University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Dungeon, of Saracenic Architecture.
Hemeya discovered.
Hem.
'Tis hush'd!—a deep repose succeeds the murmur
Of their loud exultation, and my dungeon
Is still again:—it imitates the grave.
They triumph o'er my fate—and have, perchance,
Reserv'd me for to-morrow's spectacle.
It is for this I still am let to live!
Yet, they may be deceiv'd—for now, I deem,
The hour is almost come which Malec mark'd
To fall upon Grenada. Hope, thou flatterer,
I cannot trust the voice that whispers me
She still may be mine own! What sound was there?
Or death or safety comes!—What heav'nly form
Glides like a beauteous spirit on the night?
Still, still it comes upon me!
Enter Florinda, in bridal garments, and with a wreath of flowers on her head.
It is herself!
It is!—it is Florinda!

Flor.
Oh! Hemeya!

[Falls fainting into his arms.
Hem.
My eyes behold thee, and my arms embrace thee!
I have thee here—here on this throbbing breast,
The resting-place of love! Droop not, sweet flow'r!—
Oh, smile upon me!—tell me—ev'ry sense
Be charm'd at once. Say, by what wondrous ways
Thou'rt here before me—Yet, I know it all—
Malec victorious comes. The Moors arise—
They burst their bonds!—and thou art mine for ever!

Flor.
I pr'ythee do not speak!—thy words disturb me.

Hem.
Thy looks but ill befit an hour so blest.

Flor.
Thou'rt sav'd! 'tis all that's left of happiness—
I am not quite accurs'd.

Hem.
Accurs'd! Florinda?

Flor.
One moment, as I gaz'd upon thy face,
I felt a throb of joy within my bosom,
Such as I us'd to feel when I beheld thee.
The slumb'ring serpent wakes, it winds around,
And here it stings!—Ah! how it stings me here

Hem.
Why, how is this? joy has no tears like these.

Flor.
The gate stands stretch'd upon its hinge—I will—
Yes, I will look my last— (after a long pause)
Now, go for ever!

Hem.
Thy words are full of madness or despair.

Flor.
Oh, question me no further, but begone!

Hem.
By heav'n and earth, no pow'r shall tear me hence,
Till thou hast satisfied the fearful thought
That rushes on my soul! Thou'rt here alone—
Why art thou here alone?—Where, where is Malec?

Flor.
(Wildly)
Malec!

Hem.
Distract me not—I saw thee turn away
Far from Grenada's gates. Shrink not, but hear me!
This night—this very hour, the Moors decreed
To seize Grenada!

Flor.
Moors! Grenada!

Hem.
Yes!—
This very night the Moors had form'd a project
To fall upon Grenada.

Flor.
Gracious Heav'n!
Oh God! what have I done? Was it this night?
This cursed night of death, despair, and horror!
Was there another way to save thee from him?—
O God! what have I done?

Hem.
Ah! frantic thought!
It grapples at my heart!—thy sight doth blast me!
This bridal robe!—these flow'rs—they're full or adders!

Flor.
And are they here—to mock my wretchedness?—
Off! Off, I say! you should not blow for me!
Did not a blight fall on you as you grew
Around this cursed front? Off! Off, I say!
And in your place let hemlock blacken here!
And from the yawning church-yard let them weave
A ranc'rous garland—Let the roots of death
Bloom on this blasted front!
Ah! ah! Hemeya!
Hadst thou but told me, ere this wretched moment,
That Malec could have saved thee—thou wouldst ne'er
Behold a victim clad for sacrifice
Shudd'ring before thy sight, and thinking death
The only mercy left.—Then I had been—
I had been still thine own—But now, oh God!
I do not dare to tell thee what I am.

Hem.
Let me embrace thee once ere thou hast said
What will call down my curse, and make me fling thee
Like a detested creature from my heart!

Flor.
Hold! for thy touch is guilt—Unloose me!—spare me!—
I am—

Hem.
What art thou?

Flor.
I am Pescara's wife!

Hem.
Thou art a woman!—that's another name
For falsehood, treason, perjury, and hell!

Flor.
If I have wrongs to Heaven, I've none to thee.

Hem.
Where is thy oath to die?—thine oath, Florinda!
Where is thy oath that an eternal grave
Should be thy bed?

Flor.
I have kept it—'twas thy life
That dragg'd me to the shrine—to save that life—
To pluck thee from the rack.

Hem.
No—'twas to bind me
Down on a bed of fire!—Ten thousand deaths
Were better than to see thee what thou art!
E'en from Pescara's arms—

Flor.
No—at the shrine
I claim'd aloud his promise—I was desperate;
And tho' he stamp'd, and in his mouth a curse
Froth'd in its gnashing fury, from the altar
I rush'd into thy dungeon. Oh, Hemeya!
I came to give thee freedom.—Go, Hemeya,
And leave me here to die! Oh! prize that life,—
I charge thee, prize it well,—for which I paid
So large a price.—Keep! keep it as a pledge
Of broken-hearted love! and, ere thou goest,
Hear my last words—for, wedded as I am,
Death will excuse the passion of my soul.—
Since first I saw, I loved thee;—ev'ry day
But added to the fire thine eyes had kindled:—
And now, e'en now, thou art more dear than ever!
There may be those as wretched as myself,
But none e'er lov'd so tenderly—Pescara!

(Pescara, who has gradually advanced during the last speech, rushes between them.)
Pes.
Have I no other name?
It is your husband!

Hem.
Villain!

Flor.
Do not speak to him—
Thou art still within his power.

Pes.
I sent thee here
To liberate a traitor—Opportunity
Should not have been abus'd.—Why is he here?

Flor.
He shall depart—Oh, hold! (To Hemeya.)
He shall depart.

Pes.
He shall—and never shall return.

Hem.
Pescara,
This blackest plot of hell was worthy thee!
Worthy the Inquisition, where thy soul
Was early fram'd to guilt.

Pes.
(Stamping.)
Behold my answer!
A Cell opens in the wall, and Executioners appear in it.
Now let me look upon you!—This is well—
Thou art the man I hate—I woo'd this woman,
And I was scorn'd for thee—If without love
I lov'd, I didn't hate without revenge!—
Thou'st told me I was tutor'd in the cells
Of the Inquisition—Thou'rt in the right,
And I will prove that I have studied well
The science of infliction!

Hem.
Dost thou think
Thy tortures fright me, then?

Pes.
I do not think it—
Here is my victim!

Flor.
Do you hear this, ye heavens?

Pes.
And do you hear me—
E'en now the priest scarce breath'd the marriage vow,
And passion fiercely burn'd—yet, even then,
You dar'd me with his name—You call'd aloud,
And bade me free him—Love then died at once,
And hate reign'd here alone!—I sent thee here—
I follow'd thee—I saw thee in his bosom—
Now hear—he dies!

Flor.
Oh Heav'n!

Pes.
He dies before thy face.

Flor.
No, 'tis impossible—
'Tis but to try, 'tis but to terrify me;
You do not mean the horrid deed you speak—
You are a man—you are a human creature—
O no! thou wilt not—Have I not perform'd
Each dread condition? Did I not appear
Shudd'ring before the altar?—didst thou not promise,
Didst thou not swear? Am—am I not your wife.

Pes.
You are, and love my foe—Come forth, and seize him!

(The Executioners advance.)
Hem.
And send me quickly from this cursed world,
Where guilt, like his, can triumph.

Flor.
Mercy!

Pes.
Mercy!

Flor.
Then, Heav'n, where are thy lightnings?

Pes.
In my grasp.
Drag, drag him to your tortures!

Flor.
Hold, tormentors!
And kill, oh, kill me first—here, in my heart,
Quench your fell thirst for blood.

(Pescara drags her from them.)
Flor.
Oh! let me not behold it—Death, do thy work—
Thou art too slow within my raging breast!
Fall, mountains, down, and hide me from this horror!
Burst, earth, and swallow me! Almighty Heav'n,
Stretch forth thy arm, and save him! Ha! they drag him,
They bear him to their torments!—Why, O Heav'n!
Why am I thus abandon'd?

Voices.
(Without.)
“The Moors!”

[Florinda listens for a moment, and a shout is heard. She shrieks, and rushes towards the front of the Stage, and falls on her knees—Pescara stands appalled—The Alarm-Bell rings.
Hem.
That sound has rais'd me to the sun; my soul
Mounts into triumph! Well, infernal villain,
Well, may'st thou stand amaz'd—thy hour is come!
Thou art enclos'd in thy own den of blood.

Pes.
Traitors and slaves!—Ha! that thought.
[He clenches his dagger.
(Hemeya struggles with the Executioners.)
This,—this is left me still!—Within my grasp
I clutch it like a fierce and desp'rate joy,
Look here! look here, vile Moor!—Despite of fate
I still shall triumph o'er thee.

[Pescara advances to stab Florinda. As he lifts the dagger, Hemeya, who has broken from his Executioners, rushes up, tears it from his hand, and stabs him.—The Moors rush in with Malec at their head, while Florinda sinks into the arms of Hemeya. Pescara, after a vain attempt to speak, falls dead.]
Mal.
Hail, glorious Moor!

Hem.
My friend! my brave deliverer!

Mal.
The Moors are up in arms—The Alpuxerras
Have pour'd their marshall'd thousands to the field:
The crescent floats upon Grenada's tower,
And morning shall behold thee on the throne.
Kneel, Moors! behold your king!

Hem.
Arise, my friends! Florinda, fate has pour'd
A thousand blessings in one rapt'rous hour—
But, in the thick'ning splendours of my stars,
Thou art my loveliest light.

Flor.
If it be possible,
Thou, who dost weigh our mis'ries with our crimes,
Oh, take from death this agony! Hemeya,
While 'twas for thee I trembled, pain grew dull,
And lost its pow'r upon me—Now, 'tis here!

Hem.
Florinda!

Flor.
Yes, I have kept my promise to thee:
This is its dread fulfilment!—You were wrong
To chide me for my falsehood—Ere my marriage,
I pour'd a deadly draught within my veins,
That first was ice; but now in streams of fire
Comes rushing thro' my bosom!

Hem.
Give me a sword!
Give me some means of death!—Bring, bring me poison!
Or tear me to the rack from which I 'scaped!
Here, here, in mercy plunge your steels together!
Ha! what is't I see? I thank thee, Fortune!
Thou hast struck the wound, but thou canst heal it too.

[He perceives Pescara's dagger on the ground, and stabs himself. Florinda shrieks, and falls on her knees beside him.]
Mal.
Thou shouldst have liv'd!—thy life was still thy country's!
And, but for that, I'd follow thee.

Hem.
Florinda,
Fate cannot take the joy to look upon thee,
To die beholding thee!— (Dies.)


[Florinda continues insensible.
Mal.
In the next battle
I'll find the way to join thee. Ha! Hemeya!
Is this the palace of thy monarchy?
Is this thy throne? And is this silent corse
All that remains of him that once I lov'd?

[While Malec is speaking, Florinda staunches the blood of Hemeya with her hair.]
Flor.
It still will flow—But I'll stay here for ever!
I'll look on these cold lips—My shiv'ring hand
Shall press this dewy forehead!—and I'll staunch
This blood, that still flows on.

Mal.
Remove the body—Poor distracted wretch,
I pity thee!—Uplift that bleeding corse,
And bear it from the dungeon.

Flor.
No, you shall not—
You shall not tear me hence—No!—never! never!
He is my lord!—my husband!—Death!—'twas death!—
Death married us together!—Here I will dig
A bridal bed, and we'll lie there for ever!
I will not go!—Ha! you may pluck my heart out,
But I will never go.—Help!—help!—Hemeya!
They drag me to Pescara's cursed bed,—
They rend the chains of fire that bind me to thee!
Help!—help!— (She dies.)