 |
Butler. He comes Too late. [GORDON dashes himself against the wall.
Gordon. O God of mercy!
Countess. What too late? Who will be here himself? Octavio 15 In Egra? Treason! Treason! Where's the Duke?
[She rushes to the gallery.
LINENOTES:
[Before 5] Gordon (in an agony of affright). 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE VIII
Servants run across the stage full of terror. The whole Scene must be spoken entirely without pauses.
Seni (from the gallery). O bloody frightful deed!
Countess. What is it, Seni?
Page (from the gallery). O piteous sight!
[Other Servants hasten in with torches.
Countess. What is it? For God's sake!
Seni. And do you ask? Within the Duke lies murder'd—and your husband Assassinated at the Castle.
[The COUNTESS stands motionless.
Female Servant (rushing across the stage). Help! Help! the Duchess! 5
Burgomaster (enters). What mean these confused Loud cries, that wake the sleepers of this house?
Gordon. Your house is cursed to all eternity. In your house doth the Duke lie murdered!
Burgomaster (rushing out). Heaven forbid!
First Servant. Fly! fly! they murder us all!
Second Servant (carrying silver plate). That way! The lower 10 Passages are blocked up.
Voice (from behind the Scene). Make room for the Lieutenant-General!
[At these words the COUNTESS starts from her stupor, collects herself, and retires suddenly.
Voice (from behind the Scene). Keep back the people! Guard the door.
LINENOTES:
[3] you 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE IX
To these enters OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI with all his train. At the same time DEVEREUX and MACDONALD enter from out the Corridor with the Halberdiers. WALLENSTEIN'S dead body is carried over the back part of the stage, wrapped in a piece of crimson tapestry.
Octavio (entering abruptly). It must not be! It is not possible! Butler! Gordon! I'll not believe it. Say no!
[GORDON without answering points with his hand to the body of WALLENSTEIN as it is carried over the back of the stage. OCTAVIO looks that way, and stands overpowered with horror.
Devereux (to Butler). Here is the golden fleece—the Duke's sword—
Macdonald. Is it your order—
Butler (pointing to Octavio). Here stands he who now 5 Hath the sole power to issue orders.
[DEVEREUX and MACDONALD retire with marks of obeisance. One drops away after the other, till only BUTLER, OCTAVIO, and GORDON remain on the stage.
Octavio (turning to Butler). Was that my purpose, Butler, when we parted? O God of Justice! To thee I lift my hand! I am not guilty Of this foul deed.
Butler. Your hand is pure. You have 10 Availed yourself of mine.
Octavio. Merciless man! Thus to abuse the orders of thy Lord— And stain thy Emperor's holy name with murder, With bloody, most accursed assassination!
Butler. I've but fulfilled the Emperor's own sentence. 15
Octavio. O curse of Kings, Infusing a dread life into their words, And linking to the sudden transient thought The unchangeable irrevocable deed. Was there necessity for such an eager 20 Despatch? Could'st thou not grant the merciful A time for mercy? Time is man's good Angel. To leave no interval between the sentence, And the fulfilment of it, doth beseem God only, the immutable!
Butler. For what 25 Rail you against me? What is my offence? The Empire from a fearful enemy Have I delivered, and expect reward. The single difference betwixt you and me Is this: you placed the arrow in the bow; 30 I pulled the string. You sowed blood, and yet stand Astonished that blood is come up. I always Knew what I did, and therefore no result Hath power to frighten or surprise my spirit. Have you aught else to order?—for this instant 35 I make my best speed to Vienna; place My bleeding sword before my Emperor's throne, And hope to gain the applause which undelaying And punctual obedience may demand From a just judge. [Exit BUTLER. 40
LINENOTES:
[10] hand 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 15] Butler (calmly). 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE X
To these enter the COUNTESS TERTSKY, pale and disordered. Her utterance is slow and feeble, and unimpassioned.
Octavio (meeting her). O Countess Tertsky! These are the results Of luckless unblest deeds.
Countess. They are the fruits Of your contrivances. The Duke is dead, My husband too is dead, the Duchess struggles In the pangs of death, my niece has disappeared. 5 This house of splendour, and of princely glory, Doth now stand desolated: the affrighted servants Rush forth through all its doors. I am the last Therein; I shut it up, and here deliver The keys.
Octavio. O Countess! my house too is desolate. 10
Countess. Who next is to be murdered? Who is next To be maltreated? Lo! The Duke is dead. The Emperor's vengeance may be pacified! Spare the old servants; let not their fidelity Be imputed to the faithful as a crime— 15 The evil destiny surprised my brother Too suddenly; he could not think on them.
Octavio. Speak not of vengeance! Speak not of maltreatment! The Emperor is appeased; the heavy fault Hath heavily been expiated—nothing 20 Descended from the father to the daughter, Except his glory and his services. The Empress honours your adversity, Takes part in your afflictions, opens to you Her motherly arms! Therefore no farther fears! 25 Yield yourself up in hope and confidence To the Imperial Grace!
Countess. To the grace and mercy of a greater Master Do I yield up myself. Where shall the body Of the Duke have its place of final rest? 30 In the Chartreuse, which he himself did found, At Gitschin rests the Countess Wallenstein; And by her side, to whom he was indebted For his first fortunes, gratefully he wished He might sometime repose in death! O let him 35 Be buried there. And likewise, for my husband's Remains, I ask the like grace. The Emperor Is now proprietor of all our castles. This sure may well be granted us—one sepulchre Beside the sepulchres of our forefathers! 40
Octavio. Countess, you tremble, you turn pale!
Countess. You think More worthily of me, than to believe I would survive the downfall of my house. We did not hold ourselves too mean to grasp After a monarch's crown—the crown did fate 45 Deny, but not the feeling and the spirit That to the crown belong! We deem a Courageous death more worthy of our free station Than a dishonoured life.—I have taken poison.
Octavio. Help! Help! Support her!
Countess. Nay, it is too late. 50 In a few moments is my fate accomplished. [Exit COUNTESS.
Gordon. O house of death and horrors!
[An officer enters, and brings a letter with the great seal.
Gordon (steps forward and meets him). What is this? It is the Imperial Seal.
[He reads the Address, and delivers the letter to OCTAVIO with a look of reproach, and with an emphasis on the word.
To the Prince Piccolomini.
[OCTAVIO, with his whole frame expressive of sudden anguish, raises his eyes to heaven.
(The curtain drops.)
LINENOTES:
[10] Octavio (with a deep anguish). O Countess! 1800, 1828, 1829.
[27] Countess (with her eye raised to heaven). 1800, 1828, 1829.
[41] Countess (reassembles all her powers, and speaks with energy and dignity). You think 1800, 1828, 1829.
[54] Prince 1800, 1828, 1829.
The following mistranslations, which were noted in the Westminster Review, Art. 3, July 1850, are recorded in the Notes affixed to The Dramatic Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1852, pp. 426-7.
THE PICCOLOMINI.
Act I, Scene 2, line 106. 'Der Posten' is rendered 'travelling-bills' instead of an 'item' or 'article in an account'.
Act I, Scene 4, line 27. 'Geschmeidig' is rendered 'hammered out' instead of 'pliant'.
Act I, Scene 8, line 28. 'Das holde Kind' is rendered 'The voice of my child' instead of 'The charming child'.
Act I, Scene 9, line 13. 'Jagdzug' is rendered 'hunting dress' instead of 'hunting stud'.
Act II, Scene 7, line 9. 'Was denn?' is rendered 'What then?' instead of 'What?'
Act II, Scene 12, lines 94, 95. 'Ist unser Glaub' eine Kanzel und Altar' is rendered 'Our faith hangs upon the pulpit and altar' instead of 'is without pulpit and altar'.
Act II, Scene 12, line 104. 'Taboriten' is rendered 'minstrels' instead of 'a branch of the Hussites'. [Pointed out by Ferd. Freiligrath, Athenaeum, Aug. 31, 1861.]
Act IV, Scene 7, line 103. 'Losung' is rendered 'redemption' instead of 'watchword'.
THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN.
Act II, Scene 6, Note. 'Verstecktesten' is rendered 'most spotted' instead of 'most secret'.
REMORSE[812:1]
PREFACE
This Tragedy was written in the summer and autumn of the year 1797; at Nether Stowey, in the county of Somerset. By whose recommendation, and of the manner in which both the Play and the Author were treated by the Recommender, let me be permitted to relate: that I knew of its having been received only by a third person; that I could procure neither answer nor the manuscript; and that but for an accident I should have had no copy of the Work itself. That such treatment would damp a young man's exertions may be easily conceived: there was no need of after-misrepresentation and calumny, as an additional sedative.
[812:2][As an amusing anecdote, and in the wish to prepare future Authors, as young as I then was and as ignorant of the world, of[812:3] the treatment they may meet with, I will add, that the Person[812:4] who by a twice conveyed recommendation (in the year 1797) had urged me to write a Tragedy[812:5]: who on my own objection that I was utterly ignorant of all Stage-tactics had promised that he would himself make the necessary alterations, if the Piece should be at all representable; who together with the copy of the Play (hastened by his means so as to prevent the full developement[812:6] of the characters) received a letter from the Author to this purport, 'that conscious of his inexperience, he had cherished no expectations, and should therefore feel no disappointment from the rejection of the Play; but that if beyond his hopes Mr. —— found in it any capability of being adapted to the Stage, it was delivered to him as if it had been his own Manuscript, to add, omit, or alter, as he saw occasion; and that (if it were rejected) the Author would deem himself amply remunerated by the addition to his Experience, which he should receive, if Mr. ——would point out[812:7] to him the nature of its unfitness for public Representation';—that this very Person returned[813:1] me no answer, and[813:2], spite of repeated applications, retained my Manuscript when I was not conscious of any other Copy being in existence (my duplicate having been destroyed by an accident); that he[813:3] suffered this Manuscript to wander about the Town from his house, so that but ten days ago I saw[813:4] the song in the third Act printed and set to music, without my name, by Mr. Carnaby, in the year 1802; likewise that the same person asserted[813:5] (as I have been assured) that the Play was rejected, because I would not submit to the alteration of one ludicrous line; and finally[813:6] in the year 1806 amused and delighted (as who was ever in his company, if I may trust the universal report, without being amused and delighted?) a large company at the house of a highly respectable Member of Parliament, with the ridicule of the[813:7] Tragedy, as 'a fair specimen', of the whole of which he adduced a line:
'Drip! drip! drip! there's nothing here but dripping.'
In the original copy of the Play, in the first Scene of the fourth Act, Isidore had commenced his Soliloquy in the Cavern with the words:
'Drip! drip! a ceaseless sound of water-drops,'[813:8],[813:9]
as far as I can at present recollect: for on the possible ludicrous association being pointed out to me, I instantly and thankfully struck out the line. And as to my obstinate tenacity, not only my old acquaintance, but (I dare boldly aver) both the Managers of Drury Lane Theatre, and every Actor and Actress, whom I have recently met in the Green Room, will repel the accusation: perhaps not without surprise.]
I thought it right to record these circumstances;[814:1] but I turn gladly and with sincere gratitude to the converse. In the close of last year I was advised to present the Tragedy once more to the Theatre. Accordingly having altered the names, I ventured to address a letter to Mr. Whitbread, requesting information as to whom I was to present my Tragedy. My Letter was instantly and most kindly answered, and I have now nothing to tell but a Tale of Thanks. I should scarce know where to begin, if the goodness of the Manager, Mr. ARNOLD, had not called for my first acknowledgements. Not merely as an acting Play, but as a dramatic Poem, the 'REMORSE' has been importantly and manifoldly benefited by his suggestions. I can with severest truth say, that every hint he gave me was the ground of some improvement. In the next place it is my duty to mention Mr. RAYMOND, the Stage Manager. Had the 'REMORSE' been his own Play—nay, that is saying too little—had I been his brother, or his dearest friend, he could not have felt or exerted himself more zealously.
As the Piece is now acting, it may be thought presumptuous in me to speak of the Actors; yet how can I abstain, feeling, as I do, Mrs. GLOVER'S[814:2] powerful assistance, and knowing the circumstances[814:3] under which she consented to act Alhadra? A time will come, when without painfully oppressing her feelings, I may speak of this more fully. To Miss SMITH I have an equal, though different acknowledgement to make, namely, for her acceptance of a character not fully developed, and quite inadequate to her extraordinary powers. She enlivened and supported many passages, which (though not perhaps wholly uninteresting in the closet) would but for her have hung heavy on the ears of a Theatrical Audience. And in speaking the Epilogue, a composition which (I fear) my hurry will hardly excuse, and which, as unworthy of her name, is here [1828, 1829, 1834] omitted, she made a sacrifice, which only her established character with all judges of Tragic action, could have rendered compatible with her duty to herself. To Mr. DE CAMP'S judgement and full conception of Isidore; to Mr. POPE'S accurate representation of the partial, yet honourable Father; to Mr. ELLISTON'S energy in the character of ALVAR, and who in more than one instance gave it beauties and striking points, which not only delighted but surprised me; and to Mr. RAE[815:1], to whose zeal, and unwearied study of his part, I am not less indebted as a Man, than to his impassioned realization of ORDONIO, as an Author;——to these, and to all concerned with the bringing out of the Play, I can address but one word—THANKS!—but that word is uttered sincerely! and to persons constantly before the eye of the Public, a public acknowledgement becomes appropriate, and a duty.
I defer all answers to the different criticisms on the Piece to an Essay, which I am about to publish immediately, on Dramatic Poetry, relatively to the present State of the Metropolitan Theatres.
From the necessity of hastening the Publication I was obliged to send the Manuscript intended for the Stage: which is the sole cause of the number of directions printed in italics.
S. T. COLERIDGE.
FOOTNOTES:
[812:1] Preface, Prologue, and Epilogue do not appear in the 1834 edition.
[812:2] The long passage here placed within square brackets [] appeared in the first edition only.
[812:3] of for MS. R. (For MS. R see p. 819.)]
[812:4] Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
[812:5] Tragedy for his theatre MS. R.
[812:6] I need not say to Authors, that as to the essentials of a Poem, little can be superinduced without dissonance, after the first warmth of conception and composition. [Note by S. T. C., first edition.]
[812:7] would condescend to point out MS. R.
[813:1] not only returned MS. R.
[813:2] and not only MS. R.
[813:3] that he not only MS. R.
[813:4] I for the first time saw MS. R.
[813:5] likewise . . . assured not only asserted MS. R.
[813:6] but finally (and it is this last fact alone, which was malice for which no excuse of indolence self-made is adduced which determined me to refer to what I had already forgiven and almost forgotten) in the year 1806 MS. R.
[813:7] the this MS. R.
[813:8] (Private.) Had the Piece been really silly (and I have proof positive that Sheridan did not think it so) yet 10 years afterwards to have committed a breach of confidence in order to injure the otherwise . . . that on the ground of an indiscretion into which he had himself seduced the writer, and the writer, too, a man whose reputation was his Bread—a man who had devoted the firstlings of his talents to the celebration of Sheridan's genius—and who after he met treatment not only never spoke unkindly or resentfully of it, but actually was zealous and frequent in defending and praising his public principles of conduct in the Morning Post—and all this in the presence of men of Rank previously disposed to think highly . . . I am sure you will not be surprised that this did provoke me, and that it justifies to my heart the detail here printed.
S. T. COLERIDGE.
P.S.—I never spoke severely of R. B. S. but once and then I confess, I did say that Sheridan was Sheridan. MS. R.
[813:9] The fourth act of the play in its original shape, and, presumably, as sent to Sheridan, opened with the following lines:—
'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.'
In MS. III the opening lines are erased and the fourth Act opens thus:—
This ceaseless dreary sound of { [*water-drops*] { dropping water I would they had not fallen upon my Torch!
After the lapse of sixteen years Coleridge may have confused the corrected version with the original. There is no MS. authority for the line as quoted in the Preface.
[814:1] 'This circumstance.' Second edition.
[814:2] The caste was as follows:—Marquis Valdez, Mr. Pope; Don Alvar, Mr. Elliston; Don Ordonio, Mr. Rae; Monviedro, Mr. Powell; Zulimez, Mr. Crooke; Isidore, Mr. De Camp; Naomi, Mr. Wallack; Donna Teresa, Miss Smith; Alhadra, Mrs. Glover.
[814:3] Mrs. G.'s eldest child was buried on the Thursday—two others were ill, and one, with croup given over (tho' it has since recovered) and spite of her's, the physician's and my most passionate remonstrances, she was forced to act Alhadra on the Saturday!!!
Mrs. Glover (I do not much like her, in some respects) was duped into a marriage with a worthless Sharper, who passed himself off on her as a man of rank and fortune and who now lives and feeds himself and his vices on her salary—and hence all her affections flow in the channel of her maternal feelings. She is a passionately fond mother, and to act Alhadra on the Saturday after the Thursday's Burial! MS. H. (For MS. H see p. 819.)
[815:1] Poor Rae! a good man as Friend, Husband, Father. He did his best! but his person is so insignificant, tho' a handsome man off the stage—and, worse than that, the thinness and an insufficiency of his voice—yet Ordonio has done him service. MS. H.
PROLOGUE
BY C. LAMB[816:1]
Spoken by Mr. CARR
There are, I am told, who sharply criticise Our modern theatres' unwieldy size. We players shall scarce plead guilty to that charge, Who think a house can never be too large: Griev'd when a rant, that's worth a nation's ear, 5 Shakes some prescrib'd Lyceum's petty sphere; And pleased to mark the grin from space to space Spread epidemic o'er a town's broad face.— O might old Betterton or Booth return To view our structures from their silent urn, 10 Could Quin come stalking from Elysian glades, Or Garrick get a day-rule from the shades— Where now, perhaps, in mirth which Spirits approve, He imitates the ways of men above, And apes the actions of our upper coast, 15 As in his days of flesh he play'd the ghost:— How might they bless our ampler scope to please, And hate their own old shrunk up audiences.— Their houses yet were palaces to those, Which Ben and Fletcher for their triumphs chose, 20 Shakspeare, who wish'd a kingdom for a stage, Like giant pent in disproportion'd cage, Mourn'd his contracted strengths and crippled rage. He who could tame his vast ambition down To please some scatter'd gleanings of a town, 25 And, if some hundred auditors supplied Their meagre meed of claps, was satisfied, How had he felt, when that dread curse of Lear's Had burst tremendous on a thousand ears, While deep-struck wonder from applauding bands 30 Return'd the tribute of as many hands! Rude were his guests; he never made his bow To such an audience as salutes us now. He lack'd the balm of labour, female praise. Few Ladies in his time frequented plays, 35 Or came to see a youth with awkward art And shrill sharp pipe burlesque the woman's part. The very use, since so essential grown, Of painted scenes, was to his stage unknown. The air-blest castle, round whose wholesome crest, 40 The martlet, guest of summer, chose her nest— The forest walks of Arden's fair domain, Where Jaques fed his solitary vein— No pencil's aid as yet had dared supply, Seen only by the intellectual eye. 45 Those scenic helps, denied to Shakspeare's page, Our Author owes to a more liberal age. Nor pomp nor circumstance are wanting here; 'Tis for himself alone that he must fear. Yet shall remembrance cherish the just pride, 50 That (be the laurel granted or denied) He first essay'd in this distinguished fane, Severer muses and a tragic strain.
FOOTNOTES:
[816:1] A rejected address—which poor Charles was restless to have used. I fitted him with an Epilogue of the same calibre with his Prologue, but I thought it would be going a little too far to publish mine. MS. H.
EPILOGUE
Written by the Author, and spoken by Miss SMITH in the character of TERESA.
[As printed in The Morning Chronicle, Jan. 28, 1813.]
Oh! the procrastinating idle rogue, The Poet has just sent his Epilogue; Ay, 'tis just like him!—and the hand!
[Poring over the manuscript.
The stick! I could as soon decipher Arabic! But, hark! my wizard's own poetic elf 5 Bids me take courage, and make one myself! An heiress, and with sighing swains in plenty From blooming nineteen to full-blown five-and-twenty, Life beating high, and youth upon the wing, 'A six years' absence was a heavy thing!' 10 Heavy!—nay, let's describe things as they are, With sense and nature 'twas at open war— Mere affectation to be singular. Yet ere you overflow in condemnation, Think first of poor Teresa's education; 15 'Mid mountains wild, near billow-beaten rocks, Where sea-gales play'd with her dishevel'd locks, Bred in the spot where first to light she sprung, With no Academies for ladies young— Academies—(sweet phrase!) that well may claim 20 From Plato's sacred grove th' appropriate name! No morning visits, no sweet waltzing dances— And then for reading—what but huge romances, With as stiff morals, leaving earth behind 'em, As the brass-clasp'd, brass-corner'd boards that bind 'em. 25 Knights, chaste as brave, who strange adventures seek, And faithful loves of ladies, fair as meek; Or saintly hermits' wonder-raising acts, Instead of—novels founded upon facts! Which, decently immoral, have the art 30 To spare the blush, and undersap the heart! Oh, think of these, and hundreds worse than these, Dire disimproving disadvantages, And grounds for pity, not for blame, you'll see, E'en in Teresa's six years' constancy. 35
[Looking at the manuscript.
But stop! what's this?—Our Poet bids me say, That he has woo'd your feelings in this Play By no too real woes, that make you groan, Recalling kindred griefs, perhaps your own, Yet with no image compensate the mind, 40 Nor leave one joy for memory behind. He'd wish no loud laugh, from the sly, shrewd sneer, To unsettle from your eyes the quiet tear That Pity had brought, and Wisdom would leave there. Now calm he waits your judgment! (win or miss), 45 By no loud plaudits saved, damn'd by no factious hiss.
[S. T. C.]
REMORSE[819:1]
A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS[819:2]
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
1797. 1813-1834.
VELEZ = MARQUIS VALDEZ, Father to the two brothers, and Doa Teresa's Guardian. ALBERT = DON ALVAR, the eldest son. OSORIO = DON ORDONIO, the youngest son. FRANCESCO = MONVIEDRO, a Dominican and Inquisitor. MAURICE = ZULIMEZ, the faithful attendant on Alvar. FERDINAND = ISIDORE, a Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly a Christian. Familiars of the Inquisition. NAOMI = NAOMI. Moors, Servants, &c. MARIA = DOA TERESA, an Orphan Heiress. ALHADRA, wife } = ALHADRA, Wife of Isidore. of FERDINAND, } FAMILIARS OF THE INQUISITION. MOORS, SERVANTS, &c.
Time. The reign of Philip II., just at the close of the civil wars against the Moors, and during the heat of the persecution which raged against them, shortly after the edict which forbade the wearing of Moresco apparel under pain of death.
FOOTNOTES:
[819:1] Remorse, a recast of Osorio, was first played at Drury Lane Theatre, January 23, 1813, and had a run of twenty nights. It was first published as a pamphlet of seventy-two pages in 1813, and ran through three editions. The Second Edition, which numbered seventy-eight pages, was enlarged by an Appendix consisting of a passage which formed part of Act IV, Scene 2 of Osorio, and had been published in the Lyrical Ballads (1798, 1800, 1802, and 1805) as a separate poem entitled 'The Foster-Mother's Tale' (vide ante, pp. 182-4, 571-4), and of a second passage numbering twenty-eight lines, which was afterwards printed as a footnote to Remorse, Act II, Scene 2, line 42 (vide post, p. 842) 'You are a painter, &c.' The Third Edition was a reissue of the Second. In the Athenum, April 1, 1896, J. D. Campbell points out that there were three issues of the First Edition, of which he had only seen the first; viz. (1) the normal text [Edition I]; (2) a second issue [Edition I (b)] quoted by the Editor (R. H. Shepherd) of Osorio, 1877, as a variant of Act V, line 252; (3) a third issue quoted by the same writer in his edition of P. W., 1877-80, iii. 154, 155 [Edition I (c)]. There is a copy of Edition I (b) in the British Museum: save in respect of Act V, line 252, it does not vary from Edition I. I have not seen a copy of Edition I (c). Two copies of Remorse annotated by S. T. Coleridge have passed through my hands, (1) a copy of the First Edition presented to the Manager of the Theatre, J. G. Raymond (MS. R.), and (2) a copy of the Second Edition presented to Miss Sarah Hutchinson (MS. H.). Remorse is included in 1828, 1829, and 1834.
[819:2] This Tragedy has a particular advantage—it has the first scene, in which Prologue plays Dialogue with Dumby. (MS. H.)
ACT I
SCENE I
The Sea Shore on the Coast of Granada.
DON ALVAR, wrapt in a Boat cloak, and ZULIMEZ (a Moresco), both as just landed.
Zulimez. No sound, no face of joy to welcome us!
Alvar. My faithful Zulimez, for one brief moment Let me forget my anguish and their crimes. If aught on earth demand an unmix'd feeling, 'Tis surely this—after long years of exile, 5 To step forth on firm land, and gazing round us, To hail at once our country, and our birth-place. Hail, Spain! Granada, hail! once more I press Thy sands with filial awe, land of my fathers!
Zulimez. Then claim your rights in it! O, revered Don Alvar, 10 Yet, yet give up your all too gentle purpose. It is too hazardous! reveal yourself, And let the guilty meet the doom of guilt!
Alvar. Remember, Zulimez! I am his brother, Injured indeed! O deeply injured! yet 15 Ordonio's brother.
Zulimez. Nobly-minded Alvar! This sure but gives his guilt a blacker dye.
Alvar. The more behoves it I should rouse within him Remorse! that I should save him from himself.
Zulimez. Remorse is as the heart in which it grows: 20 If that be gentle, it drops balmy dews Of true repentance; but if proud and gloomy, It is a poison-tree, that pierced to the inmost Weeps only tears of poison!
Alvar. And of a brother, Dare I hold this, unproved? nor make one effort 25 To save him?—Hear me, friend! I have yet to tell thee, That this same life, which he conspired to take, Himself once rescued from the angry flood, And at the imminent hazard of his own. Add too my oath—
Zulimez. You have thrice told already 30 The years of absence and of secrecy, To which a forced oath bound you; if in truth A suborned murderer have the power to dictate A binding oath—
Alvar. My long captivity Left me no choice: the very wish too languished 35 With the fond hope that nursed it; the sick babe Drooped at the bosom of its famished mother. But (more than all) Teresa's perfidy; The assassin's strong assurance, when no interest, No motive could have tempted him to falsehood: 40 In the first pangs of his awaken'd conscience, When with abhorrence of his own black purpose The murderous weapon, pointed at my breast, Fell from his palsied hand—
Zulimez. Heavy presumption!
Alvar. It weighed not with me—Hark! I will tell thee all; 45 As we passed by, I bade thee mark the base Of yonder cliff—
Zulimez. That rocky seat you mean, Shaped by the billows?—
Alvar. There Teresa met me The morning of the day of my departure. We were alone: the purple hue of dawn 50 Fell from the kindling east aslant upon us, And blending with the blushes on her cheek, Suffused the tear-drops there with rosy light. There seemed a glory round us, and Teresa The angel of the vision![821:1]
Had'st thou seen 55 How in each motion her most innocent soul Beamed forth and brightened, thou thyself would'st tell me, Guilt is a thing impossible in her! She must be innocent!
Zulimez. Proceed, my lord!
Alvar. A portrait which she had procured by stealth, 60 (For even then it seems her heart foreboded Or knew Ordonio's moody rivalry) A portrait of herself with thrilling hand She tied around my neck, conjuring me, With earnest prayers, that I would keep it sacred 65 To my own knowledge: nor did she desist, Till she had won a solemn promise from me, That (save my own) no eye should e'er behold it Till my return. Yet this the assassin knew, Knew that which none but she could have disclosed. 70
Zulimez. A damning proof!
Alvar. My own life wearied me! And but for the imperative voice within, With mine own hand I had thrown off the burthen. That voice, which quelled me, calmed me: and I sought The Belgic states: there joined the better cause; 75 And there too fought as one that courted death! Wounded, I fell among the dead and dying, In death-like trance: a long imprisonment followed. The fulness of my anguish by degrees Waned to a meditative melancholy; 80 And still the more I mused, my soul became More doubtful, more perplexed; and still Teresa, Night after night, she visited my sleep, Now as a saintly sufferer, wan and tearful, Now as a saint in glory beckoning to me! 85 Yes, still as in contempt of proof and reason, I cherish the fond faith that she is guiltless! Hear then my fix'd resolve: I'll linger here In the disguise of a Moresco chieftain.— The Moorish robes?—
Zulimez. All, all are in the sea-cave, 90 Some furlong hence. I bade our mariners Secrete the boat there.
Alvar. Above all, the picture Of the assassination—
Zulimez. Be assured That it remains uninjured.
Alvar. Thus disguised I will first seek to meet Ordonio's—wife! 95 If possible, alone too. This was her wonted walk, And this the hour; her words, her very looks Will acquit her or convict.
Zulimez. Will they not know you?
Alvar. With your aid, friend, I shall unfearingly 100 Trust the disguise; and as to my complexion, My long imprisonment, the scanty food, This scar—and toil beneath a burning sun, Have done already half the business for us. Add too my youth, since last we saw each other. 105 Manhood has swoln my chest, and taught my voice A hoarser note—Besides, they think me dead: And what the mind believes impossible, The bodily sense is slow to recognize.
Zulimez. 'Tis yours, sir, to command, mine to obey. 110 Now to the cave beneath the vaulted rock, Where having shaped you to a Moorish chieftain, I'll seek our mariners; and in the dusk Transport whate'er we need to the small dell In the Alpujarras—there where Zagri lived. 115
Alvar. I know it well: it is the obscurest haunt Of all the mountains—[823:1] [Both stand listening. Voices at a distance! Let us away! [Exeunt.
FOOTNOTES:
[821:1] May not a man, without breach of the 8th Commandment, take out of his left pocket and put into his right? MS. H. (Vide ante, p. 406, To William Wordsworth, l. 43.)
[823:1] Till the Play was printed off, I never remembered or, rather, never recollected that this phrase was taken from Mr. Wordsworth's Poems. Thank God it was not from his MSS. Poems; and at the 2nd Edition I was afraid to point it out lest it should appear a trick to introduce his name. MS. H. [Coleridge is thinking of a line in The Brothers, 'It is the loneliest place in all these hills.']
LINENOTES:
[19] Remorse] REMORSE Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[20] Remorse] REMORSE Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[31] years] year Editions 1, 2, 3.
[35] wish] Wish Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[36] hope] Hope Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[55] After vision! [Then with agitation Editions 1, 2, 3.
[56-9] Compare Destiny of Nations, ll. 174-6, p. 137.
[59] After Zulimez (with a sigh), Editions 1, 2, 3 1829.
[86] Yes] And Edition 1.
[95] wife] wife Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[105] since] when Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[113] I'll] I will Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[115] Alpujarras] Alpuxarras Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
SCENE II
Enter TERESA and VALDEZ.
Teresa. I hold Ordonio dear; he is your son And Alvar's brother.
Valdez. Love him for himself, Nor make the living wretched for the dead.
Teresa. I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Valdez, But heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain 5 Faithful to Alvar, be he dead or living.
Valdez. Heaven knows with what delight I saw your loves, And could my heart's blood give him back to thee I would die smiling. But these are idle thoughts! Thy dying father comes upon my soul 10 With that same look, with which he gave thee to me; I held thee in my arms a powerless babe, While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty Fixed her faint eyes on mine. Ah not for this, That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom, 15 And with slow anguish wear away thy life, The victim of a useless constancy. I must not see thee wretched.
Teresa. There are woes Ill bartered for the garishness of joy! If it be wretched with an untired eye 20 To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean; Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock, My hair dishevelled by the pleasant sea breeze, To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again All past hours of delight! If it be wretched 25 To watch some bark, and fancy Alvar there, To go through each minutest circumstance Of the blest meeting, and to frame adventures Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell them;[824:1] (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid 30 Who drest her in her buried lover's clothes, And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft Hung with her lute, and played the selfsame tune He used to play, and listened to the shadow Herself had made)—if this be wretchedness, 35 And if indeed it be a wretched thing To trick out mine own death-bed, and imagine That I had died, died just ere his return! Then see him listening to my constancy, Or hover round, as he at midnight oft 40 Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon; Or haply in some more fantastic mood, To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers Build up a bower where he and I might dwell, And there to wait his coming! O my sire! 45 My Alvar's sire! if this be wretchedness That eats away the life, what were it, think you, If in a most assured reality He should return, and see a brother's infant Smile at him from my arms? 50 Oh what a thought!
Valdez. A thought? even so! mere thought! an empty thought. The very week he promised his return——
Teresa. Was it not then a busy joy? to see him, After those three years' travels! we had no fears— 55 The frequent tidings, the ne'er failing letter. Almost endeared his absence! Yet the gladness, The tumult of our joy! What then if now——
Valdez. O power of youth to feed on pleasant thoughts, Spite of conviction! I am old and heartless! 60 Yes, I am old—I have no pleasant fancies— Hectic and unrefreshed with rest—
Teresa. My father!
Valdez. The sober truth is all too much for me! I see no sail which brings not to my mind The home-bound bark in which my son was captured 65 By the Algerine—to perish with his captors!
Teresa. Oh no! he did not!
Valdez. Captured in sight of land! From yon hill point, nay, from our castle watch-tower We might have seen——
Teresa. His capture, not his death.
Valdez. Alas! how aptly thou forget'st a tale 70 Thou ne'er didst wish to learn! my brave Ordonio Saw both the pirate and his prize go down, In the same storm that baffled his own valour, And thus twice snatched a brother from his hopes: Gallant Ordonio! O beloved Teresa, 75 Would'st thou best prove thy faith to generous Alvar, And most delight his spirit, go, make thou His brother happy, make his aged father Sink to the grave in joy.
Teresa. For mercy's sake Press me no more! I have no power to love him. 80 His proud forbidding eye, and his dark brow, Chill me like dew-damps of the unwholesome night: My love, a timorous and tender flower, Closes beneath his touch.
Valdez. You wrong him, maiden! You wrong him, by my soul! Nor was it well 85 To character by such unkindly phrases The stir and workings of that love for you Which he has toiled to smother. 'Twas not well, Nor is it grateful in you to forget His wounds and perilous voyages, and how 90 With an heroic fearlessness of danger He roam'd the coast of Afric for your Alvar. It was not well—You have moved me even to tears.
Teresa. Oh pardon me, Lord Valdez! pardon me! It was a foolish and ungrateful speech, 95 A most ungrateful speech! But I am hurried Beyond myself, if I but hear of one Who aims to rival Alvar. Were we not Born in one day, like twins of the same parent? Nursed in one cradle? Pardon me, my father! 100 A six years' absence is a heavy thing, Yet still the hope survives——
Valdez (looking forward). Hush! 'tis Monviedro.
Teresa. The Inquisitor! on what new scent of blood?
Enter MONVIEDRO with ALHADRA.
Monviedro. Peace and the truth be with you! Good my Lord, 105 My present need is with your son. We have hit the time. Here comes he! Yes, 'tis he.
[Enter from the opposite side DON ORDONIO.
My Lord Ordonio, this Moresco woman (Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you.
Ordonio. Hail, reverend father! what may be the business? 110
Monviedro. My lord, on strong suspicion of relapse To his false creed, so recently abjured, The secret servants of the Inquisition Have seized her husband, and at my command To the supreme tribunal would have led him, 115 But that he made appeal to you, my lord, As surety for his soundness in the faith. Though lessoned by experience what small trust The asseverations of these Moors deserve, Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name, 120 Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honour The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers, Thus far prevailed with me that——
Ordonio. Reverend father, I am much beholden to your high opinion, Which so o'erprizes my light services. [Then to ALHADRA. 125 I would that I could serve you; but in truth Your face is new to me.
Monviedro. My mind foretold me That such would be the event. In truth, Lord Valdez, 'Twas little probable, that Don Ordonio, That your illustrious son, who fought so bravely 130 Some four years since to quell these rebel Moors, Should prove the patron of this infidel! The warranter of a Moresco's faith! Now I return.
Alhadra. My Lord, my husband's name 135 Is Isidore. (ORDONIO starts.) You may remember it: Three years ago, three years this very week, You left him at Almeria.
Monviedro. Palpably false! This very week, three years ago, my lord, (You needs must recollect it by your wound) 140 You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates, The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar! What, is he ill, my Lord? how strange he looks!
Valdez. You pressed upon him too abruptly, father! The fate of one, on whom, you know, he doted. 145
Ordonio. O Heavens! I?—I doted? Yes! I doted on him.
[ORDONIO walks to the end of the stage, VALDEZ follows.
Teresa. I do not, can not, love him. Is my heart hard? Is my heart hard? that even now the thought Should force itself upon me?—Yet I feel it! 150
Monviedro. The drops did start and stand upon his forehead! I will return. In very truth, I grieve To have been the occasion. Ho! attend me, woman!
Alhadra (to Teresa). O gentle lady! make the father stay, Until my lord recover. I am sure, 155 That he will say he is my husband's friend.
Teresa. Stay, father! stay! my lord will soon recover.
Ordonio (as they return, to Valdez). Strange, that this Monviedro Should have the power so to distemper me!
Valdez. Nay, 'twas an amiable weakness, son! 160
Monviedro. My lord, I truly grieve——
Ordonio. Tut! name it not. A sudden seizure, father! think not of it. As to this woman's husband, I do know him. I know him well, and that he is a Christian.
Monviedro. I hope, my lord, your merely human pity 165 Doth not prevail——
Ordonio. 'Tis certain that he was a catholic; What changes may have happened in three years, I can not say; but grant me this, good father: Myself I'll sift him: if I find him sound, 170 You'll grant me your authority and name To liberate his house.
Monviedro. Your zeal, my lord, And your late merits in this holy warfare Would authorize an ampler trust—you have it.
Ordonio. I will attend you home within an hour. 175
Valdez. Meantime return with us and take refreshment.
Alhadra. Not till my husband's free! I may not do it. I will stay here.
Teresa (aside). Who is this Isidore?
Valdez. Daughter!
Teresa. With your permission, my dear lord, 180 I'll loiter yet awhile t' enjoy the sea breeze.
[Exeunt VALDEZ, MONVIEDRO and ORDONIO.
Alhadra. Hah! there he goes! a bitter curse go with him, A scathing curse! You hate him, don't you, lady?
Teresa. Oh fear not me! my heart is sad for you. 185
Alhadra. These fell inquisitors! these sons of blood! As I came on, his face so maddened me, That ever and anon I clutched my dagger And half unsheathed it——
Teresa. Be more calm, I pray you.
Alhadra. And as he walked along the narrow path 190 Close by the mountain's edge, my soul grew eager; 'Twas with hard toil I made myself remember That his Familiars held my babes and husband. To have leapt upon him with a tiger's plunge, And hurl'd him down the rugged precipice, 195 O, it had been most sweet!
Teresa. Hush! hush for shame! Where is your woman's heart?
Alhadra. O gentle lady! You have no skill to guess my many wrongs, Many and strange! Besides, I am a Christian, And Christians never pardon—'tis their faith! 200
Teresa. Shame fall on those who so have shewn it to thee!
Alhadra. I know that man; 'tis well he knows not me. Five years ago (and he was the prime agent), Five years ago the holy brethren seized me.
Teresa. What might your crime be?
Alhadra. I was a Moresco! 205 They cast me, then a young and nursing mother, Into a dungeon of their prison house, Where was no bed, no fire, no ray of light, No touch, no sound of comfort! The black air, It was a toil to breathe it! when the door, 210 Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed One human countenance, the lamp's red flame Cowered as it entered, and at once sank down. Oh miserable! by that lamp to see My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread 215 Brought daily; for the little wretch was sickly— My rage had dried away its natural food.[830:1] In darkness I remained—the dull bell counting, Which haply told me, that the all-cheering sun Was rising on our garden. When I dozed, 220 My infant's moanings mingled with my slumbers And waked me.—If you were a mother, lady, I should scarce dare to tell you, that its noises And peevish cries so fretted on my brain That I have struck the innocent babe in anger. 225
Teresa. O Heaven! it is too horrible to hear.
Alhadra. What was it then to suffer? 'Tis most right That such as you should hear it.—Know you not, What nature makes you mourn, she bids you heal?[830:2] Great evils ask great passions to redress them, 230 And whirlwinds fitliest scatter pestilence.
Teresa. You were at length released?
Alhadra. Yes, at length I saw the blessed arch of the whole heaven! 'Twas the first time my infant smiled. No more— For if I dwell upon that moment, Lady, 235 A trance comes on which makes me o'er again All I then was—my knees hang loose and drag, And my lip falls with such an idiot laugh, That you would start and shudder!
Teresa. But your husband—
Alhadra. A month's imprisonment would kill him, Lady. 240
Teresa. Alas, poor man!
Alhadra. He hath a lion's courage, Fearless in act, but feeble in endurance; Unfit for boisterous times, with gentle heart He worships nature in the hill and valley, Not knowing what he loves, but loves it all— 245
Enter ALVAR disguised as a Moresco, and in Moorish garments.
Teresa. Know you that stately Moor?
Alhadra. I know him not: But doubt not he is some Moresco chieftain, Who hides himself among the Alpujarras.
Teresa. The Alpujarras? Does he know his danger, So near this seat?
Alhadra. He wears the Moorish robes too, 250 As in defiance of the royal edict.
[ALHADRA advances to ALVAR, who has walked to the back of the stage, near the rocks. TERESA drops her veil.
Alhadra. Gallant Moresco! An inquisitor, Monviedro, of known hatred to our race——
Alvar. You have mistaken me. I am a Christian.
Alhadra. He deems, that we are plotting to ensnare him: 255 Speak to him, Lady—none can hear you speak, And not believe you innocent of guile.
Teresa. If aught enforce you to concealment, Sir—
Alhadra. He trembles strangely.
[ALVAR sinks down and hides his face in his robe.
Teresa. See, we have disturbed him.
[Approaches nearer to him.
I pray you, think us friends—uncowl your face, 260 For you seem faint, and the night-breeze blows healing. I pray you, think us friends!
Alvar (raising his head). Calm, very calm! 'Tis all too tranquil for reality! And she spoke to me with her innocent voice, 265 That voice, that innocent voice! She is no traitress!
Teresa. Let us retire (haughtily to Alhadra).
Alhadra. He is indeed a Christian.
Alvar (aside). She deems me dead, yet wears no mourning garment! Why should my brother's—wife—wear mourning garments? 270
[To TERESA.
Your pardon, noble dame! that I disturbed you: I had just started from a frightful dream.
Teresa. Dreams tell but of the past, and yet, 'tis said, They prophesy—
Alvar. The Past lives o'er again In its effects, and to the guilty spirit 275 The ever-frowning Present is its image.
Teresa. Traitress! (Then aside.) What sudden spell o'ermasters me? Why seeks he me, shunning the Moorish woman?
Alvar. I dreamt I had a friend, on whom I leant With blindest trust, and a betrothd maid, 280 Whom I was wont to call not mine, but me: For mine own self seem'd nothing, lacking her. This maid so idolized, that trusted friend Dishonoured in my absence, soul and body! Fear, following guilt, tempted to blacker guilt, 285 And murderers were suborned against my life. But by my looks, and most impassioned words, I roused the virtues that are dead in no man, Even in the assassins' hearts! they made their terms, And thanked me for redeeming them from murder. 290
Alhadra. You are lost in thought: hear him no more, sweet Lady!
Teresa. From morn to night I am myself a dreamer, And slight things bring on me the idle mood! Well sir, what happened then?
Alvar. On a rude rock, A rock, methought, fast by a grove of firs, 295 Whose thready leaves to the low-breathing gale Made a soft sound most like the distant ocean, I stayed, as though the hour of death were passed, And I were sitting in the world of spirits— For all things seemed unreal! There I sate— 300 The dews fell clammy, and the night descended, Black, sultry, close! and ere the midnight hour A storm came on, mingling all sounds of fear, That woods, and sky, and mountains, seemed one havock. The second flash of lightning shewed a tree 305 Hard by me, newly scathed. I rose tumultuous: My soul worked high, I bared my head to the storm, And with loud voice and clamorous agony, Kneeling I prayed to the great Spirit that made me, Prayed, that Remorse might fasten on their hearts, 310 And cling with poisonous tooth, inextricable As the gored lion's bite!
Teresa. A fearful curse!
Alhadra. But dreamt you not that you returned and killed them? Dreamt you of no revenge?
Alvar. She would have died Died in her guilt—perchance by her own hands! 315 And bending o'er her self-inflicted wounds, I might have met the evil glance of frenzy, And leapt myself into an unblest grave! I prayed for the punishment that cleanses hearts: For still I loved her!
Alhadra. And you dreamt all this? 320
Teresa. My soul is full of visions all as wild!
Alhadra. There is no room in this heart for puling love-tales.
Teresa (lifts up her veil, and advances to Alvar). Stranger, farewell! I guess not who you are, Nor why you so addressed your tale to me. Your mien is noble, and, I own, perplexed me, 325 With obscure memory of something past, Which still escaped my efforts, or presented Tricks of a fancy pampered with long wishing. If, as it sometimes happens, our rude startling, Whilst your full heart was shaping out its dream, 330 Drove you to this, your not ungentle, wildness— You have my sympathy, and so farewell! But if some undiscovered wrongs oppress you, And you need strength to drag them into light, The generous Valdez, and my Lord Ordonio, 335 Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer, Nor shall you want my favourable pleading.[833:1]
[Exeunt TERESA and ALHADRA.
Alvar (alone). 'Tis strange! It cannot be! my Lord Ordonio! Her Lord Ordonio! Nay, I will not do it! I cursed him once—and one curse is enough! 340 How sad she looked, and pale! but not like guilt— And her calm tones—sweet as a song of mercy! If the bad spirit retain'd his angel's voice, Hell scarce were Hell. And why not innocent? Who meant to murder me, might well cheat her? 345 But ere she married him, he had stained her honour; Ah! there I am hampered. What if this were a lie Framed by the assassin? Who should tell it him, If it were truth? Ordonio would not tell him. Yet why one lie? all else, I know, was truth. 350 No start, no jealousy of stirring conscience! And she referred to me—fondly, methought! Could she walk here if she had been a traitress? Here where we played together in our childhood? Here where we plighted vows? where her cold cheek 355 Received my last kiss, when with suppressed feelings She had fainted in my arms? It cannot be! 'Tis not in nature! I will die believing, That I shall meet her where no evil is, No treachery, no cup dashed from the lips. 360 I'll haunt this scene no more! live she in peace! Her husband—aye her husband! May this angel New mould his canker'd heart! Assist me, heaven, That I may pray for my poor guilty brother! [Exit.
FOOTNOTES:
[824:1] [Here Valdez bends back, and smiles at her wildness, which Teresa noticing, checks her enthusiasm, and in a soothing half-playful tone and manner, apologizes for her fancy, by the little tale in the parenthesis.] Editions 2, 3, 1829.
Here Valdez bends back, with a smile of wonder at the witness of the Fancy, which Teresa noting, she checks her enthusiasm, and in a persuasive half-pleading tone and action exemplifies her meaning in the little Tale included in the Parenthesis. MS. Note to First Edition.
[830:1] 218-20. Compare Fragment.
[830:2] 229. Compare line 13 of the lines 'Addressed to a Young Man of Fortune', p. 157.
[833:1] (then an half-pause and dropping the voice as hinted by the relaxation of the metre—'Nor shall you,' &c.).—I mention this because it is one of the lines for which Mr. Gifford (whose in the Quarterly Rev. drove M. L. mad with a severer fit than she had ever had before) declared me at Murray's shop fit to be whipt as an idle Schoolboy—and, alas, I had conceited it to be a little beauty! MS. H.
LINENOTES:
[29] him] him Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[50] my] my Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[51] After
thought [Clasping her forehead.
Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[54] Teresa (abruptly). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[61] fancies] dreams Edition 1.
[62] Teresa (with great tenderness). My, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[75] Gallant Ordonio! (Pauses, then tenderly.) Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[77] And most delight his spirit, go, thou make Edition 1.
[94] Lord Valdez] my father Edition 1.
[103] forward] forwards Editions 1, 2, 3.
[104] what] some Edition 1.
[105] Monviedro (having first made his obeisance to Valdez and Teresa). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 106] [Looking forward Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[112] his] their Edition 1.
[118] lessoned] lessened Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829, 1834.
[133] warranter] guarantee Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[136] Stage-direction om. Edition 1.
[142] murderers] murderers Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[After 142] [TERESA looks at MONVIEDRO with disgust and horror. ORDONIO'S appearance to be collected from what follows.
[143] Mon. (to VALDEZ, and pointing at ORDONIO). What, is he ill, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[144] Valdez (angrily). You, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. pressed upon] started on Edition 1.
[146] Ordonio (starting as in sudden agitation). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. I?—I] I?—I Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 146: [Then recovering himself. Editions 1, 2, 3.
[147] doted] doted Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 147] . . . follows soothing him. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[148] Teresa (her eye following Ordonio). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[163] do] do Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[164] is] is Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[167] was] was Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[183]
A scathing curse! [Then, as if recollecting herself, and with a timid look.
Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 184] Teresa (perceiving that Alhadra is conscious she has spoken imprudently). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[185] my] my Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[188] my] my Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[199] Many and strange! Besides, (ironically) I, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[218-20]
In darkness I remained—counting the bell Which haply told me, that the blessed Sun Was rising on my garden.
Edition 1.
[248] Alpujarras] Alpuxarras Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[249] Alpujarras] Alpuxarras Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[254] Alvar (interrupting her). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[256] you] you Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 267] [They advance to the front of the Stage. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[268] Alhadra (with scorn). He is, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 278] [TERESA looks round uneasily, but gradually becomes attentive as ALVAR proceeds in the next speech. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[310] Remorse] REMORSE Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[312]
As the gored lion's bite!
Teresa (shuddering). A fearful curse!
Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[313] Alhadra (fiercely). But dreamt, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[314] Alvar (his voice trembling, and in tones of deep distress). She would, &c. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[331] wildness] kindness Editions 1, 2, 3.
[338] my] my Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[339] Her] Her Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[348] him] him Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[350] know] know Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[352] me] me Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[362] husband] husband Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[After 364] End of the Act First. Editions 1, 2, 3.
ACT II
SCENE I
A wild and mountainous country. ORDONIO and ISIDORE are discovered, supposed at a little distance from ISIDORE'S house.
Ordonio. Here we may stop: your house distinct in view, Yet we secured from listeners.
Isidore. Now indeed My house! and it looks cheerful as the clusters Basking in sunshine on yon vine-clad rock, That over-brows it! Patron! Friend! Preserver! 5 Thrice have you saved my life. Once in the battle You gave it me: next rescued me from suicide When for my follies I was made to wander, With mouths to feed, and not a morsel for them: Now but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones 10 Had been my bed and pillow.
Ordonio. Good Isidore! Why this to me? It is enough, you know it.
Isidore. A common trick of gratitude, my lord, Seeking to ease her own full heart——
Ordonio. Enough! A debt repaid ceases to be a debt. 15 You have it in your power to serve me greatly.
Isidore. And how, my lord? I pray you to name the thing. I would climb up an ice-glazed precipice To pluck a weed you fancied!
Ordonio. Why—that—Lady—
Isidore. 'Tis now three years, my lord, since last I saw you: 20 Have you a son, my lord?
Ordonio. O miserable— [Aside. Isidore! you are a man, and know mankind. I told you what I wished—now for the truth— She loved the man you kill'd.
Isidore. You jest, my lord?
Ordonio. And till his death is proved she will not wed me. 25
Isidore. You sport with me, my lord?
Ordonio. Come, come! this foolery Lives only in thy looks, thy heart disowns it!
Isidore. I can bear this, and any thing more grievous From you, my lord—but how can I serve you here?
Ordonio. Why, you can utter with a solemn gesture 30 Oracular sentences of deep no-meaning, Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics—
Isidore. I am dull, my lord! I do not comprehend you.
Ordonio. In blunt terms, you can play the sorcerer. She hath no faith in Holy Church, 'tis true: 35 Her lover schooled her in some newer nonsense! Yet still a tale of spirits works upon her. She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive, Shivers, and can not keep the tears in her eye: And such do love the marvellous too well 40 Not to believe it. We will wind up her fancy With a strange music, that she knows not of— With fumes of frankincense, and mummery, Then leave, as one sure token of his death, That portrait, which from off the dead man's neck 45 I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest.
Isidore. Will that be a sure sign?
Ordonio. Beyond suspicion. Fondly caressing him, her favour'd lover, (By some base spell he had bewitched her senses) She whispered such dark fears of me forsooth, 50 As made this heart pour gall into my veins. And as she coyly bound it round his neck She made him promise silence; and now holds The secret of the existence of this portrait Known only to her lover and herself. 55 But I had traced her, stolen unnotic'd on them, And unsuspected saw and heard the whole.
Isidore. But now I should have cursed the man who told me You could ask aught, my lord, and I refuse— But this I can not do.
Ordonio. Where lies your scruple? 60
Isidore. Why—why, my lord! You know you told me that the lady lov'd you, Had loved you with incautious tenderness; That if the young man, her betrothd husband, Returned, yourself, and she, and the honour of both 65 Must perish. Now though with no tenderer scruples Than those which being native to the heart, Than those, my lord, which merely being a man—
Ordonio. This fellow is a Man—he killed for hire One whom he knew not, yet has tender scruples! 70
[Then turning to ISIDORE.
These doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammering— Pish, fool! thou blunder'st through the book of guilt, Spelling thy villainy.
Isidore. My lord—my lord, I can bear much—yes, very much from you! But there's a point where sufferance is meanness: 75 I am no villain—never kill'd for hire— My gratitude——
Ordonio. O aye—your gratitude! 'Twas a well-sounding word—what have you done with it?
Isidore. Who proffers his past favours for my virtue—
Ordonio. Virtue——
Isidore. Tries to o'erreach me—is a very sharper, 80 And should not speak of gratitude, my lord. I knew not 'twas your brother!
Ordonio. And who told you?
Isidore. He himself told me.
Ordonio. Ha! you talk'd with him! And those, the two Morescoes who were with you?
Isidore. Both fell in a night brawl at Malaga. 85
Ordonio (in a low voice). My brother—
Isidore. Yes, my lord, I could not tell you! I thrust away the thought—it drove me wild. But listen to me now—I pray you listen——
Ordonio. Villain! no more. I'll hear no more of it.
Isidore. My lord, it much imports your future safety 90 That you should hear it.
Ordonio (turning off from Isidore). Am not I a man! 'Tis as it should be! tut—the deed itself Was idle, and these after-pangs still idler!
Isidore. We met him in the very place you mentioned. Hard by a grove of firs—
Ordonio. Enough—enough— 95
Isidore. He fought us valiantly, and wounded all; In fine, compelled a parley.
Ordonio. Alvar! brother!
Isidore. He offered me his purse—
Ordonio. Yes?
Isidore. Yes—I spurned it.— He promised us I know not what—in vain! Then with a look and voice that overawed me, 100 He said, What mean you, friends? My life is dear: I have a brother and a promised wife, Who make life dear to me—and if I fall, That brother will roam earth and hell for vengeance. There was a likeness in his face to yours; 105 I asked his brother's name: he said—Ordonio, Son of Lord Valdez! I had well nigh fainted. At length I said (if that indeed I said it, And that no Spirit made my tongue its organ,) That woman is dishonoured by that brother, 110 And he the man who sent us to destroy you. He drove a thrust at me in rage. I told him He wore her portrait round his neck. He look'd As he had been made of the rock that propt his back— Aye, just as you look now—only less ghastly! 115 At length recovering from his trance, he threw His sword away, and bade us take his life, It was not worth his keeping.
Ordonio. And you kill'd him? Oh blood hounds! may eternal wrath flame round you! He was his Maker's Image undefac'd! 120 It seizes me—by Hell I will go on! What—would'st thou stop, man? thy pale looks won't save thee! Oh cold—cold—cold! shot through with icy cold!
Isidore (aside). Were he alive he had returned ere now. The consequence the same—dead through his plotting! 125
Ordonio. O this unutterable dying away—here— This sickness of the heart! What if I went And liv'd in a hollow tomb, and fed on weeds? Aye! that's the road to heaven! O fool! fool! fool! What have I done but that which nature destined, 130 Or the blind elements stirred up within me? If good were meant, why were we made these beings? And if not meant—
Isidore. You are disturbed, my lord!
Ordonio (starts). A gust of the soul! i'faith it overset me. O 'twas all folly—all! idle as laughter! 135 Now, Isidore! I swear that thou shalt aid me.
Isidore (in a low voice). I'll perish first!
Ordonio. What dost thou mutter of?
Isidore. Some of your servants know me, I am certain.
Ordonio. There's some sense in that scruple; but we'll mask you.
Isidore. They'll know my gait: but stay! last night I watched 140 A stranger near the ruin in the wood, Who as it seemed was gathering herbs and wild flowers. I had followed him at distance, seen him scale Its western wall, and by an easier entrance Stole after him unnoticed. There I marked, 145 That mid the chequer work of light and shade With curious choice he plucked no other flowers, But those on which the moonlight fell: and once I heard him muttering o'er the plant. A wizard— Some gaunt slave prowling here for dark employment. 150
Ordonio. Doubtless you question'd him?
Isidore. 'Twas my intention, Having first traced him homeward to his haunt. But lo! the stern Dominican, whose spies Lurk every where, already (as it seemed) Had given commission to his apt familiar 155 To seek and sound the Moor; who now returning, Was by this trusty agent stopped midway. I, dreading fresh suspicion if found near him In that lone place, again concealed myself: Yet within hearing. So the Moor was question'd, 160 And in your name, as lord of this domain, Proudly he answered, 'Say to the Lord Ordonio, He that can bring the dead to life again!'
Ordonio. A strange reply!
Isidore. Aye, all of him is strange. He called himself a Christian, yet he wears 165 The Moorish robes, as if he courted death.
Ordonio. Where does this wizard live?
Isidore (pointing to the distance). You see that brooklet? Trace its course backward: through a narrow opening It leads you to the place.
Ordonio. How shall I know it?
Isidore. You cannot err. It is a small green dell 170 Built all around with high off-sloping hills, And from its shape our peasants aptly call it The Giant's Cradle. There's a lake in the midst, And round its banks tall wood that branches over, And makes a kind of faery forest grow 175 Down in the water. At the further end A puny cataract falls on the lake; And there, a curious sight! you see its shadow For ever curling, like a wreath of smoke, Up through the foliage of those faery trees. 180 His cot stands opposite. You cannot miss it.
Ordonio (in retiring stops suddenly at the edge of the scene, and then turning round to Isidore). Ha!—Who lurks there! Have we been overheard? There where the smooth high wall of slate-rock glitters——
Isidore. 'Neath those tall stones, which propping each the other, Form a mock portal with their pointed arch? 185 Pardon my smiles! 'Tis a poor idiot boy, Who sits in the sun, and twirls a bough about, His weak eyes seeth'd in most unmeaning tears. And so he sits, swaying his cone-like head, And staring at his bough from morn to sun-set, 190 See-saws his voice in inarticulate noises.
Ordonio. 'Tis well, and now for this same wizard's lair.
Isidore. Some three strides up the hill, a mountain ash Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters O'er the old thatch.
Ordonio. I shall not fail to find it. 195
[Exeunt ORDONIO and ISIDORE.
LINENOTES:
[3] My] My Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[17] And how, my lord? I pray you name the thing. Editions 1, 2, 3.
[19] Ordonio (with embarrassment and hesitation). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[23] truth] truth Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[24] Isidore (looking as suddenly alarmed). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[37] upon] on Edition 1.]
[61] Isidore (with stammering). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[63] incautious] incautious Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[67] native] native Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[69] Ordonio (aloud, though to express his contempt he speaks in the third person). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[79] Ordonio (with bitter scorn). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[83] Ordonio (alarmed). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[84] those] these Edition 1.
[91] Am I not a man? Edition 1. I] I Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[97] Ordonio (sighing as if lost in thought). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[98] Ordonio (with eager suspicion). Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[98] Isidore (indignantly). Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[108] I] I Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[109] its] his Edition 1.
[120] He was the image of the Deity. Edition 1.
[After 120] [A pause. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 122] [A pause. Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[127]
This sickness of the heart [A pause.
Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829, &c.
[After 129] [A pause. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[Before 134] Ordonio (starts, looking at him wildly; then, after a pause, during which his features are forced into a smile). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[145] Stole] Stoln Editions 1, 2, 3.
[161] your] your Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 181]
Some three yards up the hill a mountain ash Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters O'er the old thatch.
Ord. I shall not fail to find it. [Exit ORDONIO. ISIDORE goes into his Cottage.
Edition 1.
[182-95] om. Edition 1.
SCENE II
The inside of a Cottage, around which flowers and plants of various kinds are seen. Discovers ALVAR, ZULIMEZ and ALHADRA, as on the point of leaving.
Alhadra (addressing Alvar). Farewell then! and though many thoughts perplex me, Aught evil or ignoble never can I Suspect of thee! If what thou seem'st thou art, The oppressed brethren of thy blood have need Of such a leader.
Alvar. Nobly-minded woman! 5 Long time against oppression have I fought, And for the native liberty of faith Have bled and suffered bonds. Of this be certain: Time, as he courses onward, still unrolls The volume of concealment. In the future, 10 As in the optician's glassy cylinder, The indistinguishable blots and colours Of the dim past collect and shape themselves, Upstarting in their own completed image To scare or to reward. I sought the guilty, 15 And what I sought I found: but ere the spear Flew from my hand, there rose an angel form Betwixt me and my aim. With baffled purpose To the Avenger I leave vengeance, and depart!
Whate'er betide, if aught my arm may aid, 20 Or power protect, my word is pledged to thee: For many are thy wrongs, and thy soul noble. Once more, farewell. [Exit ALHADRA. Yes, to the Belgic states We will return. These robes, this stained complexion, Akin to falsehood, weigh upon my spirit. 25 Whate'er befall us, the heroic Maurice Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance Of our past services.
Zulimez. And all the wealth, power, influence which is yours, You let a murderer hold?
Alvar. O faithful Zulimez! 30 That my return involved Ordonio's death, I trust, would give me an unmingled pang, Yet bearable: but when I see my father Strewing his scant grey hairs, e'en on the ground, Which soon must be his grave, and my Teresa— 35 Her husband proved a murderer, and her infants His infants—poor Teresa!—all would perish, All perish—all! and I (nay bear with me) Could not survive the complicated ruin!
Zulimez. Nay now! I have distress'd you—you well know, 40 I ne'er will quit your fortunes. True,'tis tiresome! You are a painter,[842:1] one of many fancies! You can call up past deeds, and make them live On the blank canvas! and each little herb, That grows on mountain bleak, or tangled forest, 45 You have learnt to name—— Hark! heard you not some footsteps?
Alvar. What if it were my brother coming onwards? I sent a most mysterious message to him.
Enter ORDONIO
Alvar. It is he!
Ordonio (to himself as he enters). If I distinguish'd right her gait and stature, 50 It was the Moorish woman, Isidore's wife, That passed me as I entered. A lit taper, In the night air, doth not more naturally Attract the night-flies round it, than a conjuror Draws round him the whole female neighbourhood. 55
[Addressing ALVAR.
You know my name, I guess, if not my person. I am Ordonio, son of the Lord Valdez.
Alvar. The Son of Valdez!
[ORDONIO walks leisurely round the room, and looks attentively at the plants.
Zulimez (to Alvar). Why, what ails you now? How your hand trembles! Alvar, speak! what wish you?
Alvar. To fall upon his neck and weep forgiveness! 60
Ordonio (returning, and aloud). Plucked in the moonlight from a ruined abbey— Those only, which the pale rays visited! O the unintelligible power of weeds, When a few odd prayers have been muttered o'er them: Then they work miracles! I warrant you, 65 There's not a leaf, but underneath it lurks Some serviceable imp. There's one of you Hath sent me a strange message.
Alvar. I am he.
Ordonio. With you, then, I am to speak:
[Haughtily waving his hand to ZULIMEZ.
And mark you, alone. [Exit ZULIMEZ. 70 'He that can bring the dead to life again!'— Such was your message, Sir! You are no dullard, But one that strips the outward rind of things!
Alvar. 'Tis fabled there are fruits with tempting rinds, That are all dust and rottenness within. 75 Would'st thou I should strip such?
Ordonio. Thou quibbling fool, What dost thou mean? Think'st thou I journeyed hither To sport with thee?
Alvar. O no, my lord! to sport Best suits the gaiety of innocence.
Ordonio (aside). O what a thing is man! the wisest heart 80 A fool! a fool that laughs at its own folly, Yet still a fool! [Looks round the cottage. You are poor!
Alvar. What follows thence?
Ordonio. That you would fain be richer. The inquisition, too—You comprehend me? You are poor, in peril. I have wealth and power, 85 Can quench the flames, and cure your poverty: And for the boon I ask of you but this, That you should serve me—once—for a few hours.
Alvar. Thou art the son of Valdez! would to Heaven That I could truly and for ever serve thee. 90
Ordonio. The slave begins to soften. [Aside. You are my friend, 'He that can bring the dead to life again,' Nay, no defence to me! The holy brethren Believe these calumnies—I know thee better. Thou art a man, and as a man I'll trust thee! 95
Alvar (aside). Alas! this hollow mirth—Declare your business.
Ordonio. I love a lady, and she would love me But for an idle and fantastic scruple. Have you no servants here, no listeners?
[ORDONIO steps to the door.
Alvar. What, faithless too? False to his angel wife? 100 To such a wife? Well might'st thou look so wan, Ill-starr'd Teresa!——Wretch! my softer soul Is pass'd away, and I will probe his conscience!
Ordonio. In truth this lady lov'd another man, But he has perish'd.
Alvar. What! you kill'd him? hey? 105
Ordonio. I'll dash thee to the earth, if thou but think'st it! Insolent slave! how dar'dst thou—
[Turns abruptly from ALVAR, and then to himself.
Why! what's this? 'Twas idiotcy! I'll tie myself to an aspen, And wear a fool's cap—
Alvar. Fare thee well—[845:1] I pity thee, Ordonio, even to anguish. [ALVAR is retiring.
Ordonio. Ho! [Calling to ALVAR. 110
Alvar. Be brief, what wish you?
Ordonio. You are deep at bartering—You charge yourself At a round sum. Come, come, I spake unwisely.
Alvar. I listen to you.
Ordonio. In a sudden tempest Did Alvar perish—he, I mean—the lover— 115 The fellow——
Alvar. Nay, speak out! 'twill ease your heart To call him villain!—Why stand'st thou aghast? Men think it natural to hate their rivals.
Ordonio. Now, till she knows him dead, she will not wed me.
Alvar. Are you not wedded, then? Merciful Heaven! 120 Not wedded to Teresa?
Ordonio. Why, what ails thee? What, art thou mad? why look'st thou upward so? Dost pray to Lucifer, Prince of the Air?
Alvar. Proceed. I shall be silent.
Ordonio. To Teresa? Politic wizard! ere you sent that message, 125 You had conn'd your lesson, made yourself proficient In all my fortunes. Hah! you prophesied A golden crop! Well, you have not mistaken— Be faithful to me and I'll pay thee nobly.
Alvar. Well! and this lady! 130
Ordonio. If we could make her certain of his death, She needs must wed me. Ere her lover left her, She tied a little portrait round his neck, Entreating him to wear it.
Alvar. Yes! he did so!
Ordonio. Why no: he was afraid of accidents, 135 Of robberies, and shipwrecks, and the like. In secrecy he gave it me to keep, Till his return.
Alvar. What! he was your friend then?
Ordonio. I was his friend.— Now that he gave it me, 140 This lady knows not. You are a mighty wizard— Can call the dead man up—he will not come.— He is in heaven then—there you have no influence. Still there are tokens—and your imps may bring you Something he wore about him when he died. 145 And when the smoke of the incense on the altar Is pass'd, your spirits will have left this picture. What say you now?
Alvar. Ordonio, I will do it.
Ordonio. We'll hazard no delay. Be it to-night, In the early evening. Ask for the Lord Valdez. 150 I will prepare him. Music too, and incense, (For I have arranged it—music, altar, incense) All shall be ready. Here is this same picture, And here, what you will value more, a purse. Come early for your magic ceremonies. 155
Alvar. I will not fail to meet you.
Ordonio. Till next we meet, farewell! [Exit ORDONIO.
Alvar (alone, indignantly flings the purse away and gazes passionately at the portrait). And I did curse thee! At midnight! on my knees! and I believed Thee perjur'd, thee a traitress! thee dishonour'd! O blind and credulous fool! O guilt of folly! 160 Should not thy inarticulate fondnesses, Thy infant loves—should not thy maiden vows Have come upon my heart? And this sweet Image Tied round my neck with many a chaste endearment, And thrilling hands, that made me weep and tremble— 165 Ah, coward dupe! to yield it to the miscreant, Who spake pollution of thee! barter for life This farewell pledge, which with impassioned vow I had sworn that I would grasp—ev'n in my Death-pang!
I am unworthy of thy love, Teresa, 170 Of that unearthly smile upon those lips, Which ever smiled on me! Yet do not scorn me— I lisp'd thy name, ere I had learnt my mother's.
Dear portrait! rescued from a traitor's keeping, I will not now profane thee, holy image, 175 To a dark trick. That worst bad man shall find A picture, which will wake the hell within him, And rouse a fiery whirlwind in his conscience.
FOOTNOTES:
[842:1] The following lines I have preserved in this place, not so much as explanatory of the picture of the assassination, as (if I may say so without disrespect to the Public) to gratify my own feelings, the passage being no mere fancy portrait; but a slight, yet not unfaithful, profile of one[842:A], who still lives, nobilitate felix, arte clarior, vit colendissimus.
Zulimez (speaking of Alvar in the third person). Such was the noble Spaniard's own relation. He told me, too, how in his early youth, And his first travels, 'twas his choice or chance To make long sojourn in sea-wedded Venice; There won the love of that divine old man, Courted by mightiest kings, the famous Titian! Who, like a second and more lovely Nature, By the sweet mystery of lines and colours Changed the blank canvas to a magic mirror, That made the absent present; and to shadows Gave light, depth, substance, bloom, yea, thought and motion. He loved the old man, and revered his art: And though of noblest birth and ample fortune, The young enthusiast thought it no scorn But this inalienable ornament, To be his pupil, and with filial zeal By practice to appropriate the sage lessons, Which the gay, smiling old man gladly gave. The art, he honoured thus, requited him: And in the following and calamitous years Beguiled the hours of his captivity.
Alhadra. And then he framed this picture? and unaided By arts unlawful, spell, or talisman!
Alvar. A potent spell, a mighty talisman! The imperishable memory of the deed, Sustained by love, and grief, and indignation! So vivid were the forms within his brain, His very eyes, when shut, made pictures of them!
[Note in Appendix to the second and later editions of Remorse.]
[842:A] Sir George Beaumont. [Written 1814.] Editions 1828, 1829.
[845:1] The line should run thus:
And wear a fool's cap.
Alvar. Fare thee well! (Oh! Brother!) (aside) Then aloud] I pity thee, Ordonio, even to anguish.
MS. H.
LINENOTES:
[9] Time] TIME Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[10] future] FUTURE Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[13] past] PAST Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[36] her] her Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[37] His] His Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[40] Zulimez (much affected). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[49] Alvar (starting). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[58] Alvar (with deep emotion). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[66] lurks] works Edition 1.
[68] Hath] Who Edition 1.
[89] Alvar (solemnly). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 94] [Then with great bitterness. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[109] Alvar (watching his agitation). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[After 110] [Alvar retires to the back of the stage. Edition 1.
[111] Ordonio (having recovered himself). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[119] Ordonio (hesitating). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[120] Alvar (with eager vehemence). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[121] Teresa] TERESA Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[124] Alvar (recollecting himself). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829. Teresa] Teresa Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[After 124] [ALVAR sits, and leaning on the table, hides his face. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[130] Alvar (lifting up his head). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[134] Alvar (sighing). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[140] Ordonio (wounded and embarrassed). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[147] will] can Edition 1.
[148] Alvar (after a pause). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[159] Thee perjur'd, thee a traitress Edition 1. Thee perjur'd, thee a traitress! Thee dishonoured Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[161] inarticulate] inarticulate Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[162] infant . . . maiden] Infant . . . Maiden Editions 2, 3, 1829.
[167-9] barter . . . Death-pang om. Edition 1.
[168] which with] with which Editions 2, 3.
[174] portrait] Image Edition 1.
[After 178] End of the Second Act. Editions 1, 2, 3.
ACT III
SCENE I
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.
Ordonio. This was too melancholy, Father.
Valdez. 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 the wood. To which spot he had followed a blind boy, 5 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, 10 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 grandam had late given him. Methinks I see him now as he then look'd— Even so!—He had outgrown his infant dress, 15 Yet still he wore it.
Alvar (aside). My tears must not flow! I must not clasp his knees, and cry, My father!
Enter TERESA and Attendants.
Teresa. Lord Valdez, you have asked my presence here, And I submit; but (Heaven bear witness for me) My heart approves it not! 'tis mockery. 20
Ordonio. Believe you then no preternatural influence: Believe you not that spirits throng around us?
Teresa. 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 25 To traffic with the black and frenzied hope That the dead hear the voice of witch or wizard. [To ALVAR. Stranger, I mourn and blush to see you here, On such employment! With far other thoughts I left you. 30
Ordonio (aside). Ha! he has been tampering with her?
Alvar. O high-soul'd Maiden! and more dear to me Than suits the stranger's name!— I swear to thee I will uncover all conceald guilt. Doubt, but decide not! Stand ye from the altar. 35
[Here a strain of music is heard from behind the scene.
Alvar. With no irreverent voice or uncouth charm I call up the departed! Soul of Alvar! Hear our soft suit, and heed my milder spell: So may the gates of Paradise, unbarr'd, Cease thy swift toils! Since haply thou art one 40 Of that innumerable company Who in broad circle, lovelier than the rainbow, Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion, With noise too vast and constant to be heard: Fitliest unheard! For oh, ye numberless, 45 And rapid travellers! what ear unstunn'd, What sense unmadden'd, might bear up against The rushing of your congregated wings? [Music. Even now your living wheel turns o'er my head! Ye, as ye pass, toss high the desart sands, 50 That roar and whiten, like a burst of waters, A sweet appearance, but a dread illusion To the parch'd caravan that roams by night! And ye upbuild on the becalmed waves That whirling pillar, which from earth to heaven 55 Stands vast, and moves in blackness! Ye too split The ice mount! and with fragments many and huge Tempest the new-thaw'd sea, whose sudden gulfs Suck in, perchance, some Lapland wizard's skiff! Then round and round the whirlpool's marge ye dance, 60 Till from the blue swoln corse the soul toils out, And joins your mighty army.
[Here behind the scenes a voice sings the three words, 'Hear, Sweet Spirit.'
Soul of Alvar! Hear the mild spell, and tempt no blacker charm! By sighs unquiet, and the sickly pang Of a half-dead, yet still undying hope, 65 Pass visible before our mortal sense! So shall the Church's cleansing rites be thine, Her knells and masses that redeem the dead!
SONG
Behind the Scenes, accompanied by the same Instrument as before.
Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell, Lest a blacker charm compel! 70 So shall the midnight breezes swell With thy deep long-lingering knell.
And at evening evermore, In a chapel on the shore, Shall the chaunter, sad and saintly, 75 Yellow tapers burning faintly, Doleful masses chaunt for thee, Miserere Domine!
Hark! the cadence dies away On the quiet moonlight sea: 80 The boatmen rest their oars and say, Miserere Domine! [A long pause.
Ordonio. The innocent obey nor charm nor spell! My brother is in heaven. Thou sainted spirit, Burst on our sight, a passing visitant! 85 Once more to hear thy voice, once more to see thee, O 'twere a joy to me!
Alvar. A joy to thee! What if thou heard'st him now? What if his spirit Re-enter'd its cold corse, and came upon thee With many a stab from many a murderer's poniard? 90 What if (his stedfast eye still beaming pity And brother's love) he turn'd his head aside, Lest he should look at thee, and with one look Hurl thee beyond all power of penitence?
Valdez. These are unholy fancies!
Ordonio. Yes, my father, 95 He is in Heaven!
Alvar (still to Ordonio). But what if he had a brother, Who had lived even so, that at his dying hour, The name of Heaven would have convulsed his face, More than the death-pang?
Valdez. Idly prating man! Thou hast guess'd ill: Don Alvar's only brother 100 Stands here before thee—a father's blessing on him! He is most virtuous.
Alvar (still to Ordonio). What, if his very virtues Had pampered his swoln heart and made him proud? And what if pride had duped him into guilt? Yet still he stalked a self-created god, 105 Not very bold, but exquisitely cunning; And one that at his mother's looking-glass Would force his features to a frowning sternness? Young Lord! I tell thee, that there are such beings— Yea, and it gives fierce merriment to the damn'd, 110 To see these most proud men, that loath mankind, At every stir and buzz of coward conscience, Trick, cant, and lie, most whining hypocrites! Away, away! Now let me hear more music. [Music again.
Teresa. 'Tis strange, I tremble at my own conjectures! 115 But whatsoe'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 120 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.
Alvar (to Teresa). O full of faith and guileless love, thy Spirit 125 Still prompts thee wisely. Let the pangs of guilt Surprise the guilty: thou art innocent!
[Exeunt TERESA and Attendant. Music as before.
The spell is mutter'd—Come, thou wandering shape, Who own'st no master in a human eye, Whate'er be this man's doom, fair be it, or foul, 130 If he be dead, O come! and bring with thee That which he grasp'd in death! But if he live, Some token of his obscure perilous life.
[The whole Music dashes into a Chorus.
CHORUS
Wandering demons, hear the spell! Lest a blacker charm compel— 135
[The incense on the altar takes fire suddenly, and an illuminated picture of ALVAR'S assassination is discovered, and having remained a few seconds is then hidden by ascending flames.
Ordonio (starting). Duped! duped! duped!—the traitor Isidore!
[At this instant the doors are forced open, MONVIEDRO and the Familiars of the Inquisition, Servants, &c., enter and fill the stage.
Monviedro. First seize the sorcerer! suffer him not to speak! The holy judges of the Inquisition Shall hear his first words.—Look you pale, Lord Valdez? Plain evidence have we here of most foul sorcery. 140 There is a dungeon underneath this castle, And as you hope for mild interpretation, Surrender instantly the keys and charge of it.
Ordonio (recovering himself as from stupor, to Servants). Why haste you not? Off with him to the dungeon!
[All rush out in tumult.
LINENOTES:
[16] Alvar (aside). Stage-direction om. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[33] stranger's] Stranger's Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[35] Doubt, but decide not! Stand from off the altar. Edition 1.
[After 49] [Music expressive of the movements and images that follow. Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[54] upbuild] build up Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[62] Stage-direction [Here behind, &c. om. Edition 1.
[75] chaunter] Chaunters Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[80] quiet] yellow Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[95] Ordonio (struggling with his feelings). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[122] bend] kneel Edition 1.
[125] Alvar (to Teresa anxiously). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[129] a human eye] an eye of flesh Edition 1.
[134] demons] demon Edition 1.
[136] Ordonio (starting in great agitation). Editions 1, 2, 3, 1829.
[141] this] the Edition 1.
SCENE II
Interior of a Chapel, with painted Windows.
Enter TERESA.
Teresa. When first I entered this pure spot, forebodings Press'd heavy on my heart: but as I knelt, Such calm unwonted bliss possess'd my spirit, A trance so cloudless, that those sounds, hard by, Of trampling uproar fell upon mine ear 5 As alien and unnoticed as the rain-storm Beats on the roof of some fair banquet-room, While sweetest melodies are warbling——
Enter VALDEZ.
Valdez. Ye pitying saints, forgive a father's blindness, And extricate us from this net of peril! 10
Teresa. Who wakes anew my fears, and speaks of peril?
Valdez. O best Teresa, wisely wert thou prompted! This was no feat of mortal agency! That picture—Oh, that picture tells me all! With a flash of light it came, in flames it vanished, 15 Self-kindled, self-consum'd: bright as thy life, Sudden and unexpected as thy fate, Alvar! My son! My son!—The Inquisitor—
Teresa. Torture me not! But Alvar—Oh of Alvar?
Valdez. How often would he plead for these Morescoes! 20 The brood accurst! remorseless, coward murderers!
Teresa. So? so?—I comprehend you—He is——
Valdez. He is no more!
Teresa. O sorrow! that a father's voice should say this, A Father's Heart believe it!
Valdez. A worse sorrow Are fancy's wild hopes to a heart despairing! 25
Teresa. These rays that slant in through those gorgeous windows, From yon bright orb—though coloured as they pass, Are they not light?—Even so that voice, Lord Valdez! Which whispers to my soul, though haply varied By many a fancy, many a wishful hope, 30 Speaks yet the truth: and Alvar lives for me!
Valdez. Yes, for three wasting years, thus and no other, He has lived for thee—a spirit for thy spirit! My child, we must not give religious faith To every voice which makes the heart a listener 35 To its own wish.
Teresa. I breath'd to the Unerring Permitted prayers. Must those remain unanswer'd, Yet impious sorcery, that holds no commune Save with the lying spirit, claim belief?
Valdez. O not to-day, not now for the first time 40 Was Alvar lost to thee— Accurst assassins! Disarmed, o'erpowered, despairing of defence, At his bared breast he seem'd to grasp some relique More dear than was his life——
Teresa. O Heavens! my portrait! And he did grasp it in his death pang! Off, false demon, 45 That beat'st thy black wings close above my head![853:1]
[ORDONIO enters with the keys of the dungeon in his hand.
Hush! who comes here? The wizard Moor's employer! Moors were his murderers, you say? Saints shield us From wicked thoughts——
[VALDEZ moves towards the back of the stage to meet ORDONIO, and during the concluding lines of TERESA'S speech appears as eagerly conversing with him.
Is Alvar dead? what then? The nuptial rites and funeral shall be one! 50 Here's no abiding-place for thee, Teresa.— Away! they see me not—Thou seest me, Alvar! To thee I bend my course.—But first one question, One question to Ordonio.—My limbs tremble— There I may sit unmark'd—a moment will restore me. 55
[Retires out of sight.
Ordonio (as he advances with Valdez). These are the dungeon keys. Monviedro knew not, That I too had received the wizard's message, 'He that can bring the dead to life again.' But now he is satisfied, I plann'd this scheme To work a full conviction on the culprit, 60 And he entrusts him wholly to my keeping.
Valdez. 'Tis well, my son! But have you yet discovered (Where is Teresa?) what those speeches meant— Pride, and hypocrisy, and guilt, and cunning? Then when the wizard fix'd his eye on you, 65 And you, I know not why, look'd pale and trembled— Why—why, what ails you now?—
Ordonio. Me? what ails me? A pricking of the blood—It might have happen'd At any other time.—Why scan you me?
Valdez. His speech about the corse, and stabs and murderers, 70 Bore reference to the assassins——
Ordonio. Dup'd! dup'd! dup'd! The traitor, Isidore! [A pause, then wildly. I tell thee, my dear father! I am most glad of this.
Valdez. True—sorcery Merits its doom; and this perchance may guide us To the discovery of the murderers. 75 I have their statures and their several faces So present to me, that but once to meet them Would be to recognize.
Ordonio. Yes! yes! we recognize them. I was benumb'd, and staggered up and down Through darkness without light—dark—dark—dark! 80 My flesh crept chill, my limbs felt manacled As had a snake coil'd round them!—Now 'tis sunshine, And the blood dances freely through its channels! |
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