University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

An Apartment in Durazzo's House.
Enter Durazzo and Perez.
DURAZZO.
Did I not bid that none should enter here?

PEREZ.
I thought, my Lord, Benducar's daughter might.—

DURAZZO.
His daughter!—she shall come: what! are they humbled—
Those spirits of the high patrician port?
And can they bend and sue, who stand so straight
When others bend?—Admit her; and observe;
There rose some tumult in the street but now,
Go learn the cause, the times are full of danger.
[Exit Perez.
I must not flinch one atom from my purpose;
Not though she weep:—what are her tears to me
And my revenge? I should be hard as rocks,
When waters dash despairing at their feet,
Though lifted by the winds' encouragement.—

Enter Zelinda.
DURAZZO.
Madam!—

ZELINDA.
My Lord, I come a suitor to you.—

DURAZZO.
For whom?

ZELINDA.
For one I dare not name.

DURAZZO.
Then let
Your tongue obey your heart.

ZELINDA.
In doing so
The stronger feeling will at last prevail,
And that is for your captive—for my father.

DURAZZO.
Came you from him?

ZELINDA.
I did; but yet without
His privity:—he knows not that I came.

DURAZZO.
'Tis strange; for sure he might have pleaded favours
Conferr'd on me, to challenge like for like,
And draw down mercy on the merciful.

ZELINDA.
This is no accent to address to grief;
If you must needs refuse, refuse in mildness—
Or even in anger:—irony bespeaks
A pleasure in the pain it aggravates.

DURAZZO.
To set aside my other wrongs, reflect
How shortly since his word prevail'd with you
To cancel all your vows.

ZELINDA.
What could I do?
He would have cursed me.

DURAZZO.
Cursed you! if he had—
A curse is but a wish, and you should know
What human wishes are. The foot of power
Is on him now,—the foot of enmity;
Think'st thou a woman's arts can lift him up,
Against the strength and sinew of revenge?
Impossible.

ZELINDA.
'Tis true, I have no claim—
Pretend to none; perhaps you ought to hate us;
But, in this trying moment, let the voice
Of my distress plead as distress, and win you
To mercy, as you 'd spare a vanquish'd foe
For mercy's sake alone.—

DURAZZO.
It is not always
A merit to forgive.

ZELINDA.
It is, for ever:
The stamp of Heaven is on it. Though the rage
Of wrongs endured abide it not, 'tis noble
To tread the passion down, and raise the virtue
Above the competition of the clay
That feeds our little anger. Oh! Durazzo,
Ambition's self should love it, for 'tis power
Exerted in forbearance, proved in peace;
'Tis like the God who gave it us, unchanging,
And angels praise it everlastingly.

DURAZZO.
I thought not to have met you, thus unmann'd:
Zelinda, you will own I saved your life.
If I had saved my dog's—that dog had thank'd me—
Grown fond of me. It is a claim that wakes
In brutal natures the humanity
Of gratitude. You talk of mercy well;
But why did you forget to shew it me?

ZELINDA.
'Tis for its own sake, not for mine, I ask it—
Oh, ponder not, but speak.

DURAZZO.
My thoughts are with
The men, or rather with their mighty shades,
Who, in the past of time, as records tell,
Have done great things by prosecuting vengeance
Due to their private wrongs. Fallen Appius thus
Lost empire to Virginius, who, in striking
The ravisher, struck at the tyrant too,
And found revenge was glorious liberty:
So when the wrong'd retort, 'tis justice acts,
And man is still advantaged. Pride grows mild,
And merit proud, to see oppression suffer.

ZELINDA.
O say not so; or saying, do not act
Upon a speech so cruel. He is old.
Think of his reverend locks, the silver there
Would shame the touch of any injury,
And Heaven itself respects the hoary witness
Of time, and thought, and sorrow.

DURAZZO.
It was that
Which saved him to this hour. He had long since
Paid me in death for my disgrace—but age,
Weak, wither'd age, kept house within his bones;
I could not crush the vile inhabitant.

ZELINDA.
Think not of insult now, but turn away
From thoughts like these, to other, better, feelings.
Think even of me, who have no mother's care
To pay me for a father's torn away
With like protection. If, as you have said,
You loved me once, keep so much fondness back
As yet may warm compassion in your breast
For one that loved as well; and do not join
With nature to complete my orphanage.

DURAZZO.
I must not hear.

ZELINDA.
'Tis therefore I should speak.

DURAZZO.
Mine ears are shut.

ZELINDA.
Ay, but your heart is open. I can reach it
Thus, with my lifted hands, my streaming eyes,
This posture!— (Kneeling.)
They prevail. I see the struggle—
The victory. Upon your forehead stand
Huge drops of pain: those are the tears that melt
Even when the burning sight is dry beneath.

DURAZZO.
You have prevail'd—subdued me. Take—take this;
'Twill ope the dungeon gates: take it, but fly
Before my reason comes loaded with wrongs
To chide my weakness. Go—and go for ever.

ZELINDA.
For ever, then, in this sad world, farewell!
And may we meet in that bright land of peace
Where passion rules no more!
[Exit ZELINDA.

DURAZZO.
Amen! say I.
Ambition, I will worship thee alone;
And, from the fitful passions of revenge
And love, escape to thy great altar. Lift me
Above this petty conflict of the mind,
And take me all. The tide flows calmly in;
Nor can the mounds and barriers of art,
Nor yet the strong convulsions of the earth,
No, nor the travail of the absent moon,
When clouds and exhalations push her off
From her conspicuous station, check the march
Of the sublimely-regular element.
So let it be with me; that having fought
Through the thick files of destiny to honour,
I may advance unshaken, though encounter'd,
And fix my foot upon that steep of fame
Which stands too high for kings. Ha! Perez, welcome.

Enter PEREZ.
PEREZ.
Alas! my Lord, I come with fearful tidings.

DURAZZO.
Talk not of fear; 'tis on the mountain's side
We meet with frightful passes, and huge falls;
There strive and struggle 'till th'o'erlabour'd mind
Sweats like the body. Once the summit ours,
We rest where Jove alights from his Olympus.

PEREZ.
I went into the street as you commanded,
To find the cause of the disorder there.

DURAZZO.
Well, what report you?

PEREZ.
Thick the people throng'd,
For such a sight Grenada's populace
Ne'er saw before. Along the public highway
Her minister, Don Garcia, with his nephew,
Anthonio, both were led in chains;—the charge
Against them treason.

DURAZZO.
This is news, indeed!

PEREZ.
But furthermore, 'tis said Alonzo takes
Command within the city, to repel
The advancing Moor.

DURAZZO.
Alonzo take command!

PEREZ.
Benducar, too, is summon'd of the Council.

DURAZZO.
What day is this o' the month?

PEREZ.
Twelve suns have pass'd
Within its circle.

DURAZZO.
My prosperity
Came on as sudden as a northern spring,
That shoots its growth up like a culverin
To meet the instant season; but, as quick
As winter strikes the pole, misfortune turns,
To sweep away the track and vestige of
My perishing hopes. More must be known of this.

PEREZ.
But how?

DURAZZO.
I'll to Benducar; 'tis his custom
To walk of evenings late within his garden:
There will I force him to reveal, if aught
Of danger or suspicion waits for me.

PEREZ.
'Tis bold, like all your plans; but should he dare you?

DURAZZO.
You cannot fear I'd kill him!

PEREZ.
Mercy! no;
The Heavens forbid!

DURAZZO.
About the midnight hour
Expect me. If I come not, search the forest.

PEREZ.
Heaven send that hour well over all of us!

[Exeunt.