Ata. Remember, Cora, thou art not a wife only, but a mother too: hazard not your own honour, and the safety of your infant. Among these barbarians the sight of thy youth, thy loveliness, and innocence, would but rivet faster your Alonzo’s chains, and rack his heart with added fears for thee. Wait, Cora, the return of the herald.
Cora. Teach me how to live till then.
Ata. Now we go to offer to the gods thanks for our victory, and prayers for our Alonzo’s safety.
[March and procession. Exeunt omnes.
SCENE II.
The Wood.
Enter CORA and Child.
Cora. Mild innocence, what will become of thee?
Enter ROLLA.
Rol. Cora, I attend thy summons at the appointed spot.
Cora. Oh, my child, my boy! — hast thou still a father? —
Rol. Cora, can thy child be fatherless, while Rolla lives?
Cora. Will he not soon want a mother too? — For canst thou think I will survive Alonzo’s loss?
Rol Yes! for his child’? sake. — Yes, as thou didst love Alonzo, Cora, listen to Alonzo’s friend.
Cora. You bid me listen to the world. — Who was not Alonzo’s friend?
Rol. His parting words —
Cora. His parting words! — [Wildly.] — Oh, speak!
Rol. Consigned to me two precious trusts — his blessing to his son, and a last request to thee.
Cora. His last request! his last! — Oh, name it! —
Rol. If I fall, said he — (and sad forebodings shook him while he spoke) — promise to take my Cora for thy wife; be thou a father to my child. — I pledged my word to him, and we parted. — Observe me, Cora, I repeat this only, as my faith to do so was given to, Alonzo — for myself, I neither cherish claim nor hope.
Cora. Ha! does my reason fail me, or what is this horrid light that presses on my brain? Oh, Alonzo! It may be thou hast fallen a victim, to thy own guileless heart — hadst thou been silent, hadst thou not made a fatal legacy of these wretched charms —
Rol. Cora! what hateful suspicion has possessed thy mind?
Cora. Yes, yes, ’tis clear — his spirit was ensnared; he was led to the fatal spot, where mortal valour could not front a host of murderers. He fell — in vain did he exclaim for help to Rolla. At a distance you looked on and smiled: you could have saved him — could — but did not.
Rol. Oh, glorious sun! can I have deserved this? — Cora, rather bid me strike this sword into my heart.
Cora. No! — live! live for love! — for that love thou seekest; whose blossoms are to shoot from the bleeding grave of thy betrayed and slaughtered friend! — But thou hast borne to me the last words of my Alonzo! — now hear mine. — Sooner shall this boy draw poison from this tortured breast — sooner would I link me to the pallid corse of the meanest wretch that perished with Alonzo, than he call Rolla father — than I call Rolla husband!
Rol. Yet call me what I am — thy friend, thy protector!
Cora. [Distractedly.] — Away! I have no protector but my God! — With this child in my arms will I hasten to the field of slaughter: — there with these hands will I turn up to the light every mangled body — seeking, howe’er by death disfigured, the sweet smile of my Alonzo: with fearful cries I will shriek out his name till my veins snap! If the smallest spark of life remain, he will know the voice of his Cora, open for a moment his unshrouded eyes, and bless me with a last look. But if we find him not — Oh! then, my boy, we will to the Spanish camp — that look of thine will win me passage through a thousand swords — They too are men. Is there a heart that could drive back the wife that seeks her bleeding husband; or the innocent babe that cries for his imprisoned father? — No, no, my child, every where we shall be safe. — A wretched mother, bearing a poor orphan in her arms, has Nature’s passport through the world. Yes, yes, my son, we’ll go and seek thy father. [Exit with the Child.
Rol. [After a pause of agitation.] — Could I have merited one breath of thy reproaches, Cora, I should be the wretch I think I was not formed to be. Her safety must be my present purpose — then to convince her she has wronged me ! — [Exit.
SCENE III.
Pizarro’s Tent.
PIZARRO, traversing the scene in gloomy and furious agitation.
Well, capricious idol, Fortune, be my ruin thy work and boast. To myself I will still be true. Yet ere I fall, grant me thy smile to prosper in one act of vengeance, and be that smile Alonzo’s death.
Enter ELVIRA.
Who’s there? who dares intrude? Why does my guard neglect their duty?
Elv. Your guard did what they could — but they knew their duty better than to enforce authority, when I refused obedience.
Piz. And what is it you desire?
Elv. To see how a hero bears misfortune. Thou, Pizarro, art not now collected — not thyself.
Piz. Wouldst thou I should rejoice that the spears of the enemy, led by accursed Alonzo, have pierced the bravest hearts of my followers?
Elv. No! — I would have thee cold and dark as the night that follows the departed storm; still and sullen as the awful pause that precedes Nature’s convulsion: yet I would have thee feel assured that a new morning shall arise, when the warrior’s spirit shall stalk forth — nor fear the future, nor lament the past.
Piz. Woman! Elvira! — Why had not all my men hearts like thine?
Elv. Then would thy brows have this day worn the crown of Quito. —
Piz. Oh! hope fails me while that scourge of my life and fame, Alonzo, leads the enemy.
Elv. Pizarro, I am come to probe the hero farther: not now his courage, but his magnanimity — Alonzo is your prisoner.
Piz. How!
Elv. ’Tis certain; Valverde saw him even now dragged in chains within your camp. I chose to bring you the intelligence myself.
Piz. Bless thee, Elvira, for the news! — ! Alonzo in my power! — then I am the conqueror — the victory is mine!
Elv. Pizarro, this is savage and unmanly triumph. Believe me, you raise impatience in my mind to see the man whose valour, and whose genius, awe Pizarro; whose misfortunes are Pizarro’s triumph; whose bondage is Pizarro’s safety.
Piz. Guard! — [Enter Guard.] — Drag here the Spanish prisoner, Alonzo! — Quick, bring the traitor here. — [Exit Guard.
Elv. What shall be his fate?
Piz. Death! death! in lingering torments! protracted to the last stretch that burning vengeance can devise, and fainting life sustain.
Elv. Shame on thee! Wilt thou have it said that the Peruvians found Pizarro could ‘ not conquer till Alonzo felt that he could murder?
Piz. Be it said — I care not. His fate is sealed.
Elv. Follow then thy will: but mark me; if basely thou dost shed the blood of this brave youth, Elvira’s lost to thee for ever.
Piz. Why this interest for a stranger? What is Alonzo’s fate to thee?
Elv. His fate! — nothing! — thy glory, every thing! — Think’st thou I could love thee stript of fame, of honour, and a just renown? — Know me better.
Piz. Thou shouldst have known me better. Thou shouldst have known, that, once provoked to hate, I am for ever fixed in vengeance. — [ALONZO is brought in, in chains, ELVIRA observes him with attention and admiration.] — Welcome, welcome. Don Alonzo de Molina; ’tis long since, we have met: thy mended looks should speak a life of rural indolence. How is. it that amid the toils and cares of war thou dost preserve the healthful bloom of careless ease? Tell me thy secret.
Alon. Thou wilt not profit by it. Whate’er the toils or cares of war, peace still is here. [Putting his hand to his heart.]
Piz. Sarcastic boy!
Elv. Thou art answered rightly. Why sport with, the unfortunate?
Piz. And thou art wedded too, I hear; ay, and the father of a lovely boy — the heir, no doubt, of all his father’s loyalty, of all his mother’s faith.
Alon. The heir, I trust, of all his father’s scorn of fraud, oppression, and hypocrisy — the heir, I hope
, of all his mother’s virtue, gentleness, and truth — the heir, I am sure, to all Pizarro’s hate.
Piz. Really! Now do I feel for this poor orphan; for fatherless to-morrow’s sun shall see that child. Alonzo, thy hours are numbered.
Elv. Pizarro — no!
Piz. Hence — or dread my anger.
Elv. I will not hence; nor do I dread thy anger.
Alon. Generous loveliness! spare thy unavailing pity. Seek not to thwart the tiger with his prey beneath his fangs.
Piz. Audacious rebel! Thou a renegado from thy monarch and thy God!
Alon. ’Tis false.
Piz. Art thou not, tell me, a deserter from thy country’s legions — and, with vile heathens leagued, hast thou not warred against thy native land?
Alon. No! Deserter I am none! I was not born among robbers! pirates! murderers! — When those legions, lured by the abhorred lust of gold, and by thy foul ambition urged, forgot the honour of Castilians, and forsook the duties of humanity, they deserted me. I have not warred against my native land, but against those who have usurped its power. The banners of my country, when first I followed arms beneath them, were justice, faith, and mercy. If these are beaten down and trampled under foot — I have no country, nor exists the power entitled to reproach me with revolt.
Piz. The power to judge and punish thee at least exists.
Alon. Where are my judges?
Piz. Thou wouldst appeal to the war council?
Alon. If the good Las-Casas have yet a seat there, yes; if not, I appeal to Heaven!
Piz. And to impose upon the folly of Las-Casas, what would be the excuses of thy treason?
Elv. The folly of Las-Casas! — Such, doubtless, his mild precepts seem to thy hard-hearted wisdom! — O! would I might have lived as I will die, a sharer in the follies of Las-Casas!
Alon. To him I should not need to urge the foul barbarities which drove me from your side; but I would gently lead him by the hand through all the lovely fields of Quito; there, in many a spot where late was barrenness and waste, I would show him how now the opening blossom, blade, or perfumed bud, sweet bashful pledges of delicious harvest, wafting their incense to the ripening sun, give cheerful promise to the hope of industry. This, I would say, is my work! — Next I should tell how hurtful customs and superstitions, strange and sullen, would often scatter and dismay the credulous minds of these deluded innocents; and then would I point out to him where now, in clustered villages, they live like brethren, social and confiding, while through the burning day Content sits basking on the cheek of Toil, till laughing Pastime leads them to the hour of rest — this too is mine! — And prouder yet — at that still pause between exertion and repose, belonging not to pastime, labour, or to rest, but unto Him who sanctions and ordains them all, I would show him many an eye, and many a hand, by gentleness from error won, raised in pure devotion to the true and only God! — this too I could tell him is Alonzo’s work! — Then would Las-Casas clasp me in his aged arms; from his uplifted eyes a tear of gracious thankfulness would fall upon my head, and that one blessed drop would be to me at once this world’s best proof, that I had acted rightly here, and surest hope of my Creator’s mercy and reward hereafter.
Elv. Happy, virtuous Alonzo! And thou, Pizarro, wouldst appal with fear of death a man who thinks and acts as he does!
Piz. Daring, obstinate enthusiast! But know the pious blessing of thy preceptor’s tears does not await thee here: he has fled like thee — like thee, no doubt, to join the foes of Spain. The perilous trial of the next reward you hope is nearer than perhaps you’ve thought; for, by my country’s wrongs, and by mine own, to-morrow’s sun shall see thy death.
Elv. Hold! — Pizarro — hear me! — If not always justly, at least act always greatly. Name not thy country’s wrongs; ’tis plain they have no share in thy resentment. Thy fury ‘gainst this youth is private hate, and deadly personal revenge; if this be so — and even now thy detected conscience in that look avows it — profane not the name of justice or thy Country’s cause, but let him arm, and bid him to the field on equal terms.
Piz. Officious advocate for treason — peace! — Bear him hence; he knows his sentence.
Alon. Thy revenge is eager, and I’m thankful for it — to me thy haste is mercy. — For thee, sweet pleader in misfortune’s cause, accept my parting thanks. This camp is not thy proper sphere. Wert thou among you savages, as they are called, thou ‘dst find companions more congenial to thy heart.
Piz. Yes; she shall bear the tidings of thy death to Cora.
Alon. Inhuman man! that pang, at least, might have been spared me; but thy malice shall not shake my constancy. I go to death — many shall bless, and none will curse my memory. Thou still wilt live, and still wilt be — Pizarro. — [Exit, guarded.
Elv. Now, by the indignant scorn that burns upon my cheek, my soul is shamed and sickened at the meanness of thy vengeance.
Piz. What has thy romantic folly aimed at? He is mine enemy, and in my power.
Elv. He is in your power, and therefore is no more an enemy. Pizarro, I demand not of thee virtue — I ask not from thee nobleness of mind — I require only just dealing to the fame thou hast acquired: be not the assassin of thine own renown. How often have you sworn, that the sacrifice which thy wondrous valour’s high report had won you from subdued Elvira, was the proudest triumph of your fame! Thou knowest I bear a mind not cast in the common mould — not formed for tame sequestered love — content mid household cares to prattle to an idle offspring, and wait the dull delight of an obscure lover’s kindness — no! my heart was framed to look up with awe and homage to the object it adored; my ears to own no music but the thrilling records of his praise; my lips to scorn all babbling but the tales of his achievements; my brain to turn giddy with delight, reading the applauding tributes of his monarch’s and his country’s gratitude; my every faculty to throb with transport, while I heard the shouts of acclamation which announced the coming of my hero; my whole soul to love him with devotion! with enthusiasm! — to see no other object — to own no other tie — but to make him my world! Thus to love is at least no common weakness. — Pizarro! was not such my love for thee? —
Piz. It was, Elvira!
Elv. Then do not make me hateful to myself, by tearing off the mask at once — baring the hideous imposture that has undone me! — Do not an act which, howe’er thy present power may gloss it to the world, will make thee hateful to all future ages — accursed and scorned by posterity.
Piz. And should posterity applaud my deeds, think’st thou my mouldering bones would rattle then with transport in my tomb? — This is renown for visionary boys to dream of — I understand it not. The fame I value shall uplift my living estimation — o’erbear with popular support the envy of my foes — advance my purposes, and aid my power.
Elv. Each word thou speakest — each moment that I hear thee — dispels the fatal mist through which I’ve judged thee. Thou man of mighty name, but little soul, I see thou wert not born to feel what genuine fame and glory are go! prefer the flattery of thy own fleeting day to the bright circle of a deathless name go! prefer to stare upon the grain of sand on which you trample, to musing on the starred canopy above thee. Fame, the sovereign deity of proud ambition, is not to be worshipped so: who seeks alone for living homage, stands a mean canvasser in her temple’s porch, wooing promiscuously from the fickle breath of every wretch that passes, the brittle tribute of his praise. He dares not approach the sacred altar — no noble sacrifice of his is placed there, nor ever shall his worshipped image, fixed above, claim for his memory a glorious immortality.
Piz. Elvira, leave me.
Elv. Pizarro, you no longer love me.
Piz. It is not so, Elvira. But what might I not suspect — this wondrous interest for a stranger! — Take back thy reproach.
Elv. No, Pizarro; as yet I am not lost to you; one string still remains, and binds me to your fate. Do not, I conjure you — do not, for thine own sake, tear it asunder — shed no
t Alonzo’s blood!
Piz. My resolution’s fixed.
Elv. Even though that moment lost you Elvira for ever?
Piz. Even so.
Elv. Pizarro, if not to honour, if not to humanity, yet listen to affection; bear some memory of the sacrifices I have made for thy sake. Have I not for thee quitted my parents, my friends, my fame, my native land? When escaping, did I not risk in rushing to thy arms to bury myself in the bosom of the deep? Have I not shared all thy perils, heavy storms at sea, and frightful ‘scapes on shore? Even on this dreadful day, amid the rout of battle, who remained firm and constant at Pizarro’s side? Who presented her bosom as his shield to the assailing foe?
Piz. ’Tis truly spoken all. In love thou art thy sex’s miracle — in war the soldier’s pattern — and therefore my whole heart and half my acquisitions are thy right.
Elv. Convince me I possess the first — I exchange all title to the latter, for — mercy to Alonzo. —
Piz. No more! — Had I intended to prolong his doom, each word thou utterest now would hasten on his fate.
Elv. Alonzo then at morn will die?
Piz. Think’st thou you sun will set? — As surely at his rising shall Alonzo die.
Elv. Then be it done — the string is cracked — sundered for ever. But mark me — thou hast heretofore had cause, ’tis true, to doubt my resolution, howe’er offended; but mark me now — the lips which, cold and jeering, barbing revenge with rancorous mockery, can insult a fallen enemy, shall never more receive the pledge of love: the arm which, unshaken by its bloody purpose, shall assign to needless torture the victim who avows his heart, never more shall press the hand of faith! — Pizarro, scorn not my words — beware you slight them not! — I feel how noble are the motives which now animate my thoughts — who could not feel as I do, I condemn — who, feeling so, yet would not act as I shall, I despise!
Piz. [After a pause, looking at her with an affected smile of contempt.] — I have heard thee, Elvira, and know well the noble motives which inspire thee — fit advocate in virtue’s cause! — Believe me, I pity thy tender feelings for the youth Alonzo! — He dies at sunrise! [Exit.
Delphi Complete Works of Richard Brinsley Sheridan Page 47