University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Street.
Enter Two Nobles.
FIRST NOBLE.
'Tis passing strange, the King should so degrade
The rank of our nobility, to make
A present on't to one so meanly born—
For such a service too!

SECOND NOBLE.
There must be more
In this than we have heard. But is it certain
Durazzo claims equality with us,
And we must bear it?

FIRST NOBLE.
Some time since I join'd
The Council, in whose presence he was call'd,
And there saluted with his proud additions
By Royal mandate.

SECOND NOBLE.
'Tis a mockery,
But let us farther learn, before we give
Our indignation words.

FIRST NOBLE.
I go with you.

[Exeunt.
Enter Garcia and Anthonio.
ANTHONIO.
So this is the humility we thought
To make account of.

GARCIA.
Nay, 'twill serve our cause,
By spreading discontent: wherefore, though harsh
And galling to our pride, our interest
May stomach it.

ANTHONIO.
But what pretence—what show
Of reason, can the King advance to those
Who have no deep designs to reconcile
Their feelings?

GARCIA.
More than you would guess, Anthonio;
For now it so turns out, that, having gain'd
The Monarch's favour, in obtaining which
Durazzo's smooth devices were employ'd
To shut our eyes, and push us on before
As instruments, not guides, he proves himself
Descended of a stock ennobled once;
And shews the claim of right to wear the title.
You've heard of Lord Gonsalvo?

ANTHONIO.
Many times.

GARCIA.
An age hath 'lapsed since he for practices
Of magic science, which the people loathe—
The law forbids—religion execrates—
Was of his rank deprived, and banish'd hence
A wanderer.

ANTHONIO.
So far I know the fate
Of that corrupted house.

GARCIA.
The exile lived
A careful life; and, dying, left his son,
Durazzo's father, what his prudence saved
From sequestration. Some while since the son
Died also, which brings down their history
Nigh to the point we speak of.

ANTHONIO.
But how came
Durazzo to conceal his birth so long;
Seeing the declaration must have helped
His project more than silence?

GARCIA.
That he saw not,
But rather saw the opposite, and kept
The pulse of his ambition down so low,
That none could say “he 's feverish;”—nay, he had
Some reason, too.

ANTHONIO.
What reason?

GARCIA.
Ere he changed
Italian skies for Spanish, in pursuit
Of his design, he task'd a beldam's skill
To prophesy of the event.

ANTHONIO.
The taint
Was in the race. What said his counsellor?

GARCIA.
Foretold the prosperous issue of his cause,
But one condition nam'd;—that he should keep
The secret of his birth as close as frost
Knits up the waters, 'till by cunning, or
By chance, he found admittance to the king,
And then to speak.

ANTHONIO.
'Twas singular.

GARCIA.
She said,
Moreover, that if he to the other ears
Than those of Majesty first told his tale,
The gates of hope would shut on his endeavour.
He took her word, and triumph'd.

ANTHONIO.
Is the king
Advised of this?

GARCIA.
He is: 'twas from his lips
I heard it now; he from Durazzo's own:
But mark what I have since resolved upon.
'Tis needful to our safety that his pride
Should pay a tribute to our influence.
Durazzo mounts; had he but wings to fly,
He'd bear his very appetites to Heaven,
And slake his thirst i' the clouds. I'll touch his temper.

ANTHONIO.
But how proceed?

GARCIA.
E'en now I'm on my way
To meet him in his home, where, putting off
All ceremony, I will hold myself
As great ones o'er inferiors dominate.

ANTHONIO.
And will he brook your haughty carriage tamely?

GARCIA.
It shall be tried, at least. Do you, my friend,
Meanwhile await the coming of our spies:
I look for notice of the Moor's approach
At every new arrival.

ANTHONIO.
You shall find
My zeal awake.

GARCIA.
Anon we'll meet again.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in Durazzo's House.
Enter Durazzo splendidly attired, followed by Perez.
DURAZZO.
Now Perez, give your happy master joy,
And change the title of your reverence
To suit his new condition. I am come,
Ennobled by the King, to mate with greatness.

PEREZ.
Thank Heaven, I live to call you lord; therefore,
My Lord, I give you joy.

DURAZZO.
Proclaim it far,
That those who mock'd my humble state may gnaw
Their lips with envy. 'Tis not that I prize
The empty title for its empty sake;
'Tis but a phrase: yet, as the world is caught
With syllables, the phrase hath value in't,
And I would give it swelling currency
Throughout the realm.

PEREZ.
It shall not lack my voice.

DURAZZO.
I met a noble as I came, who thought
To look me out of favour with myself,
As he was wont to do. My soul was nigh
To burst its mortal bound as I rebuked him—
Such transport was in pride.

PEREZ.
It must be sweet
To those who long have felt depression sorely.

DURAZZO.
Ay, there you guess aright; contempt should goad
To rouse it to its proper vehemence.
The vulgar animal we tie by day,
Keeps fiercer watch at night, and nobler brutes
Catch vigour from abuses. Feed the lion—
He's tame; 'tis famine lights a soul of fire
Within his ribs, and crowns the savage, king!

PEREZ.
E'en so, my Lord. But yonder look, where comes
Don Garcia through the vestibule.

DURAZZO.
Depart
[Exit Perez.
And let us be alone. What! would he break
On my retirement rudely thus uncall'd—
No leave obtain'd—no question ask'd; but in,
As if I kept a tavern for his highness?

Enter Garcia.
GARCIA.
Durazzo!

DURAZZO.
Garcia!

GARCIA.
How, my Lord?

DURAZZO.
My Lord
Again, or Garcia, as you chuse to speak,
Addressing me.

GARCIA.
'Tis bold, Sir,—nay, methinks
You look but slightingly upon your patron.

DURAZZO.
My patron!

GARCIA.
I was so this morning.

DURAZZO.
True—
But see, 'tis mid-day now. Think'st thou you orb,
Who, on his glorious round, keeps half our earth
For ever in his beam, beholds no changes
In this diurnal planet, but the lapse
Of growing hours and seasons?—think again;
Trust me, there are more strange vicissitudes
Than one man standing by another's side,
Who never was above him, but in fortune.

GARCIA.
I would keep down this swelling of my heart
To reason calmly with your haughtiness.

DURAZZO.
My haughtiness!

GARCIA.
Ay, haughtiness; what else
Could breed this lofty tone? Those trappings, too,
But ill become the state of yesterday.

DURAZZO.
I wore them not till yesterday was gone.

GARCIA.
And should not, till the memory had pass'd
Into oblivion.

DURAZZO.
By your favour, Sir,
'Tis sometimes prudent to adorn our limbs,
That fools, who look no deeper, thence may see
We mean to be respected.

GARCIA.
But to change,
As you have done, in dress, in manner, word,
And action, from the lowly thing you have been,
So suddenly, as if the flash of fortune
Had set your soul and body in a flame,
Is matter more for mirth than deference.

DURAZZO.
Indeed!

GARCIA.
The world will laugh.

DURAZZO.
Advise the world
It laugh not out too loud.

GARCIA.
You would not make
So huge a sacrifice as all mankind
To your voracious anger.

DURAZZO.
I might chance
To know some voices in the jubilee,
And make amusement danger to the sharers.
Erewhile my pride was like an idle blade
That rusted in the scabbard; now 'tis drawn,
And flourish'd o'er your heads—beware of it.

GARCIA.
Have you not crawl'd your way to this?

DURAZZO.
'Twas fate
Ordain'd it so; but I have broke her spells,
And here stand up for my prerogative,
Enlarged, and free to act. What I have done
And suffer'd was necessity; what more
I do, shall be from choice, and speak the mind
Within me noble. But were I as vile
In birth, as penury begot on meanness,
Still, having won my place, I would assume
Its usage, honours, titles, and respects,
And in the teeth of scorn be dignified.

GARCIA.
'Twere fitting more such uprise to be humble.

DURAZZO.
How! by what process of the intellect
Prove you this fitness? Do we not go arm'd
Into the field of arms; and shall we not
Tread proudly in the palaces of pride?
I come amongst you a competitor,
To answer taunts with tauntings. When the wind
Scolds at the sea, the sea rebukes the wind
With lips of foam; and when a comet starts
Into our system, angrily he glares,
That the bright multitude of stars turn pale
To see the mighty stranger pass along.

GARCIA.
Yet hear me patiently.—Your tale this morning
Hath wrought a purpose useful to the State.
Provoke not inquisition, by the spurns
You cast on others, lest yourself be found
No purer than you should, and what you've done
Be, by your rashness, undone.

DURAZZO.
Have you aught
To urge besides?

GARCIA.
But to apply the rule.
Let no vindictive spirit 'gainst Benducar
Betray your passion to an act of rash
Revenge.—Bethink you, I have pass'd my word
That in due time he shall submit to you:
Bethink,—and pause.

DURAZZO.
O! as the insult fell
On me, I know how calmly you can bear it;
Nor have I yet forgot, how light you made
This morning of the blow; as if it were
A gnat that stung my flesh.—The hand which strikes
Down from the clouds, may execute unquestion'd
The purposes of its omnipotence:—
But that whose force a mortal shoulder wields,
Strikes at its peril, and is answerable
To God and man.

GARCIA.
Yet be advised, and push not
Your rage too far.

DURAZZO.
Revenge is not too far;
'Tis the next neighbour of oppression.

GARCIA.
Be it;
Still should it be discreet.—The noblest natures
Look down upon its dictates as beneath 'em.

DURAZZO.
Why, Hannibal had somewhat of a name:
He took it upon trust; his father gave it;
And, on the hot religion of his soul,
Burn'd by an oath the curse of haughty Rome.
He cherish'd it—fought for it—bled for it;—
There was revenge.

GARCIA.
Not such was Cæsar.

DURAZZO.
No!
But mark the difference: he died with looks
Of mild reproach, not anger: having died,
As if reflection crept into his urn,
He roused him thence to meet at Philippi
With Brutus, and direct his last despair.
There was revenge again. But why appeal
To instances? or if to instances,
Why not to yourself? Ask your own heart
What you would give to crush me into nothing;
Though I have flung no insult but surprise
Into your face, proving myself a man?

GARCIA.
I came not here to listen to this rudeness.

DURAZZO.
Nay, I've some notion of the cause that brought you.
Was it to try the terror of your frown?

GARCIA.
Did I not raise you—make you what you are?

DURAZZO.
With the King's help.

GARCIA.
You sneer, but it was so.

DURAZZO.
Went your intention with it, when you knew not
My object nor my claim?

GARCIA.
No matter now;
'Tis now enough to wonder at your fortunes.

DURAZZO.
You see in what a changeful world we live:
The beggar of to-day is rich to-morrow;
The rich man poor—despised; for circumstance
Hath, as it were, a charter from the Gods
To keep us on the stir for evermore.

GARCIA.
Your comment is a grave one.

DURAZZO.
Hear it to
The end, though. When you see the prosperous fall,
You look upon 'em with an alter'd brow,—
Indifferent, if not scornful: when you find
The lowly thrive, you still would keep your frown,
As if you learnt to nod from Jupiter,
Chose you to use it. Why this inconsistence?
Your wants, your wishes change; your habits change;
Your passions have their date and limit fix'd,
When they give place to others: nay, still more,
Your very wisdom, veering like the wind,
Throws maxims overboard, to take in new,
And so sets sail for change;—your projects, plans,
Performances, affections, friendships, change:
Why not your arrogance—your vanity?

GARCIA.
I'll hear no more.

DURAZZO.
Go home, and ponder on't.
[Exit Garcia.
So; this is well. But next to take some course,
Such as may mar the nuptials I have heard of,
And lay Benducar prostrate at my feet.
[Exit Durazzo.

SCENE III.

An Apartment in Benducar's House.—Bridal Preparations. —Benducar, Alonzo, Zelinda, Priest, Attendants, &c. &c. discovered.
BENDUCAR.
Now, holy Father, let the rites begin;
For time steals on apace, and we must seek
On foreign shores our shelter, when the night,
Which comes advising home to other heads,
To us shall publish exile. My brave son
Alonzo, that our friends assembled here,
And all the world, may know how pure I hold
Your conduct, though traduced by evil tongues,
Take from my hand my daughter.

ALONZO.
Such a gift,
Rich in itself, is richer still from thee;
Crown'd with the noblest motive that can grace
A generous act. In war, you taught me how
To draw the sword, when honour gave command;
In peace, you teach me how to bear the stings
Of faction, hate, caprice,—of hard return
For service, and ungrateful memory;
And in affliction there is still a shrine
Where, led by you, I may of rapture taste;
My guide in all things, good or fortunate!

BENDUCAR.
Zelinda, speak—stand forward. If your tongue
Is palsy-struck, your hand can move. I ask it,
To give where I have named.

ZELINDA.
Oh, hear me, Sir,
With patience.

BENDUCAR.
Look around upon our guests,
And say, is this a time to pause, when all
Expect what all must well approve?

ALONZO.
Yet listen
For my sake, noble friend. If in her eye
My favour is forbidding, I would rather
Leap from the battlements, and take my chance
For life with rocks beneath, than creep within
The fairest bosom, whose reluctant snows
Denied me. Chance may break the greatest fall;
But nothing can revive the drooping heart,
Or make aversion love.

BENDUCAR.
She has not said
Her heart disown'd you; no, some sudden folly
Hath seized her mind; but she must choose between
Her father and that folly. Speak again,
And in another tone, or speak no more.
What! do you still refuse?

ZELINDA.
But for a day.

BENDUCAR.
Once and for ever.

ZELINDA.
Plead for me, Alonzo;
'Tis hard to ask you to become my champion
Against yourself; but, to the noble mind,
There is no violence in sacrifice,
When pride and pity join to honour it.

ALONZO.
My friend—

BENDUCAR.
Peace, peace, would you be cozen'd thus
To ask? She knows this night will bear you hence;
Nay, not an hour can 'lapse before the guards
Will lead you to the frontiers. Yield in time;
Or let your father's curse—

ALONZO.
Forbear, my Lord.
Oh, good Benducar! never, for my sake,
Shall any curse fall on a child of your's;
Much less the hardest curse of all—a father's.

BENDUCAR.
She wrings it from me. Bid the Priest begone;
I would not have his ears contaminate
With imprecations such as I must use
For dire example's sake, that those who follow
May hear and tremble, and grow wise in fear.

ZELINDA.
Stay, Holy Father, stay! your office is
To interdict, and not accommodate
The purpose of a deep offence to Heaven.

PRIEST.
Your own submission, daughter, will prevent
What my advice or presence may not check.

ZELINDA.
Am I then lost, and does religion's self
Renounce me? Yet I have a human father:
He will not cast me off; he will not curse me.

BENDUCAR.
'Tis from the bottom of an injured heart
It breaks; for now I see reveal'd the cause
Of your emotion yesternight. Deny
That you have spoken to Durazzo since;
And, though my lips can never bless, I promise
They shall not curse you. Ha! struck dumb already!
Now stop my breath what mortal influence dare,
While to the gates of vengeance it ascend,
To call down sharpest—heaviest—

ZELINDA.
Hold, in mercy,
One moment—I obey.

ALONZO.
That struggle cost
An agony beyond a thousand groans
Heaved by a thousand captives. Oh! Zelinda,
Your virtue has subdued e'en love itself,
To think of nothing but your happiness.

BENDUCAR.
Your love will best requite her.

ALONZO.
Princes might
Be proud of such a task. Yet not for me
Such bliss to know.

BENDUCAR.
What mean'st thou?

ALONZO.
To resign
All claim to this white trembling hand; to prove
My admiration of her virtue, by
An act of justice and humanity.

ZELINDA.
Alonzo, this is to be great indeed.

DURAZZO, without.
DURAZZO.
Stand off—make way there, let the guards advance,
As on your peril you shall answer it!

Enter Durazzo and Guards.
ALONZO.
Again, Durazzo! By my soul, you come
Right aptly to my wish. For all my wrongs
I give you broad defiance, and the lie
Which your own soul must echo.

[Draws.
DURAZZO.
Say you so?
The shortest quarrel is the sword's. I hate
The war of words when it is time for action:
My life to yours—Come on!

ALONZO.
And mine to thine:
'Tis a brief difference where death is umpire.

[They fight.
ZELINDA.
Part them, my father, part—

OFFICER.
What means this tumult,
In scorn of law? My Lord Durazzo, least
Of all becomes it you to have a share in't.

DURAZZO.
Then seize your prisoners; for, while thus we stand,
In attitude to give and take offence,
It is the law of our antipathies
To strike.

OFFICER.
Hold: I arrest you, lords—submit.

BENDUCAR.
You are a soldier, and a gallant man;
Oh! let not such a slave prevail against us.

DURAZZO.
Conduct them hence, each to a separate dungeon.

BENDUCAR.
What, at your bidding!

DURAZZO.
Yes; the slave commands.

ALONZO.
On what pretence is this audacity?

DURAZZO.
I'll tell you, for 'twill gall you.—'Twas the sentence,
That from the city gates you should depart
Within a stated time. That time has just
Expired. For such contempt you must atone.
This your abettor in the like offence,
Who harbour'd you against the King's injunction,
Incurs an equal penalty;—and now
I hope you're answer'd to your wish.

BENDUCAR.
I see—
I see it all. Her slow consent is now
Accounted for. My curse is hers again.

ZELINDA.
Look, on my knees, before this holy man,
And all I love and fear below, my soul
Is innocent of the abhorred charge
You wrong me with, as light is innocent
Of darkness.

ALONZO.
Oh! believe it, Sir; 'tis true—
It must be true.

BENDUCAR.
One only way is left
To chase the fell suspicion from my mind:
She owes it to her father's peace, now dragg'd
To chains, perchance to death:—she owes it to
Her own insulted feelings, witnessing
His degradation. What I ask—I claim—
That from her heart she banish yonder fiend,
And, on the instant, swear, by every power,
Divine and human, never to be his.

ZELINDA.
I swear.

DURAZZO.
Zelinda—pause—deny—retract.

ZELINDA.
Tis register'd in Heaven.

DURAZZO.
Heaven has no ear
For such an oath; 'tis barbarous, unjust,
Ungrateful.

BENDUCAR.
Have we found the means to reach
Your stubborn bosom?—Bless, Oh, bless my child!

ZELINDA.
My father!

BENDUCAR.
Sweet, farewell!

[The Guards bear off Benducar and Alonzo.
ZELINDA.
I follow you.

DURAZZO.
Zelinda!

ZELINDA.
Would you speak with me?

DURAZZO.
A moment—
Think on the wrongs I suffer'd.

ZELINDA.
In your own
Dark breast they have their record. I must think
On those you can inflict.

[Exit.
DURAZZO.
And have I lost her?
The daughter gone; the father in my power;
My rival too! Thus bad and good unite,
And both distract me; but the good prevails.
'Tis not upon the top of Fortune's wheel
That we should quarrel with our destinies.