University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

An Apartment in the Castle. Manuel surrounded by the Guests.
Man.
And is he come?—Why doth he linger thus?
Who are those near me?
Stand back, stand back; ye keep me from his sight.
[Recollecting himself, and falling back.
Be dumb!—I know it all—
[In a gentler tone.
My child, Victoria; mine own, only child,
Come hither to me; fear not, answer truly.
Was it not all a dream?—the horrible night—
Nay, do not mock thy old unhappy father—
In faith, I am past mocking. See these tears.

Vic.
(after a long struggle.)
I cannot speak to thee.

Man.
Thy silence speaks.
Are all the messengers return'd?

Mend.
They are.

Man.
All?

Mend.
All.

Man.
How prompt thou art to echo grief!

Vic.
Moncalde is not yet returned; perhaps—

Man.
Aye, thou say'st well, perhaps—I am a fool,
For I had hope when came the first full swiftly,
And now I hope because the last doth linger.

Mend.
All means that human agents could employ
Have been at work. The country is aroused;
The knights in armour guard the skirted forest:
Nor briery dell, nor tufted thicket there,
But by a hundred lances hath been searched.

Man.
Nay, speak not with such horrible certitude:
Give me a hope there is some spot unsearch'd,—
Some dark, unthought-of spot—it must be so!

Mend.
Doubt not our faith or courage.

Man.
Ha, ha, ha!—
Oh that you were the veriest shrinking cravens,
Rather than he were lost!—

Vic.
Gentle, my father!
Cast not such shame upon your noble friends,
Who traced, at risk of life, the forest's darkness.

Man.
Aye! did they so?—why then (but be it secret)
I have a way to find him—I have thought on't.
Come near, my Lord Mendizabel—nay, nearer.
Let none but fathers search—they must prevail—
And yet he was a father who did this.—

Vic.
Hush, hush, those dreadful sounds!—Oh, think not thus!

Mend.
Speak not so felly of your kinsman.

Man.
Lord,
I am not mad—not yet—I am not mad—
I say, I swear, i'th'sight of awful Heaven,
If my Alonzo—if indeed—I cannot—
De Zelos is his murderer!—

Vic.
Horrible! horrible!

Perez rushes in.
Per.
Moncalde is returning.

Man.
(vehemently)
I do retract—I do believe him innocent.
God grant him innocent!

(All turn to the door.)
(A long pause.)
Vic.
(very reluctantly)
He comes—like one whose footing Hope supports not.

Man.
(wildly.)
'Tis false! 'tis false! he steps right joyfully,
Like one who, to a desp'rate father's ear,
Brings tidings of his son.—Oh, welcome, welcome!
Enter Moncalde.
Thou comest with equal tread—It cannot be;
Thy message is despair.—

Monc.
Hope is in Heaven:
On earth I know of none.

Man.
Mine head reels round.
Is this Moncalde? this the last sole plank
I grasp'd in my despair, and called it Life?—
Oh, I am wrecked by th'shore!—

Vic.
(Moncalde going to speak.)
Hold!—yet, my father—

Monc.
There is a wild report—A peasant boy
Heard cries of murder in the midnight wood.—

Man.
Where is he?
Heard he the cries of murder?
Did he not hear De Zelos' name?—

Monc.
I know not.
“But see! he comes to tell.

“Enter Peasant, held by Manuel's vassals.
“Man.
Come hither—Tremble not.—What hast thou seen?

“Pea.
Where the dark forest overhangs the river,
“Just at the twilight hour—

“Man.
The very hour—

“Pea.
I heard such fearful cries—such blood-choak'd moans—

“Man.
Was it Alonzo's voice?

“Pea.
My noble lord,
“I never heard his voice.

“Man.
Oh, that thou hadst not!—
“Did he not call on me, call on his father?—
“I ask thee, was't Alonzo's cry?—

“Vic.
He knows not.

“Man.
Impossible! It had that blessed sound,
“Whose language strikes upon the human heart,
“And, ere he spoke his name, men felt they knew him.

Monc.
(looking out)
De Zelos comes.

Man.
What! hath he slain, and comes to take possession?
Off! I will see him. Will he dare to meet me?
Enter De Zelos.
Here, here I am!—Aye, look me dead! I'm old,
Feeble, and spent—I am scarce worth a murder—
But 'twas a baser blow that stabbed Alonzo.

De Zel.
(appealing to the guests of Mendizabel)
Grave lords, you hear my injuries:—this old lord,
In fierce and uncheck'd malice, loads my name
With infamy too foul to bear, were't not
Too weak for babbling childhood to believe.
Aye, even last night, when, strongly touched with pity,
I raised his sinking frame, he shrunk from mine,
As from a serpent's touch.

Man.
And so it was.

De Zel.
If this be but the impotent rage of grief,
Whose phrensy, like the scorpion's, wounds itself,
I pardon it.

Man.
Thou pardon me?

[Great agony.
Vic.
For shame! for mercy, hence;
It is not noble, manly; 'tis not human
To press upon a mourner's wretchedness.

De Zel.
'Tis true, fair dame, and wise as it is true:
De Zelos must resign his honor's care
Because a lady weeps.

Vic.
Oh, take him hence.

Man.
He shall not go.
De Zelos, I arraign thee here of murder,
In sight of Heaven, and of this land. Justiza
Mendizabel, dispenser of our laws,
I call on thy grave office for redress
And means, and leave and laws, to urge my cause
Before th'assembled council of the land.

De Zel.
Away! I fling thy false and foolish slanders
From my clear name as lightly as I shake
Thy worthless weight from my disburthened arm.

[Flinging him off.
Mend.
You have appealed to law, deluded lord!
To-morrow, in our solemn halls of justice,
Th'accuser and th'accused shall both appear.
Till then, my lord, you'll be my guest, not prisoner.

De Zel.
My noble lord, I thank your courtesy.
Oh wealth, already how thy magic works!
[aside.
'Tis Valdi's future heir he greets as guest.

Mend.
My office binds me to these irksome forms;
But, ere they are fulfilled, I first would try
If that your kinsman with such desperate fierceness
Will urge this hopeless charge.
Don Manuel, think on this unnatural conflict—
Think of the weakness of this hollow cause—
Think of your noble kinsman's spotless name!—

Man.
Think of my son!—

Vic.
Oh, yet retire, I pray you;
Scarce does his Reason hold her doubtful seat,
And one rude shock may strike her from 'tfor ever.

Mend.
We will not press upon your sorrows, lady.
My honored lord, I pray you, hence with me;
The vassals eye us with stern jealous looks,—
There may be danger here.

De Zel.
(Fiercely to Manuel.)
—We meet tomorrow!—

[Exeunt.
Man.
What! dost go—go to prepare thy cause,—
To whisper to the credulous venal judges,
And lie, and bribe, and sooth them to corruption,
As the light fanning of the vampire's wing
Lulls the protracted slumber into death?
And sit I here mid women, and mid weeping?
No, I will rouse me.
I must be prompt and eager with this adversary.
To-night I'll to Cordova—“Ho!—within!—
“Prepare my chariot—arm my vassals—haste!—
“Caparison my fleetest steeds for th'journey!—
“But let their housings all be black—look to 't!
“I will, with such a retinue, come on
“Cordova; and her guilty towers shall tremble,
“As if the Moor again were at her gates.
Armies of griefs shall troop on my sad side:
Whole hosts of banded groans, tear-wasted nights,
And pining days, that wake to curse the sun,
Yet have no hope in darkness—come with me!
Why dost thou loiter?

Vic.
Oh, my hapless father,
Brave not the stormy wild, and pitiless hour!
Scarce hath the morning gleam'd.

Man.
Away! away!
(Struggles.
The time is wearing—Forward to Cordova!

(Servants enter in tumultuous preparation.—He staggers from weakness.)
Vic.
What! on these tottering limbs! oh, stay, for mercy!

Man.
Away! I needed but Alonzo's arm—
Hasten, ye loitering slaves!
[Going out with feeble step.
By Heaven I'll smite to the dust the arm that stays me!

[Exeunt.