University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

A Street.
Bell tolls. Procession of the Inquisition.
Malec—Gomez. Hemeya, Hamet, Haly (in disguise).
Gom.
Here pause, and give his feeble frame repose,
Else, ere we gain the place of execution,
His aged limbs will sink upon the earth.

Mal.
(Very weak.)
Monks, have I reach'd your faggots?

Gom.
Scarce ten paces
Divide thee from the bourne of earthly pain.—
If thou hast pow'r, look forth, and hence behold
The Villarambla, where ascends the pile,
Upon whose burning top thou'rt doom'd to die!

Mal.
(Looking towards the side of the Stage.)
Let me behold!

Hem.
O Haly, look upon him!

Hal.
Hold, my lord,
Or you create suspicion—All bespeaks
The prosp'rous issue of our enterprise.—
I have dispos'd the bravest of the Moors
Around the pile of death.

Hem.
Be it thy care
To lead him to the eastern gate,—meanwhile
I fly to bear Florinda from the spot
Of safety, where I left her—Then we mount
Our Arab steeds, and speed us to the mountains.

Gom.
(To Malec.)
Fear shakes your frame—you seem to gaze appall'd
On yonder glitt'ring scene, where all Grenada
Has pour'd her thousands to behold thee die.

Mal.
It is a spectacle that fills my heart
With terror for mankind,—not for myself.
Unhappy country! land of monks and martyrs!
Women, and men, and children,—young and old,—
The beggar and the noble,—all are there,
To view the spectacle of human pain,
In laughing horrid merriment!—The mother
Comes with her little children, to behold—
Nay, some, perhaps, bear life within their bosoms,
Yet gaze without a shudder!—There, young maids,
Who would have shriek'd to see a spider crawl,
Are met to see their fellow-creature burn—
And this you call religion! But your faith,
Spaniards! your faith doth tell you otherwise;
For He, who taught you, taught you mercy too.
But one day Heav'n will vindicate itself.
The blood of millions, that has drench'd your earth,
In a red cloud doth gather round his throne,
Charg'd with the lightnings of eternal wrath,
To burst, at last, upon your guilty heads.
Peru shall be reveng'd, and Mexico
Shall be reveng'd,—and I shall be reveng'd.

Gom.
Perverse and harden'd sinner, I intended,
When here we paus'd, that thou shouldst give the Moors
Example of repentance.

Mal.
Prithee, Monk,
Do not disturb me now—I am not worth it.
Grant me one poor request—

Gom.
What wouldst thou ask?

Mal.
Tell me, where is my friend?

Gom.
I cannot tell thee.

Mal.
I thought he would not have abandon'd me
In my last hour. When I am dead, perhaps,—

Hem.
O Hamet!

Ham.
Hold, or you will ruin all!

Mal.
If there's a Spaniard here, to whom his creed
Does not forbid compassion, I entreat
That he approach, and bear a legacy
To one that still I love.

Hem.
(To Gomez.)
Let me approach him.

Gom.
Then speed thee, for the hour of death draws on.

Hem.
I cannot speak.

(He goes up to Malec, whose weakness prevents him from distinctly seeing him.)
Mal.
Whoe'er thou art, I thank thee.
I have a friend, sir,—you, perchance, have heard it:—
He left his faith, and he abandon'd me;
E'en now, when you yourself have pity on me,
Hemeya left his friend;—and yet I charge thee
To bear him my forgiveness;—tell him, sir,
Tell him I love him still!—Wilt thou do this?

Hem.
I'll tell him to revenge thee.

Mal.
Hold! that voice!

Hem.
Malec, no more! You wrong'd me.—Ha! he faints.

Gom.
Come, let us on—Support his feebleness.

Mal.
You need not lend your aid,—a passing trance
Came sudden on me,—I shall die contented.

(Bell tolls—They move slowly out.)

SCENE II.

A Street.
Enter Pescara and an Officer.
Pes.
Have you dispos'd the chosen band of troops Where I commanded?

Off.
In the narrow street,
That from the Villarambla eastward runs,
The bravest soldiers of the garrison
Await your orders.

Pes.
It is well.
[Exit Officer.
(Alone)
O Fortune,
Thy smile still follows me, and each event
Swells the deep rush of Fate, in whose swift tide
I'll plunge the man I loathe.—And did he think,
The Argus Hate would close his hundred eyes,
And that he could deceive me?
[A shout is heard, and drums beat.
Ha! that shout
Halloos me on, and seems as if my fortune
Cried “Triumph” from afar. Come forth, my sword!
Be true as fate to me.—Again!
[Another shout.
I come!
Rise, Spaniards, rise! like crouched tigers start;
Rush on the slaves, and revel in their blood!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

A Street.
Enter Hamet and Haly, supporting Malec, and other Moors.
Mal.
Give me a scimitar!—let me go back,—
Let me behold my brave heroic Moor!

Hal.
Soon as he pluck'd you from the raging flames
He gave us orders to conduct you here;—
This is the way to safety.

Mal.
That to glory!
Let me go back, and fight till all my life
Flows from my swelling veins!—Shall I stand here,
While he confronts the fiery face of battle?—

Hal.
Your safety is our nation's common weal—

Ham.
Behold, he sinks
Beneath the pow'r of torture—It is well!
Or back he would have rush'd—To th'eastern gate
Bear him with swiftest speed, while we return,
And share our prince's perils.—Come, my friends,
And plunge amid the tumult—that afar
Rolls like the mutt'ring thunder.

Hal.
Hold!—he comes—
And bears no happy presage.

Enter Hemeya.
Hem.
All is lost!—
Fly!—all is lost!—

Ham.
What means my glorious prince?—

Hem.
Pescara had foreseen our enterprise:
With all his veterans he falls upon us—
And piles up heaps of carnage—Fly! away!—
(Drums.)
Hark—there! again!—One moment, and my friend
Is drawn within my fate—Fly—follow him—
Preserve him, Hamet!—and I charge thee, Hamet,
Watch o'er Florinda's safety—even now
To yonder gate a faithful Moor conducts her—
I will endeavour to defend this pass,
And gain some precious instants.

Ham.
Shall we leave you
To perish here alone?—

Hem.
Ay, let me perish—
No matter what befalls me!—Here, alone,
I'll stem the tumbling torrent. Hence—away!
See where it falls upon us—Be it thy care,
Hamet, to save Florinda and my friend!
[Exeunt Moors.
Thou evil genius of my natal hour,
Thou dark presiding spirit of my fortunes,
Who mad'st me slave—then traitor—and at last
Hast made me wretch!—here, here I bare my bosom:
Try if in all thy quiver there be left
Another shaft to pierce it. Ha! he comes!—
Well, hast thou gorged thyself with blood enough?
Art satisfied with murder?

Enter Pescara.
Pes.
Yield thee, slave!
Yield, traitor and apostate! traitor Christian—
Apostate Moor!—Thy coward countrymen
Are scatter'd and dispers'd—and not a hope
Is left thee now.

Hem.
Thou liest! there is hope
To shed thy heart's black venom ere I fall.

[They fight.
Enter Spanish Soldiers, who rush upon Hemeya.
Pes.
Alive!—seize him alive!—
My foe! the man I hate! and in my grasp!—
I have thee!—

Hem.
Ay! thou seest me here before thee,
Surrounded by thy blood-hounds. Yet, Pescara,
E'en here, encompass'd by thy pow'r, Pescara,
I can defy thee still.

Pes.
Defy me! dost thou?

Enter Spaniard.
Span.
My lord, the daughter of the Count Alvarez,
With Malec, borne on steeds of Arab race,
Fly thro' the eastern gate.

Pes.
Perdition!

Hem.
Destiny,
Art thou not powerless now? and thou, Pescara,
Speak! may I not defy thee? Well mayst thou stand
As if the lightning rived thee. Now, Pescara,
I brave—I tread upon thee.

Pes.
Fury! despair!
Love, rage, and madness, seize upon my heart!
Fight for your prey, and rend it.—Now, Revenge!
Revenge, where art thou? Hast thou held thy cup
High to my burning lip to mock my thirst;
Then, as I clutched, to dash it from my grasp?—
Traitors and slaves! gone, fled! Are all my hopes
Thus wither'd in an instant—tumbled down—
Hurl'd headlong from the height to which I toil'd!
Do you stand here to gape upon my tortures,
And blast me with his sight?—Away with him!
Hence!—let me not behold him!—to the rack!
That joy is left me still!

Hem.
Bind me upon your beds of burning pain
Here on my limbs waste all your arts of agony,
And try some new experiment in torture—
Yet, even then, the pangs that rend my body
Will be heav'n's bliss to torment such as thine—
Guilt's poison'd shaft shall quiver in thy heart!
And in Remorse's fires thy scorpion soul
Shall writhe and sting itself!

Pes.
Hence! from my sight!
This instant let him die!

Hem.
And may'st thou live,
With thy eternal hell within thee, live,
And, to be fully damned, be immortal!
[Exit Hemeya, guarded.

Enter Gomez.
Gom.
My lord, I give you joy.

Pes.
No, give me all the torments
That teem within thy brain—Am I not foil'd—
Dash'd from my purpose—thrown upon the ground?
When I had hover'd long, and pounc'd upon her,
She 'scapes me—she is gone!

Gom.
She is o'ertaken:
The Moor has 'scap'd—but she is your's again.

Pes.
Mine!—in my clutch!—within my hate again!
Mine! Vengeance! all thy joys have burst within me,
And detestation triumphs in my soul—
Mine!—Mine again! My friend, let me embrace thee.
What hoa! who waits there? Ha! methinks I have her
Clasp'd in my arms already!—on the wheel
Methinks I see him heave!—What hoa! who waits there?
My star shall never set—Mine! mine again!
Enter Spaniard.
To that fam'd chamber in the Alhambra palace,
Where Moorish kings were wont to be confin'd,
Conduct the traitor. Mine, indeed, again!
Gomez, she shall be mine!—
You shall behold
Pescara's master-piece.

Gom.
You would not spare him?

Pes.
Spare him!—But hold, she comes to meet my purpose—
Let us retire, and unobserved, I'll tell thee
The thought that labours here—

Enter Florinda.
Flor.
Will none in pity teach me if he lives,
And pluck the frantic agonies of hope
From out my tortur'd heart?
Ha! here is one
[Gomez approaches her.
That Death has sent to tell me—

Gomez.
What wouldst thou learn?

Flor.
No! I would still hope on—
Don't tell me—Even now I would have given
The world to hear he liv'd—but do not speak,
Lest thou should'st tell me that he breathes no more!
The sound would blast me!

Gom.
He has pass'd the bounds
That limit earthly pardon—

Flor.
He is dead!

Gom.
'Twere too much mercy
That he had perish'd in his impious deed—
Do not deceive yourself—
With its short glimmer hope deludes the heart,
Plays for a moment on the clouds of fate,
And leaves behind a blacker desolation.—
No mortal arm can aid him!

Flor.
Then you kill'd him—
You kill'd him in your dungeons—
You plung'd your cruel hands within his breast.

Gom.
Let not your fears thus hurry you away—
By Count Pescara's order he was led
To the Alhambra palace—but I deem
That in the Inquisition's deepest cells
Reserv'd for ev'ry torment—

Flor.
Does he live?—

Pes.
(From a distant part of the Stage.)
He lives, and shall not die!

Flor.
Thrice-blessed sound!
Hope, thou art here!—and never mother yet
Hugg'd her dear child with half the tenderness
I feel thee here, and clasp thee to my heart—
He shall not die!

Pes.
(Who gradually advances towards her, after dismissing Gomez.)
He shall not!

Flor.
Let me see thee—
Let me behold the man who bids me hope—
And, tho' thy words be false, still speak them o'er,
And say he shall not die! (suddenly recognises him.)

Pescara!

Pes.
Yes!
Don't gaze upon me with misdoubting fears—
I know you marvel that Pescara's breast
Should own a single touch of pity's weakness;—
But you mistake me—Nature did me wrong,
When on my face she laid her ruder hand,
And seem'd to make me pitiless—My heart
Is rich in tenderness—the Moor shall live—
I pardon him!

Flor.
Heav'ns! is it possible?
Or has grief wrought upon my tortur'd brain
Until it grew to wild delirious joy,
And madness made me blest?—It is indeed!
It is Pescara! Oh, my lord! once more
Tell me that he shall live—

Pes.
He shall!

Flor.
Let me embrace your feet—here let me fall,
And drop in helpless clinging gratitude!
Oh! let me look upon you—Gracious heaven!
I now no longer see the man I fear'd—
No! Mercy sheds its light about thy head!
A glory beams around thee—Oh! Pescara—
Art thou so great, so god-like, to forgive?

Pes.
Hemeya shall be free! I spare my foe
To win Florinda's gratitude—to win
That look that melts me, and that smile that burns—

Flor.
Once—will you not forgive me when I tell it?—
I shudder'd when I look'd upon your face,
And shrunk at your approach—I fear'd your eye—
But now you have compell'd me to esteem you,
And with the gentlest, dearest violence,
Have won my admiration!

Pes.
Once you hated me.

Flor.
I did not know your virtue.

Pes.
'Tis in you—
'Tis in your heart I seek my recompense.

Flor.
Your own heart will reward you.—When you see
The man you spar'd—when you behold his face,
And watch him as he heaves the air of heav'n,
And looks upon the sun, will you not feel
A transport in your bosom? When you wake
At midnight's hour, will you not be at peace,
And sleep again upon that blessed thought?
And, as you kneel to Heaven, may you not ask
That mercy that you gave?—

Pes.
These are the gifts
Of self-rewarding virtue—but, Florinda,
A traitor's life deserves a larger price.
He shall be free,
But such condition as on life I set
Must be perform'd.—

Flor.
Speak what I am to do:
Command me something dire; something impossible
To any heart but woman's when she loves;—
Barefoot o'er burning deserts bid me go
On some far pilgrimage; let ev'ry limb
Be wrapp'd within the sackcloth's galling fold—
I will endure it all—and bless misfortune!—
Nay, I will fall in love with wretchedness,
If 'tis for him I bear it.

Pes.
Do not think
That on your tender nature I impose
Such rude conditions.
You shall be the harbinger
Of freedom and of life—Your steps shall seek
The dungeon where he lingers, and your hand
Unbar the pond'rous bolts.

Flor.
Oh! let me fly.

Pes.
But first the price of freedom must be paid.

Flor.
My life, if you command it!—With my life
I'll buy his dearer safety.

Pes.
With yourself!—
To-night you must be mine—my wife!

Flor.
Your wife!

Pes.
Ay, madam! Is there thunder in the sound?

Flor.
You do not mean it—No! you do not ask it—
You cannot think it.

Pes.
I am resolv'd upon it.—
What mean these shudd'ring looks, these trembling hands,
These heav'n-turn'd eyes, and these wild fits of horror?
Where is the desp'rate valour which o'erthrew
Nature herself, and mock'd impossibility?
You would have giv'n your life; I ask your love.

Flor.
My life, but not my love! I cannot give
What I no longer have—My wretched heart
Lies in Hemeya's dungeon. Pardon me,
But, rather than resign to other arms
A cold, reluctant, unconsenting form,
I'd fold a basilisk within my heart,
Bid its cold coil entwine my shudd'ring limbs,
And warm its icy flesh!

Pes.
If you detest me as the serpent's coil,
Fear—fear me as its sting!—My lifted hand
Holds death above his head.

Flor.
Upon my knees,
I call'd on Heav'n to witness—

Pes.
Well?

Flor.
I swore I never would be yours.

Pes.
Rage, do not choke me!

Flor.
I breath'd a deadly oath, that in my tomb
I would lie down for ever—

Pes.
Do you dare—?
But hold! I must dissemble—Do not weep,
Or if you do, like dew on morning roses
Your tears must dry in the warm light of love.

(Attempts to embrace her.)
Flor.
Forbear, my lord!—I am a wretch indeed;—
But, while my sorrows cast me at your feet—
Fall'n as I am to be your suppliant—
Learn that you have not yet the rights of insult.

Pes.
Curse on her pride!—Forgive me, fair Florinda,
If, thro' the blushing fence of modesty,
With hasty hand I dar'd to pluck its flowers.
The husband—

Flor.
Husband!

Pes.
Speak! will you be mine?—

Flor.
Never!

Pes.
Damnation! when the bow is bent,
And to the head the winged arrow's drawn,
The string slips off—Florinda!

Flor.
Well, my lord!

Pes.
Will you be mine?

Flor.
You fright me—you appal my ev'ry sense!

Pes.
I have too long endur'd it. Gomez, hoa!

Enter Gomez.
Gom.
My lord, I wait your pleasure.

Pes.
You shall feel (to Florinda)

What 'tis to wake the furies in my heart—
Hoa! Gomez, art thou there?—Drag, drag him forth!
Begone, I'll follow thee!

Flor.
Oh! monstrous! horrible!

Pes.
I say, begone!

Flor.
(Rushing up to Gomez.)
Stay! in the name of Heav'n, whose priest you are,
Do not profane your office—do not stain
Your sacred robe with blood. Stay, holy father!
Go not on hell's curs'd errand.

Pes.
Thou shalt see him
In madd'ning agony—thou shalt behold him,
And vainly think thou couldst have sav'd him too—

Flor.
How?—Save him!—Can I save him?

(Wildly.)
Pes.
Be my wife.

Flor.
Your wife! Oh! no! it is too horrible!

Pes.
I'll hunt for life in every trembling limb,
And chase it down. The diving steel shall plunge—
Nay, do not stop your ears—for his shrill screams
Shall pierce the solid deafness of the tomb!

Flor.
They're in my brain already!—Oh, Hemeya!
Let me not hear thy cries. Let, let me fly,
And 'scape from it.—Oh, for some depth of earth,
Where I may plunge to hear that scream no more!
(Pescara seizes her as she attempts to fly.)
Unhand me! let me fly!—'Tis in my heart,
My eyes, my brain—

Pes.
Look there—look there!—He dies!—see where he dies!—
The wheel goes round—See, the red froth of blood!—
His hair stands up, and drips with agony!
On thee—on thee he calls—and bids thee save him!—
Look there!—

Flor.
Spare, spare him! Villains! murderers!
Oh! spare him!—
Hemeya!—Lo, they wrench his heart away!
They drink his gushing blood!—Oh, God! Oh, God!

(She falls into Pescara's arms.)