt Queen and Margaret. Has he not come ? My heart's exultant with prophetic fire. Heaven has heard our prayers, and with strong arm Has smote the infidel ! Enter Gonsalbz, followed by Garcias. King. You're welcome, sir. Oonsalez. I am commissioned by Bernardo, Count Of Carpio, upon my knees to pay His duty to your majesty. That done, To tell you that at Salamanca he Repelled the Moors, who with a loss retired Of fifteen thousand men. 10 CARPIO. [ACT I. King. What loss is ours ? Gonsalez. Our loss is not so great. The total slain Does not exceed four thousand, of which number Three-fourths are men, the rest are mules and horses. King. So few ! Gonsalez. Arcos is slain, and Alvarez Is wounded to the death. Two hearts more brave Are not in Spain. King. I have two friends the less. How did the Count Bernardo bear himself? Gonsalez. My liege, he hacked away as others did. His greatest glory is that the field's won ; He next rejoices that his throat is whole ; And thirdly, sends your majesty his love. I am commanded to deliver, sire, This letter from Bernardo to his king. King. Your name, sir ? Gonsalez. Gonsalez. King. Within what time May we expect the Count 1 Gonsalez. Ere noon to-morrow. King. Public rejoicings we'll defer till then. Meanwhile, be thou our guest ; and for your part In this great victory, 'twill be our care To do you special honour. What is here ? [Opens scroll, and reads. Gonsalez [aside]. Some kindly goddess prompt a mild reply ! He starts and frowns — the colour leaves his face. Excellent signs of generous intent ! His first kind act will be to tear the letter. No, by the saints ! he only crushes it. Carlos. What moves your Majesty ? King [aside]. The secret's known, And every common soldier in the camp Will boast acquaintance with the mystery I would have kept concealed. Not convent bars, Nor Moorish chains, could keep her from her son, Nor hide the hateful story. Carlos. Sire SCENE II.] CARPIO. 11 King [aside]. Enough — Let me anticipate Bernardo's course, And court exposure ere 'tis thrust on me. [Aloud.] Read, Carlos, read this scroll. Attend, my lords. If ye would learn a monarch's mystery. Read, Carlos, read. Carlos [reads], u Sire and Uncle, — I have discovered the secret of my birth. At the beginning of the war, Ximena the Infanta, your sister, and my honoured mother, who had escaped from the convent only to be made a prisoner by the Moors, was by me rescued, and she has told me all. Let your enmity be buried in her grave, for she is dead. To-morrow, sire, I shall throw myself before your feet, and humbly entreat you to liberate my poor father, the Count of Saldana, that by your so doing you may for ever command the gratitude and services of " Your most loyal subject and loving nephew, " Bernardo." My liege, be merciful. King. Though his appeal Were backed by all the powers of earth and hell, I would repel the suit, and dare them all ! You kneel in vain. [To Gonsalez, who is kneeling* [Exeunt King, Carlos, and others. Gonsalez, Garcias, Ferdinand, Sebastian, and others, manent. Gonsalez [starting up]. Kneeling be out of fashion From this- time forth. I'll bind these limbs in iron, So that they shall not bend an inch beyond What may be needed to bestride my horse, Or trudge on foot with comfort. Garcias. I'm amazed ! Gonsalez. At what ? Garcias. That Carpio should be Saldane's son. Gonsalez. Is't wonderful a man should have a father ? To me, good sir, it would be strange indeed Came he into the world without one. Soft ! Whom have we here ? 12 CARPIO. [ACT I. Enter Velasquez. If I conceive aright, Velasquez stands before me. Velasquez. Sir, the same. Gonsalez. I greet you as the comrade of Saldana. But, stay — are we all friends ? Ferdinand. In Saldane's cause I'll shed my heart's best blood. Garcias. Is it not true That for some crime, too horrible to name, He suffers this imprisonment ? Gonsalez. What crime ? Is any here can tell its nature ? None. Not one in Spain, except the king- — who fears To utter it. Was it a crime, my friends, When, from the mighty Alpuxarras' heights, He and his force rushed down upon the Moors, And strewed upon the snow their carcasses ? Was it a crime that he did save our country From Mahomet's abhorred worshippers ? Preserved it to the king who has condemned him — Who, for his realms, has paid him with a dungeon, And, for his sceptre, given only chains ! Garcias. 'Tis truth, by Heaven ! I'm with you ! Omnes. So are all ! Gonsalez. What says Velasquez ? Velasquez. Speak your purpose boldly. Gonsalez. Then keep your caps off still — in the king's presence — And bow as heretofore. Harkye, my lords. Bernardo secretly arrived with me, And will to-night, outside the city gates, Approaching twelve, be taking the night air To cool his hot blood. I'll be there as well ; And if your veins are filled with the like fire, You'll seek your health, perchance, in the same way. Velasquez. Till then, 'twere best we part. SCENE III.] CARPIO. 13 Gonsalez. Eight — 'tis not fit So many feverous patients crowd together. Remember — twelve. [Exeunt different ways. SCENE III.— Outside Ociedo— Night. Bernardo del Carpio discovered. Carpio. Ye walls, that lift your black and ponderous forms, Piercing the misty clouds, and, in your streng-th, Confronting the wild elements that make These herbless rocks their home — Bernardo greets you As though he were your friend ! For in those days Of jovial boyhood, when each hour brought pleasure, 'Twas my delight to contemplate your strength And solemn majesty. Yet, were the force Of fabled Hercules within these arms, And I could tear ye stone from stone, I'd make Your piles a mockery of what they were, And fell your proud heights level with your base, That o'er your ruins Saldane might pass free ! The sound of footsteps. Gonsalez 1 — 'tis he. Enter Gonsalez. My faithful Gonsalez, we meet again. Speak, what success ? 'Tis with my heart I listen. You saw the king ? Gonsalez. My g-racious lord, I saw him. Carpio. What says he to my suit ? Why do you pause ? Tell in one word your news — or good, or bad. Gonsalez. Partly of both, my lord. Carpio. That cannot be : For if my father's liberty be gained, The glorious news shall fill my bosom's space, 14 CARPIO. [ACT I. And leave no envious corner for dejection To make his baleful seat ; but if thou say'st His freedom is denied — saints of Heaven, What then is left me but despair ! Gonsalez. I'll tell thee : Hope still remains. Carpio. And when hope fails ? Gonsalez. Revenge ! Carpio. Revenge ? I will not think of that. And hope ? Have I not hoped, and am I not deceived ? Gonsalez. Your friends Carpio. Speak on — all may not yet be lost. Gonsalez. Velasquez, Ferdinand, Nepotiano — Carpio. Are they upon our side ? Gonsalez. Their hearts are fire, And leap to right your cause. I have arranged That they shall meet you here. The hour is nigh — And yonder look, my lord, where two approach. Carpio. Give me thy hand. I'll be what thou wouldst have me. The slave repines, meeting an obstacle Which brave men grapple with, and may o'ercome. I'll cast aside these weak complaints 'gainst fortune — Smile upon adverse fate — and bid defiance To all that may oppose my glorious aim ! Gonsalez. Now is there hope indeed. Keep this resolve, And all the malice of the chaste Alfonso Shall fail to keep your father in his dungeon. Enter Velasquez and Ferdinand. Velasquez, and the noble Ferdinand. Carpio. Welcome, my friends. Count [to Ferdinand], hitherto our paths Through life have lain apart. I grasp thy hand, And breathe a hope that henceforth thou and I May, as our hands, so find our hearts united. Ferdinand. With my whole soul I do repeat your wish. Carpio. For thee, Velasquez — Saldane's friend and mine — SCENE III.] CARPIO. 15 Thus I renew the promise of my love. [Embraces him. What tidings bring you ? Ferdinand. You have heard, Alfonso Has but this very day proclaimed his will Immovable to be that Saldane ne'er Shall bid good morrow to the light of heaven. Upon solicitation of Velasquez, Who set therein the peril of his life, He thus pronounced. Carpio [to Velasquez]. Still, still my thanks are yours. We'll speak of this anon. May we expect More friends to-night ? Gonsalez. See, Garcias and Sebastian Approach us yonder. Enter Garcias and Sebastian. Carpio. Give me each a hand. To both, my thanks — to both, my dearest welcome. Velasquez. To baffle spies, we did disperse our paths. Others arrive. Enter a number of Lords, different ways. Carpio. To each a several greeting. Gonsalez. Lords and Asturians, we are met to-night, The best means to contrive whereby to gain The liberty of Saldane. Should we need Another spur to rouse our sympathies, We have it in the knowledge that he gave A son to us, whose warlike qualities Have made Asturias great and terrible Unto her foes. Here I stand forth, and pledge Myself to Saldane's cause. Who seconds me ? Garcias. Garcias ! Omnes. And I ! Velasquez. And every honest heart In Christian Spain ! Carpio. Friends, ere you do commit Your honours to my keeping, you shall learn 16 CARP 10. [ACT I. "Wherefore Saldana suffers in his dung-eon The traitor's penalty. Velasquez. Speak on, Bernardo. Carpio. If 'tis a crime to love, and sanctify- That love by holy marriage, then my father May have deserved his punishment. He loved The sister of Alfonso, 'gainst whose will He married her ; nor sought he ought to know Save that his passion fondly was returned. This was the deep iniquity — this only — Which, by Alfonso's order, even now My father expiates in chains. Ferdinand. Let's turn Our arms against this king, and hurl him from The throne which he dishonors. Sebastian. I am yours, To stand or fall with you in the attempt. Garcias. So are we all ! Omnes. All ! Carpio. Wherefore should we seek For vengeance, lords ? We stand on holier ground, And ask for justice only. Ferdinand. Should we fail To win the king ? Carpio. First, fail — and on that failure Devise our future course. Are we all friends Of liberty, that in the solemn night Have thus assembled ? Shall we then behold The hero who has saved our liberties And with his blood our safeguards has cemented, Lose his own freedom, and himself become The easy victim of a tyrant's hate ? Behold yon rugged rock, by lightnings scarred, Hoary and haggard made by the wild strife Of warring elements — yet standing there, In mute defiance of the tempest's rage. But Man has conquered it, and made it serve His purposes, hewing its entrails out To make vile, rooking, pestilential caves, Which he calls dungeons. And in such a place, SCENE III.] CARPIO. 17 For fl ve-and-twenty years, of which each day Would seem a century, has Saldane lain, . Chained to the clammy rock, and ravenous For want of food ; starved in the icy air — His life a hell on earth, and death a heaven ! While I, whose very "breath Was Saldane's gift — while you, whose liberties You stand as debtors for to him — have lived In the enjoyment of the gladdening sun, The rivers, and the mountains, the fresh air, The sense of freedom, and the countless gifts By Heaven bestowed on man. Shall this be so For ever 1 Spaniards, no ! Let's give to him The liberty he gave to us. Let's claim it Even of the king : boldly and fearlessly, Conscious we ask a right. But, in the heat And passion of that knowledge, let us not Forget, my lords, that he is still our king. [Shouts of u Saldane and Freedom!" " Live Bernardo ! " fyc. Velasquez. Pronounce the pledge, my lord, that we must swear to. Carpio. Unsheath your swords, and cross their points with mine. [They do so, forming a semi-circle about him. This is our oath. First, that we try all means Which fair entreaty offers to obtain My father's liberation. Foiled in that (As let me fondly hope we shall not be), Pledge we our several powers by force to gain What will have been denied unto our prayers ; Yet so far only deal with force as this Our end requires ; and, Saldane's freedom gained, Renew allegiance to our king. Omnes. We swear ! [All kiss the hilts of their sivords. Carpio. Behold, the moon has risen in the east, And from her sacred mansion witnesses Our solemn oath ! END OF ACT THE FIRST. ACT II. SCENE. — A Boom of State in the Palace. — A Balcony at Bach ; the Palace Gardens beyond. A Dais with a Throne. The King and Queen on Throne, discovered. Also, near the Queen, Margaret, and Ladies, fyc. Also, Ramiro (standing before the Throne) ; and Carlos, Gonsalez, Sebastian, Ferdinand, Velasquez, fyc. Trumpet as the Curtain rises. Xing. Noble Ramiro, when jour saintly sire Obeyed the call of Heaven, and for the Church Resigned the crown which now I wear, preferring* An everlasting- diadem above, I vowed that you, his son, and my successor, Should be instructed how to rule the land With even justice, firmness, dignity— Your every thought your country's and your God's. Bamiro. This have I heard, my liege, and 'tis my grief That lengthened absence in a foreign land Has hitherto deprived me of your counsel. King. It therefore pleases me that you this day Shall be a witness of my conduct here. If (howsoever sorely I be pressed) You see me yield to weakness, let your scorn Pall heavy on me, and example take Rather from boys or women than from me. Your hand, dear prince — your honored place is here. [Hands Ramiro to a position at his right, on the Dais. Let the shrill trumpet sound. [Trumpet] Bid Carpio enter. [Exit an Officer, ACT II.] CARPIO. 19 He-enter Officer, with Carpio. Bernardo, we attend thee. Speak, what wouldst thou ? Carpio. Suffer me, king*, to thank you for this hearing', And thus to vow my loyalty, by all The honors of my a knighthood. [Kneels. King. Can we trust This pledge of yours when even now you're here To plead a traitor's cause ? Carpio. A traitor, sire ! Saldana is no traitor. [Rises. King. For thyself, Thou art our sister's son, and in so far As ties of blood may claim we fain would love thee. We know beside, and do appreciate Thy services : but for the Count thy father, His doom is sealed. Carpio. And shall thy sister's son Plead vainly with thee for his father's life ? And shall the services which you acknowledge Go unrewarded ? • \ Think me not too vain If I, the better to^advance my cause, Recall them to your memory. My liege, Mine has not been a maiden's arm, nor useless ; But oft in fields that have been swamped with gore I've fought for you, and triumph still has sat Upon my arm. Your foes I made my own, Your friends were mine, your greatness my ambition. King. We do admit your prowess. Carpio. Hear me yet. Once, when the Moor assailed you at your gate, Your enemies prevailed, your friends fell back : Prostrate on earth you lay ; above your head Swung* the descending scimitar, and death, Instant and certain, hung upon the stroke. I (then a boy of scarcely fifteen years) Leapt on your enemy, and grappling him By the swart throat, whilst he in vain essayed 20 CARPIO. [act To dash me to the ground, I plunged my dagger Deep in his neck : then, with one mighty bound, And one wild shriek of mortal agony That cleft the air, his quivering mass fell down, And rolled before your feet. Gonsalez [apart to Velasquez]. Dost mark the king T Carpio. And shall the only recompense I ask — My father's liberation — be denied ? Shall it be charged against your justice, king, That — all Saldana's victories forgot — You kept him chained and rotting in a cell, Even while his son did rally round your throne The thousands that did wait on his command, Shedding their blood as heaven pours down rain, To keep secure your kingdom and your life ? I'd not believe it, though the saints had sworn't, And on the everlasting rocks which form The fortress of Asturias had engraved The living lie ! Thou canst not, king, refuse That which I ask. King. Your suit is proudly urged. Carpio. Am I too arrogant ? Oh, bend, my knee, And humbly thus let me entreat your favour ! {Kneels. King. Arise, Bernardo. Carpio. Let me ever kneel Till mercy find a place within your heart. King. Are there not crimes so black that mercy for Their perpetrator were itself a crime ? Carpio. And what my father's crime ? 'Twas only love. He loved Ximena King [starting up]. By the saints of Heaven, I swear he would have less incurred my wrath Had he essayed to circumvent my power, And, with intent rebellious, to o'erthrow My consecrated throne ! Queen [kneeling]. My dearest husband, If in your prayers I ever was remembered, If in your heart I hold a place of love, If I have been your true and faithful wife, II.] CARPIO. 21 Holding your slightest word my oracle King. Rebellious queen, that lov'st mine enemies ^Bove me, thy husband, and anointed king, Go to thy chamber — go ! Queen. Oh, hear me yet. King. Shall I be disobeyed ? Away, I say ! [Strikes at her. No murmur, but begone. Margaret. Shame, shame, king ! King. False minion, dost thou scorn us ? Margaret. Oh, my liege, Wert thou as great as Christian Charlemagne, That coward blow had robbed thee of thy state, And made thy honour vile ! King. Traitress ! Carpio. Brave wench ! King. Peace on your life. Methinks I know the cause Of this brave indignation. Lovers' eyes Betray too much — and I have noticed thine. [To Margaret. 'Tis not the queen thou lovest, but the suit For which she pleaded ; nor, indeed, the suit, But him who urged it. Minion, be advised ; And if thy wayward fancy should be set Upon this traitor who has dared to brave me, Pluck from thy heart thy love ; and if thou fail, Drink deadly poison rather than incur The awful penalty that now 'hangs o'er thee. Carpio. Tyrant, beware — tempt not your fate too far. King. Bertha, begone, and take yon maiden with you. Queen. My duty is obedience. Heaven protect us ! [Exeunt Queen and Margaret. King [to Carpio]. Hear me, hot youth — and then be hushed for ever. You say your father's crime was love. 'Tis false. Love may have been the prelude to his crime, But not the crime itself. His crime was this : To set at nought my will, and in the face Of the Most High, to stamp me perjurer — 22 CARPIO. [act An abject slave, unable to fulfil The vow I freely made. Love, say you 1 No — 'Twas a degenerate and sordid passion. "With traitorous intent to seize the crown He won your mother to assist his plans ; Nor did he care what fate might her befall, So that he gained his end, or saved himself. Carpio. I swear it is not true. As Heaven shall judge,. You wrong my father, king. Away, Velasquez ! Velasquez. Forbear, I say. Carpio. I will not be controlled, Nor cease remonstrance, till this infamy Is hurled back to the hell from whence it came ! King. Leave his arms free. 'Tis fit that traitor sires Should bring forth traitor sons. Carpio. Hear me, proud king; And brand me as a villain void of grace If I say aught, and cannot prove it true. When first, my liege, you sat upon the throne, As with one voice the people and the troops Gave vent to their displeasure ; for they thought Your majesty more fitted for a priest Than to be ruler of this warlike land. Within a month an army was collected With purpose to dethrone you, and to place Saldana in your stead. But he, my liege — This traitor, as you call him — proved your friend When all deserted you ; and at the head Of his own retinue did stand between You and your foes. The simple proof of this Renders abortive the disgraceful charge That you have dared to make against his honour. King. He feared the issue of the enterprise, Else he had joined it. For thyself, learn this : If I permit thy insolence to live, 'Tis that thou own'st some portion of my blood ; But, lest forbearance should become a sin, Let not to-morrow's dawn behold thee here : Thy life might be in danger. [Exeunt King, Carlos, and others % II.] CARP 10. Carpio and his partisans, manent. Carpio. Worthy king- To fight for ! Velasquez. You should not have broken out Into this tempest. Carpio. Death ! Was I to hear My father slandered thus ? To smile assent To every lie he spake ? To bare my back, And meekly to receive the royal lash ? The insolent tyrant spurned his patient queen As I would not have spurned a loathsome cur, Though, swoln with festering disease, it crawled About me like a fiend of hell. Not break Into this tempest, say you ? But you're right — My rage was impotent. Gonsalez. 'Twas not, Bernardo. Alfonso quailed before your haughty glance, And from his shifting eye the coward peeped. He has not been accustomed thus to hear His faults recounted. Velasquez. Still 'twas most unwise To wake him to suspicion. Carpio. It was not. Oh, what a pleasing-, easy task 'twould be, To win Alfonso through his sympathies ! This king — this worthy brother of my mother — This precious uncle — this dear hypocrite, That speaks as though his goodness and his gold Had purchased Paradise — this chaste Alfonso, That keeps his vow because his blood is cold — This sanctimonious breather of revenge, That from his prayers omits his enemies — This hater unprovoked — this sceptred braggart — Fears but the daring, overawes the meek. Shall we submit, that he may buffet us, As masters do their mules ? We'll force him, lords, To yield his prisoner up. But if we fail, One grand resource our fortunes will reserve Between us and despair — to be revenged ! 23 24 CARPIO. [act Ferdinand. Or first, or last, my lord, your cause is ours. Velasquez. These walls have ears, my lord. Let us not here Dilate upon our plans. Carpio. I care not where ! Velasquez. Then hasten to the king 1 , your purpose speak, And for your pains be chained within a cell. Are you prepared to sacrifice your hopes For the poor luxury of giving* voice Immediate to your wrongs ? The time will come When with propriety you may proclaim Your purpose to the world — but 'tis not now. Carpio. Velasquez, there are moments when the wrongs Long treasured quietly within our hearts Are, by some accident — a word — a breath — Disturbed in their repose. At such a time Shoots the hot blood of passion through our veins, And in the torrent reason is submerged. 'Tis so with me : but with a desperate will Do I drive back the stream unto its source, And dam the current up. Now speak, Velasquez, And I will hear you calmly. Velasquez. Let us meet Within an hour beyond Saint Jago's cross. Carpio. The time and place, my lord, are somewhat near. To-morrow morning be it, on Naranco, Each with his forces. And in case the king Should change his merciful decrees, and seek To mew us up in prisons, I commit To you, brave Gonsalez, the immediate duty Of organizing in the city here Sufficient force to shield us, if required. To-morrow, friends, we meet prepared for mischief. And now, a short farewell. Velasquez. Farewell, my lord. [Exeunt all but Carpio. Carpio. Our passions are our masters. Still we place Our lives and fortunes on the doubtful chance II.] CARPIO. 25 Of feelings which are uppermost. We strive To rear our future on a firmer base, Which we call reason — but in vain — we fall Or rise but by the accident which makes Our impulse vain or fortunate. One dread Hangs ever o'er me, as the impending sword O'er Damocles. Whether I wake or sleep — Ay, though my sleep may be without a dream — One fear is ever present to my mind. This is it — that the king may baffle me, And raze unto the dust my high-built hopes, By one dire act — the murder of my sire. Of what avail, then, would be victory, If he for whom I fought lay cold within The unrestoring tomb ? Ye heavenly powers, Will ye permit this tyrant to exult Much longer in his vengeance ? Will ye pledge Your friendship to his evil, and desert The cause of justice ? Has my father sinned So deeply 'gainst your holy ordinance That to the mercy of a king who's void Of mercy ye resign him ? Aid my arms, That I may rescue him. 'Tis not the thirst Of victory, ambition, power, impels me To the resort I purpose. Eead my soul : If there inscribed you find one meaner thought Than filial love and duty sways me on To the appeal of force, desert me then, Champion your fates upon the counter side, And let Saldana perish ! Who is here 1 The lady Margaret. Enter Margaret. How fares the queen ? Margaret. It was her wish that I should seek you out, And tell you what has passed. Carpio. Speak on — I listen. Margaret. The queen and I were seated in her chamber, When, unannounced, the king, with wrathful brow, Appeared before us, and in bitter terms 26 CARPIO. [act Reproached us both as traitors to his crown. Our gracious mistress, pale and trembling-, rose, Her terror-stricken gaze fixed on the king-, Her breathing- stifled, senseless of his words, And conscious only of the scathing- fire That seemed to issue from his veng-eful eyes : Then, with a wailing- cry, her strength g-ave way ; And, while she fainting- lay within my arms, He fiercely cried, " Say to her, when she wakes, She shall have escort to the prince her brother : She leaves to-morrow morn." Carpio. 'Tis better so — Where'er she be, farthest from him is best. Thanks, thanks for that, most merciful of tyrants ! What further said he ? Margaret. Some dark threats he uttered Concerning- thee ; wherefore the queen entreats That you consult your safety, g-ood my lord, By quick departure. Carpio. Let him dare to place A fing-er on my head ! But he is wise, And will not venture on so dear a risk. Enoug-h of that. Something- you've left untold, Which, from the dear respect I hold you in, It is my wish to know. Did he say aught Affecting thee ? Why art thou silent, girl ? What meaning has that blush ? and why those tears ? Margaret. 'Tis nothing ! Carpio. Nothing ? Margaret. What he spake to me I do not heed. It is enough to know, Whate'er his power, he cannot force my will. Carpio. He cannot force your will ? Force it to what ?' To love ? Oh, tell me, Margaret, is it that ? If there be any meaning in your words 'Tis this, that he would wed you 'gainst your choice. Speak, tell me if it be so, Margaret, And let me know to whom ? Margaret. Ramiro. Carpio. No ! II.] CABPIO. 2? I will not let him graft on such a bough, So fair a rose. Look in my eyes, dear girl — Look in my eyes. Say, hast thou ever loved ? Margaret. What means my noble lord ? Carpio. When first I knew you r You were a simple child, on whose clear brow The ripeness of ten summers scarce had set The seal of its luxuriance. It was then My chief delight to listen to your voice, Lisping our Spanish tongue, and mingling with Our words the soft sounds of your native French, Each melting in the other ; and to teach you The mysteries of our language, till its song- Came freely from you, but adorned and graced With accent unaccustomed. Margaret. Good my lord Carpio. Oh, it was rapture, in those bygone days To see you, in your robes of maiden white, Joyous and pure — light as the fleeting roe — ■ Each day, fresh graces budding in your form — Each hour, fresh beauties lighting in your face, And a new charm in every act and word, While gentle innocence pervaded all ! Oh, Margaret ! I love thee, and have loved Even with a passion which no circumstance Of time or chance can lessen. Wilt thou share A soldier's fortunes, and a soldier's hopes ? Then shall this arm protect thee 'gainst the world. I'll love thee, Margaret, while my eyes can drink Thy beauty in ; and even Time shall wreathe Among thy locks of jet his silver threads, Yet only make thee dearer to my sight. I'll love thee, sweetest, still, still, while my heart Pants to the drops that play within it. Ay, Even in death, the memory of thee Shall be a sun, whose rays shall steep in gold The immaterial essence of my soul. Margaret. Oh, my Bernardo, wilt thou hear me speak — And dare I hope thou wilt not think my words Unmaidenly ? 28 CARPIO. [ACT Carpio. Speak, dearest. Margaret. Since the hour I first heheld thee, I have loved thee, Carpio. If I do wrong to speak so "boldly now, Chide, hut forgive me. Carpio. I must chide thee, sweet, For having kept so secret in thy heart What it was mine to know. Margaret. I loved thee ere I knew what love was ; hut instruction came Even from my passion, and my heart divined Wherefore it throbhed when thou wast near, or when Thy name was spoken : till at last I feared My secret might be written in my eyes, And I avoided thee ; for when I seemed The most reserved and cold, I loved thee best. Carpio. Perish those doubts with that which gave them birth, — The buried past ! And yet " Margaret. Alas ! my lord, Your brow grows sad. Carpio. It was a sudden thought, Whether, indeed, it were not best for thee To let thy love fade from thy memory : For I am bound upon a desperate strife •Of life and death to liberate my sire ; I am encompassed round with danger j ay, A banished traitor, even while I speak : And the result to me, of good or ill, Is only known to One ! Margaret. Your cause, your hopes, Your dangers, griefs, and happiness be mine : I am content so long as Carpio loves. [The King and Monk enter at bach. Seeing Margaret and Carpio, they retire^ listening. Carpio. My love is of the essence of my soul, Which never dies. Say after me this pledge : ■" In holy union to be joined to thee — " Margaret. u In holy union to be joined to thee — " II.] CARPIO. 29 Carpio. " Through life, till death, I do betroth myself:" Margaret. " Through life, till death, I do betroth myself:" Carpio. "Let God and Church complete this sacred bond ! " Margaret. "Let God and Church complete this sacred bond ! " Carpio. Our vows are registered, and Heaven approves Be steadfast, love : fear not the king ; for I Will fashion so my schemes for your protection That he shall fail to harm you. Let your thoughts Be only these — I love, and am beloved. [Exeunt* The King and Monk come forward. King. 'Tis his descent — 'tis the accursed blood That flowed from father unto son — which makes Him bitter to me. Monk. Let my liege be calm. Xing. Say, monk, am I not calm ? When evil news Like these are learned, they should be greeted thus— With inward vows of deadliest revenge, While all without smiles like the treacherous sea, Ere, lashed to mountain waves, even to its depths It opens and destroys. Monk. It is most fit That, being cousins, their unholy union Should be forbid. Xing. Peace ! Have I not ere this Warned thee to keep still shut up in thy heart The fatal secret ? That she is my child, And the memorial of that guilty time When my great vow of chastity I broke, Fain would I even from myself conceal. Monk. Her mother Xing. Oh, I loved her ! She alone Of all the world was holy in my sight. Gentle and uncomplaining, beautiful As angels' dreams, a flower from Paradise, A ray of light from heaven ! Even on me 30 CARPIO. [act She wasted the rich treasure of her love ; And I — I worshipped her ! But my own oath Had made my love bann'd and accurs'd of heaven, And in its blight she withered and despaired ! Monk. Your penitence, your fasts, the Church's pardon King. My mind is racked in thinking of the past ! Henceforth I will avoid it, and be firm To do the things I have decreed. What, ho ! Who waits without ? Monk. What means my gracious lord ? Enter a Page. King. Desire the lady Margaret to come hither. Stay, summon the attendance of our court, And chiefly beg the Prince Eamiro's presence. [Exit Page. This base betrothal must be marred and broken, Although her heart be broken with it. She Must bend her inclination to my will, And what I have resolved shall be to her Fixed as the irreversible decrees Of fate itself. Enter Margaret ; and,from various entrances, Ramiro, Carlos, and other Lords. So, Margaret, you are come. Welcome, most royal prince ; and you, my lords, Your presence honors us. Noble Ramiro Ramiro. My sovereign lord. King. We do acknowledge thee Heir to our throne (since our strict chastity May raise no issue of our proper blood), And here pronounce thee, in thy father's right, Successor to our state. In full accordance With thy consent and wish, we do betroth thee Unto this maid. How now, girl — dost withdraw Thy hand 1 Margaret. Forgive me, sire — and you, my lord, Grant me your pardon also ; since my hand Is not my own, to give, or to withhold. II.J CARPIO. 31 King. Thou speakest truth — 'tis ours, by right divine — In the same title whereby we do hold Our regal diadem. Margaret. I am betrothed To Carpio. King. The pledge is void without Our sovereign consent. We do annul Thy most unholy contract, Margaret. There is still One bond thou canst not break. King. What is't ? Margaret. The love That has betrothed our hearts ! whose essence is So intermingled with our souls, that each Exists but with the other. Dear my liege, Thus at thy feet let the poor orphan plead, Nor let thy kingly bosom close to mercy. I am unworthy of Ramiro's love. My parentage a thing unknown, my heart Pledged to another, and my dower so poor, Save in thy bounty, it would scarce prevail To tempt a peasant : what is in me, then, That for my hand a noble prince should sue, And thou, a mighty king, array thy power 'Gainst a poor girl's ? King. Wilt thou obey our will ? Margaret. I may not, without sin. King. I would not curse thee, For in my bosom still there is an impulse That bids me love thee. Answer me again — Yet pause before you answer. Wilt thou wed This noble prince ? Margaret. Even by that sacred impulse Which you acknowledge — by the better nature That struggles in you Xing. Answer, wilt thou wed him ? Margaret. Never, so Heaven help me ! King. On your head Fall the dire consequence. Most reverend father, [To Monk. 32 carpio. [act We do command thee, in this girl's despite, In wedlock to unite her to this prince. Stand forth, Eamiro : take her by the hand. [Carpio has entered with Gonsalez, Velasquez, Ferdinand, and Sebastian, who remain behind. Carpio now advances. Carpio. And if he do, by my brave father's wrongs, I swear his head shall roll before her feet ! [Margaret, uttering a shrieh of joy, falls into his arms. King. Wrest them asunder. Margaret. I am thine, Bernardo : Let them not take me from thee. Carpio. King", beware — For I am desperate ! This maid is mine — By solemn vow betrothed my future wife ; And not on me shalt thou repeat the fraud Was practised on my father, while my arms Are free to fight for that which is my own. Xing. Yield up that traitress — yield her up, I say. She is our lawful subject, and we claim The right to her disposal. Carpio, Look upon her ! (Cling to me, Margaret — thou'rt safe, my girl.) Dost thou not note the paleness of her cheek — The terror in her eye — the mute appeal For mercy written on her brow ? Alfonso, If thou art man, forbear. Xing. 'Tis not in prayers To shake me in my purpose. Carpio. Is it not ? Neither will threats shale e mine. I here proclaim Open rebellion to thy throne and state ! King. Seize on the traitor. Carpio. Back, I say — who'll dare To interpose between my course and me 1 II.] CARPIO. 33 [StipportingM. argaret, he moves backwards towards fat, defending himself with his sword : Gon- salez, Velasquez, Ferdinand, Sebastian, &c, shielding him on either side. A number of Soldiers also enter, and take his part. Smile, smile, my girl. Off, off, ye servile lords ! Why should we stain our weapons in your blood ? Ye cannot bar me. [He attains the pathway, where he stands in a defensive attitude, supported by his partisans, as the curtain falls. END OF ACT THE SECOND. ACT III. SCENE I.— The Camp of Carpio. Oviedo in the distance. Enter Gonsalez and Garcias. Gonsalez. Heed not their jests. Garcias. I prithee, Gonsalez, Answer me this. Gonsalez. Speak on. Garcias. Did they not all Eight their first battle ere they fought the second ? Gonsalez. Most sapiently demanded. True, Garcias ! Garcias. It follows, then, that every man of them Must recollect a time when he, like me, Had never fought at all. Gonsalez. An oracle Speaks through thee, noble Garcias. Garcias. By Saint Jago, The braggarts are too forward ! One would think They were staunch warriors, had slain their thousands, Scattered great armies, taken and sacked towns, Ere yet their mothers weaned them. Gonsalez. All proceeds From envy, Garcias. Garcias. Wherefore should they envy ? 'Tis doubtless true that all mankind have faults, And I have mine : but vanity is not One of my foibles. Therefore may you speak Freely of my perfections. Tell me, then, What see they in me that excites their envy 1 Gonsalez. Stretch forth thine arm. Note how the muscles swell Beneath thy ample sleeve, which rises o'er them As the good ship upheaves along the waves. SCENE I.] CARPIO. 35 Now clench thy hand. How mighty is that grasp ! Arm, wrist, and hand, how fit to wield a mace ! Throw thy head back, and draw a bounteous breath : A fuller still. Behold that swelling* chest : Like a broad shield of triple steel, it bids Defiance to man's weapons. Let me gaze Upon thy form. Garcias. Thou dost not mock me, Gonsalez ? Gonsalez. I might as safely mock the Afric lion ! Plant firm thy foot. Now, looking* at thee thus, From crown to toe, and taking* in the prospect With both mine eyes, thou art, to my poor judgment, The most sublime, magnificent of — peacocks ! Enter Velasquez, Ferdinand, Sebastian, and others. Velasquez. We march at midnight. Garcias, I am sent To ask of thee a favour. Gonsalez. To command The charge against the walls — a dangerous post, Well fitted for so brave a man. Velasquez. 'Tis known How often you have prayed to be confronted, Your single self, against an hundred Moors. Garcias. Nay, not so many — fifty, good Velasquez, If I remember right — or five-and-twenty. Ferdinand. Oh, for a dozen like thee ! Gonsalez. By the mass ! 'Tis thou alone shalt lead us in the battle. Garcias. Nay, put me in the centre of the ranks Where I may supervise the enemy At reasonable distance ; for my sight Is piercing* as the eagle's, and takes in The smallest thing at the remotest point, Whereby I could discern where danger is — A most important gift ! My proper place Is in the centre. Ferdinand. Or a mile behind. Velasquez. You all are wrong — another duty calls him. Garcias will not be present at the fight. Gonsalez. You kill him but to say so. 36 CARPIO. [act III. Garcias. Gentlemen, It is a soldier's duty to obey. For fifteen years my soul has been a warrior's, Although my body still remained at home. Since I could bear inaction for so long-, I'll strive to bear it now, assisting you With my good wishes and my prayers. Velasquez. To -night, 'Twill be your honorable task to guide The lady Margaret to a place of safety. Garcias. Then I presume, my lord, my special charge Is to protect the lady ? Velasquez. Ay Gonsalez. From dulness. Garcias. I thank you, good my lord. And if I fail To do that duty honestly and bravely, Think me no soldier. [Exit Garcias. Ferdinand. What a moth is this ! Gonsalez. A moth ! You wrong the pretty little insect. Examine well the attributes- of each, And say, in what yon thing of scent and froth Bears any likeness to that gallant fly. Its transient life comprises one grand act Of valour and devotion. What it loves, That will it die for. Its dear idol is The glowing flame, round whose devouring peak Swims joyously the fragile votary. In circles ever narrowing, round it whirls, Scorched by the light it worships ; till at last, To make complete the proof of its devotion, It leaps triumphant to the flame's embrace. Then, like the fair Greek Semele, who saw Her lover clothed in his Olympian brightness, And in that sight expired content, even so The moth now falls, slain by the god it loved ! [A trumpet. What trumpet 's that ? Velasquez. The preconcerted note Which warns us to make ready. SCENE I.] CARPIO. 37 Ferdinand. Carpio comes. Enter Carpio, from Tent. Carpio. One moment, friends, ere you collect your troops. You are apprized how desperate is our hope ; Not in the sense of an inferior force, For both in numbers and in warlike skill The 'vantage lies with us ; but in the fact That all our efforts may be made abortive At the mere signal of our royal foe, If he should doom my noble sire to death. Gonsalez. 'Tis true ; but should he act so foul a part, What will avail him 'g'ainst our just revenge '? Carpio. Poor, poor equivalent for Saldane's life ! Let us not name revenge while hope is left. Revenge is built upon the loss of hope, But hope is the first basis of success. Velasquez. What would my lord propose ? Carpio. A scheme designed To cut communication off between My fathers prison and Alfonso's power : A scheme of glorious promise, but great danger ; And he who joins me in it first must bid Adieu to life, as to a much-loved friend Whom he may see again, but fears he will not. Velasquez. How many men requires your enterprise ? Carpio. Less than two hundred scarcely will avail, Although with twenty I will dare the peril. Velasquez. I claim the privilege to join you in it. Gonsalez. And I ! Omnes. And I ! Carpio. I knew your hearts, brave friends. Gonsalez. Leave it to us, my lord, to organize The force we need to aid us. In an hour We will enlist the number you require, Made up of hearts as callous to all danger As the good swords they carry. Carpio. I accept Your proffer in all confidence and frankness. 38 CARPIO. [ACT III. And now, for one short hour, farewell. Your duty Demands your presence elsewhere. When ag-ain We meet ; I will at large detail the scheme In which I seek your aid ; and till that time, My love and grateful thanks he with you all. Velasquez. Adieu till then, my lord. [Exeunt all but Carpio. Carpio. Who says that men Are all self-seekers ? 0, unwisely wise, Ye cold philosophers ! whose visions scan The deeds of others with imperfect light, And a perverted judgment : ye who see The outer surface only of men's lives, But never penetrate the hearts of men — Humble yourselves ; and from these gallant souls, Pledged to encounter almost certain death To save an old man's sapped and withered life, Without a prospect of the slightest good That can he realized unto themselves — From them learn higher wisdom — give to acts Of heroism and self-sacrifice A nobler name — and call them not ambition ! No — let misguided theorists assert Whate'er they may, one portion of my heart I will reserve for the endearing thought That man, with all his blemishes, retains One attribute which even gods may prize ! Margaret enters from Tent. Carpio meets and caresses her. Carpio. There is a tear upon my Margaret's cheek : A smile is on her lip, but not the smile I love to see there, though it well becomes her. It is a smile wherein I read sad thoughts, Such as I would not she should brood upon. What, not a word ! Thy husband claims the right To learn thy secret griefs — the privilege To vanquish or to share them. Margaret. Dost thou ask SCENE I.] CARPIO. 39 Why I am sad ? Is 't not enough I love thee — And are not these, perchance, the last few moments When my fond eyes may lift their gaze to thine ? And can it be we ne'er may meet again ? My heart will break when I lose sight of thee. Carpio. By Heaven ! thou weepest, Margaret. Sit here, While at thy feet thy lover gently chides thee. Now let me see thee smile. That's my brave wench ! Wilt thou make answer to my questions, sweet ? Margaret. Ay, my dear lord. Carpio. Say, Margaret, dost thou love me 1 Margaret. The Power that reads all hearts doth know how fondly. Carpio. If I were poor, and by the world despised, Wouldst thou still cherish me ? Margaret. If thou wert poor My love should be the richer : if despised, What should thy wife do but esteem thee more ? Carpio. But if I did, or failed to do, an act For which all nature would aloud proclaim That I had struck my name from off the roll Of honorable men, and damned myself To everlasting fame — wouldst love me then ? Margaret. I would. Carpio [with surprise]. How say you ? Margaret. I would love you still. Carpio. Margaret ! [They rise.] Margaret. My lord, 'tis possible to love Without esteem. Carpio. But could'st thou, Margaret, love, Yet not respect me ? Margaret. True love, once bestowed, Can undergo no change, except increase. I see the drift of your strange questions now. This would you say : — " My father now is yours — My honor yours : shall I desert the one — Shall I degrade the other ?" Carpio. What thy answer ? Margaret. I love thee, but I love thy honor more. Go forth, brave knig'ht, and in the fiercest strife, 40 CARPIO. [act III. When sullen Danger stands athwart thy path, And like a bride thou dost encounter her, Disdaining the black venom of her kiss — If o'er thy mind, at such a moment, cross A thought of me, let it be only this — " So would she have me act ! " Carpio. My bravest wife ! I'll fight the better when I think of thee. Go not, my love. 'Tis Garcias. Enter Garcias. Dost thou seek me ? Garcias. My lord, a stranger craves to speak with you. Carpio. What is he 1 Garcias. Judging by his voice, a man ; Also a man, to judge him by his gait : But for these signs, my lord, I should have thought He was a piece of animated cloth. Carpio. Why so ? Garcias. Because nought else is seen of him. From head to foot he is enveloped in A mighty mantle. " I would speak with Carpio," Exclaimed this figure. " Who art thou ? " I asked. "Thou art not he," the solemn voice rejoined ; and to be pestered With—" What's the news ; expound — relate — detail ! " Garcias. Blame but yourself, who will not answer straight To a plain question asked thee. Gonsalez, By the saints ! I think 'tis time for bed. [Going* Garcias. A single word — Since on this battle all our fortunes rest, Say, rank we with the victors or the vanquished ? Gonsalez. Did Carpio ever fail ? The victors, man ! From noontide till the sun did set in blood We chased the royalists, and heaps of slain For miles along mark out which way they fled. Garcias. The king Gonsalez. The king's our prisoner. Garcias. I would give^ This hand to have been present at the fight. Gonsalez. 'Twas a hard battle, Garcias, and you lost A world of honor being absent from it. Garcias. I'll make amends hereafter. Gonsalez. In the council ? Not in the field. Garcias. Nay, do not scoff at me. My voice shall be the loudest Gonsalez. Oh, my friend, It ever has been ! [Uxeunt* SCENE II.] CARPIO. 35 SCENE II.— A Room in the Palace. Enter Carpio and Velasquez. Carpio. That which the king" has been, I, too, will be. His acts shall be my standards. Void of mercy, Vengeful, relentless, deadly cold in heart, As he was to the father, so the son Shall be to him. Velasquez. His faults you should not copy. Carpio. I'll copy faults and all : let him impeach Himself that taught the lesson, not the learner. Say, how have you disposed him ? Is he placed Within Saldana's dungeon ? Velasquez. Ay, my lord. Carlos is with him. Carpio. I'll not have it so. He must be all alone, that he may learn From his own anguish all my father suffered. I'll have him lie there, rotting in the damp, Half stifled by the subterranean air, His ear unsolaced by a human voice, His eye uncheered by sight of human form, For tedious days on days, and nights on nights, Protracted into years. Velasquez. He will not see them. Carpio. Can he not drag out a few years ? My friend, You are deceived. Within that very dungeon My father lay, while round the earth his course Sped five and twenty times the genial sun, Which brought, alas ! no light or warmth for him. The victim suffered — shall the tyrant 'scape 1 Well, be it so. When he is dead, Velasquez, I shall forgive him — never before then ! Enter Sebastian. Sebastian. The queen, my lord. Carpio. Anon, anon, Sebastian. Leave me, Velasquez. [Exeunt Sebastian and Velasquez. Be thou still, my heart ! 56 carpio. [act iv. And overrule not my stern mind's resolve ; Or rather, let me be all head, no heart. Enter the Queen. In reverence, in humbleness, in sorrow, I pay due homage to my queen. Queen. Perform Your duty to the king. Carpio. It is performed ; What he has merited is rendered him. Queen. A dungeon, sir, is not a sovereign's place ; Treason, my lord, is not a subject's duty. Carpio. Have kings no duty to their subjects ? Madam, The king has forfeited his regal rights. For him I have no pity : but for you, Por you, dear madam, ever good and kind, My heart is bleeding. Queen. Then for my sake only Grant to my lord your pardon. Carpio. Saldane lies In the cold earth, and from the spirit land His ghost flies nightly, clamouring for revenge. Queen. What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not kill the king? Carpio. I cannot answer. Queen. Speak the honest truth, And say, you dare not. Carpio. Dare not, lady ? Queen. Ay. If in your mind a thought so horrible As murder of your king has found a place, Both thought and execution of the crime You would conceal from every human ken, But most of all from mine. Carpio. Is't so with kings Who murder loyal subjects ? Queen. If you knew That which I know — if I but dared to tell — You would as soon slay her whom most you love As touch Alfonso's life. SCENE II.] CARPIO. 57 Carpio. What dost thou mean ? Queen. Oh, ask me not ? Carpio. Speak you of Margaret 1 Queen. I may not answer. Carpio. Even as you will — I seek no confidence. But if there be Within your knowledge and to me unknown A cause why mercy should he shown Alfonso, 'Twere wise to tell it. Queen. Tis my husband's secret — Once, when he had a fever, he disclosed it : I never spake of it, and at this hour He dreams not that 'tis known to me. Carpio. His secret — And Margaret's secret too ? Queen. - She knows it not. But question me no further. Ah ! my lord, [Kneeling. If it can move you, as it ought, to see Your queen, thus lowly, suing for your grace, Then let the sight bring* to your heart remorse. Carpio. I must not see this — rise — you seek in vain To move me thus. Queen. Bear witness, gracious Heaven, To this which now upon my bended knees I swear is sacred truth ! If this vain man Madly usurp thy function of revenge, And murder his anointed king, the crime Shall back recoil upon himself. His peace Shall be for ever wrecked, here and hereafter ; And the same stroke which kills the man he hates Shall slay as well her he has sworn to love ! Carpio. Thy meaning, woman ? What can be the bond 'Twixt Margaret and the king, that one dire stroke Must slay them both ? Queen. Beware of what you ask ? Carpio. Dost thou believe in dreams ? Methought, last night, That I had slain the king, and offered up His body to appease Saldana's ghost. I said within myself—" Whg^t I have done 58 CARPIO. [act IV- Is just and right : " and to my conscience spake, "Best thou in peace — no stain is on my soul ! " Queen. No stain ! Carpio. Then voices murmured in my ear — " Whom hast thou murdered ? Dost thou know, dull man V I answered, — " The assassin of my father." Queen. Great Heaven, protect the king", and spare this man ! Carpio. Scarce had I spoken thus, when, piercing through My ears, my brain, my heart, my heart of hearts, There rushed an agonizing shriek. I knew 'Twas Margaret ; and with the sudden shock The blood within my veins seemed to congeal, And I was dead to all sensation, save The power to hear, and terror of my thoughts. Again the shriek resounded in my ears ; Again the voices cried — " Whom hast thou murdered 1 " I could not speak. Then moaned the creaking wind — " Weep, ever we'ep ; for thou hast slain her sire ! " Queen. Thy dream warned truly — Margaret is his- daughter. Wilt thou have mercy now ? Carpio. If thou'rt my friend, Relieve me from distraction. Queen. How, my lord ? Carpio. Point out a course to satisfy my honor That shall not outrage my affections ; blend Water with fire, that both shall be as one, Neither extinct ; make the impossible A trifle to perform. Or, if thou canst not — Rail at the king, and curse him — -justify The things which are forbid, — and consecrate Rebellion and foul murder ! Queen. Let me rather Teach thee how great are mercy and forgiveness, How impious is revenge. Carpio. A fitting creed For those who, never having suffered wrong, Have nothing to revenge. I was bequeathed SCENE II.] CARPIO. 59' By my dead sire a legacy of hate. Shall I resign the dread inheritance Because my heart is weak enough to love ? Oh ! that I had been born some abject worm, To crawl my brief space of ignoble life In the dank slime ; and then, poor conscious wretch, Unnoticed, my existence trodden out, And cancelled by a peasant's foot. Ha ! see — Yonder she comes. Her eyes encounter mine. Enter Margaret. Like the poor bird charmed by the snake I stand Powerless to stir. Away, away, away ! Margaret. My dearest love Carpio. Take hence those eyes of thine— They torture me — they burn into my heart, And wither it ! Margaret. What ails my lord ? Carpio. I know thee — I know thee well — thou art a monarch's daughter. Thy beauty ruined thee ; for thou wast happy Until the fiend who mocked me all my life With a delusive hope, seeing* thy face — So exquisitely fair that it might tempt An angel to his fall — possessed thy mind, And changed thee to a demon ! Ay, I know thee. Margaret. Alas ! what have I done 1 Carpio. Let not thine eyes; Behold the light of day, but pluck them from The settings where they shine — there's evil in them : For they have tempted me, and still they tempt My wavering purpose. Clip those raven locks, To me more fatal than would be the snakes That clustered round Medusa's head. Enshroud The beauties of thy neck, grow foul and haggard, Lest that the devil make thee tempt men still. Thy hands make hard — then lift them up to Heaven, And pray to be forgiven ! Margaret. Dearest lord, What is my crime ? Look not upon me thus. Alas ! what is't distresses thee 1 ^0 CARPIO. [ACT IV. Carpio. Dost weep ? Oh, let the clouds rain all their fountains dry, And the blue arch of heaven be parched and sere, Ere thou dost lose one crystal drop for me ! Ah me, unkind ! Come to my breast, my own. What have I said to thee — what done ? My mind Is racked with sorrows — even holy things To me look foul as night. Margaret. Tell me thy griefs. Carpio. Gaze in my eyes, and let me read thy soul. Margaret. Thou canst read nothing there save love for thee. Carpio. Wouldst thou desert thy husband for thy sire ? Margaret. What means my lord I Carpio. Wouldst thou desert me- ? — speak. Margaret. Desert me, Heaven, in the hour I do ! Carpio. Oh, Margaret, thy love is torture to me. Thy father, Margaret — I choke to speak it — Thy father 'twas that doomed my sire to death. Margaret. The king ? Carpio. Ay, he, the king— the chaste Alfonso ! Margaret. The king my father ? Queen. It is even so. Carpio. Would that it were not so — or being so, Would for thy dear sake we had never loved ! Margaret. For my sake, Carpio ? Carpio. Better 'twere for all, But best for thee. The obdurate, cold grave Could never so divide us as henceforth We must be severed. Margaret. 'Tis some horrid dream — Only a dream — when, when shall I awake 1 Queen. 'Tis not a dream — it is a cruel truth. Rest here upon this bosom, Margaret, And heed not him who basely hath renounced The love to which his vows were pledged to Heaven. Margaret. It cannot be. Chide not my loving lord— For I am sure he loves me, though his griefs, And the great wrong he suffered from my father, Now clothe his speech with harshness. Dearest queen, SCENE II.] CARPIO. 61 Solicit with me for my husband's, love : The rest, my father's pardon, then may follow. Carpio [aside]. Let me think only of Saldana's fate — Let me not see her tears, nor hear her voice. Margaret. Bernardo, husband, do not cast me off; For I so love thee that the pang* were worse To lose thee than the bitterness of death. But if we must part (oh, sustain me, Heaven !), If for no fault of mine you must withdraw The love that once you bore me, do it not With such abruptness. Let me lose it, rather, By slow degrees, that so I may have time To fortify my heart, else it will break. Carpio [aside]. Look down upon me, spirit of my father ! Aid me to keep my oath. Margaret. Turn not away Your eyes — look on me — speak to me, Bernardo. Carpio. Margaret Margaret. I'll cling* to you, until your glance Grows kind again. Carpio. Rise, Margaret. I would That I could take the burden of your woe, And add it to my own. And yet your pangs Can be but feathers to my ponderous grief 5 For woman's breast could not abide the throes That rend me now as earthquakes rend the hills. Rise, Margaret. Margaret. That I were dead ! Carpio [aside]. That wish Has pierced me like a sword. [Aloud], My honoured queen, Into your charge I do commit my wife. Nay, do not speak. Tend her and love her well ; And may such blessings as outlive these ills Pertain unto you both. Farewell — farewell ! Margaret. Bernardo, oh, Bernardo, do not leave me ! If we must part, be merciful, and kill me. [Clasps him round the neck.- Carpio. It is our last embrace. One kiss — but no — 62 CARPIO. [act IV. It would profane thee. If thou canst, forgive me. [Exit Carp 10. Margaret [faintly']. Lend me thy hand, dear queen — my mother now ! Father and husband — I have lost them both ; If I should lose thee too ? Queen. My own dear child, Pear not for that. Alas ! what ails thee, sweet ? Margaret. Nothings my dearest mother — all is well — But do not leave me — do not leave me, mother. [She falls unconscious in the Queen's arms. Queen. Look up — speak, speak to me — or I shall think This cruel blow has killed thee. Margaret ! Oh look upon me ! Margaret — awake ! Margaret. It rends — it burns — it crushes me ! Queen. Alas ! Her mind is wandering. Margaret. It racks my heart — When will it kill me ? Queen, Margaret ! Margaret. Who calls On hapless Margaret ? Mine eyes are weak — Scorched to their sockets by the lightning's glare — I cannot see you. Queen. Know you not my voice ? Margaret. I'll press my forehead, and then try to think. Are you the queen ? Queen. Ay, Margaret. Margaret. If I Could only weep, I should remember all ; But weep I cannot, for the fount is dry That did secrete my tears. There is a thought Of nameless horror weighs like lead upon me ; But whether 'tis the memory of a dream, Or a dark truth, I know not. Oh, my queen, Hide nothing from me ! Tell me, was he here ? Queen. Thy husband left but now. Margaret. Oh, Heaven ! then all That I have feared is dread reality, SCENE II.] CARPIO. 63 And not a fancy. He has cast me off — Severed the sacred bond that made us one — Withdrawn from me his love — and I am left To wither in my loneliness. I would My miseries were buried with my hopes. And that the melancholy end of all, Which soon must come, were an accomplished thing"; For then, perchance, the thought that his unkindness Had wrought my doom, would win me back at least A little of the love that I have lost. Queen. Dear Margaret Margaret. What have I ever done Deserving of this punishment ? I loved — And that was all my crime. Oh, fatal love ! Because I clung to him, the king my father For ever has renounced me ; and because I am my father's daughter, even now My lord has cast me off. On either hand My spirit is chastised, and those opposed In all things else do coincide in this — That I must suffer. Queen. Dost thou love the king ? Margaret. He is my i'ather — you have told me so — And therefore I must love him. Queen. If indeed You love him, conquer for the time this grief, And join with me to save his life. Margaret. His life ? My father's life ? Oh, God ! and can it be That he must die ? For what ? What has he done ? How is his life in danger, and from whom ? If it should be from Carpio, do not speak, But tell me by a sign, lest mighty Jove Hear the dread tale, and his avenging bolt Hurl down upon my lord. It is enough — I understand thee — come. Queen. I have been barred The entry to Alfonso's cell - to you It may be free. I'll lead you to the place. Margaret. Away with every thought of my own sorrows. 64 CARPIO. [ACT IV. I will not weep, nor think upon myself ; Only of him, dear queen — of him ! Come on. [Exeunt. SCENE III.— A Dungeon: Lights half down. The King, asleep ; and Carlos, discovered. Carlos. He murmurs in his sleep. 'Tis thus for years His rest has been disturbed. The tremor 's past — Let him sleep on. Hark ! Who is there ? Enter Rodrigo. Bodrigo. My lord, I have but now received del Carpio's order To liberate you. Carlos. Does my liege leave with me ? Bodrigo. He waits the issue of del Carpio's pleasure. Carlos. Then I stay with him : where my monarch is I likewise must be found. Bodrigo. It cannot be — My orders are to see you from the castle. Carlos. I will remain a prisoner — dost thou hear ? Awake, my liege. Xing [in his sleep]. Will no one rid me of him ? 'Tis but a shadow, slaves — is he not dead ? Carlos. My noble lord. Xing. Ha ! Carlos, is it thou ? Carlos. Monarch, these rebels seek to separate us. Carpio has sent an order for my freedom ; But I'll remain, and baffle his design. He would but murder thee. Xing. 'Tis Heaven's own hand Sends this relief. Accept thy liberty. Hark in thine ear. Our scattered troops can still Be in my name collected. Nearer yet — He must not overhear. [ Whispers. Carlos. But if your death Xing. How would your presence shield me if they sought SCENE III.] CARPIO. 65 My life even now ? Your part is to obey. Farewell. Carlos [kneeling, kisses the King's hand]. Farewell. Pray Heaven we meet again. [Exeunt Carlos and Rodrigo. The stage becomes gradually dark. King. Amen ! Alone — and here I Oh, horrible ! Carlos, return — I cannot bear to live Here — here ! It is too late. I hear The heavy closing- of the outer door — The ponderous bars — the clanking* of the chains That tell me he is gone from me. Alone ! 'Twas here my victim perished. What of that ? He robbed the nunnery, and did deserve The fate he met. And yet I might have felt Compunction for his sufferings. Was his fault Greater than mine, that he should expiate His crime within this horrid cell ; while I, Who broke my vow of chastity, and loved As once I loved ! should wear the royal purple, And hope for greater glory when this frame Should rot in earth, and the mistaken priests Should canonize my memory ? Ah, no ! The issue of my crime lives to confront me — Margaret my child — and is Bernardo's wife. But they know nothing. Hark ! Methought I heard Saldana's voice calling me — murderer ! miserable me ! Here — here he lay, For years, years, years, unending, tedious years, ' Sending his groans along the echoing vault, Which would not stifle or absorb the sound, But like a mocking fiend would roll it back With hateful repetition to his ears, Till the whole place would seem a peopled hell, With all its terrors — all its tortures, his — Without its fellowship in woe. And I Yet bear this sin-stained form aloft ! Sink — sink — Sink in the earth, vile frame — there crouch for ever ! [TJirows himself on the ground. 66 CARPIO. [act IV. A pause: then enter Carpio and Rodrigo, the latter carrying a Lamp which he lays on Table. Carpio. Where is he ? On the earth ? Leave me. [Exit Rodrigo. What ho ! Rouse from thy degradation, king*. Bernardo Bids thee right welcome to his father's cell. King. Is't thou — and have thine eyes beheld me thus 1 Carpio. No more of sackcloth and of ashes — rise. Now, by my halidame ! you're well provided With articles of comfort here. Methinks Saldana must have passed a merry time Within these walls. Accept my thanks, king ! I'll study to repay his debt to thee. King. What wouldst thou with me ? Carpio. Marry, I have come To have with thee some pleasant interchange Of social talk ere yet we part for ever. Be seated, king. Be seated, I command thee. Wilt thou deny thy host so small a favour ? King. Traitor, I am thy king. What thou dost force I must, perforce, endure. I know thy power Can give me to the rack or death ; but while My limbs are unconstrained, and my will free, I still will act the king. Carpio. But not the tyrant, As thou* didst once. Dost thou remember, king, When at thy feet I knelt, and humbly sued, And thou didst spurn my suit ; although I came Graced with proud victory, and rich in spoils, Which were for thee ? Dost thou remember, too, That with a base and hell-born subterfuge, Thou didst beguile me to yield up my castle, Disband my troops, and trust unto thine honour, For my dear father's liberation ; then Yielded him up a corpse, and deemed thy promise Amply fulfilled ? Consult thy memory farther : Recall the hour I interposed and saved thee SCENE III.] CARPIO. 67 From the fierce Arab. Think upon the blood That blots thy name from out the book of life. Then ask thy conscience, king, if history Can show a name degTaded like to thine — With hate — hypocrisy — ingratitude — Unsanctified revenge — and that worst sin Which sets the mark of Cain upon thy brow, And names thee — an assassin ! King. Saldane's crime Deserved its punishment. Carpio. Barest thou urge His crime to me ? His darkest crime was this — That thou didst hate him. King. In marrying thy mother, He did degrade me in the sight of Heaven, And made me break my vow to God. Carpio. Thy vow ! And hast thou broke no other vow but that ? Or is the rumour false which charges thee With having made a breach of that dread oath Sworn to secure thy body's chastity ? The chaste Alfonso ! Did the world but know thee ! King. Dost thou know Carpio. All — that Margaret is thy daughter. King. Thy speech is idle — thy assertion false. Thou hast no proof. Carpio. Thou shallow liar ! Proof 1 Thy limbs were nerveless when thou heard'st my charge — Thy cheek is blanched — thy lips are livid still — - Thine eyes shrink from my gaze. These are my proofs. Villain and murderer ! Thy monstrous crimes, Striking the earth with horror and amaze, Have drawn Man's sentence on thee. Wilt appeal From Man to Heaven ? Lo, here am I, Heaven sent To be thy judge — thy executioner ! King. Away, away ! Carpio. Look on these walls — this floor. King. No, no, I cannot. Carpio [seizing him]. Nay, thou shalt. King. Forbear ! 68 CARPIO. [act IV. Carpio. Slimy, and foul with damp — green with cor- ruption Of scaly insects that have crusted there — A noisome hole for rats ! Was this a palace Worthy of such a hero as Saldana ? Shall it be thine as well ? King. Oh, horror, horror ! No more, no more ! Carpio. Note this inscription — read it — Cut in the rock — " Saldana, wronged by king — Forgot by wife — deserted by his son — " And then the word — " Revenge ! " King. Oh, mercy, mercy! Carpio. Ay, mercy — such as thou didst show my father. Thine hour is come. See yonder, through the gloom, His ghostly form arise. He points to thee. It shall be done. Monarch, prepare to die. King. Not here — take me from hence — then, if thou wilt, Strike at my life. Carpio. My father, look upon The deed which doth achieve thy vengeance ! Now ! [He is about to strike, when Margaret enters, and rushes in between them, standing in a pro- tecting attitude over the King. END OF ACT THE FOURTH. ACT V. SCENE I. — A Vault: Lamps suspended from the Ceiling: the Tomb a/Saldana, representing him in armour, with all the honors of a Knight who had died victorious. Carpio discovered, kneeling before the Monument; Velasquez and others behind. Dirge, sung without. In the cold and silent tomb Now thou liest : In its sad and secret gloom, Which the day shall ne'er illume, Peaceably thou liest. Rest and joy be with thy soul. ToU the beU, toll, toU ! Peace and joy be with thy soul. Toll, toll, toU ! Carpio. Amen ! My bosom's lightened of a weight Which pressed upon me sullenly, and seemed "To co-exist with this now aimless life. There is a sad and solemn peace within me — Or rather an oblivion — for I feel As I had passed into another world — Into a dull and universal void J?rom whence, afar, my memory yet sees The clouded earth, while Lethe sleeps between. Velasquez. Velasquez [coming forward]. My dear lord. Carpio. Resolve me this : What is the secret virtue of revenge That we to gain it sacrifice our rest, Our peace of mind, all that we value most, As trifles that we care not to possess 1 70 CARPIO. [act v. Revenge should be the greater acquisition, Else wherefore the exchange ? Velasquez. We sometimes use The word revenge to mean the thing it is not. When punishment is sought of an offender, 'Tis not revenge, but justice. Carpio. When I gaze Upon the sacred tomb of my dead sire ; When I think o'er my mother's wrongs and his — Their blighted loves — the penance of her life — His glorious manhood blasted — the long years Of misery that he endured, far worse In its slow tortures than the keenest pangs That ope' the door for death — and, last of all, The deed that ended all his earthly woes — I feel myself a wretch beneath contempt That now I live, and cannot say — " Sleep on — Your wrongs have been avenged ! " Velasquez. The dead, perchance, Might not exact such duty at your hands. Carpio. Oh, Heaven, that I could think so ! Who is here ? Enter Gonsalez. 'Tis Gonsalez. What is the matter ! speak. Gonsalez. The king, my lord, lies murdered in his dun- geon. Carpio. Murdered ! Great Heaven ! murdered ! Not my hand Has done the deed, nor voice directed it. I am not guilty, Margaret ! Yet my conscience Accuses me, as I had borne the knife, Or with these fingers strangled him. I wished His death, yet dared not take his life. Who is he That hath done this ? Set the accursed slave Before me, and the terror of mine eye Shall strike him dead. Gonsalez. The gaoler who kept guard Upon the cell has fled, which seems to fix The crime on him. SCENE I.J CARPIO. 71 Carpio. I'll hunt him to his den Of refuge, though 'twere on the farthest bounds Of the broad earth, and hurl him o'er the verge Into the black abyss of space beneath ! Velasquez. Let me entreat you Carpio. Do not speak to me. My Marg-aret, wilt thou endure me now ? Wilt thou believe me guiltless of his death ? But thou shalt have a great, a just revenge — Dread, pitiless, eternal, merciless, And inextinguishable — which the fiends Shall gaze upon, and fall in wonder back To see their deeds by mortal hands excelled ! [A shriek without. What shriek is that ? Velasquez. The lady Margaret. Carpio. Let me avoid her — come with me^Velasquez. \They retire to bach. Enter Margaret. Margaret. Where is my husband ?; Where is Carpio I Will no one answer me 1 Gonsalez. Most gracious lady Margaret. I wish to ask him of the king, my father. Carpio. Oh, misery ! Margaret. What voice is that ? Who hears me ? Shall a king's daughter be unmarked, unanswered ? Velasquez — Gonsalez — I know ye both. How doth the king, my father ? Is he well ? Gonsalez. Ay, lady, he is well. Margaret. Art sure of that ? I'll not be satisfied until I hear it From Carpio's lips. ?z. My noble lord Carpio. Who doubts The dead are well ? Ha ! Margaret, is it thou ? Margaret. Where is my father ? Dost thou fear to answer ? I saw the mangled remnant of his corpse, Bleeding and headless. O'er his regal robes 72 carpio. [act v., The clotted gore was spattered, and some hairs, White as the snow upon our mountain tops, Were fastened in his blood. Broken beside him Lay fragments of his crown, and some stray jewels Glittered around upon his dungeon floor. 'Tis all before me now — I see it all : The corpse — the crown — the bloody battle axe That did the deed — the tokens of the struggle — The broken furniture— the solemn walls, Rising in awful gloom — the frowning roof — The one pale streak of light — Oh, horrible ! Carpio. Oh ! Gonsalez, my heart is reft in twain ! Margaret. Peace, peace, my father; we shall yet be happy. I know that Saldane lives — thou wouldst not kill him. We shall be happy yet. Oh, peace, peace, peace ! Doubt not my Carpio's love. Carpio. Oh, agony ! Margaret. Sleep, father, I will watch. What light is that? Ha, see, they come ! My heart forbodes their mission — And look — the foremost of the murderers Is Carpio ! Oh, mercy, mercy — spare him ! Carpio. I'm innocent, my Margaret. By Heaven ! I knew not of his murder. Margaret. Take me hence — Let me not see him. Carpio. By the saints above us Margaret. Ah ! do not touch me. Carpio. By the worlds hereafter — By the great Power that made both them and us — The dark conception labouring in thy mind Is bitter wrong to me. Margaret. Let me look on thee. Those eyes I loved — gazed they upon my father — Saw they his reverend face, and his grey hairs — Yet were not moved to pity ? Did those lips Which I have kissed— whose vocal harmony Entranced my soul — did they with accents stern Pronounce my father's doom ? Was this the hand SCENE I.] CARPIO. 73 That struck my father down 1 Was this the hand That robbed him of his life 1 It cannot be But this is so. Ha ! see — look yonder — there ! Carpio [attempting to hold her]. My Margaret * Margaret. Away — there's blood upon thee ! See you not there — my father's spirit. Hence ! Speak to me, father. Oh, that piteous look Might melt the sternest heart — save only one. Carpio. My soul's own idol Margaret. Pray you, sir, forbear. Who are you, sir ? Your face is strange to me. I do entreat, detain me not. I am The daughter of a king. Do you not see My father waiting* for me yonder ? Sir, I will not be withheld. I come — I come. [Exit Margaret. Carpio is about to follow, but seems overcome; and, unable to speak, motions to be left alone. Exeunt all but Carpio and Gonsalez, the latter at first unobserved by Carpio. Carpio. Are you not gone ? Methinks I lack of power Being attended thus against my will. Gonsalez. My lord, I will not leave you. Carpio. By the saints Gonsalez. They will approve my purpose. Once, my lord, I served the brave Medina as his page. Some direful sorrow preyed upon his heart, And he conjured me by the love I bore him, To quit his presence, that he might indulge His griefs in solitude. I did refuse, And he commanded. I, alas ! obeyed. Carpio. Well ! Gonsalez. I returned anon, and found him dead : With fatal hand, in his rash mood, he struck At his own life. Carpio. How point you this at me 1 Gonsalez. When he desired me leave him, I observed A strange, unsettled glance within his eyes, 74 CARPIO. [act v. As if from forth those windows of his soul A demon glared. If I had but remained, My master might be living* still. My lord, The self-same look is now within your eyes, And, to avert from you the like dark fate, Against your wishes will I tarry here. Carpio. Give me your hand : I pray you, place it here. [Holding it to his heart. Feel you the fearful turmoil of my blood, Leaping- and gushing like a winter torrent ? Gonsalez. My lord, your pulse is calm. Carpio. As calm as yours ? Gonsalez. Even so. Carpio. See you the demon in my eyes ? Gonsalez. Why ask you this ? Carpio. Why pause you to reply T Gonsalez. Your looks are calm, now, and your pulse is still. Carpio. And yet a fiend 's within me — say you so ? Gonsalez. My lord Carpio. Why, look you, do you think your presence, If I be bent upon my own destruction, Will bar the execution of my will ? Think you your sight is sharp enough to catch The subtle motion of my hand when raised Against my life in time for you to seize The swift descending steel ? Here's to make trial. [Suddenly draws dagger, and attempts to stab himself. Gonsalez holds his hand. Your eyes are quicker than I thought they were. Here, take my dagger — there are other means Wherewith to die. Gonsalez. Upon my knees Carpio. Stand up. Why should I live ? Say, what is life to me But a foul, violent, and hideous night, Black, starless, and contentious ? Come, grim Death, And bear me to thy melancholy home : There let thy lover sigh his soul away SCENE I.] CARPIO. 7& In the embraces of thy swarthy arms ! Enter Velasquez. Velasquez, speak. Velasquez. I almost dread to do so. The lady Margaret, in her distraction, Hath left the city. Carpio. How did she escape? Velasquez. She fastened to a window in her chamber (Which, as you know, looks o'er the city's wall) Cloths tied tog-ether, and descending- by them Slid safely to the ground. She was observed, Just as she reached it, by a sentinel, Who called to her aloud. Hearing his voice, She cried, — " On, father, on!" — as to a spirit Which her distempered fancy bodied forth : Then, fleeing, vanished in the gloom of night. Carpio. Good angels, guard her — do not let her perish On the bleak hills ! Which way departed she ? Alas, poor broken heart ! Thy father's death Velasquez. You are deceived — the king- is living still. Carpio and Gonsalez. The king not dead ! Velasquez. The body that we found,. Being examined, proves to be his gaoler's. Carpio. His gaoler ? What, Rodrigo ? Ha ! 'tis clear — I see it all ! Lord Carlos was admitted — He slew Rodrigo, and defaced his person — Garments were changed — then in the gaoler's dress, The king escaped with Carlos. Gonsalez. You are sure The corpse was not the king's ? Velasquez. There is no doubt. Carpio. Come on — let us not waste the precious- moments. Let all the country round be searched — who finds her I will reward as may become a prince. Let's not delay. I'll take one path myself — You others. Come. Oh Heaven ! restore her safe — Safe to these arms ; then, as Thou wilt, deal with me. Upon this sacred tomb I pray a blessing For this our enterprise. 76 CARPIO. [act v. Gonsalez. Doubt not, my lord, But we shall find her. Carpio. In that hope I live. [Exeunt. SCENE II. — On the Sierra de Naranco — Snow-covered Country: Night. Enter Margaret. Margaret. Still they pursue me. But in vain they strive To overtake me. 'Tis not my weak will — Not my own power — that gifts with speed these limbs — With speed that leaves the wild wind murmuring* That fails to sweep along- through space as I do. I feel as I were borne upon the wings Of essences ethereal — that to leap From mighty rock to mighty rock, across The unbridged gulf between, were easier Than to step lightly o'er the marble floors Of Oviedo's palace. Ha ! I see My father on yon cliff. I will approach With caution, lest he see me. Has he gone ? Speak, father, speak ! Thou mountain wind ; be lulled, That he may hear his daughter's voice ! Speak, father ! "Tis strange he will not answer — strange, strange, strange. Thrice before this I saw him through the night, Standing upon some dizzy peak — his robe Whiter than snow. I called to him aloud — Then, with a shriek, he leapt into the air, And vanished in the elements. 'Tis strange ! This mystery o'ermasters my weak brain — The clue, I cannot find it out. Oh, father ! Dost thou renounce me — dost thou shun my sight — Because I loved thine enemy ? Oh, Carpio ! Still must I love thee, even while I abhor Thy bloody vengeance. Ah ! 'tis cold, cold, cold ! SCENE II.] CARPIO. 77 I'll seek me out a bed of snow, and make A pillow of this little arm, and rest — Rest, rest, rest, rest — in the eternal sleep ! [Exit. A pause: then a distant horn. Enter Ramiro, and some of the King's Soldiers. Ramiro. This way the horn did sound. But are you sure That Carpio is amongst them '? First Soldier. I myself Did see him as he passed from out the gate, And noted that he shortly from the rest Did separate. JRamiro. Go, one of you ; inform The kino- of what has chanced. Brino- more assistance, c ~ [Exit a Soldier, Now let us on ; and should we find the traitor, Ask for your recompense ; it shall be paid Ungrudgingly. Give me a torch. Lead on. [Exeunt, SCENE III.— Tlie same. Carpio discocered, supporting Margaret, who is insensible. Carpio. Cold as the snow she lay in, and as white ! Live once again — forget the bitter past — And I will lavish on thee such a love — So mighty and unbounded — as ne'er yet Man did bestow on woman. Did she breathe ? Or is it but the throbbing of my brain Deceives me ? Ha ! my sword ! If she still live, Her breath will show upon the polished steel. [Places his sword to her lips, then anxiously examines the blade. It is too dark. Oh, for some kindly star That would illume the blackness of the night ! 78 CARPIO. [act v. I'm mad to stay here. Gonsalez — what ho ! Tut, tut ! he cannot hear. [Sounds his horn] Now wrap her close. And bear her onward to some place of shelter. [He folds his mantle round Margaret, and is raising her, when she utters a deep sigh. Oh, Heaven, she lives ! Speak, speak, my Margaret. Margaret. Where ami? Carpio. On thy husband's breast. Margaret. Away ! Carpio. She shudders at my touch. My worshipped one ! Sweet angel ! light of life ! do not shrink from me. I know thou chargest me with having caused Thy father's death ; but learn, thy father lives. [Margaret shrieks. What have I done ? Margaret. I saw him in his blood Carpio. Not him. Margaret. I saw him headless on the earth Carpio. It was Eodrigo whom thou saw'st ; the king, Thy father lives. Margaret. And since then, all in white — Now treading firmly the unstable wind — Anon descending on some lofty mount — Now leaping headlong o'er the mighty crags — Then upright rising from a murky pool ! Carpio. 'Twas but thy fancy. Margaret. Carpio, Carpio, hence ! Thy hands are crimson with my father's blood, /do forgive thee — from my heart of hearts I pardon thee : but oh ! the bitter world Pays wrong with wrong, and life demands for life. See you not there ? Carpio. What ? Margaret. They that come to seek you. Carpio. Dear Margaret, chase these phantasies away. Margaret. I do not dream. Look there — see for thyself. Ramiro, and a number of the King's adherents, have entered at bach. They advance : Carpio seizes his sword. SCENE III.] CARPIO. 79 Carpio. What wouldst thou with me ? Speak. Ramiro. I am thy foe ; Ramiro is my name. Carpio. Wherefore my foe ? Shall I inform thee, valiant prince and soldier ? Because I plucked this jewel from thy hand Which, felon like, thou stolest from my breast. Ramiro. I come not here to bandy useless words With thee, rebellious one, cast out by fate To ruin and despair. Carpio. 'Tis likely, sir — Thou fearest not the fallen citadel, But shrinkest, coward, while it stands erect. Ramiro. In the king's name, I charge thee to surrender, Yielding that lady to my care. Carpio. Rash insolent ! I do defy thee, and thy myrmidons. If, as thou say'st, my fortunes are o'ercast, Even in my ruin do I dare thee on, Reckless of what may hap to me, content If I but crush thee, serpent, in my fall ! Ramiro. Thy blood be on thy head. Upon him ! Margaret. Hold ! [Shelrushes between her husband and his assailants. Meanwhile the Soldiers attending on Ramiro have charged with their spears against Carpio. They withdraw, discovering Carpio and Margaret, who are both mortally wounded. Carpio supports Margaret, who clings to him. At the same instant, the King, Carlos, and several of the King's adherents, enter at one side, Gonsalez, Velasquez, Ferdinand, Garcias, fyc, entering at the other. Xing. I dread to ask! Speak — tell me what has hap- pened. Carpio. Your vengeance has recoiled upon yourself — Behold your daughter, king, slain by your friends. Xing. Forgive me, Heaven ! Carpio. I am faint— support me. 80 CARPIO. ACT V. [Carpio is about to fall, Gonsalez supports him, Carpio still holding Margaret. Gonsalez. Oh, my loved lord ! is this the end of all ? Carpio. Even so. Thanks, Gonsalez ! Now, gentle one, Have I proved false to thee and to my love ? Margaret. My own Bernardo, 'tis my keenest pang- To know how deeply I have wronged thy heart. Carpio. Grieve not for that ! Margaret. I am the cause of all. Carpio. Nay, kiss me, sweet. Let me bend down to thee. [He sinks on one hnee, and kisses her. Our loves were evil-starred upon the earth j But now we go to find another sphere Where sorrow and misfortune are unknown, And we may love for ever, and for ever ! Margaret. For ever, and for ever, and for ever ! Carpio. Pray, pray for that ! [The King kneels to Carpio, supplicatingly. I do forgive thee freely. Good night, my friends — good night for evermore. Cling* to my breast, my love — cling close — cling close ! [They die. THE END. Walker, May, 6^ Co., Printers, 9 MacJdllop Street, Melbourne.