 | The Apostate |  |
36
ACT III.
SCENE I.
A magnificent Apartment in the House of the Cadi of Grenada.A number of Moors are assembled together.
The Cadi, Haly, Hamet, &c.
Cadi.
Haly, the noblest of Grenada's Moors,
Within the sacred walls where we are wont
To celebrate the prophet's holy name,
Meet at your bidding.
Hal.
You are call'd together
By the command of Malec; he returns
From the Alpuxerras, fraught with some great tiding,
And bade me summon you.
Cadi.
We need his counsel
In this our hour of sorrow—When our prince
Turns recreant from his people, it is well
Malec is left us still—for his great soul,
Firm to the prophet, lifts its stubborn height,
And, by the storms of fate, more deeply still
Is rooted in his country.
37
See—he comes!—
But with disturbed step.—
Enter Malec.
Mal.
He is a Christian!
Lend me thy aid, good Hamet!—Ha! I am old—
What! do I weep? Dry—dry my tears in rage—
Do not despise me, Moors!—I am a man—
I am again a man—No more of him!—
Moors, fellow countrymen—
Cadi.
Speak, thou brave man!
We wait the voice of Heav'n—
Mal.
The voice of Heav'n
First waked the great design—Amid the mountains
I sought those untam'd Moors, whose fathers fled
To Nature's fortresses, and left their sons
Their freedom and their faith!—The prophet smil'd,
And gave me pow'r to light within their breasts
The fire that glow'd in mine!—Moors! if your souls
Are noble as the rugged mountaineers,
You will not brook to see your sacred rights
Robb'd by the tyrant.—Philip's law proscribes
Our creed, our rites, our sacred usages—
Plucks off our silken garments from our limbs,
And clothes us in our slav'ry. If he could,
He'd blot the burning sunbeam from our faces,
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Would you not rather die?
Moors.
We will die before it.
Mal.
No, you shall live in freedom!
Know that already twenty thousand Moors
Are leagued by direst oaths—Ha! I am glad
Your hands are laid upon your scimitars—
Draw, draw them forth; and, as they blaze aloft,
Swear that you will be free!
Moors.
We swear!
Mal.
Then learn,
Thro' the Morisco towns a wide conspiracy
Has long been form'd to raise again on high
The standard of the prophet—The first blow
Shall be Grenada's capture!—Be prepar'd
To join your countrymen.—This very night,
Their marshall'd numbers, 'neath the auspicious moon,
Shall move upon the glorious enterprise!
And, ere the morn, the crescent shall be fix'd
High on the Alhambra's tow'rs!
Moors.
We shall be free!
[They brandish their scimitars.
Mal.
God and the prophet grant it!
Oh, Mahomet! look down from Paradise,—
Pity thy suffering people,—raise again
Amid the land, where once our fathers rul'd,
Thine empire and thy faith!—Kneel, fellow Moors,
(For 'tis the hour of pray'r); and tow'rds the east,
As low you bend, from mid the sacred shrine,
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For 'tis in Heaven we trust!
(The Moors kneel.)
Chaunt.
Allah! hear thy people's pray'r,
And lift thy vot'ries from despair!
On empire's mountain-height replace
The children of a noble race!
And set us free!
Prophet of God! restore
The conqu'ring days of yore,
And set us free!
(A step is heard without.)
Cadi.
Suspend your holy rite—let your hymns cease!
Behold, a Spaniard with profaning step
Comes rushing tow'rds the shrine!
Malec.
An infidel
Presumes to break on our solemnity!
Enter Hemeya in precipitation, and in Spanish garments. The Moors all rise.
What do I see? Ha! does he come to blast me?
Hem.
I know you wonder that I dare approach
This consecrated spot—but when you hear—
Ha! now I feel my guilt.
Mal.
Speak, noble Christian!
How are we honour'd with your gracious presence?
Hem.
Oh! hear my prayer—
Mal.
You mean your high commands—
I am a Moor, a vile ignoble slave—
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These costly garments that adorn your body
Proclaim your lordly rule:—What is your pleasure?
If you would buffet me, as many a time
I've seen it done, I'll bear it patiently.
Employ the privilege of your religion,
Right worthy, true, and honourable Christian!
Hem.
Your ev'ry word stings like an aspick here!
But do not think that, with remorseless soul,
I dare to come where ev'ry voiceless thing
Proclaims my guilt aloud—It is your safety
That leads me here before you—Malec, fly!—
The Inquisition—
Mal.
What! the Inquisition—
Hem.
Prepare to drag thee to their cells of death!
Mal.
Are we betray'd? hast thou betray'd us too?
Traitor! accursed traitor! (Seizes him—after a pause.)
I had forgot—
'Tis well—I had forgot—I did not tell thee—
Hem.
Oh, use me as thou wilt; I will not pause
To search thy meaning—Hear me! 'twas e'en now
I met Pescara—With a face of smile
He came to greet me, and, with outstretch'd arm,
He grasp'd my hand in his; with that exclaim'd,
“Here let our discord end: thou'st gain'd Florinda:
A gen'rous mind tow'rs o'er its enmities!”—
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He bade me tell thee that the Inquisition
Had mark'd thee for their victim—I had doubted him,
And would have turn'd with scorn, but that I saw
Their bands of death move o'er Grenada's streets.
E'en now they come.
Mal.
Why, let them come—I'm glad
They choose me for the torture! Let them come,
And I will brave them.—Ha! I know you well—
The knock of death is there!
(A loud knocking.)
Hem.
He is lost for ever!
(The Moors draw their scimitars.)
Mal.
Let your scimitars
Shrink back within their sheaths.—Put up your weapons.
Moor.
They're drawn but to defend you.
Mal.
Put them up!
Rumour, perchance, has reach'd their watchful ears,
And, doubtless, they are come, in hope to force
Confession from my lips;—but I will brave them.
Another, in the tort'ring wheel, might speak
What all their engines ne'er shall tear from me.—
Nay, I command you, hence!—Put up your weapons—
Resistance now were vain—they would seize us all—
They'd put a hundred of us to the torture.
Fly hence! Begone!
[The Moors retire.
42
Mal.
They burst the gates—I am prepar'd to meet them.
Enter Gomez at the head of the Inquisitors.
Gom.
You stand the Inquisition's prisoner!
Invet'rate infidel, by thy example
The Moors shall learn—
Mal.
That I'm beyond your power.
Gom.
Beyond our power?
Mal.
These old and palsied limbs indeed are yours,
But my eternal spirit is my own!
Then hear! I spurn as well as curse your power,
And the vile tyrant that upholds you!
Gom.
Bear witness that he utters blasphemy
Against the anointed king.
Mal.
Against the king! against the anointed king!
Oh, you profane that name, when thus you call
The villain who has sham'd the diadem
On his perfidious brows—His gloomy throne
Is pall'd with black, and stain'd with martyr blood,
While Superstition, with a torch of hell,
Stands its fierce guardian! “Monks, with holy rage,
“Rule ev'ry council, prompt each barb'rous impulse,
“And light their own ferocity within him!”
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Abhorr'd in his unhappy realm, and spurn'd
By all the world beside.
Gom.
Hold! or yon roof
Will topple on our heads! You have confirm'd
The deadly guilt that you are charg'd withal,
And added heavier crime. You are accus'd
Of foul endeavour to seduce a Moor
Back to your cursed faith.
Hem.
A Moor! what Moor?
Gom.
Thyself!
Hem.
Me!
Gom.
And Grenada's governor,
The Count Pescara, at our dread tribunal
Stands his accuser.
Hem.
What? Pescara? Ha!
A light from hell flares o'er my yawning ruin!
My horrors break upon me—What? Pescara!
Gom.
And gave in proof that in this place of sacrilege
You would be found.
Hem.
Why does the earth not burst?—
Why do I live?—Villain, abhorred villain!—
Caught in thy snares, and wrung within thy grasp:
Ingenious reptile, under friendship's shade
Who spun his toils, and from his poison'd heart
Wrought out the thread to catch me—Here I stand
Abus'd and fool'd to ruin.
Mal.
Lead me hence!
Hem.
(To Gomez.)
'Tis false! 'tis false! there is not in the catalogue
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'Twas he himself who sent me!—What avails it?
I see the mock'ry grin upon thy brow:
Well may'st thou look upon me as a fiend
Glares on the damn'd below.
Gom.
With proof before our eyes, one way alone
Remains to prove him guiltless.
Hem.
Say, what means?
Shew me one ray of hope.
Gom.
'Tis thy example—
He must renounce his prophet!
Mal.
Lead me hence!
Hem.
Oh, Malec!
Mal.
Well!
Hem.
Say, shall the fatal blow
Fall from my innocent hand?
Mal.
It will but perfect
What thou hast done already.—Well, speak on!
What wouldst thou ask?—Why dost thou stand aghast?
Hem.
From rav'nous fires to save thy reverend head—
To save me from that horror—
Mal.
(stamps)
What! have I struck thee dumb?—Thou didst not dare,—
By Heavens! thou didst not dare to ask it of me!
Christian was on thy lip, but back again
I frighted the base word within thy heart.—
There let it rankle—there let be an adder
45
It was enough to come before my face,
Fresh from the mould of shame, just stamp'd with “Villain!”
Now get thee gone!
Hem.
Must I behold thee—
And I the cursed cause?
Mal.
May'st thou behold me—
Methinks there will be a joy in all my tortures,
If they can tear thee too—Ha! have I rooted thee?—
There stand for ever!
[Exeunt Malec and Inquisitors.
Enter Pescara.
Pes.
Now is he fit to gaze on,
And I am half reveng'd!—This is the time
To sink him deeper into desperation.—
Most noble Moor—Christian, I should have said!—
Hem.
Ha! villain, art thou here?
Pes.
The Count Pescara,
Grenada's governor—your friend—is here.
Hem.
We are alone—Thou art come to give me vengeance!
Perfidious fiend!—Nay, do not look astonish'd;
This is no time for mockery.
Pes.
Mockery! those alone
Who feel the poignant consciousness of shame
Should fear its chastisement—Who is compell'd
To spurn himself, will, in an idiot's eyes,
Seek the strong flashes of Malignity,
And find Scorn's fingers in an infant's hand!
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Moor sounded harshly in converted ears;
But I'll repair the wrong, and call you Christian.
And sure you are one—
Hem.
Ay, I am—thank Heav'n,
This sword proclaims it—Once the scimitar
Hung idly at my side, and I was forc'd
To gnash a chok'd revenge—but now I am
A Spaniard, and your peer!—Thou damned villain,
Whose baseness is but equall'd by thy guilt—
If I did not abhor, I'd pity thee!
Pes.
You'd pity me!—It is a kind return
For admiration. Sure those virtues most
Command our wonder that we ne'er can reach;
And I confess I ne'er could win the top
Of wisdom thou hast gain'd!—On Afric's shore,
Were I thy pirate brethren's wretched slave,
I would not be a cursed renegade!
I would not be what thou art!
Hem.
I confess
That I am fallen, since e'en a wretch like thee
Can tell it to me too—and yet, Pescara,
One thing at least I've gained—the right of vengeance,
As thou shalt sorely feel! Come on, Pescara!
Pes.
I marvel at your wrath—what is my crime?
Indeed you wrong me.
Hem.
Did not thy treach'rous falsehood win me here?
Didst thou not bid me fly to save my friend?
And then—
47
I did—but 'twas in kindness to thee—
This day I mean to celebrate your marriage.
With a most new and curious spectacle—
There shall be music too.
Hem.
What dev'lish purpose
Lurks in thy words, and shews but half the fiend?
Pes.
I tell thee, music—thou shalt have the groans
Of grey-hair'd Malec ringing in thine ears!—
The crackling flames in which he perishes
Shall hiss upon thee when thou art softly laid
Within the bosom of the amorous fair!—
Nay, put thy sword within its sheath again;
Grenada's governor will never stoop
Down to thy wretched level!
Hem.
Stay, Pescara!
And take the recompense of cowardice!
(Strikes him.)
Pes.
A blow—from thee! My furious soul breaks loose,
And rushes on thee—I intended vengeance
More desperate and sweet;—but thou hast forc'd me
To shed thy life too soon.
(They fight.)
(Enter Florinda, who rushes between them.)
Flor.
Forbear! forbear! or in Florinda's blood
Let Fury quench her fires.
Pes.
Fool that I was!
48
I might have slain him, and a single blow
Had burst the complicated toils I weave.
(Aloud)
A woman's bosom be thy shield!—He 'scapes
Pescara's arm to goad Pescara's vengeance.
[Exit.
Hem.
He goes, and bears life with him—Fall to ashes,
Thou recreant hand, that did not pierce his heart!
Thou too, Florinda, hast conspir'd against me—
See what I am for thy sake!
Flor.
Oh, Hemeya!
Speak as thou wilt, thou canst not take away
The tender pleasure of beholding thee.—
E'en now 'twas rumour'd that the Inquisition
Had seiz'd and borne thee to the dread tribunal.—
The sound was terrible; Fear wing'd my steps;
I flew to find thee, and I find thee safe.—
E'en as I pass'd I saw that aged Moor
Dragg'd pitiless along—and oh, Hemeya!
I own a throb of joy—of fearful joy—
Burst here as I beheld it.
Hem.
Joy, Florinda!
Flor.
On thee they would have cast the clodded earth,—
On thee they would have flung opprobrium's stain,—
On thee they would have trampled;—ev'ry blow
That fell on Malec's face would have been thine.
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To clasp, the certainty within my heart—
Hem.
The earth was cast upon his reverend face?
Flor.
It had been cast in thine.
Hem.
The populace?
Flor.
They would have scoff'd at thee too.
Hem.
Now, perhaps,
From their infernal caverns they bring forth
The glitt'ring engines of ingenious agony—
The fires—
Flor.
The fires were thine;—his groans and tortures,—
Their engines and their racks,—all, all were thine,
And I must have beheld it!
Hem.
Coward! slave!
Thou traitor to thy people—with a lie
Stuck quiv'ring in thy heart!—Here, here I stand,
Fest'ring in Christian garments, with my shame,
Like an envenom'd robe, to scorch my limbs.
I dare lift up my brow, and mock the man.
Here is the place for me—here, on the earth,
Let ev'ry wretch tread on me as he passes.
Flor.
This is too much for any mortal creature!
But, since I'm doom'd to more than human woe,
Give me, just Heav'n, much more than human patience!
Hemeya! dear as thou art cruel to me!
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Phrensied in agony—think, ev'ry pang
That breaks within thy heart, must burst in mine.
Hem.
Hark thee, Florinda! I am not so vile—
I'm not the very villain that you think me.
Now, by my natal star in yonder heav'n,
He shall not perish!
Flor.
Speak—what would'st thou do?
Hem.
Where are you, Moors?—It is Hemeya calls!
Where are you? I would kindle in your souls
The brave and fierce despair that rages here.—
Or, if you dread to follow me—alone
I'll save or die with him.
Flor.
You shall not rush on death.
Hem.
The voice of Heav'n cries out within my soul—
A pow'r invincible swells in my arm—
Nothing can stay me now!—I'll save my friend;
And—when 'tis done—I've done with living too.
Flor.
Why is it that I live then? Oh, Hemeya!
Why did you save me from the kinder flames,
To make me curse the blessed light of heaven,
And call on death?—But I shall call in vain,
When they have dragg'd me shrieking to the altar,
And fell Pescara—
Hem.
Ha, the cursed name,
That rakes up hell within me!—'Tis Pescara—
Flor.
Yes, 'tis Pescara that will tear me too
To his accurs'd embrace.
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Shew not that image
To my distracted thought.
Flor.
When thou art gone,
What will become of me? Who then will hear
My phrensied shrieks for death, for help, for mercy?
Who then will hear me? Who will help me then?
Thou wilt not! No, thou wilt abandon me.—
“Oh! they will ring the marriage-bell for me,
“And, mid their frantic merriment, I'll hear
“The toll of death for thee.”
Hem.
What shall I do?
Malec, can I desert thee?—And Florinda—!
Flor.
Is he to be my husband? Am I to be
The victim of his execrable love?
Hem.
Thy husband! Fall before the face of Heav'n,
And bid it witness, that, whate'er befalls me—
Flor.
Behold me then! before the face of Heav'n—
That Heav'n that does not pity me—I swear,
If I must choose between Pescara's love
And death's eternal bed, I will prefer
Death for my horrid bridegroom.
Now then tell me,
Am I to die? for death, if thou forsake me,
Death only can preserve me.
Hem.
No! this arm,
When I have done the deed, shall bear thee hence
Far from Grenada's towers.
Enter Haly.
Hal.
My lord, my lord!
52
Speak!—
Hal.
Malec—
Hem.
Malec!
Hal.
Is condemn'd—
Hem.
Condemn'd!
Hal.
Already has the toll of death peal'd out
Its dreadful notice—Ere the sun descend,
In all the pomp of martyrdom he dies.
Hem.
Where are the Moors? Where are my countrymen?
Hal.
Before the Inquisition's gates they stand,
And say he should not perish, if their prince—
Hem.
Tell them he shall not perish:—from the pile
Of blazing fires I'll tear him.
Flor.
Oh, Hemeya!
I see the fate that wings thee to perdition.
Hem.
Wilt thou not follow me?
Flor.
Throughout the world—
I'll fasten to thy fate—I'll perish with thee—
I stand upon the brink of destiny,
And see the deep descent that gapes beneath:—
Oh! since I cannot save thee from the gulf,
From the steep verge I'll leap with thee along—
Cling to thy heart, and grasp thee with my ruin!
(She throws herself into his arms—he bears her off.)
The curtain falls.
END OF ACT THE THIRD.
| The Apostate | |