[ALBERT enters from the castle, and is crossing the stage.

Spy. There—there—your Reverence! That is the sorcerer.

[FRANCESCO runs up and rudely catches hold of ALBERT. ALBERT dashes him to the earth. FRANCESCO and the Spy make an uproar, and the servants rush from out the castle.

Francesco. Seize, seize and gag him! or the Church curses you!

[The servants seize and gag ALBERT.

Enter VELEZ and OSORIO.

Osorio (aside). This is most lucky!

Francesco (inarticulate with rage). See you this, Lord Velez? Good evidence have I of most foul sorcery, 270 And in the name of Holy Church command you To give me up the keys—the keys, my lord! Of that same dungeon-hole beneath your castle. This imp of hell—but we delay enquiry Till to Granada we have convoy'd him. 275

Osorio (to the Servants). Why haste you not? Go, fly and dungeon him! Then bring the keys and give them to his Reverence.

[The Servants hurry off ALBERT. OSORIO goes up to FRANCESCO, and pointing at ALBERT.

Osorio (with a laugh). 'He that can bring the dead to life again.'

Francesco. What? did you hear it?

Osorio. Yes, and plann'd this scheme To bring conviction on him. Ho! a wizard, 280 Thought I—but where's the proof! I plann'd this scheme. The scheme has answer'd—we have proof enough.

Francesco. My lord, your pious policy astounds me. I trust my honest zeal——

Osorio. Nay, reverend father! It has but raised my veneration for you. 285 But 'twould be well to stop all intertalk Between my servants and this child of darkness.

Francesco. My lord! with speed I'll go, make swift return, And humbly redeliver you the keys. [Exit FRANCESCO.

Osorio (alone). 'The stranger, that lives nigh, still picking weeds.' 290 And this was his friend, his crony, his twin-brother! O! I am green, a very simple stripling— The wise men of this world make nothing of me. By Heaven, 'twas well contrived! And I, forsooth, I was to cut my throat in honour of conscience. 295 And this tall wizard—ho!—he was to pass For Albert's friend! He hath a trick of his manner. He was to tune his voice to honey'd sadness, And win her to a transfer of her love By lamentable tales of her dear Albert, 300 And his dear Albert! Yea, she would have lov'd him. He, that can sigh out in a woman's ear Sad recollections of her perish'd lover, And sob and smile with veering sympathy, And, now and then, as if by accident, 305 Pass his mouth close enough to touch her cheek With timid lip, he takes the lover's place, He takes his place, for certain! Dusky rogue, Were it not sport to whimper with thy mistress, Then steal away and roll upon my grave, 310 Till thy sides shook with laughter? Blood! blood! blood! They want thy blood! thy blood, Osorio!

[END OF ACT THE THIRD.]

FOOTNOTES:

[555:1] In MS. II this speech is crossed out, and on the blank page opposite the following is written in Coleridge's hand:—

'Instead of Maria's portrait, Albert places on the altar a small picture of his attempted assassination. The scene is not wholly without poetical merit, but it is miserably undramatic, or rather untragic. A scene of magic is introduced in which no single person on the stage has the least faith—all, though in different ways, think or know it to be a trick——consequently, &c.' P. W., 1893, p. 494, Editor's Note.

In MS. III the following stage-direction is written (in S. T. C.'s handwriting) on the page opposite to lines 113-15:—

'Albert has placed on the altar a small picture representing the attempt to assassinate him, instead of the portrait of Maria which Osorio had given him.'

[556:1] In MS. II Coleridge has written opposite this:—'Velez supposes the picture is an innocent contrivance of Osorio's to remove Maria's scruples: Osorio, that it is the portrait of Maria which he had himself given the supposed Wizard.' P. W., 1893, p. 495, Editors Note.

In MS. III Coleridge wrote on the opposite page:—'Velez supposes the picture which represents the attempt to assassinate Albert, to have been a mere invention contrived by Osorio with the most innocent intentions. Osorio supposes it of course, to be the portrait of Maria which he had restored to Albert!'

[556:2] The transcriber of MS. I had here written 'superstitious', which is marked through with ink, and 'serious' is substituted, in Coleridge's own hand. In MS. II 'superstitious' is left undisturbed. P. W., 1893, p. 495, Editor's Note. In MS. III 'serious' is erased and 'superstitious' is superscribed.

[558:1] In MS. II Coleridge has written opposite this:—'Osorio immediately supposes that this wizard whom Ferdinand had recommended to him, was in truth, an accomplice of Ferdinand, to whom the whole secret had been betrayed.' P. W., 1893, p. 496, Editor's Note.

[559:1] Opposite the passage in MS. II the following is written in the transcriber's hand:—

Ce malheur, dites-vous, est le bien d'un autre tre— De mon corps tout sanglant, mille insectes vont natre. Quand la mort met le comble aux maux que j'ai souffert, Le beau soulagement d'tre mang de vers! Je ne suis du grand TOUT qu'une faible partie— Oui; mais les animaux condamns la vie Sous les tres sentants ns sous la mme loi Vivent dans la douleur, et meurent comme moi.

Dsastre de Lisbonne. P. W., 1893, p. 491, Editor's Note.

LINENOTES:

[Before 1]

ACT III.

SCENE 1.—A Hall of armory, with an altar at the back of the stage. Soft music from an instrument of glass or steel. VALDEZ, ORDONIO, and ALVAR in a Sorcerer's robe, are discovered.

Ord. This was too melancholy, father.

Val. Nay, My Alvar lov'd sad music from a child. Once he was lost; and after weary search We found him in an open place in [of Osor.] the wood, To which spot he had followed a blind boy, Who breath'd into a pipe of sycamore Some strangely-moving notes: and these, he said, Were taught him in a dream. Him we first saw Stretch'd on the broad top of a sunny heath-bank; And lower down poor Alvar, fast asleep, His head upon the blind boy's dog. It pleas'd me To mark how he had fasten'd round the pipe A silver toy his {grandmother had Osor. {grandam had late given him. Methinks I see him now as he then look'd— { His infant dress was grown too short for him, Osor. { Even so!—He had outgrown his infant dress, Yet still he wore it.

Alv. (aside). My tears must not flow! I must not clasp his knees, and cry, My father!

Enter TERESA and attendants.

Remorse.

[These lines with the variants as noted above are included in Osorio, Act III, lines 58-74.]

[After 3] stage-direction om. Remorse.

[Between 3 and 4]

Ordonio. Believe you then no preternatural influence? { Believe you not that spirits throng around us? { I thought you held that spirits throng'd around us?

Corr. in MS. III.

Ter. Say rather that I have imagined it A possible thing; and it has sooth'd my soul As other fancies have; but ne'er seduced me To traffic with the black and frenzied hope, That the dead hear the voice of witch or wizard.

Remorse.

[4] you] you Remorse.

[5] employments] employment Remorse.

[9] things] guilt Remorse.

[10] Stand ye from the altar Remorse.

[After 10] [Here, &c. . . . scene Remorse.

[13] spells] spell Remorse.

[21] unstun'd] unstunn'd Remorse.

[After 23] [Music Remorse.

[29] build up] upbuild Remorse.

[37] [Here behind the scenes a voice sings the three words, 'Hear, sweet Spirit.' Remorse.

[After 43] SONG.—Behind the scenes, &c. Remorse.

[50] chanters] chaunter Remorse.

[58-74] are printed as ll. 1-17, Act III, Sc. I Remorse.

[61] of] in Remorse.

[70-72]

A silver toy his grandam had late given him, Methinks I see him now as he then look'd— Even so!—He had outgrown his infant dress,

Remorse, Act III, ll. 13-15.

[79] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[87] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[88-9]

But what if he had a brother, Who had lived even so

Remorse.

[91-2]

Valdez. Idly prating man! Thou hast guess'd ill: Don Alvar's only brother Stands here before thee—a father's blessing on him! He is most virtuous.

Remorse.

[96] excellently] exquisitely Remorse.

[Between 104 and 105]

[Music again.

Teresa. 'Tis strange, I tremble at my own conjectures! But whatso'er it mean, I dare no longer Be present at these lawless mysteries, This dark provoking of the hidden Powers! Already I affront—if not high Heaven— Yet Alvar's memory!—Hark! I make appeal Against the unholy rite, and hasten hence To bend before a lawful shrine, and seek That voice which whispers, when the still heart listens, Comfort and faithful hope! Let us retire.

Alv. (to TERESA). O full of faith and guileless love, thy spirit Still prompts thee wisely. Let the pangs of guilt Surprise the guilty: thou art innocent!

[Exeunt TERESA and Attendant. Music as before.

Remorse.

[106] an eye of flesh] a human eye Remorse.

[108] come quick] O come Remorse.

[109] and if he lives] but if he live Remorse.

[After 110] The whole music clashes into a Chorus Remorse.

[111] demon] demons Remorse.

[113 foll.] For the rest of Act III, as published in Remorse, vide post pp. 851-8. According to the Editor of Osorio as first published in 1873, 'The rest of this Act is entirely different in the published Remorse.' This statement needs qualification. The remainder of Act III of Osorio was rewritten, much was omitted, much added, and the 'dramatic ordonnance' of this part of the play was remodelled on a different plan, but the following lines 174-82, 195-202, 210-31 and 246-7 were included, with certain alterations, in Remorse. See Remorse, Act III, Scene II, ll. 64-71, 79-87, 94-114 and 185-6.

[140-3] And . . . come MS. III erased.

[After 146]

Doth swim with love and pity—Well Ordonio O my foreboding Spirit, he suborn'd thee, And thou didst spare his life

Corr. in MS. III.

[299] interpolated by S. T. C. MS. III.



ACT THE FOURTH

SCENE THE FIRST.—A cavern, dark except where a gleam of moonlight is seen on one side of the further end of it, supposed to be cast on it from a cranny [crevice Remorse] in a part of the cavern out of sight.

[FERDINAND alone, an extinguished torch in his hand.

Ferdinand. Drip! drip! drip! drip!—in such a place as this It has nothing else to do but drip! drip! drip! I wish it had not dripp'd upon my torch. Faith 'twas a moving letter—very moving! His life in danger—no place safe but this. 5 'Twas his turn now to talk of gratitude! And yet—but no! there can't be such a villain. It cannot be! Thanks to that little cranny Which lets the moonlight in! I'll go and sit by it. To peep at a tree, or see a he-goat's beard, 10 Or hear a cow or two breathe loud in their sleep, 'Twere better than this dreary noise of water-drops!

[He goes out of sight, opposite to the patch of moonlight, [and returns. Remorse] returns after a minute's elapse in an ecstasy of fear.

A hellish pit! O God—'tis like my night-mair! I was just in!—and those damn'd fingers of ice Which clutch'd my hair up! Ha! what's that? it moved! 15

[FERDINAND stands [motionless MS. III erased] staring at another recess in the cavern. In the mean time OSORIO enters with a torch and hollas to him [halloes to ISIDORE Remorse].

Ferdinand. I swear, I saw a something moving there! The moonshine came and went, like a flash of lightning. I swear, I saw it move!

[OSORIO goes into the recess, then returns, and with great scorn.

Osorio. A jutting clay-stone Drips on the long lank weed that grows beneath; And the weed nods and drips.

Ferdinand (forcing a faint laugh). A joke to laugh at! 20 It was not that which frighten'd me, my lord!

Osorio. What frighten'd you?

Ferdinand. You see that little cranny? But first permit me,

[Lights his torch at OSORIO'S, and while lighting it.

(A lighted torch in the hand Is no unpleasant object here—one's breath Floats round the flame, and makes as many colours 25 As the thin clouds that travel near the moon.)[564:1] You see that cranny there?

Osorio. Well, what of that?

Ferdinand. I walk'd up to it, meaning to sit there. When I had reach'd it within twenty paces——

[FERDINAND starts as if he felt the terror over again.

Merciful Heaven! Do go, my lord! and look. 30

[OSORIO goes and returns.

Osorio. It must have shot some pleasant feelings thro' you?

Ferdinand. If every atom of a dead man's flesh Should move, each one with a particular life, Yet all as cold as ever—'twas just so! Or if it drizzled needle-points of frost 35 Upon a feverish head made suddenly bald—

Osorio (interrupting him). Why, Ferdinand! I blush for thy cowardice. It would have startled any man, I grant thee. But such a panic.

Ferdinand. When a boy, my lord! I could have sat whole hours beside that chasm, 40 Push'd in huge stones and heard them thump and rattle Against its horrid sides; and hung my head Low down, and listen'd till the heavy fragments Sunk, with faint crash, in that still groaning well, Which never thirsty pilgrim blest, which never 45 A living thing came near; unless, perchance, Some blind-worm battens on the ropy mould, Close at its edge.

Osorio. Art thou more coward now?

Ferdinand. Call him that fears his fellow-men a coward. I fear not man. But this inhuman cavern 50 It were too bad a prison-house for goblins. Besides (you'll laugh, my lord!) but true it is, My last night's sleep was very sorely haunted[565:1] By what had pass'd between us in the morning. I saw you in a thousand hideous ways, 55 And doz'd and started, doz'd again and started. I do entreat your lordship to believe me, In my last dream——

Osorio. Well?

Ferdinand. I was in the act Of falling down that chasm, when Alhadra Waked me. She heard my heart beat!

Osorio. Strange enough! 60 Had you been here before?

Ferdinand. Never, my lord! But my eyes do not see it now more clearly Than in my dream I saw that very chasm.

[OSORIO stands in a deep study—then, after a pause.

Osorio. There is no reason why it should be so. And yet it is.

Ferdinand. What is, my lord?

Osorio. Unpleasant 65 To kill a man!

Ferdinand. Except in self-defence.

Osorio. Why that's my case: and yet 'tis still unpleasant. At least I find it so! But you, perhaps, Have stronger nerves?

Ferdinand. Something doth trouble you. How can I serve you? By the life you gave me, 70 By all that makes that life of value to me, My wife, my babes, my honour, I swear to you, Name it, and I will toil to do the thing, If it be innocent! But this, my lord! Is not a place where you could perpetrate, 75 No, nor propose a wicked thing. The darkness (When ten yards off, we know, 'tis chearful moonlight) Collects the guilt and crowds it round the heart. It must be innocent.

Osorio. Thyself be judge.

[OSORIO walks round the cavern—then looking round it.

One of our family knew this place well. 80

Ferdinand. Who? when? my lord.

Osorio. What boots it who or when? Hang up the torch. I'll tell his tale to thee.

[They hang [up] their torches in some shelf of [on some ridge in Remorse] the cavern.

Osorio. He was a man different from other men, And he despised them, yet revered himself.[567:1]

Ferdinand. What? he was mad?

Osorio. All men seem'd mad to him, 85 Their actions noisome folly, and their talk— A goose's gabble was more musical. Nature had made him for some other planet, And press'd his soul into a human shape By accident or malice. In this world 90 He found no fit companion!

Ferdinand. Ah, poor wretch! Madmen are mostly proud.

Osorio. He walk'd alone, And phantasies, unsought for, troubled him. Something within would still be shadowing out All possibilities, and with these shadows 95 His mind held dalliance. Once, as so it happen'd, A fancy cross'd him wilder than the rest: To this in moody murmur, and low voice, He yielded utterance as some talk in sleep. The man who heard him—— Why didst thou look round? 100

Ferdinand. I have a prattler three years old, my lord! In truth he is my darling. As I went From forth my door, he made a moan in sleep— But I am talking idly—pray go on! And what did this man?

Osorio. With his human hand 105 He gave a being and reality To that wild fancy of a possible thing. Well it was done. [Then very wildly. Why babblest thou of guilt? The deed was done, and it pass'd fairly off. And he, whose tale I tell thee—dost thou listen? 110

Ferdinand. I would, my lord, you were by my fireside! I'd listen to you with an eager eye, Tho' you began this cloudy tale at midnight. But I do listen—pray proceed, my lord!

Osorio. Where was I?

Ferdinand. He of whom you tell the tale— 115

Osorio. Surveying all things with a quiet scorn Tamed himself down to living purposes, The occupations and the semblances Of ordinary men—and such he seem'd. But that some over-ready agent—he—— 120

Ferdinand. Ah! what of him, my lord?

Osorio. He proved a villain; Betray'd the mystery to a brother villain; And they between them hatch'd a damnd plot To hunt him down to infamy and death To share the wealth of a most noble family, 125 And stain the honour of an orphan lady With barbarous mixture and unnatural union. What did the Velez? I am proud of the name, Since he dared do it.

[OSORIO grasps his sword and turns off from FERDINAND, then, after a pause, returns.

Osorio. Our links burn dimly.

Ferdinand. A dark tale darkly finish'd! Nay, my lord! 130 Tell what he did.

Osorio (fiercely). That which his wisdom prompted. He made the traitor meet him in this cavern, And here he kill'd the traitor.

Ferdinand. No!—the fool. He had not wit enough to be a traitor. Poor thick-eyed beetle! not to have foreseen 135 That he, who gull'd thee with a whimper'd lie To murder his own brother, would not scruple To murder thee, if e'er his guilt grew jealous And he could steal upon thee in the dark!

Osorio. Thou would'st not then have come, if——

Ferdinand. O yes, my lord! 140 I would have met him arm'd, and scared the coward!

[FERDINAND throws off his robe, shows himself armed, and draws his sword.

Osorio. Now this is excellent, and warms the blood! My heart was drawing back, drawing me back With womanish pulls of pity. Dusky slave, Now I will kill thee pleasantly, and count it 145 Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter.

Ferdinand. And all my little ones fatherless! Die thou first.

[They fight. OSORIO disarms FERDINAND, and in disarming him, throws his sword up that recess, opposite to which they were standing.

Ferdinand (springing wildly towards Osorio). Still I can strangle thee!

Osorio. Nay, fool! stand off. I'll kill thee—but not so! Go fetch thy sword.

[FERDINAND hurries into the recess with his torch. OSORIO follows him, and in a moment returns alone.

Osorio. Now—this was luck! No bloodstains, no dead body! 150 His dream, too, is made out. Now for his friend.[570:1]

[Exit.

SCENE changes to the court before the Castle of VELEZ.

MARIA and her FOSTER-MOTHER.

Maria. And when I heard that you desired to see me, I thought your business was to tell me of him.

Foster-Mother. I never saw the Moor, whom you describe.

Maria. 'Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly 155 As mine and Albert's common foster-mother.

Foster-Mother. Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be, That join'd your names with mine! O my sweet lady, As often as I think of those dear times When you two little ones would stand at eve, 160 On each side of my chair, and make me learn All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you, 'Tis more like heaven to come, that what has been!

Maria. O my dear mother! this strange man has left me 165 Wilder'd with wilder fancies than yon moon Breeds in the love-sick maid—who gazes at it Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye She gazes idly! But that entrance, mother!

Foster-Mother. Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale! 170

Maria. No one.

Foster-Mother. My husband's father told it me, Poor old Leoni. Angels rest his soul! He was a woodman, and could fell and saw With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel? 175 Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree, He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home, And rear'd him at the then Lord Velez' cost. 180 And so the babe grew up a pretty boy. A pretty boy, but most unteachable— And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead, But knew the names of birds, and mock'd their notes, And whistled, as he were a bird himself. 185 And all the autumn 'twas his only play To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them With earth and water on the stumps of trees. A friar who gather'd simples in the wood, A grey-hair'd man—he loved this little boy, 190 The boy loved him—and, when the friar taught him, He soon could write with the pen; and from that time Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle. So he became a very learned youth. But O! poor wretch—he read, and read, and read, 195 Till his brain turn'd—and ere his twentieth year, He had unlawful thoughts of many things. And though he pray'd, he never loved to pray With holy men, nor in a holy place. But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, 200 The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him, And once as by the north side of the chapel They stood together, chain'd in deep discourse, The earth heav'd under them with such a groan, That the wall totter'd, and had well-nigh fall'n 205 Right on their heads. My lord was sorely frighten'd; A fever seiz'd him; and he made confession Of all the heretical and lawless talk Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seiz'd And cast into that hole. My husband's father 210 Sobb'd like a child—it almost broke his heart. And once as he was working in the cellar, He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's, Who sung a doleful song about green fields, How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah 215 To hunt for food, and be a naked man, And wander up and down at liberty. He always doted on the youth, and now His love grew desperate; and defying death, He made that cunning entrance I described: 220 And the young man escaped.

Maria. 'Tis a sweet tale: Such as would lull a list'ning child to sleep, His rosy face besoil'd with unwiped tears. And what became of him?

Foster-Mother. He went on shipboard With those bold voyagers, who made discovery 225 Of golden lands; Leoni's younger brother Went likewise, and when he return'd to Spain, He told Leoni that the poor mad youth, Soon after they arrived in that new world, In spite of his dissuasion seized a boat, 230 And all alone set sail by silent moonlight, Up a great river, great as any sea, And ne'er was heard of more; but 'tis supposed He liv'd and died among the savage men.

Enter VELEZ.

Velez. Still sad, Maria? This same wizard haunts you. 235

Maria. O Christ! the tortures that hang o'er his head, If ye betray him to these holy brethren!

Velez (with a kind of sneer). A portly man, and eloquent, and tender! In truth, I shall not wonder if you mourn That their rude grasp should seize on such a victim. 240

Maria. The horror of their ghastly punishments Doth so o'ertop the height of sympathy, That I should feel too little for mine enemy— Ah! far too little—if 'twere possible, I could feel more, even tho' my child or husband 245 Were doom'd to suffer them! That such things are——

Velez. Hush! thoughtless woman!

Maria. Nay—it wakes within me More than a woman's spirit.

Velez (angrily). No more of this— I can endure no more.

Foster-Mother. My honour'd master! Lord Albert used to talk so.

Maria. Yes! my mother! 250 These are my Albert's lessons, and I con them With more delight than, in my fondest hour, I bend me o'er his portrait.

Velez (to the Foster-Mother). My good woman, You may retire. [Exit the FOSTER-MOTHER.

Velez. We have mourn'd for Albert. Have I no living son?

Maria. Speak not of him! 255 That low imposture—my heart sickens at it, If it be madness, must I wed a madman? And if not madness, there is mystery, And guilt doth lurk behind it!

Valdez. Is this well?

Maria. Yes! it is truth. Saw you his countenance? 260 How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid fear, Displac'd each other with swift interchanges? If this were all assumed, as you believe, He must needs be a most consummate actor; And hath so vast a power to deceive me, 265 I never could be safe. And why assume The semblance of such execrable feelings?

Velez. Ungrateful woman! I have tried to stifle An old man's passion! Was it not enough That thou hast made my son a restless man, 270 Banish'd his health and half-unhinged his reason, But that thou wilt insult him with suspicion, And toil to blast his honour? I am old— A comfortless old man! Thou shalt not stay Beneath my roof!

[FRANCESCO enters and stands listening.

Velez. Repent and marry him— 275 Or to the convent.

Francesco (muttering). Good! good! very good!

Maria. Nay, grant me some small pittance of my fortune, And I will live a solitary woman, Or my poor foster-mother and her grandsons May be my household.

Francesco (advancing). I abhor a listener; 280 But you spoke so, I could not choose but hear you. I pray, my lord! will you embolden me To ask you why this lady doth prefer To live in lonely sort, without a friend Or fit companion?

Velez. Bid her answer you. 285

Maria. Nature will be my friend and fit companion.

[Turns off from them.

O Albert! Albert! that they could return, Those blessed days, that imitated heaven! When we two wont to walk at evening-tide; When we saw nought but beauty; when we heard 290 The voice of that Almighty One, who lov'd us, In every gale that breath'd, and wave that murmur'd! O we have listen'd, even till high-wrought pleasure Hath half-assumed the countenance of grief, And the deep sigh seem'd to heave up a weight 295 Of bliss, that press'd too heavy on the heart.

Francesco. But in the convent, lady, you would have Such aids as might preserve you from perdition. There you might dwell.

Maria. With tame and credulous faith, Mad melancholy, antic merriment, 300 Leanness, disquietude, and secret pangs! O God! it is a horrid thing to know That each pale wretch, who sits and drops her beads Had once a mind, which might have given her wings Such as the angels wear!

Francesco (stifling his rage). Where is your son, my lord? 305

Velez. I have not seen him, father, since he left you.

Francesco. His lordship's generous nature hath deceiv'd him! That Ferdinand (or if not he his wife) I have fresh evidence—are infidels. We are not safe until they are rooted out. 310

Maria. Thou man, who call'st thyself the minister Of Him whose law was love unutterable! Why is thy soul so parch'd with cruelty, That still thou thirstest for thy brother's blood?

Velez (rapidly). Father! I have long suspected it—her brain— 315 Heed it not, father!

Francesco. Nay—but I must heed it.

Maria. Thou miserable man! I fear thee not, Nor prize a life which soon may weary me. Bear witness, Heav'n! I neither scorn nor hate him— 320 But O! 'tis wearisome to mourn for evils, Still mourn, and have no power to remedy! [Exit MARIA.

Francesco. My lord! I shall presume to wait on you To-morrow early.

Velez. Be it so, good father! [Exit FRANCESCO.

Velez (alone). I do want solace, but not such as thine! 325 The moon is high in heaven, and my eyes ache, But not with sleep. Well—it is ever so. A child, a child is born! and the fond heart Dances! and yet the childless are most happy.

[SCENE changes to the mountains by moonlight. ALHADRA alone in a Moorish dress, her eyes fixed on the earth. Then drop in one after another, from different parts of the stage, a considerable number of Morescoes, all in their Moorish garments. They form a circle at a distance round ALHADRA. After a pause one of the Morescoes to the man who stands next to him.

First Moresco. The law which forced these Christian dresses on us, 330 'Twere pleasant to cleave down the wretch who framed it.

Second. Yet 'tis not well to trample on it idly.

First. Our country robes are dear.

Second. And like dear friends, May chance to prove most perilous informers.

[A third Moresco, NAOMI, advances from out the circle.

Naomi. Woman! may Alla and the prophet bless thee! 335 We have obey'd thy call. Where is our chief? And why didst thou enjoin the Moorish garments?

Alhadra (lifting up [raising Remorse] her eyes, and looking round on the circle). Warriors of Mahomet, faithful in the battle, My countrymen! Come ye prepared to work An honourable deed? And would ye work it 340 In the slave's garb? Curse on those Christian robes! They are spell-blasted; and whoever wears them, His arm shrinks wither'd, his heart melts away, And his bones soften!

Naomi. Where is Ferdinand?

Alhadra (in a deep low voice). This night I went from forth my house, and left 345 His children all asleep; and he was living! And I return'd, and found them still asleep— But he had perish'd.

All. Perished?

Alhadra. He had perish'd! Sleep on, poor babes! not one of you doth know That he is fatherless, a desolate orphan! 350 Why should we wake them? Can an infant's arm Revenge his murder?

One to Another. Did she say his murder?

Naomi. Murder'd? Not murder'd?

Alhadra. Murder'd by a Christian!

[They all, at once, draw their sabres.

Alhadra (to Naomi, who on being addressed again advances from the circle). Brother of Zagri! fling away thy sword: This is thy chieftain's! [He steps forward to take it. Dost thou dare receive it? 355 For I have sworn by Alia and the prophet, No tear shall dim these eyes, this woman's heart Shall heave no groan, till I have seen that sword Wet with the blood of all the house of Velez!

Enter MAURICE.

All. A spy! a spy! [They seize him.

Maurice. Off! off! unhand me, slaves! 360

[After much struggling he disengages himself and draws his sword.

Naomi (to Alhadra). Speak! shall we kill him?

Maurice. Yes! ye can kill a man, Some twenty of you! But ye are Spanish slaves! And slaves are always cruel, always cowards.

Alhadra. That man has spoken truth. Whence and who art thou?

Maurice. I seek a dear friend, whom for aught I know 365 The son of Velez hath hired one of you To murder! Say, do ye know aught of Albert?

Alhadra (starting). Albert?—three years ago I heard that name Murmur'd in sleep! High-minded foreigner! Mix thy revenge with mine, and stand among us. 370

[MAURICE stands among the Morescoes.

Alhadra. Was not Osorio my husband's friend?

Old Man. He kill'd my son in battle; yet our chieftain Forced me to sheathe my dagger. See—the point Is bright, unrusted with the villain's blood!

Alhadra. He is your chieftain's murderer!

Naomi. He dies by Alla!

All (dropping on one knee). By Alla! 375

Alhadra. This night a reeking slave came with loud pant, Gave Ferdinand a letter, and departed, Swift as he came. Pale, with unquiet looks, He read the scroll.

Maurice. Its purport?

Alhadra. Yes, I ask'd it. He answer'd me, 'Alhadra! thou art worthy 380 A nobler secret; but I have been faithful To this bad man, and faithful I will be.' He said, and arm'd himself, and lit a torch; Then kiss'd his children, each one on its pillow, And hurried from me. But I follow'd him 385 At distance, till I saw him enter there.

Naomi. The cavern?

Alhadra. Yes—the mouth of yonder cavern. After a pause I saw the son of Velez Rush by with flaring torch; he likewise enter'd— There was another and a longer pause— 390 And once, methought, I heard the clash of swords, And soon the son of Velez reappear'd. He flung his torch towards the moon in sport, And seem'd as he were mirthful! I stood listening Impatient for the footsteps of my husband! 395

Maurice. Thou called'st him?

Alhadra. I crept into the cavern: 'Twas dark and very silent. [Then wildly. What said'st thou? No, no! I did not dare call, Ferdinand! Lest I should hear no answer. A brief while, Belike, I lost all thought and memory 400 Of that for which I came! After that pause, O God! I heard a groan!—and follow'd it. And yet another groan—which guided me Into a strange recess—and there was light, A hideous light! his torch lay on the ground— 405 Its flame burnt dimly o'er a chasm's brink. I spake—and while I spake, a feeble groan Came from that chasm! It was his last! his death groan!

Maurice. Comfort her, comfort her, Almighty Father!

Alhadra. I stood in unimaginable trance 410 And agony, that cannot be remember'd, Listening with horrid hope to hear a groan! But I had heard his last—my husband's death-groan!

Naomi. Haste! let us go!

Alhadra. I look'd far down the pit. My sight was bounded by a jutting fragment, 415 And it was stain'd with blood! Then first I shriek'd! My eyeballs burnt! my brain grew hot as fire! And all the hanging drops of the wet roof Turn'd into blood. I saw them turn to blood! And I was leaping wildly down the chasm 420 When on the further brink I saw his sword, And it said, Vengeance! Curses on my tongue! The moon hath moved in heaven, and I am here, And he hath not had vengeance! Ferdinand! Spirit of Ferdinand! thy murderer lives! 425 Away! away! [She rushes off, all following.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT

FOOTNOTES:

[564:1] The square brackets (which appear in both MSS.) seem to indicate that these words were an 'aside'. P. W. 1893, p. 499. Editor's Note.

[565:1] Against this passage Coleridge has written in MS. II:—'This will be held by many for a mere Tragedy-dream—by many who have never given themselves the trouble to ask themselves from what grounds dreams pleased in Tragedy, and wherefore they have become so common. I believe, however, that in the present case, the whole is here psychologically true and accurate. Prophetical dreams are things of nature, and explicable by that law of the mind in which where dim ideas are connected with vivid feelings, Perception and Imagination insinuate themselves and mix with the forms of Recollection, till the Present appears to exactly correspond with the Past. Whatever is partially like, the Imagination will gradually represent as wholly like—a law of our nature which, when it is perfectly understood, woe to the great city Babylon—to all the superstitions of Men!' P. W., 1893, p. 499.

[567:1] Against this passage Coleridge writes in MS. II:—'Under the mask of the third person Osorio relates his own story, as in the delusion of self-justification and pride, it appeared to himself—at least as he wished it to appear to himself.' P. W., 1893, p. 499.

'Osorio darkly, and in the feeling of self-justification, tells what he conceives of his own character and actions—speaking of himself in the third person.' MS. III.

[570:1] Against this line Coleridge writes in MS. II:—'Osorio has thrust Ferdinand down the chasm. I think it an important instance how Dreams and Prophecies coperate to their own completion.' P. W., 1893, p. 501.

LINENOTES:

[1-3] Erased MS. III.: om. Remorse.

{ [*water drops*] This ceaseless dreary sound of { dropping water— I would they had not fallen upon my Torch!

Corr. in MS. III.

[5-6] In inverted commas. Remorse.

[8] cannot] can not Remorse. cranny] crevice Remorse.

[12] MS. III erased.

[Between 11 and 13]

(a) Any thing but this crash of water drops! These dull abortive sounds that fret the silence With puny thwartings and mock opposition! So beats the death-watch to a sick man's ear

Remorse.

(b) Anything but this { crash of water-drops { [*noise*] { scoffing At broken measure { [*mocking*] intervals— Their discontinuous, interruptive sound { These { [*With*] dull abortive &c.

MS. III erased.

Affixed to variant (a) of l. 12 '—this at all events is the final result of this correction.' S. T. C.

[13] A hellish pit! O God—'tis that I dreamt of! Corr. in MS. III: A hellish pit! The very same I dreamt of! Remorse.

[Affixed to 13] 'You mean like the dream presented to my mind when under the influence of the night-mare. This is most ludicrously expressed.' C. Ll[oyd]

[16] I swear that I saw something Remorse.

[18] In the stage-direction the last four words are omitted Remorse.

[19] Drips] Drops Remorse.

[Between 19 and 31.]

Isidore. A jest to laugh at! It was not that which scar'd me, good my lord.

Ordonio. What scar'd you, then?

Isidore. You see that little rift? But first permit me! [Lights his torch at ORDONIO'S, and while lighting it. (A lighted torch in the hand Is no unpleasant object here—one's breath Floats round the flame, and makes as many colours As the thin clouds that travel near the moon.) You see that crevice there? My torch extinguished by these water drops, And marking that the moonlight came from thence, I stept in to it, meaning to sit there; But scarcely had I measured twenty paces— My body bending forward, yea, o'erbalanced Almost beyond recoil, on the dim brink Of a hugh chasm I stept. The shadowy moonshine Filling the void so counterfeited substance, That my foot hung aslant adown the edge. Was it my own fear? Fear too hath its instincts! (And yet such dens as these are wildly told of, And there are beings that live, yet not for the eye) An arm of frost above and from behind me Pluck'd up and snatched me backward. Merciful Heaven! You smile! alas, even smiles look ghastly here! My lord, I pray you, go yourself and view it.

Remorse.

[33] move] creep Remorse.

[35] if] had Remorse.

[37-9]

Ordonio. Why, Isidore, I blush for thy cowardice. It might have startled, I grant you, even a brave man for a moment—

Remorse.

[41] thump] strike Corr. in MS. III, Remorse.

[42] and] then Remorse.

[44] Sunk with a faint splash in that groaning Corr. in MS. III. Sunk] Sank Remorse.

[49] fellow-men] fellow man Remorse.

[52] laugh] smile Remorse.

[Between 54 and 57:]

O sleep of horrors! Now run down and stared at By forms so hideous that they mock remembrance— Now seeing nothing and imagining nothing, But only being afraid—stifled with fear! While every goodly or familiar form Had a strange power of breathing terror round me! I saw you in a thousand fearful shapes; And I entreat your lordship to believe me,

Remorse.

[56] om. Remorse.

[62] my] mine Remorse.

[64] Ord. (after a pause). I know not why it should be! yet it is— Remorse.

[65] Abhorrent from our nature, Remorse.

[67-70]

Ord. Why that's my case! and yet the soul recoils from it— 'Tis so with me at least. But you, perhaps, Have sterner feelings?

Isid. Something troubles you. How shall I serve you?

Remorse.

[77] yards] strides Remorse.

[80] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[82] the] thy Remorse.

[Between 84 and 88]

Isid. (aside). He? He despised? Thou'rt speaking of thyself! I am on my guard however: no surprise [Then to ORDONIO.

Remorse.

[86-7] om. Remorse.

[91-2]

Isidore. Of himself he speaks. [Aside. Alas! poor wretch! Mad men, &c.

Remorse.

[93] phantasies] phantom thoughts Remorse.

[104] go on] proceed Remorse.

[105] his] this Remorse.

[106] being] substance Remorse.

[108] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[120] some] same Remorse.

[121-2]

He proved a traitor, Betrayed the mystery to a brother traitor

Remorse.

[125-7] om. Remorse.

[131] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[Between 143 and 145.]

With weak and womanish scruples. Now my vengeance Beckons me onwards with a warrior's mien, And claims that life, my pity robb'd her of— Now will I kill thee, thankless slave, and count it

Remorse.

[Affixed to 147.] Ferdinand on hearing the threat of Osorio feels a momentary horror at the consequences of his being killed, and in tones of mingled fear and sorrow—

And all my little ones fatherless!

then bursting into indignation 'Die thou first',

MS. III.

[After 147]

[They fight. ORDONIO disarms ISIDORE, and in disarming him throws his sword up that recess opposite to which they were standing. ISIDORE hurries into the recess with his torch, ORDONIO follows him; a loud cry of 'Traitor! Monster!' is heard from the cavern, and in a moment ORDONIO returns alone.

Ordonio. I have hurl'd him down the chasm! treason for treason. He dreamt of it, henceforward let him sleep, A dreamless sleep, from which no wife can wake him. His dream too is made out—Now for his friend. [Exit. ORDONIO.

Remorse.

[148-51] om. Remorse.

[150] Now] So MS. III.

[Affixed to 150.] 'Ferdinand's death is not sufficiently explained to the Audience. There should be a struggling behind the scene, as if Osorio had taken him unawares, and was hurrying him down the Precipice. An exclamation or even groans would add still more to the interest of the scene.' MS. III erased.

[152-234] om. Remorse. vide ante The Foster-Mother's Tale: a Dramatic Fragment, pp. 182-4.

[Between 152 and 246:]

SCENE II

The interior Court of a Saracenic or Gothic Castle with the iron gate of a dungeon visible.

Teresa. Heart-chilling Superstition! thou canst glaze Ev'n Pity's eye with her own frozen tear. In vain I urge the tortures that await him: Even Selma, reverend guardian of my childhood, My second mother, shuts her heart against me! Well, I have won from her what most imports The present need, this secret of the dungeon Known only to herself.—A Moor! a Sorcerer! No, I have faith, that nature ne'er permitted Baseness to wear a form so noble. True, I doubt not, that Ordonio had suborned him To act some part in some unholy fraud; As little doubt, that for some unknown purpose He hath baffled his suborner, terror-struck him, And that Ordonio meditates revenge! But my resolve is fixed! myself will rescue him, And learn if haply he knew aught of Alvar.

Enter VALDEZ.

Valdez. Still sad?—and gazing at the massive door Of that fell dungeon which thou ne'er had'st sight of, Save what, perchance, thy infant fancy shap'd it When the nurse still'd thy cries with unmeant threats. Now by my faith, girl! this same wizard haunts thee! A stately man, and eloquent and tender— Who then need wonder if a lady sighs Even at the thought of what these stern Dominicans—

Teresa. The horror of their ghastly punishments Doth so o'ertop the height of all compassion, That I should feel too little for mine enemy, If it were possible I could feel more, Even though the dearest inmates of our household Were doom'd to suffer them. That such things are—

Remorse.

[155] Maria. 'Tis strange] Teresa. 'Tis said MS. III.

[157] Foster-Mother] Selma Corr. in MS. III.

[165-6]

O honor'd Selma! this strange man has left me Wilder'd with stranger fancies than yon moon

Corr. in MS. III.

[169]

She gazes idly!

Ter. But that entrance, Selma

Corr. in MS. III.

[170] Foster-Mother] Selma Corr. in MS. III.

[171] Maria] Teresa. Foster-Mother] Selma Corr. in MS. III.

[172] Leoni] Sesina Corr. in MS. III.

[180] Velez] Valdez Corr. in MS. III.

[201] Velez] Valdez Corr. in MS. III.

[212] And once as he was working near this dungeon Corr. in MS. III.

[221] Maria] Teresa Corr. in MS. III.

[226] Leoni's] Sesina's Corr. in MS. III.

[228] Leoni] Sesina Corr. in MS. III.

[Between 248 and 255:]

What if Monviedro or his creatures hear us! I dare not listen to you.

Teresa. My honoured lord, These were my Alvar's lessons, and whene'er I bend me o'er his portrait, I repeat them, As if to give a voice to the mute image.

Valdez. ——We have mourned for Alvar. Of his sad fate there now remains no doubt. Have I no other son?

Remorse.

[256] That low imposture! That mysterious picture! Remorse. it] this Remorse.

[Between 262 and 268:]

O that I had indeed the sorcerer's power.— I would call up before thine eyes the image Of my betrothed Alvar, of thy first-born! His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead, His tender smiles, love's day-dawn on his lips! That spiritual and almost heavenly light In his commanding eye—his mien heroic, Virtue's own native heraldry! to man Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel. Whene'er he gladden'd, how the gladness spread Wide round him! and when oft with swelling tears, Flash'd through by indignation, he bewail'd The wrongs of Belgium's martyr'd patriots, Oh, what a grief was there—for joy to envy, Or gaze upon enamour'd! O my father! Recall that morning when we knelt together, And thou didst bless our loves! O even now, Even now, my sire! to thy mind's eye present him, As at that moment he rose up before thee, Stately, with beaming look! Place, place beside him Ordonio's dark perturbed countenance! Then bid me (Oh thou could'st not) bid me turn From him, the joy, the triumph of our kind! To take in exchange that brooding man, who never Lifts up his eye from the earth, unless to scowl.

Remorse.

[274-86] (Thou shalt not stay . . . companion) om. Remorse.

[Between 274-87:]

Teresa. O grief! to hear Hateful intreaties from a voice we love!

Enter a PEASANT and presents a letter to VALDEZ.

Valdez (reading it). 'He dares not venture hither!' Why what can this mean? 'Lest the Familiars of the Inquisition, That watch around my gates, should intercept him; But he conjures me, that without delay I hasten to him—for my own sake entreats me To guard from danger him I hold imprison'd— He will reveal a secret, the joy of which Will even outweigh the sorrow.'—Why what can this be? Perchance it is some Moorish stratagem, To have in me a hostage for his safety. Nay, that they dare not! Ho! collect my servants! I will go thither—let them arm themselves. [Exit VALDEZ.

Teresa (alone). The moon is high in heaven, and all is hush'd. Yet anxious listener! I have seem'd to hear A low dead thunder mutter thro' the night, As 'twere a giant angry in his sleep. O Alvar! Alvar! &c.

Remorse.

[After 276] And all his wealth perhaps come to the Church MS. III. erased.

[289] evening-tide] eventide Remorse.

[296-334] om. Remorse.

[After 296]

[A pause.

And this majestic Moor, seems he not one Who oft and long communing with my Alvar, Hath drunk in kindred lustre from his presence, And guides me to him with reflected light? What if in yon dark dungeon coward treachery Be groping for him with envenomed poniard— Hence womanish fears, traitors to love and duty— I'll free him. [Exit TERESA.

SCENE III

The mountains by moonlight. ALHADRA alone in a Moorish dress.

Alhadra. Yon hanging woods, that touch'd by autumn seem As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold; { The hanging Act V, l. 41. { The flower-like woods, most lovely in decay, The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the sands, Lie in the silent moonshine: and the owl, (Strange! very strange!) the scritch-owl only wakes! Sole voice, sole eye of all this world of beauty! Unless, perhaps, she sing her screeching song To a herd of wolves, that skulk athirst for blood. Why such a thing am I?—Where are these men? I need the sympathy of human faces, To beat away this deep contempt for all things, Which quenches my revenge. O! would to Alla, The raven, or the sea-mew, were appointed To bring me food! or rather that my soul Could drink in life from the universal air! It were a lot divine in some small skiff Along some Ocean's boundless solitude, To float for ever with a careless course, And think myself the only being alive.

[Vide post Osorio, Act V, ll. 39-56.]

My children!—Isidore's children!—Son of Valdez, This hath new strung mine arm. Thou coward tyrant! To stupify a woman's heart with anguish, Till she forgot—even that she was a mother!

[She fixes her eye on the earth. Then drop in one after another, from different parts of the stage, a considerable number of Morescoes, all in Moorish garments and Moorish armour. They form a circle at a distance round ALHADRA, and remain silent till NAOMI enters.

Remorse.

[337] the] these Remorse.

[342] spell-blasted] spell-blasted Remorse.

[345] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[348] All] All Morescoes. Remorse.

[352] One to Another] One Morescoe (to another). Remorse.

[353] Murder? Not murder'd? Remorse.

[After 353] [Stage-direction] Alhadra (to Naomi, who advances from the circle). Remorse.

[359] house] sons MS. III. Wet with the life-blood of the son of Valdez Remorse.

[After 359] Enter Warville. MS. III.

[A pause.

Ordonio was your chieftain's murderer

Remorse.

[360-70] Erased MS. III.

[360-75] om. Remorse.

[373-80] Erased MS. III.

[375] Stage-direction All (kneeling). Remorse.

[After 375] Alhadra. This night your chieftain armed himself Remorse.

[Affixed to 375] (not in S. T. C.'s handwriting) and erased:

Naomi. Proceed, proceed, Alhadra.

Alhadra. Yestermorning He stood before our house, startful and gloomy, And stirr'd up fierce dispute with Ferdinand, I saw him when the vehement Gripe of Conscience Had wrenched his features to a visible agony. When he was gone Ferdinand sighed out 'Villain' And spake no other word.

Warville (mournfully). The brother of Albert.

MS. III erased.

[Note.—Warville was a character introduced into the deleted passage 360-70, the name being always altered by S. T. C. to 'Maurice'.]

[376-84] om. Remorse.

[384] its] their Corr. in MS. III.

[386] there] there Remorse.

[388] a pause] a while Remorse.

[397] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[399] A brief while] A little while Corr. in MS. III erased.

[402] God] Heaven Remorse.

[404] light] light Remorse.

[405] hideous] hideous Remorse.

[407] while] whilst Remorse.

[409] Erased MS. III. Naomi. Comfort her, Alla! Remorse.

[414] go] onward Remorse.

[421] his] the MS. III.

[After 425

All. Away! away! [She rushes off, all following her.

Remorse.



ACT THE FIFTH

SCENE THE FIRST.—The Sea Shore.

NAOMI and a Moresco.

Moresco. This was no time for freaks of useless vengeance.

Naomi. True! but Francesco, the Inquisitor, Thou know'st the bloodhound—'twas a strong temptation. And when they pass'd within a mile of his house, We could not curb them in. They swore by Mahomet, 5 It were a deed of treachery to their brethren To sail from Spain and leave that man alive.

Moresco. Where is Alhadra?

Naomi. She moved steadily on Unswerving from the path of her resolve. Yet each strange object fix'd her eye: for grief 10 Doth love to dally with fantastic shapes, And smiling, like a sickly moralist, Gives some resemblance of her own concerns To the straws of chance, and things inanimate. I seek her here; stand thou upon the watch. 15

[Exit Moresco.

Naomi (looking wistfully to the distance). Stretch'd on the rock! It must be she—Alhadra!

[ALHADRA rises from the rock, and advances slowly, as if musing.

Naomi. Once more, well met! what ponder'st thou so deeply?

Alhadra. I scarce can tell thee! For my many thoughts Troubled me, till with blank and naked mind I only listen'd to the dashing billows. 20 It seems to me, I could have closed my eyes And wak'd without a dream of what has pass'd; So well it counterfeited quietness, This wearied heart of mine!

Naomi. 'Tis thus by nature Wisely ordain'd, that so excess of sorrow 25 Might bring its own cure with it.

Alhadra. Would to Heaven That it had brought its last and certain cure! That ruin in the wood.

Naomi. It is a place Of ominous fame; but 'twas the shortest road, Nor could we else have kept clear of the village. 30 Yet some among us, as they scal'd the wall, Mutter'd old rhyming prayers.

Alhadra. On that broad wall I saw a skull; a poppy grew beside it, There was a ghastly solace in the sight!

Naomi. I mark'd it not, and in good truth the night-bird 35 Curdled my blood, even till it prick'd the heart. Its note comes dreariest in the fall of the year:

[Looking round impatiently.

Why don't they come? I will go forth and meet them.

[Exit NAOMI.

Alhadra (alone). The hanging woods, that touch'd by autumn seem'd As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold, 40 The hanging woods, most lovely in decay, The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the sands, Lay in the silent moonshine; and the owl, (Strange! very strange!) the scritch owl only wak'd, Sole voice, sole eye of all that world of beauty! 45 Why such a thing am I! Where are these men? I need the sympathy of human faces To beat away this deep contempt for all things Which quenches my revenge. Oh!—would to Alla The raven and the sea-mew were appointed 50 To bring me food, or rather that my soul Could drink in life from the universal air! It were a lot divine in some small skiff, Along some ocean's boundless solitude, To float for ever with a careless course, 55 And think myself the only being alive! [NAOMI re-enters.

Naomi. Thy children——

Alhadra. Children? Whose children?

[A pause—then fiercely.

Son of Velez, This hath new-strung my arm! Thou coward tyrant, To stupify a woman's heart with anguish, 60 Till she forgot even that she was a mother!

[A noise—enter a part of the Morescoes; and from the opposite side of the stage a Moorish Seaman.

Moorish Seaman. The boat is on the shore, the vessel waits. Your wives and children are already stow'd; I left them prattling of the Barbary coast, Of Mosks, and minarets, and golden crescents. 65 Each had her separate dream; but all were gay, Dancing, in thought, to finger-beaten timbrels!

[Enter MAURICE and the rest of the Morescoes dragging in FRANCESCO.

Francesco. O spare me, spare me! only spare my life!

An Old Man. All hail, Alhadra! O that thou hadst heard him When first we dragg'd him forth! [Then turning to the band. Here! in her presence—— 70

[He advances with his sword as about to kill him. MAURICE leaps in and stands with his drawn sword between FRANCESCO and the Morescoes.

Maurice. Nay, but ye shall not!

Old Man. Shall not? Hah? Shall not?

Maurice. What, an unarm'd man? A man that never wore a sword? A priest? It is unsoldierly! I say, ye shall not!

Old Man (turning to the bands). He bears himself most like an insolent Spaniard! 75

Maurice. And ye like slaves, that have destroy'd their master, But know not yet what freedom means; how holy And just a thing it is! He's a fallen foe! Come, come, forgive him!

All. No, by Mahomet!

Francesco. O mercy, mercy! talk to them of mercy! 80

Old Man. Mercy to thee! No, no, by Mahomet!

Maurice. Nay, Mahomet taught mercy and forgiveness. I am sure he did!

Old Man. Ha! Ha! Forgiveness! Mercy!

Maurice. If he did not, he needs it for himself!

Alhadra. Blaspheming fool! the law of Mahomet 85 Was given by him, who framed the soul of man. This the best proof—it fits the soul of man! Ambition, glory, thirst of enterprize, The deep and stubborn purpose of revenge, With all the boiling revelries of pleasure— 90 These grow in the heart, yea, intertwine their roots With its minutest fibres! And that Being Who made us, laughs to scorn the lying faith, Whose puny precepts, like a wall of sand, Would stem the full tide of predestined Nature! 95

Naomi (who turns toward Francesco with his sword). Speak!

All (to Alhadra). Speak!

Alhadra. Is the murderer of your chieftain dead? Now as God liveth, who hath suffer'd him To make my children orphans, none shall die Till I have seen his blood! Off with him to the vessel!

[A part of the Morescoes hurry him off.

Alhadra. The Tyger, that with unquench'd cruelty, 100 Still thirsts for blood, leaps on the hunter's spear With prodigal courage. 'Tis not so with man.

Maurice. It is not so, remember that, my friends! Cowards are cruel, and the cruel cowards.

Alhadra. Scatter yourselves, take each a separate way, 105 And move in silence to the house of Velez. [Exeunt.

SCENE.—A Dungeon.

ALBERT (alone) rises slowly from a bed of reeds.

Albert. And this place my forefathers made for men! This is the process of our love and wisdom To each poor brother who offends against us— Most innocent, perhaps—and what if guilty? 110 Is this the only cure? Merciful God! Each pore and natural outlet shrivell'd up By ignorance and parching poverty, His energies roll back upon his heart, And stagnate and corrupt till changed to poison, 115 They break out on him like a loathsome plague-spot! Then we call in our pamper'd mountebanks— And this is their best cure! uncomforted And friendless solitude, groaning and tears, And savage faces at the clanking hour 120 Seen thro' the steaming vapours of his dungeon By the lamp's dismal twilight! So he lies Circled with evil, till his very soul Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform'd By sights of ever more deformity! 125 With other ministrations thou, O Nature! Healest thy wandering and distemper'd child: Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets, Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters, 130 Till he relent, and can no more endure To be a jarring and a dissonant thing Amid this general dance and minstrelsy; But bursting into tears wins back his way, His angry spirit heal'd and harmoniz'd 135 By the benignant touch of love and beauty.

[A noise at the dungeon-door. It opens, and OSORIO enters with a goblet in his hand.

Osorio. Hail, potent wizard! In my gayer mood I pour'd forth a libation to old Pluto; And as I brimm'd the bowl, I thought of thee!

Albert (in a low voice). I have not summon'd up my heart to give 140 That pang, which I must give thee, son of Velez!

Osorio (with affected levity). Thou hast conspired against my life and honour, Hast trick'd me foully; yet I hate thee not! Why should I hate thee? This same world of ours— It is a puddle in a storm of rain, 145 And we the air-bladders, that course up and down, And joust and tilt in merry tournament, And when one bubble runs foul of another,

[Waving his hand at ALBERT.

The lesser must needs break!

Albert. I see thy heart! There is a frightful glitter in thine eye, 150 Which doth betray thee. Crazy-conscienc'd man, This is the gaiety of drunken anguish, Which fain would scoff away the pang of guilt, And quell each human feeling!

Osorio. Feeling! feeling! The death of a man—the breaking of a bubble. 155 'Tis true, I cannot sob for such misfortunes! But faintness, cold, and hunger—curses on me If willingly I e'er inflicted them! Come, share the beverage—this chill place demands it. Friendship and wine! [OSORIO proffers him the goblet.

Albert. Yon insect on the wall, 160 Which moves this way and that its hundred legs, Were it a toy of mere mechanic craft, It were an infinitely curious thing! But it has life, Osorio! life and thought; And by the power of its miraculous will 165 Wields all the complex movements of its frame Unerringly, to pleasurable ends! Saw I that insect on this goblet's brink, I would remove it with an eager terror.

Osorio. What meanest thou?

Albert. There's poison in the wine. 170

Osorio. Thou hast guess'd well. There's poison in the wine. Shall we throw dice, which of us two shall drink it? For one of us must die!

Albert. Whom dost thou think me?

Osorio. The accomplice and sworn friend of Ferdinand.

Albert. Ferdinand! Ferdinand! 'tis a name I know not. 175

Osorio. Good! good! that lie! by Heaven! it has restor'd me. Now I am thy master! Villain, thou shalt drink it, Or die a bitterer death.

Albert. What strange solution Hast thou found out to satisfy thy fears, And drug them to unnatural sleep?

[ALBERT takes the goblet, and with a sigh throws it on the ground.

My master! 180

Osorio. Thou mountebank!

Albert. Mountebank and villain! What then art thou? For shame, put up thy sword! What boots a weapon in a wither'd arm? I fix mine eye upon thee, and thou tremblest! I speak—and fear and wonder crush thy rage, 185 And turn it to a motionless distraction! Thou blind self-worshipper! thy pride, thy cunning, Thy faith in universal villainy, Thy shallow sophisms, thy pretended scorn For all thy human brethren—out upon them! 190 What have they done for thee? Have they given thee peace? Cured thee of starting in thy sleep? or made The darkness pleasant, when thou wakest at midnight? Art happy when alone? can'st walk by thyself With even step, and quiet cheerfulness? 195 Yet, yet thou mayst be saved.

Osorio (stupidly reiterating the word). Saved? saved?

Albert. One pang— Could I call up one pang of true remorse!

Osorio. He told me of the babe, that prattled to him, His fatherless little ones! Remorse! remorse! Where gott'st thou that fool's word? Curse on remorse! 200 Can it give up the dead, or recompact A mangled body—mangled, dash'd to atoms! Not all the blessings of an host of angels Can blow away a desolate widow's curse; And tho' thou spill thy heart's blood for atonement, 205 It will not weigh against an orphan's tear.

Albert (almost overcome by his feelings). But Albert——

Osorio. Ha! it chokes thee in the throat, Even thee! and yet, I pray thee, speak it out. Still Albert! Albert! Howl it in mine ear! Heap it, like coals of fire, upon my heart! 210 And shoot it hissing through my brain!

Albert. Alas— That day, when thou didst leap from off the rock Into the waves, and grasp'd thy sinking brother, And bore him to the strand, then, son of Velez! How sweet and musical the name of Albert! 215 Then, then, Osorio! he was dear to thee, And thou wert dear to him. Heaven only knows How very dear thou wert! Why didst thou hate him? O Heaven! how he would fall upon thy neck, And weep forgiveness!

Osorio. Spirit of the dead! 220 Methinks I know thee! Ha!—my brain turns wild At its own dreams—off—off, fantastic shadow!

Albert (seizing his hand). I fain would tell thee what I am, but dare not!

Osorio (retiring from him). Cheat, villain, traitor! whatsoe'er thou be I fear thee, man!

[He starts, and stands in the attitude of listening.

And is this too my madness? 225

Albert. It is the step of one that treads in fear Seeking to cheat the echo.

Osorio. It approaches— This nook shall hide me.

[MARIA enters from a plank which slips to and fro.

Maria. I have put aside The customs and the terrors of a woman, To work out thy escape. Stranger! begone, 230 And only tell me what thou know'st of Albert.

[ALBERT takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it her with unutterable tenderness.

Albert. Maria! my Maria!

Maria. Do not mock me. This is my face—and thou—ha! who art thou? Nay, I will call thee Albert!

[She falls upon his neck. OSORIO leaps out from the nook with frantic wildness, and rushes towards ALBERT with his sword. MARIA gapes at him, as one helpless with terror, then leaves ALBERT, and flings herself upon OSORIO, arresting his arm.

Maria. Madman, stop!

Albert (with majesty and tenderness). Does then this thin disguise impenetrably 235 Hide Albert from thee? Toil and painful wounds, And long imprisonment in unwholesome dungeons, Have marr'd perhaps all trace and lineament Of what I was! But chiefly, chiefly, brother! My anguish for thy guilt. Spotless Maria, 240 I thought thee guilty too! Osorio, brother! Nay, nay, thou shalt embrace me!

Osorio (drawing back and gazing at Albert with a countenance expressive at once of awe and terror). Touch me not! Touch not pollution, Albert!—I will die!

[He attempts to fall on his sword. ALBERT and MARIA struggle with him.

Albert. We will invent some tale to save your honour. Live, live, Osorio!

Maria. You may yet be happy. 245

Osorio (looking at Maria). O horror! Not a thousand years in heaven Could recompose this miserable heart, Or make it capable of one brief joy. Live! live!—why yes! 'Twere well to live with you— For is it fit a villain should be proud? 250 My brother! I will kneel to you, my brother!

[Throws himself at ALBERT'S feet.

Forgive me, Albert!—Curse me with forgiveness!

Albert. Call back thy soul, my brother! and look round thee. Now is the time for greatness. Think that Heaven——

Maria. O mark his eye! he hears not what you say. 255

Osorio (pointing at vacancy). Yes, mark his eye! there's fascination in it. Thou said'st thou didst not know him. That is he! He comes upon me!

Albert (lifting his eye to heaven). Heal, O heal him, Heaven!

Osorio. Nearer and nearer! And I cannot stir! Will no one hear these stifled groans, and wake me? 260 He would have died to save me, and I kill'd him— A husband and a father!

Maria. Some secret poison Drinks up his spirit!

Osorio (fiercely recollecting himself). Let the eternal Justice Prepare my punishment in the obscure world. I will not bear to live—to live! O agony! 265 And be myself alone, my own sore torment!

[The doors of the dungeon are burst open with a crash. ALHADRA, MAURICE, and the band of Morescoes enter.

Alhadra (pointing at Osorio). Seize first that man!

[The Moors press round.

Albert (rushing in among them). Draw thy sword, Maurice, and defend my brother.

[A scuffle, during which they disarm MAURICE.

Osorio. Off, ruffians! I have flung away my sword. Woman, my life is thine! to thee I give it. 270 Off! he that touches me with his hand of flesh, I'll rend his limbs asunder! I have strength With this bare arm to scatter you like ashes!

Alhadra. My husband——

Osorio. Yes! I murder'd him most foully.

Albert (throws himself on the earth). O horrible!

Alhadra. Why didst thou leave his children? 275 Demon! thou shouldst have sent thy dogs of hell To lap their blood. Then, then, I might have harden'd My soul in misery, and have had comfort. I would have stood far off, quiet tho' dark, And bade the race of men raise up a mourning 280 For the deep horror of a desolation Too great to be one soul's particular lot! Brother of Zagri! let me lean upon thee.

[Struggling to suppress her anguish.

The time is not yet come for woman's anguish— I have not seen his blood. Within an hour 285 Those little ones will crowd around and ask me, Where is our father? [Looks at OSORIO. I shall curse thee then! Wert thou in heaven, my curse would pluck thee thence!

Maria. See—see! he doth repent. I kneel to thee. Be merciful!

[MARIA kneels to her. ALHADRA regards her face wistfully.

Alhadra. Thou art young and innocent; 290 'Twere merciful to kill thee! Yet I will not. And for thy sake none of this house shall perish, Save only he.

Maria. That aged man, his father!

Alhadra (sternly). Why had he such a son?

[The Moors press on.

Maria (still kneeling, and wild with affright). Yet spare his life! They must not murder him!

Alhadra. And is it then 295 An enviable lot to waste away With inward wounds, and like the spirit of chaos To wander on disquietly thro' the earth, Cursing all lovely things? to let him live— It were a deep revenge!

All the band cry out—No mercy! no mercy! 300

[NAOMI advances with the sword towards OSORIO.

Alhadra. Nay, bear him forth! Why should this innocent maid Behold the ugliness of death?

Osorio (with great majesty). O woman! I have stood silent like a slave[596:1] before thee, That I might taste the wormwood and the gall, And satiate this self-accusing spirit 305 With bitterer agonies than death can give.

[The Moors gather round him in a crowd, and pass off the stage.

Alhadra. I thank thee, Heaven! thou hast ordain'd it wisely, That still extremes bring their own cure. That point In misery which makes the oppressed man Regardless of his own life, makes him too 310 Lord of the oppressor's! Knew I an hundred men Despairing, but not palsied by despair, This arm should shake the kingdoms of this world; The deep foundations of iniquity Should sink away, earth groaning from beneath them; 315 The strong holds of the cruel men should fall, Their temples and their mountainous towers should fall; Till desolation seem'd a beautiful thing, And all that were and had the spirit of life Sang a new song to him who had gone forth 320 Conquering and still to conquer!

THE END[597:1]

FOOTNOTES:

[596:1] In MS. II 'worm' has the place of 'slave', which is the word in MS. I.

[597:1] On a blank page of MS. III some one, probably Bowles, has written:—'Upon the whole a very masterly production, and with judicious contractments might be rendered an interesting Drama on the stage.'

LINENOTES:

[1-106] om. Remorse.

[39] The hanging] Yon pendent Corr. in MS. III.

[41]

hanging] { pendent { flowerlike

Corr. in MS. III.

[45] that] this Corr. in MS. III.

[Affixed to 57] Naomi, the second in command to Isidore, enters in haste. MS. III erased.

[After 61] stage-direction erased MS. III.

[62] Moorish Seaman] Naomi Corr. in MS. III.

[100-106] Erased MS. III.

[107 foll.] vide ante, 'The Dungeon,' p. 185.

[121] steaming] steam and Corr. in MS. III, Remorse.

[125] ever more] evermore Remorse.

[After 136]

I am chill and weary! Yon rude bench of stone, In that dark angle, the sole resting-place! But the self-approving mind is its own light, And Life's best warmth still radiates from the heart Where love sits brooding, and an honest purpose.

Enter TERESA. [Retires out of sight.

Corr. in MS. III, Remorse.

Stage-direction affixed to 136 and 136-9 erased in MS. III: om. Remorse.

[Between 136 and 137:]

I am chill and weary, &c. . . . honest purpose.

Enter TERESA with a taper.

Teresa. It has chilled my very life—my own voice scares me; Yet when I hear it not I seem to lose The substance of my being—my strongest grasp Sends inwards but weak witness that I am. I seek to cheat the echo.—How the half sounds Blend with this strangled light! Is he not here— [Looking round. O for one human face here—but to see One human face here to sustain me.—Courage! It is but my own fear! The life within me, It sinks and wavers like this cone of flame, Beyond which I scarce dare look onward! Oh! If I faint? If this inhuman den should be At once my death-bed and my burial vault?

[Faintly screams as ALVAR emerges from the recess.

Alvar (rushes towards her, and catches her as she is falling). O gracious heaven! it is, it is Teresa! Shall I reveal myself? The sudden shock Of rapture will blow out this spark of life, And joy complete what terror has begun. O ye impetuous beatings here, be still! Teresa, best beloved! pale, pale, and cold! Her pulse doth flutter! Teresa! my Teresa!

Teresa (recovering). I heard a voice; but often in my dreams I hear that voice! and wake and try—and try— To hear it waking! but I never could— And 'tis so now—even so! Well! he is dead— Murdered perhaps! And I am faint, and feel As if it were no painful thing to die!

Alvar. Believe it not, sweet maid! Believe it not, Beloved woman! 'Twas a low imposture Framed by a guilty wretch.

Teresa. Ha! Who art thou?

Alvar. Suborned by his brother—

Teresa. Didst thou murder him? And dost thou now repent? Poor troubled man, I do forgive thee, and may Heaven forgive thee!

Alvar. Ordonio—he——

Teresa. If thou didst murder him— His spirit ever at the throne of God Asks mercy for thee: prays for mercy for thee, With tears in Heaven!

Alvar. Alvar was not murdered. Be calm! be calm, sweet maid!

Teresa. Nay, nay, but tell me! [A pause. O 'tis lost again! This dull confused pain— [A pause. Mysterious man! Methinks I can not fear thee: for thine eye Doth swim with love and pity—Well! Ordonio— Oh my foreboding heart! And he suborned thee, And thou didst spare his life? Blessings shower on thee, As many as the drops twice counted o'er In the fond faithful heart of his Teresa!

Alvar. I can endure no more. The Moorish sorcerer Exists but in the stain upon his face. That picture——

Teresa. Ha! speak on!

Alvar. Beloved Teresa! It told but half the truth. O let this portrait Tell all—that Alvar lives—that he is here! Thy much deceived but ever faithful Alvar.

[Takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it her.

Teresa (receiving the portrait). The same—it is the same. Ah! Who art thou? Nay, I will call thee, Alvar! [She falls on his neck.

Alvar. O joy unutterable! But hark! a sound as of removing bars At the dungeon's outer door. A brief, brief while Conceal thyself, my love! It is Ordonio. For the honour of our race, for our dear father; O for himself too (he is still my brother) Let me recall him to his nobler nature, That he may wake as from a dream of murder! O let me reconcile him to himself, Open the sacred source of penitent tears, And be once more his own beloved Alvar.

Teresa. O my all virtuous love! I fear to leave thee With that obdurate man.

Alvar. Thou dost not leave me! But a brief while retire into the darkness: O that my joy could spread its sunshine round thee!

Teresa. The sound of thy voice shall be my music! Alvar! my Alvar! am I sure I hold thee? Is it no dream? thee in my arms, my Alvar! [Exit.

[A noise at the dungeon door. It opens, and ORDONIO enters, with a goblet in his hand.

Remorse.

[139] of] on Remorse.

[140-1] and stage-direction before 142 om. Remorse.

[145] 'Tis but a pool amid a storm of rain Remorse.

[148] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[149] lesser must needs] weaker needs must Remorse.

[151-2]

Inly-tortured man, This is the revelry of a drunken anguish

Remorse.

[Before 160] [ORDONIO proffers the goblet. Remorse.

[160] Friendship and wine om. Remorse.

[161] legs] limbs Remorse.

[164] life and thought] life, enjoyment Remorse.

[168] brink] brim Remorse.

[169] I would remove it with an anxious pity Remorse.

[171-2]

Thou hast guessed right; there's poison in the wine. There's poison in't—which of us two shall drink it?

Remorse.

[Between 174 and 176:]

Alvar. I know him not. And yet methinks, I have heard the name but lately. Means he the husband of the Moorish woman? Isidore? Isidore?

Remorse.

[175] om. Remorse.

[180] Stage-direction [ALVAR takes the goblet, and throws it to the ground. Remorse. My] My Remorse.

[196] Stage-direction om. Remorse.]

[198] babe] babes Remorse.

[207] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[223] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[224] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[225-35] om. Remorse.

[Between 225 and 235]

Teresa (rushing out and falling on ALVAR'S neck). Ordonio! 'tis thy brother!

[ORDONIO runs upon ALVAR with his sword. TERESA flings herself on ORDONIO and arrests his arm.

Stop, madman, stop!

Remorse.

[235] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[238] trace] trial corr. in MS. III; trait Remorse.

[240-41] Spotless . . . guilty too om. Remorse.

[242] shalt] shalt Remorse.

[After 242] stage-direction (Drawing back and gazing at Alvar) Remorse.

[Between 243 and 245]

Alvar. We will find means to save your honour. Live, Oh live, Ordonio! for our father's sake! Spare his gray hairs!

Teresa. And you may yet be happy

Ordonio. O horror, &c.

Remorse.

[After 243] struggle with] prevent Remorse.

[After 251] [Throws himself, &c.] Kneeling Remorse.

[252] Curse] Curse Remorse.

[253] my brother] Ordonio Remorse.

[256] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[258] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[263] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[After 266]

[The doors of the dungeon are broken open, and in rush ALHADRA, and the band of Morescoes.

Alh. Seize first that man!

[ALVAR presses onward to defend ORDONIO.

Ord. Off, &c.

Remorse.

[274] Alvar and Teresa. O horrible Remorse.

[277] their] their Remorse.

[283] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[287] Stage-direction om. Remorse.

[Between 288 and 304:]

Teresa. He doth repent! See, see, I kneel to thee! O let him live! That aged man, his father——

Alhadra. Why had he such a son?

[Shouts from the distance of, Rescue! Rescue! Alvar! Alvar! and the voice of VALDEZ heard.

Rescue?—and Isidore's spirit unavenged?— The deed be mine! [Suddenly stabs ORDONIO. Now take my Life!

Ordonio (staggering from the wound). Atonement!

Alvar (while with TERESA supporting ORDONIO). Arm of avenging Heaven Thou hast snatched from me my most cherished hope— But go! my word was pledged to thee.

Ordonio. Away! Brave not my father's rage! I thank thee! Thou— [Then turning his eyes languidly to ALVAR. She hath avenged the blood of Isidore! I stood in silence like a slave before her

Remorse.

[290-303] om. Remorse.

[Affixed to 300] ALHADRA snatches it from him and suddenly stabs ORDONIO. ALVAR rushes towards him through the Moors, and catches him in his arms, &c. MS. III.

[303-4]

'Tis well! thou hast avenged thyself I have stood in silence like a slave before thee

Corr. in MS. III.

[305] spirit] heart Remorse.

[After 306]

Forgive me, Alvar! O couldst thou forgive thyself.

Corr. in MS. III.

Forgive me, Alvar! Oh!—couldst thou forget me! [Dies.

[ALVAR and TERESA bend over the body of ORDONIO.

Alh. (to the Moors). I thank thee, Heaven! &c.

Remorse.

Shouts of Alvar! Alvar! Noises heard; a Moor rushes in.

Moor. We are surprised, away! away! the instant— The country is in arms. The old man heads them And still cries out, 'My son! My son is living' Haste to the shore! They come the opposite road.

ALHADRA (to ALVAR). Thou then art Alvar! to my aid and safety Thy word stands pledged.

Alvar. Arm of avenging Heaven! My word stands pledged nor shall it be retracted.

(The Moors surround ALHADRA) and force her off. The stage fills with armed peasants. ALI and VALDEZ at their head. VALDEZ rushes into ALVAR'S arms and the Curtain drops.

[Alternative ending in S. T. C.'s handwriting affixed to lines 307-21, MS. III]

[320] him] her Remorse.

[After 321]

[ALHADRA hurries off with the Moors; the stage fills with armed Peasants and Servants, ZULIMEZ and VALDEZ at their head. VALDEZ rushes into ALVAR'S arms.

Alvar. Turn not thy face that way, my father! hide, Oh hide it from his eye! Oh let thy joy Flow in unmingled stream through thy first blessing.

[both kneel to VALDEZ.

Valdez. My Son! My Alvar! bless, Oh bless him, heaven!

Teresa. Me too, my Father?

Valdez. Bless, Oh, bless my children!

[both rise.

Alvar. Delights so full, if unalloyed with grief, Were ominous. In these strange dread events Just Heaven instructs us with an awful voice, That Conscience rules us e'en against our choice. Our inward monitress to guide or warn, If listened to; but if repelled with scorn, At length as dire Remorse, she reappears, Works in our guilty hopes, and selfish fears! Still bids, Remember! and still cries, Too late! And while she scares us, goads us to our fate.

Remorse.



THE PICCOLOMINI[598:1]

OR, THE FIRST PART OF WALLENSTEIN

A DRAMA

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION

It was my intention to have prefixed a Life of Wallenstein to this translation; but I found that it must either have occupied a space wholly disproportionate to the nature of the publication, or have been merely a meagre catalogue of events narrated not more fully than they already are in the Play itself. The recent translation, likewise, of Schiller's History of the Thirty Years' War diminished the motives thereto. In the translation I endeavoured to render my Author literally wherever I was not prevented by absolute differences of idiom; but I am conscious that in two or three short passages I have been guilty of dilating the original; and, from anxiety to give the full meaning, have weakened the force. In the metre I have availed myself of no other liberties than those which Schiller had permitted to himself, except the occasional breaking-up of the line by the substitution of a trochee for an iambus; of which liberty, so frequent in our tragedies, I find no instance in these dramas.

S. T. COLERIDGE.

FOOTNOTES:

[598:1] First published in a single octavo volume, 1800: included in 1828, 1829, 1834, and in Dramatic Works (one vol. 8vo) 1852. The Piccolomini and the Death of Wallenstein were translated from MS. copies which had been acquired by the Messrs. Longman. The MS. copy of the original of the Death of Wallenstein is in the possession of Mrs. Alexander Gillman. The MS. of the copy of the original of the Piccolomini was at one time in the possession of Mr. Henry R. Mark of 17 Highbury Crescent. A note in Schiller's handwriting, dated 'Jena, 30. September 1799', attesting the genuineness of the copies, is attached to either play. The MS. copy of Wallenstein's Camp ('Wallenstein's Lager'), which Coleridge did not attempt to translate, is not forthcoming. See two articles by Ferdinand Freiligrath, published in the Athenum, July 15 and August 31, 1861. See, too, Die Wallensteinbersetzung von Samuel T. Coleridge und ihr Deutsches Original . . . vorgelegt von Hans Roscher. Borna-Leipzig, 1905. A copy of the translation which Macready marked for acting is in the Forster Library, which forms part of the Victoria and Albert Museum at South Kensington. See note by J. Dykes Campbell, P. W., 1893, p. 649. An annotated copy (in Coleridge's handwriting) of the translation of the Piccolomini and the Death of Wallenstein, presented by Mr. Shadworth Hodgson, is in the Library of Rugby School [MS. R.]. The MS. contents of this volume are now published for the first time. Coleridge began his translation of the two plays at No. 21 Buckingham Street, Strand, in December, 1799, and finished the 'last sheet' at Town End, Grasmere, April 20, 1800.

'These dramas have two grievous faults: they are prolix in the particular parts and slow in the general movement. But they have passion, distinct and diversified character, and they abound in passages of great moral and poetic beauty.' S. T. COLERIDGE.

'The defects of these dramas are all of an instructive character; for tho' not the products of genius, like those of Shakespere, they result from an energetic and thinking mind. (1) The speeches are seldom suited to characters—the characters are truly diversified and distinctly conceived—but we learn them from the actions and from the descriptions given by other characters, or from particular speeches. The brutal Illo repeatedly talks language which belongs to the Countess, &c. (2) Astrology (an undramatic superstition because it inspires no terror, and its foundation of imagination is overbuilt and concealed by its scientific superstructure, with other cause from the imagery, is thus unpopular or swallowed up in more general and pleasing associations, as the Sun and Moon) is made prophetic, and yet treated ludicrously: the author as philosopher is in compleat discord with himself as Historian. This is a most grievous fault. (3) The assassins talk ludicrously. This is a most egregious misimitation of Shakespere—Schiller should not have attempted tragico-comedy, and none but Shakespere has succeeded. It is wonderful, however, that Schiller, who had studied Shakespere, should not have perceived his divine judgment in the management of his assassins, as in Macbeth. They are fearful and almost pitiable Beings—not loathsome, ludicrous miscreants. (4) The character of Thekla = O, the bold Heroine of any novel. Nothing of the Convent, no superstition, nothing of the Daughter of Wallenstein, nothing that her past life is represented by. (5) Wallenstein is a finer psychological than dramatic, and a more dramatic than a tragic character. Shakespere draws strength as in Richard the Third, and even when he blends weakness as in Macbeth—yet it is weakness of a specific kind that leaves the strength in full and fearful energy—but Schiller has drawn weakness imposing on itself the love of power for the sense of strength (a fine conception in itself, but not tragic—at least for the principal character of a long drama).—Hence Wallenstein, with one exception (that of the Regimental Deputation to him in the Second Part) evaporates in mock-mysterious speeches. These are the chief defects, I think. On the other hand, the character of Butler is admirable throughout. Octavio is very grand, and Max, tho' it may be an easy character to draw, for a man of thought and lofty feeling—for a man who possesses all the analoga of genius, is yet so delightful, and its moral influence so grand and salutary, that we must allow it great praise. The childish love-toying with the glove and Aunt Tertsky in the first act should be omitted. Certain whole scenes are masterly, and far above anything since the dramatists of Eliz. & James the first.' Note on fly-leaf of annotated copy (MS. R.).



THE PICCOLOMINI[600:1]



ACT I

SCENE I

An old Gothic Chamber in the Council House at Pilsen, decorated with Colours and other War Insignia.

ILLO with BUTLER and ISOLANI.

Illo. Ye have come late—but ye are come! The distance, Count Isolan, excuses your delay.

Isolani. Add this too, that we come not empty-handed. At Donauwert[600:2] it was reported to us, A Swedish caravan was on its way 5 Transporting a rich cargo of provision, Almost six hundred waggons. This my Croats Plunged down upon and seized, this weighty prize!—— We bring it hither——

Illo. Just in time to banquet The illustrious company assembled here. 10

Butler. 'Tis all alive! a stirring scene here!

Isolani. Ay! The very churches are all full of soldiers. And in the Council-house, too, I observe, You're settled, quite at home! Well, well! we soldiers Must shift and suit us in what way we can. 15

Illo. We have the Colonels here of thirty regiments. You'll find Count Tertsky here, and Tiefenbach, Kolatto, Goetz, Maradas, Hinnersam, The Piccolomini, both son and father—— You'll meet with many an unexpected greeting 20 From many an old friend and acquaintance. Only Galas is wanting still, and Altringer.

Butler. Expect not Galas.

Illo. How so? Do you know——

Isolani. Max Piccolomini here?—O bring me to him. 25 I see him yet, ('tis now ten years ago, We were engaged with Mansfeld hard by Dessau) I see the youth, in my mind's eye I see him, Leap his black war-horse from the bridge adown, And t'ward his father, then in extreme peril, 30 Beat up against the strong tide of the Elbe. The down was scarce upon his chin! I hear He has made good the promise of his youth, And the full hero now is finished in him.

Illo. You'll see him yet ere evening. He conducts 35 The Duchess Friedland hither, and the Princess[601:1] From Carnthen. We expect them here at noon.

Butler. Both wife and daughter does the Duke call hither? He crowds in visitants from all sides.

Isolani. Hm! So much the better! I had framed my mind 40 To hear of nought but warlike circumstance, Of marches, and attacks, and batteries: And lo! the Duke provides, that something too Of gentler sort, and lovely, should be present To feast our eyes. 45

Illo (aside to Butler). And how came you to know That the Count Galas joins us not?

Butler. Because He importuned me to remain behind.

Illo. And you?—You hold out firmly? Noble Butler!

Butler. After the obligation which the Duke 50 Had laid so newly on me——

Illo. I had forgotten A pleasant duty—Major-General, I wish you joy!

Isolani. What, you mean, of his regiment? I hear, too, that to make the gift still sweeter, 55 The Duke has given him the very same In which he first saw service, and since then, Worked himself, step by step, through each preferment, From the ranks upwards. And verily, it gives A precedent of hope, a spur of action 60 To the whole corps, if once in their remembrance An old deserving soldier makes his way.

Butler. I am perplexed and doubtful, whether or no I dare accept this your congratulation. The Emperor has not yet confirmed the appointment. 65

Isolani. Seize it, friend! Seize it! The hand which in that post Placed you, is strong enough to keep you there, Spite of the Emperor and his Ministers!

Illo. Ay, if we would but so consider it!— If we would all of us consider it so! 70 The Emperor gives us nothing; from the Duke Comes all—whate'er we hope, whate'er we have.

Isolani (to Illo). My noble brother! did I tell you how The Duke will satisfy my creditors? Will be himself my banker for the future, 75 Make me once more a creditable man!— And this is now the third time, think of that! This kingly-minded man has rescued me From absolute ruin, and restored my honour.

Illo. O that his power but kept pace with his wishes! 80 Why, friend! he'd give the whole world to his soldiers. But at Vienna, brother! here's the grievance!— What politic schemes do they not lay to shorten His arm, and, where they can, to clip his pinions. Then these new dainty requisitions! these, 85 Which this same Questenberg brings hither!—

Butler. Ay, These requisitions of the Emperor,— I too have heard about them; but I hope The Duke will not draw back a single inch! 90

Illo. Not from his right most surely, unless first —From office!

Butler. Know you aught then? You alarm me.

Isolani (at the same time with Butler, and in a hurrying voice). We should be ruined, every one of us!

Illo. No more! Yonder I see our worthy friend[603:1] approaching With the Lieutenant-General, Piccolomini.

Butler. I fear we shall not go hence as we came. 95

FOOTNOTES:

[600:1] In 1800 the following table of Dramatis Personae was prefixed to Act I of The Piccolomini, or The First Part of Wallenstein. In 1828, 1829, and 1834 this table was omitted.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

WALLENSTEIN, Duke of Friedland, Generalissimo of the Imperial Forces in The Thirty-years' War. OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, Lieutenant-General. MAX PICCOLOMINI, his son, Colonel of a Regiment of Cuirassiers. COUNT TERTSKY, the Commander of several Regiments, and Brother-in-law of Wallenstein. ILLO, Field Marshal, Wallenstein's Confidant. ISOLANI, General of the Croats. BUTLER, an Irishman, Commander of a Regiment of Dragoons. TIEFENBACH, } DON MARADAS, } Generals under Wallenstein. GOETZ, } KOLATTO, } NEUMANN, Captain of Cavalry, Aide-de-Camp to Tertsky. The War Commissioner, VON QUESTENBERG, Imperial Envoy. GENERAL WRANGEL, Swedish Envoy. BAPTISTA SENI, Astrologer. DUCHESS OF FRIEDLAND, Wife of Wallenstein. THEKLA, her Daughter, Princess of Friedland. The COUNTESS TERTSKY, Sister of the Duchess. A CORNET. Several COLONELS and GENERALS. PAGES and ATTENDANTS belonging to Wallenstein. ATTENDANTS and HOBISTS belonging to Tertsky. The MASTER OF THE CELLAR to Count Tertsky. VALET DE CHAMBRE of Count Piccolomini.

[600:2] A town about 12 German miles NE. of Ulm.

[601:1] The Dukes in Germany being always reigning powers, their sons and daughters are entitled Princes and Princesses. 1800, 1828, 1829.

[603:1] Spoken with a sneer. 1800, 1828, 1829.

LINENOTES:

[1] are 1800.

[After 12] [Casts his eye round. 1817, 1828, 1829.

[24] Illo (hesitating). How so? 1817, 1828, 1829. you 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 25] Isolani (interrupting him). 1817, 1828, 1829.

[45] Illo (who has been standing in the attitude of meditation, to Butler, whom he leads a little on one side). And how, &c. 1817, 1828, 1829.

[48] me 1800, 1828, 1829.

[49]

Illo (with warmth). And you?—You hold out firmly?

[Grasping his hand with affection.

1817, 1828, 1829.

[70] all 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 91] Butler (shocked and confused). 1817, 1828, 1829. aught 1800, 1828, 1829.

[93] our worthy friend 1800, 1828, 1829.

[Before 95] Butler (shaking his head significantly). 1817, 1828, 1829.

SCENE II

Enter OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI and QUESTENBERG.

Octavio. Ay, ay! more still! Still more new visitors! Acknowledge, friend! that never was a camp, Which held at once so many heads of heroes. Welcome, Count Isolani!

Isolani. My noble brother, Even now am I arrived; it had been else my duty— 5

Octavio. And Colonel Butler—trust me, I rejoice Thus to renew acquaintance with a man Whose worth and services I know and honour. See, see, my friend! There might we place at once before our eyes 10 The sum of war's whole trade and mystery—

[To QUESTENBERG, presenting BUTLER and ISOLANI at the same time to him.

These two the total sum—Strength and Dispatch.

Questenberg (to Octavio). And lo! betwixt them both experienced Prudence!

Octavio (presenting Questenberg to Butler and Isolani). The Chamberlain and War-commissioner Questenberg, The bearer of the Emperor's behests, 15 The long-tried friend and patron of all soldiers, We honour in this noble visitor.

Illo. 'Tis not the first time, noble Minister, You have shewn our camp this honour.

Questenberg. Once before I stood before these colours. 20

Illo. Perchance too you remember where that was. It was at Znim[604:1] in Moravia, where You did present yourself upon the part Of the Emperor, to supplicate our Duke That he would straight assume the chief command. 25

Questenberg. To supplicate? Nay, noble General! So far extended neither my commission (At least to my own knowledge) nor my zeal.

Illo. Well, well, then—to compel him, if you choose. I can remember me right well, Count Tilly 30 Had suffered total rout upon the Lech. Bavaria lay all open to the enemy, Whom there was nothing to delay from pressing Onwards into the very heart of Austria. At that time you and Werdenberg appeared 35 Before our General, storming him with prayers, And menacing the Emperor's displeasure, Unless he took compassion on this wretchedness.

Isolani. Yes, yes, 'tis comprehensible enough, Wherefore with your commission of to-day 40 You were not all too willing to remember Your former one.

Questenberg. Why not, Count Isolan? No contradiction sure exists between them. It was the urgent business of that time 45 To snatch Bavaria from her enemy's hand; And my commission of to-day instructs me To free her from her good friends and protectors.

Illo. A worthy office! After with our blood We have wrested this Bohemia from the Saxon, 50 To be swept out of it is all our thanks, The sole reward of all our hard-won victories.

Questenberg. Unless that wretched land be doomed to suffer Only a change of evils, it must be Freed from the scourge alike of friend and foe. 55

Illo. What? 'Twas a favourable year; the Boors Can answer fresh demands already.

Questenberg. Nay, If you discourse of herds and meadow-grounds—

Isolani. The war maintains the war. Are the Boors ruined, The Emperor gains so many more new soldiers. 60

Questenberg. And is the poorer by even so many subjects.

Isolani. Poh! We are all his subjects.

Questenberg. Yet with a difference, General! The one fill With profitable industry the purse, The others are well skilled to empty it. 65 The sword has made the Emperor poor; the plough Must reinvigorate his resources.

Isolani. Sure! Times are not yet so bad. Methinks I see

[Examining with his eye the dress and ornaments of QUESTENBERG.

Good store of gold that still remains uncoined.

Questenberg. Thank Heaven! that means have been found out to hide 70 Some little from the fingers of the Croats.

Illo. There! The Stawata and the Martinitz, On whom the Emperor heaps his gifts and graces, To the heart-burning of all good Bohemians— Those minions of court favour, those court harpies, 75 Who fatten on the wrecks of citizens Driven from their house and home—who reap no harvests Save in the general calamity— Who now, with kingly pomp, insult and mock The desolation of their country—these, 80 Let these, and such as these, support the war, The fatal war, which they alone enkindled!

Butler. And those state-parasites, who have their feet So constantly beneath the Emperor's table, Who cannot let a benefice fall, but they 85 Snap at it with dog's hunger—they, forsooth, Would pare the soldier's bread, and cross his reckoning!

Isolani. My life long will it anger me to think, How when I went to court seven years ago, To see about new horses for our regiment, 90 How from one antechamber to another They dragged me on, and left me by the hour To kick my heels among a crowd of simpering Feast-fattened slaves, as if I had come thither A mendicant suitor for the crumbs of favour 95 That fall beneath their tables. And, at last, Whom should they send me but a Capuchin! Straight I began to muster up my sins For absolution—but no such luck for me! This was the man, this Capuchin, with whom 100 I was to treat concerning the army horses: And I was forced at last to quit the field, The business unaccomplished. Afterwards The Duke procured me in three days, what I Could not obtain in thirty at Vienna. 105

Questenberg. Yes, yes! your travelling bills soon found their way to us: Too well I know we have still accounts to settle.

Illo. War is a violent trade; one cannot always Finish one's work by soft means; every trifle Must not be blackened into sacrilege. 110 If we should wait till you, in solemn council, With due deliberation had selected The smallest out of four-and-twenty evils, I'faith, we should wait long.— 'Dash! and through with it!'—That's the better watch-word. 115 Then after come what may come. 'Tis man's nature To make the best of a bad thing once past. A bitter and perplexed 'what shall I do?' Is worse to man than worst necessity.

Questenberg. Ay, doubtless, it is true: the Duke does spare us 120 The troublesome task of choosing.

Butler. Yes, the Duke Cares with a father's feelings for his troops; But how the Emperor feels for us, we see.

Questenberg. His cares and feelings all ranks share alike, Nor will he offer one up to another. 125

Isolani. And therefore thrusts he us into the deserts As beasts of prey, that so he may preserve His dear sheep fattening in his fields at home.

Questenberg. Count, this comparison you make, not I.

Butler. Why, were we all the Court supposes us, 130 'Twere dangerous, sure, to give us liberty.

Questenberg. You have taken liberty—it was not given you. And therefore it becomes an urgent duty To rein it in with curbs.

Octavio. My noble friend, This is no more than a remembrancing 135 That you are now in camp, and among warriors. The soldier's boldness constitutes his freedom. Could he act daringly, unless he dared Talk even so? One runs into the other. The boldness of this worthy officer, [pointing to BUTLER. 140 Which now has but mistaken in its mark, Preserved, when nought but boldness could preserve it, To the Emperor his capital city, Prague, In a most formidable mutiny Of the whole garrison. [Military music at a distance. 145 Hah! here they come!