say 65
That 'tis thy purpose to depart from hence
To-morrow early, but to leave us here.
_Wallenstein._ Yes, ye stay here, placed under the protection
Of gallant men.
_Countess._ O take us with you, brother.
Leave us not in this gloomy solitude 70
To brood o'er anxious thoughts. The mists of doubt
Magnify evils to a shape of horror.
_Wallenstein._ Who speaks of evil? I entreat you, sister,
Use words of better omen.
_Countess._ Then take us with you.
O leave us not behind you in a place 75
That forces us to such sad omens. Heavy
And sick within me is my heart----
These walls breathe on me, like a church-yard vault.
I cannot tell you, brother, how this place
Doth go against my nature. Take us with you. 80
Come, sister, join you your entreaty!--Niece,
Yours too. We all entreat you, take us with you!
_Wallenstein._ The place's evil omens will I change,
Making it that which shields and shelters for me
My best beloved.
_Lady Neubrunn (returning)._ The Swedish officer. 85
_Wallenstein._ Leave her alone with him. [_Exit._
_Duchess (to Thekla who starts and shivers)._ There--pale as
death!--Child, 'tis impossible
That thou should'st speak with him. Follow thy mother.
_Thekla._ The Lady Neubrunn then may stay with me.
[_Exeunt DUCHESS and COUNTESS._
LINENOTES:
SCENE--_A Gothic and gloomy, &c._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[66] _thy_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE IV
_THEKLA, the_ Swedish Captain, _LADY NEUBRUNN._
_Captain._ Princess--I must entreat your gentle pardon--
My inconsiderate rash speech--How could I--
_Thekla._ You did behold me in my agony.
A most distressful accident occasioned
You from a stranger to become at once 5
My confidant.
_Captain._ I fear you hate my presence,
For my tongue spake a melancholy word.
_Thekla._ The fault is mine. Myself did wrest it from you.
The horror which came o'er me interrupted
Your tale at its commencement. May it please you, 10
Continue it to the end.
_Captain._ Princess, 'twill
Renew your anguish.
_Thekla._ I am firm.----
I will be firm. Well--how began the engagement?
_Captain._ We lay, expecting no attack, at Neustadt,
Entrenched but insecurely in our camp, 15
When towards evening rose a cloud of dust
From the wood thitherward; our vanguard fled
Into the camp, and sounded the alarm.
Scarce had we mounted, ere the Pappenheimers,
Their horses at full speed, broke through the lines, 20
And leapt the trenches; but their heedless courage
Had borne them onward far before the others--
The infantry were still at distance, only
The Pappenheimers followed daringly
Their daring leader----
[_THEKLA betrays agitation in her gestures. The officer
pauses till she makes a sign to him to proceed._
_Captain._ Both in van and flanks 25
With our whole cavalry we now received them;
Back to the trenches drove them, where the foot
Stretched out a solid ridge of pikes to meet them.
They neither could advance, nor yet retreat;
And as they stood on every side wedged in, 30
The Rhinegrave to their leader called aloud,
Inviting a surrender; but their leader,
Young Piccolomini---- [_THEKLA, as giddy, grasps a chair._
Known by his plume,
And his long hair, gave signal for the trenches;
Himself leapt first, the regiment all plunged after. 35
His charger, by a halbert gored, reared up,
Flung him with violence off, and over him
The horses, now no longer to be curbed,----
[_THEKLA, who has accompanied the last speech with all
the marks of increasing agony, trembles through
her whole frame, and is falling. The LADY
NEUBRUNN runs to her, and receives her in her
arms._
_Neubrunn._ My dearest lady----
_Captain._ I retire.
_Thekla._ 'Tis over.
Proceed to the conclusion.
_Captain._ Wild despair 40
Inspired the troops with frenzy when they saw
Their leader perish; every thought of rescue
Was spurn'd; they fought like wounded tigers; their
Frantic resistance rous'd our soldiery;
A murderous fight took place, nor was the contest 45
Finish'd before their last man fell.
_Thekla._ And where----
Where is--You have not told me all.
_Captain (after a pause)._ This morning
We buried him. Twelve youths of noblest birth
Did bear him to interment; the whole army
Followed the bier. A laurel decked his coffin; 50
The sword of the deceased was placed upon it,
In mark of honour, by the Rhinegrave's self.
Nor tears were wanting; for there are among us
Many, who had themselves experienced
The greatness of his mind, and gentle manners; 55
All were affected at his fate. The Rhinegrave
Would willingly have saved him; but himself
Made vain the attempt--'tis said he wished to die.
_Neubrunn (to Thekla who has hidden her countenance)._ Look up, my
dearest lady----
_Thekla._ Where is his grave?
_Captain._ At Neustadt, lady; in a cloister church 60
Are his remains deposited, until
We can receive directions from his father.
_Thekla._ What is the cloister's name?
_Captain._ Saint Catharine's.
_Thekla._ And how far is it thither?
_Captain._ Near twelve leagues.
_Thekla._ And which the way?
_Captain._ You go by Tirschenreit 65
And Falkenberg, through our advanced posts.
_Thekla._ Who
Is their commander?
_Captain._ Colonel Seckendorf.
[_THEKLA steps to the table, and takes a ring from a
casket._
_Thekla._ You have beheld me in my agony,
And shewn a feeling heart. Please you, accept
[_Giving him the ring._
A small memorial of this hour. Now go! 70
_Captain._ Princess----
[_THEKLA silently makes signs to him to go, and turns
from him. The Captain lingers, and is about to
speak. LADY NEUBRUNN repeats the signal, and he
retires._
LINENOTES:
[Before 1] _Captain (respectfully approaching her)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 3] _Thekla (with dignity)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[3] did behold] have beheld 1800, 1828, 1829.
[13] _will_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[46] _Thekla (faltering)._ And where-- 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 71] _Captain (confused)._ 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE V
_THEKLA, LADY NEUBRUNN._
_Thekla (falls on Lady Neubrunn's neck)._ Now, gentle Neubrunn, shew
me the affection
Which thou hast ever promised--prove thyself
My own true friend and faithful fellow-pilgrim.
This night we must away!
_Neubrunn._ Away! and whither?
_Thekla._ Whither! There is but one place in the world. 5
Thither where he lies buried! To his coffin!
_Neubrunn._ What would you do there?
_Thekla._ What do there?
That would'st thou not have asked, hadst thou e'er loved.
There, there is all that still remains of him.
That single spot is the whole earth to me. 10
_Neubrunn._ That place of death----
_Thekla._ Is now the only place,
Where life yet dwells for me: detain me not!
Come and make preparations: let us think
Of means to fly from hence.
_Neubrunn._ Your father's rage----
_Thekla._ That time is past---- 15
And now I fear no human being's rage.
_Neubrunn._ The sentence of the world! The tongue of calumny!
_Thekla._ Whom am I seeking? Him who is no more.
Am I then hastening to the arms----O God!
I haste but to the grave of the beloved. 20
_Neubrunn._ And we alone, two helpless feeble women?
_Thekla._ We will take weapons: my arms shall protect thee.
_Neubrunn._ In the dark night-time?
_Thekla._ Darkness will conceal us.
_Neubrunn._ This rough tempestuous night----
_Thekla._ Had he a soft bed
Under the hoofs of his war-horses?
_Neubrunn._ Heaven! 25
And then the many posts of the enemy!--
_Thekla._ They are human beings. Misery travels free
Through the whole earth.
_Neubrunn._ The journey's weary length--
_Thekla._ The pilgrim, travelling to a distant shrine
Of hope and healing, doth not count the leagues. 30
_Neubrunn._ How can we pass the gates?
_Thekla._ Gold opens them.
Go, do but go.
_Neubrunn._ Should we be recognized--
_Thekla._ In a despairing woman, a poor fugitive,
Will no one seek the daughter of Duke Friedland.
_Neubrunn._ And where procure we horses for our flight? 35
_Thekla._ My equerry procures them. Go and fetch him.
_Neubrunn._ Dares he, without the knowledge of his lord?
_Thekla._ He will. Go, only go. Delay no longer.
_Neubrunn._ Dear lady! and your mother?
_Thekla._ Oh! my mother!
_Neubrunn._ So much as she has suffered too already; 40
Your tender mother--Ah! how ill prepared
For this last anguish!
_Thekla._ Woe is me! my mother! [_Pauses._
Go instantly.
_Neubrunn._ But think what you are doing!
_Thekla._ What can be thought, already has been thought.
_Neubrunn._ And being there, what purpose you to do? 45
_Thekla._ There a divinity will prompt my soul.
_Neubrunn._ Your heart, dear lady, is disquieted!
And this is not the way that leads to quiet.
_Thekla._ To a deep quiet, such as he has found.
It draws me on, I know not what to name it, 50
Resistless does it draw me to his grave.
There will my heart be eased, my tears will flow.
O hasten, make no further questioning!
There is no rest for me till I have left
These walls--they fall in on me--A dim power 55
Drives me from hence--Oh mercy! What a feeling!
What pale and hollow forms are those! They fill,
They crowd the place! I have no longer room here!
Mercy! Still more! More still! The hideous swarm!
They press on me; they chase me from these walls-- 60
Those hollow, bodiless forms of living men!
_Neubrunn._ You frighten me so, lady, that no longer
I dare stay here myself. I go and call
Rosenberg instantly. [_Exit LADY NEUBRUNN._
LINENOTES:
[22] arms] arm 1800, 1828, 1829.
[44] _can_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE VI
_Thekla._ His spirit 'tis that calls me: 'tis the troop
Of his true followers, who offered up
Themselves to avenge his death: and they accuse me
Of an ignoble loitering--they would not
Forsake their leader even in his death--they died for him! 5
And shall I live?----
For me too was that laurel-garland twined
That decks his bier. Life is an empty casket:
I throw it from me. O! my only hope;--
To die beneath the hoofs of trampling steeds-- 10
That is the lot of heroes upon earth! [_Exit THEKLA._[793:1]
(_The curtain drops._)
FOOTNOTES:
[793:1] The soliloquy of Thekla consists in the original of
six-and-twenty lines, twenty of which are in rhymes of irregular
recurrence. I thought it prudent to abridge it. Indeed the whole scene
between Thekla and Lady Neubrunn might, perhaps, have been omitted
without injury to the play. _1800_, _1828_, _1829_.
LINENOTES:
[4] _they_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[5] _they_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[6] _I_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
ACT V
SCENE I
SCENE--_A Saloon, terminated by a gallery which extends far into the
back-ground. WALLENSTEIN sitting at a table. The_ Swedish Captain
_standing before him._
_Wallenstein._ Commend me to your lord. I sympathize
In his good fortune; and if you have seen me
Deficient in the expressions of that joy
Which such a victory might well demand,
Attribute it to no lack of good will, 5
For henceforth are our fortunes one. Farewell,
And for your trouble take my thanks. To-morrow
The citadel shall be surrendered to you
On your arrival.
[_The_ Swedish Captain _retires. WALLENSTEIN sits lost
in thought, his eyes fixed vacantly, and his head
sustained by his hand. The COUNTESS TERTSKY
enters, stands before him awhile, unobserved by
him; at length he starts, sees her, and
recollects himself._
_Wallenstein._ Com'st thou from her? Is she restored? How is she? 10
_Countess._ My sister tells me, she was more collected
After her conversation with the Swede.
She has now retired to rest.
_Wallenstein._ The pang will soften,
She will shed tears.
_Countess._ I find thee altered too,
My brother! After such a victory 15
I had expected to have found in thee
A cheerful spirit. O remain thou firm!
Sustain, uphold us! For our light thou art,
Our sun.
_Wallenstein._ Be quiet. I ail nothing. Where's
Thy husband?
_Countess._ At a banquet--he and Illo. 20
_Wallenstein (rises)._ The night's far spent. Betake thee to thy
chamber.
_Countess._ Bid me not go, O let me stay with thee!
_Wallenstein (moves to the window)._ There is a busy motion in the
Heaven,
The wind doth chase the flag upon the tower,
Fast sweep the clouds, the sickle[794:1] of the moon, 25
Struggling, darts snatches of uncertain light.
No form of star is visible! That one
White stain of light, that single glimmering yonder,
Is from Cassiopeia, and therein
Is Jupiter. (_A pause._) But now 30
The blackness of the troubled element hides him!
[_He sinks into profound melancholy, and looks vacantly
into the distance._
_Countess (looks on him mournfully, then grasps his hand)._ What
art thou brooding on?
_Wallenstein._ Methinks,
If I but saw him, 'twould be well with me.
He, is the star of my nativity,
And often marvellously hath his aspect 35
Shot strength into my heart.
_Countess._ Thou'lt see him again.
_Wallenstein._ See him again? O never, never again.
_Countess._ How?
_Wallenstein._ He is gone--is dust.
_Countess._ Whom meanest thou then?
_Wallenstein._ He, the more fortunate! yea, he hath finished!
For him there is no longer any future, 40
His life is bright--bright without spot it was,
And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour
Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap.
Far off is he, above desire and fear;
No more submitted to the change and chance 45
Of the unsteady planets. O 'tis well
With him! but who knows what the coming hour
Veil'd in thick darkness brings for us!
_Countess._ Thou speakest
Of Piccolomini. What was his death?
The courier had just left thee as I came. 50
[_WALLENSTEIN by a motion of his hand makes signs to her
to be silent._
Turn not thine eyes upon the backward view,
Let us look forward into sunny days,
Welcome with joyous heart the victory,
Forget what it has cost thee. Not to-day,
For the first time, thy friend was to thee dead; 55
To thee he died, when first he parted from thee.
_Wallenstein._ I shall grieve down this blow, of that I'm conscious.
What does not man grieve down? From the highest,
As from the vilest thing of every day
He learns to wean himself: for the strong hours 60
Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost
In him. The bloom is vanished from my life.
For O! he stood beside me, like my youth,
Transformed for me the real to a dream,
Clothing the palpable and familiar 65
With golden exhalations of the dawn.
Whatever fortunes wait my future toils,
The beautiful is vanished--and returns not.
_Countess._ O be not treacherous to thy own power.
Thy heart is rich enough to vivify 70
Itself. Thou lov'st and prizest virtues in him,
The which thyself did'st plant, thyself unfold.
_Wallenstein (stepping to the door)._ Who interrupts us now at this
late hour?
It is the Governor. He brings the keys
Of the Citadel. 'Tis midnight. Leave me, sister! 75
_Countess._ O 'tis so hard to me this night to leave thee--
A boding fear possesses me!
_Wallenstein._ Fear? Wherefore?
_Countess._ Should'st thou depart this night, and we at waking
Never more find thee!
_Wallenstein._ Fancies!
_Countess._ O my soul
Has long been weighed down by these dark forebodings. 80
And if I combat and repel them waking,
They still rush down upon my heart in dreams,
I saw thee yesternight with thy first wife
Sit at a banquet gorgeously attired.
_Wallenstein._ This was a dream of favourable omen, 85
That marriage being the founder of my fortunes.
_Countess._ To-day I dreamt that I was seeking thee
In thy own chamber. As I entered, lo!
It was no more a chamber; the Chartreuse
At Gitschin 'twas, which thou thyself hast founded, 90
And where it is thy will that thou should'st be
Interred.
_Wallenstein._ Thy soul is busy with these thoughts.
_Countess._ What dost thou not believe that oft in dreams
A voice of warning speaks prophetic to us?
_Wallenstein._ There is no doubt that there exist such voices. 95
Yet I would not call them
Voices of warning that announce to us
Only the inevitable. As the sun,
Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its image
In the atmosphere, so often do the spirits 100
Of great events stride on before the events,
And in to-day already walks to-morrow.
That which we read of the fourth Henry's death
Did ever vex and haunt me like a tale
Of my own future destiny. The King 105
Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife,
Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith.
His quiet mind forsook him: the phantasma
Started him in his Louvre, chased him forth
Into the open air: like funeral knells 110
Sounded that coronation festival;
And still with boding sense he heard the tread
Of those feet that ev'n then were seeking him
Throughout the streets of Paris.
_Countess._ And to thee
The voice within thy soul bodes nothing?
_Wallenstein._ Nothing. 115
Be wholly tranquil.
_Countess._ And another time
I hastened after thee, and thou ran'st from me
Through a long suite, through many a spacious hall,
There seemed no end of it: doors creaked and clapped;
I followed panting, but could not o'ertake thee; 120
When on a sudden did I feel myself
Grasped from behind--the hand was cold that grasped me--
'Twas thou, and thou did'st kiss me, and there seemed
A crimson covering to envelop us.
_Wallenstein._ That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber. 125
_Countess (gazing on him)._ If it should come to that--if I should
see thee,
Who standest now before me in the fulness
Of life-- [_She falls on his breast and weeps._
_Wallenstein._ The Emperor's proclamation weighs upon thee--
Alphabets wound not--and he finds no hands. 130
_Countess._ If he should find them, my resolve is taken--
I bear about me my support and refuge. [_Exit COUNTESS._
FOOTNOTES:
[794:1] These four lines are expressed in the original with exquisite
felicity.
'Am Himmel ist geschäftige Bewegung,
Des Thurmes Fahne jagt der Wind, schnell geht
Der Wolken Zug, _die Mondessichel wankt_,
Und durch die Nacht zeucht ungewisse Helle.'
The word 'moon-sickle' reminds me of a passage in Harris, as quoted by
Johnson, under the word 'falcated'. 'The enlightened part of the moon
appears in the form of a sickle or reaping-hook, which is while she is
moving from the conjunction to the opposition, or from the new moon to
the full: but from full to a new again, the enlightened part appears
gibbous, and the dark _falcated_.'
The words 'wanken' and 'schweben' are not easily translated. The English
words, by which we attempt to render them, are either vulgar or
pedantic, or not of sufficiently general application. So 'der Wolken
Zug'--The Draft, the Procession of Clouds.--The Masses of the Clouds
sweep onward in swift _stream_.
LINENOTES:
[17] _thou_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[Before 21] _Wallenstein (rises and strides across the saloon)._ 1800,
1828, 1829.
[25] sweep] fly _1800_: sail MS. R.
[Before 37] _Wallenstein (remains for a while with absent mind, then
assumes a livelier manner, and turns suddenly to the Countess)._ 1800,
1828, 1829.
[41] _was_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[47] _him_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[57, 58]
This anguish will be wearied down, I know;
What pang is permanent with man?
A very inadequate translation of the original.
'Verschmerzen werd' ich diesen Schlag, das weiss ich,
Denn was verschmerzte nicht der Mensch!'
_Literally_--
I shall _grieve down_ this blow, of that I'm conscious:
What does not man grieve down?
1800, 1828, 1829.
NOTE. In 1834 the _literal_ translation of ll. 57, 58 was substituted
for the text of the variant and the footnote was omitted.
[65] Clothing the palpable and the familiar 1800, 1828, 1829.
[68] _beautiful_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[96] _them_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[114] _thee_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[131] _should_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE II
_WALLENSTEIN, GORDON._
_Wallenstein._ All quiet in the town?
_Gordon._ The town is quiet.
_Wallenstein._ I hear a boisterous music! and the Castle
Is lighted up. Who are the revellers?
_Gordon._ There is a banquet given at the Castle
To the Count Tertsky, and Field Marshal Illo. 5
_Wallenstein._ In honour of the victory.--This tribe
Can shew their joy in nothing else but feasting.
[_Rings. The_ Groom of the Chamber _enters._
Unrobe me. I will lay me down to sleep.
[_WALLENSTEIN takes the keys from GORDON._
So we are guarded from all enemies,
And shut in with sure friends. 10
For all must cheat me, or a face like this
[_Fixing his eye on GORDON._
Was ne'er a hypocrite's mask.
[_The_ Groom of the Chamber _takes off his mantle, collar
and scarf._
_Wallenstein._ Take care--what is that?
_Groom of the Chamber._ The golden chain is snapped in two.
_Wallenstein._ Well, it has lasted long enough. Here--give it.
[_He takes and looks at the chain._
'Twas the first present of the Emperor. 15
He hung it round me in the war of Friule,
He being then Archduke; and I have worn it
Till now from habit----
From superstition if you will. Belike,
It was to be a talisman to me, 20
And while I wore it on my neck in faith,
It was to chain to me all my life long
The volatile fortune whose first pledge it was.
Well, be it so! Henceforward a new fortune
Must spring up for me; for the potency 25
Of this charm is dissolved.
[Groom of the Chamber _retires with the vestments.
WALLENSTEIN rises, takes a stride across the
room, and stands at last before GORDON in a
posture of meditation._
How the old time returns upon me! I
Behold myself once more at Burgau, where
We two were pages of the Court together.
We oftentimes disputed: thy intention 30
Was ever good; but thou wert wont to play
The moralist and preacher, and would'st rail at me
That I strove after things too high for me,
Giving my faith to bold unlawful dreams,
And still extol to me the golden mean. 35
--Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend
To thy own self. See, it has made thee early
A superannuated man, and (but
That my munificent stars will intervene)
Would let thee in some miserable corner 40
Go out like an untended lamp.
_Gordon._ My Prince!
With light heart the poor fisher moors his boat,
And watches from the shore the lofty ship
Stranded amid the storm.
_Wallenstein._ Art thou already
In harbour then, old man? Well! I am not. 45
The unconquered spirit drives me o'er life's billows;
My planks still firm, my canvas swelling proudly.
Hope is my goddess still, and youth my inmate;
And while we stand thus front to front almost,
I might presume to say, that the swift years 50
Have passed by powerless o'er my unblanched hair.
[_He moves with long strides across the saloon, and
remains on the opposite side over against
GORDON._
Who now persists in calling Fortune false?
To me she has proved faithful, with fond love
Took me from out the common ranks of men,
And like a mother goddess, with strong arm 55
Carried me swiftly up the steps of life.
Nothing is common in my destiny,
Nor in the furrows of my hand. Who dares
Interpret then my life for me as 'twere
One of the undistinguishable many? 60
True in this present moment I appear
Fallen low indeed; but I shall rise again.
The high flood will soon follow on this ebb;
The fountain of my fortune, which now stops
Repressed and bound by some malicious star, 65
Will soon in joy play forth from all its pipes.
_Gordon._ And yet remember I the good old proverb,
'Let the night come before we praise the day.'
I would be slow from long-continued fortune
To gather hope: for hope is the companion 70
Given to the unfortunate by pitying Heaven.
Fear hovers round the head of prosperous men,
For still unsteady are the scales of fate.
_Wallenstein (smiling)._ I hear the very Gordon that of old
Was wont to preach to me, now once more preaching; 75
I know well, that all sublunary things
Are still the vassals of vicissitude.
The unpropitious gods demand their tribute.
This long ago the ancient Pagans knew:
And therefore of their own accord they offered 80
To themselves injuries, so to atone
The jealousy of their divinities:
And human sacrifices bled to Typhon.
[_After a pause, serious, and in a more subdued manner._
I too have sacrific'd to him--For me
There fell the dearest friend, and through my fault 85
He fell! No joy from favourable fortune
Can overweigh the anguish of this stroke.
The envy of my destiny is glutted:
Life pays for life. On his pure head the lightning
Was drawn off which would else have shattered me. 90
SCENE III
_To these enter SENI._
_Wallenstein._ Is not that Seni? and beside himself,
If one may trust his looks! What brings thee hither
At this late hour, Baptista?
_Seni._ Terror, Duke!
On thy account.
_Wallenstein._ What now?
_Seni._ Flee ere the day-break!
Trust not thy person to the Swedes!
_Wallenstein._ What now 5
Is in thy thoughts?
_Seni (with louder voice)._ Trust not thy person to these Swedes.
_Wallenstein._ What is it then?
_Seni (still more urgently)._ O wait not the arrival of these
Swedes!
An evil near at hand is threatening thee
From false friends. All the signs stand full of horror! 10
Near, near at hand the net-work of perdition--
Yea, even now 'tis being cast around thee!
_Wallenstein._ Baptista, thou art dreaming!--Fear befools thee.
_Seni._ Believe not that an empty fear deludes me.
Come, read it in the planetary aspects; 15
Read it thyself, that ruin threatens thee
From false friends!
_Wallenstein._ From the falseness of my friends
Has risen the whole of my unprosperous fortunes.
The warning should have come before! At present
I need no revelation from the stars 20
To know that.
_Seni._ Come and see! trust thine own eyes!
A fearful sign stands in the house of life;
An enemy, a fiend lurks close behind
The radiance of thy planet--O be warned!
Deliver not thyself up to these heathens 25
To wage a war against our holy church.
_Wallenstein (laughing gently)._ The oracle rails that way! Yes,
yes! Now
I recollect. This junction with the Swedes
Did never please thee--lay thyself to sleep,
Baptista! Signs like these I do not fear. 30
_Gordon (who during the whole of this dialogue has shewn marks of
extreme agitation, and now turns to Wallenstein)._ My Duke and
General! May I dare presume?
_Wallenstein._ Speak freely.
_Gordon._ What if 'twere no mere creation
Of fear, if God's high providence vouchsaf'd
To interpose its aid for your deliverance,
And made that mouth its organ.
_Wallenstein_. Ye're both feverish! 35
How can mishap come to me from the Swedes?
They sought this junction with me--'tis their interest.
_Gordon (with difficulty suppressing his emotion)._ But what if the
arrival of these Swedes--
What if this were the very thing that winged
The ruin that is flying to your temples? 40
[_Flings himself at his feet._
There is yet time, my Prince.
_Seni._ O hear him! hear him!
_Gordon (rises)._ The Rhinegrave's still far off. Give but the
orders,
This citadel shall close its gates upon him.
If then he will besiege us, let him try it.
But this I say; he'll find his own destruction 45
With his whole force before these ramparts, sooner
Than weary down the valour of our spirit.
He shall experience what a band of heroes,
Inspirited by an heroic leader,
Is able to perform. And if indeed 50
It be thy serious wish to make amends
For that which thou hast done amiss,--this, this
Will touch and reconcile the Emperor,
Who gladly turns his heart to thoughts of mercy,
And Friedland, who returns repentant to him, 55
Will stand yet higher in his Emperor's favour,
Than e'er he stood when he had never fallen.
_Wallenstein (contemplates him with surprise, remains silent
awhile, betraying strong emotion)._ Gordon--your zeal and
fervour lead you far.
Well, well--an old friend has a privilege.
Blood, Gordon, has been flowing. Never, never 60
Can the Emperor pardon me: and if he could,
Yet I--I ne'er could let myself be pardoned.
Had I foreknown what now has taken place,
That he, my dearest friend, would fall for me,
My first death-offering: and had the heart 65
Spoken to me, as now it has done--Gordon,
It may be, I might have bethought myself.
It may be too, I might not. Might or might not,
Is now an idle question. All too seriously
Has it begun to end in nothing, Gordon! 70
Let it then have its course. [_Stepping to the window._
All dark and silent--at the castle too
All is now hushed--Light me, Chamberlain!
[_The_ Groom of the Chamber, _who had entered during the
last dialogue, and had been standing at a distance
and listening to it with visible expressions of the
deepest interest, advances in extreme agitation,
and throws himself at the DUKE'S feet._
And thou too! But I know why thou dost wish
My reconcilement with the Emperor. 75
Poor man! he hath a small estate in Cärnthen,
And fears it will be forfeited because
He's in my service. Am I then so poor,
That I no longer can indemnify
My servants? Well! To no one I employ 80
Means of compulsion. If 'tis thy belief
That fortune has fled from me, go! Forsake me.
This night for the last time mayst thou unrobe me,
And then go over to thy Emperor.
Gordon, good night! I think to make a long 85
Sleep of it: for the struggle and the turmoil
Of this last day or two were great. May't please you!
Take care that they awake me not too early.
[_Exit WALLENSTEIN, the_ Groom of the Chamber _lighting
him. SENI follows. GORDON remains on the darkened
stage, following the DUKE with his eye, till he
disappears at the farther end of the gallery: then
by his gestures the old man expresses the depth of
his anguish, and stands leaning against a pillar._
LINENOTES:
[51] amends] amend 1800, 1828, 1829.
[87] were] was 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE IV
_GORDON, BUTLER (at first behind the scenes)._
_Butler (not yet come into view of the stage)._ Here stand in silence
till I give the signal.
_Gordon (starts up)._ 'Tis he, he has already brought the murderers.
_Butler._ The lights are out. All lies in profound sleep.
_Gordon._ What shall I do, shall I attempt to save him?
Shall I call up the house? Alarm the guards? 5
_Butler (appears, but scarcely on the stage)._ A light gleams hither
from the corridor.
It leads directly to the Duke's bedchamber.
_Gordon._ But then I break my oath to the Emperor;
If he escape and strengthen the enemy,
Do I not hereby call down on my head 10
All the dread consequences?
_Butler (stepping forward)._ Hark! Who speaks there?
_Gordon._ 'Tis better, I resign it to the hands
Of providence. For what am I, that I
Should take upon myself so great a deed?
I have not murdered him, if he be murdered: 15
But all his rescue were my act and deed;
Mine--and whatever be the consequences,
I must sustain them.
_Butler (advances)._ I should know that voice.
_Gordon._ Butler!
_Butler._ 'Tis Gordon. What do you want here?
Was it so late then, when the Duke dismissed you? 20
_Gordon._ Your hand bound up and in a scarf?
_Butler._ 'Tis wounded.
That Illo fought as he was frantic, till
At last we threw him on the ground.
_Gordon._ Both dead?
_Butler._ Is he in bed?
_Gordon._ Ah, Butler!
_Butler._ Is he? speak.
_Gordon._ He shall not perish! Not through you! The Heaven 25
Refuses your arm. See--'tis wounded!--
_Butler._ There is no need of my arm.
_Gordon._ The most guilty
Have perished, and enough is given to justice.
[_The_ Groom of the Chamber _advances from the gallery
with his finger on his mouth, commanding
silence._
_Gordon._ He sleeps! O murder not the holy sleep!
_Butler._ No! he shall die awake. [_Is going._
_Gordon._ His heart still cleaves 30
To earthly things: he's not prepared to step
Into the presence of his God!
_Butler (going)._ God's merciful!
_Gordon (holds him)._ Grant him but this night's respite.
_Butler (hurrying off)._ The next moment
May ruin all.
_Gordon (holds him still)._ One hour!----
_Butler._ Unhold me! What
Can that short respite profit him?
_Gordon._ O--Time 35
Works miracles. In one hour many thousands
Of grains of sand run out; and quick as they,
Thought follows thought within the human soul.
Only one hour! Your heart may change its purpose,
His heart may change its purpose--some new tidings 40
May come; some fortunate event, decisive,
May fall from Heaven and rescue him. O what
May not one hour achieve!
_Butler._ You but remind me,
How precious every minute is!
(_He stamps on the floor._)
LINENOTES:
[13] that _I_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[15] _I_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[16] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[17] _Mine_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[19] _you_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[23] _Gordon (shuddering)._ Both dead? 1800, 1828, 1829.
[25] _not_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[26] _your_ 1800, 1828.
[27] _my_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[39] _Your_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
[40] _His_ 1800, 1828, 1829.
SCENE V
_To these enter MACDONALD and DEVEREUX, with the_ Halberdiers.
_Gordon (throwing himself between him and them)._ No, monster!
First over my dead body thou shalt tread.
I will not live to see the accursed deed!
_Butler (forcing him out of the way)._ Weak-hearted dotard!
[_Trumpets are heard in the distance._
_Devereux and Macdonald._ Hark! The Swedish trumpets!
The Swedes before the ramparts! Let us hasten! 5
_Gordon (rushes out)._ O, God of Mercy!
_Butler (calling after him)._ Governor, to your post!
_Groom of the Chamber (hurries in)._ Who dares make larum here? Hush!
The Duke sleeps.
_Devereux (with loud harsh voice)._ Friend, it is time now to make
larum.
_Groom of the Chamber._ Help!
Murder!
_Butler._ Down with him!
_Groom of the Chamber (run through the body by Devereux, falls at
the entrance of the gallery)._ Jesus Maria!
_Butler._ Burst the doors open! 10
[_They rush over the body into the gallery--two doors are
heard to crash one after the other--Voices deadened
by the distance--Clash of arms--then all at once a
profound silence._
SCENE VI
_Countess Tertsky (with a light)._ Her bed-chamber is empty; she
herself
Is no where to be found! The Neubrunn too,
Who watched by her, is missing. If she should
Be flown--But whither flown? We must call up
Every soul in the house. How will the Duke 5
Bear up against these worst bad tidings? O
If that my husband now were but returned
Home from the banquet: Hark! I wonder whether
The Duke is still awake! I thought I heard
Voices and tread of feet here! I will go 10
And listen at the door. Hark! What is that?
'Tis hastening up the steps!
SCENE VII
_COUNTESS, GORDON._
_Gordon (rushes in out of breath)._ 'Tis a mistake,
'Tis not the Swedes--Ye must proceed no further--
Butler! O God! Where is he? [_Then observing the COUNTESS._
Countess! Say----
_Countess._ You are come then from the castle? Where's my husband?
_Gordon._ Your husband!--Ask not!--To the Duke---- 5
_Countess._ Not till
You have discovered to me----
_Gordon._ On this moment
Does the world hang. For God's sake! to the Duke.
While we are speaking---- [_Calling loudly._
Butler! Butler! God!
_Countess._ Why, he is at the castle with my husband.
[_BUTLER comes from the gallery._
_Gordon._ 'Twas a mistake--'Tis not the Swedes--it is 10
The Imperialist's Lieutenant-General
Has sent me hither, will be here himself
Instantly.--You must not proceed.
_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 Doña 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 = DOÑA 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 _Athenæum_, 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 betrothéd 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 betrothéd 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, vitâ 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.