Chapter XXII: Act V: Scene I

RUD.--(_Leah comes down stage gently and sad, listening_). Think, Madalena, of her lot and mine. While I clasp a tender wife, and a lovely child; she wanders in foreign lands, suffering and desolate. It is not alone her curse that haunts me, it is her pale and gentle face, which I seem to see in my dreams, and which so sadly says to me,

"I have forgiven!" Oh, Madalena, could I but hear her say this, and tell her how deeply I feel that I have wronged her--could I but wet her hands with my repentent tears, then would I find peace.

MAD.--Rudolf, a thought! In yonder valley camps a company of Jews who are emigrating to America; perhaps one of them may be able to give you news of Leah, and if you find her, she shall share the blessings of our home. She shall be to me a dear sister! _(Leah hastily conceals herself.)_ Ha, that beggar woman, where is she? _(Looks around.)_ Perhaps she belongs to the tribe; perhaps she may tell you of her.

RUD.--How say you? A beggar woman?

MAD.--Yes, a poor Jewess, whom I rescued to-day. She must now be in the house. Oh, come, Rudolf, let us find her. All may yet be well! _[Exeunt in house._

_Enter Leah from behind a hayrick._

LEAH.--Have I heard aright? The iron bands seem melting, the cold dead heart moves, and beats once more! The old life returns. Rudolf! _(tears.)_ My Rudolf. No, no, he is no longer mine! The flame is extinguished, and only the empty lamp remains above the sepulchre of my heart. No, Madalena, no, I shall not remain to be a reproach to you both. I will wander on with my people, but the hate I have nourished has departed. I may not love, but I forgive--yes, I forgive him. But his child. Oh, I should so like to see his child!

_Child comes to doorway from house._

Fear not, little one, come hither.

CHILD.--_(coming towards her)._ Is it you? Father seeks you.

LEAH.--His very image. _(kisses her,)_ What is your name, my darling?

CHILD.--Leah.

LEAH.--What say you? Leah?

CHILD.--Did you know the other Leah?--she whom mother and father speak of so often, and for whom every night I must pray?

LEAH.--_(With emotion, kissing her, and giving her a withered rose- wreath, which she takes from inside her dress)_ Take this, my pretty one.

CHILD.--A rose-wreath?

LEAH--Take it, and give it your father. Say to him your little prayer has been heard, and that Leah--_(emotion)_--Leah forgives. _(going, returns again, kisses child, and with extended arms and choking voice.)_ Bless, you, darling! _(extending arms to house.)_ And you, and you-- and all--and all'. _(goes to fence, totters, and sinks down, endeavoring to exit.)_

_Enter Rudolf and Madalena from house._

RUD.--Not here!

CHILD--_(running to Madalena.)_ See, mother, see what the strange woman gave me. _(showing wreath.)_

MAD.--_(not noticing child)_ Where is she?

CHILD.--She has gone away _(running to Rudolf with wreath.)_ See, father.

RUD.--_(taking wreath.)_ A rose-wreath. Great heaven, Madalena, it must have been Leah; it is my wreath. Leah!

MAD.--It was she!

RUD.--Yes, it was Leah. By this token we are reconciled. _(Leah moans.)_ Ha, what sound is that?

MAD.--_(going to the prostrate figure.)_ Quick, Rudolf! It is she. _(they run to her, raise her up, and bear her to front.)_

LEAH.--_(feebly.)_ I tried to go, but my strength forsook me. I shall, at least, then, die here!

RUD.--Die! No, no; speak not of dying, you shall live!

LEAH.--No; I am too happy to live. See, Madalena, I take his hand, but it is to place it in yours. All is over. _(sinks into their arms.)_

SCENE FROM PIZARRO.

SCENE I.--A Dungeon.

_Alonzo in chains--A sentinel walking near._

ALONZO. (c.)--For the last time, I have beheld the quivering lustre of the stars. For the last time, O, sun! (and soon the hour), I shall behold thy rising, and thy level beams melting the pale mists of morn to glittering dew drops. Then comes my death, and in the morning of my day, I fall, which--no, Alonzo, date not the life which thou hast run, by the mean reckoning of the hours and days, which thou has breathed:--a life spent worthily should be measured by a nobler line; by deeds, not years. They only have lived long, who have lived virtuously. Surely, even now, thin streaks of glimmering light steal on the darkness of the East. If so, my life is but one hour more. I will not watch the coming dawn; but in the darkness of my cell, my last prayer to thee, Power Supreme! shall be for my wife and child! Grant them to dwell in innocence and peace; grant health and purity of mind--all else is worthless.

[_Enters the cavern_, R. U. E.

SEN.--Who's there? answer quickly! Who's there?

ROL.--(_within._) A friar come to visit your prisoner. (_enters_, L. U. E. _disguised as a monk._) Inform me, friend, is not Alonzo, the Spanish prisoner, confined in this dungeon?

SEN.--(c.) He is.

ROL.--I must speak with him.

SEN.--You must not. (_stopping him with his spear._)

ROL.--He is my friend.

SEN.--Not if he were your brother.

ROL.--What is to be his fate?

SEN.--He dies at sunrise.

ROL.--Ha! Then I am come in time.

SEN.--Just--to witness his death.

ROL.--Soldier, I must speak to him.

SEN.--Back, back--It is impossible.

ROL.--I do entreat you, but for one moment.

SEN.--You entreat in vain--my orders are most strict.

ROL.--Look on this wedge of massive gold--look on these precious gems. In thy own land they will be wealth for thee and thine--beyond thy hope or wish. Take them--they are thine. Let me but pass one minute with Alonzo.

SEN.--Away!--wouldst thou corrupt me? Me! an old Castilian! I know my duty better.

ROL.--Soldier!--hast thou a wife?

SEN.--I have.

ROL.--Hast thou children?

SEN.--Four--honest, lovely boys.

ROL.--Where didst thou leave them?

SEN.--In my native village; even in the cot where myself was born.

ROL.--Dost thou love thy children and thy wife?

SEN.--Do I love them! God knows my heart--I do.

ROL.--Soldier! imagine thou wert doomed to die a cruel death in this strange land. What would be thy last request?

SEN.--That some of my comrades should carry my dying blessing to my wife and children.

ROL.--Oh! but if that comrade was at thy prison gate, and should there be told--thy fellow-soldier dies at sunset, yet thou shalt not for a moment see him, nor shalt thou bear his dying blessing to his poor children or his wretched wife, what would'st thou think of him, who thus could drive thy comrade from the door?

SEN.--How?

ROL.--Alonzo has a wife and child. I am come but to receive for her, and for her babe, the last blessing of my friend.

SEN.--Go in. [_Shoulders his spear and walks to_ L. U. E.

ROL. (c.)--Oh, holy Nature! thou dost never plead in vain. There is not of our earth a creature bearing form, and life--human or savage--native of the forest wild, or giddy air--around whose parent bosom thou hast not a cord entwined of power to tie them to their offspring's claims, and at thy will to draw them back to thee. On iron pinions borne, the blood-stained vulture cleaves the storm, yet is the plumage closest to her heart soft as the cygnet's down, and o'er her unshelled brood the murmuring ring-dove sits not more gently.--Yes, now he is beyond the porch, barring the outer gate! Alonzo! Alonzo, my friend! Ha! in gentle sleep! Alonzo--rise!

ALON.--How, is my hour elapsed? Well, (_Returning from the recess_ R. U. E.) I am ready.

ROL.--Alonzo, know me.

ALON.--What voice is that?

ROL.--'Tis Rolla's. [_Takes off his disguise._

ALON.--Rolla, my friend (_Embraces him._) Heavens!--how could'st thou pass the guard?--Did this habit--

ROL.--There is not a moment to be lost in words. This disguise I tore from the dead body of a friar as I passed our field of battle; it has gained me entrance to thy dungeon: now, take it thou and fly.

ALON.--And Rolla--

ROL.--Will remain here in thy place.

ALON.--And die for me? No! Rather eternal tortures rack me.

ROL.--I shall not die, Alonzo. It is thy life Pizarro seeks, not Rolla's; and from thy prison soon will thy arm deliver me. Or, should it be otherwise, I am as a blighted plantain standing alone amid the sandy desert--nothing seeks or lives beneath my shelter. Thou art--a husband and a father; the being of a lovely wife and helpless infant hangs upon thy life. Go! go, Alonzo! Go, to save, not thyself, but Cora and thy child!

ALON.--Urge me not thus, my friend! I had prepared to die in peace.

ROL.--To die in peace! devoting her thou'st sworn to live for to madness, misery, and death! For, be assured, the state I left her in forbids all hope, but from thy quick return.

ALON.--Oh, God!

ROL.--If thou art yet irresolute, Alonzo, now heed me well. I think thou hast not known that Rolla ever pledged his word, and shrunk from its fulfilment. And by the heart of truth, I swear, if thou art proudly obstinate to deny thy friend the transport of preserving Cora's life, in thee; no power that sways the will of man shalt stir me hence; and thoul't but have the desperate triumph of seeing Rolla perish by thy side, with the assured conviction that Cora and thy child--are lost forever.

ALON.--Oh, Rolla! you distract me!

ROL.--Begone! A moment's further pause, and all is lost. The dawn approaches. Fear not for me; I will treat with Pizarro, as for surrender and submission. I shall gain time, doubt not, whilst thou, with a chosen band, passing the secret way, may'st at night return, release thy friend, and bear him back in triumph. Yes, hasten, dear Alonzo! Even now I hear the frantic Cora call thee! Haste, Alonzo! Haste! Haste!

ALON.--Rolla, I fear thy friendship drives me from honour and from right.

ROL.--Did Rolla ever counsel dishonour to his friend?

ALON.--Oh! my preserver! [_Embracing him._

ROL.--I feel thy warm tears dropping on my cheek.--Go! I am rewarded. (_Throwing the Friar's garment over him._) There, conceal thy face; and that they may not clank, hold fast thy chains. Now, God be with thee!

ALON.--At night we meet again. Then, so aid me Heaven! I return to save or perish with thee. [_Exit_ L.U.E.

ROL. (_Looking after him._)--He has passed the outer porch--he is safe! He will soon embrace his wife and child! Now, Cora, did'st thou not wrong me? This is the first time throughout my life, I ever deceived man. Forgive me, God of Truth! if I am wrong. Alonzo flatters himself that we shall meet again! Yes, there! (_Lifting his hands to heaven._)-- assuredly we shall meet again; there, possess in peace, the joys of everlasting love, and friendship--on earth imperfect and embittered. I will retire, lest the guard return before Alonzo may have passed their lines. [_Retires into the cavern._