OF THE SUN. They are clad in thick mourning veils, and march in slow and
solemn procession towards the King. An awful silence is observed by the
whole company, who wait the sequel of the scene with anxious expectation._
_High-Priestess._ (_Throwing back her veil_) Oh woe! woe! woe!
_Ataliba._ On whom dost thou imprecate woe?
_High-Priestess._ The temple is polluted!—the altars are profaned!—the
holy lamp is extinguished!—Oh woe! woe! woe!
_Ataliba._ Name the criminal, that the gods may be avenged for these
heavy offences.
_High-Priestess._ First born of the Sun, let the stringed instruments,
let the festal song, cease!—Let the temple be divested of its ornaments,
and the garlands be taken from the beasts prepared for sacrifice;
to-day can no festival be solemnized!—Lamentations must be our only
songs, mourning veils our only ornaments!—A serpent has with his poison
polluted the house of the Stars!—A Virgin of the Sun has broken her vow
of chastity! (_She pauses a few moments—the whole assembly shudder—Alonzo
appears like one thunderstruck—at length the High-Priestess proceeds_)
Woe! woe! upon CORA!!!
(_At the mention of this name the KING utters a cry of agony.—TELASCO,
trembling, supports himself upon his staff—ZORAI, full of confusion,
conceals his face in his garments—ALONZO is sinking to the ground, but is
supported by Velasquez—A confused murmur is heard among the rest of the
assembly._)
_High-Priestess._ Vengeance! vengeance! upon the murderer of virtue!—upon
the wretch who could abuse the hospitality of a peaceable people, and
violate the sacred asylum of the Wives of the Sun!—Woe! woe! upon
ALONZO!!!
(_ATALIBA utters a more piercing cry than before—ALONZO stands
with downcast eyes, while a death-like paleness overspreads his
countenance—The attention of the whole company is immediately turned
towards him—TELASCO looks around with a vacant stare._)
_High-Priestess._ First born of the Sun!—image of our God upon earth!—I
stand here, and require from thee an awful atonement for this sacrilege!
_Ataliba._ (_With deep gloom_) Which thou shalt have.
_High-Priestess._ Be death and shame the lot of the seducer!—Be death and
shame the lot of Cora, and her whole family!
(_TELASCO starts, murmurs to himself the word_ “shame,” _and falls to the
ground—ZORAI throws himself by him._)
_Ataliba._ All-merciful God! (_Calls to the attendants_) Come to
the assistance of this poor old man. (_Telasco is raised up—the
High-Priestess is about to proceed, but the King makes her a sign to be
silent, and addresses her and her train_) Enough, ye pious women! I know
my duty, and will perform whatever may be required by the ordinances of
Manco-Capac. To question you, Alonzo, concerning the truth of the charge
alledged against you, were needless;—thy death-like countenance, thy
downcast eyes confess the fault too plainly, and thou art lost beyond
the possibility of redemption.—Hadst thou excited my provinces to rebel
against me; had thy sword deprived me of half my kingdom, I would have
given thee my hand, and said, thou didst once save my life, and all
that I have I share willingly with thee!—But now, the king alone must
speak; the friend must remain silent.—Alonzo, thou art lost beyond the
possibility of redemption!—Unhappy youth, what hast thou done!
_Alonzo._ Let me die!—Death is no more than I justly deserve, for having
repaid with such base ingratitude the unmixed happiness I have enjoyed in
this kingdom. Yes, let me die, oh king! (_Falling upon his knees_) But
save, save, the hapless Cora!—she is innocent!—her seducer only is guilty!
_Ataliba._ Rise!—My power is confined within certain limits: and in no
respect is it so rigidly circumscribed as in all matters which concern
religion. (_He stands for some moments wrapt in mournful musing, and
apparently struggling with himself, then says, with averted countenance_)
Guards, put him in irons! (_To the High-Priest_) Assemble your priests in
the court of the temple, to judge the culprits according to our holy laws
and customs; and ere the sun sink into the ocean, let me be summoned to
confirm the sentence. (_Going_)
_Xaira._ Sire, it is necessary the father and brother should also be put
in irons.
_Ataliba._ Poor old man!—he will not run away from you!
_Xaira._ The brother at least.
_Ataliba._ Well, if it must be!—(_Zorai is put in irons_) Oh what misery
is it to be king when one is compelled to punish! (_Exit_)
_High-Priestess._ (_To the High-Priest_) Hasten, thou first servant of
our gods, hasten to avenge your masters, that this very evening the
last rays of the declining sun may beam upon the grave which encloses
Cora—Go, ye daughters of the sun, bow yourselves down in prayer, wash the
altar with your tears, and conceal your blushing cheeks beneath sevenfold
veils, till the disgrace with which our Order has been branded by that
profligate stranger, be wholly effaced!—(_Exit, followed by the Virgins
of the Sun_)
_High-Priest._ (_Aside_) Poor Rolla! (_Exit_)
_Xaira._ (_To some of the other Priests_) Go out at the northern
gate, and prepare a grave in that waste and desolate spot which is
distinguished by numerous heaps of stones.
_Telasco._ And let me be the first laid within it! [_Exeunt Priests._
_Xaira._ (_To the Guards_) Lead the prisoners away.
_Alonzo._ (_To Juan_) Farewel, Velasquez!—When you return to our native
country, bear my tenderest greetings to my poor mother; but be careful to
conceal from her my unhappy story.
_Telasco._ (_As he is seized by the guards_) Whither would you drag me,
old as I am?
_Alonzo._ Oh, Velasquez, this old man!—this unfortunate old man!
_Telasco._ Give me my daughter!—restore me my daughter!
_Xaira._ Away with them all.
_Telasco._ (_As he is led off_) Give me my daughter!—restore me my
daughter! [_Exeunt omnes._
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.—_A barren Spot on the Outside of the Walls of the Temple.
Four PRIESTS are employed in making a Grave;—several other PRIESTS are
scattered about. While they sing the first Chorus, ROLLA appears upon the
Stage._
(_Solemn Chorus of Priests._)[1]
Haste!—dig with eager hands a grave,
Our guiltless heads from death to save!
A grave, to turn from us aside
The darts destruction’s daemons guide!
For hark!—both justice and compassion cry,
“To save the guiltless, let the guilty die!”
_Rolla._ (_Starting_) What do I hear!—say,—what is the meaning of this?
(_Chorus of Priests._)
Haste!—dig a grave t’avenge the gods!
A grave, that in death’s dark abodes,
Lost Cora’s crime, of deepest die,
May soon for ever buried lie!
_Rolla._ Cora’s crime!—speak!—answer me!
_A Priest._ Away from this spot!—It is cursed for Cora’s sake.
_Rolla._ Curses upon thyself, thou damned babbler!—But say!—why these
solemn preparations?—for what miserable victim is this grave designed?
(_Chorus of Priests._)
Brethren!—the grave’s prepar’d!—away!
Bring Cora hither!—hence!—obey!—
That perishing in earth’s dark womb
Which must her living form entomb,
She a sin-offering may become, for sin;
And by her sufferings heaven’s compassion win.
_Rolla._ Ye powers above!—what sounds are these!—they fall like a
mountain upon my head! (_The priests collect their tools, and prepare
to depart_) Speak, ye flinty-hearted men!—speak!—speak!—it is Rolla who
entreats you!—Rolla entreats!—One who is not accustomed to solicitation
entreats you to tell him the meaning of what he sees!—What has happened
here?—for what purpose is this grave prepared?—and why do you sing that
ill-omened song? (_The priests are going, Rolla stamps on the ground_)
Stop, and speak, or dread the violence you will provoke! (_Exeunt the
Priests, Rolla is following them_)
[1] The translator acknowledges her obligation to a friend, for the
verification of these chorusses.
SCENE II.—_DIEGO enters in great haste, and extreme agitation. ROLLA
stops on seeing him._
_Rolla._ Ha!—Surely I recollect you, my friend!—Were not you also present
at my late interview with Alonzo?—Tell me then what has happened since he
departed hence?—speak!—instantly speak?
_Diego._ See, I tremble in every limb. My poor unfortunate master!—Ah, he
languishes in chains!
_Rolla._ And Cora?—Cora?
_Diego._ Probably shares his fate.—Don Juan must know more, for he was
present during the whole scene.
_Rolla._ Don Juan!—I thank you for mentioning his name!—Where is
he?—hasten, hasten to seek him!—Conduct him hither instantly!—I will wait
here to receive him.—Begone, I entreat you!—the moments are precious!
(_Exit Diego_) My agony is intolerable!—I am impatient to know all, yet
tremble at the thoughts of what I may hear!—I can scarcely breathe for
anguish!—Uncle, uncle, where are you? (_Going_)
SCENE III.—_Enter the HIGH-PRIEST._
_Rolla._ Ha!—here he is!—Oh tell me instantly, whether this be true or
false?
_High-Priest._ Your words are scarcely intelligible, yet the wildness of
your looks explains them but too clearly.—Alas! it is true!
_Rolla._ (_Pointing to the grave_) And here?
_High-Priest._ (_With a deep sigh, and turning away his face_) Yes!
_Rolla._ Tremble then, oh earth, and let thy whole surface become
desolate!—Groan! groan! ye hills!—Thou fire burst forth in the valleys
and consume the fruits of the soil, that the fertile spots may no longer
be crowned with verdure, but the whole earth appear as one vast scene
of conflagration!—Rise ye terrors of nature, ye storms and whirlwinds,
that I may breathe more freely amid your mighty conflicts,—that the voice
of my agony may contend with your roarings!—that my arm may slay more
rapidly than the lightning itself!
_High-Priest._ Rolla, for the sake of all the gods!—
_Rolla._ No, she shall not die!—sooner shall the sacred lamp be
extinguished, and the temple itself become a desert!—Believe me,
Uncle, she shall not die!—you may tell me that the grave is already
prepared—that her fate is inevitable!—Yes, it is prepared, but Rolla
still lives!
_High-Priest._ Your words are of dreadful import!
_Rolla._ Sooner shall it be Rolla’s grave!—sooner shall he be stretched
upon the earth, senseless, motionless, a breathless corpse!—Yet let him
not even then be trusted hastily!—examine carefully that every spark of
life be really extinguished, since if only one be left smothering, it
will assuredly burst forth into a flame, and consume the persecutors of
Cora. Oh, while this hand can wield a sword, let no one venture to touch
Cora!—the blood of him who should harbour so sacrilegious a thought,
shall answer for his rashness!—the priests—the king—even thou thyself.
_High-Priest._ Madman rage on!—dare in thy phrenzy to raise thy arm
against the gods!—
_Rolla._ Against the gods!—No, the gods are on my side, their lightning
is in my hand, their shield before my breast!—Short-sighted mortals!—What
are the brightest, warmest rays of our god but pure effusions of that
benign love which alike unfolds the rose-bud, and expands the human
heart. Woe then to the miserable wretch who remains insensible to its
genial influence, and pining in a cold damp corner of the earth lives
a life scarcely superior to the senseless oyster. Cora even excels
her former self, since she has yielded to this impulse;—and how could
she fail to do so, for the gods would never leave their master-piece
unfinished; and what is the heart without love, but a lamp without light,
an eye without the power of vision?——These are things, Uncle, which
however _you_ cannot understand.
_High-Priest._ You do me injustice, Rolla.
_Rolla._ Injustice!—You cannot have been yourself susceptible of the
exquisite, the heavenly, feeling of love, when it is your lips that have
condemned Cora.
_High-Priest._ You are right now—it was my _lips_ condemned her.
_Rolla._ But not your heart?
_High-Priest._ Not my heart.
_Rolla._ Come then to my arms;—I rejoice to find that you are a man!—But
why stand here so cold and inactive?—fly and save her!
_High-Priest._ That is impossible.
_Rolla._ Courage, dear Uncle, courage!—Your grey hairs, your mild
eloquence, my sword, and the arm of God!—all these united—Yes, yes, we
will save her!
_High-Priest._ Alas, young man, zeal blinds you to the steep rocks which
lie in our way.
_Rolla._ I feel sufficient energy to defy them.
_High-Priest._ Ancient popular opinions—the customs of whole centuries——
_Rolla._ Nature is older than these.
_High-Priest._ But not more powerful.
_Rolla._ Mere evasion.
_High-Priest._ Could I, by sacrificing the few short years remaining
of my life, redeem the hapless Cora’s, I would instantly with firm and
resolute step descend into this vault.
_Rolla._ Babble.
_High-Priest._ Are these tears also babble?
_Rolla._ Hypocrisy!—do not talk, but act.
_High-Priest._ What can I do?
_Rolla._ (_Raising his hands towards Heaven_) Oh Father above, do thou
then interpose to save her!—suffer not the most perfect work upon which
thy rays ever shone to be destroyed, but, to the confusion of these
unfeeling priests, save her!—Oh, how could I expect to find a heart of
sensibility within such a shell!—the heart that beats beneath those
garments never can have any feeling, except for vain and senseless
customs; it dissembles towards its god, and is blood-thirsty as a tyger’s.
_High-Priest._ Oh Rolla, you know not how much you wrong me!
_Rolla._ Carefully instructed by your fathers and mothers to pluck every
flower which might lie in your way,—to wring the neck of every bird which
might fall into your hands,—from your infancy each avenue in your hearts
has been closed against humanity, while he, who could with the greatest
composure perform such ignoble actions, was considered as bearing in his
bosom the germs of the future High-Priest.
_High-Priest._ This from you, Rolla?
_Rolla._ Beloved and pampered self is the sole object of your
attention,—beauty is to you as a blunted arrow—and love appears an absurd
romance. A shake of the head is the utmost tribute you can pay to the
sufferings of a brother, nor does the tear of sympathy ever _start_ into
your eyes, it only quivers there by compulsion. No emotion of concern
would intrude into your breast were the world itself to be laid in
ruins, provided _you_ were spared and could continue to live in case and
affluence.
_High-Priest._ Rolla, you torture me—you break my heart!—I must speak out
and shame you.
_Rolla._ Yes, speak!—that also you can do sometimes—not always.
_High-Priest._ Learn to be silent when an old man would be heard, and
if you cannot respect my age, at least respect my misfortunes. Is the
station in which I am placed that of my own free choice?—are not the
nearest relations of the king priests by birth?—am I to blame because the
caprice of chance destined me to the altar, to immolate turtle-doves,
to draw omens from the entrails of lambs, and to interpret dreams?—Oh
had you known me in my youth, you would have seen me full of ardour and
energy,—more eager to brandish the sword, than to wield the knife of
sacrifice!—Believe me, there are but few persons in the world placed in
the situations for which they are most suited, least of all those who
hold an office by descent.
_Rolla._ (_In a cold and constrained manner_) If I have said too much,
pardon me. Overpowered as I am with rage and anguish, scarcely do I know
myself.
_High-Priest._ Had it been possible to throw aside this dignity with
which I am reproached, as one casts off a tight and uneasy garment, I
had spurned it a thousand, and a thousand times; for it has occasioned
me forty years of the bitterest suffering. Rolla, Rolla, I cannot endure
the chilling frown upon thy countenance; the eye of contempt with which
I am regarded!—Thou the only being on whom my heart still hangs!—thou
only being whose affections I still wish to attract!—listen, Rolla, to my
tragic story—a story nearly resembling thine own!—My sorrows, like thine,
proceeded from the heart—my sorrows arose from an ill-fated passion—I too
loved a Virgin of the Sun!
_Rolla._ How!!!
_High-Priest._ By virtue of my office as High-Priest, I had at all times
free ingress and egress, to and from the house of the Stars. Daily did my
eyes rove about among the expanding blossoms that were confined within
its walls, and I was pleased with contemplating their varied charms,
though this long remained a mere amusement to the eye, while the heart
took no share in the glances that I cast around me. At length Zulma
came, a meteor among meteors; she shone in the midst of her sisters a
brilliant image of the god she served. I saw her often, and every time I
beheld her, only wished more ardently to see her again—yet I continued
insensible to the danger of my situation, till I was one day accidentally
led into a strict examination of my heart, when I was terrified at the
result. My conduct with regard to Zulma was instantly changed; I was no
longer unrestrained in her presence; I scarcely dared to raise my eyes
to hers; and my whole frame trembled as I approached her. I was soon
convinced that her heart beat responsively to mine, since she immediately
began to avoid me, as if too sensible of my meaning. I saw that the
effort was painful, that love and duty were at war in her bosom, and,
desirous to render the conflict less severe, I determined equally to
avoid her. Many months lingered on in this miserable situation, while
both endured the keenest torments of hopeless passion: our cheeks
grew pale; our eyes became hollow and sunk; despair reigned in every
feature; till at length Zulma’s weaker frame could no longer support such
complicated sorrow—she was attacked with a violent illness, and lay at
the point of death; while I——Rolla, you seem affected!
_Rolla._ (_Holding out his hand to him with averted eyes_) Oh, how unjust
have I been!—I am ashamed!—pardon me!—and—proceed, Uncle—tell me she died!
_High-Priest._ I hastened to her assistance—day and night I climbed the
most rugged rocks, or ranged the forests, to seek medicinal herbs for her
restoration. I summoned together the oldest priests in the kingdom who
were celebrated for their skill in the medical science; and at length, by
our unwearied exertions, the lovely Zulma was saved. She sunk in my arms
overpowered with gratitude—not a word was spoken by either, we explained
ourselves only by the expressive language of tears—(_He appears extremely
affected_) Oh, Rolla! I am now grown old, yet see how the recollection of
this scene still shakes me.
_Rolla._ (_Clasping his hand eagerly_) Beloved, excellent Uncle!
_High-Priest._ Stop till you hear the conclusion of my story!—The
long-smothered flame of love now burst out with uncontroulable
wildness—the voices of reason and duty were listened to no longer—passion
had gained the sole ascendency in our bosoms—and——(_Rolla starts, and
fixes his eyes on the High-Priest, who spreads out his arms towards him_)
Rolla, you are my son!
_Rolla._ (_With the most eager emotion_) Old man, you mock me!
_High-Priest._ You are indeed my son.
_Rolla._ (_Throws himself into the High-Priest’s arms; after a few
moments, he breaks from him again hastily_) And my mother—is she still
alive?
_High-Priest._ No—from above she looks down and blesses this scene!
(_Rolla stands with his arms folded, his head sunk upon his bosom, and
his eyes fixed upon the ground, endeavouring to restrain his tears_)
Think then how my paternal heart has been tortured by your bitter
revilings!—Understand why I have always clung to you with such ardent
fondness!—why I have followed, you every where, and interested myself so
eagerly in your fate!—The anxiety I expressed when I saw you depart to
head the armies of your sovereign, is now solved!—solved equally are the
transports by which I was overpowered when I beheld you return as victor.
_Rolla._ (_Falling on his neck_) Have I then ever communicated the throb
of transport to any human breast?—My father!—Oh this name is so new to
my tongue!—filial feelings are so new to my heart!—How often, when at
the head of the army I have knelt to receive your priestly blessing,
have I felt your hand tremble as it was laid upon me!—Oh, why did I not
guess the cause of this tremor!—why did I not know that it was a father’s
blessing I knelt to receive!—My father!—my father!—why have you concealed
yourself so long from your son?—why have you not sooner communicated joy
to a bosom to which it has hitherto been a stranger?
_High-Priest._ Was it possible to trust the wildness and ardour of thy
youth?
_Rolla._ But all is not yet clear to me. Oh then unveil the sequel of
your story!—tell me—could you escape discovery?
_High-Priest._ What would have been impossible to another, was possible
to me from my situation as High-Priest. Our hapless adventure was never
known; and as soon as you were born, I sent you to the frontiers of the
kingdom, among the people of Ibara, of which province my brother was
governor. You were educated as his son; but as he died while you were
still a child, his death furnished me with a pretence for removing you to
Quito, that I, as a near relation, might take you under my protection;
and, from that time, I have never ceased to pay as much attention to
your education myself, as I thought I might do with safety, and without
exciting suspicion. Your mother had gone to the place of rest some months
before your arrival, and left me condemned for a long series of years to
drag about a miserable existence.
_Rolla._ Miserable!—when you had a son!—I have indeed hitherto considered
my existence as miserable, because I thought myself single and solitary
in the world; but never shall I think it so again, now I know that I
have a father living—a father who loves me, whose heart will sympathize
with mine. Yes, I am reconciled to the world!—It is true, my father,
that neither of us can be perfectly happy; yet a life that shall be
supportable, nay in which you shall experience many hours of real
enjoyment, I dare promise you. Hear what golden visions my fancy has
formed:—Cora and Alonzo shall fly, we will accompany them, and I will
conduct you to one who, for my sake, will be a friend to us all. There
we will live,—there pass the remainder of our days quietly, contentedly,
and free from cares;—and, my father, if sometimes when I witness Cora’s
and Alonzo’s caresses, and the transports they mutually experience—if
when—pierced to the heart with the idea that Alonzo’s happiness might
have been mine, I cannot bear to be a spectator of the scene any longer,
I will make you a signal that we depart together, and leave the lovers
alone; then we will retire under the shade of some neighbouring tree, and
you shall soothe my cruel feelings by talking to me of my mother.
_High-Priest._ You do not consider, my son, that flight is impossible.
Cora and Alonzo are both in chains, and both vigilantly guarded; nor
will many hours elapse before sentence is passed upon them by the
assembled priests. Do not then deceive yourself with vain hopes!—Cora is
irretrievably lost.
_Rolla._ Oh do not tell me so!—I cannot bear to hear it!—she must, she
must be saved!—Are you not high-priest?—the first among her judges?
_High-Priest._ But what can the voice of one avail against many?—against
the storm of Xaira’s zeal?—We may cry to the roaring winds till we are
hoarse, and we cannot hinder them from tearing up the young trees by the
roots.
_Rolla._ You will at least have done your part—God and my sword shall
achieve the rest. Think, my father, when Cora shall meet your Zulma in
the regions of peace, and tell her, I am a Virgin of the Sun, condemned
to death because I loved——
_High-Priest._ No more!—All that lies within my power shall be done. I
will harangue, entreat, exert every effort which the infirmities of age
will permit!—Alas, the hour of judgment approaches.
_Rolla._ Oh fail not in your word!—Do all that you can for Cora, and
remember that my life hangs upon hers—But should your endeavours prove
vain, you shall find that in the mean time I have not been idle.
_High-Priest._ (_Taking his hand mournfully_) May we meet again, happier
than we now part!—Farewell!—(_Exit_)
SCENE IV.—_ROLLA, alone. He pauses, and looks after the High-Priest—then
strikes his forehead._
Oh, my father, you know not what thoughts are brooding here!—To
your powers of eloquence alone, I dare not trust a matter of this
importance!—force!—force!—that is the only effectual method of
persuasion.—Where can Velasquez be?—I would fain clasp him in my arms,
and endeavour to communicate to his breast, an ardour equal to that which
glows in mine. Yes, I will save her!—I must save her!—My mother was a
Virgin of the Sun, though I must not dare to pronounce her name, lest the
echoes should learn to repeat it,—to rescue Cora is a sacrifice due to
her memory. Thus it is that the gods wonderfully entwine together every
link in the chain of fate!—Ye powers of heaven!—you cannot be arraigned
if Rolla should die poor in deeds of heroism, since you have not withheld
glorious opportunities for their performance!—To give freedom to her he
loves, and to present a grateful offering to his mother’s memory, are
objects of such magnitude, that if they did not raise a flame within this
bosom, it must have been moulded from the eternal snow on the summits of
the Cordilleras.
SCENE V.—_Enter DON JUAN._
_Rolla._ Welcome, Velasquez!—I have waited for you here!—I have occasion
for your assistance.
_Juan._ In what way?
_Rolla._ Have you sufficient magnanimity to hazard your life for a friend?
_Juan._ Most certainly, if it can be of any avail!
_Rolla._ Then give me your hand.
_Juan._ Take it.
_Rolla._ Cora and Alonzo are lost.
_Juan._ Alas!
_Rolla._ We must save them.
_Juan._ If it be possible.
_Rolla._ Only strike a bold stroke.
_Juan._ With all my heart!—provided it be not a criminal one.
_Rolla._ Criminal!—Ha!—you have touched me indeed!—Yes, I am afraid it
too nearly resembles a crime!
_Juan._ Then seek some other person to share in the attempt.
_Rolla._ Yet state the question thus.—Say, which is most criminal, to
institute, or to abolish, an inhuman law?
_Juan._ To effect the latter is an act of virtue.
_Rolla._ Which we will practice.
_Juan._ That is not in our power. This virtue can be practised by the
king alone.
_Rolla._ Let us then counsel the king.
_Juan._ To that I have no objection.
_Rolla._ But with arms in our hands.
_Juan._ Such counsel were rebellion.
_Rolla._ What signifies a name when good is to be effected?
_Juan._ I am moreover much indebted to Ataliba, he has received me with
hospitality, has been my benefactor.
_Rolla._ Your friend is in danger.
_Juan._ I will not commit a crime even to save _him_.
_Rolla._ How, if I engage my honour, that not a hair of the king’s head,
or of the heads of any of his servants, shall be injured,—that we will
conquer by fear alone?—You know that I was once general of the army—by
that army I am still beloved; for the brave fellows have not forgotten
how often they triumphed under my command, nor that when we were in the
field together the lowest among them was treated as my brother. To you
also, Velasquez, the king has entrusted the conduct of a valiant band. On
the least signal given, all who have borne arms under my standard, will
assemble round me—we will ask nothing for ourselves,—sacred shall be the
throne—sacred the life and property of every individual,—nothing shall be
required but freedom for Cora and Alonzo.
_Juan._ Noble Rolla, you are blinded by love. Search your heart, you will
there detect, probably for the first time, evil designs.
_Rolla._ I have no ears to listen to your morality. Virtue is but an
empty name, if it has never been opposed by passion.
_Juan._ And then the stronger the opposition the more noble is the
victory.
_Rolla._ It may be so, yet I can feel nothing but Cora’s danger,—hear
nothing but Cora’s voice crying for help!—Look, here is Cora’s
grave!—Icy-hearted man, behold Cora’s grave!—Yet why waste time thus
ineffectually?—What interest have you in the fate of Cora?—Well then,
(_He seizes Juan’s hand in haste and agitation_) come with me, I will
lead you to the pile prepared for your friend!—If at the sight of so
dreadful an object your heart can suffer your head to reason—if on that
spot I cannot inspire you with rage and anguish, equal to my own?—then
farewel, I must resign you wholly to your own apathy, and fly to my
mother’s grave,—there as I behold the wind waving the blades of grass,
and think whose form is mouldering beneath, all your precepts will
in a moment be forgotten, and my soul be armed with new resolution.
Come!—away! (_Exit, drawing Juan after him_)
SCENE VI.—_The Court before the Temple. XAIRA in conversation with other
PRIESTS._
_Xaira._ He stays a long time.
_A Priest._ Very long.
_Another._ The time is swiftly passing.
_A Third._ ’Tis now past noon.
_Xaira._ What could the king want with him?
_A Priest._ The messenger was wholly ignorant.
_Another._ All he knew was, that the king required to speak with the
High-Priest, before sentence should be pronounced upon Cora.
_Xaira._ ’Tis very extraordinary.
_A Priest._ The messenger was in great haste.
_Xaira._ Probably the king wished to talk with him about the
sentence,—perhaps to consult with him on the possibility of mitigating
the punishment. Ah, my friends, I fear that this Inca is not eager in
promoting the vengeance due to our offended gods. Didn’t you remark with
what reluctance he consented to Zorai’s being put in irons?—with what
compassion he looked upon the stranger?—nay, that he even degraded his
dignity, so far as to speak to him?—His father was a very different sort
of man!
_A Priest._ He was indeed.
_Another._ He never omitted attendance at any sacrifice.
_A Third._ And trembled whenever he entered the Temple.
_Xaira._ Nor ever failed in shewing due respect to our sacred office.
_A Priest._ Of reverencing our near intercourse with the gods.
_Xaira._ He cast down his eyes with awe, where his son looks up and
smiles with thoughtless levity—exacted the strictest justice, where his
son would shew mercy. But who are we to condemn?—who, but his tutor?—the
man to whom his education was entrusted?—in short, the High-Priest. I
will not say more now, this is neither the place nor the time for long
harangues; however I know his principles. Take heed!—be on your guard!—
_A Priest._ (_Interrupting him_) He comes.
_Xaira._ At last.
SCENE VII.—_Enter the HIGH-PRIEST._
_Xaira._ We have expected you impatiently.
_High-Priest._ I was summoned away to the Inca.
_Xaira._ Is the object of the interview a secret?
_High-Priest._ By no means. Ataliba requires of the judges of Cora and
Alonzo, that they strictly examine whether both be equally guilty, and
whether the one might not have seduced the other—might not have thrown
out improper lures to lead astray the imagination.
_Xaira._ Well, and supposing this should appear to be the case.
_High-Priest._ Then he orders that the seducer only shall suffer, and
that the seduced shall be released.
_Xaira._ Do I hear rightly?—Could the king say this, and dare the
High-Priest of the Sun repeat it after him?
_High-Priest._ Why should he not?
_Xaira._ “_The transgressors of the laws shall die._”—Thus spake our god
himself.
_High-Priest._ Did you hear the god say this?—or was it not rather spoken
by the first Inca, as the ordinance of our god?
_Xaira._ ’Tis the same.
_High-Priest._ That I readily allow.—The Inca is the image of god upon
earth, and the interpreter of his will; but the last Inca is equally so
with the first. The severe laws, therefore, which his ancestor might
find necessary to institute among a wild and uncivilized people, the
descendant may be allowed to meliorate when the necessity for their
enforcement no longer exists.
_Xaira._ (_Sarcastically_) Why then not abolish them entirely?
_High-Priest._ To this the king was strongly inclined. Yet he still
thinks that he owes an example to the repose of his people.
_Xaira._ _One_ example only?—And what is that to be?—He says that the
guilty only shall die; but what earthly wisdom is competent to decide
this question?—Will not both assert their innocence?—and will not each
endeavour to throw the blame of seduction upon the other?
_High-Priest._ ’Tis possible.
_Xaira._ What then is to direct our judgment?
_High-Priest._ Of that hereafter. At present, duty requires that we obey
the Inca’s mandate. Let Cora and Alonzo be brought hither! (_Exit one of
the Priests._)
_Xaira._ No, I will not violate my principles, even to gratify the
Inca?—Both are guilty; and whether seducing, or seduced, is a matter of
total indifference. To his own face I will tell the king the same,—I will
sound it in the ears of the people—and if Ataliba no longer trembles
before the gods, he shall at least tremble before his own subjects.
_High-Priest._ Conscience is his law, and it ought equally to be ours. We
are to judge Cora and Alonzo, but let us not forget that we ourselves are
one day to be judged by a superior power. Now take your places.
SCENE VIII.—_The HIGH-PRIEST stands in the centre, with XAIRA at his
right hand, and the rest of the Priests ranged in a semi-circle round
the stage. CORA, and ALONZO, both in chains, are brought in on different
sides.—Cora no longer bears the image of the sun upon her breast, nor her
flame-coloured girdle._
_Cora._ My Alonzo!
_Alonzo._ Oh God!—you also in chains!
_Cora._ Mourn not my fate!—I shall die with you!
_Alonzo._ With your murderer.
_Xaira._ Silence!
_High-Priest._ (_With mild solemnity_) We, the servants of the gods,
appointed to execute their holy will, are here assembled to pass
judgment upon Cora the daughter of Telasco, and Alonzo the stranger.—Oh
thou, our Father above, who surveyest the whole world with one glance,
diffuse thy light into our hearts!—thou hast appointed us judges over
honour and shame, over life and death!—let thy wisdom then enlighten
our minds that no partiality may bias them, that they may alike be free
from weakness and revenge. (_He kneels, accompanied by all the other
Priests._) We swear, oh sun, to judge according to thy laws communicated
by Manco-Capac!—We swear to shew mercy, if the profanation of thy temple
will permit mercy to be shewn—or if strict justice be required, to exact
strict justice!—We swear, finally, so to conduct ourselves, that should
we be called into thy presence to-morrow, we may not be ashamed of
rendering a faithful account of this awful hour!
_All the Priests._ We _swear_ this, oh sun! (_They rise._)
_High-Priest._ Cora, have you broken your vow?
_Cora._ I have.
_High-Priest._ Do you know this young man?
_Cora._ He is my husband.
_High-Priest._ Alonzo, do you know this woman?
_Alonzo._ She is my wife.
_Xaira._ You are both guilty—both must die.
_High-Priest._ Before we proceed to pass sentence upon you, an important
duty remains to be discharged. In the name of our king, I am to announce
favour to the party, who was solely the victim of seduction. Ataliba,
the first-born of the sun, under whose dominion the kingdom of Quito
flourishes, requires a free and ingenuous confession, which of you was
the seducer, and which the seduced.
_Cora._ It was I seduced him. } (_Both speaking together._)
_Alonzo._ It was I seduced her. }
_Cora._ Do not believe him, he speaks falsely.
_Alonzo._ Do not believe her, she would deceive you.
_Cora._ I alone am guilty.
_Alonzo._ On me must your sentence be pronounced.
_Cora._ Release him, he is innocent.
_Alonzo._ Shall the weakness of woman be punished?—No, let the man make
atonement.
_Cora._ Oh no!—for the love of heaven! (_The High-Priest turns aside to
conceal his emotions._)
_Xaira._ Silence!—Who can extract the truth amid this confusion?—Let one
only speak.
_High-Priest._ Cora begin!—Alonzo, do you remain silent.
_Cora._ The first time that I saw this young man was in the temple. I
immediately employed every artifice to attract his attention,—I always
made the longest pauses wherever he was standing, and contrived various
means to continue near him—I drew aside my veil whenever I passed him,
and endeavoured by expressive glances to excite his affections.
_Alonzo._ ’Tis false!—Her eyes were always cast downwards!
_Xaira._ Silence, stranger, it is not your turn to speak.
_Cora._ My advances inspired him with boldness—he sprang over the
ruins of our sacred walls, yet scarcely was he within their circuit,
when, affrighted at his own rashness, he was about to retreat without
an interview. But his figure had caught my attention as I was walking
at a distance—I called—I made signs to him when I ought to have
fled,—intercourse with him was forbidden to me,—intercourse with me
was not forbidden to him.—He stood trembling and irresolute, while I
ran towards him, threw my arms round his neck, and pressed my lips to
his. Still he was anxious to depart, but I detained him—he would not
have returned, but I entreated him—he described to me the danger of my
situation, but I refused to listen to him. On me, on me, pass sentence,
ye reverend judges, it is I who have seduced.
_Alonzo._ Nature herself convicts you of falsehood.—Modesty is the sister
of beauty—the man _declares_ love, the woman only returns it. Who then
can believe your story?—No, ye priests, it was I, who, when I saw her in
the temple, first threw forbidden glances upon her, by which I disturbed
her quiet, and ruffled the sweet serenity of her mind. It was I who
disregarding the laws both of God and man, with thoughtless confidence
overleaped the sacred walls, and when at sight of me she started back
and would have fled, I cast myself at her feet, and holding her by her
garments, forcibly detained her, to poison her mind with flattery and
deceit. But why should I urge all this?—Ye judges, ye know the character
of man, and must be assured, by the feelings of your own hearts, that I
was the seducer. Pronounce your sentence then on me!
_Cora._ Recollect that he saved the Inca’s life!—Spare him!—he is
guiltless!
_Alonzo._ She raves, she knows not what she says, I alone am guilty.
_Cora._ Can you have a more convincing proof that I only am the criminal,
when you see me wholly unconcerned and unmoved by any emotions of
repentance, while the stranger is bowed down with the weight of his
remorse. I glory in my guilt, and here in the presence of the gods, in
the presence of all these spectators, do I embrace my husband! (_She
rushes up to Alonzo, and clasps him in her arms._) Now observe his
tremor—he breaks from me, while I would still hang about him!—Can you
then doubt any longer?—’Tis I,—I only am guilty.
_Alonzo._ Cora! Cora! Think of what you are doing!
_Cora._ Hear him, how he reproves, how he admonishes me!—Thus has he ever
done, yet I would not listen to him, but regardless of his admonitions
drew him with me into this abyss of misery.
_Xaira._ Shameless woman?—Tear her from him!
_Cora._ (_Returning to her former station_) Now pronounce sentence.
_Xaira._ I shudder.
_High-Priest._ Lead her away.
_Alonzo._ (_Spreading out his arms towards Cora_) Farewel!
_Cora._ We shall soon meet again.
_Xaira._ In the hour of death.
_Cora._ When a mightier power begins to spin the web of a more blest
existence!
_Xaira._ Lead her away.
_Alonzo._ Farewel.
_Cora._ We part on this side of the grave with bitter tears, to meet
with smiles in the realms above. (_Cora and Alonzo are guarded out on
different sides._)
_Xaira._ Need we any farther proof?—my voice is for death!—death to both!
_High-Priest._ (_Addressing the assembly with a mournful voice._) Follow
me into the temple, and let us sacrifice to the gods. Meantime, weigh
well in your hearts what you have seen and heard, and then as mortals,
let us proceed to pass our judgment upon mortals. (_Exeunt omnes._)
END OF THE FOURTH ACT.
ACT V.
SCENE I.—_The Inside of the Temple of the Sun—at the Back, the Image
of the Sun upon an Altar raised some Steps above the Ground. The
HIGH-PRIEST, XAIRA, and several other PRIESTS, the latter of whom are
employed in the Back Ground in burning Incense, and preparing the
Sacrifices. The HIGH-PRIEST advances to the Front of the Stage with
XAIRA._
HIGH-PRIEST.
Yet one word more, Xaira, ere, by pronouncing a hasty sentence, we
profane the sacred name we bear. Are we not ministers of the divine
favour?
_Xaira._ And of the divine vengeance.
_High-Priest._ Vengeance!—Can we suppose that the merciful God seeks
vengeance on his creatures?—No, if this principle has been encouraged
to awe the vulgar, we who are initiated into the mysteries of a purer
doctrine, may speak to each other without reserve.
_Xaira._ For what purpose?—and why at this moment?
_High-Priest._ Because an error committed at this moment, may draw after
it an eternity of misery to us both.
_Xaira._ My conduct is the result of my conviction.
_High-Priest._ Then surely that cannot be just. God created man weak and
liable to err, a truth on which your conviction should be founded. This
earth is imperfect, so is every thing that lives and moves in it, and
will not that God who suffers the tyger to mangle the harmless lamb, look
down with forbearance on frail man when he listens to the voice of nature.
_Xaira._ But we men slay the tyger, and we do right,—we punish the faults
of man, and we do right.
_High-Priest._ Yes, if by his weakness he produce disorder in the state.
_Xaira._ And is not that the case in the affair before us?
_High-Priest._ No!
_Xaira._ No?
_High-Priest._ Your own designs have been solely to avenge the gods.
_Xaira._ And would you then sanction the licentious conduct that must
inevitably ensue, should indulgence be shewn in the present instance?
_High-Priest._ At the source of a clear stream, we do not think of the
mud by which it may be contaminated in its course. I entreat you, let
us be true to our vocation, let us resemble the god whom we serve,
whose rays diffuse light and heat over all! let us acquit Cora!—It will
then lie in the king’s bosom to act as he shall judge right, either
by confirming, or reversing, our sentence; and should it be reversed,
we shall, at least, have done our duty, in shewing a disposition to
clemency, while the hapless victim will breathe her last sighs in
gratitude for our intended mercy.
_Xaira._ What would you require of me?—You speak as if the decision of
this point rested upon me alone. Are not you High-Priest?—do not the
duties of your office demand that you lay the case before the whole
assembly of the Priests, in which I have but a single voice.
_High-Priest._ You know well, that in representing this affair to
the assembly, I am forbidden by our laws to employ any persuasions
of eloquence,—what I am to say, must be expressed in the fewest and
the simplest words, and I am therefore precluded from the power of
influencing the auditors. You, it is true, have only one voice, but
you are the oldest of the order, next to me, and successor to the
high-priesthood at my death. To you therefore all the young Priests look
up, and will incline which way soever they shall see you inclined.
_Xaira._ This case may be rightly stated as to what concerns yourself,
but it is otherwise with the Inca who has always power to grant a pardon.
_High-Priest._ But when has this power been exercised?—Has not every
Inca, from father to son, for centuries past, uniformly confirmed the
sentence of the Priests?—will Ataliba, think you, venture to deviate from
the practice of his ancestors?
_Xaira._ No more!—It is equally inconsistent with your duty to endeavour
to extort from me the sentence I shall pronounce, as with mine to listen
to such entreaties. (_Turns away from him_)
_High-Priest._ Well then, their blood be upon thee!
_Xaira._ (_Coldly._) Yes, their blood be upon me!
_High-Priest._ Hither ye Priests! (_The Priests assemble round him_) I
already read in their gloomy countenances the sentence I am to expect!
(_Aside.—After a few moments pause, in which he endeavours to assume
resolution, he proceeds_) You know the criminals and the crime—we wait
your decision.
_Xaira._ What say the laws? (_The High-Priest remains silent_) I ask you
what say the laws?
_High-Priest._ (_After a conflict with himself, in suffocated voice_)
Death.
_Xaira._ (_Solemnly and audibly_) The laws pronounce sentence of death
upon Cora and Alonzo.
_All._ Death!
_High-Priest._ (_After a pause, and in a tone of resolution_) I cannot
give my sanction to this sentence, my opinion inclines to mercy; I
feel that I am myself a mortal liable to error. Search your bosoms, my
brethren, prove well your hearts, and if they in a low and gentle voice
whisper _mercy_,—then join with me and cry aloud mercy!—mercy!
_Xaira._ What say the laws?—Death to Cora and Alonzo.
_All._ Death!
_High-Priest._ Then it must be as you decide.—Oh thou unknown God, look
down upon us, observe that none of this blood stains my hands!—Bring
hither the unfortunate victims of your blind zeal. (_Exeunt two Priests
on different sides_) The rest of you lay the sword and a fresh branch of
palm upon the altar. (_They do as he directs_) Now, Xaira, follow me to
the king. (_Exit, accompanied by Xaira_)
SCENE II.—_CORA and ALONZO are brought in on different sides. During this
and the following scene, the Priests walk backwards and forwards, and are
busied about the altar. ALONZO appears a few minutes sooner than CORA._
_Alonzo._ I am struck with awe!—This temple, it is true, is only
dedicated to the worship of an idol, but God is every where; even in
this place, where he is adored under the image of one of his own works.
This temple I have profaned!—I am brought hither as the murderer of an
artless woman—as the murderer of a venerable old man who never wronged
me—as the murderer of a gallant youth, one of the destined supports of
his country—as one who has disturbed the peace of a liberal nation, among
whom he has been received with unbounded hospitality!—Oh earth! earth!
open wide, and swallow at once this monster with all his crimes!—may no
grass ever grow upon his grave!—may it never be moistened with the dew
of Heaven!—may no wanderer ever repose his wearied limbs upon the sods,
and may they never be trodden by the innocent feet of children, in their
harmless sports! (_Cora enters._) Ah, Cora! how blest did the sight of
you once make me!—how miserable does it make me now!
_Cora._ Alonzo, this cannot be uttered from your heart!—Have you not
often declared, that if you could not live with Cora, you would die with
her; and Cora has always thought the same in respect to her Alonzo. Yes,
we will die together, that we may live together hereafter!
_Alonzo._ Oh that hereafter!—It is the haven of rest to the virtuous, but
for me, an evil conscience accompanies me to the grave.
_Cora._ Do not think so!—we have neither of us done wrong!—we loved
each other—we could not avoid loving; was it in the power of either to
repress our mutual feelings? Can either of us then be criminal?—Chance,
or perhaps our God himself, first brought us together—all is of his
appointment, and I am resigned to my fate. Even man is kind to us, since
he facilitates our union. As a Virgin of the Sun I could not have become
your wife, but in death we shall be united. Resume your fortitude then,
oh Alonzo!—How often have I sprung with you over the rugged stones at
the breach?—Death is no more than a spring over a few rugged stones; and
these once passed, we shall find love and freedom waiting to receive us
on the other side.
_Alonzo._ Amiable creature!—thy guiltless soul can look with composure
both towards the past and future.—But for me!——
_Cora._ How, if I can prove that you may more justly look with composure
towards futurity, than Cora?—Your mother is far hence, and should
she hear of you no more, will believe that your days were ended by
shipwreck, sickness, or some common disaster, and this idea will console
her for your loss; while her maternal fancy will see in her son nothing
but what was fair and good, will frequently recur with transport to the
noble actions he has already performed, and form to itself a thousand
charming images of what he would have achieved had his life been longer
spared. But I!—I have a father, at present, indeed, in a remote province;
but who will soon learn for what offence, and in what manner, his
daughter died. It is that thought alone which makes death dreadful to
me!—He is so good, so venerable, and loves me so tenderly!—Were he to
witness this scene, it would break his heart.
_Alonzo._ (_Aside_) Oh Heaven! then she knows not——
_Cora._ Within the last hour I fell upon my knees and prayed most
fervently, that some calm and easy death might snatch my father from the
world, before his daughter’s fate could reach his ears. Suddenly a sweet
serenity was diffused over my soul, as if the mild rays of a new sun had
fallen upon me; and I hoped this was an assurance that my prayer was
heard. My remaining wish is, that what I must suffer may be over quickly,
lest solemn and protracted preparations should excite my rebel senses to
mutiny, and shake my fortitude.
_Alonzo._ Oh it is the thought of what you have already endured, and must
still endure, which alone oppresses my soul.
_Cora._ Let not my sufferings oppress you; believe me, I am resigned.
SCENE III.—_Enter TELASCO, with ZORAI in chains._
_Cora._ (_Uttering a loud and piercing shriek_) Oh, I am heard!—Behold
my father’s spirit!—Yet his features are full of indignation!—his
countenance is terrible!—Alonzo, awake me from this dream!
_Alonzo._ Would to God it were, indeed, only your father’s shade!—but,
alas! it is he himself.—Oh what an hour of horror!
_Cora._ (_Casting a look of awe towards Telasco_) My father!
_Telasco._ (_To Zorai_) Why was I brought hither at this moment?—Do not
the important services which I have done my native country through so
long a course of years, give me a just claim to expect some forbearance?
Go and demand of the priests if I must be compelled to stay with her,—I
will, meanwhile, support myself against this pillar.
_Cora._ (_Approaching him with trembling steps_) My father!
_Telasco._ (_With agony_) Save me Zorai—save me!
_Zorai._ (_Thrusting Cora away_) Hence serpent!—spare the old man at
least in his last moments. (_Telasco turns away his face_)
_Cora._ (_Falling upon her knees, and clasping her hands in agony_)
Brother!
_Zorai._ I, thy brother!—Alas, yes!—these chains speak too plainly that I
am thy brother.
_Cora._ Father!
_Telasco._ (_With still averted eyes_) Who calls me by that name?—I do
not know that voice!
_Cora._ Father!—brother!—Oh these are the only agonies of death!
(_Wringing her hands_)
_Telasco._ (_Turning his eyes towards Cora_) Oh Zorai, my paternal
feelings will not be suppressed!—It is the voice of her mother!—it is the
form of her mother!—Cora!—Cora—I have passed through life with honour,
and now you cover my grave with shame!—Away, away! nor hope to experience
my compassion!—Do you deserve it?—Did I constrain you to devote your
youth to the service of the sun?—Did I not, on the contrary, frequently
admonish you to consider well what you intended? Did I not represent
to you, that the world afforded many pleasures of which you were then
ignorant, and which you would first learn to think desirable when their
enjoyment would be criminal, and when your life would consequently be
rendered miserable by the impossibility of their attainment? Even on the
very last evening before your irrevocable oath was taken—(God only knows
how I assumed courage for the purpose)—did I not again entreat you to
reflect upon all these things while it was yet possible to retract?—Dark
and gloomy then appeared the future to my soul, as the ocean on a cloudy
day. Even you wept—yes, Cora, you wept; your heart was overpowered.—It
was the warning voice of a guardian spirit within you; but you resisted
the impulse, adhered firmly to your enthusiastic resolution, and would
think of nothing but of a nearer intercourse with the gods—Behold us
now standing here,—I, a poor old man with my grey hairs, mourning the
honour of my house destroyed for ever;—this youth, full of energy and
love for his native country, cut off even in the prime of life, guiltless
himself, yet involved in your destiny;—both, both, murdered by the hand
of a daughter—of a sister;—and worse than murdered, hurled to the grave
with shame as their companion!—Oh that I should have lived to see this
day!—Blest, blest, was thy mother’s lot, that she died before the dawn
of so fatal a morning! (_Cora, overpowered with her father’s reproaches,
sinks to the ground with a sigh; Telasco exclaims with an emotion of
tenderness_) Zorai, support her!
_Zorai._ (_Raising up his sister, in which Alonzo makes an effort to
assist him, but is thrust back by Zorai_) Hence, thou murderer of
innocence!—Oh that a hero should thus sink to nothing when we behold him
near!—How did I reverence this man at a distance!—how admire him when
I listened to the detail of his noble actions!—I felt my young heart
elevated, and wished for nothing so ardently as that I were myself in
his place!—Fool that I was!—His heroism was the effect of chance, not
principle; he is still but a man, and weak as the rest of mankind!—Look
here, and exult at this scene, it is thy work; and thou may’st thank
these chains that, even in the midst of the temple, and in the presence
of our god himself, thou art not made the victim of my vengeance.
_Alonzo._ Did you know how my heart is tortured, how inexpressibly I
love, you would be more compassionate to my sorrows!
_Telasco._ Say no more, my son—his fate is much more deplorable than
ours: we have one treasure left, which we shall carry with us to another
world, a pure conscience;—that treasure he has lost; he is poorer than
ourselves.
_Cora._ Oh, my father, do not let me die in despair!—Can you refuse me
your blessing in the hour of death! (_She falls at his feet_) I will
cling round your knees, my anguish shall move you!—have pity on your
kneeling daughter!—bless me, my father!—forgive me, my brother! (_Telasco
and Zorai appear much affected_) See how I humble, how I twine myself
about you!—Oh, my agony is inconceivable!—Have compassion upon me, or my
heart will break!
_Telasco._ Son! son!—let us not aggravate the bitter stroke of death!—the
wretched easily forgive!—Raise her up to my arms. (_Zorai raises up his
sister. Telasco clasps her to his breast_) Die in peace—I forgive thee!
_Cora._ (_In a faint voice_) My brother!
_Telasco._ Yes, yes, Zorai!—no resentment!—forgive the penitent!—call her
sister!
_Zorai._ (_Embracing her_) Unhappy—sister!
_Cora._ Ye gods, I thank you!—the bitterness of death is past.
_Alonzo._ Your hearts are softened!—Might Alonzo venture!—Zorai, you
called me a weak man. Yes, I am weak; but I am not a villain!—Misery soon
unites the sufferers to each other—let us not die in enmity.
_Telasco._ Stranger, I harbour no resentment against you!—Can I leave the
world in a better state of mind, than in speaking pardon to those by whom
I have been injured. Have you any parents living?
_Alonzo._ An aged mother.
_Telasco._ For her sake come hither, that I may bless thee in her place!
(_He embraces him_)
_Alonzo._ From what a grievous burden is my heart relieved!—And you too
Zorai! (_Offering him his hand_)
_Zorai._ Away! I admire my father’s conduct; but—I cannot follow his
example.
_Alonzo._ Not to give peace to a dying man?
_Zorai._ I cannot!—Would you have me dissemble reconciliation?—You are
hateful to me!—leave me!—I will endeavour to subdue this bitter feeling;
and should I succeed, I will reach out my hand as our last moments
approach, and you will understand my meaning.
_Alonzo._ Accept my thanks even for this concession.—I acknowledge it to
be more than I deserve. (_Cora leans against a pillar, and endeavours to
recover herself_).
SCENE IV.—_Enter the HIGH-PRIEST, XAIRA, and several other PRIESTS._
_Xaira._ The king approaches!
(_The Priests range themselves on the steps of the altar; CORA, TELASCO,
and ZORAI, remain in the front of the stage on one side; ALONZO stands
opposite to them; ATALIBA, attended by his suite, enters with slow and
solemn steps, and with a countenance marked with deep anxiety; he kneels
before the Image of the Sun, and remains for some time in an attitude of
devotion, while a solemn silence is observed by all present. When his
prayer is finished, he rises, and turns towards ALONZO, to whom he speaks
hastily, and in a low voice._)
_Ataliba._ Save yourself, Alonzo!—Urge that you are a foreigner, and
were unacquainted with our laws and customs!—urge your services to
the state, to me, to the people!—urge, in short, whatever your danger
may suggest!—Your judge is your friend, let it be possible for him to
shew you mercy without incurring a suspicion partiality. (_Alonzo bows
silently, with a countenance expressive of ardent gratitude. Ataliba
turns to Telasco_) Good old man, you are free!—He who has hazarded
his life a thousand times in the service of his native country, has
sacrificed it already to the gods. I dare not proceed against you!
_Telasco._ How, Inca!—Can you be so cruel as to deprive the aged tree of
all its branches, and yet leave the trunk standing?
_Ataliba._ (_To Zorai_) Young man, you also are free! (_Turning to the
assembly_) For it is the will of my father, that henceforward the guilty
only shall suffer. (_A murmuring is heard among the priests; Ataliba
casts a look of displeasure upon them, and again addresses Zorai_)
Comfort your aged father, nurse him and attend upon him as long as he
lives; then come to me, as to your elder brother. (_Zorai attempts to
throw himself at the king’s feet, who prevents him, and turns to Cora_)
For you, Cora,—I can do nothing.
_Cora._ Oh, you have done all that I could wish!—more than I could dare
to hope.
_Ataliba._ Your offence comes immediately within the laws, and to the
laws the king himself is subject. (_He ascends to the upper step of the
altar, prostrates himself once more before the Image of the Sun, and then
turns towards the assembly_) High-Priest, execute your office!
_High-Priest._ Pardon me, good Inca!—spare my age!—my infirm state of
health!—my throbbing heart!—Permit Xaira on this occasion to take my
place.
_Ataliba._ Be it as you desire!
_Xaira._ (_Approaching him with solemnity_) First born of the Sun, a
virgin, devoted to the gods, has broken her sacred vow!—Cora, come
forwards!—A stranger who sojourns in this land is the associate of her
crime!—Alonzo, come forwards!—We, the priests of the incensed gods,
and servants of the Temple which has been profaned, faithful to the
ordinances of thy great ancestor, have sat in judgment upon their crime,
and pronounced sentence upon both.—This sentence is DEATH!!!
_Ataliba._ (_After a pause, addressing Cora and Alonzo_) Have you
anything to say in your defence? (_Cora and Alonzo remain silent_) I
ask you, Cora, and you, Alonzo, if you have any thing to urge in your
defence?
_Cora._ Nothing.
_Alonzo._ Nothing.
_Ataliba._ How, Alonzo, have you nothing to urge in extenuation of your
conduct?
_Alonzo._ Nothing.
_Ataliba._ Do not speak rashly!—I give you time for
recollection!—Consider well—STRANGER!
_Alonzo._ I have deserved death, and submit to it willingly.
_Ataliba._ Once more I admonish you to consider well what you are about—a
few moments longer, and it will be too late.—Oh ye assembled judges, know
that I regard it as a sacred duty to grant this indulgence, since this
man is a stranger, and could not be impressed with that sacred reverence
for our faith, which the wisdom of our priests instils from their
earliest infancy into the breast of every Peruvian. Unacquainted with our
laws, he could not see with our eyes, could not know the magnitude of his
transgression. Once more, Alonzo, you are at liberty to speak.—Our gods
are just, reasonable, merciful!
_Alonzo._ I have deserved death.
_Ataliba._ Is that your last word?
_Alonzo._ My last.
_Ataliba._ (_Rests his elbow upon the altar, and conceals his face in his
hands for some moments, then, recovering himself, proceeds_) Priests,
perform your duty!
(_Two priests ascend to the altar, one on each side of the king. One
takes the sword, the other the palm-branch from the altar, when,
descending again, they deliver them to Xaira._)
_Xaira._ (_Presenting the sword to the king_) First born of the
Sun, receive from my hands the symbol of justice! (_Presenting the
palm-branch_) First born of the Sun, receive from my hands the symbol of
mercy!—The gods direct your judgment!
_Ataliba._ (_Kneels_) Oh God, thou seest how my heart is racked at this
awful hour!—Grant that I may never again be compelled to the performance
of so mournful a duty!—Ye shades of my forefathers, hover over me!—let
me be enlightened by your wisdom, and since I exact no more than justice
demands, let my soul find rest in that reflection. (_He rises—Cora,
Alonzo, Telasco, and Zorai, kneel with their heads bowed down.—After a
few minutes struggle with himself, the king raises the sword, and is
about to speak._)
SCENE V.—_Enter the CHAMBERLAIN in great haste, and with a strong
impression of terror upon his countenance._
_Chamberlain._ Pardon me, royal Inca, that I must be the messenger of
evil tidings. The flame of insurrection rages among the people—they
run wildly hither and thither about the streets—the troops assemble
on all sides, crying to arms! to arms!—Drums beat, trumpets sound,
weapons clash, and a forest of lances are collected together. No answer
is to be obtained to a single question; all that is to be heard is
the name of Rolla shouted by ten thousand voices. The troop belonging
to the foreigner Velasquez, was drawn up in the meadow; I saw him run
hastily from one soldier to another; and could plainly perceive by his
gestures, that he entreated, threatened, expostulated, and employed every
effort to restrain them within their duty, but in vain, all by turns
deserted to Rolla. (_The whole assembly, except the king, manifest great
consternation and alarm._)
_Ataliba._ What can this mean?—Rolla, did you say, at the head of the
army?—that cannot be insurrection.—Rolla’s name can never be united with
insurrection—this must be a mistake. Did you see him yourself?
_Chamberlain._ Only at a distance. The officers had made a little
circle round him, he harangued them eagerly, and with a loud voice,
his eyes flashed fire, which seemed to communicate to those about him,
who frequently interrupted his harangue with impetuous shouts, then
brandishing their swords and shaking their lances, they began to throng
towards the Temple, the whole multitude following them, while I hastened
on before, to prepare you for their reception.
_Ataliba._ (_Without changing countenance_) Well, all will soon be
explained. (_He looks around_) I see terror pourtrayed on every
countenance.—Why are you dismayed?—He who only studies to promote his
people’s happiness, has no reason to fear his people. In that conviction
my heart finds repose. Let them come! (_A noise is heard behind the
scenes._)
_All present cry with confusion._ They come!—they are here already!
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.