DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Treasure %oo7n THE COLERIDGE COLLECTION OSORIO: A TRAGEDY. ^t^CXM^J- OSORIO A TBAGEDY As Originally Written in 1797 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE NOW PIKST PRINTED FROM A COPT RECENTLY DISCOVERED BY THE PUBLISHER WITH THE VARIORUM READINGS OF " REMORSE" AND A MONOGRAPH ON THE HISTORY OF THE PLAY IN ITS EARLIER AND LATER FORM BY THE AUTHOR OF " TENNYSONIANA" LONDON JOHN PEARSON YORK STREET CO VENT GARDEN 1873 LONDON : PRINTED BY JAS. WADE, TAVISTOCK STREET, COVENT GAKDEN. DEDICATED, BY PEEMISSION, TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR JOHN DUKE COLERIDGE, M.P. FOE EXETER, H.M.'S ATTOBNEY-GENEBAL, &C, &C, BY HIS OBLIGED AND FAITHFUL SEBVAET, THE PUBLISHER. York Street, Covent Garden. .August, 1873. 283823 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from Duke University Libraries http://archive.org/details/osorioOOcole A Monograph on COLEBIDGE'S "OSOBIO. In the summer of 1797 two of the greatest of modern English poets, Coleridge and Wordsworth, met for the first time at Eacedown in Dorsetshire. Wordsworth was in his twenty- eighth and Coleridge in his twenty-fifth year, in the spring-tide of his creative faculty. He had come oyer on a visit to Wordsworth from Nether- Stowey in Somerset- shire, where he had been engaged in writing the tragedy of Osorio. Wordsworth was also occupied with a tragedy, The Borderers, which was com- pleted in the following November, offered to the managers of Covent Garden Theatre, and sum- marily rejected by them, and which only saw the light forty-five years afterwards. The story of the fortunes and misfortunes of Coleridge's Osorio, with which alone we are con- cerned here, will take longer to tell. 283829 VI A MONOGRAPH ON Charles Lamb writes to Coleridge (June 13th, 1797):— "Lloyd tells me that Sheridan put you upon writing your tragedy. I hope you are only Coleridgeizing when you talk of finishing it in a few days. Shakespeare was a more modest man ; but you best know your own power." During the time of the visit above-mentioned, Miss Wordsworth writes from Eacedown to a friend : — " After tea he (Coleridge) repeated to us two acts and a half of his tragedy, Osorio." Coleridge writing at the time of this visit to his friend Cottle (June, 1797) says : — " He (Wordsworth) admires my tragedy, which gives me great hopes." In a letter received by Cottle from Coleridge soon after, he says : — " I shall now stick close to my tragedy (called Osorio), and when I have finished it, shall walk to Shaftesbury to spend a few days with Bowles." This letter, as was usual, has no date, but a letter from Words- worth g determines about the time when Cole- ridge had nearly completed his play. Words- worth says, under date September 13, 1797 : — " Coleridge is gone over to Bowles with his tragedy, which he has finished to the COLERIDGE S " OSORIO. Vll middle of the fifth Act. He set off a week ago."* In the meantime, Wordsworth himself was hard at work on The Borderers. Both the poets, how- ever, were doomed to witness the disappointment of their hopes. . " William's play," says Miss Wordsworth (20th Nov., 1797), " is finished, and sent to the managers of the Covent .Garden Theatre. We have not the faintest expectation that it will be accepted." On 21st Dec. she writes :— " We have been in London : our business was the play; and the play is rejected. It was sent to one of the principal actors at Covent Garden, who expressed great approbation, and advised William strongly to go to London to make certain alterations." " Coleridge's play," she adds, " is also rejected ;" and for this she expresses great sorrow and dis- appointment. In the following year (1798) two scenes from Osorio, under the titles of The Dungeon and The Foster-Mother's Tale, were published, together with other pieces by Coleridge, in the volume of Lyrical * Early Recollections, chiefly relating to the late Samuel Taylor Coleridge, during his long residence in Bristol. By Joseph Cottle. Lond., 1837. Pp. 234, 235. Vui A MONOGtEAPH ON Ballads which he produced conjointly with Words- worth. Here, with the omission of some of the opening lines of the latter scene, they continued to appear in the successive editions of 1800, 1802, and 1805. " The manuscript of Osorio," says Mr. Gillman, " had been sent to Sheridan, who did not even acknowledge the receipt of the letter which accompanied the drama ; he, however, observed to a friend that he had received a play from Coleridge, but there was one extraordinary line in the Cave Scene, drip, drip, which he could not understand : ' in short,' said he, ' it is all dripping.' This was the only notice he took of the play ; but the comment was at length repeated to the author through the medium of a third party."* In reference to this celebrated story, the accom- plished daughter of the poet writes as follows : — " The ' dripping,' whatever its unction may once have been, is stale enough now; but the story has freshness in it yet. Such neglects as that of Mr. Sheridan in not returning the MS. of Remorse are always excusable in public men of great and * Gillman's Life of Coleridge (Pickering, 1838), p. 265. COLERIDGE S " OSORIO. IX various occupation ; but the lesson to the literary aspirant is just the same as if he had been ever so blameable. " I repeat this story as told by Mr. Coleridge himself, because it has been otherwise told by others. I have little doubt that it was more pointedly than faithfully told to him, and can never believe that Mr. Sheridan represented a ludicrous line as a fair specimen of the whole play, or his tenacious adherence to it as the reason for its rejection However, in lighter moods, my father laughed at Sheridan's joke as much as any of his auditors could have done in 1806, and repeated with great effect and mock solemnity, "/ Drip ! — Drip ! — Drip ! — nothing but dripping.' When first written this play had been called Osorio, from the principal character, whose name my father afterwards improved into Or donio. I believe he in some degree altered, if he did not absolutely recast, the three last acts after the failure with Mr. Sheridan, who probably led him to see their unfitness for theatrical representation. But of this point I have not certain knowledge. .... After all, I am happy to think that this drama is a strain of poetry, and like all, not only X A MONOGRAPH ON dramatic poems, but highly poetic dramas, not to be fully appreciated on the stage."* On the stage, nevertheless, after a lapse of fifteen years, it was destined to be performed with brilliant success, at the very theatre where it had before been so ignominiously rejected. This happy result was owing mainly to the good offices of Lord Byron, whose interest at the newly-rebuilt house secured its acceptance. The generous aid so opportunely extended by the noble poet to his less fortunate brother is one of the pleasantest episodes in the history of the much-maligned author of Ghilde Harold. In Crabb Robinson's Diary we find the follow- ing entry, under date Nov. 3rd, 1812 : — " Coleridge informs me that his tragedy is accepted at Drury Lane. Whitbread admires it exceedingly, and Arnold, the manager, is confident of its success." "Under date "Keswick, Jan. 17, 1813," Southey writes to his friend C. W. Wynn : — " Coleridge's tragedy, which Sheridan and Kemble rejected fifteen years ago, will come out in about a fortnight at Drury Lane." * Biographical Supplement to the Biographia Liter aria (184V). By the late Sara Coleridge. Pp. 412—415. COLERIDGE S OSORIO. , xi After its successful appearance, Southey wrote to Grosvenor Bedford (Jan. 27, 1813) :— "I never doubted that Coleridge's play would meet with a triumphant reception. Be it known and remem- bered hereafter, that this self- same play, having had no other alterations made in it now than Coleridge was willing to have made in it then, was rejected in 1797 by Sheridan and Kemble. Had these sapient caterers for the public brought it forward at that time, it is by no means improbable that the author might have pro- duced a play as good every season; with my knowledge of Coleridge's habits I verily believe he would."* The tragedy, which had been remodelled with a view to stage effect, was performed for the first time, under the title of Remorse, at Drury Lane Theatre on Saturday, Jan. 23, 1813. The Pro- logue was written by Charles Lamb, and the Epilogue by the author himself. The success was immediate and decisive, and the play had a run of twenty nights. The cast of the characters was as follows : — * Southey's Life and Correspondence (Loud., 1850), iv., 12, 13. Xll A MONOGRAPH ON Marquis Valdez, Father to the two ") ,, p opE brothers, and Donna Teresa's Guardian j Don Alvae, the eldest son Me. Elliston. Don Oedonio, the youngest son Me. Rae. Monviedeo, a Dominican and Inquisitor . Me. Powell. Zulimez, the faithful attendant on Alvar . Me. Ceooke. Isidoee, a Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly a") »«• ~ p Air p Christian j Familiaes of the Inquisition. Naomi Me. Wallace. Mooes and Seevants, &c. Donna Tebesa, an Orphan Heiress Miss Smith. Alhadea, wife to Isidore Mes. Glotee. Crabb Bobinson tbus records his presence on the first night : — "Jan. 23rd, 1813. — In the evening at Drury Lane, to see the first performance of Coleridge's tragedy, Remorse My interest for the play was greater than in the play, and my anxiety for its success took from me the feeling of a mere spectator. I hare no hesitation in say- ing that its poetical is far greater than its dramatic merit, that it owes its success rather to its faults than to its beauties, and that it will have for its less meritorious qualities applause which is really due to its excellences. Coleridge's great fault is that he indulges before the public in those metaphysical and philosophical speculations which are becoming only in solitude or with select minds. His two principal characters are philosophers of COLERIDGE'S " OSORIO. Xlll Coleridge's own school ; the one a sentimental moralist, the other a sophisticated villain — both are dreamers. Two experiments made by Alvar on his return, the one on his mistress by relating a dream, and the other when he tries to kindle remorse in the breast of Ordonio, are too fine- spun to be intelligible. So when Ordonio enigmatically reproaches Isidore with his guilt, he tries the cunning of his audience to find out his drift. However, in spite of these faults, of the improbability of the action, of the clumsy con- trivance with the picture, and the too ornate and poetic diction throughout, the tragedy was received with great and almost unmixed applause, and was announced for repetition without any opposition." The following notice in the Examiner* we may suppose to have been written by Leigh Hunt : — " The fable is managed and developed with a rapidity which never languishes, an intelligibility which a child might follow, and a surprise which would keep awake the most careless attention. The skill, indeed, with which the situations are disposed, so as to create effect, would have done honour to a veteran dramatist; for this, we suppose, Mr. Coleridge is indebted to his * January 31, 1813. XIV A MONOGRAPH ON acquaintance with the German drama, which, in the hands of Schiller at least, redeems all its faults by its excellence, and among its other striking beauties, abounds in the picturesque. We never saw more interest excited in a theatre than was expressed at the sorcery- scene in the third act. The altar naming in the distance, the solemn invocation, the pealing music of the mystic song, altogether produced a combination so awful as nearly to overpower reality, and make one half believe the enchantment which delighted our senses. The characters most laboured by the author are Ordonio and Alhadra. Both are developed with a force of thinking and a power of poetry which have been long strangers to the stage, and the return of which we hail as the omen of better days. In none of his works has Mr. Coleridge exhibited so much of his senti- mental and descriptive power, so little deformed with his peculiar affectations. His images have his usual truth and originality without their usual meanness : his tenderness is as exquisite as in his best pieces, and does not degenerate into his usual whining." The following criticism of Remorse is from the Times of Monday, Jan. 25, 1813 :— Coleridge's " osoeio." xv "The drama was presented for the first time on Saturday, and called, or in the more scru- pulous phrase of the author, is to he called, Re- morse. The plot was singularly involved and laboured. . . . " Mr. Coleridge is a poet, and it would be next to impossible that a work of his could be utterly destitute of poetic value ; but he is one of a school whose conceptions scorn the bounds of humble taste, and his ' vaulting ambition hath o'erleapt them all.' There are, however, intermingled with those fierce ventures, occasional passages of true poetic cadence. The speech of the Moresco woman, describing her imprisonment, is a strong and deep picture of feelings that could scarcely be coloured too strongly. Her story of her husband's murder is finely told ; her eager listening, — her hearing his last groan from the bottom of the chasm, — her finding his sword, — and her solemn determination to have blood for blood, did honour to the capacity that conceived and expressed them ; and in defiance of the foolish blasphemy, in which she is made to talk about ' plucking the dead out of Heaven,' and other exploded plagiarisms from the German school, the whole dialogue of the part received great applause. XVI A MONOGRAPH ON . . . . " We speak with restraint and unwil- lingly of the defects of a work which must have cost its author so much labour. Wo are peculiarly reluctant to touch the anxieties of a man who has already exhibited talent, and whose various acquirements and manly application of them deserve the favour of those who value literature. But to conceal the truth is only to do final injury, and it must be acknowledged that this drama has sins, nay, a multitude, almost beyond the covering of charity. Its first fault is its unwieldy length : it was almost five hours long. Its next is its passion for laying hold of everything that could allow an apology for a description. Murderers stop short with the dagger in their hands to talk of ' roses on mountain sides ;' fathers start back from their children to moralise ; and a lover, in the outrage of disappointed love, lingers to tell at what hour of the day he parted from his mistress, — how she smiled, and how the sun smiled, — how its light fell upon the valleys, and the sheep, and the vineyards, and the lady, — and how red her tears %vere in ' the slant beam.' This may be poetical, but it has no connexion with the plain, rapid, and living truth of the drama. There is an essential difference in those two coleridge's '* osokjo." xvii branches of the art. With the mere poet, time is as nothing, — he may wonder and rest, and indulge his eye — like a pilgrim offer his hymn at every shrine by the way — and then resume his sandals and his staff, and pace onward to the altar of his patron. To the dramatist, time is as everything. He has not a moment to waste, — he carries an important mission, — life and death are hanging on his steps, — and he musl speed forward without venturing to turn his eye from that spot in the horizon which at every moment enlarges as he speeds, and where his coming is to agitate or appease so many hearts. We are slow to speak of faults as applied to this writer : but he has not yet learned this value of time. His plot is intolerably curved and circuitous, indistinct beyond all power of pleasurable appre- hension, and broken beyond all reach of continued interest " The Prologue was, we hope, by some ' d d good-natured friend,' who had an interest in injuring the play;* it was abominable. The * Poor Lamb ! One can imagine the mingled dismay and amusement with which he must have read the above pleasant piece of criticism ; and the jokes that were doubtless cut on the subject at his next Wednesday evening supper. — Ed. b XVL11 A MONOGRAPH ON Epilogue seemed to come from the same hand, and had precisely the same merits. It seemed to be composed for the express purpose of trying how many pure stupidities might be comprised in fifty lines, and how far Miss Smith's popularity might be proof against her performance. This specimen of her recitation was singularly lachry- mose and lamentable. The applause was violent at the fall of the curtain." The Morning Post of the same date says : — " The Epilogue is lively, and makes several happy hits at some of the reigning follies of the day." The Theatrical Inquisitor for February, 1813, says : — " The Prologue and Epilogue were among the most stupid productions of the modern muse ; the former' was in all probability a Eejected Address, for it contained many eulogiums on the beauty and magnificence of the ' dome ' of Drury ; talked of the waves being not quite dry, and expressed the happiness of the bard at being the first whose muse had soared within its limits. More stupid than the doggerel of Twiss, and more affected than the pretty verses of Miles Peter Andrews, the Epilogue proclaimed its author and the writer -of the Prologue to be par nobile fratrum, in rival dulness both pre-eminent." COLERIDGE'S " OSORIO. XIX On Feb. 14, 1813, Coleridge wrote thus to his friend Poole : — " The receipt of your heart- engendered lines was sweeter than an unexpected strain of sweetest music ; — or in humbler phrase, it was the only pleasurable sensation which the success of the Remorse has given me No grocer's apprentice, after his first month's per- mitted riot, was ever sicker of figs and raisins than I of hearing about the Remorse. The endless rat-a-tat-tat at our black-and-blue bruised door, and my three master fiends, proof-sheets, letters, — and worse than these — invitations to large dinners, which I cannot refuse without offence and imputation of pride (&c), oppress me so that my spirits quite sink under it. I have never seen the play since the first night. It has been a good thing for the theatre. They will get eight or ten thousand pounds by it, and I shall get more than by all my literary labours put together ; nay, thrice as much." Two years after the success of Remorse, Lord Byron wrote to Coleridge from " Piccadilly, March 13, 1815," urging him to make a second attempt : — " In Kean there is an actor worthy of express- ing the thoughts of the characters which you have every power of embodying, and I cannot but XX A MONOGRAPH ON regret that the part of Ordonio was disposed of before his appearance at Drury Lane. We have had nothing to be mentioned in the same breath with Remorse for very many years, and I should think that the reception of that play was sufficient to encourage the highest hopes of author and audience." With the calmer criticism which the lapse of half a century brings, Mr. Swinburne writes of Remorse in these measured terms : — " There is little worth praise or worth memory in the Remorse except such casual fragments of noble verse as may readily be detached from the loose and friable stuff in which they lie imbedded. In the scene of the incantation, in the scene of the dungeon, there are two such pure and precious fragments of gold. In the part of Alhadra there are lofty and sonorous interludes of declamation and reflec- tion. The characters are flat and shallow ; the plot is at once languid, violent, and heavy." * In the original Osorio, however, these "frag- ments of noble verse" are much more numerous and frequent than in the play as remodelled to suit the exigencies of the stage. Speaking of the * Swinburne's Essay on Coleridge (1S69), xiv., xv. COLERIDGE S " OSORIO. XXI beautiful scene from the first draft of the tragedy, the Foster-Mother's Tale, and of another fragment omitted in the drama, but printed in an appendix to the later editions, the poet's surviv- ing son thus writes : — " Both these scenes appear more or less necessary for the perfect understand- ing of the plot. If there were many such curtail- ments, or if for the sake of a more rapid action the reflective character of the piece were in any degree sacrificed, it might almost be regretted that the rejected Osorio, for such was the original title, had not been preserved as it came from the author's pen."* Now that the original Osorio is at length given to the world, and placed beyond the chance of future loss, the reader will see that there were many such curtailments, amounting not only to innumer- able verbal differences, all the most important of which are indicated in footnotes, but to the omission of whole scenes of great poetic beauty and the entire remodelling of others. Preserved from destruction by one of those strange and unaccountable freaks of chance or fortune which * Preface to the Dramatic Works of S. T. Coleridge, by the Kev. Derwent Coleridge (1852). XX11 MONOGRAPH ON " OSORIO. seem little short of miraculous, the transcript of Osorio, retained and treated with such contumely by Sheridan, and long supposed to be lost, has come forth from its hiding-place and reached our hands. In giving publicity to this interesting relic of one of the greatest of modern English poets, we shall be doing a service to all who love noble verse, and to all who honour and reverence the name of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. [The Publisher desires gratefully to acknow- ledge the kind suggestions received from the poet's son, the Rev. Derwent Coleridge, in the course of the present undertaking.] OSORIO: A TEAGEDT. O S O R I O : A TRAGEDY. ACT THE FIRST. Scene. — The sea shore on the coast of Granada.* Velez, Maria. MARIA. I hold Osorio dear : he is your son, And Albert's brother. VELEZ. Love him for himself, Nor make the living wretched for the dead. MARIA. I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Velez ! * For the opening scene added in the published Memorse, see Appendix at the end of this volume. B 2 OSOEIO : But Heaven hath heard my vow, and I remain Faithful to Albert, be he dead or living. VELEZ. 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 With that same look, with which he gave thee to me : I held thee in mine arms,* a powerless babe, While thy poor mother with a mute entreaty Fix'd her faint eyes on mine : ah, not for this, That I should let thee feed thy soul with gloom, And with slow anguish wear away thy life, The victim of a useless constancy. I must not see thee wretched. MARIA. There are woes Hl-barter'd for the garishness of joy ! If it be wretched with an untired eye To watch those skiey tints, and this green ocean; Or in the sultry hour beneath some rock, My hair dishevell'd by the pleasant sea-breeze, * In my arms. — Remorse (1813). A TKAGEDY. 3 To shape sweet visions, and live o'er again All past hours of delight ; if it be wretched To watch some bark, and fancy Albert there ; To go through each minutest circumstance Of the bless'd meeting, and to frame adventures Most terrible and strange, and hear him tell them: (As once I knew a crazy Moorish maid, Who dress'd her in her buried lover's clothes, And o'er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft Hung with her lute, and play'd the self-same tune He used to play, and listen'd to the shadow Herself had made) ; if this be wretchedness, 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 ; And hover round, as he at midnight ever* 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 ! my sire ! My Albert's sire ! if this be wretchedness * Or hover round, as he at midnight oft. — Remorse. 4 OSORIO : 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 ? [Clasping her forehead. O what a thought ?* 'Twas horrible ! it pass'd my brain like lightning. VELEZ. 'Twere horrible, if but one doubt remain'd The very week he promised his return. MARIA. Ah, what a busy joy was ours — to see him After his three years' travels ! tho' that absence His still-expected, never-failing letters Almost endear' d to me ! Even then what tumult !f * The line following is omitted in Remorse, and the reply of Valdez runs : — " A thought ? even so ! mere thought ! an empty thought, The very week, &c." f The above speech is thus altered in Remorse : — Ter. (abruptly?) Was it not then a busy joy ? to see him After those three years' travels ! we had no fears — The frequent tidings, the ne'er-failing letter, Almost endear'd his absence ! Yet the gladness, The tumult of our joy ! What then if now A TRAGEDY. power of youth to feed on pleasant thoughts Spite of conviction ! I am old and heartless ! Yes, I am old — I have no pleasant dreams — Hectic and unrefresh'd with rest. maria [with great tenderness]. My father ! VELEZ. Aye, 'twas the morning thou didst try to cheer me With a fond gaiety. My heart was bursting, And yet I could not tell me, how my sleep Was throng' d with swarthy faces, and I saw The merchant- ship in which my son was captured — Well, well, enough — captured in sight of land — We might almost have seen it from our house-top ! maria [abruptly]. He did not perish there ! velez [impatiently] . Kay, nay — how aptly thou forgett'st a tale Thou ne'er didst wish to learn — my brave Osorio Saw them both founder in the storm that parted 6 osoeio : Him and the pirate : both the vessels founder'd.* Gallant Osorio ! [Pauses, then tenderly. belov'd Maria, Would' st thou best prove thy faith to generous Albert And most delight his spirit, go and makef His brother happy, make his aged father Sink to the grave with joy ! MARIA. For mercy's sake Press me no more. I have no power to love him ! * Ter. (with great tenderness?) My father ! Void. 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 By the Algerine — to perish with his captors ! Ter. Oh no ! he did not ! Vald. Captured in sight of land ! From yon hill point, nay, from our castle watch tower We might have seen Ter. His capture, not his death. Vald. Alas ! how aptly thou forge tt'st a tale 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 snatch'd a brother from his hopes. — Remorse. f Go thou, make. — lb. A TRAGEDY. 7 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. VELEZ. You wrong him, maiden. You wrong him, by my soul ! Nor was it well To character by such unkindly phrases The stir and workings of that love for you Which he has toil'd to smother. 'Twas not well — Nor is it grateful in you to forget His wounds and perilous voyages, and how With an heroic fearlessness of danger He roamed the coast of Afric for your Albert. It was not well — you have moved me even to tears. MARIA. O pardon me, my father ! pardon me. It was a foolish and ungrateful speech, A most ungrateful speech ! But I am hurried Beyond myself, if I but dream of one* Who aims to rival Albert. Were we not Born on one day, like twins of the same parent ? * If I but hear of one. — Remorse. 8 OSORIO : Nursed in one cradle ? Pardon me, my father ! A six years' absence is an heavy thing ; Yet still the hope survives velez [looking forwards] . Hush — hush! Maria. MARIA. It is Francesco, our Inquisitor ; That busy man, gross, ignorant, and cruel ! Enter Francesco and Alhadra. FRANCESCO [to VELEZ]. Where is your son, my lord ! Oh ! here he comes.* Enter Osorio. My Lord Osorio ! this Moresco woman (Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you. * The three preceding speeches are thus altered in Tleniorse : — Vald. {looking forwards.) Hush ! 'tis Monviedro. Ter. The Inquisitor, on some new scent of blood ! Enter Monviedeo with Aihadea. Monv. {having first made Ms obeisance to Valdez and Teresa.) Peace and the truth he with you! Good, niy lord, My present need is with your son. {Looking forward. We have hit the time. Here comes he ! Yes, 'tis he. A TRAGEDY. 9 OSORIO. Hail, reverend father! What may be the business ? FRANCESCO. the old business — a Mohammedan ! The officers are in her husband's house, And would have taken him, but that he mention' d Tour name, asserting that you were his friend, Aye, and would warrant him a Catholic. But I know well these children of perdition, And all their idle falsehoods to gain time ; So should have made the officers proceed, But that this woman with most passionate outcries, (Kneeling and holding forth her infants to me) So work'd upon me, who (you know, my lord !) Have human frailties, and am tender-hearted, That I came with her. OSORIO. You are merciful.* [Looking at Alhadra. * Thus in Remorse : — Ordon. Hail, reverend father ! what may he the business ? Mon. My lord, on strong suspicion of relapse To their false creed, so recently abjured, The secret servants of the Inquisition 10 osorio : I would that I could serve you ; but in truth Tour face is new to me. [Alhadra is about to speak, but is interrupted by FRANCESCO. Aye, aye — I thought so ; And so I said to one of the familiars. A likely story, said I, that Osorio, The gallant nobleman, who fought so bravely Some four years past against these rebel Moors ; Working so hard from out the garden of faith To eradicate these weeds detestable ; That he should countenance this vile Moresco, Have seized her husband, and at my command To the supreme tribunal would have led him, But that he made appeal to you, my lord, As surety for his soundness in the faith. Tho' lessen'd by experience what small trust The asseverations of these Moors deserve, Yet still the deference to Ordonio'S' name, Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honour The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers, Thus far prevail'd with me that Ord. fteverend father, I am much beholden to your high opinion, Which so o'erprizes my light services. (then to Aihadea. I would that I could serve you ; but in truth Your face is new to me. A TRAGEDY. 11 Nay, be his friend — and warrant him, forsooth ! Well, well, my lord ! it is a warning to me ;* Now I return. ALHADRA. My lord, my husband's name Is Ferdinand : you may remember it. Three years ago — three years this very week — You left him at Almeria. Francesco [triumphantly'] . Palpably false ! This very week, three years ago, my lord ! (You needs must recollect it by your wound) You were at sea, and fought the Moorish fiends Who took and murder'd your poor brother Albert.f * Thus in Remorse : — Mori. 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 Some four years since to quell these rebel Moors, Should prove the patron of this infidel ! The guarantee of a Moresco's faith ! Now I return. f You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates, The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar ! — Remorse. 12 OSOBIO : [Maria looks at Francesco with disgust and horror. Osorio's appearance to he collected from the speech that follows, .] Francesco [to Velez and pointing to Osorio]. What ? is he ill, my lord ? How strange he looks ? velez [angrily']. You started on him too abruptly, father ! The fate of one, on whom you know he doted. osorio [starting as in a sudden agitation]. O heavens ! I doted ! [Then, as if recovering himself. Yes ! I doted on him ! [Osorio walks to the end of the stage. Velez follows soothing him.] maria [her eye following them]. I do not, cannot love him. Is my heart hard ? Is my heart hard ? that even now the thought Should force itself upon me — yet I feel it ! FRANCESCO. The drops did start and stand upon his forehead I will return — in very truth I grieve A TRAGEDY. 13 To have been the occasion. Ho! attend me, woman ! ALHADRA [to MARIA]. O gentle lady, make the father stay Till that my lord recover.* I am sure That he will say he is my husband's friend. MARIA. Stay, father, stay — my lord will soon recover. [Osorio and Velez returning. osorio [to Velez as they return}. Strange ! that this Francesco Should have the power so to distemper me. velez. Nay, 'twas an amiable weakness, son ! FRANCESCO [to OSORIO]. My lord, I truly grieve OSORIO. Tut ! name it not. A sudden seizure, father ! think not of it. * Until my lord recover. — Remorse. 14 OSORIO : As to this woman's husband, I do know him : I know him well, and that he is a Christian. FRANCESCO. I hope, my lord, your sensibility* Doth not prevail. OSORIO. Nay, nay. You know me better. You hear what I have said. But 'tis a trifle. I had something here of more importance. [Touching his forehead as if in the act of recollection. Hah! The Count Mondejar, our great general, Writes, that the bishop we were talking of Has sicken' d dangerously. FRANCESCO. OSORIO. I must return my answer. Even so. FRANCESCO. "When, my lord ? * Your merely human pity. — Remorse. A TRAGEDY. 15 OSORIO. To-morrow morning, and shall not forget How bright and strong your zeal for the Catholic faith. FRANCESCO. You are too kind, my lord ! You overwhelm me. OSORIO. Nay, say not so. As for this Ferdinand,* 'Tis certain that he was a Catholic. What changes may have happen'd in three years, I cannot say, but grant me this, good father ! I'll go and sift him :f if I find him sound, You'll grant me your authority and name To liberate his house. FRANCESCO. My lord you have it. J * The twelve preceding lines are omitted in the printed Remorse, which runs on : — Mon. I hope, my lord, your merely human pity Doth not prevail Ord. 'Tis certain that he was a Catholic, &c. f Myself I'll sift him. — Remorse. % This speech is thus amplified in Remorse : — Your zeal, my lord, And your late merits in this holy warfare Would authorize an ampler trust — you have it. 16 OSORIO : osorio [to alhadra] I will attend you home within an hour. Meantime return with us, and take refreshment.* ALHADRA. Not till my husband's free, I may not do it. I will stay here. Maria [aside]. Who is this Ferdinand ? Daughter VELEZ. MARIA. With your permission, my dear lord, I'll loiter a few minutes, and then join you.f [Exeunt Velez, Francesco, and Osorio. ALHADRA. Hah ! there he goes. A bitter curse go with him, A scathing curse ! [Alhadra had been betrayed by the warmth of her feelings into an imprudence. She checks herself, yet recollecting Maria's manner towards Francesco, says in a shy and distrustful manner] You hate him, don't you, lady ! * The second line of this speech is assigned to Valdez in Remorse. f I'll loiter yet awhile t' enjoy the sea breeze. — Remorse. A TRAGEDY. 17 MARIA. Nay, fear me not ! my heart is sad for you. ALHADRA. These fell Inquisitors, these sons of blood ! As I came on, his face so madden' d me That ever and anon I clutch'd my dagger And half unsheathed it. MARIA. Be more calm, I pray you. ALHADRA. And as he stalk' d* along the narrow path Close onf the mountain's edge, my soul grew eager. 'Twas with hard toil I made myself remember That his foul officers J held my babes and husband. To have leapt upon him with a tiger's plunge And hurl'd him down the ragged precipice, O — it had been most sweet ! MARIA. Hush, hush ! for shame. Where is your woman's heart ? * walk'd — Remorse. f Close by.— lb. t his familiars. — lb. 18 OSORIO : ALHADEA. gentle lady ! You have no skill to guess my many wrongs, Many and strange. Besides I am a Christian, And they do never pardon,* 'tis their faith ! MAEIA. Shame fall on those who so have shown it to thee! ALHADEA. 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. MARIA. What might your crime be ? ALHADEA. Solely my complexion.t They cast me, then a young and nursing mother, Into a dungeon of their prison house. There was no bed, no fire, no ray of light, No touch, no sound of comfort ! The black air, * Christians never pardon. — Remorse. f I was a Moresco ! They cast me, &c. — lb. TRAGEDY. 19 It was a toil to breathe it ! I have seen The gaoler's lamp, the moment that he enter'd, How the flame sunk at once down to the socket.* miserable, by that lamp to see My infant quarrelling with the coarse hard bread Brought daily : for the little wretch was sickly — My rage had dried away its natural food ! In darkness I remain' d, counting the clocksf Which haply told me that the blessed sun Was rising on my garden. When I dozed, My infant's moanings mingled with my dreamsj And waked me. If you were a mother, lady, 1 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 ! MARIA. God ! § it is too horrible to hear ! * It was a toil to breathe it ! When the door, Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed One human countenance, the lamp's red flame Cpwer'd as it enter'd and at once sank down. — Remorse. f counting the bell. — lb. % with my slumbers. — lb. § Heaven ! &c. — lb. 20 OSOEIO : ALHADEA. 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? Great evils ask great passions to redress them, And whirlwinds fitliest scatter pestilence. MAEIA. Tou were at length deliver' d ?* ALHADEA. 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, A fit comes on,f 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 ! MAEIA. But your husband ? -* You were at length released ? — Remorse. t A trance comes on. — lb. A TRAGEDY. 21 ALHADRA. A month's imprisonment would kill him, lady ! MARIA. Alas, poor man ! ALHADRA. He hath a lion's courage, But is not stern enough for fortitude.* Unfit for boisterous times, with gentle heart He worships Nature in the hill and valley, Not knowing what he loves, but loves it all ! [Enter Albert disguised as a Moresco, and in Moorish garments.'] albert [not observing maria and alhadra]. Three weeks have I been loitering here, nor ever Have summon'd up my heart to ask one question, Or stop one peasant passing on this way.f Know you that man ? * He hath a lion's courage, Fearless in act, hut feeble in endurance. — Remorse. t Thi3 speech is omitted in Remorse. 22 osorio : ALHADEA. His person, not his name. I doubt not, he is some Moresco chieftain Who hides himself among the Alpuxarras. A week has scarcely pass'd since first I saw him ; He has new-roof'd.the desolate old cottage Where Zagri lived — who dared avow the prophet And died like one of the faithful ! There he lives, And a friend with him. MARIA. Does he know his danger So near this seat ? ALHADRA. He wears the Moorish robes too, A-S in defiance of the royal edict. [Alhadra advances to Albert, who has walked to the hack of the stage near the rocks. Maria drops her veil.~\ ALHADRA. Gallant Moresco ! you are near the castle Of the Lord Velez, and hard by does dwell A priest, the creature of the Inquisition,* * The four preceding speeches are thus altered in Remorse : — Ter. Know you that stately Moor ? Alhad. I know him not : A TRAGEDY. 23 albert [retiring]. You have mistaken me — I am a Christian. ALHADRA [to MARIA]. He deems that we are plotting to ensnare him. Speak to him, lady ! none can hear you speak And not believe you innocent of guile. [Albert, on hearing this, pauses and turns round. MARIA. If aught enforce you to concealment, sir ! ALHADRA. He trembles strangely. [Albert sinks down and hides his face in his garment.'] But doubt not he is some Moresco chieftain, Who hides himself among the Alpuxarras. Ter. The Alpuxarras ? Does he know his danger, So near this seat ? Alhad. He wears the Moorish robes too, As in defiance of the royal edict. [Alhadea advances to Alvae, who has walked to the back of the stage near the rocks. Teeesa drops her veil.'] Alhad. Gallant Moresco ! An inquisitor, Monviedro, of known hatred to our race 24 OSORIO : MARIA. See — we have disturb'd him. [Approaches nearer to Mm. I pray you, think us friends — uncowl your face, For you seem faint, and the night-breeze blows healing. I pray you, think us friends ! albert [raising Ms head]. Calm — very calm ; 'Tis all too tranquil for reality ! And she spoke to me with her innocent voice. That voice ! that innocent voice ! She is no traitress !* It was a dream, a phantom of my sleep, A lying dream. [He starts up, and abruptly addresses her. Maria ! you are not wedded ? maria [haughtily to alhadra]. Let us retire. [They advance to the front of the stage. ALHADRA. He is indeed a Christian. * The rest of the speech is omitted in Remorse. f The rest of this speech and the two following speeches are omitted in Remorse. A TRAGEDY. 25 Some stray Sir Knight, that falls in love of a sudden. MARIA. What can this mean ? How should he know my name? It seems all shadowy. ALHADRA. Here he comes again. Albert [aside]. She deems me dead, and yet no mourning garment !* Why should my brother's wife wear mourning garments ? God of all mercy, make me, make me quiet !f [To Maria. Tour pardon, gentle maid! $ that I disturb'd you. I had just started from a frightful dream. ALHADRA. These renegado Moors — how soon they learn * yet wears no mourning garment. — Remorse. f This line is omitted in Remorse. X Your pardon, noble dame \-*-Remorse. 26 osorio : The crimes and follies of their Christian tyrants !* ALBERT. I dreamt I had a friend, on whom I lean'd With blindest trust, and a betrothed maid 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, Polluted in my absencef soul and body ! And she with him and he with her conspired To have me murder'd in a wood of the mountains : % * For the above speech the three following are substituted in the published Remorse : — Ter. Dreams tell but of the past, and yet, 'tis said, They prophesy — Alv. The Past lives o'er again In its effects, and to the guilty spirit, The ever frowning Present is its image. Ter. Traitress ! (then aside) What sudden spell o'ermasters me ? Why seeks he me, shunning the Moorish woman. [Teresa looks round uneasily, but gradually becomes attentive as Alvab proceeds in the next speech. f Dishonour'd in my absence. — Remorse. X For the above two lines the two following were substi- tuted in Remorse : — Pear, following guilt, tempted to blacker guilt, And murderers were suborn' d against my life. A TRAGEDY. 27 But by my looks and most impassion'd words I roused the virtues, that are dead in no man, Even in the assassins' hearts. They made their terms, And thank' d me for redeeming them from murder. ALHADRA [to MARIA]. You are lost in thought. Hear him no more, sweet lady ! MARIA. From morn to night I am myself a dreamer, And slight things bring on me the idle mood. Well, sir, what happen'd then ? ALBERT. On a rude rock, A rock, methought, fast by a grove of firs Whose threaddy leaves to the low breathing gale Made a soft sound most bike the distant ocean, I stay'd as tho' the hour of death were past, And I were sitting in the world of spirits, For all things seem'd unreal ! There I sate. 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 28 osorio : That woods and sky and mountains seem'd one havock ! The second flash of lightning show'd a tree Hard by me, newly-scathed. I rose tumultuous : My soul work'd high : I bared my head to the storm, And with loud voice and clamorous agony Kneeling I pray'd to the great Spirit that made me, Pray'd that Remorse might fasten on their hearts, And cling, with poisonous tooth, inextricable As the gored lion's bite ! MARIA. A fearful curse ! ALHADRA. But dreamt you not that you return' d and kill'd him ?* Dreamt you of no revenge ? albert [his voice trembling, and in tones of deep distress] . She would have died, Died in her sinsf — perchance, by her own hands ! * and kill'd them. — Remorse. f Died in her guilt. — lb. A TRAGEDY. 29 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 pray'd for the punishment that cleanses hearts, For still I loved her ! ALHADRA. And you dreamt all this ? MARIA. My soul is full of visions, all is wild !* ALHADRA. There is no room in this heart for puling love-tales. Lady ! your servants there seem seeking us.f Maria [lifts up her veil and advances to albert]. Stranger, farewell ! I guess not who you are, Nor why you so address' d your tale to me. Tour mien is noble, and, I own, perplex' d me With obscure memory of something past, Which still escaped my efforts, or presented Tricks of a fancy pamper' d with long- wishing. * All as wild. — Remorse. (The reading in the text may possibly be an error of the transcriber.) f This line is omitted in Remorse. 30 osorio : If (as it sometimes happens) our rude startling, While your full heart was shaping out its dream, Drove you to this, your not ungentle wildness,* You have my sympathy, and so farewell ! But if some undiscover'd wrongs oppress you, And you need strength to drag them into light, The generous Velez, and my Lord Osorio Have arm and will to aid a noble sufferer, Nor shall you want my favourable pleading. [Exeunt Maria and Alhadra. albert [alone], 'Tis strange ! it cannot be ! my Lord Osorio ! Her Lord Osorio ! Nay, I will not do it. I cursed him once, and one curse is enough. How sad she look'd 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. But ere she married him, he had stain' d her honour. Ah ! there I am hamper' d. What if this were a lie * your uot ungentle kindness, — Remorse. A TRAGEDY. 31 Framed by the assassin ? who should tell it him If it were truth ? Osorio would not tell him. Yet why one lie ? All else, I know, was truth. No start ! no jealousy of stirring conscience ! And she referr'd to me — fondly, methought ! Could she walk here, if that she were a traitress ?* Here where we play'd together in our childhood ? Here where we plighted vows ? Where her cold cheek Received my last kiss, when with suppress'd feelings She had fainted in my arms ? It cannot be ! "lis not in nature ! I will die, believing That I shall meet her where no evil is, No treachery, no cup dash'd from the lips ! I'll haunt this scene no more — live she in peace ! Her husband — ay, her husband ! May this Angel New-mould his canker'd heart ! Assist me, Heaven ! That I may pray for my poor guilty brother ! End of Act the First. * If she had been a traitress ? — Remorse. ACT THE SECOND. Scene the Eirst — A wild and mountainous country. Osorio and Ferdinand are discovered at a little distance from a house* which stands under the brow of a slate rock, the rock covered with vines. Eerdinand and Osorio. FERDINAND. Thrice you have 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. * In the published Remorse the remainder of this stage direction is omitted, and the Scene opens thus : — Orel. Here we may stop : your house distinct in view, Yet we secured from listeners. Isid. Now indeed My house ! and it looks cheerful as the clusters Basking in sunshine on yon vine-clad rock That overbrows it ! Patron ! Friend ! Preserver ! Thrice have you saved my life, &c. D 34 OSORIO : Now, but for you, a dungeon's slimy stones Had pillow'd my snapt joints.* OSOEIO. Good Ferdinand ! Why this to me ? It is enough you know it. FERDINAND. A common trick of gratitude, my lord ! Seeking to ease her own full heart. OSORIO. Enough. A debt repaid ceases to be a debt. Tou have it in your power to serve me greatly. FERDINAND. As how,f my lord? I pray you name the thing ! I would climb up an ice-glazed precipice To pluck a weed you fancied. osorio [with embarrassment and hesitation]. Why— that— lady— FERDINAND. 'Tis now three years, my lord ! since last I saw you. Have you a son, my lord ? * Had been my bed and pillow. — Remorse. t And how, — lb. A TRAGEDY. 35 OSORIO. miserable ! [Aside. Ferdinand ! you are a man, and know this world.* I told you what I wish'd — now for the truth ! She loved the man you kill'd ! Ferdinand [looking as suddenly alarmed]. You jest, my lord ? OSORIO. And till his death is proved, she will not wed me. FERDINAND. You sport with me, my lord ? OSORIO. Come, come, this foolery Lives only in thy looks — thy heart disowns it. FERDINAND. I can bear this, and anything more grievous From you, my lord ! — but how can I serve you here? OSORIO. Why, you can mouth set speeches solemnly, f * and know mankind. — Remorse. ■f Why you can utter with a solemn gesture Oracular sentences of deep no ■ meaning,— lb. 36 osoeio : Wear a quaint garment, make mysterious antics. FERDINAND. I am dull, my lord ! I do not comprehend you. OSORIO. In blunt terms you can play the sorcerer. She has no faith in Holy Church, 'tis true. Her lover school' d her in some newer nonsense : Yet still a tale of spirits works on her. She is a lone enthusiast, sensitive, Shivers, and cannot keep the tears in her eye. Such ones do love the marvellous too well Not to believe it. We will wind her up* 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 I bade thee take, the trophy of thy conquest.f * And such do love the marvellous too well Not to helieve it. We will wind up her fancy — Remorse. f In the published Remorse the two following speeches are here added : — Isid. Will that be a sure sign ? Ord. Beyond suspicion. A TRAGEDY. 37 Ferdinand [with hesitation]. Just now I should have cursed the man who told me Tou could ash aught, my lord ! and I refuse. But this I cannot do. OSORIO. Where lies your scruple ? FERDINAND. That shark Francesco. OSORIO. O ! an o'er sized gudgeon ! I baited, sir, my hook with a painted mitre, And now I play with him at the end of the line. Well — and what next ?* Fondly caressing him, her favour'd lover, (By some base spell he had bewitch'd her senses) She whisper'd such dark fears of me forsooth, 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. But I had traced her, stoln unnoticed on them, And unsuspected saw and heard the whole. * The two preceding speeches are omitted in Remorse ; an Isidore (Ferdinand) replies : — Why — why, my lord, You know you told me, &c. 38 osokio : Ferdinand [stammering]. Next, next — my lord ! You know, you told me that the lady loved you, Had loved you with incautious tenderness. That if the young man, her betrothed husband, Eeturn'd, yourself, and she, and an unborn babe, Must perish. Now, my lord ! to be a man !* osokio [aloud, though to express his contempt he speaks in the third person] . This fellow is a man ! He kill'd for hire One whom he knew not — yet has tender scruples. [Then turning to Ferdinand. Thy hums and ha's, thy whine and stammering. Pish — fool! thou blunder' st through the devil's book,f Spelling thy villainy ! * That if the young man, her hetrothed husband, Eeturn'd, yourself, and she, and the honour of both, 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. — Remorse. t These doubts, these fears, thy whine, thy stammering — Pish, fool! thou blunder'st through the book of guilt. — lb. A TRAGEDY. 39 FERDINAND. My lord — my lord ! I can bear much, yes, very much from you. But there's a point where sufferance is meanness ! I am no villain, never kill'd for hire. My gratitude OSORIO. ! ay, your gratitude ! 'Twas a well- sounding word — what have you done with it ? FERDINAND. Who proffers his past favours for my virtue* Tries to o'erreach me, is a very sharper, And should not speak of gratitude, my lord ! I knew not 'twas your brother ! osorio [evidently alarmed^. And who told you ? FERDINAND. He himself told me. * In the published Remorse Osorio (Ordonio) here interposes : — Ord. (with bitter scorn.) Virtue 40 OSORIO : OSORIO. Ha ! you talk'd with him ? And those, the two Morescoes, that went with you ?* FERDINAND. B oth fell in a night-brawl at Malaga. osorio [in a low voice]. My brother ! FERDINAND. 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 ! OSORIO. Villain ! no more ! I'll hear no more of it. FERDINAND. M y lord ! it much imports your future safety T hat you should hear it. osorio [turning off from Ferdinand]. Am I not a man ? 'Tis as it should be ! Tut — the deed itself Was idle — and these after-pangs still idler ! * And these, the two Morescoes who were with you ? — Remorse. A TRAGEDY. 41 FERDINAND. We met him in the very place you mention' d, Hard by a grove of firs. OSORIO. Enough ! enough ! FERDINAND. He fought us valiantly, and wounded all ; In fine, compelPd a parley ! osorio [sighing as if lost in thought] . Albert ! Brother ! FERDINAND. He offer'd me his purse. OSORIO. Yes? FERDINAND. Yes ! I spurn' d it. He promised us I know not what — in vain ! Then with a look and voice which overawed me, He said — What mean you, friends ? My life is dear. I have a brother and a promised wife 4a OSORio : 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. I ask'd his brother's name ; he said, Osorio, Son of Lord Velez ! I had well-nigh fainted ! At length I said (if that indeed I said it, And that no spirit made my tongue his organ), That woman is now pregnant* by that brother, 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 propp'd him back ;f Ay, just as you look now — only less ghastly ! At last recovering from his trance, he threw His sword away, and bade us take his life — It was not worth his keeping. OSORIO. And you kill'd him ? blood-hounds ! may eternal wrath flame round you! * That woman is dishonour'd. — Remorse, f that propt his hack. — lb. A TRAGEDY. 43 He was the image of the Deity. [A pause. It seizes me — by hell ! I will go on ! What ? would' st thou stop, man ? thy pale looks won't save thee ! [Then suddenly pressing his forehead. Oh ! cold, cold, cold — shot thro' with icy cold ! Ferdinand [aside']: Were he alive, he had return'd ere now. The consequence the same, dead thro' his plotting ! OSORIO. this unutterable dying away here, This sickness of the heart ! [A pause. What if I went And lived in a hollow tomb, and fed on weeds ? Ay ! that's the road to heaven ! fool ! fool ! fool! [A pause. What have I done but that which nature destined Or the blind elements stirr'd up within me ? If good were meant, why were we made these beings ? And if not meant 44 OSORIO : FERDINAND. How feel you now, my lord ?* [Osorio starts, looks at Mm wildly, then, after a pause, during which his features are forced into a smile']. OSORIO. A gust of the soul ! i' faith, it overset me. O 'twas all folly — all ! idle as laughter ! Now, Ferdinand, I swear that thou shalt aid me. Ferdinand [in a low voice~\. I'll perish first !f Shame on my coward heart, That I must slink away from wickedness Like a cow'd dog ! OSORIO. What dost thou mutter of? FERDINAND. Some of your servants know me, I am certain. OSORIO. There's some sense in that scruple; but we'll mask you. * You are disturb'd, my lord ! — Remorse. t The remainder of this speech is omitted in Remorse. A TRAOEDY. 45 FERDINAND. They'll know my gait. But stay ! of late I have watch' d A stranger that lives nigh, still picking weeds, Now in the swamp, now on the walls of the ruin, Now clambering, like a runaway lunatic, Up to the summit of our highest mount. I have watch' d him at it morning-tide and noon, Once in the moonlight. Then I stood so near, I heard him muttering* o'er the plant. A wizard ! Some gaunt slave, prowling out for dark employ- ments. OSORIO. What may his name be ?f * Last night I watch' d A stranger near the ruin in the wood, Who as it seem'd was gathering herbs and wild flowers. I had follow'd him at distance, seen him scale Its western wall, and by an easier entrance Stoln after him unnoticed. There I mark'd That mid the chequer work of light and shade, With curious choice he pluck' d no other flowers But those on which the moonlight fell : and once I heard him muttering, Sfc. — Remorse. f Ord. Doubtless you question'd him ? — lb. 46 OSORIO : FERDINAND. That I cannot tell you. Only Francesco bade an officer Speak in your name, as lord of this domain. So he was question' d, who and what he was. This was his answer : Say to the Lord Osorio,* " He that can bring the dead to life again." OSORIO. A strange reply ! FERDINAND. Ay — all of him is strange. He call'd himself a Christian — yet he wears The Moorish robe, as if he courted death. OSORIO. Where does this wizard liye ? * Isid. 'Twas my intention, Having first traced him homeward to his haunt. But lo ! the stern Dominican, whose spies Lurk every where, already (as it seem'd) Had given commission to his apt familiar To seek and sound the Moor; who now returning, "Was by this trusty agent stopp'd midway. I, dreading fresh suspicion if found near him In that lone place, again conceal'd myself: Yet within hearing. So the Moor was question'd And in your name, as lord of this domain. Proudly he answer' d, Say to the Lord Ordonio, &c. — Remorse. A TBAGEDY. 47 Ferdinand [pointing to a distance]. You see that brooklet ? Trace its course backwards, thro' a narrow opening It leads you to the place. OSORIO. How shall I know it ? FERDINAND. You can't mistake. It is a small green dale* 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 Down in the water. At the farther 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. His cot stands opposite — you cannot miss it. Some three yards up the hill a mountain ash * You cannot err. It is a small green dell. — Remorse. 48 OSORIO : Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters O'er the new thatch.* OSORIO. I shall not fail to find it. [Exit Osorio. Ferdinand goes into his house. Scene changes. The inside of a cottage, around which flowers and plants of various hinds are seen. Albert and Maurice. ALBERT. He doth believe himself an iron soul, And therefore puts he on an iron outward ; And those same mock habiliments of strength Hide his own weakness from, himself. MAURICE. His weakness ! Come, come, speak out ! Tour brother is a villain ! * O'er the old thatch. — Remorse. A TKAGEDY. 49 Yet all the wealth, power, influence, which is yours You suffer him to hold ! Maurice ! dear Maurice ! That my return involved Osorio's death* * Up to the point indicated this scene is entirely different in the printed Remorse. As will be seen, Alhadra is intro- duced, and Zulimez replaces Maurice, who is only alluded to. The inside of a Cottage, around which flowers and plants of various kinds are seen. Discovers Alvae, Ztjlimez, and Alhadea, as on the point of leaving. Alhad. {addressing Alvae.) 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. Alv. Nobly-minded woman ! Long time against oppression have I fought, And for the native liberty of faith, Have bled and suffer'd bonds. Of this be certain, Time, as he courses onwards, still unrolls The volume of Concealment. In the Putttee, 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, 50 OSOEIO : I trust would give me an unmingled pang — Yet bearable. But when I see my father Strewing bis scant grey bairs even on the ground Which soon must be his grave ; and my Maria, Her husband proved a monster,* and her infants His infants — poor Maria ! — all would perish, All perish — all ! — and I (nay bear with me !) Could not survive the complicated ruin ! 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, Or power protect, my word is pledged to thee : For many are thy wrongs, and thy soul noble. Once more farewell. \JExit Alhadba. Yes, to the Belgic states We will return. These robes, this stain'd complexion, Akin to falsehood, weigh upon my spirit. Whate'er befall us, the heroic Maurice Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance Of our past services. Zul. And all the wealtb, power, influence which is yours You let a murderer hold ? Alv. faithful Zulimez ! That my return involved Ordonio's death, $$c. * proved a murderer. — Remorse. A TRAGEDY. Si maurice [much affected]. Nay, now, if I have distress'd you — you well know, I ne'er will quit your fortunes ! true, 'tis tiresome. Tou are a painter — one of many fancies — Tou 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, You've learnt to name — but I ALBERT. Well, to the Netherlands We will return, the heroic Prince of Orange Will grant us an asylum, in remembrance Of our past service. MAURICE. Heard you not some steps ?* ALBERT. What if it were my brother coming onward ! Not very wisely (but his creature teased me)f I sent a most mysterious message to him. * The preceding speech of Albert is omitted in Remorse, and the former speaker continues :— You have learnt to name Hark ! heard you not some footsteps ? t This line is omitted in Remorse. 52 osoeio : MAURICE. Would he not know you ? ALBERT. I unfearingly Trust this disguise. Besides, lie thinks me dead ; And what the mind believes impossible, The bodily sense is slow to recognize. Add to my youth, when last we saw each other ; Manhood has swell'd my chest, and taught my voice A hoarser note. MAURICE. Most true ! And Alva's Duke Did not improve it by the unwholesome viands He gave so scantily in that foul dungeon, During our long imprisonment.* [Enter Osorio. ALBERT. It is he! MAURICE. Make yourself talk ; you'll feel the less. Come, speak. How do you find yourself ? Speak to me, Albert. * The three preceding speeches are omitted in Remorse. A TRAGEDY. 53 albert [placing his hand on his heart]. A little fluttering here ; but more of sorrow !* You know my name, perhaps, better than me. I am Osorio, son of the Lord Velez. albert [groaning aloud]. The son of Velez ! [osorio walks leisurely round the room, and looks attentively at the plants.] MAURICE. Why, what ails you now ? [Albert grasps Maurice's hand in agitation. * The two preceding speeches are omitted in Remorse, and the following speech of Osorio (Ordonio) runs thus : — Ord. (to himself as he enters). If I distinguish'd right her gait, and statui'e, It was the Moorish woman, Isidore's wife, That pass'd me as I enter'd. 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. (addressing Altab. You know my name, I guess, if not my person. I am Ordonio, &c. 54 OSOEIO : MAURICE. How your hand trembles, Albert ! Speak ! what wish you ? ALBERT. To fall upon his neck and weep in anguish !* osorio [returning]. All very curious ! from a ruin'd abbey Pluck'd in the moonlight. There's a strange power in weedsf When a few odd prayers have been mutter'd o'er them. Then they work miracles ! I warrant you, There's not a leaf, but underneath it lurks J Some serviceable imp. There's one of you, Who sent me a strange message. ALBERT. I am he ! * and weep forgiveness ! —Remorse. t In the published Remorse this speech begins as follows : — Ord. (returning, and aloud). Pluck'd in the moonlight from a ruin'd abbey — Those only, which the pale rays visited ! the unintelligible power of weeds, &c. J but underneath it works. — Remorse. A TRAGEDY. 55 OSORIO. I will speak with you, and by yourself. \JSxit Maurice * OSORIO. " 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 ! ALBERT. 'Tis fabled there are fruits with tempting rinds That are all dust and rottenness within. Would'st thou I should strip such ! OSORIO. Thou quibbling fool, What dost thou mean ? Think' st thou I journey' d hither To sport with thee ? ALBERT. No, no ! my lord ! to sport Best fits the gaiety of Innocence ! * In Remorse thus : — Ord. With you, then, I ain to speak. [Haughtily waving his hand to Zulimbz. And mark you, alone. [Exit Ztjlimez. 56 osorio : osorio [draws bach as if stung and embarrassed, then folding Ms arms']. O what a thing is Man ! the wisest heart A fool — a fool, that laughs at its own folly, Tet still a fool ! [Looks round the cottage. • It strikes me* you are poor ! ALBERT. What follows thence ? OSORIO. That you would fain be richer. Besides, you do not love the rack, perhaps, Nor a black dungeon, nor a fire of faggots. The Inquisition — hey ? You understand me, And you are poor. Now I have wealth and power,f Can quench the flames, and cure your poverty. * It strikes me. These three words are omitted in Remorse. + The second and third lines of this speech are omitted in the printed Remorse, where it opens thus : — Oral. That you would fain be richer. The Inquisition, too. You comprehend me ? You are poor, in peril. I have wealth and power, &c. A TRAGEDY. 57 And for this service, all I ask you is* That you should serve me — once — for a few hours. albert [solemnly]. Thou art the son of Velez ! Would to Heaven That I could truly and for ever serve thee ! OSORIO. The canting scoundrel softens.f [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. [Then with great bitterness. Thou art a man, and as a man I'll trust thee ! ALBERT. Alas, this hollow mirth ! Declare your business ! I love a lady, and she would love me But for an idle and fantastic scruple. * And for the boon I ask of you but this. — Remorse. f The slave begins to soften. — lb. 58 osorio : Have you no servants round the house?* no listeners ? [Osorio steps to the door. ALBERT. What ! faithless too ? false to his angel wife ? To such a wife ? Well might' st thou look so wan, Ill-starr'd Maria ! Wretch ! my softer soul Is pass'd away ! and I will probe his conscience. osorio [returned^. In truth this lady loved another man, But he has perish'd. ALBERT. What ? you kill'd him ? hey ? OSORIO. I'll dash thee to the earth, if thou but thihk'st it, Thou slave ! thou galley-slave ! thou mountebank ! I leave thee to the hangman !f * Have you no servants here ? — Remorse. f Thus altered and transposed in Remorse : — Ord. I'll dash thee to the earth, if thou but think'st it ! Insolent slave ! how dared' st thou — (turns abruptly from Alvab, and then to himself. Why ! what's this ? 'Twas idiotcy J I'll tie myself to an aspen, And wear a fool's cap A TRAGEDY. 59 ALBERT. Fare you well ! I pity you, Osorio ! even to anguish ! [Albert retires off the stage. osorio [recovering himself^. 'Twas idiotcy ! I'll tie myself to an aspen, And wear a fool's cap. Ho ! [Calling after Albert. albert [returning^. Be brief, what wish you ? OSORIO. Tou are deep at bartering — you charge yourself At a round sum. Come, come, I spake unwisely. ALBERT. I listen to you. OSORIO. In a sudden tempest Did Albert perish — he, I mean, the lover — The fellow Alv. (watching his agitation.) Fare thee well — I pity thee, Ordonio, even to anguish. [Ai/vab retires to the lack of the stage. Ord. (having recovered himself.) Ho ! (calling to AlVAE.) 60 OSORIO : Nay, speak out, 'twill ease your heart To call him villain ! Why stand' st thou aghast ? Men think it natural to hate their rivals ! osorio [hesitating and half doubting whether he should proceed]. Now till she knows him dead she will not wed me ! albbbt [with eager vehemence]. Are you not wedded, then ? Merciful God !* Not wedded to Maria ? OSORIO. Why, what ails thee ? Art mad or drunk ? Why look'st thou upward so? f Dost pray to Lucifer, prince of the air ? ALBERT. Proceed. I shall be silent. [Albert sits, and leaning on the table hides his face. * Merciful Heaven ! — Remorse. f What, art thou mad ? Why look'st thou upward so ? — lb. A TRAGEDY. 61 OSORIO. To Maria ! Politic wizard ! ere you sent that message, 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. albert [lifting up his head]. Well — and this lady ! OSORIO. 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. albert [sighing']. Tes ! he did so ! OSORIO. Why, no ! he was afraid of accidents, Of robberies and shipwrecks, and the like. In secrecy he gave it me to keep Till his return. 62 osorio : ALBERT. What, he was your friend then ? osorio [wounded and embarrassed]. I was his friend. [A pause. Now that he gave it me This lady knows not. You are a mighty wizards- Can call this 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. And when the smoke of the incense on the altar Is pass'd, your spirits will have left* this picture. What say you now ? albert [after a long