University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

MENDOZA, RAMIREZ.
RAMIREZ.
Condemn'd to die, you say?

MENDOZA.
This very moment
The fatal preparations are begun;
The gloomy pomp that shews us death more dreadful!
Surrounding guards, whose silence terrifies
Beyond the din of their conflicting arms;
The bloody theatre, with cypress hung—
Alas! the color that ten thousand mourners
Must shortly wear—And then the victim comes!
'Tis horrible to thought!

RAMIREZ.
Who has in charge
To see this murder done?

MENDOZA.
On me, my friend,
On me the cruel duty is impos'd
By our relentless Master.

RAMIREZ.
Is the hour
Appointed, and the place?

MENDOZA.
Both, both are fix'd:
And when the midnight-bell with mournful call
Tolls up the cloister'd Fathers of Saint Francis,
Who have been nam'd on his departing soul
To beg heaven's mercy—when that fatal warning
Has struck my ear, Don Pedro is brought forth.

RAMIREZ.
And whither then?

MENDOZA.
To that sequester'd spot,
Wall'd high around, where oft the noblest blood
Of Portugal has flow'd. 'Tis there the Prince
Must lose his head.

RAMIREZ.
Mine shall be risk'd, by heaven!
Nor mine alone: a thousand more shall fall,
Ere that inhuman sentence takes effect.
A deed like this will stain our hated annals
Thro all descending time. Let us prevent it.
The people, still tumultuous, like their sea,
May soon be blown into a second storm.
It shall be try'd.

MENDOZA.
You cast yourself away,
And serve not him your friendship aims to save.
The palace-gates are strongly barr'd; at each
A triple guard is planted: and the King
Commands, on pain of death, that none approach him.

RAMIREZ.
But sure these orders are not for the Queen:
And she, a woman, by those tender feelings,
That are her sex's glory, must be sway'd—
She moves this way, and with her, fair Almeyda.

SCENE II.

The QUEEN, ALMEYDA, MENDOZA,
RAMIREZ.
O Queen! and you, lov'd Princess! hear me speak—

QUEEN.
Withdraw at once.

RAMIREZ.
Don Pedro, gracious Mistress—

QUEEN.
Ha!—leave us—go.

RAMIREZ.
Heaven! in her latest hour,
When she would plead to thee, remember this!

SCENE III.

The QUEEN, ALMEYDA.
QUEEN.
Elvira see the King! What hast thou done?
Dishonor'd as we are, you seem to dread
The vengeance due to your disgrace and mine.
Far from resenting these repeated insults,
You, by your tears, solicite new and greater;
For they may live, the hated pair may live
To see our mutual shame, and triumph o'er it!

ALMEYDA.
Let not the pious meltings of compassion
Offend you, Madam. Let her virtue still
Be your Almeyda's happiness and pride.

QUEEN.
What is your aim? what visionary purpose
Deceives you into wishing they may meet?
'Tis madness all.

ALMEYDA.
When Lisbon first beheld
It blest your daughter's steps. As Peace and Ease
Came, her companions, shouting thousands rais'd
Her name to heaven, and hail'd their guardian-genius.
But what a peace, good Angels? writ in blood,
And seal'd with murder! Was I then but meant
The Messenger of heaven's severest vengeance?
To tear asunder nature's closest ties;
And by the Sire assassinate the Son?
'Tis more than horror! May Elvira's tears
Prevent these threaten'd mischiefs—

QUEEN.
May the rage,
This bosom swells with, rather be asswag'd
By seeing both expire! Rejected? heaven!
The daughter of a king! in whose high veins
Flows undebas'd from a long line of heroes
The noblest blood! Shall Europe hear it told,
She has been set at nought? Ha!—and for whom?
Degenerate boy! I, with my own, could purchase
His death, this moment!

ALMEYDA.
Do you then wish mine?

QUEEN.
Ah, can'st thou love him still?

ALMEYDA.
I still adore him,
Ungrateful, cruel as he is!

QUEEN.
O shame!
O fall ignoble from the high rais'd sense
Of that resentment, wrongs like ours demand,
Nay sanctify, and make our vengeance, virtue!
Can she, a child of mine, whose every pulse
Should beat with driving fury and disdain,
Whose bosom should expand to take in all
That brave revenge avows, thus melt away
In tears and sighs? like some fond village-maid
Beneath her willow, by the brook obscure
That soothes her amorous folly?

ALMEYDA.
O yet think,
There is revenge more noble, more divine,
That spreads no blush upon the injur'd cheek,
By rendering good for ill.

QUEEN.
My Ferdinand!
Son of thy mother's soul, when thou shalt know
Thy sister's abject spirit, thus resign'd
To injuries and scorn, thy breast will flame
With anger uncontroul'd! On thee alone
My hopes, my life depend—Who waits?—'Tis glory
To fall reveng'd.

GUARD.
Your pleasure, Madam?

QUEEN.
Go,
Call in th'Ambassador of Spain.

ALMEYDA.
Ah me,
Whence this new storm of passion?

Enter AMBASSADOR.
QUEEN.
You have had
Your audience. Then be gone; this moment go;
On all the wings of haste to Spain return:
And there, this letter, as you prize your head,
Deliver on the instant to my son.
Yet, stay—You may be useful, and inforce
With your best reason what my letter urges;
That he should arm incessantly, and lead
His troops the nearest road towards hated Lisbon.
Extremest need, mine and Almeyda's safety,
Requires he should. That writing will explain
What else remains.
Exit Ambassador.
My brain turns round—Ascend
From night eternal and profoundest hell,
Ye Powers of vengeance! Punish home with me
This object of my hate! thro all her frame
Spread fires unquench'd! then, with his funeral torch,
Let Death attend, to light her bridal bed!
And thus compleat my great revenge, as fits
A mother and a Queen!

SCENE IV.

ALMEDYA.
My blood stops short
And freezes in its course to hear her threats.
But love and rage distract her.

SCENE V.

ALONZO, ALMEYDA.
ALONZO.
Princess, yes,
Your tears have vanquish'd. I will hear Elvira:
But be most sure her hopes are empty air.
Leave me: she comes.

SCENE VI.

ALONZO, ELVIRA.
ELVIRA.
This moment, Sir,
This awful moment is, perhaps, the last
That e'er Elvira's voice shall reach your ear,
Or sight offend your eye—But let me now
Intreat this guard may go—He is already
Possess'd of what I purpose.

ALONZO.
Be it so.
Do what you have in charge.

ELVIRA.
Speed wing thy steps!
You have, against the voice of earth and heaven,
To day condemn'd your first, your only hope!
A Son who loves you, who reveres the voice
That dooms him to the block! an early Hero,
By you belov'd—O heaven!—and tho I see
Remorse sit sad and silent on your brow,
You yet devote this victim; that mankind
With dread amazement may revere the Justice,
They tremble to behold—You turn away—
May I proceed?

ALONZO.
Go on.

ELVIRA.
Thus far is well:
But then—'tis still the first, the law supreme,
On kings most binding, to be just in all.
Guilt may appear, where yet no crime is found;
A rebel, an ingrate, deserves to die.
And yet these names may not belong to him,
To your unhappy Son.

ALONZO.
Thy words are wild:
Despair and love thy reason have unsettled.

ELVIRA.
Ah no—If he, against the faith of treaties,
Refus'd Almeyda's hand, it was not, Sir—
Believe these tears—'twas not the crime suppos'd
Of disobedience—

ALONZO.
How!

ELVIRA.
And if he forc'd
These palace-gates, his noble soul abhorr'd
All criminal attempt against his king.
A word, a breath his innocence had prov'd:
But he, a hero in his cruel silence,
To save Elvira, greatly chose to die!
'Tis therefore mine, the sole remaining purpose
Of my last hour, to clear his injur'd name;
And lead you into truth. Don Pedro's faults
Were those of duty, Sir—He is my husband!

ALONZO.
Ha! husband! he! my son!—And dares thy fondness
Think, by discovery of this daring crime,
To move compassion? When no hope remains
Of grace to his offence, dost thou presume
On mercy for thy own acknowledg'd guilt?

ELVIRA.
I ask for none! my parting thoughts are fix'd
On something nobler, dearer far than life.
The rigid law, by you declar'd inviolable,
I only have transgress'd—

ALONZO.
True: and thy life
The penalty shall pay.

ELVIRA.
It is most just.
I bring no plea, I urge no vain defence,
That love for him—such love as would in heaven
Be held no crime—

ALONZO.
Away—that very love
Makes thee but still more guilty!

ELVIRA.
Sir, recall
The dreadful moment, when your court beheld
This Son, this blooming promise of a hero,
His eye extinguish'd and his fading cheek
Of its fresh rose forsaken, to the grave
Untimely sinking! and a father's tears
In hopeless silence streaming o'er his face!
I urge it not, that, to preserve his youth,
And save your only hope, I gave my hand
Where I had vow'd my heart—I urge not this:
But now at last devote myself for both!
In death exulting to have sav'd him twice!

ALONZO.
Thro all the horrors guilt has thrown around thee,
Thy virtue yet looks lovely—but in vain:
Thy crime and his stand manifest to view,
And what the laws exact shall be fulfill'd.

ELVIRA.
Just heaven! shouldst thou, when kings address thy throne
For mercy on their own offences, then
Be deaf to them, as he is now to me—
But on, my Lord; pursue these savage-maxims;
Without remorse consummate your revenge!
Yet, other victims, other heads attend,
To satiate its full fury—See, O King!
Lo! where they stand—
[Her two children are brought in by their Governess.
Acknowledge them for yours,
By dooming both to bleed!

ALONZO.
Ye holy Powers!
What do I see?

ELVIRA.
Yes, by one common fate,
Wife, children, husband—let us perish all!

ALONZO.
What say'st thou!—Justice! Mercy! how ye rend
My heart!

ELVIRA.
Forgive the language of despair.
My children, kneel with me. Your infant-tears
May wake at last the parent in his breast.
Sir, they are yours—behold them not as mine.
The law demands a victim: here, on me
Exhaust its utmost rage—but O, to these
A father save, and to yourself a son!
Yet some few moments from his ear conceal
Elvira's death—for should it reach him now,
His own too sure would follow—

ALONZO.
Call my son!
Fly, let him know—Elvira is his own!
My daughter—

ELVIRA.
O unutterable Joy!
Here at your feet, to heaven and you I pour
My grateful bosom—

ALONZO.
Nature! thou hast conquer'd.
I am a man, a father!—Rise, Elvira;
Live, and be happy long—O my dear children!
Take, take me all—

SCENE VII.

ALONZO, ELVIRA, DON PEDRO.
ALONZO.
My son!

DON PEDRO.
My King and father!
Elvira—from the grave to me restor'd!
To these despairing arms!—and you my little ones!

ELVIRA.
O I am blest—beyond all utterance blest!
And my transported heart—Ah me—

ALONZO.
Elvira!
Thy cheek is pale!

ELVIRA.
Oh I have death within me!

DON PEDRO.
This flood of Joy, my soul's best happiness,
O'erpowers thy tender frame.

ELVIRA.
Ah no, I burn:
A kindled furnace rages in my bosom—
Convulsions shake me—sweats of death bedew
My trembling limbs!

DON PEDRO.
O Source of life! look down
With pity on her—

ELVIRA.
Ha! a sudden night
Spreads dark around—You swim before my eyes—
Their light is lost!—but I will hold you fast—
Again I burn!

ALONZO.
O most inhuman Queen!
This Stygian draught, too sure, was by thy hand,
Thy fatal hand prepar'd.

DON PEDRO.
Did heaven look on
And suffer this?—Yet, by my soul's strong anguish!
Not she alone, her Spain shall weep in blood
This deed accurst!

ELVIRA.
'Tis past—Don Pedro, love
My memory—Alonzo, cherish these—
O my poor babes!—and bless their dying mother!
But that fair princess—yes, reward for me
Her nobleness of virtue—My lov'd Lord!
These arms would fold thee still—but Oh—

ALONZO.
She dies—
In that last sigh the gentle spirit fled!

DON PEDRO.
Mine shall rejoin it, ere it finds that heaven
Prepar'd for souls like hers—I will not live?
This sword restor'd—

ALONZO
, seizing his hand.
Away—Shall fury still
Sway all thy actions? No: reward her truth
A nobler way. These Infants claim thy care:
And thou must suffer life, to guide their steps
Safe from the snares that courtly Fraud and Falsehood
Spread daily in a youthful Prince's walk;
Spread for his ruin. And now, warn'd thyself,
Let all mankind, by one example, know,
From passions unrestrain'd what mischiefs grow!