University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Scene the Palace.
Enter Orazia.
Oh! Unexpected day of grief and joy!
My child, my child!—I have not yet forgot
To shed the tear of natural affection,
To know for whom I bore the child-bed pang;
I am not grown the horror of the world.—

Enter Orellana.
Orel.
Alas! all's lost—Don Carlos rages;—Stern Pizarro
Thirsts for Alzuma's blood—

Orazia.
A mother's love
Shall still protect her offspring—Oh! My daughter,
Affection long an alien to this heart,
Gushes in tumult thro' each panting vein.
Despair and anguish too o'erwhelm my spirits—
Yet, Oh! returning nature! yet thy griefs,
Thy very tears are tinctur'd still with joy!
'Tis misery delightful—

Orel.
Yet ev'n now,
The fell Gonzalez leads Alzuma forth.
Ah! whither do they lead him?

Orazia.
'Tis to me
They lead your brother forth—one interview
Unconscious of his name Pizarro grants.
Heav'ns! What an interview!—A son enslav'd,
And a fond mother, who usurps his rights!—
I cannot see my child!—And yet I must,
I will behold him!—Hear his sad, sad story,
Gaze on each feature—clasp him to my heart,
And perish with him, if he's doom'd to bleed.—
Thou fly to Carlos,—soothe his troubled mind;
Exert your influence, or your brother's lost.
Each moment's big with with death.—

Orel.
Protect him, Gods!
Now virtue struggling in the last extreme
Calls for your guardian care.

[Exit.
Orazia.
Ye blended colours, both of guilt and virtue,
Ye strong emotions mix'd of grief and joy
Oh! How your conflict racks my tortur'd soul!—

Enter Gonzalez.
Gonza.
The pris'ner from his dungeon waits your will.

Orazia.
Give him admittance. [Exit Gonzales]
Now all gracious Heav'n,
Support a mother;—aid me; touch my lips
With thy resistless energy of speech,
That I may calm the mighty storm of passions,
And reconcile a son to life and truth.

Enter Alzuma.
Orazia.
His awful stern regard—

Alzuma.
My firmness fails,
And guilty as she is, yet filial love,
Yet nature tells me, she's my mother still.

Orazia.
Approach my son—Embrace your—

Alzuma.
Conscious shame,
The sense of vile misdeeds—yes, goading conscience
Choaks up thy voice, and tells thee that thou art—

Orazia.
A tyrant! an usurper!—That's the name
Of horror thou would'st utter—yet Orazia
Is not so far abandon'd o'er to guilt,
But my heart bounds with transport, even thus
At length to see my son—You weep Alzuma—

Alzuma.
Thou source of light!—Bright majesty of Heav'n!
Thee I attest—from thee implore forgiveness
That thus I own a traitress; that these tears
Confess the sacred character of son
You stamp'd upon my nature.—

Orazia.
Oh! Alzuma,
Did I command thy murder?—Earth and Heav'n!
A mother ready to imbrue her hands
In her child's—horror!—Why did'st thou conceal
The secret from me?—Why not rush for shelter
To these maternal arms?—But oh! I knew thee;
Parental instinct gave the sure alarm,
And now to hear thee, view thee thus,—it wakes
Unutterable throbbings in my breast.

Alzuma.
Well may'st thou view me; well may'st thou survey
Thy son return'd!—He brings no foul dishonour—
But thou—can'st thou—indelible reproach!—
Oh! stain to virtue!—rage and indignation
Burn in my soul, and kindle madness there.

Orazia.
Let not impetuous rage disturb thy reason.
Heav'n on the Spaniards arms hath smil'd success;
Thence on Peru shone forth the ray of truth,
Sublimer faith, and pure exalted morals.—

Alzuma.
Morals!—Each word plants daggers in my heart—
Oh! Give me daggers rather; arm my hand
With their own deathful steel, that I may hold it
Crimson and glowing with the tyrant's blood,
Aloft to view, and call my country free.

Orazia.
Controul this phrenzy—it were impious murder—

Alzuma.
Murder! a sacrifice! a glorious sacrifice!
To injured men, and violated laws.—
What! he that kill'd my father?
And yet she pleads a fell destroyer's cause!
Hold heart-strings, crack not yet—a curs'd invader,
Who thins the race of man!—Ev'n now the cry
Of infants murder'd at the fost'ring breast,
The shrieks of virgins, dying heroes groans
Sound in my ear—imperial palaces,
The temples of our gods all wrapt in fire!
Oh! image not, my soul, the horrid scene.

Orazia.
I cannot bear his strong, his keen reproach.

Alzuma.
Yet wedded to him!—well those tears may gush,
Well may those blushes glow upon thy cheek.
Detested perfidy!—My father's heart,
That heart, which ever beat with love of thee,
Dust as it is, awakens in his tomb,
Alive and sensible to guilt like thine;
It stirs, it rouzes in the shroud of death,
With horror at thy name, and feels it's pangs,
It's tortures o'er again.

Orazia.
Obdurate son!
Thus to transfix, and rend a mother's heart.—

Alzuma.
Am I upon a bed of roses?—Lo! in chains
My bleeding country! mark in ev'ry region
The desolation that lays waste the land!

Orazia.
Why wilt thou urge me to despair and horror?
Oh! kill me rather; let the deadly point
Pierce to my heart; I'll arm thee for the blow.
Avenge my crime; avenge your country's fall.

Alzuma.
What says Orazia?

Orazia.
Stifle in my blood
The pious love I bear the Christian's God.

Alzuma.
Would'st thou debase me to the Spaniard's guilt?
If thou indeed believ'st the Christian's God,
It is not mine to stab for human error.
Farewell! Farewell!—Live happy if thou can'st,
Oh! Heav'ns, if happiness can dwell with guilt.—

[Going.
Orazia.
Yet stay, my son—one moment—

Alzuma.
Pow'rful nature!—
Thy tender strugglings—Oh! While thus thy hand
I bathe with tears, and print my kisses on it,
Let me implore thee, own your gods again,
My father's spirit calls—the ghastly shades
Of martyr'd millions, martyr'd for their faith,
All lift their hands and call aloud for vengeance.—

Orazia.
Arise, my son, arise—

Alzuma.
Let me not sue,
And clasp your knee in vain—

Orazia.
Oh! Strong contention
'Twixt grace and nature, 'twixt my God and thee!

Alzuma.
Resume your dignity, your native honour—

Orazia.
But Heav'n prevails—

Alzuma.
Think of your bleeding country—

Orazia.
I cannot, must not hear thee—Oh! Alzuma
Thy mind is lost in darkness—

Alzuma.
How!—

Orazia.
Thy gods
Are superstition's dreams—

Alzuma.
Away—no more—
[Rising hastily.
I would not hear the voice of profanation—
Go tell your tyrant, all his threats are vain—
Tho' sprung from thee I still can die with glory—
Farewell! we part for ever—

Orazia,
Hear me—hear—

Alzuma.
Oh! Heav'ns—Orazia—'tis the last, last time
That e'er—may the just gods forgive thee all—

[Exit.
Orazia.
Go, cruel, fierce, inexorable son!
Go, since thou wilt, to ruin, rush on death—
'Twill break thy miserable mother's heart.—

Orazia, and Don Carlos.
Orazia.
Well, Sir, Pizarro now has heard your counsel.

Carlos.
And Orellana has heard thy advice;
That Indian captive too has heard you;—all
Thy arts are known; thy fair hypocrisy
To varnish treason.

Orazia.
Oh! Thou wrong'st me much;—
Another cause—a cause of tend'rest import;
It is the cause of ev'ry Christian virtue;
Love, justice, and humanity are in it;
All that the earth holds dear, and heav'n approves.

Carlos.
Treason, rebellion, perfidy are in it.
For Orellana's husband all your cares
Are tremblingly alive.—This very day,
But for thy treachery, the slave had died.

Orazia.
Misguided youth!—Alas! you little know
Th'eternal bar divine and human laws
Have fix'd between them—Orellana's husband!
Oh! no—believe it not—

Carlos.
And wherefore then
Alarm'd and wild with fear?—why ev'ry art
Of tears, of shrieks, and female lamentation,
To snatch the rebel from the stroke of justice.

Orazia.
Alas! these tears flow from the tend'rest source
That wakes soft pity in the human heart.
Carlos—I cannot speak—

Carlos.
Ha! Now by Heav'n
I see it all—guilt can no more dissemble—
That look betrays the secrets of the heart.—
The fraud stands manifest to view—

Orazia.
Yet hear me,
Oh! Carlos, hear me, nor afflict thy self
With false, with vain surmise—Orazia's cares
Are busy for the wretched—

Carlos.
Has she then,
Perfidious fair!—has Orellana married
That base-born peasant?—And does he hope
With her, in evil hour, to claim the crown?
That is your aim; for that I am deceiv'd—
That care you colour with the specious name
Of generous sympathy for human kind.

Orazia.
I feel it here—These are unbidden drops—
Tis you, rash youth, you, Carlos, that can give
Fair virtue's semblance to each wild emotion
That prompts the sudden deed—ere now 'twas love,
That tyrant of thy soul, capricious love,
Nay, gen'rous if you will; 'twas that which sav'd
The lives of men, if Orellana smil'd;
And now she looks averse, the baleful charm
Still shoots delicious poison thro' thy soul,
And persecuted men must pay the forfeit
Of maiden blushes, and of coy disdain.

Carlos.
Think'st thou Don Carlos means to live the slave
Of idle charms, and tyrant beauty's frown?
No—let her charms neglected fade and perish.
May sorrow wither ev'ry nameless grace
That revell'd once in those deluding eyes.
Then let her lover gaze on faded beauty;
Let him enjoy—Oh! no—the slave shall die—
Then shall his pale inanimated corse
Glare in her view, an offering from Don Carlos,
The token of his love.

Orazia.
Away; no more;
Inhuman that thou art—

Carlos.
Then let her shriek,
And rend her hair, and to his clay cold breast
Rivet her panting bosom—no! the traitress
Shall to the altar—thou shalt lead her thither,
And there her blood shall expiate her guilt.

Orazia.
Thou tiger nurs'd with gore! away, nor dare
With savage threats to wound a mother's ear.

Carlos.
The storm is gather'd, and the thunder soon
Shall burst in ruin on their guilty heads.

[Exit.
Orazia.
Inhuman barb'rous man!—And must I lead
Midst songs of triumph, and thro' festive bands,
My daughter crown'd with garlands to the altar?
Shall there the priest, fell minister of wrath,
Force her to nuptials, which her soul abhors,
Which never—No—she'll perish rather—first
Give to the cruelax that tender form!
And must her mother, must I then return
Alone—heart broken—desolate—without
My child?—thro' arches rais'd with pomp for her?
Thro' ways still redolent of ev'ry flow'r,
Which, as she went, they strew'd beneath her feet?
I will not lead her—no—she shall not go—
Alzuma too—Oh! misery supreme!
Shall he too bleed?—Thou murd'rer! hold thy hand—
It is Orazia's blood thou shed'st—the God,
Who died for all, will not demand his life!—
He speaks—he menaces—but see, see there!—
He dies, he dies!

Enter Orellana.
Orazia.
Who's there?—What would'st thou?—ha!

Orel.
Haste thee, Orazia, haste, and instant think,
Think of some means to ward th'impending stroke.
Enraq'd Pizarro comes;—Avow your son;
Peru's undoubted heir.—

Orazia.
It must not be—
That fatal truth would overwhelm us all—
Distraction—nought remains—no pow'r can save him.

Enter Pizarro, Don Carlos, &c.
Pizarro.
Yes, bring the traitor forth—the sanctity
Of laws, the policy of our new state
Forbid all dull delay—

Enter Alzuma, Gonzalez and Guards.
Orazia.
Angels of light protect him—Save my son.

[Aside.
Pizarro.
That once again I deign to parley with thee,
'Tis gentle pity prompts—take heed, rash youth,
Or certain death—

Alzuma.
Death is the only boon
That Spain can give, or I will deign to take.
Come bloody bigot!—Reverend assassin!
Come on at once—here wreak thy pious rage,
And do a murder in the name of heav'n!

Pizarro.
Dost thou reproach us? Thou, who oft hast seen
Blind superstition offer human victims,
To your own senseless, to your monstrous idols?

Alzuma.
Polish'd barbarian!—What dost thou do less?—

Pizarro.
Beware, not tempt my vengeance!

Alzuma.
Thou art he,
Who come'st to teach thy doctrine sword in hand,
To tyrannize our souls; from free-born men
Withhold the sacred privilege of thinking.
Thou hast unchain'd, to spread destruction round,
Two fiends accurst; Lo! where insatiate avarice
Enslaves mankind! Lo! Spanish hierarchy
Erects her scarlet head; with pious rage
Bears in her breast a poniard, and with blood
Incarnadines the altar of her god.

Pizarro.
Slave mark my words.—No more I'll waste the hours
In vain debate—Resign thyself to Spain;
Abjure thy errors, and embrace the truth,
Or else this moment sweeps thee from my sight,
To die, in view of thy deluded friends,
A terrible example of our vengeance.

Orazia.
No, by the pow'rs above he shall not die.
The voice of heav'n restrains the murd'rer's hand,
A voice that's heard thro' all the peopled earth,
Resounding to the limits of the world.

Pizarro.
Beware, beware, Orazia!—

Carlos.
Still she favours
That insolent, who spurns the light of heav'n.

Orazia.
Oh! 'tis the light of heav'n informs my soul.
These strong emotions by the Pow'r Supreme
Were planted here—The spirit that impels
To blood and murder, cannot be from heav'n.
Nature, thou lead'st me on—my child, my chil—
I will protect thee—Now, inhuman men,
Now come, and tear him from a mother's arms.

Orel.
Yes, both, my brother—both will perish with thee.

Pizarro.
By heav'n this treason!—

Carlos.
Orellana's brother!
And not her husband!—Then my heart's at peace.

[Aside.
Pizarro.
What means this myst'ry?—Say, art thou Alzuma?

Alzuma.
Behold me, Spaniard; let thine eye survey me—
Shrinks not thy heart within thee?—Read'st thou not
A royalty of nature here?

Pizarro.
Forthwith
Say wilt thou take thy life on our conditions?

Alzuma.
There are conditions that may win my soul
Not wholly to abhor thee.

Pizarro.
Name thy terms!

Alzuma.
Lay down at once the persecuting sword,
Relieve from slavery a groaning world,
Ask what we suffer, not what we believe,
Display your morals, not your bigot faith.
If avarice is your god, take gold enough;
Freight well your ships, and may propitious gales
In safety waft you to your native shores.
That done—in time we may perhaps forget,
We may at least forgive you.

Pizarro.
Vanquish'd slave!
And to a conqueror dar'st thou thus to utter
Thy stubborn pride!

Alzuma.
Back to your native shores!
What do you here, amidst a virtuous race?

Pizarro.
The laws of conquest, and the laws of Spain—

Alzuma.
And dar'st thou, homicide, alledge the laws?
The laws of Spain—know there's a prior law,
To which weak mortals are not train'd, but born;
Not form'd by science, but endow'd by instinct,
Great nature's law!—that best, that surest guide;
That emanation from the pow'rs above;
O'er all diffus'd, immutable, eternal!
This who shall silence, who shall dare repeal?
Who strives to do it abdicates his nature;
Renounces all the honours of his being,
And by the act,—tho' justice ne'er o'ertake him,
Pays full atonement:—He's a wretch indeed.

Pizarro.
I'll hear no more; since thus thy heart is steel'd,
Thus obstinately fix'd in wilfull guilt,
The justice that pronounc'd thy father's doom,
Awaits thy crimes.—No dark assassin's stab
Ended his days:—To our tribunal call'd
In full assembly of the conquering chiefs
He was arraign'd, was heard, and died for treason
To Spain's imperial crown.

Carlos.
And shall that mockery,
That stain to justice, that black scene of horror
Be acted o'er again?

Pizarro.
And dost thou too,
Dost thou rebel, confed'rate in their guilt!
Our will is fix'd:—ere yonder sun decline,
Hear me thou slave!—or yield to truth and Spain,
Or else yon sun—that idol of your worship,
Shall see thee on the rack in pangs expire.

[Exit.
Carlos.
Thou brave heroic youth, thy ev'ry virtue
Demands my wonder—by yon heav'n I swear
Thou shalt not suffer; my soul eager pants
To know, to love, to burn in friendship with thee.

[Exit.
Ora.
Alzuma—Oh! my son—in this distress
How shall the wretched mother save her child?

Alzuma.
Waste not a thought on me; thy own misdeeds,
Repent of them; and since the gods withhold
A brave revenge, 'tis left us still to die,
And greatly perish in our country's ruin.

Gon.
You must not linger here: my duty bids me
Convey thee hence.

Ora.
Thou busy meddler!—here
Orazia now commands—I lead him forth.
And who shall dare oppose a mother's voice?

[Exit with Alzuma.
Orel.
Yet grant us vengeance, heav'n; Oh! give us still
To conquer ev'n in death, then mix triumphant,
With pensive ghosts, and roam the shadowy plain,
Where all is peace, all bliss in endless store,
And no pernicious Spaniard thirsts for gold.