Chapter 13

OPAS _and_ SISABERT.

_Opas_. The royal threat still sounds along these halls; Hardly his foot hath past them, and he flees From his own treachery—all his pride, his hopes, Are scatter’d at a breath; even courage fails Now falsehood sinks from under him: behold, Again art thou where reign’d thy ancestors; Behold the chapel of thy earliest prayers, Where I, whose chains are sunder’d at thy sight Ere they could close around these aged limbs, Received and blest thee, when thy mother’s arm Was doubtful if it loosed thee! with delight Have I observed the promises we made Deeply imprest and manfully perform’d. Now, to thyself beneficent, O prince, Never henceforth renew those weak complaints Against Covilla’s vows and Julian’s faith, His honour broken, and her heart estranged. O, if thou holdest peace or glory dear, Away with jealousy—brave Sisabert, Smite from thy bosom, smite that scorpion down; It swells and hardens amid mildewed hopes, O’erspreads and blackens whate’er most delights, And renders us, haters of loveliness, The lowest of the fiends: ambition led The higher on, furious to disposess, From admiration sprung and phrenzied love. This disingenuous soul-debasing passion, Rising from abject and most sordid fear, Stings her own breast with bitter self-reproof, Consumes the vitals, pines, and never dies. Love, Honour, Justice, numberless the forms, Glorious and high the stature, she assumes; But watch the wandering changeful mischief well, And thou shalt see her with low lurid light Search where the soul’s most valued treasure lies, Or, more embodied to our vision, stand With evil eye, and sorcery hers alone, Looking away her helpless progeny, And drawing poison from its very smiles. For Julian’s truth have I not pledged my own? Have I not sworne Covilla weds no other?

_Sis._ Her persecutor have not I chastized, Have not I fought for Julian, won the town, And liberated thee?

_Opas_. But left for him The dangers of pursuit, of ambuscade, Of absence from thy high and splendid name.

_Sis._ Do probity and truth want such supports?

_Opas_. Gryphens and eagles, ivory and gold, Can add no clearness to the lamp above, But many look for them in palaces Who have them not, and want them not, at home. Virtue and valour and experience Are never trusted by themselves alone Further than infancy and idiocy; The men around him, not the man himself, Are looked at, and by these is he prefer’d: ’Tis the green mantle of the warrener And his loud whistle, that alone attract The lofty gazes of the noble herd: And thus, without thy countenance and help, Feeble and faint is still our confidence, Brief perhaps our success.

_Sis._ Should I resign To Abdalazis her I once adored? He truly, he must wed a Spanish queen! He rule in Spain! ah! whom could any land Obey so gladly as the meek, the humble, The friend of all who have no friend beside, Covilla! could he choose, or could he find Another who might so confirm his power? And now, indeed, from long domestic wars Who else survives of all our ancient house—

_Opas_. But Egilona.

_Sis._ Vainly she upbraids Roderigo.

_Opas_. She divorces him, abjures, And carries vengeance to that hideous highth Which piety and chastity would shrink To look from, on the world, or on themselves.

_Sis._ She may forgive him yet.

_Opas_. Ah Sisabert! Wretched are those a woman has forgiven; With her forgiveness ne’er hath love return’d: Ye know not, till too late, the filmy tie That holds heaven’s precious boon, eternally To those who fondly cherish her; once go Driven by mad passion, strike but at her peace, And, tho’ she step aside from broad reproach, Yet every softer virtue dies away. Beaming with virtue inaccessible Stood Egilona; for her lord she lived, And for the heavens that raised her sphere so high: All thoughts were on her—all, beside her own. Negligent as the blossoms of the field, Arrayed in candour and simplicity, Before her path she heard the streams of joy Murmur her name in all their cadences, Saw them in every scene, in light, in shade, Reflect her image—but acknowledged them Hers most complete when flowing from her most. All things in want of her, herself of none, Pomp and dominion lay beneath her feet Unfelt and unregarded: now behold The earthly passions war against the heavenly! Pride against love, ambition and revenge Against devotion and compliancy— Her glorious beams adversity hath blunted, And coming nearer to our quiet view The original clay of coarse mortality Hardens and flaws around her.

_Sis._ Every germ Of virtue perishes, when love recedes From those hot shifting sands, the female heart.

_Opas_. His was the fault; be his the punishment. ’Tis not their own crimes only, men commit, They harrow them into another’s breast, And they shall reap the bitter growth with pain.

[_Sisabert_, _walking up and down_, _abstractedly_.

_Sis._ Yes, blooming royalty will first attract These creatures of the desert—now I breathe More freely—she is theirs if I pursue The fugitive again—he well deserves The death he flies from—stay! don Julian twice Called him aloud, and he, methinks, replied. Could not I have remain’d a moment more, And seen the end? altho’ with hurried voice He bade me intercept the scattered foes, And hold the city barred to their return. May Egilona be another’s wife Whether he die or live! but oh!

[_Aloud_, _to Opas_.

—Covilla— She never can be mine! yet she may be Still happy—no, Covilla, no—not happy, But more deserving happiness without it. Mine never! nor another’s—’tis enough. The tears I shed no rival can deride; In the fond intercourse, a name once cherished Will never be defended by faint smiles, Nor given up with vows of alter’d love. And is the passion of my soul at last Reduced to this? is this my happiness? This my sole comfort? this the close of all Those promises, those tears, those last adieus, And those long vigils for the morrow’s dawn.

_Opas_. Arouse thee! be thyself. O Sisabert, Awake to glory from these feverish dreams; The enemy is in our land—two enemies— We must quell both—shame on us, if we fail.

_Sis._ Incredible; a nation be subdued Peopled as ours!

_Opas_. Corruption may subvert What force could never.

_Sis._ Traitors may.

_Opas_. Alas! If traitors can, the basis is but frail. I mean such traitors as the vacant world Echoes most stunningly; not fur-robed knaves Whose whispers raise the dreaming bloodhound’s ear Against benighted famished wanderers; While with remorseless guilt they undermine Palace and shed, their very father’s house, O blind! their own and children’s heritage, To leave more ample space for fearful wealth. Plunder in some most harmless guise they swathe, Call it some very meek and hallowed name, Some known and borne by their good forefathers, And own and vaunt it thus redeemed from sin. These are the plagues heaven sends o’er every land Before it sink—the portents of the street, Not of the air—lest nations should complain Of distance or of dimness in the signs, Flaring from far to Wisdom’s eye alone: These are the last! these, when the sun rides high In the forenoon of doomsday, revelling, Make men abhor the earth, arraign the skies. Ye who behold them spoil field after field, Despising them in individual strength, Not with one torrent sweeping them away Into the ocean of eternity, Arise! despach! no renovating gale, No second spring awaits you—up, begone, —If you have force and courage even for flight— The blast of dissolution is behind.

_Sis._ How terrible! how true! what voice like thine Can rouse and warn the nation! if she rise, Say, whither go, where stop we?

_Opas_. God will guide. Let us pursue the oppressor to destruction, The rest is heaven’s: must we move no step Because we cannot see the boundaries Of our long way, and every stone between?

_Sis._ Is not thy vengeance for the late affront, For threats and outrage and imprisonment?

_Opas_. For outrage, yes—imprisonment and threats I pardon him, and whatsoever ill He could do _me_.

_Sis._ To hold Covilla from me, To urge her into vows against her faith, Against her beauty, youth, and inclination, Without her mother’s blessing, nay without Her father’s knowledge and authority— So that she never will behold me more, Flying afar for refuge and for help Where never friend but God will comfort her—

_Opas_. These, and more barbarous deeds were perpetrated.

_Sis._ Yet her proud father deigned not to inform Me, whom he loved and taught, in peace and war, Me, whom he called his son, before I hoped To merit it by marriage or by arms. He offer’d no excuse, no plea; exprest No sorrow; but with firm unfaltering voice Commanded me—I trembled as he spoke— To follow where he led, redress his wrongs, And vindicate the honour of his child. He called on God, the witness of his cause, On Spain, the partner of his victories, And yet amidst these animating words Rolled the huge tear down his unvizor’d face— A general swell of indignation rose Thro’ the long line, sobs burst from every breast, Hardly one voice succeeded—you might hear The impatient hoof strike the soft sandy plain: But when the gates flew open, and the king In his high car came forth triumphantly, Then was Count Julian’s stature more elate; Tremendous was the smile that smote the eyes Of all he past—“fathers, and sons, and brothers,” He cried, “I fight your battles, follow me! Soldiers, we know no danger but disgrace!” Father, and general, and king, they shout, And would proclaim him—back he cast his face, Pallid with grief, and one loud groan burst forth; It kindled vengeance thro’ the Asturian ranks, And they soon scatter’d, as the blasts of heaven Scatter the leaves and dust, the astonished foe.

_Opas_. And doubtest thou his truth?

_Sis._ I love—and doubt— Fight—and believe: Roderigo spoke untruths, In him I place no trust; but Julian holds Truths in reserve—how should I quite confide!

_Opas_. By sorrows thou beholdest him opprest; Doubt the more prosperous: march, Sisabert, Once more against his enemy and ours; Much hath been done, but much there still remains.