University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

ALONZO, ALMEYDA.
ALONZO.
No more, Almeyda.

ALMEYDA.
Then, I hop'd in vain
To touch a King, in whom my heart reveres
A second father? Yet, a while delay
This promis'd union of your son and me,
Till he himself with fond impatience chides
The tardy hours, and presses to be mine.
It most becomes us both.

ALONZO.
It suits at least
The conscious pride that dignifies your sex.
More nicely fram'd, more delicately coy,
Than grosser man, such chaste reserve, that spreads
New brightness o'er your charms, exalts them too.
Complaint, on such a theme, would ill beseem
A virgin's mouth. I know it: and the less
You urge my promise, a King's honor given
Exacts, with stricter care, its full performance.
My orders are already sent.

ALMEYDA.
O Sir,
If my true cares, by all a daughter's duty,
To merit your esteem, can have inspir'd
Alonzo's least regard; and if amidst
A kingdom's high concerns, you deign a thought
On what may stain Almeyda's life with shame,
Or make it bright and happy! yet recall
Those orders: yet suspend—

ALONZO.
Your words amaze me!
I, in my turn, am left in equal doubt;
Nor know I what this strange reluctance means.
My son! Don Pedro!—is he to your thoughts
An object of such horror? Why this dread
Of calling me your father? Must I think
Contempt of him—

ALMEYDA.
Contempt? Alas, my Lord,
Could he deserve it, did my reason judge him
Less worthy of the blood from whence he springs;
I then—O Sir!—I then might wait his pleasure,
With less emotion trembling at this heart.
To you I dare disclose its inmost weakness,
Tho shame arises blushing to forbid me—
Then know—because I love—I dread his answer!
Yes, from the moment I beheld him first,
A sudden softness, to myself unknown,
Sprung in my bosom; charm'd at once and pain'd me
With all the mingled war of love and doubt:
And gave me soon—alas! too soon to know,
Almeyda's future fate was in his power!
And—if I miss'd his heart—

ALONZO.
Proceed, fair Princess.
The blush that reddens there is Virtue's color:
Her chaste hand spreads it. But proceed unmov'd:
And be assur'd a parent's kindest ear
Is open to your tale.

ALMEYDA.
I need not say
How, with his rising fame, my passion grew.
'Twas glory fed it: and each added conquest,
Like heaven's kind dew upon th'unfolding rose,
Nurs'd the new blossom into strength and beauty.
But, more unhappy as more fondly his,
The cold that hangs on his constrain'd address
Is winter here, and withers all my hopes!
Hence grows, my Lord, the backwardness you blame:
Permit it to my sex, till ripening time
Shall warm his bosom into mutual softness.

ALONZO.
Daughter!—for that dear name is justly due
To such exalted openness of heart,
True Honor's fair companion—trust to me;
Rely on all a father's love. I feel,
Yes, feel already every soft emotion
These tender names convey. Let not a dream,
A distant doubt of ills impossible
Alarm that gentle bosom. No, Almeyda!
When you shall learn, as instantly you may,
Not his obedience only, but his love,
Your fears will fly before them.

SCENE II.

ALONZO, ALMEYDA.
GUARD.
Sir, the Prince
Attends your pleasure.

ALMEYDA.
Ah! I must be gone:
But if my tears have influence—

ALONZO.
Go, my daughter,
And on my love repose your every care.

SCENE III.

ALONZO, DON PEDRO.
ALONZO
sits.
My subjects, Prince, the triumphs of your sword
Have oft beheld, oft hail'd with loud applause:
Alonzo too has felt a parent's share
Of joy in theirs. The time is come at last
For other festivals, the gentler triumphs
That wait on love and hymeneal rites.
These are the honors that can best reward
The warrior's glorious toils: and much it moves
My wonder, Prince, that I, who ought to find
In your impatience all a lover's ardor,
Must here advise, nay must impose, obedience!

DON PEDRO.
Sir, from a father's kindness I had hop'd
Commands less rigid, less severely urg'd:
And that his love would in my silence read,
What filial reverence stifles on my tongue.
Ah, Sir! recall this harsh command.

ALONZO.
Recall it!
By heaven! this rude demeanour, should I give
The rein to my just wrath, might cost thee dear—
Nor think thy blindness to Almeyda's worth,
This savageness of soul by love unsoften'd,
Thy sole offence.

DON PEDRO.
Alas! what else can stir
My sovereign's anger?

ALONZO.
A King's word is past!
Alonzo's word and oath! the league too seal'd
And ratify'd, on this express condition!

DON PEDRO.
And yet, Don Pedro's heart—

ALONZO.
Ha! canst thou dream,
The nuptials of a Prince, those general ties
On which depend the peace and bliss of millions,
Are bound with flowery bands, which Fancy twists
With idle fingers? twists for those alone,
Th'inferior herd, who live but for themselves?
Far other maxims guide the royal choice,
More noble, more exalted. Not enslav'd
By vulgar forms, the common good decides
A prince's fate: and, where his people's welfare
Directs his judgment, there he gives his hand.

DON PEDRO.
Then—in the dearest interest of our heart,
Its truest bliss or its severest woe,
The heart itself has no election left!
This would be binding hard, nay rivetting,
Those artificial chains, which Craft of state
First forg'd, and Vanity still deigns to wear.
Yet Nature has her claims, her elder rights,
More holy, more inviolably binding.
Are these extinguish'd only to the wretch,
Who, nearest to a throne, is most a slave?
The lowest slave—

ALONZO.
What mean'st thou? Whither tends
This raving talk?

DON PEDRO.
Yes, here the cottage-hind,
Burnt by the beam or shivering in the shade,
Smote by the sore vicissitude thro life
Of cold, heat, hunger, is a king to him.
He, with his heart, can freely give his hand:
Can chuse—Ah, Sir, you tremble with your anger—
But, at your knees, behold a son with pity!
O with a father's gracious ear receive
What now he must unfold!

ALONZO.
Thou shalt be heard.
That justice bids; by whose eternal rule
All kings should reign. Arise.

DON PEDRO.
When first the Mother
Of Ferdinand became your Queen, alas!
You deign'd not, Sir, to read my heart, or know
The springs that move it; but engag'd your faith,
And promis'd me at once to his fair Sister.

ALONZO.
True: and that promise is inviolable.
What would a king be, where the reverent awe
That makes his person sacred, should mankind
Not dare to rest their faith upon his honor?
Ask thy own bosom.

DON PEDRO.
O! I well believe,
The youth, the beauty of that charming maid
Left you no doubt of their full influence
On my touch'd heart: you could not then foresee
The bar invincible it still opposes—
I speak it with regret—to this wish'd union.

ALONZO
, rising.
Am I awake?

DON PEDRO.
I feel, severely feel,
Fair as she is, she never can be mine.
Tho Beauty form'd her in the truest mold,
Tho Love has added to her flowering youth
Each winning grace, each air of sweet attraction;
By all unmov'd, how can I bear the thought
Of wedding her my heart can never own?
O! if my soul is precious in your sight,
If virtuous deeds, inspir'd by your example,
Have made me not unworthy to be call'd
The son of him who most adorns a throne;
To Nature's nobler law let those of state
For once give place! and save a breaking heart,
That cannot to itself be false or base,
My sire and sovereign! save it from the crime
Of disobedience!

ALONZO.
Thou hast said: and still
A parent's fondness here is strongly pleading
The cause of Mercy for thee. Yet, be warn'd;
That parent is thy king! and all his love
Will plead in vain against the voice of duty.
The sanctity of thrones should be preserv'd,
Like that of altars, pure; the faith of leagues,
Inviolate, as Heaven's own law supreme.
And wouldst thou, by the breach of ties like ours,
Wouldst thou afford to Ferdinand pretence
For kindling up, as then he fairly might,
The flames of cruel and consuming war,
And leave to us the deep, the long remorse
Of shedding in a cause, unjust and base,
The blood of thousands?

DON PEDRO.
Can Alonzo fear
To light a fire of stubble, which his nod
Extinguishes at once? Secure to conquer,
Why shun to fight? The laurel in our reach,
Why pause to make it ours? No: rather urge,
Invite a foe, your power is sure to crush;
And, from the wish'd occasion, add Castile
To those late conquests that renown your arms.
Let neighbouring nations feel, with dread and reverence,
Th'ascendant of your genius: while your son,
In such a shining path, shall count it glory
With his last blood to seal a father's fame!

ALONZO.

DON PEDRO.
O hear me, and recall the stern command—
Ah then—in one word too—for what I am
Permits no more—I cannot.

ALONZO.
Ha!

SCENE IV.

ALONZO, DON PEDRO, the QUEEN, ELVIRA.
ALONZO.
This rebel
Resists me to my face, and shews unveil'd
That unsubmitting pride, which my fond love
Durst not foresee. By this determin'd insult
To your Castile, he covers me and you,
And your Almeyda, with one common shame:
And doubt I still to punish him?—But, tell me,
Say, is there not some partner of his guilt,
Some dark accomplice, whose pernicious counsel
Thus hardens him in guilt?

QUEEN.
You see her there,
Th'accomplice you would find!

ALONZO.
Elvira!

ELVIRA.
Me!

QUEEN.
Drawn from his duty by her feeble charms,
Aided, no doubt, with all th'ensnaring skill
Of female arts, to this degenerate passion
He poorly offers up Almeyda's worth,
And feeds a subject's vanity by boasting,
How rich a victim bleeds before her shrine!

ALONZO.
Amazement! Can it be?

QUEEN.
It is not now
I first discover whence his coldness grows.
Day after day have I beheld his eye
Of love and softness ever hung on hers:
Nay, when alone, when I the dreadful truth
Try'd to explore, the starting tear, that stole
Down her flush'd cheek, discover'd all I fear'd,
Even now—I scarce had reach'd my own apartment—
They met in secret; and in secret long
Conversing, parted, each with streaming eyes.
And see, my Lord, read on their guilty cheeks
Disorder and alarm!

ELVIRA.
I am accus'd—
But 'tis in vain—Suspicions are not proofs—
Th'imputed crime—

DON PEDRO.
Elvira, we are born
Above dissimulation. Yes—I love;
And dare, without a blush, avow my passion;
The object makes it glory—But, on me,
On my devoted head fall your full vengeance:
Elvira, Sir, is guiltless. She—

ALONZO.
Be dumb!
Ungrateful! cruel!

ELVIRA.
Hear Elvira speak.
Make her, untry'd, unjudg'd, the sacrifice!
If so fair peace betwixt you and the prince
Might be restor'd, a death so justly due
Would be my dearest wish!

ALONZO.
What? what remains?
Let her own chamber henceforth be her prison,
Till she her conduct justifies at full.
Madam, with you I trust her: be it yours
To keep her person safe.

DON PEDRO.
Good angels guard it!
With whom, my gracious Lord—Ah! in what hands
Do you entrust her tender frame?

ALONZO.
Peace! peace!
Nor farther urge my fury—I suspend
Thy fate some moments: this last day is given thee
Yet to reflect; yet to efface thy crime
By prompt obedience. Should it pass in vain—
Thou art no more my son! Away.

DON PEDRO
, aside.
Too soon
I may return—more guilty than I go!

SCENE V.

ALONZO, the QUEEN, ELVIRA.
ALONZO.
Thou seest, O heaven! the horrors of my lot;
That I may soon, in this offending son,
Be forc'd to punish whom I hold most dear.
Oppose not now the Monarch to the Father!
My heart would be the first: imperious duty,
Alas! may drive me to assert the King.
Then teach submission to his stubborn will,
That he may yet repent, and I be blest!

SCENE VI.

The QUEEN, ELVIRA.
QUEEN.
You see, your eyes enjoy the cruel triumph
Of our despair. But you are now my prisoner,
[Guards enter.
And, with your head, shall answer what befalls!
For could your arts disarm Alonzo's wrath,
You never shall entreat a Mother's heart,
By jealous honor made inexorable.
Nay more; should I resign the loosen'd rein
To my full rage, one victim were too few!
The cruel Prince, who dares to stain our name
With this disgrace, may then—The blood forsakes
Your cheek at his imagin'd danger—Know,
And let it shake your inmost soul! the fear
You shew for him—but wings the fate of both!

SCENE VII.

ELVIRA.
I rise above all horrors for myself
Of torments or of death. Don Pedro's fate,
Inhuman queen! his fate alone can wound
Elvira's breast: her own she scorns to feel.
Ills, that but touch ourselves, all disappear;
For what we love, we only know to fear!