Volume 2 / Act 3 — ACT THE FIRST[519:1]

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 5 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 10 With that same look, with which he gave thee to me: [520] 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, 15 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 20 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 25 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, 30 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, 35 And if indeed it be a wretched thing To trick out mine own death-bed, and imagine That I had died—died, just ere his return; Then see him listening to my constancy; And hover round, as he at midnight ever 40 Sits on my grave and gazes at the moon; Or haply in some more fantastic mood To be in Paradise, and with choice flowers Build up a bower where he and I might dwell, And there to wait his coming! O my sire! 45 My 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. [521] O what a thought! 50 '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 55 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— 60 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 65 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 70 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 75 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 80 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 85 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 90 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 95 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; 100 Yet still the hope survives—— Velez (looking forwards). Hush—hush! Maria.

Maria. It is Francesco, our Inquisitor; That busy man, gross, ignorant, and cruel!

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

My Lord Osorio! this Moresco woman 105 (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 110 Your name, asserting that you were his friend, [524] 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, 115 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. 120 I would that I could serve you; but in truth Your face is new to me.

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 125 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! 130 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! 135 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.

Francesco (to Velez and pointing to Osorio). What? is he ill, my lord? How strange he looks! 140 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!

Maria (her eye following them). I do not, cannot love him. Is my heart hard? Is my heart hard? that even now the thought 145 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 150 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 (to Velez as they return). Strange! that this Francesco Should have the power so to distemper me. 155 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. 160 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. [526] Hah! The Count Mondejar, our great general, 165 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. 170 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! 175 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. 180 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.

Alhadra. Hah! there he goes. A bitter curse go with him. 185 A scathing curse!

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 190 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. 195 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, 200 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. 205 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, 210 No touch, no sound of comfort! The black air, [528] 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 215 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[528:1] Which haply told me that the blessed sun 220 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 225 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? 230 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. 235 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? 240 Alhadra. A month's imprisonment would kill him, lady! Maria. Alas, poor man! Alhadra. He hath a lion's courage, [529] But is not stern enough for fortitude. Unfit for boisterous times, with gentle heart He worships Nature in the hill and valley, 245 Not knowing what he loves, but loves it all!

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. 250 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 255 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, [530] As in defiance of the royal edict.

Alhadra. Gallant Moresco! you are near the castle 260 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 265 And not believe you innocent of guile.

Maria. If aught enforce you to concealment, sir! Alhadra. He trembles strangely.

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. 270 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, 275 A lying dream. [He starts up, and abruptly addresses her. Maria! you are not wedded? Maria (haughtily to Alhadra). Let us retire. [They advance to the front of the stage. Alhadra. He is indeed a Christian. [531] 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. 280 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. 285 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, 290 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 [532] To have me murder'd in a wood of the mountains: 295 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! 300 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 305 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, 310 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: 315 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 320 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! [533] And bending o'er her self-inflicted wounds 325 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! 330 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 335 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, 340 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 345 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. 350 [534]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. 355 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. 360 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 365 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! 370 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!

Valdez. A thought? even so! mere thought! an empty thought. The very week he promised his return—

an empty thought That boasts no neighbourhood with Hope or Reason

Ter. Was it not then a busy joy? to see him, After those three years' travels! we had no fears— The frequent tidings, the ne'er failing letter, Almost endeared his absence! yet the gladness, The tumult of our joy! What then, if now—

Vald. The sober truth is all too much for me! I see no sail which brings not to my mind The home-bound bark, in which my son was captured By the Algerine—to perish with his captors! Ter. Oh no! he did not! Vald. Captured in sight of land! From yon Hill-point, nay, from our castle watch-tower We might have seen— Ter. His capture, not his death. Vald. Alas! how aptly thou forgett'st a tale Thou ne'er didst wish to learn! my brave Ordonio Saw both the pirate and his prize go down, In the same storm that baffled his own valour, And thus twice snatched a brother from his hopes.

Vald. (looking forward). Hush! 'tis Monviedro. Ter. The Inquisitor—on what new scent of blood? Enter Monviedro with Alhadra. Mon. Peace and the truth be with you! Good my Lord. My present need is with your son. We have hit the time. Here comes he! Yes, 'tis he. Enter from the opposite side Don Ordonio My Lord Ordonio, this Moresco woman

Mon. My lord, on strong suspicion of relapse To his false creed, so recently abjured, The secret servants of the Inquisition Have seized her husband, and at my command To the supreme tribunal would have led him, But that he made appeal to you, my lord, As surety for his soundness in the faith. Tho' lesson'd by experience what small trust The asseverations of these Moors deserve, Yet still the deference to Ordonio's name, Nor less the wish to prove, with what high honour The Holy Church regards her faithful soldiers, Thus far prevailed with me that— Ord. Reverend father, I am much beholden to your high opinion, Which so o'erprizes my light services. [then to Alhadra I would that I could serve you; but in truth Your face is new to me. Mon. My mind foretold me That such would be the event. In truth, Lord Valdez, 'Twas little probable, that Don Ordonio, That your illustrious son, who fought so bravely Some four years since to quell these rebel Moors, Should prove the patron of this infidel! The warranter of a Moresco's faith!

You were at sea, and there engaged the pirates, The murderers doubtless of your brother Alvar!

Monviedro. Your zeal, my lord, And your late merits in this holy warfare Would authorize an ampler trust—you have it.

Nay, nay, not hate him. I try not to do it;

Oh fear not me! my heart is sad for you

These wolfish Priests! these lappers-up of Blood.

That his vile Slaves, his pitiless officers Held in their custody my babes and husband.

It was a toil to breathe it! When the door, Slow opening at the appointed hour, disclosed One human countenance, the lamp's red flame Cowered as it entered, and at once sank down

Teresa. (starting). This sure must be the man (to Alhadra) Know you that man?

Ter. Know you that stately Moor? Alhad. I know him not: But doubt not he is some Moresco chieftain, Who hides himself among the Alpujarras. Ter. The Alpujarras? Does he know his danger, So near this seat? Alhad. He wears the Moorish robes too, As in defiance of the royal edict.

Alhad. Gallant Moresco! An inquisitor, Monviedro, of known hatred to our race—

His ends, his motives, why he shrinks from notice And spurns all commune with the Moorish chieftain, Baffles conjecture—

Teresa. Ask of him whence he came? if he bear tidings Of any Christian Captive—if he knows—

Maria. This cannot be the Moor the Peasant spoke of Nor face, nor stature squares with his description. Alhadra. A painted tablet which he held and por'd on Caught my eye strangely, and as I disturb'd him He hid it hastily within his sash, Yet when he started up (if my sight err'd not) It slipt unnotic'd by him on the Sand.

Ter. Dreams tell but of the past, and yet, 'tis said They prophesy— Alv. The Past lives o'er again In its effects, and to the guilty spirit, The ever frowning [guilty MS. III] Present is its image. Ter. Traitress! [guilty MS. III] (then aside) What sudden spell o'er-masters me? Why seeks he me, shunning the Moorish woman.

Fear, following guilt, tempted to blacker guilt, And murderers were suborned against my life

Alhadra (aside). I must reserve all knowledge of this Table Till I can pierce the mystery of the slander— Form, Look, Features,—the scar below the Temple All, all are Isidore's—and the whole Picture— (then to Alvar.) On matter of concerning Import . . . . . . I would discourse with you: Thou hast ta'en up thy sojourn in the Dell, Where Zagri liv'd—who dar'd avow the Prophet, And died like one of the Faithful—there expect me.