Chapter 7
_Opas_. But if Roderigo have at length prevailed That Egilona willingly resigns All claim to royalty, and casts away, Indifferent or estranged, the marriage-bond His perjury tore asunder, still the church Hardly can sanction his new nuptial rites.
_Egi._ What art thou saying! what new nuptial rites?
_Opas_. Thou knowest not?
_Egi._ Am I a wife; a queen? Abandon it! my claim to royalty! Whose hand was on my head when I arose Queen of this land? whose benediction sealed My marriage vow? who broke it? was it I? And wouldst thou, virtuous Opas, wouldst thou dim The glorious light of thy declining days? Wouldst thou administer the sacred vows, And sanction them, and bless them, for another, And bid her live in peace while I am living? Go then; I execrate and banish him For ever from my sight: we were not born For happiness together; none on earth Were ever so dissimilar as we. He is not worth a tear, a wish, a thought— Never was I deceived in him—I found No tenderness, no fondness, from the first: A love of power, a love of perfidy, Such is the love that is returned for mine. Ungrateful man! ’twas not the pageantry Of regal state, the clarions, nor the guard, Nor loyal valour, nor submissive beauty, Silence at my approach, awe at my voice, Happiness at my smile, that led my youth Toward Roderigo! I had lived obscure, In humbleness, in poverty, in want, Blest, oh supremely blest! with him alone: And he abandons me, rejects me, scorns me, Insensible! inhuman! for another! Thou shalt repent thy wretched choice, false man! Crimes such as thine call loudly for perdition; Heaven will inflict it, and not I—but I Neither will fall alone, nor live despised.
[_A trumpet sounds_.
_Opas_. Peace, Egilona, he arrives; compose Thy turbid thoughts, meet him with dignity.
_Egi._ He! in the camp of Julian! trust me, sir, He comes not hither, dares no longer use The signs of state, and flies from every foe.
[_Retires some distance_.
SECOND ACT: FIFTH SCENE.
_Enter_ MUZA _and_ ABDALAZIS.
_Muza_ [_to_ ABDALAZIS.] I saw him but an instant, and disguised, Yet this is not the traitor; on his brow Observe the calm of wisdom and of years.
_Opas_. Whom seekest thou?
_Muza_. Him who was king I seek. He came arrayed as herald to this tent.
_Abd._ Thy daughter! was she nigh? perhaps for her Was this disguise.
_Muza_. Here, Abdalazis, kings Disguise from other causes; they obtain Beauty by violence, and power by fraud. Treason was his intent: we must admit Whoever come; our numbers are too small For question or selection, and the blood Of Spaniards shall win Spain for us to-day.
_Abd._ The wicked cannot move from underneath Thy ruling eye.
_Muza_. Right! Julian and Roderigo Are leagued against us, on these terms alone, That Julian’s daughter weds the Christian king.
_Egi._ [_rushing forward_.] ’Tis true—and I proclaim it—
_Abd._ Heaven and earth! Was it not thou, most lovely, most high-souled, Who wishedst us success, and me a crown?
[OPAS _goes abruptly_.
_Egi._ I give it—I am Egilona, queen Of that detested man.
_Abd._ I touch the hand That chains down fortune to the throne of fate; And will avenge thee; for ’twas thy command, ’Tis Heaven’s—My father! what retards our bliss? Why art thou silent?
_Muza_. Inexperienced years Rather would rest on the soft lap, I see, Of pleasure, after the fierce gusts of war. O Destiny! that callest me alone, Hapless, to keep the toilsome watch of state; Painful to age, unnatural to youth, Adverse to all society of friends, Equality, and liberty, and ease, The welcome cheer of the unbidden feast, The gay reply, light, sudden, like the leap Of the young forester’s unbended bow; But, above all, to tenderness at home, And sweet security of kind concern Even from those who seem most truly ours. Who would resign all this, to be approached, Like a sick infant by a canting nurse, To spread his arms in darkness, and to find One universal hollowness around? Forego, a little while, that bane of peace. Love may be cherished.
_Abd._ ’Tis enough; I ask No other boon.
_Muza_. Not victory?
_Abd._ Farewell, O queen! I will deserve thee; why do tears Silently drop, and slowly, down thy veil? I shall return to worship thee, and soon; Why this affliction? Oh, that I alone Could raise or could repress it!
_Egi._ We depart, Nor interrupt your counsels, nor impede; Oh, may they prosper, whatsoe’er they be, And perfidy soon meet its just reward! The infirm and peaceful Opas—whither gone?
_Muza_. Stay, daughter; not for counsel are we met, But to secure our arms from treachery, O’erthrow and stifle base conspiracies, Involve in his own toils our false ally—
_Egi._ Author of every woe I have endured! Ah, sacrilegious man! he vowed to Heaven None of his blood should ever mount the throne.
_Muza_. Herein his vow indeed is ratified: Yet faithful ears have heard this offer made, And weighty was the conference that ensued, And long, not dubious; for what mortal e’er Refused alliance with illustrious power? Though some have given its enjoyments up, Tired and enfeebled by satiety. His friends and partisans, ’twas his pretence, Should pass uninterrupted; hence his camp Is open every day to enemies. You look around, O queen, as though you feared Their entrance—Julian I pursue no more; You conquer him—return we; I bequeath Ruin, extermination, not reproach. How we may best attain your peace and will We must consider in some other place, Not, lady, in the midst of snares and wiles How to supplant your charms and seize your crown. I rescue it, fear not: yes, we retire. Whatever is your wish becomes my own, Nor is there in this land but who obeys.
[_He leads her away_.
THIRD ACT: FIRST SCENE.
_Palace in_ XERES.
RODERIGO _and_ OPAS.
_Rod._ Impossible! she could not thus resign Me, for a miscreant of Barbary, A mere adventurer: but that citron face Shall bleach and shrivel the whole winter long There, on yon cork-tree by the sallyport. She shall return.
_Opas_. To fondness and to faith? Dost thou retain them, if she could return?
_Rod._ Retain them? she has forfeited by this All right to fondness, all to royalty.
_Opas_. Consider, and speak calmly: she deserves Some pity, some reproof.
_Rod._ To speak then calmly, Since thine eyes open and can see her guilt— Infamous and atrocious! let her go— Chains
_Opas_. What! in Muza’s camp?
_Rod._ My scorn supreme!
_Opas_. Say pity.
_Rod._ Ay, ay, pity—that suits best. I loved her, but _had_ loved her; three whole years Of pleasure, and of varied pleasure too, Had worn the soft impression half away. What I once felt, I would recall; the faint Responsive voice grew fainter each reply: Imagination sank amid the scenes It laboured to create; the vivid joy Of fleeting youth I followed, and possessed. ’Tis the first moment of the tenderest hour, ’Tis the first mien on entering new delights, We give our peace, our power, our souls, for these.
_Opas_. Thou hast; and what remains?
_Rod._ Myself—Roderigo— Whom hatred cannot reach, nor love cast down.
_Opas_. Nor gratitude nor pity nor remorse Call back, nor vows nor earth nor heaven control. But art thou free and happy? art thou safe? By shrewd contempt the humblest may chastise Whom scarlet and its ermine cannot scare, And the sword skulks for everywhere in vain, Thee the poor victim of thy outrages, Woman, with all her weakness, may despise.
_Rod._ But first let quiet age have intervened.
_Opas_. Ne’er will the peace or apathy of age Be thine, or twilight steal upon thy day. The violent choose, but cannot change, their end: Violence, by man or nature, must be theirs: Thine it must be, and who to pity thee?
_Rod._ Behold, my solace! none. I want no pity.
_Opas_. Proclaim we those the happiest of mankind Who never knew a want? Oh, what a curse To thee this utter ignorance of thine! Julian, whom all the good commiserate, Sees thee below him far in happiness: A state indeed of no quick restlessness, No glancing agitation, one vast swell Of melancholy, deep, impassable, Interminable, where his spirit alone Broods and o’ershadows all, bears him from earth, And purifies his chastened soul for heaven. Both heaven and earth shall from thy grasp recede. Whether on death or life thou arguest, Untutored savage or corrupted heathen Avows no sentiment so vile as thine.
Rod. Nor feels?
_Opas_. O human nature! I have heard The secrets of the soul, and pitied thee. Bad and accursed things have men confessed Before me, but have left them unarrayed. Naked, and shivering with deformity. The troubled dreams and deafening gush of youth Fling o’er the fancy, struggling to be free, Discordant and impracticable things: If the good shudder at their past escapes, Shall not the wicked shudder at their crimes? They shall—and I denounce upon thy head God’s vengeance—thou shalt rule this land no more.
_Rod._ What! my own kindred leave me and renounce me!
_Opas_. Kindred? and is there any in our world So near us, as those sources of all joy, Those on whose bosom every gale of life Blows softly, who reflect our images In loveliness through sorrows and through age, And bear them onward far beyond the grave.
_Rod._ Methinks, most reverend Opas, not inapt Are these fair views; arise they from Seville?
_Opas_. He, who can scoff at them, may scoff at me. Such are we, that the giver of all good Shall, in the heart he purifies, possess The latest love—the earliest—no, not there! I’ve known the firm and faithful—even from these Life’s eddying spring shed the first bloom on earth. I pity them, but ask their pity too. I love the happiness of men, and praise And sanctify the blessings I renounce.
_Rod._ Yet would thy baleful influence undermine The heaven-appointed throne.
_Opas_.—the throne of guilt Obdurate, without plea, without remorse.
_Rod._ What power hast thou? perhaps thou soon wilt want A place of refuge.
_Opas_. Rather say, perhaps My place of refuge will receive me soon. Could I extend it even to thy crimes, It should be open; but the wrath of heaven Turns them against thee, and subverts thy sway: It leaves thee not, what wickedness and woe Oft in their drear communion taste together, Hope and repentance.
_Rod._ But it leaves me arms, Vigour of soul and body, and a race Subject by law, and dutiful by choice, Whose hand is never to be holden fast Within the closing cleft of gnarled creeds; No easy prey for these vile mitred Moors. I, who received thy homage, may retort Thy threats, vain prelate, and abase thy pride.
_Opas_. Low must be those whom mortal can sink lower, Nor high are they whom human power may raise.
_Rod._ Judge now: for, hear the signal.
_Opas_. And derides The buoyant heart the dubious gulfs of war? Trumpets may sound, and not to victory.
_Rod._ The traitor and his daughter feel my power.
_Opas_. Just God! avert it!
_Rod._ Seize this rebel priest. I will alone subdue my enemies.
[_Goes out_.
THIRD ACT: SECOND SCENE.
RAMIRO _and_ OSMA _enter from opposite sides_.
_Ram._ Where is the king? his car is at the gate, His ministers attend him, but his foes Are yet more prompt, nor will await delay.
_Osma_. Nor need they—for he meets them as I speak.
_Ram._ With all his forces? or our cause is lost. Julian and Sisabert surround the walls.
_Osma_. Surround, sayst thou? enter they not the gates?
_Ram._ Perhaps ere now they enter.
_Osma_. Sisabert Brings him our prisoner.
_Ram._ They are friends! they held A parley; and the soldiers, when they saw Count Julian, lowered their arms and hailed him king?
_Osma_. How? and he leads them in the name of king?
_Ram._ He leads them; but amid that acclamation He turned away his head, and called for vengeance.
_Osma_. In Sisabert, and in the cavalry He led, were all our hopes.
_Opas_. Woe, woe is theirs Who have no other.
_Osma_. What are thine? obey The just commands of our offended king: Conduct him to the tower—off—instantly.
[_Guard hesitates_: OPAS _goes_.
Ramiro, let us haste to reinforce—
_Ram._ Hark! is the king defeated? hark!
_Osma_. I hear Such acclamation as from victory Arises not, but rather from revolt, Reiterated, interrupted, lost. Favour like this his genius will retrieve By time, or promises, or chastisement, Whiche’er he choose—the speediest is the best— His danger and his glory let us share; ’Tis ours to serve him.
_Ram._ While he rules ’tis ours. What chariot-wheels are thundering o’er the bridge?
_Osma_. Roderigo’s—I well know them.
_Ram._ Now, the burst Of acclamation! now! again, again.
_Osma_. I know the voices; they are for Roderigo.
_Ram._ Stay, I entreat thee—one hath now prevailed. So far is certain.
_Osma_. Ay, the right prevails.
_Ram._ Transient and vain their joyance, who rejoice Precipitately and intemperately, And bitter thoughts grow up where’er it fell.
_Osma_. Nor vain and transient theirs, who idly float Down popularity’s unfertile stream, And fancy all their own that rises round?
_Ram._ If thou still lovest, as I know thou dost, Thy king—
_Osma_. I love him; for he owes me much, Brave soul! and cannot, though he would, repay. Service and faith, pure faith and service hard, Throughout his reign, if these things be desert, These have I borne toward him, and still bear.
_Ram._ Come, from thy solitary eiry come, And share the prey, so plenteous and profuse, Which a less valorous brood will else consume. Much fruit is shaken down in civil storms: And shall not orderly and loyal hands Gather it up? (Loud shouts.) Again! and still refuse? How different are those citizens without From thee! from thy serenity! thy arch, Thy firmament, of intrepidity! For their new lord, whom they have never served, Afraid were they to shout, and only struck The pavement with their ferrules and their feet: Now they are certain of the great event Voices and hands they raise, and all contend Who shall be bravest in applauding most. Knowest thou these?
_Osma_. Their voices I know well— And can they shout for him they would have slain? A prince untried they welcome; soon their doubts Are blown afar.
_Ram._ Yes, brighter scenes arise. The disunited he alone unites, The weak with hope he strengthens, and the strong With justice.
_Osma_. Wait: praise him when time hath given A soundness and consistency to praise: He shares it amply who bestows it right.
_Ram._ Doubtest thou?
_Osma_. Be it so: let us away; New courtiers come—
_Ram._ And why not join the new? Let us attend him, and congratulate; Come on: they enter.
_Osma_. This is now my post No longer: I could face them in the field, I cannot here.
_Ram._ To-morrow all may change; Be comforted.
_Osma_. I want nor change nor comfort.
_Ram._ The prisoner’s voice!
_Osma_. The metropolitan’s? Triumph he may—not over me forgiven. This way, and through the chapel—none are there.
[_Goes out_.
THIRD ACT: THIRD SCENE.
OPAS _and_ SISABERT.
_Opas_. The royal threat still sounds along these halls: Hardly his foot hath passed them, and he flees From his own treachery; all his pride, his hopes, Are scattered at a breath; even courage fails Now falsehood sinks from under him. Behold, Again art thou where reigned thy ancestors; Behold the chapel of thy earliest prayers, Where I, whose chains are sundered 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 impressed and manfully performed. 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. Oh, 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 dispossess, From admiration sprung and frenzied 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 sworn Covilla weds no other?
_Sis._ Her persecutor have not I chastised? 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_. Griffins 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 preferred. ’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 besides, 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 height 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 returned. Ye know not till too late the filmy tie That holds heaven’s precious boon eternally To such as fondly cherish her; once go Driven by mad passion, strike but at her peace, And, though 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.
_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 remained a moment more, And seen the end? although 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!—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 altered 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, their 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! despatch! 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?