The Ladies of Castile/Act III

by Mercy Otis Warren

ACT III

Scene I

(Conde Haro and Louisa)

(De Haro arm'd and equipt for battle)

Donna Louisa

Alas my brother!---

Already arm'd---the burnish'd helmet on!---

The hostile trump awakes from broken sleep

Before the bird of morn has hail'd the day.

False glory throbs within thy beating breast---

Thy lifted sword displays its whetted point,

Not to dispel the fierce, barbarian Moor,

Or chase the alien from these blighted shores:

It wounds the sons---the citizens of Spain.

Conde Haro

Upbraid me not---nor sharpen thus the pangs

That rankle here, and wound thy brother's breast,

Words cannot paint---nor can Louisa feel,

The agonizing pains that pierce my heart.

Donna Louisa

What can disturb the hero arm'd for fame?---

The prince's favour, and his father's love,

Anticipate the glory he pursues.

Conde Haro

The secret dies within De Haro's breast,

Unless some strange, fortuitous event,

Should heal my heart, and reinstate my peace.

Donna Louisa

O might I weep my weary life away,

And close mine eyes on misery at large!---

Yet I could bear my griefs tenfold enhanc'd,

If this might heal, or mitigate thy pain,

Or sooth the anguish of a brother's heart.

Conde Haro

Bear up thyself against the storms of life---

The sharpen'd pangs of disappointed love.

Donna Louisa

Canst thou forgive th' involuntary sigh,

The starting tear---that, as an April morn,

Pours down in torrents and obscures the sun?

Conde Haro

I know the secret thorn that wounds thy peace.

Donna Louisa

I would conceal the weakness of my heart;

Yet not from thee---but from a sterner eye.

Conde Haro

Blush not, Louisa---'tis a noble flame,

And Francis' virtues merit all thy love.

Donna Louisa

Yet he's thy foe---the brother and the friend

Of noble Juan---and can this lead thy hand---

This gentle hand---bath'd in a sister's tears,

To plunge thy danger in a hero's breast,

From whence may rush a most exalted soul,

Adorn'd with every grace that wins the heart,

Or dignifies the man?---------

Conde Haro

Great fouls---form'd in the same etherial mould,

Are ne'er at war---they, different paths

Of glory may pursue, with equal zeal;

Yet not a cruel, or malignant thought,

Or rancorous design, deform the mind,

I much esteem Don just and his friends,

But numerous ties engag'd my sword to Charles,

And gratitude had bought the buckler on,

Ere I was nam'd the champion in his cause:

Yet if success my loyal purpose crowns,

Mercy shall spare, where justice don't condemn;

Believe Louisa, not Don Francis' life

Is more thy care than it shall be my own.

Donna Louisa

The indiseriminating arrow flies,

And often wounds what friendship's arm would save;

Should war's uncertain chance make him thy captive---

Conde Haro

The monarch and the laws must then decide.

Donna Louisa

My bleeding heart anticipates my fate:

Oh! what a bubble 'tis ye glory call---

Mistaken name---a phantom of the brain,

That leads the hero on to leap the bounds

Of every social tie---till blood---till death,

Spreads horror over nature's frighted face:---

Ambition rears his fierce and furious fang---

In grizly tresses jealousy attends

'Till discord reigns, and civil fury burns,

And arms the son against a father's life,

Or plants a poignard in a dearer hart,

Oh! how severely mark'd my hapless fate;

The best of brothers whets the dagger's point---

The fondest husband wields the sharpen'd lance,

And both are aim'd at sad Louisa's breast.

Conde Haro

Thy husband!---hah---rash maid---

Donna Louisa

Yes---by each sacred tie.---

Thus incoherent my distracted prayer,

Prophanes the altar when to God I bow;

I start---I tremble---left kind heaven grant

The boon I ask. Affrighted at myself,

I call it back, and quick revoke my wish,

Lest it involve me in supreme distress.

(Trumpets and martial music without)

Conde Haro

A day decides---the trumpet sounds to arms;

Tomorrow will disclose new scenes of woe,

Or ope the gates to happiness and peace.

Donna Louisa

My heart's too full---it bends me to the grave;

My anger'd sire suspects---he solemn moves,

Majestically grave---with awful brow,

And chides severe whene'er I meet his eye;

Oh!---could I hide forever from his frown!---

(Exeunt)

Scene II

(Don Velasco and Donna Louisa)

Don Velasco

Fond foolish maid---what secret guilt's conceal'd,

That thus in tears---all pensive and alone,

Thou seek'st to hide, e'en from a father's eye?---

Donna Louisa

Alas! I weep for human woes at large:---

I weep my country and my hapless friends.\

Man, the vile sport of restless passion, roves

Through sad inquietudes and painful cares,

'Till his ambition sets the world on fire.

'Mongst all the ills that hover o'er mankind,

Unfeign'd, or fabled, in the poet's page,

The blackest scrawl the sister furies hold,

For red ey'd wrath, or malice to fill up,

Is incomplete to sum up human woe;

'Till civil discord, still a darker fiend,

Stalks forth unmask'd from his infernal den,

With mad Alecto's torch in his right hand

To light the flame, and rend the soul of nature.

Don Velasco

But most of all, a daughter is a curse,

Whene'er she lets her wanton thoughts run loose.

Weak maid retire---in thy apartment hide,

Nor dare to shew thy weeping face abroad,

'Till war shall cease, and business gives me time

To crown thy nuptials with a noble lord,

To whom thou art betroth'd---who claims thy hand;

Thou shalt be his---when from the field are chas'd

These bold conspirators---I've pledg'd my faith.

Donna Louisa

Let thy Louisa wake compassion up.

(Falls on her knee)

Revoke thy vow, and let me live a maid.

Don Velasco

Both by the host, and by St. Peter's key.

I've sworn, nor will revoke my plighted faith;

Prepare thyself for wedlock's sacred vows;

One week completes the matrimonial tie.

Donna Louisa

O let me live in some dark hermitage,

Or in some gloomy cell---I'll cloister'd die,

But can't this once obey my father's will.

(Louisa trembling and saint --- Velasco, enraged, leads her off)

Scene III

(Don Juan De Padilla and Don Francis)

Don Francis

Alas ! my lord, an unexpected blow!

But thou'rt prepar'd for, all that fate can do,

Too great to fear---too good to be dismay'd.

Don Juan De Padilla

So well I know the shifting tide of life,

I'm not appall'd whene're its ebb runs off,

And leaves man shallow'd on the oozy strand.

Don Francis

Tordesilas is seiz'd---the queen betray'd---

Don Pedro fled, and join'd the emperor's troops.

Don Juan De Padilla

No genuine faith, or patriotic worth,

Had ere a place in his corrupted breast.

While justice holds the golden scales aloft.

And weighs our glorious cause with equal hand,

And bids each valiant chief support her claim,

Needless the aid of Pedro's dastard arm.

Don Francis

High heav'n in wrath supports the royal cause,

And gives success o'er Charles's foreign foes;

E'en Solyman the great, fatigu'd with war,

Of Mustapha afraid, sighs to return

To Roxalana's captivating charms,

Agrees a truce, and leaves th' Hungarian plains.

Don Juan De Padilla

Resentful, brave, and nurs'd in valour's school,

Francis still waits him at the Pavian gate.

Don Francis

The king of France, whose evil stars combine

To give his rival empire o'er the world,

Has lost a battle at the Pavian gate,

And languishes a prisoner to Charles.

Don Juan De Padilla

Hah!---is Francis made the fickle sport of fortune?

A ruder game the wanton never play'd,

To strip the wreaths, and blast a monarch's fame.

Must Gallia's generous, brave and valiant king,

Do homage for his crown at Charles's feet?

If victory declares on freedom's side,

My arm shall aid in all his just demands.

Ere Ferdinand had seiz'd the neighbouring crowns,

He form'd a system to easlave mankind:

But Charles improves on his despotic plan;

Yet one campaign, one signal victory gain'd,

May shake the tyrant from his triple throne,

And once again, o'er the European world,

Relight the torch by tyranny obscur'd.

But if his cruel sword at last prevails,

Europe will bleed from Tagus to the Scheld,

Beneath his barb'rous persecuting race.

We then must strike one bold decisive blow;

The rights of man were rescu'd by the sword,

From Nimrod down to Cæsar or to Charles---

Haste on this moment and rejoin the troops.

Don Francis

At freedom's pedestal I've laid my hopes,

The brightest boon of life---my promis'd bride---

My lov'd Louisa's charms;---to be her lord,

I would not riot in her arms a slave.

(Exit Francis)

Scene IV

(Don Juan De Padilla, solus)

Don Juan De Padilla

This day decides, and gives the world to Charles,

And plunges Spain in darkness and despair;

Enwraps the mind in superstition's veil,

While freedom dies on his all conquering sword;

Or spreads victorious-her expanded wing,

And shrouds the rights which reason lends to man.

I give my life a cheerful sacrifice;

'Tis a just debt my country may demand.

And if I fall in such a glorious cause,

I'll boast my lot;---let future pens record

Don Juan's arm once shook a tyrant's throne.

'Twas on the spot, where now Toledo stands

Our ancestors defeated Pompey's troops;

And in the height of Rome's exalted fame,

Numantia's plains have smok'd with Roman blood.

E'en in the zenith of republic pride,

The virtuous Scipio found it no mean task,

To subjugate Numantia's warlike sons;

Nor does our blood so cold and languid run,

That we have not the courage to be free.

The loan of life I only hold a boon,

When freedom lights to glory and to fame;

But when she sits beneath a naked shrine,

With moss grown tresses o'er her surrow'd brow,

And lays her laurels at a tyrant's feet,

Let vulgar souls embrace the servile chains,

And adulation bask in courtly smiles,

'Till liberty herself expires in tears.---

My spirit's unsubdu'd---I'll ne'er submit:

I yet must play a noble, glorious game,

That shakes the sceptre, or secures a grave.

(Tumult, and noise of battle, without)

(Exit)

Scene V

(Shouts of victory, hurry and confusion)

(Donna Maria, sola)

Donna Maria

The clarion roars and scatter'd parties fly,

Confusion, tumult, hurry and dismay,

O'erspread each guilty face.------------------

What mean the rumours that assail my ear?---

Throw down their arms---as cowards fly the field!---

Could the brave Cortes thus forsake their lord?---

My throbbing heart augurs a thousand ills,

That shake my frame and terrify my soul,

As if I saw their new flown ghosts advance,

Just reeking from the carnage of the field;

Yet feel within a manly force of mind

Urging to deeds heroic and sublime,

Which but to name, one half my timid sex,

Would fall the victims of their own despair.

I scorn the feeble soul that cannot brave,

With magnanimity, the storms of life.

Then why disturb'd with these ill omen'd fears?---

Yet what am I, if my Padilla falls?---

Ah! if the dastard citizens have fled---

Just anger'd heaven surely has decreed

That on the point of Charles's conquering sword,

Each vestige of their ancient rights should die.

I'll wander down to yonder darksome grove,

(And prostrate fall before the etherial king,

Who holds his empire o'er a jarring world,

Makes peace and freedom smile at his command,

Or the fell tyrant's suffer'd to succeed,

To chain the will, or manacle the mind;)

There will I calm my agitated breast,

Dry off those tears which, starting, have betray'd

The soften'd weakness of a female mind.

(Enter SOCIA)

Socia

Fly, dearest lady---save thyself and son---

And let the faithful Socia guard thy steps.

Donna Maria

Is all then lost---and is Don Juan slain?---

Tell the whole tale, and set my soul on fire,

Ere yet it freeze with agony and doubt.

Socia

Haste, my dear mistress---fly these cruel scenes

Of murder, rapine, persidy and blood.

The routed troops, with hasty frighted steps,

All backward tread, nor could Don Juan's zeal,

His valour, virtue, fortitude or fame,

Subdue their fears and rally them again,

Nor damp the ardour of the hot pursuit.

Donna Maria

And does he live to glut their barb'rous rage?

Or did some seraph catch the hero's breath,

His latest sigh to see his country free,

And gently wast his kindred soul away?

Socia

Our foes may boast that victory was theirs;

But royal ranks lie weltering on the plain

Where Juan's blood has warm'd the glorious spot.

Yet lose no time, for hither hastes a guard

To seize and drag to Conde Haro's tent

The wife and infant of my much lov'd lord.

Donna Maria

Alas! my child---my son---my darling boy!

The fairest virtues beam in his young eye;

Each dawning grace sits blooming on his cheek,

And speaks him heir of all his father's fame.

Shall he, an orphan on the world be toss'd,

And lose his name among a group of slaves?

Forbid it, heaven!---a mother's fears

Shall not disarm my heart.---------

Socia

I thought the strength of thy superior mind

Could nobly brave the worst that fate could do.

Donna Maria

It shall---come, lead me on---

To my Padilla's tomb---------

His clay cold corpse I'll bathe in streams of blood,

Drawn from his foes, and sprinkled o'er his grave.

The cypress gloom, in dark fix'd shades shall bow,

And weeping willows drop a silent tear,

'Till rolling years see that last sands run out,

When wither'd Time throws down his useless glass,

And shrouds beneath eternity's big orb.

Socia

If thou would'st be more wretched than thy lord,

Then weep and linger---thoughtless of thy son.

Donna Maria

Go, bring him hither---rob'd in funeral pomp---

Attended by my retinue and guards;

I will not fly---Toledo yet is strong:

Maria ne'er will drag a wretched life,

To wail Don Juan's fate in vulgar grief:

Nor yet in slavery meet a lingering death,

Beneath a tyrant's foot.

I will avenge my lord---------

Though the rough surges in loud tempests roar,

'Till the rude billows meet the lowering clouds---

I never will despair, till my soul flies

And mixes with the bold exalted shades,

The stern brow'd spirits of the feudal lords---

Who now bend down, and frowning from the skies,

Chide back their dastard sons to take the field,

Bravely to fight---to conquer or to die.

Socia

My heart misgives---I fear thy rash resolve,

Yet I obey.---------

(Exit Socia)

Donna Maria

Ye powers who sit in judgment o'er the world,

Or ye malignant fiends who blast our hopes,

Grant Charles's restless soul may be condemn'd

With Sisyphus to roll in endless pain,

Up the Tartarean hill---the load of empire---

That envy'd bauble which mankind adore;

Then drag him down, successlessly to weep,

This shadow hunted long in human blood.

(Exit)