University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A Hall of State.—The King seated on his Throne. The Nobles ranged on each side. Garcia, Anthonio, Benducar, Alonzo, and Attendants standing.
KING.
Here, in our Court, before the assembled Peers
Of Spain, Lord Garcia, freely speak your mind:
That if the Moor hath conquer'd, not by force,
Or skill superior, but by treachery
In your own troops or leaders, we may know
Our enemy betimes, nor waste abroad
The vengeance due at home.

GARCIA.
To your high mandate,
I bow with prompt obedience; and attach,
In virtue of mine office, Don Alonzo
As traitor to the State.—His skill is known;
His valour oft was tried, and never questioned;
'Till skill and valour were at length subdued
By Moorish hands, which dealt in bribes—not blows.

ALONZO.
In bribes!

GARCIA.
The word is harsh, I will confess;
Even as I speak, I taste its bitterness:
But truth must needs be spoken.

BENDUCAR.
Crush'd, you mean—
Stifled—dethroned—cast down, and trod upon
Like a base idol, when a statesman dares
To wrong an honest soldier.—You to cant
Of bribes! is there no blush beneath that skin?
You taste its bitterness!—the word should choak you.

GARCIA.
Again I do repeat my charge is such:
Upon what ground, if you will please to listen,
The proof shall tell.

KING.
What is Alonzo's plea?
Does he deny the accusation,
And rest upon his innocence?

ALONZO.
My judge,
My sovereign;—I would claim your pity first;
That here I stand the victim of foul arts
Practised against mine honour.—To be call'd
A traitor by a traitor, and accused
Of bartering for bribes my hard-earn'd fame,
My well-tried loyalty, my firm affection
To those who met the fight, as we meet friends,
With transport, when I led:—to hear this done
With cold formality, and to be constrain'd
To formal answer and smooth argument,
'Spite of the impulse which my innocence
Touches with fire;—to talk like struggling guilt
At odds with justice for its own escape,
Instead of rushing on the miscreant's throat
Whose calumny hath thus reduced me. These
Are degradations, sufferings, and wrongs,
To move a Monarch's pity.—If there be
A witness to be brought, e'en let him come—
I dare him. Yet, if falsehood hath a power,
Colleagued with arts of Hell, to vanquish truth,
And make me seem to be the thing I am not,
I ask no pity then, but such as arms
The gallant rider 'gainst his noble steed
Whose limbs have ta'en a hurt no salve can cure:
E'en kill me on the instant.

KING.
We will use
No word to favour or oppose the charge,
'Till, having heard the proof, we can proceed
To judge without the hazard of injustice.
Bring forth the witness.

GARCIA.
Here he comes, so please
My Royal Master.—

Enter Durazzo.
ALONZO.
How!—Durazzo—he!

BENDUCAR.
This!—what, is this your witness?—Garcia tell me—
Anthonio say—witness!—to what?—to acts
Done in the field, where he durst never peep?
This fellow! why, he never saw a battle
Save in a book, and then was thunder-struck.

KING.
My Lord Benducar, to your services,
And reverend age, we grant more license than
Your wisdom ought to stretch into abuse.
Our pleasure is that we will hear this man.
Know you the cause why summon'd thus you stand
Before us?

DURAZZO.
At my Sovereign's feet I kneel,
With heavy heart, to state such matter to
This grave assembly, as must needs affect
The fame of one exalted by the breath
Of noblest mention. If he fall through me,
From the high estimation which he holds
In right of past exploits, 'tis not that I
Am envious, and would wrong him, but that he
Was reckless, and hath wrong'd his own repute,
Discarding fame for lucre. Of myself,
'Tis true, as hath been said in scorn, I was not
Eye-witness to the conduct of the field;
They took good care of that; but o'er the grave
There is a lamp lit up by destiny,
In whose reflective and unnatural light
The things gone by are shadow'd; Look, Alonzo;
Know you that writing.

[Shewing a packet.
ALONZO.
It should be Vincenzo's;
The gallant officer who served me well
Even to the last. O! would that he were here
To answer from his knowledge the invention
Of my accusers.

DURAZZO.
To the eye of power
And justice I commit the document,
Fall vengeance where it may!

[Gives the packet to the King.
KING
—(reads.)
Ha! what is here?
Alonzo, was this well?

DURAZZO.
He knew the writer,
Spoke praisingly of his deserts but now,
Invoked his knowledge to decide the case:—
He will not censure whom he praised before,
Nor unsay what he said authenticate
Of the true record which condemns him.

ALONZO.
How!
I'll not believe mine ears, that this is so
May I entreat to look upon the paper—
If I can see.

[The King gives him the packet.
DURAZZO
—(aside.)
My heart is strongly moved
At his despair. But, when I think of spurns,
And blows, and the dependance of my hope,
In this bad course alone assigned to thrive,
'Tis firm again. He reads.

ALONZO
—(reading.)
“Fly to the King,
“And tell him, on the dying word of one
“Who shed his blood for Spain, that now too late
“Mine eyes are open'd to Alonzo's baseness.—
“'Tis certain he was bribed, and we betray'd,
“Surrender'd, sold;—I can no more, for death
“Arrests my hand. Farewell! and deem no risk
“Too great to run, that may preserve your country.”
I know not what to say—my senses turn
Against their owner. I could swear it was
His writing; but my knowledge of his mind,
His heart, his glorious spirit, gives the lie
To my astonish'd vision. Does it stand
To reason, that the comrade who made choice
To die with me, when thousands fled the field,
Would, on the brink and threshold of his grave,
Stop, and turn round, to slander whom he fought for?
I'll not believe it.

BENDUCAR.
No; nor I—nor any.
'Tis false,—'tis forged,—a calumny against
The living and the dead. Observe its structure:
No circumstance detail'd; no fact set forth
With which to grapple; but an accusation,
Whose broad unmeaning face this artist here
Would fain bedaub with false particulars
To his own vicious liking. Fie upon't,
This is a trick of cunning to avoid
Detection, while it murders in the day.

DURAZZO.
When I adduce such false particulars,
Expose—denounce them. I have utter'd none,
Nor shall I. If the accusation hangs
But loosely, 'tis good reason why Alonzo
Should live, as in my soul I wish he may:
But is it cause why he should still enjoy
The Royal confidence? and, at the head
Of armies, strike the blow, that must be nerved
With honest, earnest, unsuspected zeal
To reach the heart of opposition, and
Let out the blood of enemies? Besides,
Look to the parts beyond dispute. Who fell?
Those who confided in the General:
And who escaped?—those who suspected him,
And, shame to say, himself.

ALONZO.
Villain, 'tis false;
There is no shame in fighting to the last,
And being saved with honour. Is the will
Of Heaven a proof against me? By your leave—
[Snatches Benducar's sword.
There is a stretch of patience guilty-like—
I'll cut the slanderer down.

BENDUCAR.
Consider, man,
[Holding Alonzo.
The place—the presence.

ALONZO.
Let my fury go.

BENDUCAR.
We are but two.

ALONZO.
And if but one, I care not.
What should I fear, who have a sword—a hand—
A heart—a quarrel—and—an injury!
O! 'tis the lion's fury, not his size,
That makes the forest tremble.

[Breaking from him.
ALL.
Treason! treason!

[Rising from their seats.
DURAZZO.
He threats the King.

ALONZO.
Abhorred fiend, thou liest.
Grant me your pardon, Sire; 'twas want of patience,
Not of respect.

DURAZZO.
Where patience is respect.

BENDUCAR.
I pray your Majesty forgive his rashness.

ALONZO.
I pray your Majesty pronounce my doom,
Even as your thought inclines. If I'm a traitor,
Give me the traitor's fate: if not, acquit me.
That my brave comrades fell—that I surviv'd—
Is true; and if it be a crime in one
To 'scape, who never turn'd his back on danger,
'Tis meet that I should forfeit to the law
The penalty of such offending.

DURAZZO.
I have no more to say: my speech is there—
That paper holds it: yet, my gracious master,
If there be aught besides you wish to learn,
Touching the manner—how it came to hand—
Who brought it—who was present when Vincenzo
Delivered it—and such corroborants,—
I will relate them now in open court;
Or, if it better please, at other time,
And to your private ear.

BENDUCAR.
What means the slave?
Kings have no private ears, or should have none.

KING.
Here break we up the court to meditate
Our final sentence. Meanwhile thou, Durazzo,
Attend us to our closet, where alone
We have some matter to investigate
Touching this cause; the rest remain behind.

[Exeunt King and Durazzo.
BENDUCAR.
(Aside to Alonzo)
Our violence hath ruin'd all.

ALONZO.
No matter,—
They know our minds.

BENDUCAR.
I fear the King is wroth.

ALONZO.
I fear it not, for I am innocent.

GARCIA.
My Lord Benducar.

BENDUCAR.
Did you name my name?

GARCIA.
It is not seemly, that a man of your
Repute should hold the prisoner in regard,
'Till his acquittal warrant such communion.

BENDUCAR.
Indeed!

ANTHONIO.
'Tis not the practice.

BENDUCAR.
May be not
The practice now. Yet 'twas a good old rule
That made necessity the test of friendship.
At my age habit has an awkward trick
Of putting off the fashions of the time,
To wear misused virtue, though 'tis laughed at.

GARCIA.
The Herald comes.

ALONZO.
I can look up and hear him.

Enter Herald.
HERALD.
Attend ye all the missive of the King.
In favour to Alonzo's past exploits,
The sentence is not death, but banishment,
To be in execution ere the night
Hath thinn'd Grenada's streets. This proclamation
Gives the irrevocable force of law
To our dread monarch's breath.

ALL.
A just award!

ALONZO.
Ay, 'tis a fitting punishment for those
Who sell their sinews to ingratitude.

BENDUCAR.
Cheer up, my son; this cruel injury
Shall bear my comment with it. Ere the night,
My daughter's hand is thine.

ALONZO.
My noble friend,
My father, I'll endure mankind for thee
With all their crawling vices. Come, away!

BENDUCAR.
Give me but leave to spend one hearty curse
On those deservers.

GARCIA.
We disdain your curse.

ALONZO.
You may:—he has not one to match your baseness.

BENDUCAR.
I have it in my heart—in gall—in venom,—
But language is too weak. Hear, then, thou Power
Who see'st it in its working. Let it fall
With unexpressive horror on their heads,
That the fierce hope which now dries up my tongue
May stick to them, like locusts to the grain,
That never more can nourish, nor be nourish'd.