University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Enter De Zelos and two Pages.
De Zel.
(thoughtful.)
Who is the marshal of the lists?

1st Page.
Toralva.

De Zel.
Warn him he suffer not the pestilent rabble
To yell their curses o'er the barrier's verge.

1st Page.
My lord, 'twill be impossible to prevent them,
So much they love Alonzo's memory.

De Zel.
Curse on thee, slave! thou speak'st some conned lesson
That Manuel's gold hath taught thee—Hence!
[Exit Page.
[To the other.)
Is my son's armour in his chamber? Go—
Go thou, and tell him to be ready straight.
[A strange music within.
Whence was that touch of wild unearthly strain!

Page.
My lord, your daughter—

De Zel.
Daughter! I want no daughter.
Where is my son?—Upon a father's cause
His daughter's arm can wield no brand.
[Exit 2d Page.
Enter Torrismond, unarmed, dejectedly.
What! still unarmed?

Tor.
(very slowly, and with deep dejection.)
Within my chamber piled lie plate and mail—
Corslet of proof, and helm and lance, are there—
But I do lack a mighty weapon yet.

De Zel.
Say'st thou?—What weapon?

Tor.
The adamant of an unquestion'd spirit,
That by itself unsmote defies the world.

De Zel.
(gasping with fury.)
How!—
List to me, boy!—I would command myself,
Choak in my struggling spirit, which else would burst
In curses on thy foul degenerate head,
But I will master it.— (with forced irony.)

Sir, of your fair courtesy,
I pray you, tell me, feels your dainty arm
The sword too heavy in a father's cause?
Oh, it would string the nerves of pithless age,
Brace palsy's arm, and imp the foot of lameness;
Yea, arm all Nature for me.—But, my son,
(A pause—he looks at Torrismond.)
Wilt thou not answer?

Torris.
(After a silent struggle, throws down his sword.)
Thou art answer'd!—

De Zel.
Take up thy brand again, and plunge it here! (furious rage.)

Wretch!—parricide!—Oh, excellently vile!
Fill up thy cup of consummated guilt!
Leave not to Manuel and his furious daughter
This heart to scoop with their infixed fangs;
Pierce it thyself!—Oh, coward!—conscious coward!
I'll peal it in thine ear, like howls o'th'damn'd.
'Tis fear, fear, fear! aye, craven, cowering fear!—

Torris.
(starting as from a trance.)
Coward!—who call'd me coward?
(Snatches up his sword, and rushes forward—then recognises his father, and falls on his knees.
'Tis my father!
Heaven holds my arm.—That name hath set me mad!
My swoln and burning throat can't utter it.
(With a shout of derision.)
Oh! I do shake the loathed thought from me.
Were you a thousand fathers—
Oh, place me on the kindling ridge of fight,
Where fear was never nam'd or mercy felt,
And feel this heart-pulse, if its quicker motion
Betrays one added throb.
Against the darts of mixed and madding hosts
Place but one foe, and let that foe be me:
There, if I shrink, the voice that calls me coward
I'll unresenting hear as I do thine.

De Zel.
Words—words!—the coin boasters pay trusting fools with.

Torris.
(kneeling.)
By Heav'n, I am no boaster!
[Rises eagerly.
(Bursts into tears—De Zel. looks at him with scorn.)
Oh, these hot drops of agonizing shame
Are not the dews of fear; a father's voice
Alone had wrung them; let a father's hand
Dry them, and bless me.

[Kneeling to De Zelos.
(De Zelos looks on him for some time, and then says sternly,)
De Zel.
Thou weep'st, but 'tis thy father bleeds.

[Going.
Torris.
(Starting up)
Where goest thou?

De Zel.
Where?—to the field!—the field my son doth fly from.
Give me thy sword—

[Furiously.
Torris.
My father!—but a word—

[Struggling.
De Zel.
Thy sword!—thy sword!—thou hast no need for it.

Torris.
(With the most eager expression of hope and joy.)
What! wilt thou?—canst thou!—darest thou?—Can it be?
[With increasing conviction of his father's innocence, from his undertaking the combat himself.
Thou wouldst not risk the end of mortal guilt!
Thou wouldst not risk a deathless soul's perdition!
Innocent! innocent! By Heav'n, he's innocent!—
Oh, my abused father!—curse me now,
To ease my penitent agony.

[Kneels, kissing his hands.
De Zel.
(Coldly.)
I needed not this proof.

Torris.
I did—Oh, pardon me!—
I'm sheathed in iron now—my sandal'd foot
Could trample hosts—my arm could strive with giants!
Truth holds her bright shield o'er the breast of Torrismond;
Nor does he ask for other panoply—
(Starting)
My father!—thou lookst ghastlily!—

De Zel.
(Gazing towards the door)
No marvel,
I've looked on ghastly sights!— (recovering)
I'm not well.
This struggle hath o'ercome me, and—'tis o'er.

Torris.
Oh! pardon me—the doubt was damnable!
It was a crime unfilial and unnatural!—

De Zel.
Hush!—torture me no more!—Mark me, my son!—
If in the lists thou seest my eye—my lip—
Give speechless sign of inward agony—
(Tho' the vile crowd their vilest comment make)
What wilt thou deem it?—

Torris.
What should your son deem it?
Perchance a fear (full needless) for his safety—
What other fear could blanch my father's cheek?

De Zel.
(Starting, and turning from him.)
Was that a viewless clarion, dull and deep?

Torris.
No! 'twas the wind pealing thro' yon low arch!
'Tis a dreary day!—

De Zel.
(Looking up)
—A drearier night will follow—
The troubled clouds are in dark volumes sweeping,
As the rent banners of Alonzo's battle
Were hovering o'er us still—'twill be a storm.
(in great terror.)
Hast thou not heard, how, mid a combat, Heaven
Hath sent its champion in the lightning's flash,
To strike upon the right, and blast the murderer?—
If thou shouldst see my stiff and blacken'd corse
Give dark reflection to the withering bolt,
Outstretch'd in horrid death—

Torris.
By the hot ashes
I'd kneel, and swear i'th'face of wrathful Heaven
That thou wert innocent—for—art thou not?

De Zel.
(Embracing him eagerly; then rushing out.)
That's my brave son—Oh! what a heart have I!
[Exit De Zelos.

(Torrismond follows him with his eye, then stands fixed in meditation, not seeing Victoria till she is kneeling to him.)
Torris.
(rushing out, sees her)
Victoria!

Vic.
Yes, Victoria!
Thus pale, and prostrate at his feet, who once
Thought the hour lost that was not spent at hers.
'Tis Manuel's daughter trembles in the dust.

Torris.
Oh! rise, and mock me not to utter madness;
Scarce hath my heart regain'd its trembling seat,
And thou art come to shake it in its hold,
And bid resolved duty blench like guilt.

Vic.
Oh! raise me not, for suppliants should be humble.
I was the daughter of a lordly line,
Lov'd by a noble youth—What am I now?
The shunned offspring of a blighted stem,
Who, in the filial agony of soul,
Kneels at the feet of him who said he lov'd her—
Kneels for a father's life—

Torris.
A father's life!
I go to meet his champion, not thy father!

Vic.
He hath no champion—they have left him none.
Mad with his wrongs and woes, the ancient man
Comes tottering to the lists—chases away
The weeping few, who still his steps do watch—
Calls for his son to brace his shield—then poises
With giddy grasp his lance, and wounds the air!—
Couldst thou see him,
Thou wouldst in tears steep thy averted brand,
Yea, in thy bosom plunge its trenchant point,
Sooner than strike at his.—It is a shrine
The god has left, but his departed presence
Sheds a sad honor o'er the sunken fane,
Made holier by desertion!—Spare the ruin!—

Torris.
Spare it!—I'll kneel and worship it—Take this; (the sword)

And, when I raise it 'gainst that hallowed breast,
May its point turn, and pierce through mine!

(Kneeling, and presenting the sword to her with enthusiasm. Trumpets sound within.)
Torris.
Hark! hark!
Have I not sworn?—Have I no father too? (rushing forward, and falling on his knees.)

Thou who hast called me to this horrible conflict,
Let not my breaking heart forbid thy purpose.
(Rising wildly, and seizing Victoria's hand.)
I know not how, or right or wrong, but this—
Thy tears, for which my heart sheds drop for drop
(And soon may weep in blood) against a father's,
Wrung from the agony of his pallid brow,
Are weighed in the soul's balance, and found wanting.

Vic.
Go, then; but know what enemy awaits thee:
The shield of Manuel is his daughter's breast;
Her streaming hair his banner; and his pledge
The hand her agony raised to thee in vain.
Bear on thy shield emblazed a virgin's heart
Broken for thee. Away! the trumpet summons.

(Trumpet sounds.—He rushes to throw the sword at her feet; she spurns him. Trumpet sounds again; he catches it up, and rushes out. Exeunt.)

SCENE II.

The Lists: Marshals, Heralds, &c.—Flourish.
Enter De Zelos, Mendizabel, Torralva, and Attendants.
Mend.
Nay, 'twas a master-touch of curious art
To send th'inflam'd, romantic soldiery,
On the wild summons of a doubtful foe.
Oh, many dangers might have follow'd else,
For they so love Alonzo's memory.—

De Zel.
Mark me, my worthy lord, this ancient railer,
Not to your courts confines his clamorous outrage;
In your wide streets it bruits, raves thro' your walls,
Teaching the credulous change-loving multitude,
The wealth-swoln burgher, and swart artizan,
Within your crowded, but hushed streets, to throng—
To nod with hollow look—gripe with stern clutch—
Dart dangerous meanings from the speaking eye,
Then part like men whose parting seems to say—
“We'll meet anon to purpose.”—Look to this—
Your streets are full of it.

Mend.
'Twere fit that we devise how we may meet
The evil Manuel's restless passion threatens.
What!—Shall we suffer a fond frantic man
To wander up and down the troubled ways,
Madding the citizens with giddy tales
Of crimes, that credulous Wonder thirsts to swallow,
When they are most incredible?

De Zel.
(with eager vehemence)
—Banish him! banish him!
Let me not hear his helpless cries for justice!
By Heaven, I almost pity him myself!

Tor.
But how may this be done?

Mend.
When the combat
(His madness dreams of hopeless champion in)
Hath summon'd, and th'expected lists are empty,
I will pronounce his exile from Cordova;
Amerce him of his vassals, lands, and towers;
Yea, make him thank us dearly for the mercy
That spares his life, who doth the combat bide,
And whom its issue fails.—

De Zel.
My noble Lord,
The city well may thank your prudent care.
Yet, let me pray you that your noble pity
Will spare mine ancient kinsman's hapless state.
On Almuntcar's shore he hath a castle,
Whose turrets o'er the moon-light surges cast
The shade that Sorrow loves. There let him wander,
And o'er the moaning waters pour the plaint
Their chiding gives best answer to.

Mend.
'Tis excellent.
Your native policy, my Lord, puts to the blush
Our law-taught Wisdom.

De Zel.
Oh! 'tis I should blush.
No more—no more, I pray.—Accomplish this,
And my Ximena's hand is thine.
[Trumpet.
Hark! hark!
You're summon'd to the lists.

Toralva seats himself as Judge of the Field. Marshals, Heralds, &c.
Perez and Moncalde.
Mon.
He comes, indeed; but in such mournful guise,
'Twould move an enemy to remorseful pity,
Were not that enemy De Zelos.

Per.
They say his reason's clouded—I did fear it.

Mon.
Clouded indeed! but through the troubled shade
Breaks fitfully at times a struggling gleam,
Feebler than light, and sadder than the darkness.

Per.
Tends his sad daughter on him still?

Mon.
She does.

[Manuel enters, supported by Victoria, gazing round him unconsciously. Perez and Moncalde seem to be conversing with her on her father's state. Victoria shakes her head mournfully.
Man.
Why, this is meet;—I love this pageantry.
You're welcome, gentles! lovely ladies, welcome;
I've seen the day I could have hailed your beauties
With gayer greeting, and around the lists
Pranced my proud barb careering.
[Takes Mon. aside.
Why is this?
What are they met for, all these gorgeous gallants?
To break a lance, I trow, for some gay dame,
Who is not worth a splinter of a lance.
Why do they gaze on me? I'm old, but still
They should not make a mockery of my weakness.

Mon.
Oh! my fallen master!

[Turning aside.
Vic.
Oh! my hapless father,
Retire with me; nay, let me guide you hence!

Man.
Guide me!—I thank you—ha! ha! ha!
Look I like one who needs a guide?—
I thank you for your courtesy, fair dame;
But I would rather have my daughter's care;
She will be here anon.

[They get about him, and try to lead him away; he breaks furiously from them.
Man.
I will not stir;—rend from its base yon arch,
And then despair to move me—Off, off, off!
I do not know the cause that brought me here;
But there is something here that bids me stay;
I'll tell't anon—treat not an old man roughly.
Thou seemest a gentle dame—have patience with me;
Leave me with her—I'll whisper it in her ear.
(Whispers Victoria.)
I came to seek my son; dost know of him?

(Victoria in an agony of tears throws herself on him.)
Vic.
Oh God!—Oh God!—

Man.
Weep, for those tones resemble
A voice I lov'd, and lov'd it best in grief—
(Recovering recollection, and raising her hair from her forehead to recognise her.)
I know thee now—Oh God! my son! my son!

(Falls back in their arms.)
Tor.
The day doth wear apace.

[Trumpets sound.
Torrismond enters armed.
Tor.
Herald! demand of yonder knight—

Her.
Why comest thou
An armed knight into the mortal lists?

Torris.
De Zelos' son, heir of a noble line,
Doth claim the combat on his father's right!
My cause is known to all these warlike Judges;
My soul be on the issue.

Her.
Valiant knight,
Receive thy brand, and heav'n defend the right.

(De Zelos rises from his seat, comes to his son, and throws a chaplet round his neck.)
De Zel.
My son, around thy warded bosom bear
This brede of many dyes—'tis twined with spells.

Tor.
(flinging it off, and striking his heart)
Away with it—my talisman is here!

Her.
Sound trumpets for th'appellant.

Torrismond's Trumpet blown thrice.—No Answer.
Her.
No trumpet answers upon Manuel's side.

Man.
(repeating the words in feeble despair.)
No trumpet answers upon Manuel's side!
Give me a sword—a sword!

[rushing forward.
Vict.
(With a shriek.)
Hark!—'twas a trumpet. (A long pause.)


A Trumpet heard, faint and distant, repeated thrice. A Knight appears in the lists.
Her.
Declare thy name and cause!

Stran.
A stranger-knight—
To all but one within these lists unknown—
I claim the combat in Don Manuel's cause,
And feel his cause is just.

Man.
(tottering towards him.)
God bless thee, stranger!

Stran.
Away!—Thy touch is as a scorpion's to me.
One boon, ye Judges! I demand to go,
Triumphant or defeated, from your lists,
Unclosed my vizor, and my name unknown.

Tor.
Sir Knight, your boon is 'gainst all laws of combat.

De Zel.
(vehemently.)
Be it so—be it so—my lords I pray you.

Tor.
Then be it so.—Sound for the combat there. (Charge.)


(Fight—the Stranger is defeated.)
Man.
Treachery! treachery! it was some slave
Whose arm was hir'd to strike the air.

[The Stranger beckons to De Zelos, who advances reluctantly—the Stranger lifts his vizor slowly to him, and instantly closes it again,—his face is black—De Zelos, staggering with horror, falls into the arms of Torrismond, who supports him.— The Stranger is borne off.
Tor.
I now pronounce the sentence of the field—
De Zelos is acquitted!

Man.
(deliriously)
—False! false! false!

Tor.
Hence, maniac! thank our mercy for thy life!

[Manuel bursts into all the rage of madness.
The curtain drops.