University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

An Apartment in Durazzo's House.
Enter Durazzo and Perez.
PEREZ.
Yet, Sir, be patient.—Such a wrong is sure
Some time to be revenged.

DURAZZO.
If, while my blood
Was hot, I struck him dead, 'twere well; but not
On after-thought.

PEREZ.
The pride that lifts you thus
Should pacify you too: I thought the news
You heard but now, would have subdued all passion
To make a way for mourning.

DURAZZO.
Poor Vincenzo!
And is he dead?—Well, he is safe from insult.
How did the messenger report of him?
My mind was rack'd too fiercely to attend.

PEREZ.
The story was a brief one, told without
Parade of circumstance, and meant no more
Than that your friend his mortal wound received
In battle, fighting by Alonzo's side:
That, to his tent convey'd, he wrote in pain
This letter of farewell, produced to you
By the same messenger.

[Giving a letter.
DURAZZO.
It may be made
Some use of. Was the life extinct before
He left the camp who brought it? said he so?

PEREZ.
The last cold breath was drawn.

[Knocking without.
DURAZZO.
Go see who knocks.
Exit Perez.
This hand reminds me of our playful days,
Ere I was cursed with hopeless pride, or felt
The spurn of insult.—Now, could I employ
His memory to profit my revenge,
'Twere like an act of posthumous regard
Done by his spirit.—Ha! My Lord, good morrow;
I look'd not for this honour.

Enter Garcia.
GARCIA.
I have heard
Of old Benducar's roughness.

DURAZZO.
Yes, a blow
Was somewhat rough. 'Tis true his hand was feeble,
But if a giant's sinews struck me down,
They could not brand me with a deeper shame
Than his insulting blow.

GARCIA.
Restrain this passion:
You think too much of it.

DURAZZO.
I do submit
Myself to your good wisdom, that I ought
To feel as others feel such injury.
What! must the poor man keep his choler in
When stripes offend him, 'till the smart subside,
And he find comfort in the brutes' oblivion?
Fortune has length of arm, and can push far
Our destinies asunder, but not make
The difference of a soul betwixt two men,
Though one were clad in pomp of royalty,
And one in rags—the beggar has his feelings.

GARCIA.
Trust in my faith; he shall repair the wrong.

DURAZZO.
Repair he cannot, but he should repent it.

GARCIA.
I came to you on other business now,
Of greater moment than an old man's rage.
Alonzo is arrived, the King has named
This day to hear his accusation.

DURAZZO.
That's somewhat sudden.

GARCIA.
Somewhat startling too;
For, though the fact will speak full strongly of
Itself, the time allows not to provide,
By witness, confirmation of our cause,
Such as no doubt can tarnish.

DURAZZO.
I am grieved
To hear of this.

GARCIA.
There are some men, Durazzo,
Of upright mind, who, once assured of guilt,
As you and I can warrant of Alonzo's,
Would stretch a little in particulars,
To nerve, as 'twere, the arm of justice, lest
By accident it fail.

DURAZZO.
And you would have
The same precaution taken?

GARCIA.
Could I find
A person capable, and so disposed,
My wish is to make sure.

DURAZZO.
I hate Alonzo.
He is Benducar's friend.—I think him guilty,—
I know him proud.—He spurned my service once—
He stepped between me and my just revenge
So lately, that the flush is on my cheek
With which I saw protection save the hand
That smote me pale; therefore, I'm yours to think,
Contrive, and execute, whatever best
May cut off one, or both, or all together.

GARCIA.
But am I safe to trust you?

DURAZZO.
Trust not me:
No;—I lack station, which to honour lends
Its binding force; but trust my wrongs, my rage,
My curses; they are potent, and, where honour
Might pause, will stop for no impediment.
Revenge shall be my voucher; nay, the fault
And error of my birth, which cuts me off
From other credit, should obtain me this;
That as I had no pride or eminence
Above the worm, but in the form of man,
The blow, that hath debased that form, allies
And links it to revenge. There is no force
In words or bonds, in vows or oaths, to give
Assurance so complete as enmity
Breathing in silence.

GARCIA.
I accept the pledge,
And thus adopt you in my confidence.

DURAZZO.
Then hear me. In the battle fell a youth
Much noticed of Alonzo for his deeds:
My playmate when a child. He wrote to me
Upon his dying bed—no matter what—
Enough to know he wrote; and it is known
To all the camp beside. What if I bring
This witness from the grave to do the work
You think the living only can accomplish.

GARCIA.
Proceed—explain.

DURAZZO.
I know to imitate
His written style, as glass or water send
The features back, without a line neglected.
In such a sort I'll pen a grievous charge;
As if the gallant victim made complaint
Of treachery, and fix it on Alonzo.

GARCIA.
Do that—succeed in that, and name the wealth
That shall reward you.

DURAZZO.
Were the stock of Crœsus
Within your gift, it could not bribe me to
This desperate act. My longings are not sordid;
And, from the spring and upshot of my life,
To this my growing prime, I owe the world
Too much of ill to claim a balance on
Whatever wrong I render. Should you still
Persist in recompense, my terms are these,
None other. If my fortune be to fail,
Pursue me to the grave. I would not live;
'Twill look the more like innocence in you,
And will be real mercy. If I thrive,
Let not Alonzo suffer more than exile:
Give me the means to pay Benducar's blow:
Preserve my footsteps from the lonely ways
Neglect finds out to meet and mix with crime:
Afford me some condition in the state,
And ratify the peace 'twixt me and mankind.

GARCIA.
Whoe'er thou art, mysterious mortal, thy
Commands are sacred. But 'tis fit we part,
'Till in the Court, before the king, our project
Is put to test.

DURAZZO.
The sooner now the better.
[Exit Garcia.
Perez!

Enter Perez.
DURAZZO.
Set ink and paper in my chamber,
And see that none approach.

PEREZ.
Sir, I obey.
[Exit Perez.

DURAZZO.
In Court to plead, before the King, against
The greatest man o'the state! Hail thou first dawn
Of long benighted fortune, and shine forth
Without a cloud on thy meridian smile.
Now artifice be true to me. The task
I undertake is hazardous and foul,
But full of mighty purpose. Is it not
The way of greatness to select the means,
Not for their virtue, but their cogent use
In working changes? Kings ere now have waded
Through brothers' blood to empire: children have
Trod on the neck of parents in their march
To bright ambition. 'Tis not so with me:
I push but foes aside: make good my passage
Through crowds of scornful and injurious men,
No shock to nature or affection giving
In the condition of my enterprize.
Too long have I been humble. Now to prove
The inborn spark ascendant o'er the mass
Of vile obstruction: now to stand alone
Upon the age, and lift my fortunes up
Like mountains, when, in Heaven's high armoury,
They gird their loins with thunder, and usurp
The attribute of Gods!—To Court—to Court!
These weeds shall soon be doff'd for golden suits;
While the proud stature, and the lofty mien,
Instruct the world that I was born for greatness.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

The Street.
Enter Benducar and Alonzo.
BENDUCAR.
The king, methinks, grows wary; 'twas a prompt
Decision, to allow so short a space
Between your trial and your coming home.

ALONZO.
'Tis better for the better cause. Deceit
Abruptly taken will lack breathing-time
To gloss and polish its contrivances;
While Truth, whose ready wit is at the call
Of quick emergence, needs no art to make
Her tale consistent.

BENDUCAR.
We will on to Court
Among the first: 'twill shew an eagerness
Befitting well your innocence.

ALONZO.
I'm ready.

BENDUCAR.
Soft you, Zelinda comes. Go thou before,
And wait my presence in the audience-hall,
Where, with my best dispatch, I'll follow you.
[Exit Alonzo.
How buried in her own surmise she seems!
I'll tax her indirectly with the doubt
That cross'd my mind, and haunts it still. How now!

Enter Zelinda.
ZELINDA.
My father!

BENDUCAR.
Start you, then, to find him here?

ZELINDA.
'Twas but a foolish tremor of the nerve;
Such as the languid spirits oft give way to,
When happiest and safest.

BENDUCAR.
I would have
A word with you: it will not take you long
To hear a simple story, not without
Its meaning, daughter.

ZELINDA.
'Tis my duty, Sir,
In tale or precept, to attend your wisdom.

BENDUCAR.
I had a lambkin once, when I was young,
And in my arms I used to bear about
The woolly favourite: I fed it from
My hand with herbs, the sweetest I could find
Along the water's brink. It knew my voice,
And trotted at my call; but when it grew
To greater strength, it left me—join'd the flock—
Got wild, and wander'd:—I remember still
The pain I felt at brute ingratitude.

ZELINDA.
What should I draw from thence?

BENDUCAR.
No blame to that
Poor native of the field: it was its instinct:
The bleating flock it join'd spoke its own language:
Mine was a foreign tongue. But had it been
A human favourite—a creature skill'd
To weigh my words, to read my thoughts, to trace
The fondness here abiding,—and it left me;
Or if a daughter, and deserted me—
Would you not say that Nature had betray'd
Her trust, to make a devil by creation?—
Ha!—do you shrink?

ZELINDA.
Your manner and your eye
Flash fear upon my soul.

BENDUCAR.
I have not leisure
For closer question now—Alonzo waits.
But be the issue of this day or good
Or bad, so he but live,—look you obey me:
The priest is ready to unite your hands,
The guests are bidden to the solemn rite,
And nought remains but your consent to crown
The ceremony.

ZELINDA.
How!—so soon, my father?

BENDUCAR.
Remember 'tis my will, and must be so.

[Exit.
ZELINDA.
Now is the measure of my woes complete.
To be Alonzo's wife!—the horrid thought
Creeps like some living reptile o'er my brain,
And threatens madness! Do I rave already?

Enter Durazzo.
DURAZZO.
'Tis she herself! Oh, what a lip is there!
It speaks in silence to the soul of man,
And beauty is its language.

ZELINDA.
What to do
I know not, what I ought 's impossible.

DURAZZO.
Turn not away. Speak, prithee—speak again;
For not the Thracian Bard could touch a string
So melting sweet, when plaintive Echo stole
His music on the waters of Despair,
As in that accent bless'd me.

ZELINDA.
For my life,
I ought to bless you in the truest sense
Of blessing—by my earnest prayers to Heaven:
Yet if you knew my name—

DURAZZO.
Pronounce the word.
My heart is listening.

ZELINDA.
It will turn to stone
When it has heard.

DURAZZO.
What are my stars at now?

ZELINDA.
Search through your memory for such a name
As, with its hateful odour, turns the breath
Of mention to a curse.

DURAZZO.
In all the world
There is but one.

ZELINDA.
Then you can name my father.

DURAZZO.
Oh misery! and is it worth Heaven's while
To set the station'd planets on the watch,
That good approach me not.

ZELINDA.
Forgive my father:
Forgive him for Zelinda's sake.

DURAZZO.
The blow
Hatch reach'd my mind. Forgetfulness, that used
To walk with time, performing offices
Upon the earth that would become an angel,
Cooling the heats and fevers of the brain,
And setting passions in a heap aside
To melt like snow, is buried in the centre,
And never, never more will visit me.
How can I then forgive?

ZELINDA.
By thinking on
His daughter's love, who weeps to own she loves you.

DURAZZO.
Bright angels catch the sound, and bear it on
Your silver wings to blend with my ambition.
[Trumpets sound.
But hark! the trumpet's tongue proclaims the court
Convened. Sweet, we must part: yet, ere I go,
One promise grant me: never, come what will,
To wed Alonzo.

ZELINDA.
Never.

DURAZZO.
One thing more,
And then good b'ye. As every parting says,
That those it severs ne'er may meet again,
For my sake wear this ring: that sparkling hoop
Of your's exchange with me: then, if the bolt
[They exchange rings.
Drop down, by rule or random, on my head,
Be sure, if time allow, I'll kiss this token,
And bless you, ere I die. Farewell—farewell.

[Exit.
ZELINDA.
What have I done? how shall I meet my father?
How bear his look of anger? and the ring—
Ha! 'twas my mother's ring: I gave it in
Mistake. Avert this omen, gracious Heaven,
Which seems to threaten ruin and despair.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

A Hall of State.—The King seated on his Throne. The Nobles ranged on each side. Garcia, Anthonio, Benducar, Alonzo, and Attendants standing.
KING.
Here, in our Court, before the assembled Peers
Of Spain, Lord Garcia, freely speak your mind:
That if the Moor hath conquer'd, not by force,
Or skill superior, but by treachery
In your own troops or leaders, we may know
Our enemy betimes, nor waste abroad
The vengeance due at home.

GARCIA.
To your high mandate,
I bow with prompt obedience; and attach,
In virtue of mine office, Don Alonzo
As traitor to the State.—His skill is known;
His valour oft was tried, and never questioned;
'Till skill and valour were at length subdued
By Moorish hands, which dealt in bribes—not blows.

ALONZO.
In bribes!

GARCIA.
The word is harsh, I will confess;
Even as I speak, I taste its bitterness:
But truth must needs be spoken.

BENDUCAR.
Crush'd, you mean—
Stifled—dethroned—cast down, and trod upon
Like a base idol, when a statesman dares
To wrong an honest soldier.—You to cant
Of bribes! is there no blush beneath that skin?
You taste its bitterness!—the word should choak you.

GARCIA.
Again I do repeat my charge is such:
Upon what ground, if you will please to listen,
The proof shall tell.

KING.
What is Alonzo's plea?
Does he deny the accusation,
And rest upon his innocence?

ALONZO.
My judge,
My sovereign;—I would claim your pity first;
That here I stand the victim of foul arts
Practised against mine honour.—To be call'd
A traitor by a traitor, and accused
Of bartering for bribes my hard-earn'd fame,
My well-tried loyalty, my firm affection
To those who met the fight, as we meet friends,
With transport, when I led:—to hear this done
With cold formality, and to be constrain'd
To formal answer and smooth argument,
'Spite of the impulse which my innocence
Touches with fire;—to talk like struggling guilt
At odds with justice for its own escape,
Instead of rushing on the miscreant's throat
Whose calumny hath thus reduced me. These
Are degradations, sufferings, and wrongs,
To move a Monarch's pity.—If there be
A witness to be brought, e'en let him come—
I dare him. Yet, if falsehood hath a power,
Colleagued with arts of Hell, to vanquish truth,
And make me seem to be the thing I am not,
I ask no pity then, but such as arms
The gallant rider 'gainst his noble steed
Whose limbs have ta'en a hurt no salve can cure:
E'en kill me on the instant.

KING.
We will use
No word to favour or oppose the charge,
'Till, having heard the proof, we can proceed
To judge without the hazard of injustice.
Bring forth the witness.

GARCIA.
Here he comes, so please
My Royal Master.—

Enter Durazzo.
ALONZO.
How!—Durazzo—he!

BENDUCAR.
This!—what, is this your witness?—Garcia tell me—
Anthonio say—witness!—to what?—to acts
Done in the field, where he durst never peep?
This fellow! why, he never saw a battle
Save in a book, and then was thunder-struck.

KING.
My Lord Benducar, to your services,
And reverend age, we grant more license than
Your wisdom ought to stretch into abuse.
Our pleasure is that we will hear this man.
Know you the cause why summon'd thus you stand
Before us?

DURAZZO.
At my Sovereign's feet I kneel,
With heavy heart, to state such matter to
This grave assembly, as must needs affect
The fame of one exalted by the breath
Of noblest mention. If he fall through me,
From the high estimation which he holds
In right of past exploits, 'tis not that I
Am envious, and would wrong him, but that he
Was reckless, and hath wrong'd his own repute,
Discarding fame for lucre. Of myself,
'Tis true, as hath been said in scorn, I was not
Eye-witness to the conduct of the field;
They took good care of that; but o'er the grave
There is a lamp lit up by destiny,
In whose reflective and unnatural light
The things gone by are shadow'd; Look, Alonzo;
Know you that writing.

[Shewing a packet.
ALONZO.
It should be Vincenzo's;
The gallant officer who served me well
Even to the last. O! would that he were here
To answer from his knowledge the invention
Of my accusers.

DURAZZO.
To the eye of power
And justice I commit the document,
Fall vengeance where it may!

[Gives the packet to the King.
KING
—(reads.)
Ha! what is here?
Alonzo, was this well?

DURAZZO.
He knew the writer,
Spoke praisingly of his deserts but now,
Invoked his knowledge to decide the case:—
He will not censure whom he praised before,
Nor unsay what he said authenticate
Of the true record which condemns him.

ALONZO.
How!
I'll not believe mine ears, that this is so
May I entreat to look upon the paper—
If I can see.

[The King gives him the packet.
DURAZZO
—(aside.)
My heart is strongly moved
At his despair. But, when I think of spurns,
And blows, and the dependance of my hope,
In this bad course alone assigned to thrive,
'Tis firm again. He reads.

ALONZO
—(reading.)
“Fly to the King,
“And tell him, on the dying word of one
“Who shed his blood for Spain, that now too late
“Mine eyes are open'd to Alonzo's baseness.—
“'Tis certain he was bribed, and we betray'd,
“Surrender'd, sold;—I can no more, for death
“Arrests my hand. Farewell! and deem no risk
“Too great to run, that may preserve your country.”
I know not what to say—my senses turn
Against their owner. I could swear it was
His writing; but my knowledge of his mind,
His heart, his glorious spirit, gives the lie
To my astonish'd vision. Does it stand
To reason, that the comrade who made choice
To die with me, when thousands fled the field,
Would, on the brink and threshold of his grave,
Stop, and turn round, to slander whom he fought for?
I'll not believe it.

BENDUCAR.
No; nor I—nor any.
'Tis false,—'tis forged,—a calumny against
The living and the dead. Observe its structure:
No circumstance detail'd; no fact set forth
With which to grapple; but an accusation,
Whose broad unmeaning face this artist here
Would fain bedaub with false particulars
To his own vicious liking. Fie upon't,
This is a trick of cunning to avoid
Detection, while it murders in the day.

DURAZZO.
When I adduce such false particulars,
Expose—denounce them. I have utter'd none,
Nor shall I. If the accusation hangs
But loosely, 'tis good reason why Alonzo
Should live, as in my soul I wish he may:
But is it cause why he should still enjoy
The Royal confidence? and, at the head
Of armies, strike the blow, that must be nerved
With honest, earnest, unsuspected zeal
To reach the heart of opposition, and
Let out the blood of enemies? Besides,
Look to the parts beyond dispute. Who fell?
Those who confided in the General:
And who escaped?—those who suspected him,
And, shame to say, himself.

ALONZO.
Villain, 'tis false;
There is no shame in fighting to the last,
And being saved with honour. Is the will
Of Heaven a proof against me? By your leave—
[Snatches Benducar's sword.
There is a stretch of patience guilty-like—
I'll cut the slanderer down.

BENDUCAR.
Consider, man,
[Holding Alonzo.
The place—the presence.

ALONZO.
Let my fury go.

BENDUCAR.
We are but two.

ALONZO.
And if but one, I care not.
What should I fear, who have a sword—a hand—
A heart—a quarrel—and—an injury!
O! 'tis the lion's fury, not his size,
That makes the forest tremble.

[Breaking from him.
ALL.
Treason! treason!

[Rising from their seats.
DURAZZO.
He threats the King.

ALONZO.
Abhorred fiend, thou liest.
Grant me your pardon, Sire; 'twas want of patience,
Not of respect.

DURAZZO.
Where patience is respect.

BENDUCAR.
I pray your Majesty forgive his rashness.

ALONZO.
I pray your Majesty pronounce my doom,
Even as your thought inclines. If I'm a traitor,
Give me the traitor's fate: if not, acquit me.
That my brave comrades fell—that I surviv'd—
Is true; and if it be a crime in one
To 'scape, who never turn'd his back on danger,
'Tis meet that I should forfeit to the law
The penalty of such offending.

DURAZZO.
I have no more to say: my speech is there—
That paper holds it: yet, my gracious master,
If there be aught besides you wish to learn,
Touching the manner—how it came to hand—
Who brought it—who was present when Vincenzo
Delivered it—and such corroborants,—
I will relate them now in open court;
Or, if it better please, at other time,
And to your private ear.

BENDUCAR.
What means the slave?
Kings have no private ears, or should have none.

KING.
Here break we up the court to meditate
Our final sentence. Meanwhile thou, Durazzo,
Attend us to our closet, where alone
We have some matter to investigate
Touching this cause; the rest remain behind.

[Exeunt King and Durazzo.
BENDUCAR.
(Aside to Alonzo)
Our violence hath ruin'd all.

ALONZO.
No matter,—
They know our minds.

BENDUCAR.
I fear the King is wroth.

ALONZO.
I fear it not, for I am innocent.

GARCIA.
My Lord Benducar.

BENDUCAR.
Did you name my name?

GARCIA.
It is not seemly, that a man of your
Repute should hold the prisoner in regard,
'Till his acquittal warrant such communion.

BENDUCAR.
Indeed!

ANTHONIO.
'Tis not the practice.

BENDUCAR.
May be not
The practice now. Yet 'twas a good old rule
That made necessity the test of friendship.
At my age habit has an awkward trick
Of putting off the fashions of the time,
To wear misused virtue, though 'tis laughed at.

GARCIA.
The Herald comes.

ALONZO.
I can look up and hear him.

Enter Herald.
HERALD.
Attend ye all the missive of the King.
In favour to Alonzo's past exploits,
The sentence is not death, but banishment,
To be in execution ere the night
Hath thinn'd Grenada's streets. This proclamation
Gives the irrevocable force of law
To our dread monarch's breath.

ALL.
A just award!

ALONZO.
Ay, 'tis a fitting punishment for those
Who sell their sinews to ingratitude.

BENDUCAR.
Cheer up, my son; this cruel injury
Shall bear my comment with it. Ere the night,
My daughter's hand is thine.

ALONZO.
My noble friend,
My father, I'll endure mankind for thee
With all their crawling vices. Come, away!

BENDUCAR.
Give me but leave to spend one hearty curse
On those deservers.

GARCIA.
We disdain your curse.

ALONZO.
You may:—he has not one to match your baseness.

BENDUCAR.
I have it in my heart—in gall—in venom,—
But language is too weak. Hear, then, thou Power
Who see'st it in its working. Let it fall
With unexpressive horror on their heads,
That the fierce hope which now dries up my tongue
May stick to them, like locusts to the grain,
That never more can nourish, nor be nourish'd.