FOOTNOTES:

Osorio.Now this is excellent, and warms the blood!My heart was drawing back, drawing me back[570]With womanish pulls of pity. Dusky slave,Now I will kill thee pleasantly, and count it145Among my comfortable thoughts hereafter.Ferdinand.And all my little ones fatherless! Die thou first.

Ferdinand.And all my little ones fatherless! Die thou first.

[They fight.OsoriodisarmsFerdinand, 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 (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.

[Ferdinandhurries into the recess with his torch.Osoriofollows him, and in a moment returns alone.

Osorio.Now—this was luck! No bloodstains, no dead body!150His dream, too, is made out. Now for his friend.[570:1][Exit.

Scenechanges to the court before the Castle ofVelez.

Mariaand herFoster-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 familiarly155[572]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 timesWhen you two little ones would stand at eve,160On each side of my chair, and make me learnAll you had learnt in the day; and how to talkIn gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you,'Tis more like heaven to come, that whathasbeen!Maria.O my dear mother! this strange man has left me165Wilder'd with wilder fancies than yon moonBreeds in the love-sick maid—who gazes at itTill lost in inward vision, with wet eyeShe gazes idly! But that entrance, mother!Foster-Mother.Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale!170Maria.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 sawWith lusty arm. You know that huge round beamWhich props the hanging wall of the old chapel?175Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree,He found a baby wrapt in mosses, linedWith thistle-beards, and such small locks of woolAs hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home,And rear'd him at the then Lord Velez' cost.180And 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.185And all the autumn 'twas his only playTo get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant themWith 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,190[573]The boy loved him—and, when the friar taught him,He soon could write with the pen; and from that timeLived chiefly at the convent or the castle.So he became a very learned youth.But O! poor wretch—he read, and read, and read,195Till 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 prayWith holy men, nor in a holy place.But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet,200The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him,And once as by the north side of the chapelThey 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'n205Right on their heads. My lord was sorely frighten'd;A fever seiz'd him; and he made confessionOf all the heretical and lawless talkWhich brought this judgment: so the youth was seiz'dAnd cast into that hole. My husband's father210Sobb'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 savannah215To hunt for food, and be a naked man,And wander up and down at liberty.He always doted on the youth, and nowHis love grew desperate; and defying death,He made that cunning entrance I described:220And 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 shipboardWith those bold voyagers, who made discovery225Of golden lands; Leoni's younger brotherWent likewise, and when he return'd to Spain,He told Leoni that the poor mad youth,[574]Soon after they arrived in that new world,In spite of his dissuasion seized a boat,230And all alone set sail by silent moonlight,Up a great river, great as any sea,And ne'er was heard of more; but 'tis supposedHe liv'd and died among the savage men.

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 familiarly155[572]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 timesWhen you two little ones would stand at eve,160On each side of my chair, and make me learnAll you had learnt in the day; and how to talkIn gentle phrase, then bid me sing to you,'Tis more like heaven to come, that whathasbeen!

Maria.O my dear mother! this strange man has left me165Wilder'd with wilder fancies than yon moonBreeds in the love-sick maid—who gazes at itTill lost in inward vision, with wet eyeShe gazes idly! But that entrance, mother!

Foster-Mother.Can no one hear? It is a perilous tale!170

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 sawWith lusty arm. You know that huge round beamWhich props the hanging wall of the old chapel?175Beneath that tree, while yet it was a tree,He found a baby wrapt in mosses, linedWith thistle-beards, and such small locks of woolAs hang on brambles. Well, he brought him home,And rear'd him at the then Lord Velez' cost.180And 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.185And all the autumn 'twas his only playTo get the seeds of wild flowers, and to plant themWith 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,190[573]The boy loved him—and, when the friar taught him,He soon could write with the pen; and from that timeLived chiefly at the convent or the castle.So he became a very learned youth.But O! poor wretch—he read, and read, and read,195Till 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 prayWith holy men, nor in a holy place.But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet,200The late Lord Velez ne'er was wearied with him,And once as by the north side of the chapelThey 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'n205Right on their heads. My lord was sorely frighten'd;A fever seiz'd him; and he made confessionOf all the heretical and lawless talkWhich brought this judgment: so the youth was seiz'dAnd cast into that hole. My husband's father210Sobb'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 savannah215To hunt for food, and be a naked man,And wander up and down at liberty.He always doted on the youth, and nowHis love grew desperate; and defying death,He made that cunning entrance I described:220And 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 shipboardWith those bold voyagers, who made discovery225Of golden lands; Leoni's younger brotherWent likewise, and when he return'd to Spain,He told Leoni that the poor mad youth,[574]Soon after they arrived in that new world,In spite of his dissuasion seized a boat,230And all alone set sail by silent moonlight,Up a great river, great as any sea,And ne'er was heard of more; but 'tis supposedHe liv'd and died among the savage men.

EnterVelez.

Velez.Still sad, Maria? This same wizard haunts you.235Maria.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 mournThat their rude grasp should seize onsucha victim.240Maria.The horror of their ghastly punishmentsDoth 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 husband245Were doom'd to suffer them! That such things are——Velez.Hush! thoughtless woman!Maria.Nay—it wakes within meMore 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!250These are my Albert's lessons, and I con themWith 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 theFoster-Mother.Velez.We have mourn'd for Albert.[575]Have I no living son?Maria.Speak not of him!255That 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!Valdez.Is this well?Maria.Yes! it is truth. Saw you his countenance?260How 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,265I never could be safe. And why assumeThe semblance of such execrable feelings?Velez.Ungrateful woman! I have tried to stifleAn old man's passion! Was it not enoughThat thou hast made my son a restless man,270[576]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 stayBeneath my roof!

Velez.Still sad, Maria? This same wizard haunts you.235

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 mournThat their rude grasp should seize onsucha victim.240

Maria.The horror of their ghastly punishmentsDoth 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 husband245Were doom'd to suffer them! That such things are——

Velez.Hush! thoughtless woman!

Maria.Nay—it wakes within meMore 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!250These are my Albert's lessons, and I con themWith 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 theFoster-Mother.Velez.We have mourn'd for Albert.[575]Have I no living son?

Maria.Speak not of him!255That 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!

Valdez.Is this well?

Maria.Yes! it is truth. Saw you his countenance?260How 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,265I never could be safe. And why assumeThe semblance of such execrable feelings?

Velez.Ungrateful woman! I have tried to stifleAn old man's passion! Was it not enoughThat thou hast made my son a restless man,270[576]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 stayBeneath my roof!

[Francescoenters and stands listening.

Velez.Repent and marry him—275Or 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 grandsonsMay be my household.Francesco (advancing).I abhor a listener;280But you spoke so, I could not choose but hear you.I pray, my lord! will you embolden meTo ask you why this lady doth preferTo live in lonely sort, without a friendOr fit companion?Velez.Bid her answer you.285Maria.Nature will be my friend and fit companion.[Turns off from them.[577]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 heard290The 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 pleasureHath half-assumed the countenance of grief,And the deep sigh seem'd to heave up a weight295Of bliss, that press'd too heavy on the heart.

Velez.Repent and marry him—275Or 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 grandsonsMay be my household.

Francesco (advancing).I abhor a listener;280But you spoke so, I could not choose but hear you.I pray, my lord! will you embolden meTo ask you why this lady doth preferTo live in lonely sort, without a friendOr fit companion?

Velez.Bid her answer you.285

Maria.Nature will be my friend and fit companion.[Turns off from them.[577]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 heard290The 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 pleasureHath half-assumed the countenance of grief,And the deep sigh seem'd to heave up a weight295Of bliss, that press'd too heavy on the heart.

Francesco.But in the convent, lady, you would haveSuch aids as might preserve you from perdition.There you might dwell.Maria.With tame and credulous faith,Mad melancholy, antic merriment,300Leanness, disquietude, and secret pangs!O God! it is a horrid thing to knowThat each pale wretch, who sits and drops her beadsHad once a mind, which might have given her wingsSuch as the angels wear!Francesco (stifling his rage).Where is your son, my lord?305Velez.I have not seen him, father, since he left you.Francesco.His lordship's generous nature hath deceiv'd him!ThatFerdinand (or if not he his wife)I have fresh evidence—are infidels.We are not safe until they are rooted out.310Maria.Thou man, who call'st thyself the ministerOf 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—315Heed it not, father!Francesco.Nay—but Imustheed 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—320But O! 'tis wearisome to mourn for evils,Still mourn, and have no power to remedy![ExitMaria.Francesco.My lord! I shall presume to wait on youTo-morrow early.Velez.Be it so, good father![ExitFrancesco.Velez (alone).I do want solace, but not such as thine!325The 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 heartDances! and yet the childless are most happy.

Francesco.But in the convent, lady, you would haveSuch aids as might preserve you from perdition.There you might dwell.

Maria.With tame and credulous faith,Mad melancholy, antic merriment,300Leanness, disquietude, and secret pangs!O God! it is a horrid thing to knowThat each pale wretch, who sits and drops her beadsHad once a mind, which might have given her wingsSuch as the angels wear!

Francesco (stifling his rage).Where is your son, my lord?305

Velez.I have not seen him, father, since he left you.

Francesco.His lordship's generous nature hath deceiv'd him!ThatFerdinand (or if not he his wife)I have fresh evidence—are infidels.We are not safe until they are rooted out.310

Maria.Thou man, who call'st thyself the ministerOf 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—315Heed it not, father!

Francesco.Nay—but Imustheed 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—320But O! 'tis wearisome to mourn for evils,Still mourn, and have no power to remedy![ExitMaria.

Francesco.My lord! I shall presume to wait on youTo-morrow early.

Velez.Be it so, good father![ExitFrancesco.

Velez (alone).I do want solace, but not such as thine!325The 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 heartDances! and yet the childless are most happy.

[Scenechanges to the mountains by moonlight.Alhadraalone 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 ofMorescoes,all in their Moorish garments. They form a circle at a distance roundAlhadra. After a pause one of theMorescoesto the man who stands next to him.

First Moresco.The law which forced these Christian dresses on us,330'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.

First Moresco.The law which forced these Christian dresses on us,330'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!335We have obey'd thy call. Where is our chief?And why didst thou enjoin the Moorish garments?Alhadra (lifting up[raisingRemorse]her eyes, and looking round on the circle).Warriors of Mahomet, faithful in the battle,My countrymen! Come ye prepared to workAn honourable deed? And would ye work it340In the slave's garb? Curse on those Christian robes!They arespell-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 left345His 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 knowThat he is fatherless, a desolate orphan!350Why should we wake them? Can an infant's arm[580]Revenge his murder?One to Another.Did she say his murder?Naomi.Murder'd? Not murder'd?Alhadra.Murder'd by a Christian!

Naomi.Woman! may Alla and the prophet bless thee!335We have obey'd thy call. Where is our chief?And why didst thou enjoin the Moorish garments?

Alhadra (lifting up[raisingRemorse]her eyes, and looking round on the circle).Warriors of Mahomet, faithful in the battle,My countrymen! Come ye prepared to workAn honourable deed? And would ye work it340In the slave's garb? Curse on those Christian robes!They arespell-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 left345His 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 knowThat he is fatherless, a desolate orphan!350Why should we wake them? Can an infant's arm[580]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).Brother of Zagri! fling away thy sword:This is thy chieftain's![He steps forward to take it.Dost thou dare receive it?355For I have sworn by Alia and the prophet,No tear shall dim these eyes, this woman's heartShall heave no groan, till I have seen that swordWet with the blood of all the house of Velez!

EnterMaurice.

All.A spy! a spy![They seize him.Maurice.Off! off! unhand me, slaves!360

All.A spy! a spy![They seize him.

Maurice.Off! off! unhand me, slaves!360

[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 know365The son of Velez hath hired one of youTo murder! Say, do ye know aught of Albert?Alhadra (starting).Albert?—three years ago I heard that nameMurmur'd in sleep! High-minded foreigner!Mix thy revenge with mine, and stand among us.370

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 know365The son of Velez hath hired one of youTo murder! Say, do ye know aught of Albert?

Alhadra (starting).Albert?—three years ago I heard that nameMurmur'd in sleep! High-minded foreigner!Mix thy revenge with mine, and stand among us.370

[Mauricestands among theMorescoes.

Alhadra.Was not Osorio my husband's friend?Old Man.He kill'd my son in battle; yet our chieftainForced me to sheathe my dagger. See—the pointIs bright, unrusted with the villain's blood!Alhadra.He is your chieftain's murderer!

Alhadra.Was not Osorio my husband's friend?

Old Man.He kill'd my son in battle; yet our chieftainForced me to sheathe my dagger. See—the pointIs 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!375Alhadra.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 worthy380A nobler secret; but I have been faithfulTo 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 him385At distance, till I saw him enterthere.Naomi.The cavern?Alhadra.Yes—the mouth of yonder cavern.After a pause I saw the son of VelezRush by with flaring torch; he likewise enter'd—There was another and a longer pause—390And 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 listeningImpatient for the footsteps of my husband!395Maurice.Thou called'st him?Alhadra.I crept into the cavern:[582]'Twas dark and very silent.[Then wildly.What said'st thou?No, no! I did not dare call, Ferdinand!Lest I should hear no answer. A brief while,Belike, I lost all thought and memory400Of that for which I came! After that pause,O God! I heard a groan!—and follow'd it.And yet another groan—which guided meInto a strange recess—and there waslight,Ahideouslight! his torch lay on the ground—405Its flame burnt dimly o'er a chasm's brink.I spake—and while I spake, a feeble groanCame from that chasm! It was his last! his death groan!Maurice.Comfort her, comfort her, Almighty Father!Alhadra.I stood in unimaginable trance410And 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,415And 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 roofTurn'd into blood. I saw them turn to blood!And I was leaping wildly down the chasm420When 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!425Away! away![She rushes off, all following.

Naomi.He dies by Alla!

All (dropping on one knee).By Alla!375

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 worthy380A nobler secret; but I have been faithfulTo 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 him385At distance, till I saw him enterthere.

Naomi.The cavern?

Alhadra.Yes—the mouth of yonder cavern.After a pause I saw the son of VelezRush by with flaring torch; he likewise enter'd—There was another and a longer pause—390And 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 listeningImpatient for the footsteps of my husband!395

Maurice.Thou called'st him?

Alhadra.I crept into the cavern:[582]'Twas dark and very silent.[Then wildly.What said'st thou?No, no! I did not dare call, Ferdinand!Lest I should hear no answer. A brief while,Belike, I lost all thought and memory400Of that for which I came! After that pause,O God! I heard a groan!—and follow'd it.And yet another groan—which guided meInto a strange recess—and there waslight,Ahideouslight! his torch lay on the ground—405Its flame burnt dimly o'er a chasm's brink.I spake—and while I spake, a feeble groanCame from that chasm! It was his last! his death groan!

Maurice.Comfort her, comfort her, Almighty Father!

Alhadra.I stood in unimaginable trance410And 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,415And 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 roofTurn'd into blood. I saw them turn to blood!And I was leaping wildly down the chasm420When 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!425Away! away![She rushes off, all following.

END OF THE FOURTH ACT

[564:1]The square brackets (which appear in both MSS.) seem to indicate that these words were an 'aside'.P. W.1893, p. 499.Editor's Note.

[565:1]Against this passage Coleridge has written in MS. II:—'This will be held by many for a mere Tragedy-dream—by many who have never given themselves the trouble to ask themselves from what grounds dreams pleased in Tragedy, and wherefore they have become so common. I believe, however, that in the present case, the whole is here psychologically true and accurate. Prophetical dreams are things of nature, and explicable by that law of the mind in which where dim ideas are connected with vivid feelings, Perception and Imagination insinuate themselves and mix with the forms of Recollection, till the Present appears to exactly correspond with the Past. Whatever is partially like, the Imagination will gradually represent as wholly like—a law of our nature which, when it is perfectly understood, woe to the great city Babylon—to all the superstitions of Men!'P. W., 1893, p. 499.

[567:1]Against this passage Coleridge writes in MS. II:—'Under the mask of the third person Osorio relates his own story, as in the delusion of self-justification and pride, it appeared to himself—at least as he wished it to appear to himself.'P. W., 1893, p. 499.'Osorio darkly, and in the feeling of self-justification, tells what he conceives of his own character and actions—speaking of himself in the third person.'MS. III.

'Osorio darkly, and in the feeling of self-justification, tells what he conceives of his own character and actions—speaking of himself in the third person.'MS. III.

[570:1]Against this line Coleridge writes in MS. II:—'Osorio has thrust Ferdinand down the chasm. I think it an important instance how Dreams and Prophecies coöperate to their own completion.'P. W., 1893, p. 501.

[1-3]Erased MS. III.: om. Remorse.This ceaseless dreary sound ofwater dropsdropping water—I would they had not fallen upon my Torch!Corr. in MS. III.

Erased MS. III.: om. Remorse.

Corr. in MS. III.

[5-6]In inverted commas.Remorse.

In inverted commas.Remorse.

[8]cannot] can notRemorse. cranny] creviceRemorse.

cannot] can notRemorse. cranny] creviceRemorse.

[12]MS. III erased.

MS. III erased.

Between11and13(a)Any thing but this crash of water drops!These dull abortive sounds that fret the silenceWith puny thwartings and mock opposition!So beats the death-watch to a sick man's earRemorse.(b)Anything but thiscrash of water-dropsnoiseAt broken measurescoffingmockingintervals—Their discontinuous, interruptive soundTheseWithdull abortive &c.MS. III erased.Affixed to variant (a) ofl. 12 '—this at all events is the final result of this correction.'S. T. C.

Between11and13

Remorse.

MS. III erased.

Affixed to variant (a) ofl. 12 '—this at all events is the final result of this correction.'S. T. C.

[13]A hellish pit! O God—'tis that I dreamt of!Corr. in MS. III: A hellish pit! The very same I dreamt of!Remorse.

A hellish pit! O God—'tis that I dreamt of!Corr. in MS. III: A hellish pit! The very same I dreamt of!Remorse.

Affixed to13'You mean like the dream presented to my mind when under the influence of the night-mare. This is most ludicrously expressed.' C. Ll[oyd]

[16]I swear that I saw somethingRemorse.

I swear that I saw somethingRemorse.

[18]In the stage-direction the last four words are omittedRemorse.

In the stage-direction the last four words are omittedRemorse.

[19]Drips] DropsRemorse.

Drips] DropsRemorse.

Between19and31.Isidore.A jest to laugh at!It was not that which scar'd me, good my lord.Ordonio.What scar'd you, then?Isidore.You see that little rift?But first permit me![Lights his torch atOrdonio's, and while lighting it.(A lighted torch in the handIs no unpleasant object here—one's breathFloats round the flame, and makes as many coloursAs the thin clouds that travel near the moon.)You see that crevice there?My torch extinguished by these water drops,And marking that the moonlight came from thence,I stept in to it, meaning to sit there;But scarcely had I measured twenty paces—My body bending forward, yea, o'erbalancedAlmost beyond recoil, on the dim brinkOf a hugh chasm I stept. The shadowy moonshineFilling the void so counterfeited substance,That my foot hung aslant adown the edge.Was it my own fear?Fear too hath its instincts!(And yet such dens as these are wildly told of,And there are beings that live, yet not for the eye)An arm of frost above and from behind mePluck'd up and snatched me backward. Merciful Heaven!You smile! alas, even smiles look ghastly here!My lord, I pray you, go yourself and view it.Remorse.

Between19and31.

Isidore.A jest to laugh at!It was not that which scar'd me, good my lord.Ordonio.What scar'd you, then?Isidore.You see that little rift?But first permit me![Lights his torch atOrdonio's, and while lighting it.(A lighted torch in the handIs no unpleasant object here—one's breathFloats round the flame, and makes as many coloursAs the thin clouds that travel near the moon.)You see that crevice there?My torch extinguished by these water drops,And marking that the moonlight came from thence,I stept in to it, meaning to sit there;But scarcely had I measured twenty paces—My body bending forward, yea, o'erbalancedAlmost beyond recoil, on the dim brinkOf a hugh chasm I stept. The shadowy moonshineFilling the void so counterfeited substance,That my foot hung aslant adown the edge.Was it my own fear?Fear too hath its instincts!(And yet such dens as these are wildly told of,And there are beings that live, yet not for the eye)An arm of frost above and from behind mePluck'd up and snatched me backward. Merciful Heaven!You smile! alas, even smiles look ghastly here!My lord, I pray you, go yourself and view it.

Isidore.A jest to laugh at!It was not that which scar'd me, good my lord.

Ordonio.What scar'd you, then?

Isidore.You see that little rift?But first permit me![Lights his torch atOrdonio's, and while lighting it.(A lighted torch in the handIs no unpleasant object here—one's breathFloats round the flame, and makes as many coloursAs the thin clouds that travel near the moon.)You see that crevice there?My torch extinguished by these water drops,And marking that the moonlight came from thence,I stept in to it, meaning to sit there;But scarcely had I measured twenty paces—My body bending forward, yea, o'erbalancedAlmost beyond recoil, on the dim brinkOf a hugh chasm I stept. The shadowy moonshineFilling the void so counterfeited substance,That my foot hung aslant adown the edge.Was it my own fear?Fear too hath its instincts!(And yet such dens as these are wildly told of,And there are beings that live, yet not for the eye)An arm of frost above and from behind mePluck'd up and snatched me backward. Merciful Heaven!You smile! alas, even smiles look ghastly here!My lord, I pray you, go yourself and view it.

Remorse.

Back to Index Next