University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The Exterior of the Inquisition.
Enter Malec and Haly.
Malec.
Renounce his people! Haly, I did not think,
As here I journey'd from yon rugged cliffs,
To hear these fatal tidings.—Oh Hemeya!

Haly.
After long struggles of reluctant honor,
He promis'd to abjure his nation's creed.
To-day the public rite of abjuration
Is to be solemnized.

Mal.
I have heard enough.

Hal.
But when you tell what you had come to teach him—
And he has heard that on his brows shall shine
The crown his fathers wore—When you have told him—

Mal.
I will not tell him—Till he has deserv'd,
He shall not wear a crown. A diadem
Shall never call him back to honor's road,
If honor could not do it. But I'll try
My wonted pow'r upon him—From its ashes
'Twill not be hard to wake th'expiring flame
That once burnt bright within him. Thou, meanwhile,
Call at the Cadi's house the noblest Moors,
That to their secret ears I may unfold
The cause of my return.

[Exit Haly.
Mal.
Renounce the faith
That suff'ring had endear'd, when twenty thousand
Of his brave countrymen are leagued together,
To break the bonds of Philip's tyranny!—
When freedom's flame from yonder mountain tops
Will blaze thro' Spain's wide realm, he basely falls
Before the tyrant's edict, and obeys!—
But, hold—he comes!—There was a time, Hemeya,
When I had rush'd to catch thee in my arms.
[Enter Hemeya.
I charge thee not to touch my garment's edge.

Hem.
Oh, Malec, this from thee! When I behold thee,
After long months of absence, dost thou scorn me?

Mal.
Dost thou not scorn thyself?—I know it all;
Fame has not kept thy baseness from mine ears.
What, for a wanton—!

Hem.
Wanton!

Mal.
Ay, a Spanish wanton!—
Is she not one of those same melting dames,
Unlike the prophet's virgin votaries,
That let men's eyes blaze on unveiled charms,
And are themselves the wooers?—'Tis for a wanton
You choose to be a villain.

Hem.
I permit you
To rail against myself; heap on my head
Your heaviest curse, your blackest reprobation;
Open my heart, and stab; drive in more deep
The arrows of remorse;—but do not dare,
Tho' you're my father's friend—

Mal.
What should I fear?
Away, slight boy! and speak not of thy father.
I'm glad he sleeps in unattesting marble,
Else hadst thou been a parricide.

Hem.
I am guilty; I confess that I am guilty.
But if you felt what youth and passion feel,—
If those soft eyes had ever beam'd upon thee,—
If long, like me, thou'dst wither'd in despair,
Till fresh'ning Hope rose in thy desert heart,—
Oh, if, like me, thou'dst borne her in thy bosom,
While ruin flam'd above—

Mal.
Forbear, fond youth! my ears are pall'd already.—
Rein in thy wanton fancy—Dost thou think
That I am made to hear a lover's follies?
Go, tell them to the moon, and howl with dogs!—
Did she possess the charms of her who sleeps
Within the prophet's bosom, I would spurn
The man who had renounc'd, for her embrace,
His country and himself.

Hem.
We have no country!

Mal.
Thou hast, indeed, no country.

Hem.
Are we not bound to earth? The lording Spaniard
Treads on our heads—We groan beneath the yoke
That, shaken, gores more deeply!—
Resistance will but ope new founts of blood
To gush in foaming torrents—Dost thou forget
The Spaniard lifts the sword, and almost wishes
That we should give pretence to tyranny?
Look at yon gloomy towers; e'en now we stand
Within the shadows of the Inquisition.

Mal.
Art thou afraid? Look at yon gloomy towers!
Has thy fair minion told thee to beware
Of damps and rheums, caught in the dungeon's vapours?
Or has she said those dainty limbs of thine
Were only made for love? Look at yon towers!—
Ay! I will look upon them, not to fear,
But deeply curse them. There ye stand aloft,
Frowning in all your black and dreary pride,
Monastic monuments of human misery,—
Houses of torment, palaces of horror!
Oft have you echoed to the lengthen'd shriek
Of midnight murder; often have you heard
The deep-choaked groan of stifled agony
Burst in its dying whisper—Curses on ye!
Curse on the tyrant that sustains you too!
Oh, may ye one day, from your tow'ring height,
Fall on the wretches that uphold your domes,
And crush them in your ruins! Oh, Hemeya!
Look there, Hemeya! think how many Moors,
How many of our wretched countrymen,
Are doom'd to perish there, unless—

Hem.
By Heav'ns!
Thy burning front, thy flaming eyes, proclaim it—
Some glorious thought is lab'ring—Speak—what mean'st thou?
I feel thy spirit's mastery—my soul
Fires in the glowing contact—Malec, speak!
Tell me, what can we do?

Mal.
What men can do
Who groan beneath the lash of tyranny,
And feel the strength of madness.—Have we not scimitars?
'Twas not in vain I sought those rugged heights,
Nor vainly do I now again return—
Amid the Alpuxerra's cragged cliffs,
Are there not myriads of high-hearted Moors,
That only need a leader to be free?
Thy voice would be a trumpet in the mountains,
That, from their snow-crown'd tops and hollow vales,
Would echo back the blast of liberty.—
Dost thou not understand me?

Hem.
Speak!—Can I free my people?—Can I rend
Our shameful bonds asunder, and revenge?—

Mal.
Canst thou?—

Hem.
Do not command me not to love;
But, if there be a road to liberty,
Provided Death, with his uplifted dart
Stand at its entrance—speak—is there a way?—

Mal.
And, were there not a way,
We'd hew one in the rock!—There is a way—

Hem.
My soul hangs in thy lips—

Mal.
I fear thee still—
I fear thy wav'ring nature.

Hem.
No, you wrong me—
By Heav'n you wrong me!—

Mal.
Fall upon the earth,
And by thy father's sacred memory—
By all thy people's wrongs—by Allah's name—
Swear—

Enter Florinda.
Flor.
(Interrupting him.)
Hold! what is it that I see?

Hem.
A wretch!

Mal.
Swear! quickly swear, before a woman's art
Turn thee to that a woman's self should spurn.

Flor.
What should he swear?—

Mal.
For ever to renounce thee!

Flor.
Ay! let him, if he will; let him renounce me.
I will not say that I am hardly us'd,
Nor load him with my love!—I can bear all,
Except to see him perish.

Mal.
Swear, Hemeya,
Never to be a Christian.

Flor.
Hold! for Heaven's mercy!

Hem.
Bright angel, art thou come to save, or damn me?

Flor.
I'm come to tell the perils that surround thee.—
Cruel, unkind, Hemeya! I perceive
The pow'r that Malec holds upon thy soul.—
But yesterday, e'en at the cloister's gates,
You cried you would renounce the world for me.

Mal.
Ay! what is worth much more than all the world,
More than the crescent diadem that shines
On Selim's turban'd brow—more than the heav'n
The prophet's eye beheld—nay, more than thee—
His honour and his truth!—Rightly thou hast said
'Tis I who snatch him from thee.

Flor.
Not from me—
It is from life you snatch him. Let him leave me—
Never behold me more!

Hem.
Can I do that?

Flor.
Do any thing but perish.
I reck not of myself; but I have heard,
Since last we parted, more than first I fear'd:
The king's decree has arm'd Pescara's hand
With pow'r omnipotent against the Moors.
Death hovers o'er thy head! Gomez, Pescara,
Are crouch'd to leap upon thee.
Hemeya, be a Christian, or you perish!

Hem.
It is not hard to die—thou, thou alone
Art all that makes life worth the keeping to me.

Mal.
I will not think a well-wrought tear or two
Can make thee base again.

Hem.
Within thy bosom (to Malec)

I'll bury all my face; for, if I dare
To gaze upon her charms, they will unman me.

Flor.
And dost thou scorn to look upon Florinda?
And am I spurn'd so far? Once, once 'twas otherwise:
Now I am fit for scorn!

Hem.
Florinda!

Mal.
Hold!
Weigh not your country with a woman's tears.

Flor.
I am, indeed, a woman; and I feel
My sex's cruel portion, to be woo'd,
And flattered, and ador'd, until at last
We own our nature's folly;—then you spurn,
Who wept and sighed before. You then pull down
The idol that you worshipp'd, and you deem,
Because a woman loves, she should be scorn'd!
I should not weep, and you would not despise me.

Hem.
Malec!

Mal.
Are you a man?—are you his son
Whose heart ne'er felt a throb but for his country?

Hem.
Look here, and pity me!—Behold this face,
Where shines a soul so pure, so sweet a spirit—
Can I renounce her? tell me if I can—
Look on him, my Florinda! lift those eyes,
So full of light, and purity, and love;
Look on him, and he'll pity me.

Flor.
Hemeya,
Art thou so kind again, and wilt thou live?

Hem.
Stay near my heart, and, as I press thee thus,
I shall no longer feel this agony:
I never can resign thee.

Mal.
Worthless Moor!
Why does my poniard tremble in my grasp?
Woman!

Flor.
You shall not tear him into death.

Mal.
(Aside.)
I cannot do it—yet, must I behold
The son of Moorish kings a woman's slave?—
I'll try to rouse him still.—Perfidious traitor!

Hem.
Traitor!

Mal.
Traitor! and, if there be a name more foul,
Apostate!

Flor.
Spare him—spare him!—Dost thou see
How his frame trembles, and what agony
Is stamp'd upon his face?—Oh, pity him!

Mal.
I do indeed—I spurn him for his weakness;—
But, woman, have a care,—leave him,—renounce him,
Or else—

Flor.
I can resign Hemeya's heart,
But cannot give his life—nay, tell me, Malec,
You, who have lov'd him, watch'd his tend'rest youth,
And hold him in your heart,—would you consent
To yield him up to burning martyrdom,
And cast him in the raging furnaces
That persecution lights with blasts of hell?

Mal.
Better that he should perish—

Flor.
Dost thou say so?
Would'st plunge him in destruction? Would'st thou see him
In all the torments of a ling'ring death,
While Gomez and Pescara stood beside,
To glut themselves upon his agonies?

Mal.
Woman, thou hast employ'd thy sex's cunning,
To make my friend a villain;—but beware,—
Else I will break thy spells—I will unloose
The charmed threads thou wind'st around his soul.

Flor.
I will renounce him!—You, perchance, desire,
That, from your prophet's vot'ries, he should choose
One fairer and more happy than Florinda—
Let him but speak it, and a cloister's cell
Shall be the refuge of her misery.—
I ask for nothing but Hemeya's safety,
And that's too dear to part with.

Hem.
Leave me! never—

[Malec draws his dagger.
Mal.
Then it is done—Prophet, behold the deed!
Strengthen my trembling hand—it is for freedom,
It is for Heav'n I strike!
(He pauses for an instant, and, after a struggle, exclaims)
I cannot do it!—
I am myself a coward.
(He lets the dagger fall).

[Hemeya and Florinda start.
Hem.
Abhorr'd, detested villain!

Mal.
Call me coward,—
For that I feel I am;—'twas Heav'n itself
That bade me strike—and nature conquer'd me.

Hem.
Curs'd be the creed that can make murder holy!—
Thee! thee! Florinda—here within my arms!—
Ha! was it here thou would'st have plunged the poniard!
Fear not, sweet trembler! shelter thee, my love!—
Harm shall ne'er reach thee here.—Avoid my sight!—
Fanatic, hence!—In him I once rever'd
I see the reeking murderer—

Mal.
Do not think
The blow was destin'd for her heart alone—
If, in obedience to the prophet's law,
I had been brave enough to do the deed
That Mahomet had sanctioned, from her breast
I would have drawn the steel to plunge it here,
And, as the life flow'd forth, have told thee that
Which thou shalt never hear. I leave thee now;
For thou art sunk so deep, that 'twere in vain
To pluck thee from thy shame. I go to seek
Grenada's Moors, met for a noble purpose.
Know, thou hast lost a crown—Farewell for ever!
Hemeya! ah! Hemeya!
[Exit Malec.

Hem.
I heed not what he says; I can but think
His cursed steel was aim'd against thy life.

Flor.
And that alone could blot thine image here.

Hem.
But murder trembled as it gazed upon thee;
He could not strike—thy beauty, like a charm,
Unnerv'd his grasp!—Heav'n sets its seal upon thee,
And consecrates thy form!—Oh! what bright wonders
Are gathered in thy face, when e'en the prophet
Could not compel him to the bloody deed,
And Malec's hand could shudder!

Flor.
Thou then wilt ne'er
Renounce Florinda for the cruel faith
That would have pierc'd a heart that beats for thee.
That look! I'm blest,—and see, my father comes,
To be the witness of Florinda's bliss.

Enter Alvarez.
Alv.
(To Hemeya.)
I come to seek you, for the gorgeous temple
Is kindled with the church's brightest pomp,
And thousands wait your presence, to begin
The rite of abjuration.

Hem.
Is my fate
So near its hard completion?

Alv.
It is well
Thou hast consented, else the fiercest fires
The Inquisition kindles for the Moors
Had been thy portion.

Flor.
Then lose not an instant;
Take him, my father, else he will go back.

Alv.
To-night a priest shall join your wedded hands.

Hem.
And let that thought alone possess my soul:
Upon the verge of ruin I will gaze
On the bright vision that allures me on,
And leads me to the gulf—I'll turn my eyes
Tow'rds the star-studded heav'n, where still it shines
While I am sinking. Yes! when I behold thee,
Conscience is scarce a rebel to thy charms.—
I go, Florinda; but do not forget
That, if I dare be guilty, 'tis for thee!

[Exeunt Alvarez and Hemeya.
Flor.
I am happy now—
A beam of angel-bliss falls on my heart.
And spreads Heav'n's light about it.
The gates of the Inquisition open.—A bell tolls twice.
What do I see?
Enter Gomez, Pescara, and Inquisitors from the interior of the edifice.
The Inquisition's servants—Gomez!—Pescara!
(She rushes up wildly and exultingly to the Inquisitors.)
He is a Christian!—he has 'scaped your toils,—
Heav'n watches o'er his safety—You are foil'd.
Stir not another step—Back, back again—
Back to your cells and caverns. Do you not see
Faith, like an angel, hov'ring o'er his head?—
Back, back, he is a Christian!

Gom.
(Advancing towards her.)
Who art thou,
That with loud adjuration hast presum'd
To interrupt the servants of the church?

Pes.
Forgive her, holy father, for she seems
Touch'd with inspiring power.
(Goes up to her.)
The fair Florinda!
I cry your mercy, madam.

Flor.
Pardon me,
I know not what I said.

Pes.
Ay, but I know it.
Stay, stay, fair maid!—
(To Gomez.)
Speed, Gomez—strike the blow,—
Strike it at once.—And, hark ye, as you go,
Think that Pescara will not be ungrateful.

[Exeunt Gomez and Inquisitors.
Flor.
He sends him forth
Upon some dreadful purpose.

Pes.
Do you deign
To look upon the wretch from whom your eyes
Were ever turn'd with loathing?—But 'tis merciful.
This sun-set beam of hope,—
Nay, do not tremble;
You should not fear the man that you despise.

Flor.
My lord, 'tis not my purpose to offend you:
One poor request is all that I entreat;—
Tell me, what cause has call'd these men of death
Forth from their dread abodes? Whom do they seek?
What is their dread intent?—Teach me, my lord;
I do conjure you, teach me.

Pes.
Ay, 'tis your sex's vice—when curiosity
Once stings a woman's heart, Scorn will turn suppliant,
And Hate itself will almost learn to woo.

Flor.
Not against him?

Pes.
Who is it that you mean?
I do not understand you.

Flor.
His dark eye
Glitters with horrid meaning—“Like the glass,
“Within whose orb the voice of magic calls
“The fiends from hell, within its fiery globe
“The demon passions rise!”
My lord, forgive me
That I have dar'd to ask—I take my leave.

Pes.
(Stopping her.)
Nay, do not go—Altho' I am forbid
To tell the secrets of the Inquisition,
Yet something can I tell you.

Flor.
Well, my lord—?

Pes.
'Tis but a dream.

Flor.
You mock me.

Pes.
Do not think it—
You are a pious and believing maid,
And long within a convent's holy cells
Commun'd with Heav'n's pure votaries.—I remember
When you did marvel what young virgins meant
When all their talk was love; for, on your heart,
It fell like moonlight on a frozen fountain.—
That heart has melted since;—but you, perchance,
Have still retain'd enough of true belief
Not to despise a vision! On my couch,
Last night, I long lay sleepless—I revolv'd
The scorns, the contumelies I have suffered,
But will not brook;—at last, sleep closed my eyelids,
And then methought I saw the am'rous Moor
In all the transports of exulting passion;
And I stood by, chained to a fiery pillar,
Condemned to gaze for ever; while two fiends
Did grin and mow upon me.—
Senseless I fell with rage.—As thus I lay,
From forth the yawning earth a figure rose,
Whose stature reach'd to heaven—his robes appear'd
Woven out of solid fire—around his head
A serpent twin'd its huge gigantic folds;
And on his front, in burning characters,
Was written “Vengeance!”

Flor.
Vengeance! Oh! my lord!
You fright me;—but I ne'er offended you—
What crime have I committed?

Pes.
Listen to me:—
He cried “Do not despair!” and bade me follow.

Flor.
Let me depart—

Pes.
I followed,—
He led me to a bow'r of Paradise,
And held a cup of joy, which, he exclaim'd,
Was mingled by himself—I quaff'd; 'twas nectar,
And thrilled within my heart—Then, then, Florinda!—

Flor.
Let me implore you.— (Struggling.)


Pes.
Then, within my arms
Methought I press'd thee.

Flor.
Hold!—This violence—

Pes.
Nay, do not talk of violence;
You seem'd a willing and a tender bride,
And rushed into my bosom.—

Flor.
Count Pescara,
I must not hear this mockery—Do not speak
Of what you should not think—This very day
Shall bind me, with an everlasting vow,
To him!—ay, him, I do not fear to tell it,—
To him my heart adores—'Tis not to me
You should unfold your wild and horrid fancies.

Pes.
Mark me!—There's oft a prophecy in dreams.
[Exit Pescara.

Flor.
(Alone)
Ha! this means something. Well I know Pescara:—
His voice doth sound like fate within my soul,
That answers back in faint and trembling echoes.
This horrid band of death—his fell commands—
The terrors of his eye—his looks of destiny—
All, all affright me!—If I must be wretched,
O Heav'n! don't let me know it—leave me still
The bliss of ignorance! What if Pescara,
Before Hemeya has abjured his creed,
Should treacherously seize him?—
Would that the rite were done!
[A distant symphony is heard.
What seraph music floats upon my soul?
Methinks it is the organ's solemn swell,
That from the church's aisles ascends to heaven.
The holy rite proceeds—Sweet sounds, awake;
Awake again upon my raptured soul!

[A distant chorus sings.
CHORUS.
The mystic light
Has dawn'd upon his sight:
He sees, and he believes. Rejoice, rejoice,
With one acclaiming voice!
Strike, seraphs! strike your harps, and, thro' the sky,
Swell the full tide of rapt'rous melody!

The Curtain falls, while Florinda kneels.