University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

An Apartment in Garcia's House.
Enter Garcia and Anthonio.
ANTHONIO.
So Spain hath lost the battle. 'Twas a plot
Of deep contrivance, though of fearful risk,
To set suspicion whispering through the camp,
Till each his fellow doubted.

GARCIA.
In the stretch
Of our designs we must not stop at hazard.
The king, whose weakness hath prepared revolt,
Totters upon his throne. His fall achieved,
Grenada's kingdom hails me for its lord:
By solemn compact with the Moor, 'tis mine
If once our gates receive him. Thence in course
Of fair succession it descends to you,
My nephew and my true inheritor.

ANTHONIO.
But is the Moor advancing on our city?

GARCIA.
Not yet. Alonzo must be first recall'd,
And, in his place, a friend to our intents
Appointed.

ANTHONIO.
Should it not be done with speed?

GARCIA.
Even now a messenger is in the camp
To summon him before Grenada's council.

ANTHONIO.
'Tis said he bore him nobly on that day,
Whose failure we upbraid him with.

GARCIA.
He did,
But not successfully.

ANTHONIO.
Yet in his fame
He'll find support. Then he has friends.

GARCIA.
What friends?
Friends found in sunshine, to be lost in storm:
There's many a breeze almost too faint to turn
A mote from its straight course upon the air,
In aspiration stronger than the sigh
That shakes a thousand friends off.

ANTHONIO.
True; but still Benducar is not one of those.

GARCIA.
We know not
Until he's tried; but let him do his utmost.
What can a worn-out veteran's honesty
Against our plausive guile? You've heard me speak
Of our Durazzo?

ANTHONIO.
I remember it.

GARCIA.
He vaunts to be a Spaniard born; yet some
Few years ago from foreign lands he came,
A stranger to our state, with ample means,
But no respectful mention. To the poor
He has been ever liberal; and hence
They watch his looks for leave to think; and act
As if their minds were vassal to his bounty.

ANTHONIO.
I've heard he is of weight.

GARCIA.
But note beside;
He, in his turn, is ready at the door
Of greater men, to do small offices,
And grow into their notice. If his art
Should rouse the people, we might reap the gain,
And nothing fear from his ambition.

ANTHONIO.
They say he's deeply read.

GARCIA.
I know not that;
But he has smooth persuasion at command,
And learning, not severe, but smiling with
The beauty of familiar ornament;—
The light without the shadow of the schools.

ANTHONIO.
Would you advise him of our purposes?

GARCIA.
No farther than may serve to crush Alonzo.

ANTHONIO.
'Tis worth some thought.

GARCIA.
He will be here anon,
By my appointment, to attend our pleasure.

Enter a Servant.
GARCIA.
How now?

SERVANT.
My lord, a stranger prays to see you;
His name, Durazzo.

GARCIA.
Bid him to approach.
[Exit Servant.
You'll find his aptness fitting, as I told you.
Judge for yourself—observe.

Enter Durazzo.
DURAZZO.
My lord, though here
At your command, I fear my zeal hath brought me
Too soon; but on a motion I retire.

GARCIA.
The time suits well, Durazzo; sit you down.

DURAZZO.
Nay, not in such a presence. Good my lord,
The king's advising counsellors partake
A portion of the royalty they guide,
And in his absence are his substitutes:
I dare not sit.

GARCIA.
My lord Anthonio, know
This man for one of merit.

ANTHONIO.
Sir, I greet you.

DURAZZO.
Why to this honour I am raised, I know not,
But I would fain deserve it at your hands.

GARCIA.
Have you not large acquaintance with the people?

DURAZZO.
I am well known.

GARCIA.
And influence?

DURAZZO.
As much
As falls to the particular lot of any
Who, like myself, with good intent alone
Purchase opinion of their countrymen.

ANTHONIO.
What say your fellows of our late defeat?

DURAZZO.
Sometimes they murmur.

GARCIA.
Are they not enraged
As we are all? O! how the Moor will stride,
And lift his dusky brow to think that Spain
For once has felt him!

DURAZZO.
If I might presume
To speak on such high matter—

GARCIA.
How! presume!
The winds that blow the rumour in your face,
Demand an answer from your passions.

DURAZZO.
Then,
As I have leave to pour my feeling forth
Without restraint before you, I will own
What pride I had was in my country's greatness,
Her fame in arms. The meanest citizen
Can claim his share of boast therein, for he
Had equals in the ranks that earn'd the glory.
To see her greatness sunk; her fame eclipsed;
And by the infidel, on whom we trod
But sixteen moons before, the vanquish'd slave
Our conqueror, the beaten our chastiser!
O! if to speak my thoughts were not t'offend
The masters of my action, I would raise
A voice within this city.—But I have
Forgot myself and you.

GARCIA.
Not so, Durazzo;
Your words are but an echo to the thoughts
That in us swell. Alonzo wrong'd you once.

DURAZZO.
He shew'd me some contempt.

ANTHONIO.
Of course you felt it?

DURAZZO.
So far as nature in her law provides;
But she's a quick performer; sudden lights
Her anger up, and soon it dies away.

ANTHONIO.
Benducar, too, repulsed you, as 'tis said?

DURAZZO.
In the same cause. My purpose was to serve
Against the Moor, and with an honest arm
Work out a station in the social frame
Of this community. Wealth I had some;
And knowledge, some of books, but more of men,
Caught in the noisy schooling of the world:
But still I had no place. They sneer'd at me;
My heart rose once or twice, but that was all;
For I was weak in power, and nothing proud;
And they had fashion's privilege to flout me

GARCIA.
Can you not now retort?

DURAZZO.
Who, I, my lord?

GARCIA.
Ay, you or any. If the mouth can praise,
The mouth can blame—the mouth can bite!

DURAZZO.
My Lord!

GARCIA.
You scan this late disaster like a man
Who loves his country's honour. To redeem
The lustre of her fame—to vindicate
Her fall among the nations, 'twere of use
Example should be made. Alonzo led
Our heroes to defeat. Alonzo, therefore,
He who could sneer at others, he should be
The scorn of every candid tongue. Where are
The people—that they call not for his life,
Surround the palace gates, and shake the throne?
Where are the people? you, who know their mind,
Awake it, and your wishes, though they stop not
Where hope doth stop, shall look at your reward
With wonder!

DURAZZO.
I am wonder-struck already;
To think that I, the child of pale neglect,
Should thus be pick'd and chosen from the mass
To serve your lofty need, and the state's interest!
As I perform, so let me prosper in
Your graces—the reward, the only one
My zeal can ask or merit.

GARCIA.
Lose no time;
You'll find the people in the public square
Full of strange fancies and imaginings,
By fear and anger bred upon defeat.
One word of dark suspicion or reproach
Would set them in a flame.

DURAZZO.
Expect to see it.
If there be any faith in destiny,
(And I have much,) the colour of my life
Was made for this occasion.

GARCIA.
Should you meet
Benducar there, accost him.

DURAZZO.
Can you doubt
He's for Alonzo?

GARCIA.
We have need to know.

DURAZZO.
I'll prove him, and report him as I prove.

GARCIA.
Farewell, my friend.

DURAZZO.
Farewell, my noble patrons.
[Exit Durazzo.

GARCIA.
What think you of our new ally?

ANTHONIO.
As one
Whose service we must use, having no choice.

GARCIA.
You like him not.

ANTHONIO.
His early sleep of pride
One ray of fortune would awake to daring.
I read it in his eye.

GARCIA.
He seems to bend
His very soul before us.

ANTHONIO.
True—he seems:
But these are ceremonials oft put on
With indignation, 'till the breath of time
Blow them aside, and shew the spirit bare
And terrible, and full of wrath to those
Who first mistook its nature.

GARCIA.
Be it so;
Still we must use him, as you say. But come;
The king expects us, and his ear will need
Some poison yet, to kill Alonzo's praises.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A public square. Durazzo and a crowd of Citizens appear; Durazzo as having addressed them.
FIRST CITIZEN.

Huzza! huzza! Durazzo was ever the friend of the
people: he advises well. To the Palace—to the Palace;
there to demand justice on Alonzo.

ALL.
To the Palace. Huzza!

DURAZZO.
Yet be not rash; my speech, I doubt, was warm—
It may be wrong; but, as my heart conceived,
My tongue has utter'd. I would have you firm,
But nothing violent; prepared to urge
Your wrongs in accents that inform, and not
Offend, the Royal ear. Thus shall your cause
Find favour; your dishonour, full redress.—
Outrage expires in weakness. Peace, my friends;
Peace in the city, conduct in the field,
And justice on the throne: be this your motto,
And prosper.

ALL.
Huzza! huzza!

FIRST CITIZEN.
We mean no violence; nothing but justice on a traitor.

Enter Benducar.
BENDUCAR.
Who talks of traitors?

FIRST CITIZEN.
I, and every honest man.

SECOND CITIZEN.
Alonzo is a traitor.

BENDUCAR.
Have you no reason, no respect for law,
No conscience, that unheard you thus condemn
A hero, with whose praises you have made
Confusion in the clouds, 'till clamour let
Their thunders loose to echo your rejoicings?

FIRST CITIZEN.
Who is this spokesman?

DURAZZO.
'Tis Benducar speaks;
A veteran warrior, and Alonzo's friend.

FIRST CITIZEN.
Why, he blusters like the mouth of a cannon.

BENDUCAR.
'Tis sign the state lacks vigour and controul,
When, in the common streets, the common crowd
Usurp from our tribunals, and impeach,
Convict, or justify, as winds may blow
Their arbitration. I have seen the time
You'd rather eat your caps, than throw them up
To hail an outcry, which might harm Alonzo
In fame or fortune: now, the air's too close
And heavy for the swing your hate would give
To welcome down his ruin. Shame upon you!
Is this your virtue,—this your resolution,—
To have no period, no division, 'twixt
Your censure and your praise? No, not so much
As tempests, taking breath!—But shame disowns you.

FIRST CITIZEN.

This Lord has no more respect for a poor man, than
if he had bought our carcases for the sake of our hides.

DURAZZO.
If we, the crowd, are prone to shift about,
'Tis you, the great ones of a nation, make
The weather that we veer in. When your friend
Alonzo fought and conquer'd, he had praise;
Now, when he slights the battle, 'tis not change,
But constancy of mind, that gives a tone
To suit our quick displeasure. Praise and blame
Have but one fountain in the heart of man;
They spring from justice both. Your pride would seem
To call us brutes in dulness; but we have
One instinct, Sir, to know our enemies,—
Another to revenge our wrongs.

BENDUCAR.
Thou slave!—
But I have lost all patience.

SECOND CITIZEN.

There, you hear he wants patience! He is mad enough

to lose his temper, and fool enough to acknowledge it.
Come to the Palace!—to the Palace!

ALL.
Huzza! huzza!

[Exeunt Mob, shouting.
DURAZZO.
You look'd at me: what would you say?

BENDUCAR.
The worst
My tongue could utter, and not then enough
To paint your baseness.

DURAZZO.
Think you, then, 'tis base
To love my country, and to shew some sign
Of grief and anger, when her blood's betray'd?

BENDUCAR.
The charge is false. Betray'd! how—how betray'd?

DURAZZO.
Was not the battle lost, and lost by men
Of Spain,—by chosen men,—by men who knew
The face of Death, and were not raw spectators
Of his gaunt form? Why, they had shaken hands
With him before in many a glorious field,
And their hot blood felt not his icy pressure.
But now to fly!—Yet, as you say, 'tis false—
It may be that Alonzo is reviled
Unjustly—Spain abused—and the repute
Of this great empire made a mock for nothing.

BENDUCAR.
Whether to smile at your presumption, or
To wonder most, I know not. He who lost
The field that day fought with an arm as brave
As ever led to conquest. Those who fled
Must answer for themselves; but not to you,
Nor such as you. The suttlers of the camp—
Nay, those who follow for the sake of plunder—
Were fitter judges of a soldier's fame
Than loud declaimers, who make mighty talk
At home; are very dastards in their acts,
But Alexanders in their rhetoric.

DURAZZO.
I'm glad Alonzo finds one tongue, at least,
To brave the public voice.

BENDUCAR.
The public voice!
There's not an arrant rogue in Spain but calls
The wretched raving of his paltry gang
“The public voice:” nay, those who dare not speak
Above their breath, for fear of punishment,
Will whisper forth that voice, if you believe
Their timid accents:—but it is not thus
Great passions cry; nor thus, the boiling surge
Doth notify to the affrighted shore
When anger heaves the ocean.

DURAZZO.
Let him come—
Ay, let him. If the people have not hands
Made but to dangle at their sides alone,
There is a sinew in the multitude
May clutch your idol. You'll believe the storm
When you behold the oak upon the ground.

BENDUCAR.
Come to me, then, and ask.

DURAZZO.
I've spoken to
As lofty men. Perchance in mine own breast
There sits a counsellor, whose fiery thought
But little weighs the station or degree
Of those it copes withal. If wither'd age
Could shake my nerve, I had not sought your aid
To place me where the battle struggles hardest.

BENDUCAR.
Forgive me, I mistook your alter'd tone:
'Twas then submission.

DURAZZO.
But the boon it ask'd
Was danger.

BENDUCAR.
And you spit your venom now
On those who knew you better than to trust you.
I read your motive: had we not despised
Your fawning tricks, and placed you o'er your betters,
This patriot burst had never stunn'd the crowd.

DURAZZO.
It may be so; for I had likelier fallen,
Than lived to talk of it: and yet, methinks,
I might have been entrusted with a post
In such an army, and not spoil'd its fighting!

BENDUCAR.
Away!—

DURAZZO.
When I have done.

BENDUCAR.
Then stay, and finish.
Avoid me; 'tis not safe to try me farther.
[Exit Benducar.

DURAZZO.
A threat!—I'll follow, though he were a fiend,
And taunt him, though we scaled a precipice.
[Exit Durazzo.

Enter Zelinda and Leonora.
ZELINDA.
Was that my father?

LEONORA.
'Twas Benducar's voice
And figure; who the other was I know not.

ZELINDA.
They seem'd to hold an angry conference.

LEONORA.
I thought so.

ZELINDA.
Leonora, I'm undone!

LEONORA.
What means my friend? My dear Zelinda, speak.
In stormy times like these canst think it strange
That men will quarrel? Fear not; 'tis so much
A habit now, revenge is never thought on;
Men give their speech a license from the time,
As mariners swear loudest when the sea
Runs mountain high.

ZELINDA.
Alas! you know not how
My heart is torn. That stranger—did you mark?
He saved my life—he won my love; but now,
Not knowing who my father is, hard chance!
He ruins ev'ry hope, offending him.

LEONORA.
Amazement! Said you not he saved your life?

ZELINDA.
One evening, in the wood that skirts the city,
I wander'd forth alone. The weary sun
Had stoop'd his forehead from the mountain brow,
On which it just had lean'd, as if to rest
After the wond'rous journey of the day:
The herdsman sought his humble cot, the flocks
Their fragrant chambers, and the birds were gone
To nestle in their leafy villages;
When from an ambush sprang two ruffians arm'd,
And bent their steps where motionless I stood.
I dropp'd upon my knees: Heaven heard the prayer
That rose in thought and terror; for behind me
Stood a deliverer silent and unseen,
'Till, like the shock that rives the solid earth,
He rush'd between the danger and his charge,
And fought a gallant fight:—it was that stranger!
The ruffians fled before him; he return'd,
Smiled tenderness, encouraged, raised me up,
Bathed my hot temples in the running stream;
Then mild in soothing words he led me on,
Retraced my way, nor left me 'till in safety.

LEONORA.
But how, a stranger still? Did you not ask
The name of your deliverer?

ZELINDA.
I did;
But all in vain. He told me that a cloud
Hung o'er the fortunes of his house, and he
Must needs reveal the story of his fate
With mention of his name. In fine, he pray'd me
To meet him once again; and with his hand
He pointed out a suburb walk, where, time
And leisure serving, he would give mine ear
To know his strange o'ershadow'd history.

LEONORA.
You went?

ZELINDA.
Before the day appointed came,
My father, on a distant journey bound,
Took me along: since then I never saw,
'Till now, the man whom next himself I honour.

LEONORA.
Renounce this sudden passion, and incline
To know no more of one so dark—mysterious.
Remember 'tis your father's will that you
Should wed Alonzo.

ZELINDA.
Would I could forget it!
Whatever side I turn me is despair.
O gentle Nature! clothest thou the brute
To meet the fury of the foreign North,
And knitt'st his bushy coat of closer texture
With thine own hand; and wilt thou hold from me,
In this, the rougher season of my fate,
Such kind support as the poor animal
Asks not, but finds in thy compassion?

LEONORA.
The richest boon that Heaven can grant you now,
Is ne'er to see that stranger.

ZELINDA.
Say you so?
Then are my riches sorrow.—But, behold!
My father comes, and with him—mighty Heaven!
It is Alonzo!

LEONORA.
Nay, be firm, sweet friend;
Support this meeting. all will yet be well.

Enter Benducar and Alonzo.
BENDUCAR.
Zelinda, from thy father take in pledge
Of happier days to come, a hero's hand.
He has his tugs with fickle Fortune too;
But thine is not a soul, my tender girl,
To slight a brave man in calamity.

ZELINDA.
Most welcome, Sir, to Spain.

[To Alonoz.
ALONZO.
But more to thee?

ZELINDA.
So far as friendship may have leave to say so.

BENDUCAR.
Come, you must lay those maiden airs aside,
And talk of love and wedlock. If he need
Another claim, to give his suit the force
Of gratitude, know that your father's life
'Twas his to save, when, some few moments since,
A villain drew upon me.

ZELINDA.
O, my father!
And would a wretch profane—

BENDUCAR.
I smote him first
For his presumption.

ZELINDA.
How! a blow!—are blows
For men, who, in their high aspirings, look
At Heaven, and see their image in the thought
They catch of the Divinity?

BENDUCAR.
What means
The frantic girl?

LEONORA.
Nothing, my Lord; or but—
A sudden illness. Speak not thus, in mercy.—

[To Zelinda
BENDUCAR.
'Tis well my friend Alonzo took my part
Warmer than mine own child. Our clashing swords
Had else in vain conducted him to where
The strong assailant put me on defence.
But he shall be my son, and this good act
Perform'd, while on his way to meet his foes
At home, shall prove an happy augury.

ZELINDA.
Is the offender slain?

ALONZO.
Zelinda, no;
I beat their weapons down, and parted them.

ZELINDA.
Thank Heaven and thee, Alonzo!

[Falls into Leonora's arms.
ALONZO.
Ha!—she faints!

LEONORA.
No, my lord, 'tis weakness, and will pass.
The sudden shock her father's danger gave
Hath brought this lowness on: 'tis nothing more;
I'll guide her hence; anon she will be better.

[Exeunt Leonora and Zelinda—the latter supported by the former.
BENDUCAR.
What could her strong emotion mean? There is
One fear I would not let my mind indulge.

ALONZO.
Durazzo was not named; or, if he was,
'Twere hardly possible her choice could stoop
So low, as for his sake to feel alarm.

BENDUCAR.
At least we'll hope so 'till the worst appear;
And then—but I'll not threaten.

ALONZO.
We do wrong
To doubt her prudence. Of the quarrel, though,
Between Durazzo and yourself, my Lord,
I had not time to ask how that could happen.

BENDUCAR.
I should have scorn'd him, but 'tis hard to hear
One's friend traduced.

ALONZO.
What said he?

BENDUCAR.
Nothing—but
Was insolent.

ALONZO.
You struck him in your rage;
'Twas not for nothing you could lift your arm
Against a thing so worthless.

BENDUCAR.
Nay, he call'd
My friend a—coward!

ALONZO.
Coward!—ha!

[Attempting to draw.
BENDUCAR.
Put up
Your sword; the touch has justified my fury.

ALONZO.
I own 'twas hard to bear—Durazzo—Well,
No matter: we shall meet when Fate decrees,
And part when Death makes his election.

BENDUCAR.
Too long we dwell upon a worthless theme;
Let's change it for a nobler, and discourse,
Like soldiers, of the war.

ALONZO.
Ah! there again
My wrongs cry out. Before the battle join'd,
'Twas so contrived, that, in the soldiers' tents
Were papers dropp'd, insinuating plots
Of treachery, concerted with the Moor
For their destruction.

BENDUCAR.
How! by you concerted?

ALONZO.
By me, their leader, who would rather sell
My soul in open contract to the fiend,
Than indirectly thus devote myself.

BENDUCAR.
And fled they?

ALONZO.
On the first attack, like sheep,
From their own fears they fled. I stood my ground,
'Twas on a hillock, there resolved to die
Within their view. Some matchless spirits rush'd
To share my fate; and with such odds against us
We met the charge, that you would think the souls
Of men, and not their bodies, were embattled.—

BENDUCAR.
Fought they so fiercely?

ALONZO.
With the tiger's rage,
By man's high thought ennobled. Which might be
Quickest in act,—the flash of instinct, or
The light'ning of the mind, no eye could tell;
So ready was their reason to push on
The 'vantage of their rage to victory.
With hearts thus cased, not in protecting steel,
But in the spirit of offence, which, like
A fiery rampart, or the zone that girds
A stormy moon, circles the brave, and makes
Danger his shield from danger; long we fought,
'Till what was mortal in us sank beneath
What was immortal.—Then my comrades fell
For very weariness; but, on his face
Did each man fall, and in his frown expire,
And, sword in hand, cut forward to his grave.
I sank exhausted too; but Heaven would have
My life preserved: cover'd with blood I rose,
And once I look'd upon the field, and saw
My silent heroes:—if the tears I shed
Could speak, their country could not be ungrateful.

BENDUCAR.
Ungrateful!—no: the nation's heart will leap
To hear this story.—But how happened it
The others fought not, when they saw your arm
In earnest, and the proof in havock round you?

ALONZO.
Some were suborn'd; the rest were panic-struck,
And fled.

BENDUCAR.
Yet by what chance did you escape
Captivity?

ALONZO.
Left on the field for dead,
I took advantage of the coming night,
And to the camp return'd; where soon arrived
The summons for my prompt appearance here,
To answer, in my place, the guilt of others.

BENDUCAR.
Trust to your cause and character: if they
Should fail,—trust to that other hope, which, though
Unknown to vulgar minds, inspires the noble
To bear misfortune rightly.

ALONZO.
What is that?

BENDUCAR.
The sentence of posterity.—They, too,
Will have their petty likings, and dislikes,
Envies, and jealousies, and treacherous arts
Touching the men they live with; but to us
They'll turn a purer eye, and passionless—
As passionless as the embrace of death—
Sit in the high justiciary of Time
To weigh the memories of men departed.

ALONZO.
Let faction do its worst; I will look forward,
And so be firm.

BENDUCAR.
Ay, forward and within.

[Exeunt.