Act 3 — SCENE II

The evening of the same day. The convent orchard. Sister Pilar and Don Manuel de Lara are lying locked in each other’s arms. She extricates herself and sits up.

Sister Pilar (very slowly): You ... have ... ravished ... me.

Don Manuel de Lara (triumphantly): Yes, eyes of my heart; I have unlocked your sweet body.

(Pause.)

Sister Pilar: Strange! Has my prayer been answered? And by whom?

Don Manuel de Lara: What prayer, beloved?

Sister Pilar: That night you were the other side of the wall, I prayed that I might behold the woof without the warp of sin, a still, quiet, awful world, and all the winds asleep. (Very low.) IT was like that. (Springing to her feet.) Christ Jesus! Blessed Virgin! Guardian angel, where was your sword? I, a nun, a bride of Christ, I have been ravished. I am fallen lower than the lowest woman of the town, I have forfeited my immortal soul. (Sobbing, she sinks down again beside Don Manuel, and lays her head on his shoulder.) Beloved! Why have you brought me to this? Why, my beloved?

Don Manuel de Lara (caressing her): Hush, little love, hush! Your body is small and thin ... hush!

Sister Pilar: But how came it to fall out thus? Why?

Don Manuel de Lara: Because there was something stronger than the angels, than all the hosts of the dead.

Sister Pilar: What?

Don Manuel de Lara: I cannot say ... something ... I feel it—yet, where are these words? They have suddenly come to me: amor morte fortior—against love the dead whose aid you, and I, too, invoked, cannot prevail.

Sister Pilar (shuddering): Yet the dead kept Sister Assumcion from her trovar.

Don Manuel de Lara: Their souls were barques too light to be freighted with love; for it is very heavy.

Sister Pilar: And so they did not sink.

Don Manuel de Lara: Who can tell if lightness of soul be not the greatest sin of all? And as to us ... the proverb says the paths that lead to God are infinite ... beloved, I feel.... Something holy is with us to-day.

Sister Pilar: Fiends, fiends, wearing the weeds of angels.... (Groans.)

Don Manuel de Lara: Rest, small love ... there, I’ll put my cloak for your head. Why is your body so thin and small?

Sister Pilar (her eyes fixed in horror): I cannot believe that it is really so. A week since, yesterday, an hour since, I ... was ... a ... a ... virgin, and now ... can God wipe out the past?

Don Manuel de Lara: Nay ... nor would I have Him do so.

Sister Pilar: Beloved ... we have sinned ... most grievously.

Don Manuel de Lara: What is sin? I would seem to have forgotten. What is sin, beloved? Be my herald and read me his arms.

Sister Pilar: Death ... I have said that before ... ah, yes, to the trovar ... death, death....

Don Manuel de Lara: With us is neither sin nor death. You yourself said that during IT sin vanished.

Sister Pilar: Yes ... so it seemed ... (almost inaudibly) ’twas what I feel, only ten times multiplied, when I eat Christ in the Eucharist.

Don Manuel de Lara: Hush, beloved, hush! You are speaking wildly.

Sister Pilar: Oh! what did I say? Yes, they were wild words.

(Pause.)

Sister Pilar: Do you know, we are in the octave of the Feast of Corpus Christi? I seem to have fallen from the wheel of the Calendar to which I have been tied all my life ... saints, apostles, virgins, martyrs, rolled round, rolled round, year after year ... like the Kings and Popes and beggars on the Wheel of Fortune in my mother’s book of Hours. Yes, beloved, we have fallen off the wheel and are lying stunned in its shadow among the nettles and deadly night-shade; but above us, creaking, creaking, the old wheel turns. It may be we are dead ... are we dead, beloved?

Through the trees Sister Assumcion is heard shouting, “Sister Pilar! Sister Pilar!” Sister Pilar starts violently and once more springs to her feet. Sister Assumcion appears running towards them.

Sister Assumcion (breathlessly): Quick! Quick! Not a moment ... they’ll be here! I cannot ... quick! (She presses her hand to her side in great agitation).

Don Manuel de Lara: What is all this? Speak, lady.

Sister Assumcion: Trotaconventos ... Don Jaime ... the alguaciles.

Don Manuel de Lara: Take your time, lady. When you have recovered your breath you will tell us what all this portends.

Sister Assumcion: Away! Away! Trotaconventos has been to Don Pedro ... she has a writ against you ... the alguaciles will take you to prison ... and Don Jaime comes to catch Sister Pilar ... fly! fly! ere ’tis too late.

Sister Pilar (dully): Caught up again on the wheel ... death’s wheel, and it will crush us.

Sister Assumcion (shaking her): Rouse yourself, sister! You yet have time.

Don Manuel de Lara: We are together, beloved ... do you fear?

Sister Pilar: No ... I neither fear, nor hope, nor breathe.

Sister Assumcion: Mad, both of them! I tell you, they come with the alguaciles.

Don Manuel de Lara: And if they came with all the hosts of Christendom and Barbary, yet should you see what you will see. I have a key, and I could lock the postern, but I’ll not do so. (He picks up his sword, girds it on, and draws it.) Why ... all the Spring flows in my veins to-day.... I am the Spring. What man can fight the Spring?

Sound of voices and hurrying steps outside the postern. Trotaconventos, Jaime Rodriguez, and three alguaciles come rushing in. Sister Assumcion shrieks.

Trotaconventos: There, my brave lads, I told you! Caught in the act ... the new Don Juan Tenorio and his veiled concubine!

Don Manuel de Lara: Silence, you filthy, bawdy hag! (glares at her.) Here stand I, Don Manuel de Lara, and here stands a very noble lady of Spain and a bride of Christ, and here is my sword. Who will lay hands on us? You, Don Priest, pallid and gibbering? You, vile old woman, whose rotten bones need but a touch to crumble to dust and free your black soul for hell? You ... (his eyes rest on the alguaciles). Why! By the rood ... ’tis Sancho and Domingo and Pedro! Old comrades, you and I, beneath the rain of heaven and of Moorish arrows have buried our dead; we have sat by the camp-fire thrumming our lutes or capping riddles (laughs). How does it go? “I am both hot and cold, and fish swim in me without my being a river,” and the answer is a frying-pan ... and in the cold dawn of battle we have kneeled side by side and eaten God’s Body.

The alguaciles smile sheepishly and stand shuffling their feet.

Trotaconventos: At him! At him, good lads! What is his sword to your three knives and cudgels? Remember, you carry a warrant with Don Pedro’s seal.

Sancho (dubiously): ’Tis true, captain, we carry a royal warrant for your apprehension.

Trotaconventos: At him! At him!

Don Manuel de Lara: At me then! Air! Fire! Water! A million million banners of green leaves! A mighty army of all the lovers who have ever loved! Come, then, and fight them in me! You, too, were there that day when the whole army saw the awful ærial warrior before whom the Moors melted like snow ... what earthly arrows could pierce his star-forged mail? I, too, have been a journey to the stars. I wait! At me!

The alguaciles stand as if hypnotised.

Trotaconventos: Rouse yourselves, you fools! Oh, he’s a wonder with his stars and his leaves. Why, on his own showing, he is but a tumbler at a fair in a suit of motley covered with spangles, or a Jack-in-the-green at a village May-day. Come to your senses, good fellows; we can’t stay here all night.

Don Manuel de Lara: Sancho, hand me that warrant.

Trotaconventos: No! No! You fool!

Without a word Sancho hands the warrant to Don Manuel, who reads it carefully through.

Don Manuel de Lara: Sir Priest! I see you carry quill and ink-horn.... I fain would borrow them of you.

Trotaconventos: No! No! Do not trust him, Don Jaime.

Don Manuel de Lara (impatiently): Come, Sir Priest.

Jaime Rodriguez obeys him in silence. Don Manuel makes an erasure in the warrant and writes in words in its place.

Don Manuel de Lara (handing the warrant to Sancho): There, Sancho, I have made a little change ... you’ll not go home with an empty bag, after all. (Pointing to Jaime Rodriguez.) There stands your quarry, looking like a sleep-walker ... to gaol with him ... until his arch-priest gets him out ... ’twill make a good fable, “which tells of a Prying Clerk and how he cut himself on his own sharpness.”

The alguaciles, chuckling, seize Jaime Rodriguez and bind him, he staring all the time as if in a dream.

Trotaconventos (stamping): You fools! You fools! And you (turning to Don Manuel) ... you’ll lose your frenzied head for tampering with Don Pedro’s seal.

Don Manuel de Lara: Nay, I’d not lose it if I tampered with his carbuncle ... he is menaced by shadows and I fight them for him. Nor, on my honour as a Knight, shall one hair of the head of Sancho and Pedro and Domingo there suffer for this. But you ... you heap of dung outside the city’s wall, you stench of dogs’ corpses, devastating plague ... you shall die ... not by my sword, however (draws his dagger and stabs Trotaconventos). Away with her and your other quarry, Sancho ... good-day, old comrades ... here’s to drink my health (throws them a purse).

Sancho and Pedro lift up the dying Trotaconventos, Domingo leads off Jaime Rodriguez and exeunt. Sister Pilar stands motionless, pale, and wide-eyed, Sister Assumcion has collapsed sobbing with terror on the ground. Don Manuel de Lara stands for a few moments motionless, then quietly walks to the postern and locks it with the key, returns, and again stands motionless; then suddenly his eyes blaze and he throws out his arms.

Don Manuel de Lara (loudly and triumphantly): His truth shall compass thee with a shield: thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by the night. For the arrow that flieth in the day, for the plague that walketh in the darkness: for the assault of the evil one in the noon-day. A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee. The dead, the dead ... they melted like snow before the Spring ... my beloved!

Pause. Beyond the orchard wall there is heard the tinkling of a bell, and a voice calling, “Make way for el Señor! Way for el Señor!”

Sister Assumcion (sobbing): They are carrying the Host to Trotaconventos.

All three kneel down and cross themselves. The sound of the bell and the cry of “el Señor” grow fainter and fainter in the distance; when it can be heard no more, they rise. Sister Pilar draws her hand over her eyes, then opens them, blinking a little and gazing round as if bewildered.

Sister Pilar: Yes ... Corpus Christi ... and then Ascension ... and then Pentecost ... round and round ... Hours ... el Señor wins in His Octave.... Is He the living or the dead, Don Manuel?

Don Manuel de Lara: Beloved! What are you saying?

Sister Pilar: What am I saying? Something has had a victory ... maybe the dead ... but the victory is not to you. (Her eyes softening as she looks at him.) Beloved! (makes a little movement as if shaking something off). First, I must finish my confession ... the one I made this morning was sacrilege ... something had blinded me. They say that in the Primitive Church the penitents confessed one to other, so will I.

She walks up to Sister Assumcion, who is crouching under a tree, her teeth chattering, and goes down on her knees before her.

Sister Pilar: I confess to Almighty God, and to you, little sister, because I have sinned against you exceedingly, in thought, word and deed (she strikes her breast three times), through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault. You were wiser than I, little sister, and knew me better than I knew myself. I deemed my soul to be set on heavenly things, but therein was I grievously mistaken. When I chid you for wantonness, thinking it was zeal for the honour of the house, it was naught, as you most truly said, but envy of you, in that you gave free rein to your tongue and your desires. And, though little did I wot of it, I craved for the love of man as much as ever did you, nay, more. Even that poor wretch, Don Jaime ... it was as if I came more alive when I talked with him than when I was in frater or in dorter with naught but women. Then that poor trovar ... he gave me a longing for the very things I did most condemn in talk with him ... the merry rout of life, all noise and laughter and busyness and perfumed women. Then when he gazed at you as does a prisoner set free gaze at the earth, my heart seemed to contract, my blood to dry up, and I hated you. And then ... and then ... there came Don Manuel, and time seemed to cease, eternity to begin. All my far-flown dreams came crowding back to me like homing birds; envy, rage, pride dropped suddenly dead, like winds in a great calm at sea ... and that great calm was ... Lust.

Don Manuel, who has been standing motionless, makes a movement of protest.

Sister Pilar: Yes ... Lust. Little sister, I verily believe that in spite of foolishness and vanity, all the sins of this community are venial ... excepting mine. For I am Christ’s adulteress (Don Manuel starts forward with a stifled cry, but she checks him with upraised hand), a thing that Jezebel would have the right to spurn with her foot ... yes, little sister, I, a bride of Christ, have been ravished. (Seizing her hands.) Poor little sister ... just a wild bird beating its wings against a cage through venial longings for air and sun! I am not worthy to loose the latchet of your shoe.

Sister Assumcion, who up to now has been crying softly, at this point bursts into violent sobs.

Sister Assumcion: Oh ... Sister ... ’tis I ... I envied you first your fine furniture and sheets and ... things ... and then the knight there ... spurning me for you ... and I told Trotaconventos ... and Don Jaime ... and it is all my doing ... and ’tis I that crave forgiveness.

Sister Pilar: Hush, little sister, hush! (Strokes her hands.) Sit quiet a little while and rest ... you have been sadly shaken.

Rises and silently confronts Don Manuel de Lara.

Don Manuel de Lara: And what have you to say to me—my beloved?

Sister Pilar: Only that I fear my little sister and I are late for Vespers.

He falls on his knees and seizes the hem of her habit.

Don Manuel de Lara: Oh, very soul of my soul! White heart of hell wherein I must burn for all eternity! I see it now ... we have been asleep and we have wakened ... or, maybe, we have been awake and now we have fallen asleep. Look! look at the evening star caught in the white blossom—the tree’s cold, virginal fruition (springs to his feet). Vespers ... the Evening Star ... bells and stars and Hours, they are leagued against me ... and yet I thought ... is it the living or the dead? I cannot fight stars ... wheels ... the Host ... Beloved, will you sometimes dream of me? No need to answer, because I know you will. Our dreams ... God exacts no levy on our dreams ... the angels dare not touch them ... they are ours. First, heavy penance, then, maybe, if I win forgiveness, the white habit of St. Bruno. When you are singing Lauds, Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, and Compline, I, too, shall be singing them—through the long years. God is merciful and the Church is the full granery of His Grace ... maybe He will pardon us; but it will be for your soul that I shall pray, not mine.

Sister Pilar (almost inaudibly): And I for yours ... beloved. (Turns towards Sister Assumcion): Come, little sister.

They move slowly towards the Convent till they vanish among the trees. Don Manuel holds out the key in front of him for a few seconds, gazing at it, then unlocks the postern, goes out through it, shuts it, and one can hear him locking it at the other side.