 | Gonzalvo of Cordova |  |
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ACT II.
SCENE I.
Royal Tent in the Spanish Camp.Enter Ferdinand, Isabella, and Suite.
FERDINAND.
True, Isabel; when I received advices
That thy Gonzalvo had escaped the snares
Of treacherous Seïd, I gave forth to all,
That he, ere many suns should set, would join
The glorious strife as he was wont. Methinks
Thy hero slackens in our cause, or else
Why this delay?
ISABELLA.
We know not yet how many
Disastrous chances may beset his way.
Thou dost not love the flower of my heroes,
For that he still has borne the palm away
From those of Aragon. Yet, Ferdinand,
Since he who conquer'd Cordova no longer
Flames in the van of battle, the proud Moor
Has borne himself right vauntingly; nay, oft
With such true mettle, that our knights of name
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The soldier's ardor.
FERDINAND.
Isabel, thou wrong'st me.
Would he were here, so he might woo again
The truant Victory to smile on us!
Enter Lara.
Welcome, brave Lara! Ha! methinks thy mien
Bespeaks some joyful tidings.
LARA.
Yes, my liege,
And gracious queen! These letters, from good Pedro,
Announce Gonzalvo's coming. A faithful Moor
(I know not how won to his service), bore them,
And now conveys his arms, and gallant steed,
To meet th'impatient chief.
ISABELLA.
Oh! doubly welcome,
For all the dangers past! How 'scaped he, Lara?
LARA.
He and his faithful Pedro, clad as Moors,
In a frail fisher's boat put forth by night,
And purposed, when at open sea, to join
The ships that bore his train; but, tempest-tost,
The crazy, unresisting bark was drifted
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They were as Africans received, and shared
The liberal rights of hospitality.
FERDINAND.
The moon has fill'd her horns and waned again
Since he escaped, as our advices stated.
LARA.
A grievous sickness seized him, good my liege:
And Pedro further adds, his lord not yet
Has gain'd his wonted cheer.
FERDINAND.
The Moors are soft,
And they have dark-eyed maids, with wily speech.
Methinks thy friend has loiter'd on his way,
Till, haply, Moorish hospitality
Has won his soul from glory's love; and yet
The infatuated soldier, if he lead,
Will rush, as 'twere, enamour'd ev'n of death,
When met beneath his eye.
LARA.
My liege, what praise
So great as that which from thy lips has fall'n,
Though in contempt? The leader who is loved,
Beneath whose eye 'tis glory but to fight,
And deathless fame to fall, whate'er th'event,
Leads on to what a soldier covets—honour!
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Her very nature; and, as 'twere, spell-bound,
Wait on his charmed sword.
FERDINAND.
Thou pleadest well,
And art an honest, and an eager friend.
Nay, 'twas but our impatience, Isabel,
(To Isabella.)
That chid Gonzalvo's stay. When may we hope
To speak a joyous welcome?
LARA.
Ere the close
Of evening I dare swear he will appear,
And by his wonted bearing, put to flight
The half form'd doubts that cloud the royal brow.
Enter Messenger.
MESSENGER.
My liege, our outposts near the city walls
Have mark'd advancing heralds, with the wand
That speaks their office.
FERDINAND.
Ha! What may it be?
We will receive them as befits our state.
Come in, my queen: let all things be prepared.
[Exeunt.
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SCENE II.
The Wood.Gonzalvo leaning against a tree, lost in thought. Zelima enters timidly; he starts, and meets her with rapture.
ZELIMA.
I come, my friend, since thou wilt have it so,
To speak a long, thou say'st a last, farewell;
Yet I had hoped—believed—my father's claims—
For Muley Hassan loves thee—
GONZALVO.
Oh! my princess!
Might I obtain my wildest dream of bliss,
It were no other than to share with thee
Each filial care; but I should violate
The sacred ties of nature and of honour—
Nature's, that binds us to our country; honour's,
That binds us to the cause we have espoused.
ZELIMA.
Mysterious stranger! say, what tie of nature,
Or of capricious honour, can forbid
That you should cheer, when battle gives short respite,
The tedious hours of age? and must I never
Behold thee more? nor know whose valour saved me?
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Alas! methinks I oft have said enough
To lead thy shuddering fancy to portray
The hated thing I am.
ZELIMA.
No, never, youth!
If e'er I sought to know your name, your race,
Your colour alter'd, and some strange distress
Hung on your brow, and changed your wonted cheer:
Deeply your debtor, silent I respected
Your secret sorrow; but my father now
Approves my gratitude, and bids me think
Of you as one—of whom then must I think,
As now my father wills?
GONZALVO.
Yes, thou shalt know
The wretch I am! but say, sweet excellence!
Say, would'st thou spurn him thou hast call'd thy friend,
If, strange to fame, a lowly peasant born,
He were the basest thing that bears a name?
ZELIMA.
I smile, brave stranger, while you talk thus idly.
Can he be base whose actions are so noble,
Rear'd though he were beneath the humblest roof?
GONZALVO.
But if I were perfidious, false; had practised
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By vilest fraud had won her confidence,
Her fair esteem—though mine the world's wide empire,
Wouldst thou not scorn me?
ZELIMA.
No, not such thy deeds!
For if thou glance at hapless Zelima,
Thou never, never hast in aught deceived her.
Was it deceit, from a most cruel death,
Or worse than death, to save her at the price
Of thy own generous blood? To honour her
(A poor, deserted, helpless wanderer),
And guide her to her father and her home?
These deeds are honest: for these deeds I thank thee,
Nor ever will they fade from my remembrance.
GONZALVO.
How shall I e'er deserve this angel goodness?
Yet do I tremble, and my faltering tongue
Refuses still to name the wretch accursed,
Call'd by the Fates to lift his murderous sword
Against thy brother.
ZELIMA
(with horror).
Gods! the dread Gonzalvo!
Granada's ruthless foe!
[After a pause recovering, yet fearfully.
Oh, no; you mock
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Should I thus tremble? Friend, this is not kind!
'Tis now you practise on th'unguarded heart.
Away, vain terror! no, it is not so!
Is this the look the fierce Gonzalvo wears?
His looks must speak his cruel soul! his deeds
Are all of blood! He is not wont, like thee,
To rescue innocence; to watch, nay, weep
[Observing his emotion.
O'er the unfortunate! Sure some jealous fear,
Or thought injurious to my faith, has led thee
To prove me thus. Away then all disguise!
Know, though thou shouldst blame my frankness, Zelima
Wrongs not, as false ones do, whom once she loves:
And that I love thee, love thee in that sort
That links my fate with thine, whoe'er thou be—
GONZALVO.
Gods! give me power to bear this flood of joy!
Speak the blest words again, and bid me hope,
E'en if I were the wretch thou oft hast named,
Hated Gonzalvo—
ZELIMA.
Name him, name him not!
But oh, I fear me, e'en if thou wert he,
I could not hate thee: no, I fear I could not.
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Swear it, my love! for I indeed am he!
It is Gonzalvo clasps thee to his bosom.
[She sinks into his arms.
My Zelima! my love! The hated sound
Has check'd the current of her life. Oh look!
In pity look on me! She breathes! she lives!
Enter Almanzor behind.
ALMANZOR
(aside).
Or do I dream, or does Granada's princess
Hang on the bosom of a wandering stranger?
ZELIMA.
From what fair dreams of bliss do I awake!
What horrors compass me on every side!
Oh thou, whom I so long have wish'd to name
Other than “stranger!” thou, to whom my heart
In secret gave each title that endears!
How blest that ignorance I once deplored!
ALMANZOR.
(Coming hastily forward, and separating them roughly).
A brother's arm protects the princess now.
We thank you, sir, nor need your farther service.
[Zelima appears terrified.
GONZALVO.
Fear nothing, princess; I am arm'd with patience,
Nor heed the haughty Moor.
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“Thou heed'st me not!”
Thou arrogant, nameless thing, that dost presume
To parly with the princess of Granada!
[Drawing.
ZELIMA
(rushing between them).
Almanzor, ere thy sword shall reach the breast
Of my preserver, it shall drench itself
With thy poor sister's blood.
ALMANZOR.
Degenerate Maid!
Loose me, I say, and give my vengeance way.
[Breaks from her and attacks Gonzalvo, who, after a short conflict, seizes his arm, and holds it firmly with superior strength.
GONZALVO.
Disdainful Moor! but thou'rt a sacred thing:
Gonzalvo's sword shall never take thy life!
[Releasing him with dignity.
ALMANZOR.
(After they have contemplated each other in silent astonishment).
Is it the hated rival of my glory—
Gonzalvo! who by stealth, in base disguise,
Attempts the sister of his deadly foe?
GONZALVO.
It is Gonzalvo who restores that sister;
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As good men pay to excellence divine.
It is Gonzalvo, who, for her dear sake,
Forgives the slanders of thy haughty tongue.
ALMANZOR.
Thou, the destroyer of my bleeding country!
Thou, who too long hast choked my way to glory!
Thou, the fell wolf, who in the shepherd's seeming,
Hast stolen into the fold, and by this baseness
Cancell'd the vaunted rescue of my sister,
Think not I will forego my great revenge!
Think not, for that, unmann'd by female cries,
Thou took'st me at some disadvantage now,
Thou shalt escape the fury of my arm.
GONZALVO.
Resentful as thou art, thou shalt not move me.
Prince, I adjure thee by the tender love
Thou needst must bear thy sister, I adjure thee
By the white hairs of thy age-stricken father,
And by thy people's weal, recall thy challenge.
ALMANZOR.
Never, Castilian! To the Spanish camp
E'en now my herald bears the strong defiance:
Defiance to the death!
ZELIMA
(clasping his knees).
Almanzor, hear me!
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Till thou unknit thy gather'd brow. Oh, hear me!
By all the joys of our first childish days;
By all that memory hoards of tender—sacred—
Oh, hear me!—hear me—
ALMANZOR.
For a Spaniard plead,
Whose guile has won thy softness from the path
Of duty and of honour? Nay, forbear.
[Breaks from her, and aside.
Each string that readiest in man's bosom vibrates,
Jarr'd thus to agony! In glory's field
Shoved from my place, and jostled by this boaster!
Deliberately thus insulted now,
Nay, almost pitied by the proud Castilian!
[She attempts again to soothe him, and he puts her away.
Away! begone! Here break we off. Look, sir;
You meet me in the deadly strife to-morrow.
[Exit.
ZELIMA.
Oh stay, my brother, stay, nor part in anger.
He's gone, he's gone!—nor ever from his lips
Did aught of harshness reach my ear till now.
Wretch that I am!
GONZALVO.
Hear me, my Zelima!
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Ere the slow herald reach my sov'reign's tents,
I'll by a shorter course, with all love's speed,
And ere his fatal purpose he declare,
To gracious Isabel will speak of peace:
My queen has often listen'd to my counsel.
ZELIMA
(with a melancholy smile).
Thou wilt but woo the fowler to forego
The quarry, while thou placest on his wrist
Th'unerring falcon.
GONZALVO
(cheerfully).
Nay, but if the bird
Refuse to mount?
ZELIMA.
Alas! alas! what reasons
Can sway the Spaniard from his cruel purpose?
GONZALVO.
Wrested by love, each circumstance shall prove
An argument to win the soul from war.
The losses late sustain'd by the besiegers,
The hydra valour of the patriot
Who fights for home, and all that makes home dear.
ZELIMA.
Fly, fly, Gonzalvo! kneel, implore, and paint
In angel characters the charms of peace.
Who shall resist thee if thou plead with all
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[Pedro appears among the trees with Gonzalvo's armour.
GONZALVO.
Pedro, approach.
PEDRO.
My lord, behold the arms
Your father gave you when he sent you forth
The flower of Castilian knights. Away!
Castile and Aragon demand their champion.
GONZALVO.
Farewell, my love! I pray thee droop not thus:
Ere thou retire within thy father's palace,
I will with tidings of success return.
PEDRO.
My lord, if you delay—
GONZALVO.
If I delay!
My soul is on the rack with strong impatience.
My shield! my corslet!
[He throws off his turban and takes his armour; Zelima shrinks back terrified.
Dost thou shudder, love,
At this my hostile seeming? Many times
In form horrific, choicest good appears.
The deep-toned thunder, and the threat'ning cloud,
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Are harbingers of peace.
ZELIMA.
May they prove so!
The God of mercy speed thee! Farewell, prince!
Farewell! and oh, remember that thou bearest
Within thy breast my life with thine entwined!
[Exeunt severally.
| Gonzalvo of Cordova | |