University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Governor's Ante-chamber.
Alphonso and Houaco enter in conversation.
ALPHONSO.
Thee, most of all, Zamori, save my father,
I joy to see again. Yet thou alone
Hast not once deign'd to smile on my return.

HOUACO.
Joy is a stranger to Zamori's breast!

[Retiring slowly, and fixing his eyes on Alphonso, who looks kindly after him, then advances towards his father, who comes from an inner apartment.
PEDRARIAS.
My son! my loved Alphonso! shall I own
That I am almost weary of these loud
Tumultuous rejoicings? though for thee,
And thy return glad Panama thus maddens.
Nay, thou art weary too, and spiritless.

ALPHONSO.
The joy to see my father and my friends
Has something of a tender, serious cast,
That rather might to silent tears incline
Than these wild revellings.

PEDRARIAS.
Were tenderness
The character of my Alphonso's joy,
He were not thus dark, guarded, hesitating,
Whene'er a father's fondness prompts th'inquiry
Of all that has befallen.

ALPHONSO.
I will tell all
That may import a father. How the chase
Of the swift lama, and the fiercer bison,
Led on thy thoughtless son, and his young band,
The partners of his sports, through trackless woods,
O'er mountains, rocks, and wilds, till, lost their course,
O'erspent with toil, dispersed, a prey to famine—
The natives of those unknown deserts found,
Surrounded, seized, and bound thy son.

PEDRARIAS.
Bound thee!
Pedrarias' son bound by these savages!
Ha! they shall dearly rue—

ALPHONSO.
Nay, shall they rue
The noble pity lavish'd upon one
Of the fell race—
(Aside, checking himself.)
But silence, my rash tongue!
(Aloud.)
Their generous leader knew thy son, and loosed him!
He raised, embraced me, bade me say from him—
[Again checking himself.
His looks strike terror!—The good Indian's words
Would but embitter whom they might not move
To emulate his gentle deeds.

PEDRARIAS.
E'en now
Mark how your speech is broken—how you start,
And shift, as 'twere some guilty thought appall'd you.
Their chief?—say, was he a Cacique?
(Aside.)
Could he,
The bold, the patient, persevering savage,
Capana?—Would the fierce Thelasco do it?
No, no. It must be one who knows my power,
And thus would win my favour; but not one
Who has so felt that power who would release him.
(Aloud.)
Where lurks the savage chieftain with his horde?
Whence com'st thou?

ALPHONSO.
From among a generous race!
Nature's free children! By her special love
Guarded from ill! Blest in their simpleness,
To avarice they hold no fatal lure!
Rich but in worth! Oh, sacred be their peace!
[With joy and tenderness.
Thou didst lament a son, and he is here!
Is't not enough thy once loved son restored?

[Throwing himself on his bosom.
PEDRARIAS
(putting him from him coldly).
'Tis not enough, if thus my son return
Alter'd, estranged,—haply with savages
Leagued to betray—

ALPHONSO.
Oh, check thy cruel speech;
Or if thou canst suspect my loyalty,
Treat me as one attainted; fasten fetters
On thy son's guiltless limbs, within a dungeon
Cast him, and prefer thy accusation.
What is my crime, my father?

PEDRARIAS.
Disobedience
To the vicegerent of thy king, young man,
And to thy father.

ALPHONSO.
Load me then with chains—
Proclaim me traitor—send me thus to Spain:
Were it not better to be falsely branded,
Than in my secret bosom feel the sting
He needs must feel who can indeed betray?

PEDRARIAS.
Ungracious boy! and is it thus I find thee?
What tortures shall my just revenge devise
For him who robs me of my son?—The savage!

ALPHONSO.
Is he the savage who feels others' woes?
Who breaks the captive's bonds, and bids him live?
Is he the savage who forgives his foe,
And renders good for ill?—Pardon, methinks
He is the Christian!

PEDRARIAS
(confounded).
(Aside.)
I have gone too far—
I will try gentler means.
(Aloud.)
A Christian, say'st thou?
And has thy friend embraced our holy faith?

ALPHONSO.
The Christian's deeds are his.

PEDRARIAS.
Then as a brother
I'll fold the generous Christian to my bosom!
I was too warm, my child; my spirit brook'd not
A heathen should have held my son in bondage,
Nor own'd the debt of gratitude to one
Bending at idols' shrines, with rites abhorr'd.

ALPHONSO.
Pardon, my father, if I have offended.
Oh! now I feel I am thy son again,
For now thou look'st on thy Alphonso kindly,
As in those days of childish happiness,
When, from the heavy cares of state retired,
Thou would'st assume the boy, and share his sports.

PEDRARIAS.
Oh yes; and I would thank the Indian chief
That he restores my boy, as in those days,
Simple, ingenuous, obedient, duteous!

ALPHONSO
(earnestly).
And art thou grateful to the gentle Indian?
And would'st thou prove it?

PEDRARIAS
(with impatience).
Yes, I would—I would.

ALPHONSO
(taking his hand affectionately).
He and his friends ask but to be forgotten.

PEDRARIAS.
Nay, nay; thou would'st not that my miser heart,
Thankless and cold, should hoard its selfish joy.
Come, boy, come, guide me to the Indian Christian,
And let me lock him in a friend's embrace;
The debt were painful should I nought dispense
Of good, for all the mighty good received.

ALPHONSO.
And what canst thou dispense to one above
The idle wants of pride? A little maize
Feasts him, the dimpling brook allays his thirst;
The palm-tree bowers his bed of reeds, and forms
His canopy of state; the bank beneath,
Gorgeous in nature's 'broidery, his throne;
His empire, in a people's love, is vast:
The God he serves—with rites however rude—
A God of Mercy, and how truly serves,
Thou know'st.

PEDRARIAS
(impatient).
'Tis well—yet nam'st thou not thy friend,—
Thy Christian friend,—nor tell'st me his abode.

ALPHONSO.
I cannot. I beseech you, urge it not.

PEDRARIAS
(resuming his anger).
By thy allegiance, I command thee tell me.

ALPHONSO
(with firmness).
I owe my king th'allegiance of a subject:
My services are his—my sword—my life!
But there's a secret rectitude within,
Stamp of the soul free-born, that will not own
Control from aught of earth; nor can a king
Command me that I act the villain's part.

PEDRARIAS.
Ha! dost thou brave me thus in every way?
Leagued with the rebel natives to defy
My delegated power! with impious foot
Trampling on nature's first, most sacred tie
Of filial duty!
[Paces the stage in great agitation.
Yes—how I have loved thee
Thou know'st, ungrateful boy!—but I—I, too,
Alphonso, can be firm. If, on the moment,
Thou answer not to all I shall demand,
I banish thee for ever from my sight,
Doom thee to wander, with a father's curse,
Among the savages thou hast preferr'd
To him who gave thee being.

ALPHONSO.
Oh, forbear!
Reverse the dreadful sentence thou hast pass'd,
Or take my worthless life.

PEDRARIAS.
Nor fancy thou
I cannot hunt the natives down, and sweep them
From earth, if thou assist not. Would'st attempt
To shield the pensile warbler from the swoop
Of the huge condor that has mark'd his prey?
Thou know'st what I can do when simply led,
Like other men, by thirst of fair renown,
But hast not mark'd Pedrarias' dread career
When urged by sense of wrong—by strong revenge!
Hadst thou but trusted to a father's heart,
It might have pleaded for the man who spared thee.
Look to it now.—Thou—thou would'st have it so.
'Twill soon be proved who is most powerful,
Or thou to save—or I to crush a foe.

[Going.
ALPHONSO
(clinging to him).
Oh stay! my father, stay!—Behold my breast—
Yes, let my blood atone his fault who spared it,
And thus made gratitude a crime.

PEDRARIAS.
Away!
Thou know'st how best to prove thy gratitude:
It rests with thee to save thy friend.

ALPHONSO.
Then hear me.
But first—Oh, swear thou never wilt molest
His peace, nor seek his place of refuge—Swear—
[Aside, perceiving Capana's token.
What am I doing?—Come, thou sacred pledge,
Rouse, in this trying hour, my sinking courage!
[Aloud, with resignation and firmness.
I am resolved, and bow me to my fate!
Farewell, my father!

PEDRARIAS.
Then my curse be on thee!
Fly an offended father's presence, rebel!
Hide thee in caverns, far from haunt of man,
Or, in dread loneliness, bleak deserts roam,
Where hope is dead, where pity may not find thee,
Where sound of life is none, nor answering echo
Gives back thy groan in horrid fellowship!
Thy father's heart for ever casts thee off!

ALPHONSO.
Guiltless I go.—But when destruction follows,
As sure it will, e'en thou, though late, may'st prove
A father's anger cannot last for ever.

[Exit.
PEDRARIAS.
Away! nor think to lull my just resentment.
Foil'd in the object of my glorious labours—
Braved by my child—Told by a beardless boy
The brutish savage was the better Christian!—
Yes, he shall drain repentance' bitter cup
E'en to the dregs!—Away, parental weakness!
I will know where the native hordes are hived.
Ten years of bloodshed and of toil are lost,
If in their fastnesses secure they breed,
And swarm forth on us.—But the means—
(Calls off the stage).
Hoa, Gusman!

Enter Gusman.
GUSMAN.
My gracious lord, what has befallen? Alphonso
In strange disorder—

PEDRARIAS.
From my presence banish'd,
Name not the traitor.

GUSMAN.
Has he not declared
Where rally from defeat the natives?

PEDRARIAS.
No;
With obstinate defiance he persisted,
Nor would betray his friend, the gentle Indian,
The Christian, as it seems.—Ha, baffled thus!
I have it, Gusman—His pretended faith
Shall prove their bane.—Banish'd, he sure will seek
His Indian friends—My spies are skill'd—

GUSMAN.
Yet think,
My lord; each danger, he so late has 'scaped,
Besets Alphonso in his pathless way,
And doubly foil'd if aught of ill befall.

PEDRARIAS.
Ha! doubly foil'd?—'tis true.—But how secure
From peril—and yet free his will perverse
To follow, unsuspecting of the snare?—

GUSMAN.
The slave Zamori; you have proved him faithful;
He has done you service since his chains were lighten'd.

PEDRARIAS.
Yes, as the native tames the baneful snake,
And bids him wind in glossy folds, around
His limbs, innocuous, extracting first
The tooth beneath whose fang the poison lurks—
So to my service the proud slave's subdued.

GUSMAN.
And more; your son affects him, for that once
From death Zamori rescued him, unconscious;
He may again avert impending ill—

PEDRARIAS.
And guide his steps; for, led by nature's self,
The slave will find, instinctive, their retreat.
His very love will give them to my vengeance!
Thanks—thanks, my friend! I hold Zamori's faith,
For well he knows that thousands of his fellows
Will bleed if he but swerve. 'Twill do—'twill do.
Go, bear my will to my disloyal son;
With hopes of future favour win Zamori—
Nay, I, myself, will school him to my purpose.
And, mark me—seek thou Perez—send him hither.
To-morrow's sun shall find my plans matured
For future conquest, and for future glory.

[Exeunt severally.