CURTAIN.
SCENE SECOND.
[_Room in the castle of_ Bernardo. Zara _alone_].
Zara. 'Tis strange how the thought haunts me still. Long months have
passed since last I saw that noble face, and yet those gentle eyes look
on me! Ernest!--'tis a sweet English name, and 'twas a noble English
heart that felt such tender pity for a helpless maid. Hark! my father's
step! He comes to tell of victories gained, of kingdoms won. Oh, would
he might bring some word of him I have so longed to see and thank once
more!
[_Enter_ Bernardo _with a casket._
Ber. Joyful tidings, Zara! Grenada is free. Here, love, are gems for
thee; they have shone on many a fair lady's neck, but none more fair
than thine. And here are things more precious far to me than all their
gold and gems,--a goodly list of prisoners taken in the fight, and sent
to cool their Spanish blood in our deepest cells. Ah, many a proud name
is here,--Ferdinand Navarre, Carlos of Arragon, Lord L'Estrange, and
Baron Lisle. But, child, what ails thee?
Zara [_starting up_]. L'Estrange! Is he a prisoner too? Hast thou read
aright? Father, Father, it was he who saved me from a bitter death in
yonder forest. I never told his name lest it should anger thee. For my
sake spare him, and let the gratitude thou hast felt for that kind deed
soften thy heart to the brave stranger.
Ber. Nay, Zara! He is thy country's foe, and must be sacrificed to save
her honor. 'Twas a simple deed thou hast spoken of. What brave man but
would save a fair girl from storms or danger? 'Tis a foolish thought,
love; let it pass.
Zara. Oh, Father! I who never bent the knee to man before, implore thee
thus [_kneels_]. Be merciful! Leave not the English lord to the dark and
fearful doom that waits him. I know too well the life-long captivity,
more terrible than death itself, that is his fate. Oh, speak! Say he is
forgiven, Father!
Ber. Nay, what wild dream is this? Listen, child! I tell thee he must
suffer the captivity he merits as thy country's foe. He hath borne arms
against thy king, slain thy kindred, brought woe and desolation thro'
the land our fathers gave us. And thou wouldst plead for him! Shame on
thee! Thou art no true daughter of thy suffering country if thou canst
waste one tear on those who were well lodged in our most dreary
dungeons. Call thy pride to aid thee, Zara, and be worthy of thy noble
name.
Zara. Father, thou hast often told me woman's lot was 'mid the quiet
scenes of home, and that no thoughts of fame or glory should lie within
a heart where only gentleness and love should dwell; but I have learned
to honor bravery and noble deeds, and I would pledge my troth for the
noble stranger. See the English knight, and if he win thee not to
gratitude, thou art not the tender father who, through long years, hath
so loved and cherished thy motherless child.
Ber. Nay, Zara, nay; honor is a sterner master than a father's love. I
cannot free the captive till the king who hath sealed his doom shall
pardon also. The prisoners are men of rank, and for thy country's sake
must die. Forget thy foolish fancy, child, and set thy young heart on
some fairer toys than these false English lords. Adieu, love; I must to
the council.
[_Exit_ Bernardo.
Zara. Ah, there was a time when Zara's lightest wish was gladly granted.
This cruel war hath sadly changed my father; he hath forgotten all his
generous pity for suffering and sorrow. But my work is yet undone, and
the stranger is a captive. He _shall_ be free, and I will pay the debt
of gratitude I owe him. I will brave my father's anger; but whom can I
trust to aid me? Ha! Selim! He is old and faithful, and will obey
[_claps her hands_].
[_Enter_ Selim.
Selim. Your bidding, lady.
Zara. Selim, thou hast known me from my birth, and served me well. I
have done thee many a kindness. Wilt thou grant me one that shalt repay
all that I have ever shown to thee?
Selim. Lady, thou hast made a slave's life happy by thy care, and
through the long years I have served thee, hast never bid me do aught
that was not right. If my poor services can aid thee now, they are most
gladly thine.
Zara. Listen, Selim, while I tell thee what I seek. Thou knowest an
English soldier saved and led me from the forest yonder, and thou
knowest how my father thanked and blessed the unknown friend who had so
aided me. Yet now, when it is in his power to show the gratitude he
felt, he will not, and has doomed the man he once longed to honor to a
lonely cell to pine away a brave heart's life in sorrow and captivity. I
would show that gentle stranger that a woman never can forget. I would
free him. Thou hast the keys. This is the service I now crave of thee.
Selim. Lady, canst thou ask me to betray the trust my lord, thy father,
hath been pleased to place in me? Ask anything but this, and gladly will
I obey thee.
Zara. Ah, must I ever ask and be refused? Selim, listen! Thou hast a
daughter; she is fair and young, and thou hast often sighed that she
should be a slave. If thou wilt aid me now, the hour the chains fall
from the English captive's limbs, that hour shalt see thy daughter free,
and never more a slave. If thou wilt win this joy for her, then grant my
prayer, and she is free.
Selim. Oh, lady, lady, tempt me not! much as I love my child, I love
mine honor more. I cannot aid thee to deceive thy father.
Zara. Nay, Selim, I do not ask it of thee. The proud name my father
bears shall ne'er be stained by one false deed of mine. I ask thee but
to lead me to the prisoner's cell, that I may offer freedom, and tell
him woman's gratitude can never fail, nor woman's heart forget. And if
my father ask thee aught of this, thou shalt answer freely. Tell him
all, and trust his kindness to forgive; and if evil come _I_ will bear
it bravely,--thou shalt not suffer. Thou shalt win thy fair child's
freedom, and my fadeless thanks.
Selim. Thou hast conquered, lady; and for the blessed gift that is my
reward, I will brave all but treachery and dishonor. Thou shalt find thy
truest slaves in the old man and his daughter [_kneels and gives the
keys_].
Zara. Thanks, good Selim, thanks; thou shalt find a grateful friend in
her thou hast served so well. I will disguise me as a female slave, and
thou shalt lead me to the cell. Now go; I will join thee anon. [_Exit_
Selim.] Oh, Ernest, Ernest! thy brave heart shall pine no longer.
Another hour, and thou art free. Chains cannot bind, nor dungeons hold
when woman's love and gratitude are thine.
[_Exit._
CURTAIN.
SCENE THIRD.
[_Dungeon in the castle of_ Bernardo.
Ernest L'Estrange, _chained._]
Ernest. So end my dreams of fame and honor! A life-long captive, or a
sultan's slave are all that fate has left me now. Yet, 'mid disgrace and
sorrow, one thought can cheer me yet, and one sweet vision brighten e'en
my dreary lot. I have served my country well, and won the thanks of
Spain's most lovely daughter. Sweet lady, little does she dream amid her
happiness that memories of her are all now left to cheer a captive's
heart. But hist!--a footstep on the stair. Perchance they come to lead
me forth to new captivity or death. [_Enter_ Zara, _disguised as a
slave_] Ah, who comes here to cheer the cell of the poor captive?
Zara. Captive no longer, if life and liberty be dear to thee. Say but
the word, and ere the sun sets thou shalt be free amid the hills of
Spain.
Ernest. Who art thou, coming like a spirit to my lonely cell, bringing
hopes of freedom? Tell me, what hath moved thee to such pity for an
unknown stranger?
Zara. Not unknown to her I serve. She hath not forgot thee, noble
stranger. When thou didst lead her from the dim wood, she said a day
might come when she, so weak and helpless then, might find some fit
reward for one who risked his life for her. That hour hath come, and she
hath sent her poor slave hither, and with her thanks and blessing to
speed thee on thy way.
Ernest. And is she near, and did she send thee to repay my simple deed
with one like this? Ah, tell her name! Where doth she dwell, and whence
the power to set me free?
Zara. I may not tell thee more than this. Her father is Bernardo of
Castile. She heard thy name among the captives doomed, and seeks to save
thee; for if thou dost not fly, a most cruel death awaits thee. Listen
to her prayer, and cast these chains away.
Ernest. It cannot be. Much as I love my freedom, I love my honor more;
and I am bound until my conqueror shall give back my plighted word, to
seek no freedom till he shall bid me go. Nay, do not sigh, kind friend;
I am no longer sad. From this day forth captivity is sweet. Tell thy
fair mistress all my thanks are hers; but I may not take the gift she
offers, for with freedom comes dishonor, and I cannot break my word to
her stern father. Tell her she hath made my fetters light, this cell a
happy home, by the sweet thought that she is near and still remembers
one who looks upon the hour when first we met as the happiest he hath
known.
Zara. If there be power in woman's gratitude, thou shalt yet be free,
and with thine honor yet unstained. She will not rest till all the debt
she owes thee is repaid. Farewell, and think not Zara will forget
[_turns to go; her veil falls_].
Ernest [_starting_]. Lady!--and is it thou? Ah, leave me not! Let me
thank thee for the generous kindness which has made a lone heart happy
by the thought that even in this wild land there is still one to
remember the poor stranger.
Zara. Pardon what may seem to thee unmaidenly and bold; but thou wert in
danger; there were none whom I could trust. Gratitude hath bid me come,
and I am here. Again I ask, nay, I implore thee, let me have the joy of
giving freedom to one brave English heart. England is thy home: wouldst
thou not tread its green shores once again? Are there no fond hearts
awaiting thy return? Ah, can I not tempt thee by all that man most
loves, to fly?
Ernest. Lady, my own heart pleads more earnestly than even thy sweet
voice; but those kind eyes were better dimmed with tears for my sad
death than be turned coldly from me as one who had stained the high name
he bore. And liberty were dearly purchased if I left mine honor here
behind. Ask me no more; for till thy father sets me free, I am his
prisoner here. Ah, dearest lady, thou hast made this lone cell bright,
and other chains than these now hold me here.
Zara. Then it must be. Much as I grieve for thy captivity, I shall honor
thee the more for thy unfailing truth, more prized than freedom, home,
or friends. And though I cannot save thee now, thou shalt find a Moorish
maiden true and fearless as thyself. Farewell! May happy thoughts of
home cheer this dark cell till I have won the power to set thee free.
[_Exit_ Zara.
Ernest. Liberty hath lost its charms since thou art near me, lovely
Zara. These chains are nothing now, for the fetters that thy beauty,
tenderness, and grace have cast about my heart are stronger far.
CURTAIN.
SCENE FOURTH.
[Zara's _chamber_.
_Enter_ Bernardo.]
Ber. [_unfolding a scroll_]. At length 't is done, and here I hold the
doom of those proud lords who have so scorned my race. The hour has
come, and Bernardo is revenged. What, ho! Zara, where art thou?
[_Enter_ Zara.
Zara. Dear father, what hath troubled thee, and how can Zara cheer and
comfort thee?
Ber. 'Tis joy, not sorrow, Zara, gives this fierce light to mine eye. I
have hated, and am avenged. This one frail scroll is dearer far to me
than all the wealth of Spain, for 'tis the death-knell of the English
lords.
Zara. Must they all die, my father?
Ber. Ay, Zara,--all; ere to-morrow's sun shall set they will sleep
forever, and a good deed will be well done. I hate them, and their
paltry lives can ill repay the sorrow they have wrought.
Zara. Let me see the fatal paper. [_Takes the scroll; aside._] Yes,
_his_ name is here. Ah, how strange that these few lines can doom brave
hearts to such a death! [_Aloud._] Father, 'tis a fearful thing to hold
such power over human life. Ah, bid me tear the scroll, and win for thee
the thanks of those thy generous pity saves.
Ber. [_seizing the paper_]. Not for thy life, child! Revenge is sweet,
and I have waited long for mine. The king hath granted this; were it
destroyed, the captives might escape ere I could win another. Nay, Zara,
this is dearer to me than thy most priceless gems. To-night it shall be
well guarded 'neath my pillow. Go to thy flowers, child. These things
are not for thee,--thou art growing pale and sad. Remember, Zara, thou
art nobly born, and let no foolish pity win thee to forget it.
[_Exit_ Bernardo.
Zara. Oh, Father, Father, whom I have so loved and honored, now so cold,
so pitiless. The spirit of revenge hath entered thy kind heart, and
spread an evil blight o'er all the flowers that blossomed there. I
cannot win him back to tenderness, and Ernest, thou must perish. I
cannot save thee,--perhaps 'tis better so; but oh, 'twill be a bitter
parting! [_Weeps._] Nay, nay, it shall _not_ be! When this wild hate
hath passed, my father will repent. Alas! 't will be too late. _I_ will
save him from that sorrow when he shall find he hath wronged a noble
heart, and slain the friend he should have saved. But stay! how shall I
best weave my plot? That fatal paper, once destroyed, I will implore and
plead so tenderly, my father will repent; and ere another scroll can
reach his hands, I will have won thy freedom, Ernest! This night
beneath his pillow it will be; and I, like a midnight thief, must steal
to that couch, and take it hence. Yet, it shall be done, for it will
save thee, Father, from a cruel deed, and gain a brave heart's freedom.
Ernest, 'tis for thee! for thee!
CURTAIN.
SCENE FIFTH.
[_Chamber in the castle._
Bernardo _sleeping_. _Enter_ Zara.]
Zara. He sleeps calmly as a child. Why do I tremble? 'T is a deed of
mercy I would do, and thou wilt thank me that I dared to disobey, and
spare thee from life-long regret. The paper,--yes, 'tis here! Forgive
me, Father; 'tis to save thee from an evil deed thy child comes stealing
thus at dead of night to take what thou hast toiled so long to win.
Sleep on! no dark dream can break thy slumber now; the spirit of revenge
shall pass away, and I will win thee back to pity and to love once more.
Now, Ernest, thou art saved, and ere to-morrow's sun shall rise this
warrant for thy death shall be but ashes, and my task be done.
[_Exit_ Zara.
CURTAIN.
SCENE SIXTH.
[Zara's _chamber_.
Zara _alone_].
Zara. The long, sleepless night at length hath passed. The paper is
destroyed, and now nought remains but to confess the deed, and brave my
father's anger.
[_Enter_ Bernardo.
Ber. Zara!
Zara [_starts_]. Why so stern, my father? Hath thy poor Zara angered
thee?
Ber. I have trusted thee as few would trust a child. Thou art fair and
gentle, and I had thought true. Never, Zara, till now hast thou deceived
me; and if thou wouldst keep thy father's love and trust, I bid thee
answer truly. Didst thou, in the dead of night steal to my pillow, and
bear hence the paper I had told thee would be there? Thy slave girl,
Zillah, missed thee from thy couch, and saw thee enter there. She
feared to follow, but none other came within my chamber, and this morn
the scroll is gone. Now answer, Zara! Didst thou take the warrant, and
where is it now?
Zara. Burnt to ashes, and scattered to the winds. I have never stained
my soul with falsehood, and I will not now. Oh, Father! I have loved and
honored thee through the long years thou hast watched above me. How
could I love on when thou hadst stained with blood that hand that
blessed me when a child, how honor when thou hadst repaid noble deeds
with death? Forgive me that I plead for those thou hast doomed! I alone
am guilty,--let thine anger fall on me; but, Father, I implore thee,
leave this evil deed undone. [_Kneels._]
Ber. Thou canst plead well for thy father's and thy country's foe. What
strange fancy hath possessed thee, Zara? Thou hast never wept, tho' many
a Christian knight hath pined and died within these walls; and even
now, methinks, thou speakest more of gratitude than mercy, and seem
strangely earnest for the English lord who did thee some small service
long ago. Speak, Zara! wouldst thou save them _all_? Were I to grant
thee all their lives save his, wouldst thou be content to let _him_ die?
Zara. Nay, Father; but for his tender care thou wouldst have no daughter
now to stand before thee, pleading for the life he bravely risked in
saving mine. Oh, would I had died amid the forest leaves ere I had
brought such woe to him, and lived to lose my father's love! [_Weeps._]
Ber. Listen, Zara! Little as I know of woman's heart, I have learned to
read thine own; and if I err not, thou hast dared to love this stranger.
Ha! is it so? Girl, I command thee to forget that love, and leave him to
his fate!
Zara. Never! I will not forget the love that like a bright star hath
come to cheer my lonely heart. I will _not_ forget the noble friend
who, 'mid his fiercest foes, could brave all dangers to restore an
unknown maiden to her home. And when I offered liberty (for I have
disobeyed and dared to seek his cell), he would not break the word he
had plighted, Father, unto thee. He bade me tempt him not, for death
were better than dishonor. Ah, canst thou doom him to a felon's death?
Then do it; and the hour that sees that true heart cease to beat, that
hour thou hast lost the child who would have loved and clung to thee
through life.
Ber. Child, thou hast moved me strangely. I would grant thy prayer, but
thou shalt never wed one of that accursed race. I bear no hate to the
young lord, save that he is thy country's foe; and if he gains his
freedom, he will win thee too. By Allah! it shall never be. Yet, listen,
Zara! If I grant his life wilt thou ask no more?
Zara. 'T is all I ask; grant me but this, and I will give thee all the
gratitude and love this poor heart can bestow.
Ber. Then 'tis done. Yet hold! the price that thou must pay for this
dear boon is large. Thou must swear never to see him more; must banish
love, nay, even memory of that fatal hour when first he saw and saved
thee. If thou wilt vow to wed none but one of thine own race, his life
and liberty are thine to give. Speak, Zara! Wilt thou do all this?
Zara. Oh, Father, Father, anything but this! Pity, gratitude, and love
have bound me to him, and the fetters thou hast cast around him are not
stronger than the deep affection he hath wakened in my heart. Ah, why
wilt thou not give life and liberty to him, and joy to thy child? I will
not take the vow.
Ber. Then his fate is sealed. Thy girl's heart is too selfish to forego
its own joy for his sake. Thou dost not love enough to sacrifice thy
happiness to win his freedom. I had thought more nobly of thee, Zara.
Zara. I _will_ be worthy all thou mayst have thought me; but thou canst
little know the desolation thou hast brought me. Thou shalt see how
deeply thou hast wronged me, and my love. I will bear all, suffer all,
if it will win the life and liberty of him I love so deeply and so well.
Ber. Would to Heaven thou hadst never seen this English stranger! Again,
and for the last time, Zara, I ask thee, Wilt thou leave the captive to
his fate, and seek another heart to love?
Zara. Never! I could mourn his death with bitter tears; but oh, my love
is worthy a deeper sacrifice! He shall never suffer one sad hour if I
may spare him, and never know that liberty to him will bring such
life-long sorrow unto me.
Ber. Then thou wilt take the vow I bid thee?
Zara. I will.
Ber. Then swear by all thou dost hold most dear, and by thy mother's
spirit, to wed one only of thy father's race; and through joy and
sorrow, thro' youth and age, to keep thy vow unbroken until death.
Zara. I swear; and may the spirit of that mother look in pity on the
child whose love hath made her life so dark a path to tread.
Ber. May thou find comfort, Zara! I would have spared thee this, but now
it cannot be. Yet thy reward shall well repay thee for thy sacrifice.
The English knight is free, and thou shalt restore him unto life and
liberty. May Allah bless thee, child!
[_Exit_ Bernardo.
Zara. 'Tis over! The bright dream is past. Oh, Ernest! few will love
thee as I have done; few suffer for thee all that I so gladly bear; and
none can honor thy true, noble heart more tenderly than she whose hard
lot it is to part from thee forever. Still amid my blighted hopes one
thought can brighten my deep sorrow,--this sacrifice but renders me
more worthy of thee, Ernest. Now farewell, love; my poor heart may
grieve for its lost joy, and look for comfort but in Heaven.
CURTAIN.
SCENE SEVENTH.
[_The cell._
Ernest _chained_. _Enter_ Zara.]
Zara. My lord, I seek thee with glad tidings.
Ernest. Why so pale, dear lady? Let no care for me dim thine eye, or
chase the roses from thy cheek. I would not barter this dark cell while
thou art here for a monarch's fairest home.
Zara. Thou wilt gladly leave it when I tell thee thy captivity is o'er,
and I am here to set thee free. I have won thy liberty, and thou mayst
fly with honor all unstained; for here my father grants thy pardon, and
now bids thee go.
Ernest. How can I thank thee for thy tenderness and pity; how may I best
show the gratitude I owe thee for the priceless boon of freedom thou
hast this day given?
Zara. Nay, spare thy thanks! I have but paid the debt I owed thee, and
'tis but life for life. Now haste; for ere the sunset hour thou must be
beyond the city gates, and on thy way to home and happiness [_takes off
his chains_]. And now, brave heart, thou art free, and Zara's task is
done [_turns to go_].
Ernest. Stay, lady! thou hast loosed the chains that bound these hands,
but oh, thou hast cast a stronger one around my heart; and with my
liberty comes love, and thoughts of thee, thy beauty, tenderness, and
all thou hast done for me. Lady, thou hast cast away my fetters, but I
am captive still [_he kneels_]. Ah, listen, Zara, while I tell thee of
the love that like a sweet flower hath blossomed in this dreary cell,
and made e'en liberty less precious than one word, one smile from thee.
Zara. I may not listen,--'tis too late, and 'tis a sin for me to hear
thee. Ah, ask me not why, but hasten hence, and leave me to the fate
thou canst not lighten.
Ernest. Never! I will not leave thee till I have won the right to cheer
and comfort her who has watched so fearlessly o'er me. Tell me all, and
let me share thy sorrow, Zara.
Zara. Ah, no! It cannot be! Thou canst not break my solemn vow. Go!
leave me! Heaven bless thee, and farewell!
Ernest. A solemn vow! Hast thou bound thyself to win my freedom? Then
never will I leave this cell till thou hast told me all. I swear it, and
I will keep the oath.
Zara. Ernest, I implore thee, fly, or it may be too late. Thou canst not
help me, and I will not tell thee. Ah, leave me! I cannot save thee if
thou tarry now.
Ernest. Never, till thou hast told me by what noble sacrifice thou hast
saved this worthless life of mine. Let me free thee from thy sorrow,
Zara, or help thee bear it. Thou hast won my pardon, and I will not go
till thou hast told me how.
Zara. And wilt thou promise to go hence when I have told thee all, and
let me have the joy of knowing thou art safe?
Ernest. I _will_ leave thee, Zara, if thou canst bid me go. Now tell me
all thy sorrow, love, and let me share it with thee.
Zara. Ernest, I sought to save thee; for I had learned to love the noble
stranger who had done so kind a deed for me. I sought to win my father
back to gratitude. I wept and sued in vain,--he would not grant thy
life, the boon for which I prayed. Alone I watched above thee, and when
the warrant for thy death was sent, I took it from his pillow and
destroyed it. Thou wast safe. My father charged me with the deed; and
when I told him all, he bid me love no more, and leave thee to thy fate.
He bid me show how strong my woman's heart could be, and told me if I
yet desired thy freedom, I might win it if I took a solemn vow to wed
none but of my father's race. I took the vow, and thou art free. Ah, no
more!--and let us part while yet I have the strength to say farewell.
Ernest. And is it yet too late? Canst thou not take back the vow, and
yet be mine? I cannot leave thee,--rather be a captive here till thou
shalt set me free. Come, Zara, fly with me, and leave the father who
would blight thy life to satisfy a fierce revenge. Ah, come and let me
win thee back to love and happiness.