OSORIO

Coleridge’s tragedy (later ‘Remorse’), set in Inquisition-era Granada: the villainous brother Osorio plots his returned brother Albert’s death to seize his love and lands; a verse tragedy of fratricide, guilt, remorse, revenge and the Inquisition.

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	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! 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 Ill-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, 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 cloaths, And o’er the smooth spring in the mountain cleft Hung with her lute, and play’d the selfsame 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! O my sire! My Albert’s sire! if this be wretchedness That eats away the life, what were it, think you, If in a most assur’d 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!
VELEZ	O 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.) Nay, 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 Him and the pirate: both the vessels founder’d. Gallant Osorio! (Pauses, then tenderly.) O belov’d Maria, Would’st thou best prove thy faith to generous Albert And most delight his spirit, go and make His brother happy, make his agéd father Sink to the grave with joy!
Maria	For mercy’s sake Press me no more. I have no power to love him! 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? 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!
(didascalia)	Enter FRANCESCO and ALHADRA.
FRANCESCO	(to Velez.) Where is your son, my lord? Oh! here he comes.
(didascalia)	Enter OSORIO.
FRANCESCO	My Lord Osorio! this Moresco woman (Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you.
OSORIO	Hail, reverend father! What may be the business?
FRANCESCO	O the old business — a Mohammedan! The officers are in her husband’s house, And would have taken him, but that he mention’d Your 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 fals[e]hoods 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.) I would that I could serve you; but in truth Your face is new to me.
(didascalia)	(ALHADRA is about to speak, but is interrupted by Francesco.)
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, 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.
(didascalia)	(MARIA looks at FRANCESCO with disgust and horror. OSORIO’S appearance to be 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!
(didascalia)	(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 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.
(didascalia)	(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. 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	Even so.
OSORIO	I must return my answer.
FRANCESCO	When, my lord?
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: if I find him sound, You’ll grant me your authority and name To liberate his house.
FRANCESCO	My lord you have it.
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?
VELEZ	Daughter!
Maria	With your permission, my dear lord, I’ll loiter a few minutes, and then join you.
(didascalia)	(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!
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 on the mountain’s edge, my soul grew eager. ‘Twas with hard toil I made myself remember That his foul officers held my babes and husband. To have leapt upon him with a Tyger’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?
ALHADRA	O 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!
Maria	Shame fall on those who so have shown 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.
Maria	What might your crime be?
ALHADRA	Solely my complexion. 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, 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. O 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 dry’d away its natural food! In darkness I remain’d, counting the clocks Which haply told me that the blessed sun Was rising on my garden. When I dozed, My infant’s moanings mingled with my dreams And wak’d 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!
Maria	O God! 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? Great evils ask great passions to redress them, And whirlwinds fitliest scatter pestilence.
Maria	You were at length deliver’d?
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, A fit 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 ideot laugh That you would start and shudder!
Maria	But your husband?
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!
(didascalia)	(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.
Maria	Know you that man?
ALHADRA	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, As in defiance of the royal edict.
(didascalia)	(ALHADRA advances to ALBERT, who has walked to the back 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.
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.
(didascalia)	(ALBERT, on hearing this, pauses and turns round.)
Maria	If aught enforce you to concealment, sir!
ALHADRA	He trembles strangely.
(didascalia)	(ALBERT sinks down and hides his face in his garment [robe Remorse].)
Maria	See — we have disturb’d him. (Approaches nearer to him.) 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 his 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.
(didascalia)	(They advance to the front of the stage.)
ALHADRA	He is indeed a Christian. 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! (To MARIA.) Your pardon, gentle maid! that I disturb’d you. I had just started from a frightful dream.
ALHADRA	These renegado Moors — how soon they learn 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 betrothéd maid Whom I was wont to call not mine, but me, For mine own self seem’d nothing, lacking her! This maid so idoliz’d, that trusted friend, Polluted in my absence soul and body! And she with him and he with her conspired To have me murder’d in a wood of the mountains: 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 like 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 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 sins — perchance, by her own hands! 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.
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. Your mien is noble, and, I own, perplex’d me With obscure memory of something past, Which still escap’d my efforts, or presented Tricks of a fancy pamper’d with long-wishing. 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.
(didascalia)	(Exeunt MARIA and ALHADRA.)
ALBERT	(alone.) ‘Tis strange! it cannot be! my Lord Osorio! Her Lord Osorio! Nay, I will not do it. I curs’d 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 Fram’d 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! ‘Tis 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!
(didascalia)	END OF ACT THE FIRST.

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	SCENE THE FIRST. — 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. FERDINAND and OSORIO.
Ferdinand	Thrice you have sav’d 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 Had pillow’d my snapt joints.
OSORIO	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 repay’d ceases to be a debt. You have it in your power to serve me greatly.
Ferdinand	As how, my lord? I pray you name the thing! I would climb up an ice-glaz’d 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?
OSORIO	O miserable! (Aside.) Ferdinand! you are a man, and know this world. I told you what I wish’d — now for the truth! She lov’d 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, 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.
Ferdinand	(with hesitation.) Just now I should have cursed the man who told me You could ask aught, my lord! and I refuse. But this I cannot do.
OSORIO	Where lies your scruple?
Ferdinand	That shark Francesco.
OSORIO	O! an o’ersiz’d 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?
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 betrothéd husband, Return’d, yourself, and she, and an unborn babe, Must perish. Now, my lord! to be a man!
OSORIO	(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, Spelling thy villany!
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	O! aye, 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.
OSORIO	Ha! you talk’d with him? And those, the two Morescoes, that went with you?
Ferdinand	Both 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	My lord! it much imports your future safety That 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!
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, compell’d 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 promis’d us I know not what — in vain! Then with a look and voice which overaw’d me, 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. 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; 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? O blood-hounds! may eternal wrath flame round you! 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	O this unutterable dying away here, This sickness of the heart! (A pause.) What if I went And liv’d in a hollow tomb, and fed on weeds? Ay! that’s the road to heaven! O fool! fool! fool! (A pause.) What have I done but that which nature destin’d Or the blind elements stirr’d up within me? If good were meant, why were we made these beings? And if not meant ——
Ferdinand	How feel you now, my lord?
(didascalia)	(OSORIO starts, looks at him 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! 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.
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 clamb’ring, 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 mutt’ring o’er the plant. A wizard! Some gaunt slave, prowling out for dark employments.
OSORIO	What may his name be?
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	Aye — 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 live?
Ferdinand	(pointing to a distance.) You see that brooklet? Trace its course backward 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 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. His cot stands opposite — you cannot miss it. Some three yards up the hill a mountain ash Stretches its lower boughs and scarlet clusters O’er the new thatch.
OSORIO	I shall not fail to find it.
(didascalia)	(Exit OSORIO. FERDINAND goes into his house. Scene changes.)

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	The inside of a cottage, around which flowers and plants of various kinds 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! Your brother is a villain! Yet all the wealth, power, influence, which is yours You suffer him to hold!
ALBERT	Maurice! dear Maurice! That my return involved Osorio’s death I trust would give me an unmingl’d pang — Yet bearable. But when I see my father Strewing his scant grey hairs 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!
MAURICE	(much affected.) Nay, now, if I have distress’d you — you well know, I ne’er will quit your fortunes! true, ‘tis tiresome. You are a painter — 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, 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 teiz’d me) I sent a most mysterious message to him.
MAURICE	Would he not know you?
ALBERT	I unfearingly Trust this disguise. Besides, he thinks me dead; And what the mind believes impossible, The bodily sense is slow to recognize. Add too 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.
(didascalia)	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.
ALBERT	(placing his hand on his heart.) A little fluttering here; but more of sorrow!
OSORIO	You know my name, perhaps, better than me. I am Osorio, son of the Lord Velez.
ALBERT	(groaning aloud.) The son of Velez!
(didascalia)	(OSORIO walks leisurely round the room, and looks attentively at the plants.)
MAURICE	Why, what ails you now?
(didascalia)	(ALBERT grasps MAURICE’S hand in agitation.)
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 weeds 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 Some serviceable imp. There’s one of you, Who sent me a strange message.
ALBERT	I am he!
OSORIO	I will speak with you, and by yourself.
(didascalia)	(Exit 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!
OSORIO	(draws back as if stung and embarrassed, then folding his arms.) O what a thing is Man! the wisest heart A fool — a fool, that laughs at its own folly, Yet 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, Can quench the flames, and cure your poverty. 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. (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!
OSORIO	I love a lady, and she would love me But for an idle and fantastic scruple. Have you no servants round the house? no listeners?
(didascalia)	(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 think’st it, Thou slave! thou galley-slave! thou mountebank! I leave thee to the hangman!
ALBERT	Fare you well! I pity you, Osorio! even to anguish!
(didascalia)	(ALBERT retires off the stage.)
OSORIO	(recovering himself.) ‘Twas ideotcy! 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	You 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 ——
ALBERT	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!
ALBERT	(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? Dost pray to Lucifer, prince of the air?
ALBERT	Proceed. I shall be silent.
(didascalia)	(ALBERT sits, and leaning on the table hides his face.)
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.) Yes! 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.
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 wizard — 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 pause.) Osorio, I will do it.
OSORIO	Delays are dangerous. It shall be to-morrow In the early evening. Ask for the Lord Velez. I will prepare him. Music, too, and incense, All shall be ready. Here is this same picture — And here what you will value more, a purse. Before the dusk ——
ALBERT	I will not fail to meet you.
OSORIO	Till next we meet, farewell!
ALBERT	(alone, gazes passionately at the portrait.) And I did curse thee? At midnight? on my knees? And I believed Thee perjured, thee polluted, thee a murderess? O blind and credulous fool! O guilt of folly! 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. Ah, coward dupe! to yield it to the miscreant Who spake pollutions of thee! I am unworthy of thy love, Maria! Of that unearthly smile upon those lips, Which ever smil’d on me! Yet do not scorn me. I lisp’d thy name ere I had learnt my mother’s!
(didascalia)	Enter MAURICE.
ALBERT	Maurice! that picture, which I painted for thee, Of my assassination.
MAURICE	I’ll go fetch it.
ALBERT	Haste! for I yearn to tell thee what has pass’d.
(didascalia)	(MAURICE goes out.)
ALBERT	(gazing at the portrait.) Dear image! rescued from a traitor’s keeping, I will not now prophane thee, holy image! To a dark trick! That worst bad man shall find A picture which shall wake the hell within him, And rouse a fiery whirlwind in his conscience!
(didascalia)	END OF ACT THE SECOND.

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	SCENE THE FIRST. — A hall of armory, with an altar in the part farthest from the stage. VELEZ, OSORIO, MARIA.
Maria	Lord Velez! you have ask’d my presence here, And I submit; but (Heaven bear witness for me!) My heart approves it not! ‘tis mockery!
(didascalia)	(Here ALBERT enters in a sorcerer’s robe.)
Maria	(to Albert.) Stranger! I mourn and blush to see you here On such employments! With far other thoughts I left you.
OSORIO	(aside.) Ha! he has been tampering with her!
ALBERT	O high-soul’d maiden, and more dear to me Than suits the stranger’s name, I swear to thee, I will uncover all concealed things! Doubt, but decide not! Stand from off the altar.
(didascalia)	(Here a strain of music is heard from behind the scenes, from an instrument of glass or steel — the harmonica or Celestina stop, or Clagget’s metallic organ.)
ALBERT	With no irreverent voice or uncouth charm I call up the departed. Soul of Albert! Hear our soft suit, and heed my milder spells: So may the gates of Paradise unbarr’d Cease thy swift toils, since haply thou art one Of that innumerable company, Who in broad circle, lovelier than the rainbow, Girdle this round earth in a dizzy motion, With noise too vast and constant to be heard — Fitliest unheard! For, O ye numberless And rapid travellers! what ear unstun’d, What sense unmadden’d, might bear up against The rushing of your congregated wings? Even now your living wheel turns o’er my head! Ye, as ye pass, toss high the desart sands, That roar and whiten, like a burst of waters, A sweet appearance, but a dread illusion, To the parch’d caravan that roams by night. And ye build up on the becalmed waves That whirling pillar, which from earth to heaven Stands vast, and moves in blackness. Ye too split The ice-mount, and with fragments many and huge, Tempest the new-thaw’d sea, whose sudden gulphs Suck in, perchance, some Lapland wizard’s skiff. Then round and round the whirlpool’s marge ye dance, Till from the blue-swoln corse the soul toils out, And joins your mighty army. Soul of Albert! Hear the mild spell and tempt no blacker charm. By sighs unquiet and the sickly pang Of an half dead yet still undying hope, Pass visible before our mortal sense; So shall the Church’s cleansing rites be thine, Her knells and masses that redeem the dead.
(didascalia)	THE SONG (Sung behind the scenes, accompanied by the same instrument as before.)
(didascalia)	Hear, sweet spirit! hear the spell Lest a blacker charm compel! So shall the midnight breezes swell With thy deep long-lingering knell. And at evening evermore In a chapel on the shore Shall the chanters sad and saintly, Yellow tapers burning faintly, Doleful masses chant for thee, Miserere, Domine! Hark! the cadence dies away On the quiet moonlight sea, The boatmen rest their oars, and say, Miserere, Domine! (A long pause.)
OSORIO	This was too melancholy, father!
VELEZ	Nay! My Albert lov’d sad music from a child. Once he was lost; and after weary search We found him in an open place of the wood, To which spot he had follow’d a blind boy Who breathed into a pipe of sycamore Some strangely-moving notes, and these, he said, Were taught him in a dream; him we first saw Stretch’d on the broad top of a sunny heath-bank; And, lower down, poor Albert fast asleep, His head upon the blind boy’s dog — it pleased me To mark, how he had fasten’d round the pipe A silver toy, his grandmother had given him. Methinks I see him now, as he then look’d. His infant dress was grown too short for him, Yet still he wore it.
ALBERT	(aside.) My tears must not flow — I must not clasp his knees, and cry, my father!
OSORIO	The innocent obey nor charm nor spell. My brother is in heaven. Thou sainted spirit Burst on our sight, a passing visitant! Once more to hear thy voice, once more to see thee, O ‘twere a joy to me.
ALBERT	(abruptly.) A joy to thee! What if thou heard’st him now? What if his spirit Re-enter’d its cold corse, and came upon thee, With many a stab from many a murderer’s poniard? What if, his steadfast eye still beaming pity And brother’s love, he turn’d his head aside, Lest he should look at thee, and with one look Hurl thee beyond all power of penitence?
VELEZ	These are unholy fancies!
OSORIO	(struggling with his feelings.) Yes, my father! He is in heaven!
ALBERT	(still to Osorio.) But what if this same brother Had lived even so, that at his dying hour The name of heaven would have convuls’d his face More than the death-pang?
Maria	Idly-prating man! He was most virtuous.
ALBERT	(still to Osorio.) What if his very virtues Had pamper’d his swoln heart, and made him proud? And what if pride had duped him into guilt, Yet still he stalk’d, a self-created God, Not very bold, but excellently cunning; And one that at his mother’s looking-glass, Would force his features to a frowning sternness? Young lord! I tell thee, that there are such beings, — Yea, and it gives fierce merriment to the damn’d, To see these most proud men, that loathe mankind, At every stir and buz of coward conscience, Trick, cant, and lie, most whining hypocrites! Away! away! Now let me hear more music. (Music as before.)
ALBERT	The spell is mutter’d — come, thou wandering shape, Who own’st no master in an eye of flesh, Whate’er be this man’s doom, fair be it or foul, If he be dead, come quick, and bring with thee That which he grasp’d in death; and if he lives, Some token of his obscure perilous life.
(didascalia)	(The whole orchestra crashes into one chorus.)
(didascalia)	Wandering demon! hear the spell Lest a blacker charm compel!
(didascalia)	(A thunder-clap. The incense on the altar takes fire suddenly.)
Maria	This is some trick — I know, it is a trick. Yet my weak fancy, and these bodily creepings, Would fain give substance to the shadow.
VELEZ	(advancing to the altar.) Hah! A picture!
Maria	O God! my picture?
ALBERT	(gazing at Maria with wild impatient distressfulness.) Pale — pale — deadly pale!
Maria	He grasp’d it when he died.
(didascalia)	(She swoons. ALBERT rushes to her and supports her.)
ALBERT	My love! my wife! Pale — pale, and cold! My love! my wife! Maria!
(didascalia)	(VELEZ is at the altar. OSORIO remains near him in a state of stupor.)
OSORIO	(rousing himself.) Where am I? ‘Twas a lazy chilliness.
VELEZ	(takes and conceals the picture in his robe.) This way, my son! She must not see this picture. Go, call the attendants! Life will soon ebb back!
(didascalia)	(VELEZ and OSORIO leave the stage.)
ALBERT	Her pulse doth flutter. Maria! my Maria!
Maria	(recovering — looks round.) I heard a voice — but often in my dreams, I hear that voice, and wake; and try, and try, To hear it waking — but I never could! And ‘tis so now — even so! Well, he is dead, Murder’d perhaps! and I am faint, and feel As if it were no painful thing to die!
ALBERT	(eagerly.) Believe it not, sweet maid! believe it not, Beloved woman! ‘Twas a low imposture Framed by a guilty wretch.
Maria	Ha! who art thou?
ALBERT	(exceedingly agitated.) My heart bursts over thee!
Maria	Didst thou murder him? And dost thou now repent? Poor troubled man! I do forgive thee, and may Heaven forgive thee!
ALBERT	(aside.) Let me be gone.
Maria	If thou didst murder him, His spirit ever, at the throne of God, Asks mercy for thee, prays for mercy for thee, With tears in heaven!
ALBERT	Albert was not murder’d. Your foster-mother ——
Maria	And doth she know aught?
ALBERT	She knows not aught — but haste thou to her cottage To-morrow early — bring Lord Velez with thee. There ye must meet me — but your servants come.
Maria	(wildly.) Nay — nay — but tell me! (A pause — then presses her forehead.) Ah! ‘tis lost again! This dead confused pain! (A pause — she gazes at ALBERT.) Mysterious man! Methinks, I cannot fear thee — for thine eye Doth swim with pity — I will lean on thee.
(didascalia)	(Exeunt ALBERT and MARIA. Re-enter VELEZ and OSORIO.)
VELEZ	(sportively.) You shall not see the picture, till you own it.
OSORIO	This mirth and raillery, sir! beseem your age. I am content to be more serious.
VELEZ	Do you think I did not scent it from the first? An excellent scheme, and excellently managed. ‘Twill blow away her doubts, and now she’ll wed you, I’faith, the likeness is most admirable. I saw the trick — yet these old eyes grew dimmer With very foolish tears, it look’d so like him!
OSORIO	Where should I get her portrait?
VELEZ	Get her portrait? Portrait? You mean the picture! At the painter’s — No difficulty then — but that you lit upon A fellow that could play the sorcerer, With such a grace and terrible majesty, It was most rare good fortune. And how deeply He seem’d to suffer when Maria swoon’d, And half made love to her! I suppose you’ll ask me Why did he so?
OSORIO	(with deep tones of suppressed agitation.) Ay, wherefore did he so?
VELEZ	Because you bade him — and an excellent thought! A mighty man, and gentle as he is mighty. He’ll wind into her confidence, and rout A host of scruples — come, confess, Osorio!
OSORIO	You pierce through mysteries with a lynx’s eye, In this, your merry mood! you see it all!
VELEZ	Why, no! — not all. I have not yet discover’d, At least, not wholly, what his speeches meant. Pride and hypocrisy, and guilt and cunning — Then when he fix’d his obstinate eye on you, And you pretended to look strange and tremble. Why — why — what ails you now?
OSORIO	(with a stupid stare.) Me? why? what ails me? A pricking of the blood — it might have happen’d At any other time. Why scan you me?
VELEZ	(clapping him on the shoulder.) ‘Twon’t do—’twon’t do — I have lived too long in the world. His speech about the corse and stabs and murderers, Had reference to the assassins in the picture: That I made out.
OSORIO	(with a frantic eagerness.) Assassins! what assassins!
VELEZ	Well-acted, on my life! Your curiosity Runs open-mouth’d, ravenous as winter wolf. I dare not stand in its way. (He shows OSORIO the picture.)
OSORIO	Dup’d — dup’d — dup’d! That villain Ferdinand! (aside.)
VELEZ	Dup’d — dup’d — not I. As he swept by me ——
OSORIO	Ha! what did he say?
VELEZ	He caught his garment up and hid his face. It seem’d as he were struggling to suppress ——
OSORIO	A laugh! a laugh! O hell! he laughs at me!
VELEZ	It heaved his chest more like a violent sob.
OSORIO	A choking laugh! (A pause — then very wildly.) I tell thee, my dear father! I am most glad of this!
VELEZ	Glad! — aye — to be sure.
OSORIO	I was benumb’d, and stagger’d up and down Thro’ darkness without light — dark — dark — dark — And every inch of this my flesh did feel As if a cold toad touch’d it! Now ‘tis sunshine, And the blood dances freely thro’ its channels! (He turns off — then (to himself) mimicking FERDINAND’S manner.) ‘A common trick of gratitude, my lord! Old Gratitude! a dagger would dissect His own full heart,’ ‘twere good to see its colour!
VELEZ	(looking intently at the picture.) Calm, yet commanding! how he bares his breast, Yet still they stand with dim uncertain looks, As penitence had run before their crime. A crime too black for aught to follow it Save blasphemous despair! See this man’s face — With what a difficult toil he drags his soul To do the deed. (Then to OSORIO.) O this was delicate flattery To poor Maria, and I love thee for it!
OSORIO	(in a slow voice with a reasoning laugh.) Love — love — and then we hate — and what? and wherefore? Hatred and love. Strange things! both strange alike! What if one reptile sting another reptile, Where is the crime? The goodly face of Nature Hath one trail less of slimy filth upon it. Are we not all predestined rottenness And cold dishonor? Grant it that this hand Had given a morsel to the hungry worms Somewhat too early. Where’s the guilt of this? That this must needs bring on the idiotcy Of moist-eyed penitence—’tis like a dream!
VELEZ	Wild talk, my child! but thy excess of feeling (Turns off from OSORIO.) Sometimes, I fear, it will unhinge his brain!
OSORIO	I kill a man and lay him in the sun, And in a month there swarm from his dead body A thousand — nay, ten thousand sentient beings In place of that one man whom I had kill’d. Now who shall tell me, that each one and all, Of these ten thousand lives, is not as happy As that one life, which being shov’d aside Made room for these ten thousand?
VELEZ	Wild as madness!
OSORIO	Come, father! you have taught me to be merry, And merrily we’ll pore upon this picture.
VELEZ	(holding the picture before Osorio.) That Moor, who points his sword at Albert’s breast ——
OSORIO	(abruptly.) A tender-hearted, scrupulous, grateful villain, Whom I will strangle!
VELEZ	And these other two ——
OSORIO	Dead — dead already! — what care I for the dead?
VELEZ	The heat of brain and your too strong affection For Albert, fighting with your other passion, Unsettle you, and give reality To these your own contrivings.
OSORIO	Is it so? You see through all things with your penetration. Now I am calm. How fares it with Maria? My heart doth ache to see her.
VELEZ	Nay — defer it! Defer it, dear Osorio! I will go. (Exit VELEZ.)
OSORIO	A rim of the sun lies yet upon the sea — And now ‘tis gone! all may be done this night!
(didascalia)	Enter a Servant.
OSORIO	There is a man, once a Moresco chieftain, One Ferdinand.
SERVANT	He lives in the Alpuxarras, Beneath a slate rock.
OSORIO	Slate rock?
SERVANT	Yes, my lord! If you had seen it, you must have remember’d The flight of steps his children had worn up it With often clambering.
OSORIO	Well, it may be so.
SERVANT	Why, now I think on’t, at this time of the year ‘Tis hid by vines.
OSORIO	(in a muttering voice.) The cavern — aye — the cavern. He cannot fail to find it. (To the Servant.) Where art going? You must deliver to this Ferdinand A letter. Stay till I have written it. (Exit the Servant.)
OSORIO	(alone.) The tongue can’t stir when the mouth is fill’d with mould. A little earth stops up most eloquent mouths, And a square stone with a few pious texts Cut neatly on it, keeps the earth down tight.
(didascalia)	Scene changes to the space before the castle.

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	FRANCESCO and a Spy.
FRANCESCO	Yes! yes! I have the key of all their lives. If a man fears me, he is forced to love me. And if I can, and do not ruin him, He is fast bound to serve and honour me!
(didascalia)	(ALBERT enters from the castle, and is crossing the stage.)
SPY	There — there — your Reverence! That is the sorcerer.
(didascalia)	(FRANCESCO runs up and rudely catches hold of ALBERT. ALBERT dashes him to the earth. FRANCESCO and the Spy make an uproar, and the servants rush from out the castle.)
FRANCESCO	Seize, seize and gag him! or the Church curses you!
(didascalia)	(The servants seize and gag ALBERT.)
(didascalia)	Enter VELEZ and OSORIO.
OSORIO	(aside.) This is most lucky!
FRANCESCO	(inarticulate with rage.) See you this, Lord Velez? Good evidence have I of most foul sorcery, And in the name of Holy Church command you To give me up the keys — the keys, my lord! Of that same dungeon-hole beneath your castle. This imp of hell — but we delay enquiry Till to Granada we have convoy’d him.
OSORIO	(to the Servants.) Why haste you not? Go, fly and dungeon him! Then bring the keys and give them to his Reverence.
(didascalia)	(The Servants hurry off ALBERT. OSORIO goes up to FRANCESCO, and pointing at ALBERT.)
OSORIO	(with a laugh.) ‘He that can bring the dead to life again.’
FRANCESCO	What? did you hear it?
OSORIO	Yes, and plann’d this scheme To bring conviction on him. Ho! a wizard, Thought I — but where’s the proof! I plann’d this scheme. The scheme has answer’d — we have proof enough.
FRANCESCO	My lord, your pious policy astounds me. I trust my honest zeal ——
OSORIO	Nay, reverend father! It has but raised my veneration for you. But ‘twould be well to stop all intertalk Between my servants and this child of darkness.
FRANCESCO	My lord! with speed I’ll go, make swift return, And humbly redeliver you the keys. (Exit FRANCESCO.)
OSORIO	(alone.) ‘The stranger, that lives nigh, still picking weeds.’ And this was his friend, his crony, his twin-brother! O! I am green, a very simple stripling — The wise men of this world make nothing of me. By Heaven, ‘twas well contrived! And I, forsooth, I was to cut my throat in honour of conscience. And this tall wizard — ho! — he was to pass For Albert’s friend! He hath a trick of his manner. He was to tune his voice to honey’d sadness, And win her to a transfer of her love By lamentable tales of her dear Albert, And his dear Albert! Yea, she would have lov’d him. He, that can sigh out in a woman’s ear Sad recollections of her perish’d lover, And sob and smile with veering sympathy, And, now and then, as if by accident, Pass his mouth close enough to touch her cheek With timid lip, he takes the lover’s place, He takes his place, for certain! Dusky rogue, Were it not sport to whimper with thy mistress, Then steal away and roll upon my grave, Till thy sides shook with laughter? Blood! blood! blood! They want thy blood! thy blood, Osorio!
(didascalia)	[END OF ACT THE THIRD.]

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	SCENE THE FIRST. — A cavern, dark except where a gleam of moonlight is seen on one side of the further end of it, supposed to be cast on it from a cranny [crevice Remorse] in a part of the cavern out of sight. FERDINAND alone, an extinguished torch in his hand.
Ferdinand	Drip! drip! drip! drip! — in such a place as this It has nothing else to do but drip! drip! drip! I wish it had not dripp’d upon my torch. Faith ‘twas a moving letter — very moving! His life in danger — no place safe but this. ‘Twas his turn now to talk of gratitude! And yet — but no! there can’t be such a villain. It cannot be! Thanks to that little cranny Which lets the moonlight in! I’ll go and sit by it. To peep at a tree, or see a he-goat’s beard, Or hear a cow or two breathe loud in their sleep, ‘Twere better than this dreary noise of water-drops!
(didascalia)	(He goes out of sight, opposite to the patch of moonlight, [and returns. Remorse] returns after a minute’s elapse in an ecstasy of fear.)
Ferdinand	A hellish pit! O God—’tis like my night-mair! I was just in! — and those damn’d fingers of ice Which clutch’d my hair up! Ha! what’s that? it moved!
(didascalia)	(FERDINAND stands [motionless MS. III erased] staring at another recess in the cavern. In the mean time OSORIO enters with a torch and hollas to him [halloes to ISIDORE Remorse].)
Ferdinand	I swear, I saw a something moving there! The moonshine came and went, like a flash of lightning. I swear, I saw it move!
(didascalia)	(OSORIO goes into the recess, then returns, and with great scorn.)
OSORIO	A jutting clay-stone Drips on the long lank weed that grows beneath; And the weed nods and drips.
Ferdinand	(forcing a faint laugh.) A joke to laugh at! It was not that which frighten’d me, my lord!
OSORIO	What frighten’d you?
Ferdinand	You see that little cranny? But first permit me,
(didascalia)	(Lights his torch at OSORIO’S, and while lighting it.)
Ferdinand	(A lighted torch in the hand Is no unpleasant object here — one’s breath Floats round the flame, and makes as many colours As the thin clouds that travel near the moon.) You see that cranny there?
OSORIO	Well, what of that?
Ferdinand	I walk’d up to it, meaning to sit there. When I had reach’d it within twenty paces ——
(didascalia)	(FERDINAND starts as if he felt the terror over again.)
Ferdinand	Merciful Heaven! Do go, my lord! and look.
(didascalia)	(OSORIO goes and returns.)
OSORIO	It must have shot some pleasant feelings thro’ you?
Ferdinand	If every atom of a dead man’s flesh Should move, each one with a particular life, Yet all as cold as ever—’twas just so! Or if it drizzled needle-points of frost Upon a feverish head made suddenly bald —
OSORIO	(interrupting him.) Why, Ferdinand! I blush for thy cowardice. It would have startled any man, I grant thee. But such a panic.
Ferdinand	When a boy, my lord! I could have sat whole hours beside that chasm, Push’d in huge stones and heard them thump and rattle Against its horrid sides; and hung my head Low down, and listen’d till the heavy fragments Sunk, with faint crash, in that still groaning well, Which never thirsty pilgrim blest, which never A living thing came near; unless, perchance, Some blind-worm battens on the ropy mould, Close at its edge.
OSORIO	Art thou more coward now?
Ferdinand	Call him that fears his fellow-men a coward. I fear not man. But this inhuman cavern It were too bad a prison-house for goblins. Besides (you’ll laugh, my lord!) but true it is, My last night’s sleep was very sorely haunted By what had pass’d between us in the morning. I saw you in a thousand hideous ways, And doz’d and started, doz’d again and started. I do entreat your lordship to believe me, In my last dream ——
OSORIO	Well?
Ferdinand	I was in the act Of falling down that chasm, when Alhadra Waked me. She heard my heart beat!
OSORIO	Strange enough! Had you been here before?
Ferdinand	Never, my lord! But my eyes do not see it now more clearly Than in my dream I saw that very chasm.
(didascalia)	(OSORIO stands in a deep study — then, after a pause.)
OSORIO	There is no reason why it should be so. And yet it is.
Ferdinand	What is, my lord?
OSORIO	Unpleasant To kill a man!
Ferdinand	Except in self-defence.
OSORIO	Why that’s my case: and yet ‘tis still unpleasant. At least I find it so! But you, perhaps, Have stronger nerves?
Ferdinand	Something doth trouble you. How can I serve you? By the life you gave me, By all that makes that life of value to me, My wife, my babes, my honour, I swear to you, Name it, and I will toil to do the thing, If it be innocent! But this, my lord! Is not a place where you could perpetrate, No, nor propose a wicked thing. The darkness (When ten yards off, we know, ‘tis chearful moonlight) Collects the guilt and crowds it round the heart. It must be innocent.
OSORIO	Thyself be judge.
(didascalia)	(OSORIO walks round the cavern — then looking round it.)
OSORIO	One of our family knew this place well.
Ferdinand	Who? when? my lord.
OSORIO	What boots it who or when? Hang up the torch. I’ll tell his tale to thee.
(didascalia)	(They hang [up] their torches in some shelf of [on some ridge in Remorse] the cavern.)
OSORIO	He was a man different from other men, And he despised them, yet revered himself.
Ferdinand	What? he was mad?
OSORIO	All men seem’d mad to him, Their actions noisome folly, and their talk — A goose’s gabble was more musical. Nature had made him for some other planet, And press’d his soul into a human shape By accident or malice. In this world He found no fit companion!
Ferdinand	Ah, poor wretch! Madmen are mostly proud.
OSORIO	He walk’d alone, And phantasies, unsought for, troubled him. Something within would still be shadowing out All possibilities, and with these shadows His mind held dalliance. Once, as so it happen’d, A fancy cross’d him wilder than the rest: To this in moody murmur, and low voice, He yielded utterance as some talk in sleep. The man who heard him —— Why didst thou look round?
Ferdinand	I have a prattler three years old, my lord! In truth he is my darling. As I went From forth my door, he made a moan in sleep — But I am talking idly — pray go on! And what did this man?
OSORIO	With his human hand He gave a being and reality To that wild fancy of a possible thing. Well it was done. (Then very wildly.) Why babblest thou of guilt? The deed was done, and it pass’d fairly off. And he, whose tale I tell thee — dost thou listen?
Ferdinand	I would, my lord, you were by my fireside! I’d listen to you with an eager eye, Tho’ you began this cloudy tale at midnight. But I do listen — pray proceed, my lord!
OSORIO	Where was I?
Ferdinand	He of whom you tell the tale —
OSORIO	Surveying all things with a quiet scorn Tamed himself down to living purposes, The occupations and the semblances Of ordinary men — and such he seem’d. But that some over-ready agent — he ——
Ferdinand	Ah! what of him, my lord?
OSORIO	He proved a villain; Betray’d the mystery to a brother villain; And they between them hatch’d a damnéd plot To hunt him down to infamy and death To share the wealth of a most noble family, And stain the honour of an orphan lady With barbarous mixture and unnatural union. What did the Velez? I am proud of the name, Since he dared do it.
(didascalia)	(OSORIO grasps his sword and turns off from FERDINAND, then, after a pause, returns.)
OSORIO	Our links burn dimly.
Ferdinand	A dark tale darkly finish’d! Nay, my lord! Tell what he did.
OSORIO	(fiercely.) That which his wisdom prompted. He made the traitor meet him in this cavern, And here he kill’d the traitor.
Ferdinand	No! — the fool. He had not wit enough to be a traitor. Poor thick-eyed beetle! not to have foreseen That he, who gull’d thee with a whimper’d lie To murder his own brother, would not scruple To murder thee, if e’er his guilt grew jealous And he could steal upon thee in the dark!
OSORIO	Thou would’st not then have come, if ——
Ferdinand	O yes, my lord! I would have met him arm’d, and scared the coward!
(didascalia)	(FERDINAND throws off his robe, shows himself armed, and draws his sword.)
OSORIO	Now this is excellent, and warms the blood! My heart was drawing back, drawing me back With womanish pulls of pity. Dusky slave, Now I will kill thee pleasantly, and count it Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter.
Ferdinand	And all my little ones fatherless! Die thou first.
(didascalia)	(They fight. OSORIO disarms FERDINAND, and in disarming him, throws his sword up that recess, opposite to which they were standing.)
Ferdinand	(springing wildly towards Osorio.) Still I can strangle thee!
OSORIO	Nay, fool! stand off. I’ll kill thee — but not so! Go fetch thy sword.
(didascalia)	(FERDINAND hurries into the recess with his torch. OSORIO follows him, and in a moment returns alone.)
OSORIO	Now — this was luck! No bloodstains, no dead body! His dream, too, is made out. Now for his friend.
(didascalia)	(Exit.)
(didascalia)	SCENE changes to the court before the Castle of VELEZ.

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(didascalia)	MARIA and her FOSTER-MOTHER.
Maria	And when I heard that you desired to see me, I thought your business was to tell me of him.
FOSTER-MOTHER	I never saw the Moor, whom you describe.
Maria	‘Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly As mine and Albert’s common foster-mother.
FOSTER-MOTHER	Now blessings on the man, whoe’er he be, That join’d your names with mine! O my sweet lady, As often as I think of those dear times When you two little ones would stand at eve, On each side of my chair, and make me learn All you had learnt in the day; and how to talk In gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you, ‘Tis more like heaven to come, that what has been!
Maria	O my dear mother! this strange man has left me Wilder’d with wilder fancies than yon moon Breeds in the love-sick maid — who gazes at it Till lost in inward vision, with wet eye She gazes idly! But that entrance, mother!
FOSTER-MOTHER	Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale!
Maria	No one.
FOSTER-MOTHER	My husband’s father told it me, Poor old Leoni. Angels rest his soul! He was a woodman, and could fell and saw With lusty arm. You know that huge round beam Which props the hanging wall of the old chapel? Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree, He found a baby wrapt in mosses, lined With thistle-beards, and such small locks of wool As hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home, And rear’d him at the then Lord Velez’ cost. And so the babe grew up a pretty boy. A pretty boy, but most unteachable — And never learnt a prayer, nor told a bead, But knew the names of birds, and mock’d their notes, And whistled, as he were a bird himself. And all the autumn ‘twas his only play To get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them With earth and water on the stumps of trees. A friar who gather’d simples in the wood, A grey-hair’d man — he loved this little boy, The boy loved him — and, when the friar taught him, He soon could write with the pen; and from that time Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle. So he became a very learned youth. But O! poor wretch — he read, and read, and read, Till his brain turn’d — and ere his twentieth year, He had unlawful thoughts of many things. And though he pray’d, he never loved to pray With holy men, nor in a holy place. But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet, The late Lord Velez ne’er was wearied with him, And once as by the north side of the chapel They stood together, chain’d in deep discourse, The earth heav’d under them with such a groan, That the wall totter’d, and had well-nigh fall’n Right on their heads. My lord was sorely frighten’d; A fever seiz’d him; and he made confession Of all the heretical and lawless talk Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seiz’d And cast into that hole. My husband’s father Sobb’d like a child — it almost broke his heart. And once as he was working in the cellar, He heard a voice distinctly; ‘twas the youth’s, Who sung a doleful song about green fields, How sweet it were on lake or wild savannah To hunt for food, and be a naked man, And wander up and down at liberty. He always doted on the youth, and now His love grew desperate; and defying death, He made that cunning entrance I described: And the young man escaped.
Maria	‘Tis a sweet tale: Such as would lull a list’ning child to sleep, His rosy face besoil’d with unwiped tears. And what became of him?
FOSTER-MOTHER	He went on shipboard With those bold voyagers, who made discovery Of golden lands; Leoni’s younger brother Went likewise, and when he return’d to Spain, He told Leoni that the poor mad youth, Soon after they arrived in that new world, In spite of his dissuasion seized a boat, And all alone set sail by silent moonlight, Up a great river, great as any sea, And ne’er was heard of more; but ‘tis supposed He liv’d and died among the savage men.
(didascalia)	Enter VELEZ.
VELEZ	Still sad, Maria? This same wizard haunts you.
Maria	O Christ! the tortures that hang o’er his head, If ye betray him to these holy brethren!
VELEZ	(with a kind of sneer.) A portly man, and eloquent, and tender! In truth, I shall not wonder if you mourn That their rude grasp should seize on such a victim.
Maria	The horror of their ghastly punishments Doth so o’ertop the height of sympathy, That I should feel too little for mine enemy — Ah! far too little — if ‘twere possible, I could feel more, even tho’ my child or husband Were doom’d to suffer them! That such things are ——
VELEZ	Hush! thoughtless woman!
Maria	Nay — it wakes within me More than a woman’s spirit.
VELEZ	(angrily.) No more of this — I can endure no more.
FOSTER-MOTHER	My honour’d master! Lord Albert used to talk so.
Maria	Yes! my mother! These are my Albert’s lessons, and I con them With more delight than, in my fondest hour, I bend me o’er his portrait.
VELEZ	(to the Foster-Mother.) My good woman, You may retire. (Exit the FOSTER-MOTHER.)
VELEZ	We have mourn’d for Albert. Have I no living son?
Maria	Speak not of him! That low imposture — my heart sickens at it, If it be madness, must I wed a madman? And if not madness, there is mystery, And guilt doth lurk behind it!
VELEZ	Is this well?
Maria	Yes! it is truth. Saw you his countenance? How rage, remorse, and scorn, and stupid fear, Displac’d each other with swift interchanges? If this were all assumed, as you believe, He must needs be a most consummate actor; And hath so vast a power to deceive me, I never could be safe. And why assume The semblance of such execrable feelings?
VELEZ	Ungrateful woman! I have tried to stifle An old man’s passion! Was it not enough That thou hast made my son a restless man, Banish’d his health and half-unhinged his reason, But that thou wilt insult him with suspicion, And toil to blast his honour? I am old — A comfortless old man! Thou shalt not stay Beneath my roof!
(didascalia)	(FRANCESCO enters and stands listening.)
VELEZ	Repent and marry him — Or to the convent.
FRANCESCO	(muttering.) Good! good! very good!
Maria	Nay, grant me some small pittance of my fortune, And I will live a solitary woman, Or my poor foster-mother and her grandsons May be my household.
FRANCESCO	(advancing.) I abhor a listener; But you spoke so, I could not choose but hear you. I pray, my lord! will you embolden me To ask you why this lady doth prefer To live in lonely sort, without a friend Or fit companion?
VELEZ	Bid her answer you.
Maria	Nature will be my friend and fit companion. (Turns off from them.) O Albert! Albert! that they could return, Those blessed days, that imitated heaven! When we two wont to walk at evening-tide; When we saw nought but beauty; when we heard The voice of that Almighty One, who lov’d us, In every gale that breath’d, and wave that murmur’d! O we have listen’d, even till high-wrought pleasure Hath half-assumed the countenance of grief, And the deep sigh seem’d to heave up a weight Of bliss, that press’d too heavy on the heart.
FRANCESCO	But in the convent, lady, you would have Such aids as might preserve you from perdition. There you might dwell.
Maria	With tame and credulous faith, Mad melancholy, antic merriment, Leanness, disquietude, and secret pangs! O God! it is a horrid thing to know That each pale wretch, who sits and drops her beads Had once a mind, which might have given her wings Such as the angels wear!
FRANCESCO	(stifling his rage.) Where is your son, my lord?
VELEZ	I have not seen him, father, since he left you.
FRANCESCO	His lordship’s generous nature hath deceiv’d him! That Ferdinand (or if not he his wife) I have fresh evidence — are infidels. We are not safe until they are rooted out.
Maria	Thou man, who call’st thyself the minister Of Him whose law was love unutterable! Why is thy soul so parch’d with cruelty, That still thou thirstest for thy brother’s blood?
VELEZ	(rapidly.) Father! I have long suspected it — her brain — Heed it not, father!
FRANCESCO	Nay — but I must heed it.
Maria	Thou miserable man! I fear thee not, Nor prize a life which soon may weary me. Bear witness, Heav’n! I neither scorn nor hate him — But O! ‘tis wearisome to mourn for evils, Still mourn, and have no power to remedy! (Exit MARIA.)
FRANCESCO	My lord! I shall presume to wait on you To-morrow early.
VELEZ	Be it so, good father! (Exit FRANCESCO.)
VELEZ	(alone.) I do want solace, but not such as thine! The moon is high in heaven, and my eyes ache, But not with sleep. Well — it is ever so. A child, a child is born! and the fond heart Dances! and yet the childless are most happy.
(didascalia)	SCENE changes to the mountains by moonlight.

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	ALHADRA alone in a Moorish dress, her eyes fixed on the earth. Then drop in one after another, from different parts of the stage, a considerable number of Morescoes, all in their Moorish garments. They form a circle at a distance round ALHADRA. After a pause one of the Morescoes to the man who stands next to him.
FIRST MORESCO	The law which forced these Christian dresses on us, ‘Twere pleasant to cleave down the wretch who framed it.
SECOND	Yet ‘tis not well to trample on it idly.
FIRST	Our country robes are dear.
SECOND	And like dear friends, May chance to prove most perilous informers.
(didascalia)	(A third Moresco, NAOMI, advances from out the circle.)
NAOMI	Woman! may Alla and the prophet bless thee! We have obey’d thy call. Where is our chief? And why didst thou enjoin the Moorish garments?
ALHADRA	(lifting up [raising Remorse] her eyes, and looking round on the circle.) Warriors of Mahomet, faithful in the battle, My countrymen! Come ye prepared to work An honourable deed? And would ye work it In the slave’s garb? Curse on those Christian robes! They are spell-blasted; and whoever wears them, His arm shrinks wither’d, his heart melts away, And his bones soften!
NAOMI	Where is Ferdinand?
ALHADRA	(in a deep low voice.) This night I went from forth my house, and left His children all asleep; and he was living! And I return’d, and found them still asleep — But he had perish’d.
ALL	Perished?
ALHADRA	He had perish’d! Sleep on, poor babes! not one of you doth know That he is fatherless, a desolate orphan! Why should we wake them? Can an infant’s arm Revenge his murder?
ONE TO ANOTHER	Did she say his murder?
NAOMI	Murder’d? Not murder’d?
ALHADRA	Murder’d by a Christian!
(didascalia)	(They all, at once, draw their sabres.)
ALHADRA	(to Naomi, who on being addressed again advances from the circle.) Brother of Zagri! fling away thy sword: This is thy chieftain’s! (He steps forward to take it.) Dost thou dare receive it? For I have sworn by Alia and the prophet, No tear shall dim these eyes, this woman’s heart Shall heave no groan, till I have seen that sword Wet with the blood of all the house of Velez!
(didascalia)	Enter MAURICE.
ALL	A spy! a spy! (They seize him.)
MAURICE	Off! off! unhand me, slaves!
(didascalia)	(After much struggling he disengages himself and draws his sword.)
NAOMI	(to Alhadra.) Speak! shall we kill him?
MAURICE	Yes! ye can kill a man, Some twenty of you! But ye are Spanish slaves! And slaves are always cruel, always cowards.
ALHADRA	That man has spoken truth. Whence and who art thou?
MAURICE	I seek a dear friend, whom for aught I know The son of Velez hath hired one of you To murder! Say, do ye know aught of Albert?
ALHADRA	(starting.) Albert? — three years ago I heard that name Murmur’d in sleep! High-minded foreigner! Mix thy revenge with mine, and stand among us.
(didascalia)	(MAURICE stands among the Morescoes.)
ALHADRA	Was not Osorio my husband’s friend?
OLD MAN	He kill’d my son in battle; yet our chieftain Forced me to sheathe my dagger. See — the point Is bright, unrusted with the villain’s blood!
ALHADRA	He is your chieftain’s murderer!
NAOMI	He dies by Alla!
ALL	(dropping on one knee.) By Alla!
ALHADRA	This night a reeking slave came with loud pant, Gave Ferdinand a letter, and departed, Swift as he came. Pale, with unquiet looks, He read the scroll.
MAURICE	Its purport?
ALHADRA	Yes, I ask’d it. He answer’d me, ‘Alhadra! thou art worthy A nobler secret; but I have been faithful To this bad man, and faithful I will be.’ He said, and arm’d himself, and lit a torch; Then kiss’d his children, each one on its pillow, And hurried from me. But I follow’d him At distance, till I saw him enter there.
NAOMI	The cavern?
ALHADRA	Yes — the mouth of yonder cavern. After a pause I saw the son of Velez Rush by with flaring torch; he likewise enter’d — There was another and a longer pause — And once, methought, I heard the clash of swords, And soon the son of Velez reappear’d. He flung his torch towards the moon in sport, And seem’d as he were mirthful! I stood listening Impatient for the footsteps of my husband!
MAURICE	Thou called’st him?
ALHADRA	I crept into the cavern: ‘Twas dark and very silent. (Then wildly.) What said’st thou? No, no! I did not dare call, Ferdinand! Lest I should hear no answer. A brief while, Belike, I lost all thought and memory Of that for which I came! After that pause, O God! I heard a groan! — and follow’d it. And yet another groan — which guided me Into a strange recess — and there was light, A hideous light! his torch lay on the ground — Its flame burnt dimly o’er a chasm’s brink. I spake — and while I spake, a feeble groan Came from that chasm! It was his last! his death groan!
MAURICE	Comfort her, comfort her, Almighty Father!
ALHADRA	I stood in unimaginable trance And agony, that cannot be remember’d, Listening with horrid hope to hear a groan! But I had heard his last — my husband’s death-groan!
NAOMI	Haste! let us go!
ALHADRA	I look’d far down the pit. My sight was bounded by a jutting fragment, And it was stain’d with blood! Then first I shriek’d! My eyeballs burnt! my brain grew hot as fire! And all the hanging drops of the wet roof Turn’d into blood. I saw them turn to blood! And I was leaping wildly down the chasm When on the further brink I saw his sword, And it said, Vengeance! Curses on my tongue! The moon hath moved in heaven, and I am here, And he hath not had vengeance! Ferdinand! Spirit of Ferdinand! thy murderer lives! Away! away! (She rushes off, all following.)
(didascalia)	END OF THE FOURTH ACT

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	SCENE THE FIRST. — The Sea Shore. NAOMI and a Moresco.
MORESCO	This was no time for freaks of useless vengeance.
NAOMI	True! but Francesco, the Inquisitor, Thou know’st the bloodhound—’twas a strong temptation. And when they pass’d within a mile of his house, We could not curb them in. They swore by Mahomet, It were a deed of treachery to their brethren To sail from Spain and leave that man alive.
MORESCO	Where is Alhadra?
NAOMI	She moved steadily on Unswerving from the path of her resolve. Yet each strange object fix’d her eye: for grief Doth love to dally with fantastic shapes, And smiling, like a sickly moralist, Gives some resemblance of her own concerns To the straws of chance, and things inanimate. I seek her here; stand thou upon the watch.
(didascalia)	(Exit Moresco.)
NAOMI	(looking wistfully to the distance.) Stretch’d on the rock! It must be she — Alhadra!
(didascalia)	(ALHADRA rises from the rock, and advances slowly, as if musing.)
NAOMI	Once more, well met! what ponder’st thou so deeply?
ALHADRA	I scarce can tell thee! For my many thoughts Troubled me, till with blank and naked mind I only listen’d to the dashing billows. It seems to me, I could have closed my eyes And wak’d without a dream of what has pass’d; So well it counterfeited quietness, This wearied heart of mine!
NAOMI	‘Tis thus by nature Wisely ordain’d, that so excess of sorrow Might bring its own cure with it.
ALHADRA	Would to Heaven That it had brought its last and certain cure! That ruin in the wood.
NAOMI	It is a place Of ominous fame; but ‘twas the shortest road, Nor could we else have kept clear of the village. Yet some among us, as they scal’d the wall, Mutter’d old rhyming prayers.
ALHADRA	On that broad wall I saw a skull; a poppy grew beside it, There was a ghastly solace in the sight!
NAOMI	I mark’d it not, and in good truth the night-bird Curdled my blood, even till it prick’d the heart. Its note comes dreariest in the fall of the year: (Looking round impatiently.) Why don’t they come? I will go forth and meet them.
(didascalia)	(Exit NAOMI.)
ALHADRA	(alone.) The hanging woods, that touch’d by autumn seem’d As they were blossoming hues of fire and gold, The hanging woods, most lovely in decay, The many clouds, the sea, the rock, the sands, Lay in the silent moonshine; and the owl, (Strange! very strange!) the scritch owl only wak’d, Sole voice, sole eye of all that world of beauty! Why such a thing am I! Where are these men? I need the sympathy of human faces To beat away this deep contempt for all things Which quenches my revenge. Oh! — would to Alla The raven and the sea-mew were appointed To bring me food, or rather that my soul Could drink in life from the universal air! It were a lot divine in some small skiff, Along some ocean’s boundless solitude, To float for ever with a careless course, And think myself the only being alive! (NAOMI re-enters.)
NAOMI	Thy children ——
ALHADRA	Children? Whose children? (A pause — then fiercely.) Son of Velez, This hath new-strung my arm! Thou coward tyrant, To stupify a woman’s heart with anguish, Till she forgot even that she was a mother!
(didascalia)	(A noise — enter a part of the Morescoes; and from the opposite side of the stage a Moorish Seaman.)
MOORISH SEAMAN	The boat is on the shore, the vessel waits. Your wives and children are already stow’d; I left them prattling of the Barbary coast, Of Mosks, and minarets, and golden crescents. Each had her separate dream; but all were gay, Dancing, in thought, to finger-beaten timbrels!
(didascalia)	(Enter MAURICE and the rest of the Morescoes dragging in FRANCESCO.)
FRANCESCO	O spare me, spare me! only spare my life!
AN OLD MAN	All hail, Alhadra! O that thou hadst heard him When first we dragg’d him forth! (Then turning to the band.) Here! in her presence ——
(didascalia)	(He advances with his sword as about to kill him. MAURICE leaps in and stands with his drawn sword between FRANCESCO and the Morescoes.)
MAURICE	Nay, but ye shall not!
OLD MAN	Shall not? Hah? Shall not?
MAURICE	What, an unarm’d man? A man that never wore a sword? A priest? It is unsoldierly! I say, ye shall not!
OLD MAN	(turning to the bands.) He bears himself most like an insolent Spaniard!
MAURICE	And ye like slaves, that have destroy’d their master, But know not yet what freedom means; how holy And just a thing it is! He’s a fallen foe! Come, come, forgive him!
ALL	No, by Mahomet!
FRANCESCO	O mercy, mercy! talk to them of mercy!
OLD MAN	Mercy to thee! No, no, by Mahomet!
MAURICE	Nay, Mahomet taught mercy and forgiveness. I am sure he did!
OLD MAN	Ha! Ha! Forgiveness! Mercy!
MAURICE	If he did not, he needs it for himself!
ALHADRA	Blaspheming fool! the law of Mahomet Was given by him, who framed the soul of man. This the best proof — it fits the soul of man! Ambition, glory, thirst of enterprize, The deep and stubborn purpose of revenge, With all the boiling revelries of pleasure — These grow in the heart, yea, intertwine their roots With its minutest fibres! And that Being Who made us, laughs to scorn the lying faith, Whose puny precepts, like a wall of sand, Would stem the full tide of predestined Nature!
NAOMI	(who turns toward Francesco with his sword.) Speak!
ALL	(to Alhadra.) Speak!
ALHADRA	Is the murderer of your chieftain dead? Now as God liveth, who hath suffer’d him To make my children orphans, none shall die Till I have seen his blood! Off with him to the vessel!
(didascalia)	(A part of the Morescoes hurry him off.)
ALHADRA	The Tyger, that with unquench’d cruelty, Still thirsts for blood, leaps on the hunter’s spear With prodigal courage. ‘Tis not so with man.
MAURICE	It is not so, remember that, my friends! Cowards are cruel, and the cruel cowards.
ALHADRA	Scatter yourselves, take each a separate way, And move in silence to the house of Velez. (Exeunt.)
(didascalia)	SCENE. — A Dungeon.

Speaker	Line
(didascalia)	ALBERT (alone) rises slowly from a bed of reeds.
ALBERT	And this place my forefathers made for men! This is the process of our love and wisdom To each poor brother who offends against us — Most innocent, perhaps — and what if guilty? Is this the only cure? Merciful God! Each pore and natural outlet shrivell’d up By ignorance and parching poverty, His energies roll back upon his heart, And stagnate and corrupt till changed to poison, They break out on him like a loathsome plague-spot! Then we call in our pamper’d mountebanks — And this is their best cure! uncomforted And friendless solitude, groaning and tears, And savage faces at the clanking hour Seen thro’ the steaming vapours of his dungeon By the lamp’s dismal twilight! So he lies Circled with evil, till his very soul Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deform’d By sights of ever more deformity! With other ministrations thou, O Nature! Healest thy wandering and distemper’d child: Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets, Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters, Till he relent, and can no more endure To be a jarring and a dissonant thing Amid this general dance and minstrelsy; But bursting into tears wins back his way, His angry spirit heal’d and harmoniz’d By the benignant touch of love and beauty.
(didascalia)	(A noise at the dungeon-door. It opens, and OSORIO enters with a goblet in his hand.)
OSORIO	Hail, potent wizard! In my gayer mood I pour’d forth a libation to old Pluto; And as I brimm’d the bowl, I thought of thee!
ALBERT	(in a low voice.) I have not summon’d up my heart to give That pang, which I must give thee, son of Velez!
OSORIO	(with affected levity.) Thou hast conspired against my life and honour, Hast trick’d me foully; yet I hate thee not! Why should I hate thee? This same world of ours — It is a puddle in a storm of rain, And we the air-bladders, that course up and down, And joust and tilt in merry tournament, And when one bubble runs foul of another, (Waving his hand at ALBERT.) The lesser must needs break!
ALBERT	I see thy heart! There is a frightful glitter in thine eye, Which doth betray thee. Crazy-conscienc’d man, This is the gaiety of drunken anguish, Which fain would scoff away the pang of guilt, And quell each human feeling!
OSORIO	Feeling! feeling! The death of a man — the breaking of a bubble. ‘Tis true, I cannot sob for such misfortunes! But faintness, cold, and hunger — curses on me If willingly I e’er inflicted them! Come, share the beverage — this chill place demands it. (OSORIO proffers him the goblet.) Friendship and wine!
ALBERT	Yon insect on the wall, Which moves this way and that its hundred legs, Were it a toy of mere mechanic craft, It were an infinitely curious thing! But it has life, Osorio! life and thought; And by the power of its miraculous will Wields all the complex movements of its frame Unerringly, to pleasurable ends! Saw I that insect on this goblet’s brink, I would remove it with an eager terror.
OSORIO	What meanest thou?
ALBERT	There’s poison in the wine.
OSORIO	Thou hast guess’d well. There’s poison in the wine. Shall we throw dice, which of us two shall drink it? For one of us must die!
ALBERT	Whom dost thou think me?
OSORIO	The accomplice and sworn friend of Ferdinand.
ALBERT	Ferdinand! Ferdinand! ‘tis a name I know not.
OSORIO	Good! good! that lie! by Heaven! it has restor’d me. Now I am thy master! Villain, thou shalt drink it, Or die a bitterer death.
ALBERT	What strange solution Hast thou found out to satisfy thy fears, And drug them to unnatural sleep?
(didascalia)	(ALBERT takes the goblet, and with a sigh throws it on the ground.)
ALBERT	My master!
OSORIO	Thou mountebank!
ALBERT	Mountebank and villain! What then art thou? For shame, put up thy sword! What boots a weapon in a wither’d arm? I fix mine eye upon thee, and thou tremblest! I speak — and fear and wonder crush thy rage, And turn it to a motionless distraction! Thou blind self-worshipper! thy pride, thy cunning, Thy faith in universal villainy, Thy shallow sophisms, thy pretended scorn For all thy human brethren — out upon them! What have they done for thee? Have they given thee peace? Cured thee of starting in thy sleep? or made The darkness pleasant, when thou wakest at midnight? Art happy when alone? can’st walk by thyself With even step, and quiet cheerfulness? Yet, yet thou mayst be saved.
OSORIO	(stupidly reiterating the word.) Saved? saved?
ALBERT	One pang — Could I call up one pang of true remorse!
OSORIO	He told me of the babe, that prattled to him, His fatherless little ones! Remorse! remorse! Where gott’st thou that fool’s word? Curse on remorse! Can it give up the dead, or recompact A mangled body — mangled, dash’d to atoms! Not all the blessings of an host of angels Can blow away a desolate widow’s curse; And tho’ thou spill thy heart’s blood for atonement, It will not weigh against an orphan’s tear.
ALBERT	(almost overcome by his feelings.) But Albert ——
OSORIO	Ha! it chokes thee in the throat, Even thee! and yet, I pray thee, speak it out. Still Albert! Albert! Howl it in mine ear! Heap it, like coals of fire, upon my heart! And shoot it hissing through my brain!
ALBERT	Alas — That day, when thou didst leap from off the rock Into the waves, and grasp’d thy sinking brother, And bore him to the strand, then, son of Velez! How sweet and musical the name of Albert! Then, then, Osorio! he was dear to thee, And thou wert dear to him. Heaven only knows How very dear thou wert! Why didst thou hate him? O Heaven! how he would fall upon thy neck, And weep forgiveness!
OSORIO	Spirit of the dead! Methinks I know thee! Ha! — my brain turns wild At its own dreams — off — off, fantastic shadow!
ALBERT	(seizing his hand.) I fain would tell thee what I am, but dare not!
OSORIO	(retiring from him.) Cheat, villain, traitor! whatsoe’er thou be I fear thee, man!
(didascalia)	(He starts, and stands in the attitude of listening.)
OSORIO	And is this too my madness?
ALBERT	It is the step of one that treads in fear Seeking to cheat the echo.
OSORIO	It approaches — This nook shall hide me.
(didascalia)	(MARIA enters from a plank which slips to and fro.)
Maria	I have put aside The customs and the terrors of a woman, To work out thy escape. Stranger! begone, And only tell me what thou know’st of Albert.
(didascalia)	(ALBERT takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it her with unutterable tenderness.)
ALBERT	Maria! my Maria!
Maria	Do not mock me. This is my face — and thou — ha! who art thou? Nay, I will call thee Albert!
(didascalia)	(She falls upon his neck. OSORIO leaps out from the nook with frantic wildness, and rushes towards ALBERT with his sword. MARIA gapes at him, as one helpless with terror, then leaves ALBERT, and flings herself upon OSORIO, arresting his arm.)
Maria	Madman, stop!
ALBERT	(with majesty and tenderness.) Does then this thin disguise impenetrably Hide Albert from thee? Toil and painful wounds, And long imprisonment in unwholesome dungeons, Have marr’d perhaps all trace and lineament Of what I was! But chiefly, chiefly, brother! My anguish for thy guilt. Spotless Maria, I thought thee guilty too! Osorio, brother! Nay, nay, thou shalt embrace me!
OSORIO	(drawing back and gazing at Albert with a countenance expressive at once of awe and terror.) Touch me not! Touch not pollution, Albert! — I will die!
(didascalia)	(He attempts to fall on his sword. ALBERT and MARIA struggle with him.)
ALBERT	We will invent some tale to save your honour. Live, live, Osorio!
Maria	You may yet be happy.
OSORIO	(looking at Maria.) O horror! Not a thousand years in heaven Could recompose this miserable heart, Or make it capable of one brief joy. Live! live! — why yes! ‘Twere well to live with you — For is it fit a villain should be proud? My brother! I will kneel to you, my brother!
(didascalia)	(Throws himself at ALBERT’S feet.)
OSORIO	Forgive me, Albert! — Curse me with forgiveness!
ALBERT	Call back thy soul, my brother! and look round thee. Now is the time for greatness. Think that Heaven ——
Maria	O mark his eye! he hears not what you say.
OSORIO	(pointing at vacancy.) Yes, mark his eye! there’s fascination in it. Thou said’st thou didst not know him. That is he! He comes upon me!
ALBERT	(lifting his eye to heaven.) Heal, O heal him, Heaven!
OSORIO	Nearer and nearer! And I cannot stir! Will no one hear these stifled groans, and wake me? He would have died to save me, and I kill’d him — A husband and a father!
Maria	Some secret poison Drinks up his spirit!
OSORIO	(fiercely recollecting himself.) Let the eternal Justice Prepare my punishment in the obscure world. I will not bear to live — to live! O agony! And be myself alone, my own sore torment!
(didascalia)	(The doors of the dungeon are burst open with a crash. ALHADRA, MAURICE, and the band of Morescoes enter.)
ALHADRA	(pointing at Osorio.) Seize first that man!
(didascalia)	(The Moors press round.)
ALBERT	(rushing in among them.) Draw thy sword, Maurice, and defend my brother.
(didascalia)	(A scuffle, during which they disarm MAURICE.)
OSORIO	Off, ruffians! I have flung away my sword. Woman, my life is thine! to thee I give it. Off! he that touches me with his hand of flesh, I’ll rend his limbs asunder! I have strength With this bare arm to scatter you like ashes!
ALHADRA	My husband ——
OSORIO	Yes! I murder’d him most foully.
ALBERT	(throws himself on the earth.) O horrible!
ALHADRA	Why didst thou leave his children? Demon! thou shouldst have sent thy dogs of hell To lap their blood. Then, then, I might have harden’d My soul in misery, and have had comfort. I would have stood far off, quiet tho’ dark, And bade the race of men raise up a mourning For the deep horror of a desolation Too great to be one soul’s particular lot! Brother of Zagri! let me lean upon thee. (Struggling to suppress her anguish.) The time is not yet come for woman’s anguish — I have not seen his blood. Within an hour Those little ones will crowd around and ask me, Where is our father? (Looks at OSORIO.) I shall curse thee then! Wert thou in heaven, my curse would pluck thee thence!
Maria	See — see! he doth repent. I kneel to thee. Be merciful!
(didascalia)	(MARIA kneels to her. ALHADRA regards her face wistfully.)
ALHADRA	Thou art young and innocent; ‘Twere merciful to kill thee! Yet I will not. And for thy sake none of this house shall perish, Save only he.
Maria	That aged man, his father!
ALHADRA	(sternly.) Why had he such a son?
(didascalia)	(The Moors press on.)
Maria	(still kneeling, and wild with affright.) Yet spare his life! They must not murder him!
ALHADRA	And is it then An enviable lot to waste away With inward wounds, and like the spirit of chaos To wander on disquietly thro’ the earth, Cursing all lovely things? to let him live — It were a deep revenge!
(didascalia)	(All the band cry out — No mercy! no mercy!)
(didascalia)	(NAOMI advances with the sword towards OSORIO.)
ALHADRA	Nay, bear him forth! Why should this innocent maid Behold the ugliness of death?
OSORIO	(with great majesty.) O woman! I have stood silent like a slave before thee, That I might taste the wormwood and the gall, And satiate this self-accusing spirit With bitterer agonies than death can give.
(didascalia)	(The Moors gather round him in a crowd, and pass off the stage.)
ALHADRA	I thank thee, Heaven! thou hast ordain’d it wisely, That still extremes bring their own cure. That point In misery which makes the oppressed man Regardless of his own life, makes him too Lord of the oppressor’s! Knew I an hundred men Despairing, but not palsied by despair, This arm should shake the kingdoms of this world; The deep foundations of iniquity Should sink away, earth groaning from beneath them; The strong holds of the cruel men should fall, Their temples and their mountainous towers should fall; Till desolation seem’d a beautiful thing, And all that were and had the spirit of life Sang a new song to him who had gone forth Conquering and still to conquer!
(didascalia)	THE END