University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Enter De Zelos and two Pages.
De Zel.
(thoughtful.)
Who is the marshal of the lists?

1st Page.
Toralva.

De Zel.
Warn him he suffer not the pestilent rabble
To yell their curses o'er the barrier's verge.

1st Page.
My lord, 'twill be impossible to prevent them,
So much they love Alonzo's memory.

De Zel.
Curse on thee, slave! thou speak'st some conned lesson
That Manuel's gold hath taught thee—Hence!
[Exit Page.
[To the other.)
Is my son's armour in his chamber? Go—
Go thou, and tell him to be ready straight.
[A strange music within.
Whence was that touch of wild unearthly strain!

Page.
My lord, your daughter—

De Zel.
Daughter! I want no daughter.
Where is my son?—Upon a father's cause
His daughter's arm can wield no brand.
[Exit 2d Page.
Enter Torrismond, unarmed, dejectedly.
What! still unarmed?

Tor.
(very slowly, and with deep dejection.)
Within my chamber piled lie plate and mail—
Corslet of proof, and helm and lance, are there—
But I do lack a mighty weapon yet.

De Zel.
Say'st thou?—What weapon?

Tor.
The adamant of an unquestion'd spirit,
That by itself unsmote defies the world.

De Zel.
(gasping with fury.)
How!—
List to me, boy!—I would command myself,
Choak in my struggling spirit, which else would burst
In curses on thy foul degenerate head,
But I will master it.— (with forced irony.)

Sir, of your fair courtesy,
I pray you, tell me, feels your dainty arm
The sword too heavy in a father's cause?
Oh, it would string the nerves of pithless age,
Brace palsy's arm, and imp the foot of lameness;
Yea, arm all Nature for me.—But, my son,
(A pause—he looks at Torrismond.)
Wilt thou not answer?

Torris.
(After a silent struggle, throws down his sword.)
Thou art answer'd!—

De Zel.
Take up thy brand again, and plunge it here! (furious rage.)

Wretch!—parricide!—Oh, excellently vile!
Fill up thy cup of consummated guilt!
Leave not to Manuel and his furious daughter
This heart to scoop with their infixed fangs;
Pierce it thyself!—Oh, coward!—conscious coward!
I'll peal it in thine ear, like howls o'th'damn'd.
'Tis fear, fear, fear! aye, craven, cowering fear!—

Torris.
(starting as from a trance.)
Coward!—who call'd me coward?
(Snatches up his sword, and rushes forward—then recognises his father, and falls on his knees.
'Tis my father!
Heaven holds my arm.—That name hath set me mad!
My swoln and burning throat can't utter it.
(With a shout of derision.)
Oh! I do shake the loathed thought from me.
Were you a thousand fathers—
Oh, place me on the kindling ridge of fight,
Where fear was never nam'd or mercy felt,
And feel this heart-pulse, if its quicker motion
Betrays one added throb.
Against the darts of mixed and madding hosts
Place but one foe, and let that foe be me:
There, if I shrink, the voice that calls me coward
I'll unresenting hear as I do thine.

De Zel.
Words—words!—the coin boasters pay trusting fools with.

Torris.
(kneeling.)
By Heav'n, I am no boaster!
[Rises eagerly.
(Bursts into tears—De Zel. looks at him with scorn.)
Oh, these hot drops of agonizing shame
Are not the dews of fear; a father's voice
Alone had wrung them; let a father's hand
Dry them, and bless me.

[Kneeling to De Zelos.
(De Zelos looks on him for some time, and then says sternly,)
De Zel.
Thou weep'st, but 'tis thy father bleeds.

[Going.
Torris.
(Starting up)
Where goest thou?

De Zel.
Where?—to the field!—the field my son doth fly from.
Give me thy sword—

[Furiously.
Torris.
My father!—but a word—

[Struggling.
De Zel.
Thy sword!—thy sword!—thou hast no need for it.

Torris.
(With the most eager expression of hope and joy.)
What! wilt thou?—canst thou!—darest thou?—Can it be?
[With increasing conviction of his father's innocence, from his undertaking the combat himself.
Thou wouldst not risk the end of mortal guilt!
Thou wouldst not risk a deathless soul's perdition!
Innocent! innocent! By Heav'n, he's innocent!—
Oh, my abused father!—curse me now,
To ease my penitent agony.

[Kneels, kissing his hands.
De Zel.
(Coldly.)
I needed not this proof.

Torris.
I did—Oh, pardon me!—
I'm sheathed in iron now—my sandal'd foot
Could trample hosts—my arm could strive with giants!
Truth holds her bright shield o'er the breast of Torrismond;
Nor does he ask for other panoply—
(Starting)
My father!—thou lookst ghastlily!—

De Zel.
(Gazing towards the door)
No marvel,
I've looked on ghastly sights!— (recovering)
I'm not well.
This struggle hath o'ercome me, and—'tis o'er.

Torris.
Oh! pardon me—the doubt was damnable!
It was a crime unfilial and unnatural!—

De Zel.
Hush!—torture me no more!—Mark me, my son!—
If in the lists thou seest my eye—my lip—
Give speechless sign of inward agony—
(Tho' the vile crowd their vilest comment make)
What wilt thou deem it?—

Torris.
What should your son deem it?
Perchance a fear (full needless) for his safety—
What other fear could blanch my father's cheek?

De Zel.
(Starting, and turning from him.)
Was that a viewless clarion, dull and deep?

Torris.
No! 'twas the wind pealing thro' yon low arch!
'Tis a dreary day!—

De Zel.
(Looking up)
—A drearier night will follow—
The troubled clouds are in dark volumes sweeping,
As the rent banners of Alonzo's battle
Were hovering o'er us still—'twill be a storm.
(in great terror.)
Hast thou not heard, how, mid a combat, Heaven
Hath sent its champion in the lightning's flash,
To strike upon the right, and blast the murderer?—
If thou shouldst see my stiff and blacken'd corse
Give dark reflection to the withering bolt,
Outstretch'd in horrid death—

Torris.
By the hot ashes
I'd kneel, and swear i'th'face of wrathful Heaven
That thou wert innocent—for—art thou not?

De Zel.
(Embracing him eagerly; then rushing out.)
That's my brave son—Oh! what a heart have I!
[Exit De Zelos.

(Torrismond follows him with his eye, then stands fixed in meditation, not seeing Victoria till she is kneeling to him.)
Torris.
(rushing out, sees her)
Victoria!

Vic.
Yes, Victoria!
Thus pale, and prostrate at his feet, who once
Thought the hour lost that was not spent at hers.
'Tis Manuel's daughter trembles in the dust.

Torris.
Oh! rise, and mock me not to utter madness;
Scarce hath my heart regain'd its trembling seat,
And thou art come to shake it in its hold,
And bid resolved duty blench like guilt.

Vic.
Oh! raise me not, for suppliants should be humble.
I was the daughter of a lordly line,
Lov'd by a noble youth—What am I now?
The shunned offspring of a blighted stem,
Who, in the filial agony of soul,
Kneels at the feet of him who said he lov'd her—
Kneels for a father's life—

Torris.
A father's life!
I go to meet his champion, not thy father!

Vic.
He hath no champion—they have left him none.
Mad with his wrongs and woes, the ancient man
Comes tottering to the lists—chases away
The weeping few, who still his steps do watch—
Calls for his son to brace his shield—then poises
With giddy grasp his lance, and wounds the air!—
Couldst thou see him,
Thou wouldst in tears steep thy averted brand,
Yea, in thy bosom plunge its trenchant point,
Sooner than strike at his.—It is a shrine
The god has left, but his departed presence
Sheds a sad honor o'er the sunken fane,
Made holier by desertion!—Spare the ruin!—

Torris.
Spare it!—I'll kneel and worship it—Take this; (the sword)

And, when I raise it 'gainst that hallowed breast,
May its point turn, and pierce through mine!

(Kneeling, and presenting the sword to her with enthusiasm. Trumpets sound within.)
Torris.
Hark! hark!
Have I not sworn?—Have I no father too? (rushing forward, and falling on his knees.)

Thou who hast called me to this horrible conflict,
Let not my breaking heart forbid thy purpose.
(Rising wildly, and seizing Victoria's hand.)
I know not how, or right or wrong, but this—
Thy tears, for which my heart sheds drop for drop
(And soon may weep in blood) against a father's,
Wrung from the agony of his pallid brow,
Are weighed in the soul's balance, and found wanting.

Vic.
Go, then; but know what enemy awaits thee:
The shield of Manuel is his daughter's breast;
Her streaming hair his banner; and his pledge
The hand her agony raised to thee in vain.
Bear on thy shield emblazed a virgin's heart
Broken for thee. Away! the trumpet summons.

(Trumpet sounds.—He rushes to throw the sword at her feet; she spurns him. Trumpet sounds again; he catches it up, and rushes out. Exeunt.)