 | Alfonso, King of Castile |  |
31
SCENE II.
A wild forest, with rocks, water-falls, &c. On one side an hermitage and a rustic tomb, with various pieces of armour scattered near it, “VICTORIA” is engraved on it; a river is in the back ground.ORSINO stands on a rock which over hangs the river.
ORSINO.
Yes, thou art lovely, World! That blue-robed sky;
These giant rocks, their forms grotesque and awful
Reflected on the calm stream's lucid mirror;
These reverend oaks, through which (their rustling leaves
Dancing and twinkling in the sun-beams) light
Now gleams, now disappears, while yon fierce torrent,
Tumbling from crag to crag with measured dash,
Makes to the ear strange music: World! oh, World!
Who sees thee such must needs confess thee fair!
Who knows thee not must needs suppose thee good!
[With a sudden burst of indignation.]
But I have tried thee, World! know all these beauties
Mere shows and snares; know thee a gilded serpent,
A flowery bank, whose sweets smile o'er a pit-fall;
A splendid prison, precious tomb, fair palace
Whose golden domes allure poor wanderers in,
And, when they've entered, crush them! Such I know thee
And, knowing, loath thy charms! Rise, rise, ye storms!
Mingle, ye elements! Flash, lightnings' flash!
Unmask this witch! blast her pernicious beauty!
And show me Nature as she is, a monster!
—I'll look no more! Oh! my torn heart! Victoria!
My son! Oh God! My son! Lost! lost! Both lost!
[Leaning against the tomb.]
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INIS.
This is the hermit's cave; and see, my liege, Orsino's self.
ALFONSO.
[Starting back.]
No, no, that living spectre
Is not my gallant friend! I seek in vain
The full cheek's healthful glow, the eye of fire,
The martial mien, proud gait, and limbs Herculean!
Oh! is that death-like form indeed Orsino?
ORSINO.
Never to see them more! Never, no never!
Wise, child, joy, hope, all gone!
ALFONSO.
That voice! Oh! Heaven,
Too well I know that voice!—How grief has changed him!
I'll speak, yet dread .... Retire [Inis, &c. withdraw.]
Look up, Orsino.
ORSINO.
Discovered!
[Stizing a lance which rests against the cavern, and putting himself in a posture of defence].
Wretch, thy life .... [staggering back]
Strengthen me, heaven!
'Tis he! the King himself!
ALFONSO.
[Offering to take his hand.]
Thy friend!
ORSINO.
[Recovering himself, and drawing back his hand.]
Friend! friend!—
I've none!— [Coldly.]
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Orsino! ....
ORSINO.
Never had but one,
And he ....! Sir, though a king, you'd shrink to hear
How that friend used me!
ALFONSO.
Hear me speak, in pity!
ORSINO.
What need of words? I'm found, I'm in your power,
And you may torture me e'en how you list.
Where are your chains? These are the self-same arms
Which bore them ten long years, nor doubt their weighing
Heavy as ever! These same eyes, which bathed
So oft with bitterest tears your dungeon-grate,
Have streams not yet exhausted! and these lips
Can still with shrieks make the Black Tower re-echo,
Which heard my voice so long in frantic anguish
Rave of my wife and child, and curse Alfonso!
Lead on, Sir! I'm your prisoner!
ALFONSO.
Not for worlds
Would I but harm one hair of thine!—Nay, hear me!
And learn, most wronged Orsino, thy clear innocence
Is now well known to all.
ORSINO.
Aye? Nay, I care not
Who thinks me innocent! I know myself so—
Was this your business, Sir? 'Tis done! Farewell.
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Oh! part not from me thus! I fain would say. ....
ORSINO.
What?
ALFONSO.
I have wronged thee! ....
ORSINO.
[Sternly.]
True!
ALFONSO.
Deeply, most deeply!
But wounding thine, hurt my own heart no less,
Where none has filled thy place: 'tis thine, still thine—
And if my Court. ....
ORSINO.
What should I there? No, no, Sir!
Sorrow has crazed my wits; long cramped by fetters
My arm sinks powerless; and my wasted limbs,
Palsied by dungeon-damps, would bend and totter
Beneath you armour's weight, once borne so lightly!—
Then what should I at Court? I cannot head
Your troops, nor guide your councils: Leave me, leave me,
You cannot use me further!
ALFONSO.
Oh! I must,
And to a most dear service—My heart bleeds,
And needs a friend! Be but that friend once more!
Be to me what thou wert, (and that was, all things!)
Forgive my faults, forget thy injuries. ....
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[Passionately.]
Never!
ALFONSO.
That to Alfonso? That to him, whose friendship. ...
ORSINO.
Peace, peace! You felt no friendship! felt no flame,
Steady and strong!—Yours was a vain light vapour,
A boyish fancy, a caprice, an habit,
A bond you wearied of, and gladly seized
A lame pretext to break. Did not my heart
From earliest youth lie naked to your eyes?
Knew you not every corner, nerve, turn, twist on't?
And could you still suspect ...? No, no! You wished
To find me false, or must have known me true.
ALFONSO.
You wrong me, on my life! So fine, so skilful
The snare was spread .... I knew not. ....
ORSINO.
Knew not? Knew not?
Thou knew'st I was Orsino! Knowing that,
Thou should'st have known, I never could be guilty.
ALFONSO.
Proofs seemed so strong. ...
ORSINO.
And had I none to prove
My innocence? These deep-hewn scars, received
While fighting in your cause, were these no proofs?
Your life twice saved by me! your very breath
My gift! your crown oft rescued by my valour!
Were these no proofs. My every word, thought, action,
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And, more than all, the love I ever bore thee,
Were these no proofs?—Oh! they had been conviction
In a friend's eyes, though they were none in thine!
ALFONSO.
Your pride? 'Twas that undid me! Your reserve,
Your silence. ....
ORSINO.
What! Should I have stooped to chase
Your brawling lawyers through their flaws and quibbles?
To bear the sneers of saucy questioners—
Their jests, their lies—and, when they termed me villain,
Calmly to cry—“Good Sirs, I'm none!”—No, no:
I heard myself called traitor—saw you calmly
Hear me so called, nor strike the speaker dead!
Then why defend myself? What hope was left me?
Truth lost its value, since you thought me false!
Speech had been vain, since your heart spoke not for me.
ALFONSO.
And it did speak ... Spite of the law's decision,
My love preserved your life. ....
ORSINO.
Oh! bounteous favour!
Oh! vast munificence! which, giving life,
Robbed me of every gem which made life precious!
Where is my wife? Distracted at my loss,
Sunk to her cold grave with a broken heart!
Where is my son? Or dead through want, or wandering
A friendless outcast! Where that health, that vigour,
Those iron nerves, once mine?—King, ask your dungeons!
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Oh! spare me!
ORSINO.
Give me these again, wife, son,
Health, strength, and ten most precious years of manhood,
And I'll perhaps forgive thee: till then, never!
ALFONSO.
What could I do? Thy son had been to me
Dear as my own, had not Victoria's pride,
Scorning all aid. ....
ORSINO.
'Twas right!
ALFONSO.
She sled, concealed
Herself and child ..... Had it on me depended .....
I cannot speak ... My heart. ... Oh! yet have mercy,
Think I had other duties than a friend's. ....
Alas! I was a king!
ORSINO.
And are one still. ....
Have still your wealth, and pomp, and pride and power,
And herd of cringeing courtiers—still have children ...
I had but one, and him I lost through thee.
I, I have nothing! Yon rude cave my palace,
These rocks my court, the wolf my fit companion—
Lost all life's blessings, wife, son, health! Oh! nothing
Is left me, save the right to hate that man
Who made me what I am!—And would'st thou rob me
E'en of this last poor pleasure? Go, Sir! go,
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Drink deep of luxury's cup! be gay, be flattered,
Pampered and proud, and, if thou canst, be happy.
I'll to my cave, and curse thee!
ALFONSO.
Stay, Orsino!
If ever friendship warmed, or pity melted
Thy heart, I charge thee. ....
ORSINO.
Pity? In thy dungeons,
Sir, I forgot the meaning of that word.
For ten long years no gentle accents soothed me—
No tears with mine were mixed—no bosom sighed
That anguish tortured mine!—King, King, thou know'st not,
How solitude makes the soul stern and savage!
ALFONSO.
Yet were thy soul than adamantine rocks
More hard, these deep-drawn sighs. ....
ORSINO.
My wife's last groan
Rings in my ear, and drowns them.
ALFONSO.
And these tears
Might touch thy heart. ....
ORSINO.
My heart is dead, King! dead!
'Tis yonder buried in Victoria's grave!
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Could prayers, unfeigned remorse, ceaseless affection,
And influence as my own unbounded. ....
ORSINO.
Hold!
I'll try thee, and make two demands!—But first,
Swear by all hopes of happiness hereafter,
And Heaven's best gift on earth, thine angel-daughter,
Whate'er I ask shall be fulfilled.
ALFONSO.
I swear!
And Heaven so treat my prayers, as I shall thine!
ORSINO.
'Tis well: now mark, and keep thine oath. My first
Request is—Leave me instantly! My second,
Ne'er let me see thee more!—Thou hast heard! Begone!
[Exit into the cave.
ALFONSO.
'Tis well, proud man!—Alas! my heart's too humbled
To chide e'en him who spurns it!—
INIS.
Nay, my liege,
Despair not—Sure the Princess. ....
ALFONSO.
Right! I'll seek her;
To her he owes his freedom, and her prayers
Shall win me back this dear obdurate heart.
Oh! did he know how sweet 'tis to forgive,
And raise the wounded soul, which, crush'd and humbled,
Sinks in the dust, and owns that it has erred;
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Sure he would need no motive but self-love!
[Exeunt.
| Alfonso, King of Castile | |