BOOKS

Enter Alonzo, meeting Zanga.

Alon.Is Carlos murder'd?Zan.I obey'd your order.Six ruffians overtook him on the road;He fought as he was wont, and four he slew.Then sunk beneath an hundred wounds to death.His last breath blest Alonzo, and desir'dHis bones might rest near yours.Alon.Oh, Zanga! Zanga!But I'll not think: for I must act, and thinkingWould ruin me for action.Where's Leonora then? Quick, answer me:I'm deep in horrors, I'll be deeper still.I find thy artifice did take effect,And she forgives my late deportment to her.Zan.I told her, from your childhood you was wont,On any great surprise, but chiefly thenWhen cause of sorrow bore it company,To have your passion shake the seat of reason;A momentary ill, which soon blew o'er:Then did I tell her of don Carlos' death(Wisely suppressing by what means he fell),And laid the blame on that. At first she doubted;But such the honest artifice I us'd,And such her ardent wish it should be true,That she, at length, was fully satisfied.But what design you, sir, and how?Alon.I'll tell thee.Thus I've ordain'd it. In the jess'mine bow'r,The place which she dishonour'd with her guilt,There will I meet her; the appointment's made;And calmly spread (for I can do it now)The blackness of her crime before her sight;And then, with all the cool solemnityOf public justice, give her to the grave.[exit.Zan.Why, get thee gone! horror and night go with thee.Sisters of Acheron, go hand in hand,Go dance around the bow'r, and close them;And tell them, that I sent you to salute themProfane the ground; and for th' ambrosial rose,And breath of jess'mine, let hemlock blacken,And deadly nightshade poison, all the air.For the sweet nightingale, may ravens croak,Toads pant, and adders rustle through the leaves;May serpents winding up the trees let fallTheir hissing necks upon them from above,And mingle kisses—such as I would give them.[exit.

Enter Alonzo.—Leonora sleeping.

Alon.Ye amaranths! ye roses, like the morn!Sweet myrtles, and ye golden orange groves!Why do you smile? Why do you look so fair?Are ye not blighted as I enter in?Did ever midnight ghosts assemble here?Have these sweet echoes ever learn'd to groan?Joy-giving, love-inspiring, holy bow'r!Know, in thy fragrant bosom thou receiv'stA—murderer! Oh, I shall stain thy lilies,And horror will usurp the seat of bliss.[advances.Ha! she sleeps—The day's uncommon heat has overcome her.Then take, my longing eyes, your last, full gaze.Oh, what a sight is here! how dreadful fair!Who would not think that being innocent?Where shall I strike? who strikes her, strikes himself.My own life-blood will issue at her wound.But see, she smiles! I never shall smile more;It strongly tempts me to a parting kiss.[going, he starts back.Ha! smile again. She dreams of him she loves.Curse on her charms! I'll stab her through them all.[as he is going to strike, she wakes.Leon.My lord, your stay was long; and yonder lullOf falling waters tempted me to rest,Dispirited with noon's excessive heat.Alon.Ye pow'rs! with what an eye she mends the day!While they were clos'd, I should have giv'n the blow.[aside.Leon.What says my lord?Alon.Why, this Alonzo says:If love were endless, men were gods; 'tis thatDoes counterbalance travel, danger, pain—'Tis heav'n's expedient to make mortals bearThe light, and cheat them of the peaceful grave.Leon.Alas, my lord! why talk you of the grave?Your friend is dead: in friendship you sustainA mighty loss; repair it with my love.Alon.Thy love, thou piece of witchcraft! I would say,Thou brightest angel! I could gaze for ever.But oh, those eyes! those murderers! Oh, whence,Whence didst thou steal their burning orbs? from heaven?Thou didst; and 'tis religion to adore them.Leon.My best Alonzo, moderate your thoughts.Extremes still fright me, though of love itself.Alon.Extremes indeed! it hurry'd me away;But I come home again—and now for justice—And now for death—It is impossible—[aside.I leave her to just heav'n.[drops the dagger, goes off.Leon.Ha, a dagger!What dost thou say, thou minister of death?What dreadful tale dost tell me?—Let me think—Enter Zanga.Zan.Death to my tow'ring hope! Oh! fall from high!My close, long-labour'd scheme at once is blasted,That dagger, found, will cause her to inquire;Inquiry will discover all; my hopesOf vengeance perish; I myself am lost—Curse on the coward's heart; wither his hand,Which held the steel in vain!—what can be done?Where can I fix?—that's something still—'twill breedFell rage and bitterness betwixt their souls,Which may, perchance, grow up to greater evil:If not, 'tis all I can—It shall be so—[aside.Leon.Oh, Zanga, I am sinking in my fears!Alonzo dropp'd this dagger as he left me,And left me in a strange disorder too.What can this mean? Angels preserve his life!Zan.Yours, madam, yours.Leon.What, Zanga, dost thou say?Zan.Carry you goodness then to such extremes,So blinded to the faults of him you love,That you perceive not he is jealous?Leon.Heav'ns!And yet a thousand things recur that swear it.What villain could inspire him with that thought?It is not of the growth of his own nature.Zan.Some villain; who, hell knows; but he is jealous;And 'tis most fit a heart so pure as yoursDo itself justice, and assert its honour,And make him conscious of his stab to virtue.Leon.Jealous! it sickens at my heart. Unkind,Ungen'rous, groundless, weak, and insolent!Why, wherefore? on what shadow of occasion?Oh, how the great man lessens to my thought!How could so mean a vice as jealousyLive in a throng of such exalted virtues!I scorn and hate, yet love him, and adore.I cannot, will not, dare not, think it true,'Till from himself I know it.[exit.Zan.This succeedsJust to my wish. Now she, with violence,Upbraids him; he, not doubting she is guilty,Rages no less; and if on either sideThe waves run high, there still lives hope of ruin.Re-enter Alonzo.My lord—Alon.Oh, Zanga, hold thy peace! I am no coward;But heav'n itself did hold my hand; I felt it,By the well-being of my soul, I did.I'll think of vengeance at another season.Zan.My lord, her guilt—Alon.Perdition on thee, Moor,For that one word! Ah, do not rouse that thought!I have o'erwhelm'd it much as possible:I tell thee, Moor, I love her to distraction.If 'tis my shame, why, be it so—I love her;I could not hurt her to be lord of earth;It shocks my nature like a stroke from heav'n.But see, my Leonora comes—Be gone.[exit Zanga.Re-enter Leonora.Oh, seen for ever, yet for ever new!The conquer'd thou dost conquer o'er again,Inflicting wound on wound.Leon.Alas, my lord!What need of this to me?Alon.Ha! dost thou weep?Leon.Have I no cause?Alon.If love is thy concern,Thou hast no cause: none ever lov'd like me.Oh, that this one embrace would last for ever!Leon.Could this man ever mean to wrong my virtue?Could this man e'er design upon my life?Impossible! I throw away the thought.[aside.These tears declare how much I taste the joyOf being folded in your arms and heart;My universe does lie within that space.This dagger bore false witness.Alon.Ha, my dagger!It rouses horrid images. Away,Away with it, and let us talk of love.Leon.Of death!Alon.As thou lov'st happiness—Leon.Of murder!Alon.Rash,Rash woman! yet forbear.Alas, thou quite mistak'st my cause of pain!Yet, yet dismiss me; I am all in flames.Leon.Who has most cause, you or myself? what actOf my whole life encourag'd you to this?Or of your own, what guilt has drawn it on you?You find me kind, and think me kind to all;The weak, ungen'rous error of your sex.What could inspire the thought? We oft'nest judgeFrom our own hearts; and is yours then so frail,It prompts you to conceive thus ill of me?He that can stoop to harbour such a thought,Deserves to find it true.[holding him.Alon.[turning on her] Ill-fated woman!Why hast thou forc'd me back into the gulfOf agonies I had block'd up from thought?For, since thou hast replung'd me in my torture,I will be satisfy'd.Leon.Be satisfy'd!Alon.Yes, thy own mouth shall witness it against thee;I will be satisfy'd.Leon.Of what?Alon.Of what?How dar'st thou ask that question? Woman, woman,Weak and assur'd at once! thus 'tis for ever.Who told thee that thy virtue was suspected?Who told thee I design'd upon thy life?You found the dagger; but that could not speak:Nor did I tell thee; who did tell thee then?Guilt, conscious guilt!Leon.This to my face! Oh, heaven!Alon.This to thy very soul.Leon.Thou'rt not in earnest?Alon.Serious as death.Leon.Then heav'n have mercy on thee.Till now, I struggled not to think it true;I sought conviction, and would not believe it.And dost thou force me? this shall not be borneThou shalt repent this insult.[going.Alon.Madam, stay.Your passion's wise; 'tis a disguise for guilt:You and your thousand arts shall not escape me.Leon.Arts?Alon.Arts! Confess; for death is in my hand.Leon.'Tis in your words.Alon.Confess, confess, confess!Nor tear my veins with passion to compel thee.Leon.I scorn to answer thee, presumptuous man!Alon.Deny then, and incur a fouler shame.Where did I find this picture?Leon.Ha, don Carlos!By my best hopes, more welcome than thy own.Alon.I know it; but is vice so very rank,That thou shouldst dare to dash it in my face?Nature is sick of thee, abandon'd woman!Leon.Repent.Alon.Is that for me?Leon.Fall, ask my pardon.Alon.Astonishment!Leon.Dar'st thou persist to think I am dishonest?Alon.I know thee so.Leon.This blow then to thy heart—[she stabs herself; he endeavours to prevent her.Alon.Ho, Zanga! Isabella! ho! she bleeds!Descend, ye blessed angels, to assist her!Leon.This is the only way I would wound thee,Though most unjust. Now think me guilty still.Enter Isabella.Alon.Bear her to instant help. The world to save her.Leon.Unhappy man! well may'st thou gaze and tremble.But fix thy terror and amazement right;Not on my blood, but on thy own distraction.What hast thou done? whom censur'd—Leonora!When thou hadst censur'd, thou wouldst save her life:Oh, inconsistent! should I live in shame,Or stoop to any other means but thisT' assert my virtue? no: she who disputes,Admits it possible she might be guilty.While aught but truth could be my inducement to it,While it might look like an excuse to thee,I scorn'd to vindicate my innocence:But now, I let thy rashness know, the woundWhich least I feel, is that my dagger made.[exit Isabella, leading out Leonora.Alon.Ha! was this woman guilty?—And if not—How my thoughts darken that way! grant, kind heaven,That she prove guilty; or my being end.Is that my hope, then?—Sure, the sacred dustOf her that bore me trembles in its urn.Is it in man the sore distress to bear,When hope itself is blacken'd to despair?When all the bliss I pant for, is to gainIn hell, a refuge from severer pain?[exit.Re-enter Zanga.Zan.How stands the great account 'twixt me and vengeance?Though much is paid, yet still it owes me much,And I will not abate a single groan—Ha! that were well—but that were fatal too—Why, be it so—Revenge so truly great,Would come too cheap, if bought with less than life.Re-enter Isabella.Isa.Ah, Zanga, see me tremble! has not yetThy cruel heart its fill?—Poor Leonora—Zan.Welters in blood, and gasps for her last breath.What then? we all must die.Isa.Alonzo raves,And, in the tempest of his grief, has thriceAttempted on his life. At length, disarm'd,He calls his friends, that save him, his worst foes,And importunes the skies for swift perdition.Thus in his storm of sorrow: after pause,He started up, and call'd aloud for Zanga,For Zanga rav'd; and see, he seeks you here,To learn the truth which most he dreads to know.Zan.Begone. Now, now, my soul, consummate all.[exit Isabella.Re-enter Alonzo.Alon.Oh, Zanga!Zan.Do not tremble so; but speak.Alon.I dare not.[falls on him.Zan.You will drown me with your tears.Alon.Have I not cause?Zan.As yet, you have no cause.Alon.Dost thou too rave?Zan.Your anguish is to come:You much have been abus'd.Alon.Abus'd! by whom?Zan.To know, were little comfort.Alon.Oh, 'twere much!Zan.Indeed!Alon.By heaven! Oh, give him to my fury!Zan.Born for your use, I live but to oblige you.Know, then, 'twas—I.Alon.Am I awake?Zan.For ever.Thy wife is guiltless—that's one transport to me;And I, I let thee know it—that's another.I urg'd don Carlos to resign his mistress,I forg'd the letter, I dispos'd the picture;I hated, I despis'd, and I destroy!Alon.Oh![swoons.Zan.Why, this is well—why, this is blow for blow!Where are you? crown me, shadow me with laurels,Ye spirits which delight in just revenge!Let Europe and her pallid sons go weep;Let Afric and her hundred thrones rejoice:Oh, my dear countrymen, look down and seeHow I bestride your prostrate conqueror!I tread on haughty Spain, and all her kings.But this is mercy, this is my indulgence;'Tis peace, 'tis refuge from my indignation.I must awake him into horrors. Hoa!Alonzo, hoa! the Moor is at the gate!Awake, invincible, omnipotent!Thou who dost all subdue!Alon.Inhuman slave!Zan.Fall'n Christian, thou mistak'st my character.Look on me. Who am I? I know, thou say'stThe Moor, a slave, an abject, beaten slave:(Eternal woes to him that made me so!)But look again. Has six years' cruel bondageExtinguish'd majesty so far, that noughtShines here to give an awe of one above thee?When the great Moorish king, Abdallah, fell,Fell by thy hand accurs'd, I fought fast by him,His son, though, through his fondness, in disguise,Less to expose me to th' ambitious foe.—Ha! does it wake thee?—O'er my father's corseI stood astride till I had clove thy crest;And then was made the captive of a squadron,And sunk into thy servant—But, oh! what,What were my wages? Hear not heaven, nor earth!My wages were a blow! by heaven, a blow!And from a mortal hand!Alon.Oh, villain, villain!Zan.All strife is vain.[showing a dagger.Alon.Is thus my love return'd?Is this my recompense? Make friends of tigers!Lay not your young, oh, mothers, on the breast,For fear they turn to serpents as they lie,And pay you for their nourishment with death!—Carlos is dead, and Leonora dying!Both innocent, both murder'd, both by me.Zan.Must I despise thee too, as well as hate thee?Complain of grief, complain thou art a man.—Priam from fortune's lofty summit fell;Great Alexander 'midst his conquests mourn'd;Heroes and demi-gods have known their sorrows;Cæsars have wept; and I have had—my blow:But, 'tis reveng'd, and now my work is done.Yet, ere I fall, be it one part of vengeanceTo force thee to confess that I am just.—Thou seest a prince, whose father thou hast slain,Whose native country thou hast laid in blood,Whose sacred person (oh!) thou hast profan'd,Whose reign extinguish'd—what was left to me,So highly born? No kingdom, but revenge;No treasure, but thy tortures and thy groans.If men should ask who brought thee to thy end,Tell them, the Moor, and they will not despise thee.If cold white mortals censure this great deed,Warn them, they judge not of superior beings,Souls made of fire, and children of the sun,With whom revenge is virtue. Fare thee well—Now, fully satisfied, I should take leave:But one thing grieves me, since thy death is near,I leave thee my example how to die.As he is going to stab himself, Alonzo rushes upon him to prevent him.In the mean time, enter Don Alvarez, attended. They disarm andseize Zanga, Alonzo puts the dagger in his bosom.Alon.No, monster, thou shalt not escape by death.Oh, father!Alv.Oh, Alonzo!—Isabella,Touch'd with remorse to see her mistress' pangs,Told all the dreadful tale.Alon.What groan was that?Zan.As I have been a vulture to thy heart,So will I be a raven to thine ear,As true as ever snuff'd the scent of blood,As ever flapp'd its heavy wing againstThe window of the sick, and croak'd despair.Thy wife is dead.[Alvarez goes aside, and returns.Alv.The dreadful news is true.Alon.Prepare the rack; invent new torments for him.Zan.This too is well. The fix'd and noble mindTurns all occurrence to its own advantage;And I'll make vengeance of calamity.Were I not thus reduc'd, thou wouldst not know,That, thus reduc'd, I dare defy thee still.Torture thou may'st, but thou shall ne'er despise me.The blood will follow where the knife is driven,The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear,And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain.But these are foreign to the soul: not mineThe groans that issue, or the tears that fall;They disobey me; on the rack I scorn thee,As when my falchion clove thy helm in battle.Alv.Peace, villain!Zan.While I live, old man, I'll speak.And, well I know, thou dar'st not kill me yet;For that would rob thy blood-hounds of their prey.Alon.Who call'd Alonzo?Alv.No one call'd, my son.Alon.Again!—'Tis Carlos' voice, and I obey.Oh, how I laugh at all that this can do![shows dagger.The wounds that pain'd, the wounds that murder'd me,Were giv'n before; I am already dead;This only marks my body for the grave.[stabs himself.Afric, thou art reveng'd.—Oh, Leonora![dies.Zan.Good ruffians, give me leave; my blood is yours,The wheel's prepar'd, and you shall have it all.Let me but look one moment on the dead,And pay yourselves with gazing on my pangs.[he goes to Alonzo's body.Is this Alonzo? Where's the haughty mien?Is that the hand which smote me? Heavens, how pale!And art thou dead? So is my enmity.I war not with the dust. The great, the proud,The conqueror of Afric was my foe.A lion preys not upon carcases.This was thy only method to subdue me.Terror and doubt fall on me: all thy goodNow blazes, all thy guilt is in the grave.Never had man such funeral applause:If I lament thee, sure thy worth was great.Oh, vengeance, I have follow'd thee too far,And to receive me, hell blows all her fires.[exeunt.

Mr. Hughes, in his criticism onOthello, introduces the following narrative, to which allusion is made in our remarks.—"The short story I am going to tell is a just warning to those of jealous honour to look about them, and begin to possess their souls as they ought; for no man of spirit knows how terrible a creature he is, till he comes to be provoked.

"Don Alonzo, a Spanish nobleman, had a beautiful and virtuous wife, with whom he had lived some years in great tranquillity. The gentleman, however, was not free from the faults usually imputed to his nation; he was proud, suspicious, and impetuous. He kept a Moor in his house, whom, on a complaint from his lady, he had punished for a small offence with the utmost severity. The slave vowed revenge, and communicated his resolution to one of the lady's women, with whom he had lived in a criminal way. This creature also hated her mistress, for she feared she was observed by her; she therefore undertook to make Don Alonzo jealous, by insinuating that the gardner was often admitted to his lady in private, and promising to make him an eye witness of it. At a proper time, agreed on between her and the Morisco, she sent a message to the gardner, that his lady, having some hasty orders to give him, would have him come that moment to her in her chamber. In the mean time she had placed Alonzo privately in an outer room, that he might observe who passed that way. It was not long before he saw the gardner appear. Alonzo had not patience, but following him into the apartment, struck him at one blow with a dagger to the heart; then dragging his lady by the hair, without inquiring farther, he instantly killed her.

"Here he paused, looking on the dead bodies with all the agitations of a demon of revenge; when the wench who had occasioned these terrors, distracted with remorse, threw herself at his feet, and in a voice of lamentation, without sense of the consequence, repeated all her guilt. Alonzo was overwhelmed with the violent passions at one instant, and uttered the broken voices and motions of each of them for a moment; till at last he recollected himself enough to end his agony of love, anger, disdain, revenge, and remorse, by murdering the maid, the Moor, and himself."

Maurice,Fenchurch Street.

English, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese and GermanLIBRARY,No. 9, Rue du Coq-St. Honoré, Paris.

fr. c.CAMPBELL's Poetical Works, consisting of the Pleasuresof Hope, Gertrude of Wyoming, and other Poems: 1822,1 vol. in-12. pap. fin, jolie édition,4 0LORD BYRON's Works, new edition,5 vol. in-12. brochés,12 0SIR WALTER SCOTT's WORKS.The Lady of the Lake, 1822, 1 vol. in-12.pap. vélin, jolie édition,4 50The Lay of the Last Minstrel, 1 vol. in-12.vélin ordinaire,3 0The same, beau pap. vélin,5 0The Poetical Works, complete, in 7 vol.in-12. portrait, br.32 0The Monastery, 3 vol. in-12.7 0Kenilworth, 2 vol. in-12. br.9 0The Abbot, 3 vol. in-12.13 0Ivanhoe, 3 vol. in-12.13 0The same, 2 vol. in-8. br.10 0Waverley, 3 vol. in-12.13 0The Pirate, 3 vol. in-12.13 0Guy Mannering, 3 vol. in-12.13 0The Antiquary, 3 vol. in-12.13 0The Fortunes of Nigel, 3 vol. in-12.13 0MILTON's Poetical Works, 1822,3 vol. in-32. pap. vélin satiné,10 0POPE's Poetical Works, 1822,3 vol. in-32. pap. vélin satiné.10 0The BRITISH PROSE-WRITERS, with Biographicaland Critical Prefaces, in-32. pap. vélin satiné: containing,The Vicar of Wakefield, 1 vol.3 0The Man of Feeling, 1 vol.3 0Bacon's Essays, 1 vol.3 0Sterne's Sentimental Journey, 1 vol.3 0Montague's Letters, 1 vol.3 0Gulliver's Travels, 2 vol.6 0Junius's Letters, 2 vols.6 0LEVIZAC's Theoretical and Practical Grammarof the French Tongue. 8th édition, 1 vol. in-12.4 0BONIFACE's Learner's Guide to the English Tongue:ou, Cours de Versions Anglaises, à l'Usagedes Commençans, 1 vol. in-18. br.1 80POPPLETON's Guide Pratique pour traduiredu Français en bon Anglais, au moyen d'uneTraduction Interlinéaire, 1820, 1 vol. in-8. br.4 50

JUST PUBLISHED,TheSchool for Scandal,a Comedy by Sheridan.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

Contemporary spellings have been retained throughout, including three instances of "it's" in place of "its" in the introductory "Remarks".

Back to Index Next