University of Virginia Library

OSORIO

A TRAGEDY

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

• Velez Father to the two brothers, and Doña Teresa's Guardian.
• Albert the eldest son.
• Osorio the youngest son.
• Francesco a Dominican and Inquisitor.
• Maurice the faithful attendant on Alvar.
• Ferdinand a Moresco Chieftain, ostensibly a Christian.
• Naomi
• Maria an Orphan Heiress.
• Alhadra, wife of Ferdinand,
• Familiars of the Inquisition.
• Moors, Servants, &c.

Time. The reign of Philip II., just at the close of the civil wars against the Moors, and during the heat of the persecution which raged against them, shortly after the edict which forbad the wearing of Moresco apparel under pain of death.

In the reign of Philip II shortly after the civil war against the Moors, and during the heat of the Persecution which raged against them. Maria an orphan of fortune had been espoused to Albert the eldest son of Lord Velez, but he having been supposed dead, is now addressed by Osorio the brother of Albert.

In the character of Osorio I wished to represent a man, who, from his childhood had mistaken constitutional abstinence from vices, for strength of character—thro' his pride duped into guilt, and then endeavouring to shield himself from the reproaches of his own mind by misanthropy.

Don Garcia (supposed dead) and Valdez father of Don Ordoño, and Guardian of Teresa di Monviedro. Don Garcia eldest son of the Marquis di Valdez, supposed dead, having been six years absent, and for the last three without any tidings of him.

Teresa Senñora [sic] di Monviedro, an orphan lady, bequeathed by both Parents on their death-bed to the wardship of the Marquis, and betrothed to Don Garcia—Gulinaez a Moorish Chieftain and ostensibly a new Christian—Alhadra his wife.

ACT THE FIRST

Scene

—The sea shore on the coast of Granada.
Velez, Maria.

Maria.
I hold Osorio dear: he is your son,
And Albert's brother.

Velez.
Love him for himself,
Nor make the living wretched for the dead.

Maria.
I mourn that you should plead in vain, Lord Velez!
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.
[Clasping her forehead.

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).
[Pauses, then tenderly.

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!

Enter Francesco and Alhadra.
Francesco
(to Velez).
Where is your son, my lord? Oh! here he comes. Enter Osorio.

My Lord Osorio! this Moresco woman
(Alhadra is her name) asks audience of you.

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.

[Alhadra is about to speak, but is interrupted by
Francesco.
Aye, aye—I thought so;
And so I said to one of the familiars.
A likely story, said I, that Osorio,
The gallant nobleman, who fought so bravely
Some four years past against these rebel Moors;
Working so hard from out the garden of faith
To eradicate these weeds detestable;
That he should countenance this vile Moresco,
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.

[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).
[Then, as if recovering himself.

[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.

[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.
[Touching his forehead as if in the act of recollection.

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.

[Exeunt Velez, Francesco, and Osorio.
Alhadra.
[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

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!

[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.

[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.

[Albert, on hearing this, pauses and turns round.
Maria.
If aught enforce you to concealment, sir!

Alhadra.
He trembles strangely.

[Albert sinks down and hides his face in his garment.
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).
[He starts up, and abruptly addresses her.

Maria
(haughtily to Alhadra).
Let us retire.

[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 lovetales.
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.

[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!

ACT THE SECOND

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.
[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?

[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.

[Exit Osorio. Ferdinand goes into his house.

Scene changes.

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.

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!

[Osorio walks leisurely round the room, and looks attentively at the plants.
Maurice.
Why, what ails you now?

[Albert grasps Maurice's hand in agitation.
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.

[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).
[Looks round the cottage.

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.
[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?

[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!

[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.

[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).
[A pause.

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!

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.

[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!

ACT THE THIRD

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!

[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.

[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.
(Sung behind the scenes, accompanied by the same instrument as before.)
[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 whole orchestra crashes into one chorus.

[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.

[She swoons. Albert rushes to her and supports her.
Albert.
My love! my wife!
Pale—pale, and cold! My love! my wife! Maria!

[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!

[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).
[A pause—then presses her forehead.
[A pause—she gazes at Albert.

[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 pause—then very wildly.

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).
[Then to Osorio.

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!

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).
[To the Servant.
[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.

Scene changes to the space before the castle.
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!

[Albert enters from the castle, and is crossing the stage.
Spy.
There—there—your Reverence! That is the sorcerer.

[Francesco runs up and rudely catches hold of Albert. Albert dashes him to the earth. Francesco and the Spy make an uproar ,and the servants rush from out the castle.
Francesco.
Seize, seize and gag him! or the Church curses you!

[The servants seize and gag Albert.
Enter Velez and Osorio.
Osorio
(aside).
This is most lucky!

Francesco
(inarticulate with rage).
See you this, Lord Velez?
Good evidence have I of most foul sorcery,
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.

[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!

ACT THE FOURTH

Scene the First.

—A cavern, dark except where a gleam of moonlight is seen on one side of the further end of it, supposed to be cast on it from a cranny in a part of the cavern out of sight.
[Ferdinand alone, an extinguished torch in his hand.
Ferdinand.
[He goes out of sight, opposite to the patch of moonlight, returns after a minute's elapse in an ecstasy of fear.

[Ferdinand stands staring at another recess in the cavern. In the mean time Osorio enters with a torch and hollas to him
Ferdinand.
I swear, I saw a something moving there!
The moonshine came and went, like a flash of lightning.
I swear, I saw it move!

[Osorio goes into the recess, then returns, and with great scorn.
Osorio.
A jutting clay-stone
Drips on the long lank weed that grows beneath;
And the weed nods and drips.

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

Osorio.
What frighten'd you?

Ferdinand.
[Lights his torch at Osorio's, and while lighting it.

Osorio.
Well, what of that?

Ferdinand.
I walk'd up to it, meaning to sit there.
When I had reach'd it within twenty paces—
[Ferdinand starts as if he felt the terror over again.
Merciful Heaven! Do go, my lord! and look.

[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.

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

[They hang their torches in some shelf of 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.

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.
[Then very wildly.

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.

[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!

[Ferdinand throws off his robe, shews 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.

[They fight. Osorio disarms Ferdinand, and in disarming him, throws his sword up that recess, opposite to which they were standing.
Ferdinand
(springing wildly towards Osorio).
Still I can strangle thee!

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

[Ferdinand hurries into the recess with his torch. Osorio follows him, and in a moment returns alone.
Osorio.
Now—this was luck! No bloodstains, no dead body!
His dream, too, is made out. Now for his friend.

[Exit.

Scene changes to the court before the Castle of Velez.

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

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

Maria.
'Tis strange! he spake of you familiarly
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.

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!

[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.

[Scene changes to the mountains by moonlight.

Alhadra alone in a Moorish dress, her eyes fixed on the earth. Then drop in one after another, from different parts of the stage, a considerable number of Morescoes, all in their Moorish garments. They form a circle at a distance round Alhadra. After a pause one of the Morescoes to the man who stands next to him.
First Moresco.
The law which forced these Christian dresses on us,
'Twere pleasant to cleave down the wretch who framed it.

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

First.
Our country robes are dear.

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

[A third Moresco, Naomi, advances from out the circle.
Naomi.
Woman! may Alla and the prophet bless thee!
We have obey'd thy call. Where is our chief?
And why didst thou enjoin the Moorish garments?

Alhadra
(lifting up 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!

[They all, at once, draw their sabres.
Alhadra
(to Naomi, who on being addressed again advances from the circle).
[He steps forward to take it.

Enter Maurice.
All.
A spy! a spy!

[They seize him.
Maurice.
Off! off! unhand me, slaves!

[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.

[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.
[Then wildly.

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.

ACT THE FIFTH

Scene the First.

—The Sea Shore.
Naomi and a Moresco.
Moresco.
This was no time for freaks of useless vengeance.

Naomi.
True! but Francesco, the Inquisitor,
Thou know'st the bloodhound—'twas a strong temptation.
And when they pass'd within a mile of his house,
We could not curb them in. They swore by Mahomet,
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.

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

[Alhadra rises from the rock, and advances slowly, as if musing.
Naomi.
Once more, well met! what ponder'st thou so deeply?

Alhadra.
I scarce can tell thee! For my many thoughts
Troubled me, till with blank and naked mind
I only listen'd to the dashing billows.
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.

[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.
[A pause—then fiercely.

[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!

[Enter Maurice and the rest of the Morescoes dragging in Francesco.
Francesco.
O spare me, spare me! only spare my life!

An Old Man.
[Then turning to the band.

[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 fall'n 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.

[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.

Scene.

—A Dungeon.
Albert (alone) rises slowly from a bed of reeds.
Albert.
And this place my forefathers made for men!
This is the process of our love and wisdom
To each poor brother who offends against us—
Most innocent, perhaps—and what if guilty?
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.

[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.
Friendship and wine!

[Osorio proffers him the goblet.
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.
[Albert takes the goblet, and with a sigh throws it on the ground.

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

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

Osorio.
It approaches—
This nook shall hide me.

[Maria enters from a plank which slips to and fro.
Maria.
I have put aside
The customs and the terrors of a woman,
To work out thy escape. Stranger! begone,
And only tell me what thou know'st of Albert.

[Albert takes her portrait from his neck, and gives it her with unutterable tenderness.
Albert.
Maria! my Maria!

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

[She falls upon his neck. Osorio leaps out from the nook with frantic wildness, and rushes towards Albert with his sword. Maria gazes 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!

[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!
[Throws himself at Albert's feet.
Forgive me, Albert!—Curse me with forgiveness!

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

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

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!

[The doors of the dungeon are burst open with a crash. Alhadra, Maurice, and the band of Morescoes enter.
Alhadra
(pointing at Osorio).
Seize first that man!

[The Moors press round.
Albert
(rushing in among them).
Draw thy sword, Maurice, and defend my brother.

[A scuffle, during which they disarm Maurice.
Osorio.
Off, ruffians! I have flung away my sword.
Woman, my life is thine! to thee I give it.
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.
[Struggling to suppress her anguish.
[Looks at Osorio.

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

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

Maria.
That aged man, his father!

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

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

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

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

[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.

[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!