University of Virginia Library

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.