SCENE VI.—_ROLLA rushes in with a drawn sword in his right hand, a

javelin in his left, and a bow and quiver at his back. He is followed by a considerable number of OFFICERS and SOLDIERS._

_Rolla._ Be guided by me, my friends.

_Xaira._ A profanation of the Temple!

_Rolla._ You have profaned it by a sanguinary sentence.

_Xaira._ (_To the assembled Priests_) Avenge your gods! (_A confused murmuring is heard among them_)

_Ataliba._ (_To Xaira_) Silence!—(_He makes a motion with his hand, signifying that he is about to speak, when a general silence is observed. He then turns to Rolla, and addresses him_) Who are you?

_Rolla._ Do you not know me?

_Ataliba._ I had once a chieftain, who much resembled you in features—his name was Rolla, and he was a noble-minded man.—But who are you?

_Rolla._ No mockery Inca!—for the love of God no mockery!—Yet you may be right—I am no longer Rolla—I no longer know myself!—A storm drives me on!—a rapid stream hurries me forwards!—but have compassion upon me!—I honour you, Inca—I love and honour you truly.

_Ataliba._ You honour me?—Once indeed I indulged in such glorious visions, I said within myself, as long as I have Rolla for a chieftain, the monarch of Cuzco may rage, may try to seduce my provinces from their obedience, yet Rolla’s heroic courage is a tree under whose shade I shall always repose in peace.

_Rolla._ But answer me, I entreat?—is the tree under whose shade you were reposing thus quietly, responsible to itself, if a whirlwind should come, tear it up by the roots, and throw it down upon you?

_Ataliba._ What whirlwind has seized upon you?—what is it you desire?—speak, and thank your former services, that you are now indulged with the liberty of speaking. I have never sufficiently rewarded your heroic achievements, I do it now, in granting this permission.

_Rolla._ I have only a plain story to urge in my defence, let it suffice for my vindication, if you partake more of the human, than of the divine nature!—I love to excess!—While I was still a boy, this passion stole into my heart so sweetly, so pleasantly, so devoid of all uneasiness, that I felt delight in cherishing and indulging it. Love was at that time like a day of serenity to my soul, and remained so, till the period of youth intervened, when my passion became a storm, to which all must bend,—when nothing could restrain the impetuosity of my feelings. To love and be beloved were the highest objects to which I aspired—I thought of nothing but enjoying my sweet intoxication in Cora’s arms, regardless of honour or of the services due to my country, and to the noble race of our Incas, of which tree I am a branch. My good uncle sought to stem the torrent, or at least to conduct it into another channel, and sent me to serve my king in battle, trusting that the fever which burned within me, might thus in time be wholly exhausted. But vain was the hope, that in urging my steps to climb the lofty heights of honour, I might be enabled when I had gained their summit, to look down with calmness on the passion I had left below. This passion would not be shaken off—it accompanied me up the steep, and it was that alone which prompted all my heroic actions. Yes, Inca, whatever great or good I have performed in your service, is to be ascribed solely to love—it was my companion in the field of battle, and in my most adventurous moments, I thought not of my king nor of his throne, neither of the welfare of my country; I only thought of Cora—that I should become the object of Cora’s admiration—You owe nothing to me, all to my love for that matchless woman, and that love you must this day pardon. I am past the days of youth indeed, but my heart remains the same, it retains all the impetuosity of my earlier years; I still cherish the lovely visions of childhood; my passion is become like a tree, the root of which is so deeply entwined with my life, that the one cannot be plucked up without destroying the other. Oh, Inca, shew that you have the feelings of a man!—extend your mercy to Cora!—on my knees I intreat for her life! (_He kneels_) Since she has called the forsaken Rolla, brother, he is become proud, yet he still condescends on his knees to beg his sister’s life.

_Ataliba._ (_Endeavouring to conceal his emotions and preserve his dignity_) Rise!

_Rolla._ Mercy!

_Ataliba._ Rise!—lay thy arms at my feet, dismiss thy followers, and then wait silently, and submissively, the judgment of thy king.

_Rolla._ Mercy!—Mercy!—Uncle, Sister, aid me to entreat!—I have been so little accustomed to entreaty, that I scarcely know the form in which it should be clothed.

_Ataliba._ A petitioner in arms!—would you mock your sovereign?

_Rolla._ (_Rising up_) Oh no!—but you require impossibilities—you expect a man in a burning fever to sleep. Can Rolla behold Cora in chains, and lay down his arms?—by Heaven that cannot be!

_Ataliba._ I command you to deposit them at my feet.

_Rolla._ Pronounce her pardon Inca!—declare her absolved from her detested vow, and you shall instantly be obeyed.

_Ataliba._ No conditions—your arms must instantly be resigned.

_Rolla._ Impossible!—Come to my heart, Cora!—be my breast your shield, and let my sword hew asunder those chains!

_Ataliba._ Rebel, do whatever you please.—whatever the gods will permit—but know that Ataliba will not pronounce sentence till he beholds you kneeling disarmed at his feet. Never shall it be said, that you _extorted_ mercy from the king. (_In a pathetic tone_) Ye people of Quito, listen to the voice of your sovereign!—I stand here at this moment, in the temple, in the presence of our God himself!—For seven years have I now reigned over you, I ask if any one can charge me during that time with a wilful injustice?—if any can, let him come forwards!—Has any one been dismissed from before my throne without assistance, where assistance could be granted?—if any has, let him come forwards!—I have conquered other countries, I have triumphed over other kings, but that is little.—When a few years ago the anger of the gods had cursed the country with unfruitfulness, I threw open the doors of my full barns, fed the hungry, and revived the sick, while many a night I lay sleepless in my own bed, because your misery oppressed my soul, and I had not power to relieve all. Ye people of Quito your present conduct is undeserved by me!—Seize that man, chain him, or I lay down my sceptre at this moment. (_A confused murmuring is heard among the crowd._)

_Rolla._ (_Turning to his followers_) You seize me!—you put me in chains!—which among you will do this?—You perhaps, my old companion in battle, with whom I once shared my last morsel when famine stared us in the face?—or you, whose life I saved in the field of Tumibamba?—or you, whose son I rescued from the enemy’s hands, even at the moment when the lance was pointed against his breast?—Which among you will seize me?—Speak?

_High-Priest._ Rolla, my adopted son, how am I bowed down by this scene. Would you see me, miserable old man, as I am, prostrate at your feet?

_Rolla._ Forbear!—I honour you as a father, but do not spread out your hands to the stormy winds,—it is in vain! (_The High-Priest is about to proceed in his entreaties, but Rolla prevents him impatiently_) Uncle, no more!—the lots are cast, and whatever may be the consequence I am resolved to save Cora.

_Cora._ (_Goes up to Rolla, embraces and kisses him_) Brother, take this kiss from your sister, and let these tears speak my gratitude for love so ardent. Your soul is truly noble,—this day, for the first time in my life, have I really known you. But one so great, so good, must be his sovereign’s friend. Cora has been guilty of a crime, and would you seek to shelter her by the commission of another? Oh, what an added weight of remorse would that reflection heap upon my already overburthened conscience!—No, Rolla, do not act thus beneath yourself!—do not seek to snatch the reins from the hands of God, who assuredly directs my fate!—Suffer me to die!—I have received my father’s and my brother’s forgiveness; Alonzo dies with me, and I die contentedly. Our spirits shall hover around you, and will rejoice when they behold you true to your king, and devoting all your powers to the service of your country.—resolve to endure the remainder of your life without me!—it is my last request, and I know that Rolla will yield to Cora’s entreaty; then will she have performed a good action at her departure from the world, and will be indebted to her brother for that grateful reflection. Yes, Rolla, I see the clouds upon your brow dispersing, I see tears start into your eyes—do not repress them,—give them free scope—they are no disgrace even to the eyes of a warrior.—And now, my brother, give me your sword, your javelin!—(_She takes his sword and javelin gently out of his hands, and lays them at Ataliba’s feet_) Behold now a hero indeed!—With those tears that are trembling on his cheeks, has he washed away the stain which was beginning to tarnish his fame and virtue—now Rolla, I am indeed proud of your love!—One only effort sill remains, throw yourself at the feet of our good king—kneel to him, and let virtue remain sole victor! (_She draws him gently towards Ataliba, at whose feet she throws herself.—Rolla, after a few moments’ struggle with himself, kneels by her—Cora addresses the king_) Oh sovereign of Quito, I bring you back your hero!—pardon him!—he deserves your pardon! (_She rises and returns to her former station._) Now Inca, proceed to judgment! (_Rolla remains kneeling before the king_)

_Telasco._ (_Embracing Cora_) My daughter!—for as such I may now embrace thee without shame.

_Ataliba._ Does Rolla submit to his king?

_Rolla._ Entirely.

_Ataliba._ Your life is forfeited.

_Rolla._ Of that I am sensible.

_Ataliba._ You have my free pardon.

_Rolla._ (_Raising up his eyes to the king with haste and anxiety_) And Cora?

_Ataliba._ You are pardoned.

_Rolla._ (_Casting his eyes again to the ground_) Oh God!

_Ataliba._ Rise!

_Rolla._ No, let me hear the sentence upon my knees, for in pronouncing Cora’s doom you pronounce mine.

_Ataliba._ Well then! (_He takes again into his hands the sword and palm-branch, which at the beginning of the tumult he had laid upon the altar._)

_High-Priest._ (_Throwing himself suddenly at the king’s feet_) Oh Inca, pardon them!

_Ataliba._ (_Raising him up with mildness_) Do you also ask this, my father?—have the gods manifested their will to you?

_High-Priest._ Mercy is the will of the gods!—Those rude times when your illustrious ancestor first established the worship of the sun are no more. Naked as the beasts of the forest, our race then lived under the open canopy of Heaven alone, while their women were considered like the dates upon the palm-tree, as fruit which every one might pluck according to his fancy. At that time they had no subsistence but what they could snatch precariously from day to day,—they were without religion, without laws, without property. Then Manco-Capac, endowed with supernatural powers, appeared among them—he built a temple to the sun, and consecrated virgins to his service, instituting at the same time the vow of chastity, because vice reigned so triumphantly throughout the kingdom, and reason was so much in its infancy, that without such a precaution, the temple on the solemn days of festival had become a theatre of debauchery. But a long series of years has changed what was then a forced obedience to the laws of order, into an inward feeling of their beauty, and where this rules, compulsive institutions are no longer necessary. Therefore, Inca, I stand here in the name of the gods, and call upon you, as the benefactor of your people, to crown all your noble deeds with a sacrifice due to reason, and through her to the gods themselves. Shrink not from the trial!—be eager to do what is right, or if any thing still be wanting to your conviction, let the supplication of an old man at least move you!—the supplication of one by whom you were educated, who loves you as his own son, who has watched with anxious care your infant slumbers, and who now asks this mercy as the recompence of all his cares! (_He takes the fillet from his head and shews his grey hair._) Grant this request, oh Inca, for the sake of these grey hairs, become thus silvery in your service!

_Ataliba._ Enough!—Come forwards, Cora!—and you, Alonzo!

_High-Priest._ Ye gods, direct his noble heart!

(_CORA and ALONZO come forwards trembling._)

_Telasco._ (_To Zorai_) Support me, my son,—support me!

(_ATALIBA after a solemn pause, with his right hand strikes the sword against the ground and breaks it, then with his left presents the palm-branch to CORA._)

_Ataliba._ Be the law abolished, and Cora released!

(_CORA sinks down in a swoon,—ALONZO throws himself by her—ROLLA springs up and presses the king wildly to his breast.—The HIGH-PRIEST raises his hands gratefully towards Heaven—TELASCO supported by ZORAI totters towards his daughter,—The people shout repeatedly, crying_)

_All._ Long live the Inca!!! (_The Curtain falls._)

END OF THE PLAY.